Questing Sucks (Book 1) (57 page)

“Yes,” Saerith said. “Please answer, sister. Why will you not assist in our defense?”

Princess Saerina rolled down her sleeve and then hung her arms over the railing, looking blankly into the distance. “If I could tell you, my dear, sweet brother, I would. But I implore you not to waste any more time. The sun is rising, and the enemy readies their attack.”

A nervous pinch traveled through Patrick’s stomach. How could there be so many of them? The front row of black-armored soldiers banged their swords against their shields and roared something in a language Patrick didn’t know. All around the walls, Archers tightened their grips on their bow shafts and readied themselves.

“There he is,” Alan said, pointing. “Look, just beyond the mounted lancers. That’s him, for sure.”

Patrick traced the direction of Alan’s finger with his eyes. The man was just close enough to see the outline of his face, if not the features that covered it. So, that was their commander, Ghell, the man that wanted to destroy Patrick’s city? Patrick exploded with the desire to strangle the man. He wanted to feel Ghell’s neck under his fingers as he squeezed every last drop of life out of the one who threatened his people.

The man, Ghell, did not return Patrick’s furious glare. And with a start, Patrick realized that Alan had been making eye contact with him for several minutes. The two were motionless—Alan, with his hands gripped tightly on the guardrails, and Ghell, clutching the reins of his horse.

There almost seemed to be a wordless communication between the two of them. Saerina and Saerith also watched the exchange, shifting their heads back and forth between Ghell and Alan, fascination plain on their faces.

Patrick’s knees grew weak—his arms grew heavy, but still he stood firm while he waited for something to happen. It bothered him how powerless he was, how useless he’d become. He’d given all control over to Alan Marshall, and now he could do little more than watch and hope.

Please, Alan,
Patrick prayed.
Win this for us. I don’t care how, just win.

After an agonizing few minutes, Alan pulled his gaze away, and a lopsided grin formed on his face. He laughed. “That man is nothing. He’s an incompetent fool.”

“And you know this how, exactly?” Saerina asked “Trust me when I tell you that I can read people well. I’ve taken a good look at this man. He is anything but incompetent.”

“Oh?” Alan said. “Would you like me to prove to you just how incompetent he is?”

Saerina eyed him skeptically. “And how do you plan to do that?”

“Just watch.”

Ghell removed a blade from his side and pointed it towards the city’s walls. Patrick couldn’t hear him from such a far distance, but he could somewhat see the movements of his mouth. “Attack!” the man yelled.

The roar of voices drowned out all else, as the five thousand men that made up Ghell’s frontlines charged forward, followed closely behind by mounted archers, with lancers and spearmen flanking either side. Their blades were held high, and their voices howled their determination. Alan watched all of this while he stood with his hands folded behind his back, not a single trace of fear on his face.

What’s he doing?
Patrick wondered.
Why isn’t he giving any orders?

“Alan!” Patrick cried. “Order our archers to draw arrows, damn you! Hurry, they’re charging us head on!”

“No,” Alan said.

Patrick grabbed the man’s shoulders and squeezed. “What do you mean, ‘no’? Damn you, Alan, they’re coming! Do something!”

“First I need to prove a point to our lovely princess here.”

Saerina snarled. “And what point is that? That you’d like to see us all killed? Do as Patrick says, fool. Order the archers to fire.”

“Nope.”

Saerith drew his blade and pointed it at Alan’s neck. “You ripped up our plans and disrespected my sister, and all of it I tolerated on the assurance of your skill as a commander. But now that the moment has arrived, you…you hesitate? Do something, or I’ll put an end to your life here and now.”

Alan rubbed his hands together. “Just wait for it,” he said. “I do have something planned. Now, kindly remove that sword from my neck, or I won’t do it.”

Saerith looked questioningly at Patrick. Did Saerith think Patrick had any better idea of what to do than he did? Patrick sighed and nodded his head. Saerith hesitated a moment and then slowly lowered his blade. “For the sake of all of our lives, I hope you know what you’re doing.”

Dust was kicked high into the air. Plants and grass were trampled by charging feet. Patrick became aware of his eyes growing moist. What had he done? He should have known that Alan was a madman, and now he would pay for his lack of judgment with his life. What had his father seen in the man? Alan was nothing but a fool. He continued to stand at attention with his hands folded behind his back.

“It’s time to see if I was right,” Alan whispered. He raised his voice. “Runners! Order our men to drop their weapons and open the gates! Have them raise their arms in surrender. Hurry!”

