Questing Sucks! Book II (53 page)

“As I was saying,” he continued. “If anyone is foolish enough to speak an ill word about the Great Sehn’s minion. Well, let’s just put it this way.”

Sehn bent down, removed David’s sword from out of its scabbard, and then placed it into his own; it felt good to have a blade at his side again.

“I will personally sever your heads and drink the blood from your skulls. This desert of red can easily become an even darker shade of it.
Am I understood
?”

Sehn made sure to look each one of these idiots in the eyes, and what he saw within each of them was a newfound respect. Not one built on admiration, but on fear, which was good enough. In fact, he wouldn’t have it any other way.

With that matter settled, Sehn looked over his shoulder at Rina, atop of which sat Estelle, who seemed to like perching herself on people’s heads. She was blushing for some reason, and she looked far too happy for Sehn’s tastes.

“Wipe that smile off your face, minion.”

“Okay, okay.”

“Good.”

“You are now my creation. And you will obey me.”

“We’ll see about that.” She giggled.

“Yes. Yes we will.”

Issius and Archmage Bennet exchanged a look with one another. It was Issius who ended up speaking.

“I can’t say this was what I was expecting from you, Sehn, but I am sure…I’m sure it’ll all work out in the end.” Sehn glared at him, and he was quick to defensively raise his hands and explain himself. “By that, I do not mean to imply there is anything wrong with your greater summon. It’s merely that I did not expect your soul to produce something of that nature. It just goes to show that there is an interesting dichotomy between what we see in someone and what is inside them.”

“Indeed there is,” Sehn agreed, “and should you utter another unpleasing word, I will draw my sword, and we’ll all see what’s inside of
you
. Now, get on your hands and knees and dig yourself a grave to bury yourself in, mortal. The Great Sehn demands tribute.”

Issius took a moment to wave down the High-Mages who seemed poised to attack Sehn at any moment. Lowering his voice, he said, “I could do that if you wish…or, I can teach you some magic.”

“The destructive sort?”

“Of course. Just like we planned.”

Sehn pointed at him, and as though all his pent-up anger had been channeled into his finger, it began to shake violently. “If I use your magic, and I end up in a desert, then you are as good as dead.”

“I…don’t understand.”

“You don’t have to understand, fool! But my warning stands. Should I end up casting one of your spells and it teleports me to another desert, I will return sooner or later, and I will make you rue the day you were born.”

“Very well. I assure you, Sehn, there will be absolutely no…desert teleporting.”

“None?”

“Zero.”

“I’m serious,” Sehn said. “If there is literally one single desert teleportation involved in your magic, then I will find you, bring you to it, and bury you alive in it.”

Issius raised his hands defensively. “Please, Sehn. I give you my word as Holy Magus. There will be zero desert teleportation spells.”

“Good…good.”

Now, it seemed, they were finally getting somewhere. It was about time. Sehn shrugged at the Holy Magus. “For your sake, this magic had better be worth it.”

“Oh, I think you’ll be pleased with what we have for you. If we had more time, I’d teach you even more. For now, though, I think five or six very powerful ones will do. But first, may I ask you something, Sehn?”

“Go on.”

“Have you ever wanted to capture an entire city?”

Sehn knew how foolish it was to allow his eyes to shine like a child being asked if he’d like a new toy, yet he failed to contain the excitement he felt as the Archmage’s words registered in his brain.

“Is that…a serious question?” he asked, hoping it was.

“Well, when the time comes to escape this dimension, we will most likely reappear in Magia.” Issius took a deep breath. “And I need your help recapturing it. I am willing to pay you any amount you wish. But at any cost, I must—”

“I require no further details! If you are offering me the chance to actually capture a city, then you need not say another word.”

The Holy Magus smiled. “Wonderful. So, I guess I only have one more question, Sehn.”

“And that would be?”

“Are you ready to learn how to destroy?”

“Destroy what?”

“Anything.”

