Questing Sucks (Book 1) (64 page)

“It appears so.”

Saerith hopped into the saddle then extended a hand. Patrick grinned and grabbed hold, and the Elven prince hoisted Patrick up beside him.

“This is suicide,” Patrick said. “This is a terrible time for us to be mounted. I mean, you may as well paint a target on our faces.”

“Don’t worry, I can use my magic to cloak us and turn us and the horse invisible.”

Patrick’s mouth fell open. “Really?” he whispered. “You can do that?”

Saerith snorted. “No, of course not. If I had such a power, I’d have assassinated Ghell the moment the battle started.”

Patrick laughed along with him. “Good point. The battle’s gone to my head, sorry.” He put his hands on Saerith’s shoulders and grabbed tightly. “Let’s do it, then.”

Saerith nodded then tugged on the reins. “Yah!”

The horse took off at a full gallop, and Patrick reinforced his grip on the Elven prince. Speed and surprise were everything. Patrick kept his head low and prayed to all known deities that the horse would be able to safely break through.

The wind hit Patrick’s face and dulled the sounds of steel clashing and men shouting. Black-armored soldiers halted when they saw Patrick and Saerith rushing through them. Some drew their weapons and attempted to strike, but they were too slow, and the animal sped past them before they could so much as fully turn. Others, in the direct path of the horse’s sprint, jumped out of the way and rolled on the ground.

Patrick didn’t need to see the crossbows to know they were being fired on. He heard the release of the bolts from their catch. Miraculously, none found their targets. One came close enough that Patrick could feel the wind of it graze his neck.

Saerith kicked the animal yet again and the horse picked up speed. Ahead, Patrick spotted Kellar and the Champion fighting. It was true what Saerith had said. Now, Patrick was near enough to see the boy more clearly. Though the look of sly confidence remained on Kellar’s face, his arms dripped with sweat and his blade seemed to glow less brightly. He held his ground, but the boy was visibly weakening.

The Champion, still attacking in the same downward smash, bludgeoned the boy’s weapon repeatedly, each attack generating another of the meteor-like stones. There was an animal lust in the champion’s eyes, and he attacked over and over, unwavering in his attempts to slaughter Kellar.

Patrick noticed a blur in the corner of his vision and then shouted to Saerith. “Watch out!”

Saerith drew his blade with one hand while keeping his other firmly on the reins. He sliced an approaching rock that was only moments from crashing into his face. He cleaved the stone into two halves and then wiped his forehead with his wrist.

“Thank you, Patrick.”

The horse took a sharp left to swerve around a clutter of Kingdom men fighting back a greater number of invading soldiers, and Patrick came close to falling off the mount. More crossbow bolts were fired, and only the sudden change in direction saved their lives.

From the look of things, the mage-boy continued to weaken. The Champion bludgeoned him again, and this time, Kellar took a step back—it was the first time either of them had moved their feet for several minutes. The Champions’ mouth curved into a wicked smile, and he whispered, “You weaken, boy.”

This time, there was no pause in the fighting as the man’s ominous, ever-present voice reached the ears of everyone on the battlefield. He moved forward and attacked a second time. Kellar raised his blade and blocked, but again he was forced another step back, and then another. For the fourth time, the Champion went after him, and Kellar was brought to a crouch, and then to his knees.

The Champion attacked again with a seventh blow, and Kellar’s sword left his grasp and landed on the grass. Now he was defenseless. The Champion raised his blade and licked his lips, ready to end the life of the mage-boy.

We’re not going to make it,
Patrick thought.

“Saerith! Do something, anything!”

Saerith nodded and extended his palm in the direction of the two battling mages.
“
Mallos
Salas!”

A bolt of lightning left his fingers and struck the Champion. There was a bright flash of light and the ground lit up around his feet, setting the grass around him on fire. Yet the man remained unharmed. He still stood over the boy with the blade clutched high over his shoulders in both hands, moments from making the killing blow. He held the position, craning his neck and narrowing his catlike eyes on Saerith and Patrick. The attack didn’t even make him twitch.

The moment his eyes fell over Patrick’s, it felt like the breath was stolen from his lungs. A near overwhelming sense of doom exploded in Patrick. He was going to die. This man was going to kill him. What could he do? What…

“Snap out of it,” Saerith said. “Don’t be intimidated.”

Easier said than done,
Patrick thought.

Saerith didn’t wait for the horse to get close. He leaped off the mount, leaving Patrick alone in the back of the saddle. Saerith landed on top of the champion, bringing his sword down the rocky blade. When the two collided, there was no reaction other than the Champion taking a single step back. Kellar, on shaking, dirtied arms, crawled away slowly and retrieved his weapon. Patrick tugged violently on the horse’s reins, and then hopped off the mount before it fully stopped moving. With blade in hand, he rushed to support the Elven prince and the mage-boy.

The champion lifted his chin and smiled. “Three of you now, yes?” he whispered. “It makes…such little difference. Destiny is little more than words carved into stone, unchangeable but for those with the will to defy it.”

What nonsense was the man on about? Patrick fluttered his head and filtered out his nonsensical dribble.

Patrick knew he was out of place. Even if Saerith’s magic was considered weak by comparison, at least he could use it. And Kellar, though worn, was sure to put up a better fight than Patrick. Still, he assumed an attacking stance and extended his arms, holding his blade forward in both hands.