What did he just say?

This time it was Saerith who fell to his knees. Saerina rushed over to support her brother. “Patrick, do something. You must take over. This fool has gone mad.”

The orders were obeyed before Patrick could stop them. The front gates to Hahl were pulled back until they were completely open, welcoming all to enter. The archers dropped their bows to their feet, and the swordsmen did the same with their blades.

Patrick tried to move, but his body disobeyed. What was going on? Did Alan just order a complete surrender? “Alan,” he whispered. “What have you done? Tell me, Alan. Why have you betrayed your kingdom and your people? Were you working with the enemy all along? Have we…have we ever wronged you?”

Alan grinned. “Relax, Patrick. I haven’t betrayed anything.”

“Then why?” Patrick repeated. “Why have you just sentenced us all to death?”

The black-armored men continued to charge, drawing closer and closer to Hahl’s inviting gates. Eventually, they were in archer range, yet none of Patrick’s men held weapons to fire at them. Soon they were in oil range, but none manned the cauldrons to pour the burning liquid on top of them. Finally, the invaders were close enough for Patrick to see their individual faces. There were so many of them. And all that stood against the enemy were a bunch of disarmed men and women with their hands held in the air.

The enemy arrived at Hahl’s gates—and stopped. At first Patrick thought they were merely slowing down, but when none entered the kingdom, he held his breath and watched in silence. Hundreds that became thousands piled up just outside of the front gates. They held their position for a precious few seconds, and then with fear and terror in their eyes, they turned around and fled, running for their lives back the way they came.

“What…I don’t understand.” Patrick whispered. “Why are they running? They’ve just won, and now they’re fleeing? Has someone used magic?”

Alan titled his head back and released the mightiest laugh that Patrick had ever heard from him. “What a bunch of idiots. Hah! I told you this commander Ghell was nothing special. Archers!” he called. “Pick up your weapons and kill as many as you can!”

Now it was Patrick’s men who let loose their battle cries. The archers around the walls bent down and retrieved their bows. In unison, they fired, sending arrows into the backs of the fleeing black-armored soldiers. Men screamed and died as they were hit and sent sprawling to the ground. They ran for their lives and were out of range fast—faster than Patrick thought they’d be—but several hundred were still slain in the process.

Now, the area immediately in front of the gates was filled with the first casualties of war. Dead bodies littered the ground and Patrick looked upon them with confusion and horror.

“Alan, please,” Patrick said. “I am in no mood for your jokes. I thought my heart would fall out of my chest. What did you just do?”

Saerina, to Patrick’s surprise, initiated contact with Alan. She put a finger on his cheek and ran it along his face. “It’s obvious what he did. And yes, you were right, Alan. For the first time in a long time, I was wrong.”

Did the princess just compliment Alan?
Patrick wondered.
Am I hearing things?

Saerith inhaled. “Will someone please tell Patrick and me what happened? It seems like only you two know. What did Alan Marshall just do?”

“He did nothing,” Saerina said. “And I never thought I’d be saying this, but I am very, very impressed, although the entire ordeal was unnecessary. You’ve made your point.”

Patrick moaned. “Oh, for the love of the Gods. What do you mean ‘he did nothing’?”

Saerina smiled—she actually smiled. “Commander Marshall has a reputation for being one of the greatest and most intelligent commanders in your kingdom’s history, is this not true?”

“Yes, of course,” Patrick said. “Everyone knows this, but what of it?”

Saerina pointed at the several thousand fleeing enemy troops, heading back to their line to reform. “You just said it, Patrick. Everyone knows this. Tell me, what do you think went through their minds? When they arrived at this city after marching hundreds of miles, only to find no battle awaiting them, but instead, several thousand men were surrendering without a fight.”

Patrick’s mouth fell as understanding dawned on him. “They thought it was some kind of trick.”

“Ah! Of course,” Saerith said. “They…they couldn’t believe that the notorious Alan Marshall would simply hand over the city. They must have been freaked out by what they saw. They must have assumed they were walking into some kind of deadly trap.”

Rebecca, who had been quiet until then, nodded. “Exactly. commander Marshall told me about this plan of his once, a long time ago. I never thought I’d see him use it, though.”

Alan patted his belly and belched. “Well, Patrick, that’s about five hundred dead before we’ve even started.”