Sehn grinned and rubbed his hands together. “Yes, Holy Magus.”

“Oh? So now you’re respecting my title and calling me Holy Magus?”

“I shall call you whatever you want—just give me the power that I crave. The Evil Dark Lord of Magic thirsts for it.”

Issius opened his arms wide and laughed. “Then you shall have it.”

At the rate things were deteriorating, Patrick had to work overtime in just finding a reason to keep breathing. It occurred to him as he sat at his desk in his personal quarters, eying a bottle of brandy he’d thus far resisted the temptation to pop open, that it really was all over for him—for everyone, really. The end was on its way, and it could no longer be stopped.

For the first time in his life, he was without a backup plan—or even a path to follow. There was no longer anything to chase after. No, all of that was gone now that Sehn had died. The world was doomed, and no matter how much Patrick struggled, he could not think up a reason to keep fighting. And why should he? Why even bother? Without Sehn, it was impossible to emerge the victor in the war against the Hawk, which meant that human, elven, and dwarven kind alike would perish in the coming days.

Patrick scratched his chin; his face itched to the point of agony. He had not shaved once in the week since Sehn had been killed before his eyes. He had not shed any tears thus far, either, as the numbness would probably take months to wear off, and only then would he feel pain as the reality of everything sank in. Although, in a few months’ time, the Hawk would likely have severed his head and mounted it outside of his father’s throne room, so he might be spared the grief after all.

It’s too much
, he thought.
I can’t deal with it
.
It’s all become too much
.

The moment of Sehn’s death, Patrick had snapped. After everything he’d endured, this had finally been the thing that had broken him. Even while it was happening, he’d been caught in some kind of trance. He’d remained completely motionless while Sehn’s body had vanished before him—likely turned to dust by whatever wicked thing the evil mage had done to him. Once Sehn faded away, Patrick had merely spun around, and without so much as a word to Cah’lia or the others, he’d marched by himself back to the late mayor’s mansion, entered into his quarters, and there he had remained ever since, not once leaving his room. Meals were brought to him three times a day, and he would open his door to retrieve them only after
the halls had been cleared.

I am a coward
.

Patrick had no idea how Cah’lia or the others were holding up, though it was not for a lack of caring. It was simply that he could not bear to see her grief—nor the grief of Sehn’s younger sister, Shina. Cah’lia was likely devastated; between losing Sehn, Nero, and Rina, Patrick could not imagine her pain, and merely thinking of it made him restless.

His chair creaked as he got out of it and walked to the right-end wall of his quarters, where a portrait of his younger self mounted atop his first steed—a gift from his father—reminded him of better times. Then, life was easier. In those days, visions of the world in flames did not ward off sleep. There were no nightmares to haunt him and no invading armies to conquer: there was only him and his chestnut gelding, a delicate beast he’d ride through the forest.

He chuckled softly—and bitterly—as he recalled Sehn’s reaction when they’d met and he’d told Sehn this story. He remembered with perfect clarity how confused he’d been when Sehn, this strange elf, had actually taken offense to his tale, then forbade him from ever taking “delicate bitch strolls” through the forest ever again, claiming that to do so was actually a personal attack against him. Oh, how that had confused Patrick.

I’m sorry
,
Sehn
, he thought.
It happened so fast
.
There was no time to stop it
.

He evaluated himself in the mirror near his dresser on the opposite end of the room. With a disgusted grunt, he noticed that he somehow managed to look an even bigger mess than he felt. Not only did he need a shave, but his hair needed a trimming, his clothes needed changing, and he likely smelled quite foul, as well. He had not bathed since Sehn’s death; he could not make himself care enough to bother. He’d asked for complete privacy, threatening to harshly punish anyone who disturbed him. That was why, as a knock now came from his door, he frowned in both confusion and irritation.

He froze in place, wondering who would dare disturb him after he’d been
very
clear in his request that no one come see him—not even in the event that the kingdom fell under attack, something that, only a week ago, would have been enough to rouse him from a coma.

