Questing Sucks! Book II (7 page)

Sehn nodded. “Good.”

Oddly, Saerina didn’t snap at Alan. She returned the grin with one of her own and pinched one of his cheeks. “You think you’re so manly, do you? Then why are you the one who screams like a girl whenever I—”

“Enough!” Patrick interrupted, cutting them off. “Gods, you two, show some modesty. Alan, you’re a commander in my army, and Saerina, you’re the elven Princess!”

Sehn was about to inform Patrick that his incessant whining was beginning to become an issue, but he was forced to shelve the thought for later as the bells finally quieted, replaced by the blaring of what sounded like a thousand trumpets. They played a melody Sehn wasn’t familiar with, and all at once, Alan, Patrick, and Saerina straightened their posture, becoming more formal both in how they stood and how they kept their hands calmly at their sides with their chins elevated.

Saerina looked at Sehn and then nodded to a spot next to her. “Stand with us. If you’re here, you may as well greet the lords.”

Sehn guffawed. “Do you really think I’ll show ‘respect’ to these lord-fools? They shall rue the day they entered the same city as the Great Sehn.” He crossed his arms and stood his ground.

“Sehn!” Patrick hissed. “This is no joke. I need you on your best behavior for this.”

“I don’t give a shit what you need, human. Do you really think you can order me around?”

“This time, you will obey me,” Patrick insisted. “Oh, you’ll obey me all right.”

“Hah! Patrick, has your mind deteriorated? Have you forgotten who you’re speaking to? I am an elf of impeccable moral character. I, the Great Sehn, shall never yield to the demands of some idiot prince. Nothing you can do or say shall ever change that, Patrick, and you’d be wise to remember that if you wish to keep your life.”

Sehn wanted to rip Patrick’s head off. No one spoke to Sehn in such a way. He opened his mouth to give Patrick another dressing down, but before he could speak, Patrick reached into his trouser pocket and removed a coin purse.

“I’ll give you twenty gold coins if you act like an adult.”

“Done,” Sehn said, snatching the money out of Patrick’s hands. His mind turned to thoughts of the precious gold. With this, he could buy a new mirror to admire himself in, or a pair of dwarven binoculars to spy on Cah’lia when she went sunbathing, but only to observe her movements in the event he ever needed to win a fight against her and wanted to know more about how her defenses were when she was at ease. It’s true!

It wasn’t until the pouch was secured in his tunic that Sehn realized he’d just sold himself out. Ah well, at least he finally had some gold back in his pocket. Rina and Nero had drained him of all his wealth, deceiving him into buying ridiculous things like toys and their precious, coveted candy. Sehn smiled as he imagined Rina’s expression after Sehn brought her to Elvar and she tasted Nero’s favorite snack: the moon-crackers. Sehn felt a stab of pain in his heart at the thought of home, so he refocused his attention on the commotion around him.

In a hurry, a group of soldiers rotated the lever to the portcullis, and Sehn heard the sound of dangling chains as the gates were raised to admit access. The scene changed in an instant. All chatter came to an abrupt halt and every soldier present—there seemed to be close to five-hundred—lined up in what Sehn assumed to be a ceremonial formation, waiting for the arrival of the Kingdom’s Lords. Many drew blades from their scabbards and crossed them over their chests. The golden spirals on their white armor gleamed in the sunlight.

In a single-file line, eight men on horseback entered into the city. Grooms rushed as if their lives depended on it to take care of the lords’ horses while servants brushed soldiers aside, holding out trays filled with wine, which the lords politely refused. After dismounting, they waved the servants off and instead strode over towards Patrick. Each were better dressed and somehow nobler in appearance than the haggard Patrick. Come to think of it, Patrick
did
seem more worn-down these days. He almost appeared to be a commoner next to the way these pompous lords carried themselves.

As Sehn took in the first lord, he knew something was different about these people. It was enough to make him behave even if he hadn’t been bribed. Since departing Elvar, Sehn had seen a number of truly wicked people—everyone from Rina’s captor, the Drashian Overseer, to the man who called himself Ghell. But looking into the faces of the Kingdom Lords, he was forced to suppress a shudder.