Patrick rubbed his eyes and tried not to collapse under the weight of his own frustration. “You almost destroyed my entire city—to prove a point?”

“Kind of. Oh, and to kill a few hundred of them.”

“They’re not going to be happy about this, Alan.”

“Good, because if they took it lying down, then this wouldn’t be any fun. Hey, princess, can I feel your booty again?”

Saerina hissed. “Try it and I fry you.”

“But it gives me good luck!”

Patrick covered his face so he could shed a tear without the others seeing. How was he supposed to last through this war? He could see the enemy commander’s face, just enough to see the scowl on his face. By now, he must have realized how much of a fool Alan had made of him.

“Helena bless us all,” Patrick said.

Saerith sighed. “Amen.”

Chapter 52: The Shattering of Destiny

 

The men looked at him, and Ghell could see in their eyes the need for an answer. But what was he supposed to say? That he’d been misled? What answer could possibly please them? Ghell, with his giant force bearing down on a defenseless city, foolishly ordering a full retreat. How could he rationalize this to his men?

Gods,
Ghell thought.
He made me jump. He actually made me jump.

The humiliation was overwhelming, even to the point where it overrode Ghell’s natural thirst for blood. He watched in detached fascination as the last of his men regrouped just outside of the enemy’s line of fire, but his eyes focused beyond them, beyond the gates to the city of Hahl. He honed in on the man standing on an elevated platform in the center of the city. From this distance, the man was small enough to register as nothing more than an insect, and yet Ghell could see it. Not with his eyes, but with his knowledge of the man—a look of smug satisfaction on the cocky grin he was sure to be wearing.

It’s just a minor setback,
Ghell reminded himself.
We still outnumber them.

Thinking of which, Ghell wondered what happened to his thousand men sent after the Elves, or the second thousand dispatched to bring back the first. He didn’t wonder for long. With a sigh, Ghell realized that if they hadn’t returned by now, then Alan’s plan—whatever it had been—must have succeeded.

“Sir,” said a voice. Ghell turned to face one of his young, junior lieutenants. A man, no, a boy approached him. His stubble was the only indication he was of marrying age.

“What is it?”

“I just want you to know that for what it’s worth, we all fell for it. To be honest, I was glad when you called for the retreat—we all were. What that man did was too precarious to call a bluff.”

“Don’t patronize me, boy.”

“I-I’m not, sir.”

Ghell growled under his breath and waved the boy off. So, the men felt the need to reassure him, did they? As if Ghell needed someone’s pity! But in a way, he was glad for it. His shame slowly changed back into seething hatred and a lust for blood.

Good,
he thought.
I’m going to rip commander Marshall’s spine from his back and turn it into a ribbon!

“Where is my champion?” Ghell asked no one in particular.

The men stumbled over each other to reply. Ghell had ensured his men knew the price of delay—when Ghell asked a question, anyone with a brain would respond immediately. All the men nearest him attempted to answer at once.

“Quiet!” Ghell snapped. “One at a time, I can’t hear a word any of you morons are spouting.”

Larik
approached with his hands folded behind his back. “Indeed,” the Drashian said. The chatter died down when he spoke. “The Champion is still in his cage.”

“Bring him to me, then.”

“He demands you go to him, actually.”

Ghell kicked the ground and spat. Who did that freak of nature think he was, demanding that he, commander Ghell, answer at his beck and call? Looking over to the gates of Hahl, where five hundred of his men lay dead with arrows in their backs, Ghell pushed back his anger and nodded. He didn’t have time to complain.

As expected, Ghell’s champion was in exactly the same position that Ghell had left him, sitting on his haunches with his elbows on his knees and his chin resting in his palms. His head was turned towards the west, his cat-like eyes glaring at something unseen. A massive sword rested on his lap, balanced on his thighs. He didn’t bother to turn when Ghell approached.

“Commander Ghell,” the champion greeted without turning to face him.

Ghell looked at the champion’s neck and then ran his hands along his side, feeling for the dagger concealed in his robe. How wonderful it would be to plunge it into the man’s neck, to watch the freak bleed out in front of him. Ghell smiled. In that moment, he decided—once he’d taken Hahl, he’d kill the wretched “champion” the Hawk had stuck him with.

“In a few moments, I’m going to order my men to attack Hahl.”

“I seem to remember you saying that once before. How did that go for you?”

Ghell folded his hands to prevent himself from grabbing the dagger and lunging at the man. “I think you know.”