Saerith chanted.
“
Mallos
REHL!”

A bolt of lightning came from the cloudless sky, and with a loud crackle, it hit the top of the Elven prince’s blade. Lightning danced and twitched over the steel, and Saerith twirled the sword in his hands, each rotation giving off an electrical hum. He attacked first.

Saerith rushed at the Champion, and Patrick waited behind for a moment and observed. It seemed like any time two blades covered in magic clashed, there was always some kind of reaction. Saerith twisted his body as he swung, attacking the Champion’s right side with a powerful, cleaving strike. As expected, the Champion lowered his blade and parried. The only reaction was an uncomfortable flash of brilliant green light.

Sighing in exasperation, Patrick charged. He added his flurry of attacks to those of Saerith, and together, the two assaulted the Champion. Patrick lashed out, attacking as fast as he could. But even with his and Saerith’s quick combinations, the Champion managed to block each strike with relative ease. And if that wasn’t enough, not a single droplet of sweat fell from his impassive yet twisted face.

Ducking under the Champion’s counterattack, Patrick bent his knees and jumped to the side, rolling on the ground and rising back to his feet in a guarded stance. Kellar, breathing heavy and clutching his blade, struggled to stand to his feet. Patrick didn’t think there was much good that the boy could still do. It seemed he was more burnt out than Patrick had originally thought.

Patrick pivoted on his foot from behind the Champion and struck at the man’s back while Saerith attempted the same from his front. The Champion jumped, flipping backwards into the air and landing softly on the grass. Patrick yanked his arm back to prevent himself from accidentally skewering the Elven prince.

Kellar, on trembling knees, awkwardly stumbled forward and tried his luck against the Champion. His blade was no longer alight, and his arms looked like they could barely support the weight of his sword. The nonstop beating from the Champion must have exhausted his muscles.

Patrick and Saerith joined the mage-boy, and the three of them attacked from all sides. The Champion grinned. “Is this…all?” he whispered.

First, he darted forward and head-butted Kellar, sending the mage-boy to his back. He about-faced. Patrick aimed for his legs while Saerith aimed for his throat. In a single, unexpectedly powerful slash, the Champion not only managed to block both of the attacks, but he knocked Patrick’s steel and Saerith’s sparkling blade out of their hands.

The Champion approached them, slowly, menacingly. He inched his head towards the ground where the two weapons lay together, forming into a cross. “Pick them up,” he whispered.

Patrick didn’t care why the man would display such an odd act of arrogance, but he’d take any opportunity he could get. He dove at the ground, rolling over the grass while picking up his blade. He jumped back to his feet with the weapon in hand.

Saerith, on the other hand, backed away and leaned down slowly. When he retrieved his blade, he looked down at the weapon with disgust on his face, as if it were rotten meat.

“This is pointless,” Saerith said. “Patrick, we need to retreat and find another way. This way lies only death and defeat.”

Patrick held out his weapon defensively and kept his eyes on the Champion while he responded. “I don’t think we can outrun this guy. Besides, I won’t leave the child here to die.”

The Champion eyed the two of them with a blank expression. “If you two run,” he whispered. “Do you think I would bother to chase? Look around you.” The champion inhaled in a slow, raspy breath. “Your forces are being overrun. If I don’t kill you here, then the men will kill you inside your city’s walls. What difference does it make to me?”

Patrick began to turn his head and then stopped, catching himself before he dared to look away from his enemy. But the Champion nodded and lowered his blade.

“Go ahead, look.”

Patrick again started to turn his head. He was hesitant at first, but then, allowing curiosity to get the better of him, he turned his back to the Champion. For a reason Patrick couldn’t explain, he knew the Champion wouldn’t attack him from behind. It was as if his life was of so little interest to the man that the effort required wouldn’t be worth the result. In a way, it grated Patrick.

Am I that insignificant?
Patrick wondered.

Facing the battle, Patrick struggled to keep tears from forming in his eyes. The words the Champion spoke were the truth. Patrick’s honorable soldiers, the noble men and women that had given everything to defend their homes, were clearly being overrun due to nothing more than greater numbers.

The black-armored corpses far outweighed those of the Kingdom Soldiers, Elves, and farmers, but regardless, Hahl’s defenders were being pushed closer and closer back towards the city. The battle was as good as done.

“Saerith,” Patrick said. “You should get on your horse and ride back to Helena. Evacuate your city. This is over.”

Saerith’s face tightened and his body tensed. “And what will you do?”

Patrick spat on the ground and pointed his blade at the champion. “I may as well go down fighting. What else can I do?”

Saerith laughed. “Oh? And on the day that I die a natural and comfortable death surrounded by my loved ones—tell me, Patrick. What should I say to Helena when she asks me, “Why, Saerith, did you abandon Prince Patrick?”

Patrick shrugged. “Tell her your death would’ve been pointless and nothing more than stroking your ego.”

Saerith lowered his eyes. “I’m many things, but I’m not a coward.”

The Champion stood still while the two argued, and Patrick became certain—the man really didn’t care. That was the reason he’d let them escape. Attack, flee, or stand before him and bicker—to the Champion, Patrick suspected it was all the same.