Unlike the fierce anger or tightness around the eyes that Sehn had seen on some of the brutal men he’d encountered, the lords displayed no such ferocity—at least not openly. No, it was the lack of any apparent temperament that bothered Sehn. Somehow, they radiated a certainty. These weren’t men who’d threaten or promise violence—they’d simply act. Without knowing a single one of them, Sehn was sure that any of these lords would slit a man’s throat with no more emotional conflict than they’d offer when deciding what boots to wear. It was in the way they carried themselves, the unvoiced confidence.

The first lord stepped forward. He gripped Patrick’s hand in a firm shake and smiled. He wore a coat made of fur despite the blazing Hahl temperatures. He was neither bulky nor thin, his features mostly unimpressive. But there was an air of command about him, one which dwarfed Patrick’s by comparison. His coarse black hair reached the middle of his neck, and his chin showed the first shadow of stubble.

“Lord Alex,” Patrick greeted, with what seemed to be genuine enthusiasm in his voice. “It is so good to see you.”

“My Prince,” Lord Alex returned with a respectful nod. “It warms my heart to see you are well.”

Hah
!
Sehn thought.
He just said it ‘warms his heart
.
’ What a bitch
.
He’s not so tough after all
.

Still, Sehn kept his thoughts to himself. Alex scanned the faces of Alan and Saerina, before skipping over Sehn like he didn’t exist. If not for the gold in his pocket, Sehn would’ve detonated his face for the show of disrespect.

“You did well in driving off the Hawk’s forces,” a voice chimed in. An overweight, middle-aged human was next to shake hands with Patrick. “I was away on business when you stopped by Koringrath. I apologize if there were slave traders in my city, and I am glad you dealt with the situation. Though, next time I’d like to be informed before you take any action against my mayor.”

Sehn could tell the man’s smile was false, as was the one Patrick returned. “My apologies, Lord Ramont.”

Patrick exchanged formalities with all eight men, before dispatching a messenger and instructing him to prepare the mayor’s dining hall for a private meeting. He led the men through Hahl, still partially empty while the remainder of the evacuated civilians made their way back from Therril. Sehn followed behind Patrick at Saerina’s insistence, though he wasn’t sure what purpose he would serve in this meeting.

Patrick hadn’t been far off when he’d guessed that seven lords would show up. The eighth, who Sehn learned during the walk was a lord from a small city near Shinsar, complimented Patrick on how well a job he’d done saving Hahl from ruination, even going so far as to say poems would be composed of his heroic deeds. Sehn somehow found the willpower to stifle a growl.

Before long, Sehn found himself sitting at a table not unlike the one from the war-room and surrounded by strange faces he didn’t recognize. But this was different. Cah’lia wasn’t here, and his new minion was off at the marketplace with Rina and Nero. Alan didn’t tag along, either. He’d whispered to Sehn that he was ‘below the required rank’ to sit in on this type of meeting. Also, no food was served: just wine. Guards who’d been standing by as if to turn away anyone unauthorized who happened to approach, sealed off the room and then closed the door.

“I think we can dispense with the formalities,” Lord Alex said. “Lord Brightingham, would you care to begin?” he asked the man sitting next to him.

The tall, black, and most powerfully built of the lords nodded. Sehn assumed he was from one of the Kingdom’s southern, drought-prone cities, where the humans tended to be darker in skin and the days were longer, the temperatures greater, and water sparser.

“We know everything that has transpired here, my Prince,” Lord Brightingham said. “You were…quite thorough in the messages you sent us. I suppose I may well voice what is likely on all of our minds: I cannot believe you are sitting here before us, alive and well.”

Patrick bowed his head. “Alive, possibly, but ‘well’ may perhaps be taking things too far.” For some reason, this earned a round of laughter and a toast from the other lords. Sehn had no idea what these pathetic, humorless mortals found so funny.

“Thank the Gods for our victory here,” Patrick continued. “But in the grand scheme of things, it’s a minor one. As you well know, there is a much larger force out there. But there is something else you need to know: something we discovered recently.”

