Questing Sucks! Book II (74 page)

“Hah! Look, people of Magia! The Archmage kisses my divine ass!”

Duncan’s eyes flared with rage, but it had finally reached the point where Sehn had him completely outclassed. Without his precious little staff, there was no fight left within him. Sehn could see that now. And so, all at once, he ceased battering the fool and then looked off to Estelle, giving her a nod.

“The time has come!” he announced. “Minion! Give me a blade.”

Estelle had just finished conjuring another sword, which she sent at him. He snatched it out of the air, gripped it in both hands, and then placed the edge of it against the Archmage’s throat. Those watching from behind the barricades lost all sense of control and actually began jumping up and down while pumping their fists in the air.

“
The Great Sehn is the world’s greatest hero!
” they screamed.

“
Kill the Archmage! Kill the tyrant!
”

“No!” Sehn shouted to them. “It is a far greater punishment to let this one live with the knowledge of his defeat.”

With a twirl of the summoned blade, he slid it into the sheath at his side. This seemed to confuse nearly everyone watching him, including even Duncan himself, who likely would have asked him why he was stopping but could do no such thing seeing as how Sehn had punched the mouth off his face.

Cah’lia’s voice chimed in soon after, as did Patrick’s, Orellia’s, Shina’s, and even the majority of the crowd: all screamed at him to kill the Archmage. To end it now. To be done with it. To slay him where he stands for all of his crimes.

“Sehn, what are you waiting for?” Cah’lia shouted. “Kill him!”

“Why’s he hesitating?” Patrick asked. Then with a gasp, he added, “You can’t be serious, Sehn.”

“Do you know what’s going through his head?” Issius asked, alarmed. “Why did he stop?”

Rather than answer, Patrick continued shouting at Sehn. It was becoming annoying, truthfully. Since when did Patrick think he could order Sehn around? Since never, that’s when.

“Patrick! Cease giving me orders!”

Even as Issius and the other High-Mages made a fuss, demanding both that Sehn kill Duncan and that Patrick explain why Sehn was refused, Patrick spoke to him and only to him.

“This is
not
a human life you are sparing. Duncan has already died. Just look at that thing! It’s missing its mouth, its nose, half of its head, and a hand, and it’s not even in any pain. Do not treat it as you would a living being. I implore you: end it now or
I
will.”

At this, Sehn spun his head in Patrick’s direction and snapped at him. “Do not even
think
to undermine me, Patrick, or you shall find yourself stepping in here to face me next. The Great Sehn hungers for more combat!”

Patrick opened his mouth to reply, but he coughed out something indiscernible as Cah’lia shoved him aside and stormed her way across the stage. “Cah’lia, what do you think you’re doing?” Sehn demanded to know.

She didn’t reply. He even turned his back to the Archmage, confident that he was no longer a threat, and then moved to position himself in front of her. But she simply glided around him, then past him, and made her to the Archmage.

With a precision, speed, and ruthlessness that Sehn knew would haunt his dreams, she raised her dagger, ran it across his neck, and then jabbed at him a few times in the back of the head. She worked quickly, efficiently, and in just after less than ten seconds had passed, she pulled his head completely off his body, and all without saying even a word to Sehn, who felt himself numbing at the sight of her brutality.

What am I feeling?
he
wondered.
What is this awful sensation?

It only worsened as she moved to the edge of the stage, her eyes cold and dark, and then from one of the few bandages still attached to his skull, she dangled his head in the air, holding it up for all to see. Behind her, the Archmage’s corpse tumbled forward and then dropped down flat on the stage.

Then there was cheering. So much cheering. Feeling pressured, Sehn raised his hand high in triumph. Though as much as Sehn tried to delude himself into enjoying their love and adoration, even going as far as to smile and laugh proudly to them, he felt a deep sickness enter into his belly and it was all he could do to stop himself from vomiting.