A second then third round of knocking caused him to hold his breath. Whoever this was, they were persistent. Couldn’t they take a hint? He hoped they would give up quickly and leave him in peace. He needed to be alone now. He needed to be left to rot in his own little hell until finally the Hawk came for his head.

The knocking stopped, and Patrick released his breath, then breathed in again slowly through his nose. This was unfortunate, because it enabled him to smell himself. He was disgusting—as un-princely as it got. Whoever had been trying to visit him should only realize how fortunate they were that he was unwilling to answer their call.

I need to lie down
.

As he made his way back across his quarters, beyond his desk, and to the adjoining room where his bed awaited him, he wondered how long he would sleep this time around. Perhaps the only positive thing to happen this past week was catching up on his sleep. He was now more than caught up, actually. When not moping around or eating, he was sleeping, sometimes for twelve, thirteen hours a day. That was his life now: eat, sleep, and sit at his desk while staring lifelessly at the ceiling.

Patrick crawled into his bed, slipped under the covers, then moaned as the knocking on his door resumed even as he was shutting his eyes. Why wouldn’t whoever this was just leave him alone? Also, why were they knocking so loudly? Maybe if he ignored it, it would stop on its own. And just where were his guards, anyway? They were supposed to turn away anyone who came to him. Could they not even do something as simple as that?

Patrick closed his eyes and tried to filter out the incessant rapping:
bang
,
bang
,
bang
. He was tempted to scream at them to go away, but doing so might make them knock even more loudly under the notion that they’d already caught his attention.

For close to a minute, the repeated knocking tested Patrick’s threshold for annoying, repetitive sounds—especially those made while he was trying to rest. Even smothering his ears with his pillow did not drown out the repeated banging, which only seemed to grow louder and more frantic the longer he ignored it. Finally, when he could take no more, he crawled out of bed, hobbled across his quarters, and angrily tore open the door to his room.

“What in the name of the Gods is so important that you—?”

Patrick lost both his voice and his breath when he saw who stood waiting for him on the other end of the door. “Cah’lia,” he whispered, barely able to speak. “Is that really you?”

“It’s me,” she said. “And I need to talk to you. It’s important.”

Suspicious by nature, Patrick wondered for a brief moment if this was some sort of trap or a dream. It was a ridiculous thing to suspect, of course, but he was so puzzled by her appearance that the idea she could be an imposter or a nightmare seemed more plausible than the real Cah’lia standing here in the hallway outside of his quarters.

Yet as shocked as he was to find her here, her presence alone was not what confused him most. No, even stranger was the sight of two incapacitated guards who, from the looks of things, she’d knocked unconscious.

At least that answers my question about what they were doing while she was rapping away on my door
.

He wasn’t sure what to make of things, but clearly, something very significant had happened for her to come see him. As he took a careful look at her, he realized that, on second thought, the two unconscious guards were still not the oddest thing about her being here. Instead, what struck him above all else was something far simpler and far more meaningful: her calm, composed appearance.

She did not look like a woman in the process of grieving for Sehn and the two children. If anything, she seemed just as—if not more so—put together than she always did. She wore a snug-fitting blue tunic, beneath which she no doubt concealed a few daggers, and the tightness of her dress forced Patrick to shift his legs to better conceal
his
. Her eyes were fierce: resolute. And when she regarded him, they warmed somewhat, but only for a moment. They soon regained their ferocity.

“Come in,” Patrick said, backing away a few steps then gesturing for her to enter. Without a word, she strolled inside, then stopped a moment to close the door, saving Patrick the trouble of doing so himself. She turned her head his way, but she did not look directly at him while her eyes scanned the room. Patrick stiffened in embarrassment as she must have seen the mess he’d made of the place: his bed unmade, dirty dishes all over the floor, and the foul smell in the air.

“Cah’lia, forgive me, but I did not expect you to come here. I expected you to be…”

“Grieving?” she asked, catching him off guard.