“So, you are ready for me then, are you?”

Ghell nodded. “It would seem that way.”

“Not yet.”

At first, Ghell thought he’d misheard the man. Did the champion just refuse his commander?

“What was that?” Ghell asked. “It sounded to me like you just told me no.”

“I did,” the champion said. “It’s too soon.”

With slow, drawn-out movements, the champion raised his hand limply and then halted once his arm had reached the level of his chest. With an equally slow movement, he lifted a finger and pointed to the west. Ghell peered in the direction and saw nothing.

“What are you on about?” Ghell asked.

The champion—for the first time that Ghell had ever seen—laughed. “He’s coming. He’ll be here within an hour.”

“Who’s coming?”

“Him.”

Ghell closed his eyes in frustration and then reopened them. “Do not play word games with me, champion. Who is coming?”

The champion turned to meet Ghell’s eyes, and Ghell was almost knocked over by the intensity in the man’s gaze. “Count to five, commander Ghell.”

What was he on about now?

“Count to five, you say?”

“Yes. Count to five. Then attack after you see the spark.”

“What spark?”

The champion grinned. “The spark to defy everything.”

 

 

The cheerful mood in the city reinforced Patrick’s opinion of commander Marshall—the man was clearly a genius. The attack did more than kill a few hundred enemy soldiers. It had also managed to raise morale for the kingdom’s forces. Where moments before, archers huddled together on the walls in silence, now bows were held high in the air while men laughed and shouted insults at the invading army.

At the gates, Rillith and his men cheered at the sight of the fleeing black-armored men. Patrick shook his head at all of it. How did something so ridiculous actually manage to work? What surprised him more was the man who pulled it off.

One would expect such a brave and fearless tactician to be standing at attention with a stern look of confidence on his face. Instead, Alan was anything
but
still and confident. In fact, he didn’t seem to care one way or another that his plan had succeeded. He was too busy chasing princess Saerina up and down the walkway with his hands extended, making lewd, squeezing gestures and literally threatening her rear.

“Alan’s gonna get ya!” he shouted, laughing.

The princess backed away with her dagger drawn. “One step closer, commander Marshall, and I’ll cut your eyes out.”

“I’ll make you a deal,” Alan said. “One squeeze for one eye.”

Saerina released a rumbling, almost animal growl. “If you only knew who you were disrespecting, you perverted oath. If you only knew.”

Patrick tried to remind himself that Alan was important, that he was a capable commander with a good head on his shoulders and strong judgment. Yet, seeing Alan chase the princess around in the middle of a war only served to cast doubt on the man’s abilities to lead pretty much anything, let alone a battle.

I’m too exhausted to even care anymore,
Patrick thought.
As long as he does the right thing, he can even chase my butt around…though I desperately hope he doesn’t.

“Alan,” Patrick said. “How long do you think it will be before the enemy attacks? Your little stunt won’t work again. This time, our men had better have their weapons drawn and be ready to defend.”

Alan, who at the time was fighting off a barrage of princess Saerina’s fists, spoke between dodging one punch and blocking another. “Who knows?” he said. “Probably in like, five minutes.”

Patrick exhaled and forced calm into his voice. “Shouldn’t you be back here commanding, then?”

“Probably.”

“Then why aren’t you?”

“Because!” Saerina shouted. “This…this animal of yours will not keep his hands to himself! Perhaps we should have them cut off. He doesn’t need them to command. That, and a select few other appendages, I might add.”

Alan’s eyes widened and he dropped his hands to his groin protectively. “You wouldn’t.”

“Oh, I certainly would,” Saerina said.

Alan huffed but returned to his post. The moment he placed his hands on the guardrail and returned his gaze to the enemy army, his expression lost its playfulness and his eyes hardened.

“They’re regrouping for a charge,” Alan said.

Patrick fought the urge to vomit as he looked at the amassed army. “Do we have any chance?”

Alan sighed. “There’s always a chance, but in our case, it’s not a big one.”

Saerina came to stand between Alan and Patrick. “I will not lie to either of you. By the time this battle ends, you’ll both be dead.”

“Gods, sister,” Saerith said. “Show a little confidence in us, will you?”

Saerina turned to her brother, and for a moment, Patrick thought he saw a tear glisten in the Elven princess’s eye. “You will too, dear brother. But your deaths will not be without purpose.”

What is she talking about?
Patrick wondered.
Does she have that little confidence in us?