The joy was so immense, and it was everywhere. Sehn had never seen so much happiness from so many people. Issius, Bennet, and Uramore patted him on the back, called him a hero, and swore that his tale would be told for generations to come. Shina boasted about how she was his sister, Orellia smiled at him, Patrick also smiled, albeit somewhat sadly, and Kellar grinned at him, nodding his head when Sehn looked his way.

Amid the chorus of rapturous glee and unending words of praise, there were only two beings aside from himself who neither smiled nor contributed to the festive atmosphere in any capacity. The first was Estelle, who held onto his neck as though hugging him. She was so small that it was like having a child’s hand on his throat.

The other was the Champion, who appeared even more somber than he usually did. Once the High-Mages had finished swarming him and assuring him that their fallen comrade’s sacrifice would not have been in vain, the Champion made his way over to Sehn and placed a hand on his shoulder.

“It is…difficult for you to understand,” he whispered, his words clearly intended as a statement and not a question.

“It is,” Sehn agreed.

“What you are witnessing…is reality.”

“I don’t understand it at all. He was beaten.”

“He was a murderer. And…a threat. But you saw it. Didn’t you?”

Sehn nodded, even as he struggled to fight back the emotions from the part of his soul that plagued him the most. He waited a moment before he continued to speak to the Champion. He wanted to be sure that no one eavesdropped on his conversation. But just to be certain, he moved to the back of the stage, leading his minion there with him. Estelle stayed behind and introduced herself to Patrick and the others, who seemed both delighted and surprised to meet her.

Many voices filled the air, and many even yelled loudly about how they would “return shortly” and that they were “going to bring the finest ale in Magia.” Apparently, they planned to burn Duncan’s corpse while throwing a celebration of some kind, and indeed, word of Duncan’s death spread quickly. Within ten minutes, more people trickled in, and Sehn had a fairly strong sense that, before an hour’s time had passed, the entire city square would fill to its maximum capacity as the celebrations began.

They all love me,
Sehn thought,
so where is my pleasure? Where is the feeling of greatness? This is what I have waited my life for. Curse me! Why do I not enjoy it?

Alone with the Champion, Sehn looked over his shoulder to check one last time that there were no people near enough to hear him, and then he answered the Champion’s question.

“I did see it,” he admitted. “The Archmage was afraid. He was not so fearless after all.”

“This…surprises you?”

“It was only for a moment, but when Cah’lia went to him, I could tell that knew what she was going to do. And I could also tell that he did not want to die.”

“No one does.”

“So why did she do it?”

“Because…he was wicked.”

“Why does she celebrate it? Why show joy?”

“Because…he was wicked.”

“You say that, but it means nothing. If the deed is done, then why express such pleasure? It feels wrong to me. I cannot explain it.”

“This, master…it is because humans, dwarves, and elven kind are all tainted with the stain of impurity, and you…are not one of them.”

Sehn laughed. “This is no time for flattery.”

“And this is no time…for denial.”

Sehn had no idea what he was trying to say, and to be honest, he could not bring himself to care at the moment. There was a pain in his heart that did not seem to be lessening, but only growing ever more rapidly as his mind played Cah’lia’s brutality over and over as if to torture him.

He knew his sadness was only because that was supposed to be
his
kill to make, and she had deprived him of it. Yes, that was what this was. She had denied him the delicious satisfaction of ending Duncan once and for all. This was one of the few ways in which ruthless Gods like Sehn became heartbroken. Even still, the questions continued to plague his mind. Why had Cah’lia done it? Why had she not spoken to him first? And how much of this was his own fault?

With a snap of his fingers, Sehn called upon his gryphon, and in short order, it descended upon the stage one last time. Sehn hopped on its back, eager to spend some time alone. Initially, he had intended to bring Cah’lia to Nero and Rina the moment this had ended, but in all her savagery, Cah’lia seemed to have forgotten about them. With a look over his shoulder at her standing there at the edge of the stage, displaying a human skull as though it were some sort of trophy, he shook his head, then gave Sehn Two a pat on the back of his neck. As the beast lifted off into the air and the wind washed over him, he knew that the queasiness in his belly had little to do with the sudden increase in speed and altitude.