“Well…yes, actually.”

“I was.”

“You
were
? As in past tense?”

She nodded, then made her way farther into the room, darting her eyes around as if worried she was being observed.

“We’re not being watched,” Patrick said. “Gods, where exactly do you think you are?”

“I’m just making sure. Patrick, there’s a reason I’m here.”

“I can gather that. What’s going on?”

Cah’lia looked at him, and her face turned deadly serious. “Sehn isn’t dead.”

The words pierced his chest like an arrow. Patrick gaped at her, unable to respond or even form basic sounds. For just an instant, he felt a rush of excitement shoot through him. But it did not last. It was merely the effect of her sudden, unexpected claim; it was the result of her speaking aloud what he desperately wished but knew could not be true. And so, this short-lived bout of hope went out like the tide, leaving him even more hollow in its wake than he’d felt before her arrival.

Calmly, he whispered, “Oh, Cah’lia. I’m so, so sorry.”

“Stop.”

“Please, sit down. I’ll get you something to drink. Just wait here while I—”

“Stop!”

Patrick froze. He smiled at her, though on the inside, he was beginning to feel the pain he’d rather have put off for a while yet. Cah’lia, this poor soul, she…she believed Sehn was still alive. No wonder she was not grieving. She had not yet come to terms with it.

“I know exactly what you’re thinking,” she said. “And you’re wrong. Sehn is alive. I swear in the name of Goddess Helena.”

Once more, the same flare of hope burned in his chest. And just like before, it extinguished quickly. It amazed him how much he wanted to believe it—just how willing he was to accept it as fact and cling to whatever hope remained in this world. But the sad truth was that Sehn was gone, and he was never coming back.

“Cah’lia,” Patrick began, uncertain as to how he should proceed. “The thing is…I understand that—”

“He didn’t die, Patrick.” She reached out and grabbed him by his wrist, her grip tight. “Look at me. Patrick, look at me.”

He met her eyes, and in them he could see she was devoutly convinced that she spoke the truth. This, despite having seen for herself what’d happened when the terrible Archmage’s spell had struck Sehn. Everyone who’d been there had seen him disappear—everyone had heard his last words…as undignified as they’d been. Did she not remember? Or was it that she could not bring herself to accept the memory of Sehn’s demise as being real.

“You don’t believe me,” she said. “I can tell that much.”

“It’s not that I don’t believe you. I believe you’re speaking the truth, Cah’lia. It’s just that—”

“He’s in another realm.”

“Yes,” Patrick replied softly, nodding. “He’s in another realm. A beautiful realm.”

Of all things, Cah’lia grunted, and in a way that came across to him as sounding more annoyed than sad. Had he been too insensitive?

“Patrick,” she continued, “
he’s
literally
been transported to another realm. The Archmage didn’t kill him. He sent him somewhere else: a place where he’s alive right now. He’s trapped in another realm with Rina and my little brother. I can only imagine how angry and miserable he must be.”

Patrick studied Cah’lia’s eyes, searching to see if she was beset with madness. She didn’t appear to be. Then why was she saying these things? They couldn’t possibly be true, could they? Of course not. So why did she speak with such certainty?

As much as Patrick tried to prevent it, excitement stirred inside of him. It was a vague but growing feeling of hope that he did not want to allow himself to feel, as he knew it would only lead him to disappointment. Letting himself believe Sehn was still alive just to discover that he wasn’t…that would be the worst torture.

“Even if what you say is true, how could you possibly know this?”

“Good question.”

Cah’lia took one more look around the room. She was either being overly paranoid or whatever she had to say was of extreme importance. So Patrick kept quiet and waited for her to continue while he fought with himself not to become hopeful. He knew he was going to lose. Even before Cah’lia began speaking, there was a tugging on his heart: a desperation that drove him to
want
to believe and
want
to hope despite realizing how foolish it was to do so.