“And that would be?” Lord Ramont asked.

Patrick took a moment to gaze at each lord. “At least half to two-thirds of the enemy’s forces are Drashian.”

Lord Ramont nodded. “Yes, we know.”

“You know?” Patrick whispered in disbelief.

“Of course we know. After receiving your message for aid, we rallied our armies together and marched to Hahl, and as can be expected, we’ve had several minor skirmishes with these black-armored men, though nothing too serious, only a few hundred casualties. From our captives, we were able to learn about the Drashian King’s assassination, and that their sole heir is being held prisoner.”

Patrick nodded. “Well, I suppose Hahl can feel a little safer now that you’re among us. The enemy will think twice before attacking us so soon after their last defeat, though I still suspect we’ve no chance of stopping them in the long run—at least not unless we begin to change our circumstances.”

“Actually, Patrick,” Lord Alex began, folding his gloved hands on the table and leaning forward in his seat, “you’ll be happy to know that Hahl is no longer in any immediate danger.”

“What do you mean?”

“Ah,” Lord Alex continued. “I’ve read the report, and you believe that the attack was conducted by a small force for the purpose of testing our defenses, or sending a message, or maybe just to intimidate. All of that may be true, but only partially so. You see, this entire thing has been a smokescreen. The enemy isn’t after the Kingdom at all, as it turns out. The bulk of their force, even as we speak, is moving through the Jinkar forests.”

Patrick looked off to the side, as if in calculation. “But then that means they’re heading to—”

Sehn felt a tight, reassuring hand on his wrist, which startled him for a moment. For some reason, Saerina had taken his hand into her own, compassion in her usually detached expression. It was odd for the princess.

“Yes,” Lord Alex said. “They’re heading straight for Elvar.”

Caught by surprise, Sehn jumped up and slammed his hands down on the table. The movement caused his chair to fall backwards and land on the floor with a thud. “Did you say Elvar?” Sehn shouted. “Repeat what you’ve just said!”

Sehn must’ve heard them wrong. That was all. It had to be. For some reason, it had sounded like they’d said Elvar, but that was ridiculous. After all, no one would ever launch an attack on Elvar. Why would they? It was home. No one would attack home.

As if noticing him for the first time, a curly-haired lord lifted his chin and examined Sehn. “Patrick, who is this elf?”

The other lords mumbled suspiciously among themselves, giving Sehn dubious glares. Patrick rubbed his forehead and sighed. “My apologies for not introducing him, Lord Kaldor. This is—”

“I don’t recognize him,” Lord Brightingham interrupted. “Patrick, you do know this is a closed meeting, yes? Only those with the standing of lord or higher may be present, and I’m fairly certain this elf doesn’t meet that requirement.”

“Damn your requirements! I asked you a question. Did you say that an army is heading towards Elvar?”

“And we have asked you a question, elf,” Lord Ramont said. “If you are not of our standing, then I’d advise you to leave this room before this matter causes any further problems. As it is, I’ll need to have a word with the princess here about exercising proper etiquette.”

Sehn gritted his teeth, but he forced himself to calm down. He was positive he’d heard them mention Elvar. He didn’t know why or how, but he knew what he’d heard. He also knew what he had to do next, what words he needed to speak. They were the words his father had drilled into him since childhood, words he prayed he’d never have to say aloud. But now, as the eight gathered lords glared daggers at him, Sehn was given no choice.

He cleared his throat and composed himself. “I have every right to be here.”

“Oh?” Lord Alex said. “And by whose authority?”

“My name is Sehn, son of Suhn, sole heir to chief of Elvar. My father is currently preoccupied, and by the statute which governs an absentee chief, which is every bit the equal of ‘lord’ as you humans call it, I, the Great—I mean, I, Sehn, acting in the absence of my father, the rightful Chief of Elvar, demand my authority be acknowledged by all present.”

The lords appeared taken aback. A few raised eyebrows, and one tapped his chin with his finger. But by far, it was Patrick alone who seemed most surprised, as he went somewhat white in the face, and his mouth fell agape. The man who Patrick had called Lord Kaldor gave a pointed look to Princess Saerina.