Once he was alone in the sky and without anyone nearby to see him, he chuckled at his own stupidity. How could he have ever believed, if even for a moment, that today might have ended any differently?

“I knew you’d come up here,” he said, realizing he was not as alone as he thought he was. “So, how do I put you away?”

“Huh?” Estelle asked.

“Bennet’s minion disappears until called upon.”

“Well, I don’t.”

Sehn was too exhausted to argue. The energy he’d felt all throughout his fight with Duncan had vanished at some point during the last few minutes, and now his shoulders slumped, his breathing increased, and he needed a nap.

He patted his head, indicating for her to grab onto him. “Hang tight, Estelle.”

“Gyahh!” she chirped. “I love, love, love when you use my real name, yep-yep-mhmm. Where’re we going?”

“You’ll see.” Affectionately grabbing his beast’s ear, he tugged on it, and said, “Sehn Two, let’s fly somewhere relaxing for a change.”

Elvar loomed in the distance just as Saerina finished her tale.

Calen had forgotten how much he missed home: how much it felt good to be back. The familiar smells, the familiar people, and the comfort that only home could bring. These things contrasted heavily with the knowledge of what would be upon this city in not long at all.

No one spoke for several minutes after Saerina had finished her story, which she’d claimed had taken place at the very moment of her telling. Saerina was silent as well, and so was General Alan Marshall, who’d finally decided to show his face a bit earlier; first, it had been to bug Saerina, but when he overheard her tale, he grew interested and decided to hear it all out. He must’ve found it just as intriguing as Calen did, too, because not once did he try to sneak away to score some ale.

“Saerina, tell Great Sehn it’ll get better over time,” he said, the first to break the silence.

Saerina glared at him. “I cannot ‘tell’ him anything. He is very far away in a distant land.”

“Whoah, don’t get so testy, my elven beauty. I didn’t know it doesn’t work that way.”

Even despite the frown on her face, there was a twinkle of amusement in her eyes, one that faded abruptly after Prince Saerith let out a sad exhale and slowed his horse as they approached Elvar’s gates.

“He really
doesn’t
understand, does he, sister?”

“No, he does not.”

“This Duncan, he sounds like a monster to me.”

“He was.”

“And he was rotting away.” With a grimace, Saerith rubbed his fingertips together as though imagining something disgusting had come in contact with him. “Necromancy is a foul thing indeed. Does it upset you that Sehn feels as he does, sister?”

Saerina did not reply, which was typical for her, but what Calen found surprising was that Alan chose to answer for her instead, but not before belching, scratching his patchy face, and letting out a lazy sigh.

“You have to understand people like Sehn,” he began. “They don’t like killing. Don’t matter if it’s an Archmage or a Magi-whatever.”

“I disagree,” Saerith said, speaking up. “Based on what I recall of our elven friend, I think it more likely that what upsets him is the way they celebrate the Archmage’s death.”

“Bah, I think it’s in the killing itself,” Alan said. “Sehn doesn’t take me as the kind of lad who cares much for the fine details.”

“Or maybe,” Calen spoke up, becoming somewhat uncomfortable as all three of them turned their eyes on him, “maybe it’s the exact opposite of what you said, General Marshall.”

“What do you mean?”

“Maybe it’s the lack of details. Maybe he wonders why the Archmage became what he was, or what drove him to fight so hard for power and control.”

“Those are simple questions,” Saerina said, once more becoming the focus of attention. “Archmage Duncan died several months ago in a battle with the Hawk.”

“Sister, how do you know this?” Saerith asked her.

Rather than answer, she shifted her eyes in his direction, narrowed them, and then he fell silent after issuing a short apology for interrupting her.

“He thought himself greater than he was,” she continued, “and with a single utterance of a single spell, the Hawk pulled his soul from his body and returned it to him only under the condition that he serve faithfully and truly, else his body would rot away and become a festering corpse.”

“But his body
was
rotting away. At least that was how you described it.”

“Indeed it was, brother. Because while he served truly, he did not serve faithfully. Neither of the two dead men have done so. What motivated Duncan was a love for his homeland, albeit misplaced, and what motivates Ghell is something far more confusing that I dare not attempt to explain.”

“Speaking of Ghell,” Calen said, “can you see what happens to him?”

“See? No. I can’t. But I know where he is, and it is not in Magia.”

“But I thought you said—”

“Yes, he was awaiting Cah’lia in the Hall of Governance. But he is crafty. Perhaps the craftiest man…well, I hesitate to say alive, but you get my point. He has ways of knowing things, ways that I cannot speculate on. He likely escaped the moment things began looking bad for Duncan.”

“So what happens now?” Saerith asked.

“Isn’t it obvious?” Saerina put her legs over the side of her horse and then dismounted from her saddle. “Now we prepare to defend our city. The Hawk’s army approaches. Commander Marshall?”

“Yes, honey bunch?”

“Try not to drink yourself silly. These people need you.”

He blew a kiss in the air. “I promise!”

With a silent oath to Helena and a smaller one to Raurum, Calen swore that he would give his life if it meant saving the people of Elvar. But before he made his way inside the city, he said one more prayer: this one for Sehn. He hoped that the elf would find peace in his heart. It was likely that they would never again meet one another. Not that Sehn had ever particularly liked him, though.

Very early the next morning, Calen joined up with Saerina, Saerith, and Alan and, together, the four of them made their way to the small, plain, but functional hut on the outskirts of the city that Chief Suhn used when wishing to speak privately to a small number of people. He was already waiting for them by himself, and the moment of their arrival, he gestured for each of them to be seated.

“Princess Saerina,” he said, bowing his head to her. “Prince Saerith.” Both returned a slight nod and were then seated. “And Sword Calen,” he finished.

Calen bowed his head, being of lower rank. “Chief Suhn.”

“Please, have a seat.”

Calen did as he was bid and then sat himself down next to Alan, who mumbled a disrespectful, barely audible greeting that Suhn thankfully allowed to slide. Now that they were all together, the meeting commenced.

Here we go
, Calen thought.
I’m not looking forward to this.

“Everyone, I know that these are the most unfortunate of circumstances for us to come together,” Suhn began. For the first time that Calen could recall, there was true pain and uncertainty in his strong, proud face. “I know that my city is likely to soon fall under siege. But I want to assure you all that I am willing to fight until the very end.”

“That won’t be necessary,” Saerith said. “You will not sacrifice yourself needlessly. I aim to save as many of our people as possible, yourself included.”

The two began to argue with one another, though it did not elevate to the point it became heated. During this, Saerina, for some reason, leaned over and whispered a few words to Alan, who tilted his head to the side and mouthed the word “really?” Then she nodded, and he scooted his chair over just a bit to the left as though to avoid something.

“I understand your concerns, Chief Suhn, but as prince, that is an order.”

Suhn meekly bowed his head. “I understand—and I obey.”

Saerith smiled at him. “Don’t worry, Chief Suhn. In the name of Helena I swear that before you must withdraw, you’ll get the chance to kill as many of the—”

An explosion and a blast of heat brought an immediate end to Saerith’s words, and before Calen could understand what was happening, the entire roof of the hut blew off, followed by a blinding light.

“THE GREAT SEHN HAS COME FOR YOU, HAWK!”

Without rhyme or reason, an elf in teal-colored robes leapt off the back of a freakishly huge white gryphon and brought his sword crashing down on top of the table in the center of the hut, destroying it and adding another loud bang to the sudden explosion of sounds.

“Where is he?” the elf roared. “Show me where this fucking Elvar-attacking fool has chosen to hide himself?”

“S-Sehn?” both he and Saerith blurted out together, while Alan laughed loudly to himself.

“Son?” the chief said disbelievingly. “Gods, my wish has been granted! All I wanted was to see my son one last time, and here you—”

There was a thwack as Sehn’s hand raced across Chief Suhn’s face. “How
dare
you speak to me this way, father?”

His face reddening, Chief Suhn let out a sigh and muttered, “Maybe that was a really foolish wish to make after all.”

Sehn paraded around the mostly destroyed hut, his blade raised and his eyes scanning the small space within. His gargantuan creature, meanwhile, hovered in the air above him, flapping its wings and causing dust, pieces of straw, and every manner of debris to scatter about.

Then there was more loud noise as, for a reason that Calen could not even begin to guess, Sehn attacked the walls, the floor, and almost took off his father’s head while he swung his flame-covered sword at just about anything. While this was happening, a tiny little creature that resembled a female of some sort but with wings chased after him and begged him to “stop being rude.”

“Gods be damned!” he shouted. “Where in the
fuck
is this coward hiding?”

“You are right on time, Sehn,” Saerina said.

On time?

Sehn looked over his shoulder at her and scowled. “You told the great I that the Hawk would be attacking my city. Where is he? Tell him to show himself.” A vicious grin formed on his lips. “Clearly, he knew that I was coming to destroy him, and so now he’s hiding. But where? How about…
right over there
!” Sehn threw out his palm and muttered words that Calen had never before heard, using some sort of magic to blast away whatever remained of the hut so that, now, lacking a table, a roof, or walls, they had gone from having a private meeting to being a bunch of dust and debris-covered elves—plus Alan—sitting in chairs outside under the hot mid-day sun.

“I see you’ve learned a few new spells, my son,” the chief said proudly.

“Yes, indeed I have. Count yourself lucky I have not come for your head and your city just yet. Soon, father, I shall slay you and become the chief of Elvar.”

“Ah, Sehn,” Prince Saerith said, his voice so full of shock that it came out broken and high in pitch. “I don’t mean to…to disrespect you, but aren’t you supposed to be Patrick’s problem now? To what do we owe this honor?”

Sehn turned his eyes on Saerith, who then sighed and raised his palms as if unwilling to get into it with him.

“Wise choice, Saerith. You do not wish to discover what I do to disobedient princes. Now, tell me where the Hawk is. Tell me immediately! If he does not show himself in the next five minutes, I shall begin fucking up everything at random until there is no Elvar left for him to destroy!”

“He’s not here yet,” Alan said, snickering.

Sehn scratched his head. “Wait, seriously?”

“Yep.”

“Oh.”

The three-minute pause that followed was so awkward that it manifested itself as physical pain. Calen sat there under the hot sun, surrounded by pieces of the recently destroyed hut, genuinely uncertain of whether or not Sehn’s arrival here would make things better for them or guarantee that they lost the coming battle.

Finally, after the silence became unbearable, the troublemaking elf broke it. “Sehn Two!” he called.

“Mooph!”

“You shall take me to my divine one-bedroom apartment. I have missed home so terribly, but only because I enjoy terrorizing it and
not
because I want to sleep in my own bed again. But before I go.”

The world turned upside down, and Calen felt a sharp stabbing pain in his back. He realized he was now staring up at the sun, and that Sehn had ripped the chair right out from under his arse.

“This is a nice chair,” Sehn explained, “so I am taking it. Also, I broke your sword. Oh, and suck a Cockalith.”

With those few words, he left them there in the rubble of the hut while he flew away on a giant beast that Calen had never seen before but had heard of in a story told to him the day before. In other words, Sehn had returned home to Elvar. Hopefully, he didn’t poison the water supply this time.

The End.