Questing Sucks! Book II (60 page)

“I understand that,” Calen said, “and I’d like to get there just as much as you, my prince, but there are quite a few of them here.”

“And how dangerous are they to us, exactly?”

“Fatal.”

“And how many are there?”

“They don’t usually crop up in great number like this. They’re widely spaced apart, and so, if we’re particularly unfortunate, I’d guess we might hit thirty of the plants depending on how spread out they are around this path. If we’re lucky, there’s always a chance we might not walk over any. But I’d count on at least twenty of them becoming active if we try to lead our men through here. Both horse and rider would likely die. These things…they are bigger than you think, and they can eat quite a bit.”

Saerith narrowed his eyes as though in surprise. “You mean to tell me you want to divert our entire army just to avoid twenty or thirty of these ‘dangerous’ plants?”

“Yes, absolutely. They will kill our troops.”

“But only twenty or thirty of them.”

“That’s still over twenty lives. And for what? Just to save an hour or two?”

“No, Sword Calen.”

“No?”

Saerith dismounted his dray then moved to stand beside him. He peered off into the distance, where the trees became greater in number and just out of sight was the beginning of Elvar’s territory.

“We need every last bit of time to prepare that we can get. Every second is precious to us right now.”

“Yes, but we’d only be saving an hour or two in return for what could truly be twenty or thirty lives.”

“How do you know for sure they will die?”

“I don’t. I assume a few will break their backs and end up paralyzed.”

“Can’t we burn these plants?”

“Well…yes, I suppose, but that requires first luring them out. It would take even longer than—”

Saerith held up his hand, and Calen stopped speaking. “I will give the order so you don’t have to,” he said. “Remember: we have a newfound asset that works off time and opportunity. If we give him enough of a chance to prepare, we will make the Hawk suffer greatly for the coming destruction of Elvar.”

The prince’s words sent a painful ache racing through Calen’s heart. He knew that, beyond all doubt, Elvar was going to fall to the Hawk. The idea of an elven city burning to the ground was enough to make him bite his lip just to contain his anger. What made it so much worse was that no one seemed to be able to tell him who the Hawk was, why he wanted to destroy Elvar, or even what his purpose was for doing any of this. Why would
anyone
go as far as the Hawk was going in order to gain more power? Did he even have a reason for any of this?

“Sister, are you okay with my decision?” Saerith asked.

“I am,” Saerina said, still seated atop her mount. She did not look down at him while she spoke, her eyes drifting off towards something unseen. “Do whatever you feel you must.”

Calen frowned. “You don’t seem to be paying much attention to things these days. Are you unwell, sister?”

“Unwell?”

Saerith nodded. “Yes, unwell.”

“No. What makes you think such a thing?”

“For the past few days, whenever I try to speak with you, there are times when you ignore me or only pay half attention. I worry about you.”

“There is little cause for you to worry yourself. I am not unwell. It is a simple matter of having my sights set on something else for the time being.”

“Something else?”

“Yes, something of great interest.” The princess smiled. “I am enjoying this immensely. It will be interesting to see how it ends.”

“To see how what will end?”

At this, she finally made eye contact with her brother. “On second thought, I think you should take the alternate pathway.”

“Why?”

“To spare a few lives, but also so that I can narrate it to the two of you during the few extra minutes we’ll have on our way back to Elvar.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, sister.”

“I don’t either,” Calen said. “Narrate what to us?”

Saerina tugged on the reins, and her horse spun around. Without looking behind at them, she said, “Return to your horses and travel alongside me. I will explain it to you then, and it will quickly make sense.”

With a shrug, Calen said, “I guess we’re taking the alternate path, my prince.”

“I suppose we are, Sword Calen. Come, let’s hear what my sister has to say. She seems unusually excited today.”

Calen nodded, remounted his horse, and together with the prince, he caught up with Princess Saerina. She waited for him to issue the orders necessary to divert their forces, and then, once they had resumed their trek to Elvar, she began her explanation as promised.

When she did, Calen did not bother to ask how she knew what she knew—how she could
see
what she could see. He did not doubt her, though. No, not Princess Saerina. He had now spent enough time with her to know better than to call anything she said into question. As difficult as it might have been to believe, if the princess claimed that what she was seeing was true, Calen would take her at her word.

“And then what happened?” Princess Saerith asked after she had gone silent.

“I’m waiting to see that.”

“This is happening
now
?”

“Yes. As we speak.”

Saerith grinned. “Well, keep talking. Even if you have nothing new to tell us, keep describing it as it happens. It is…interesting, to say the least.”

“Very well.”

As Princess Saerina continued, Calen let his mind leave these plains and drift off to the place she described to him. For the next few hours, he was able to forget the coming destruction of Elvar as well as his own problems. And for even that little bit of distraction, he was truly grateful.

Cah’lia knew that prejudice was often the cause of people wrongfully judging one another, and though she had always tried to live her life free of it, she was definitely not exempt from its bitter influence. This was made abundantly clear to her as the High-Mages led the five of them into the city square, where she spotted the massive crowd awaiting them.

Very quickly, it dawned on her that she’d been sorely mistaken about the people of Magia who’d come here, the sheer number of which astounded her. There were hundreds of them if not near a thousand. Without a doubt, Archmage Duncan had gotten the turnout he’d been after.

Judging from attire alone, most were ordinary citizens, and assuming those who wore the more elaborate robes were mages, only a few were mixed in with the rest of the bunch. But mage or not, they all shared one common trait: they were
nothing
like what Cah’lia had imagined they’d be.

“Why are you slowing down?” High-Mage Ammecia asked. With a grunt, she shoved Cah’lia, causing her to stumble her way forward a few steps. “Keep on walking and don’t stop unless I tell you to.”

“I’m going as fast as I can,” Cah’lia said. Despite the ache in her ankles, she hobbled her way onwards, not wanting to be shoved again. She found it degrading.

“Well, it’s not fast enough.”

Unsurprisingly, the city square was similar in appearance to the shape of a square. The exception was its northern-facing side, which was curved, wider overall, and allowed for a few dozen small trees to decorate what was otherwise the only open, flat, and spacious area on the island platform. Thanks to the abundance of structures packed into such a relatively small mass of land, walking through the streets had induced a growing feeling of claustrophobia. If Cah’lia had come here as a guest rather than a prisoner, the city square would’ve been a refreshing change of scenery.

Aside from an enormous wooden stage that looked specifically erected for the coming executions, the locals themselves were the only other thing in the area filling up any space. From the moment Cah’lia caught sight of them, she could tell they were angry: very, very angry. The mass of them stood just behind a series of thin, chest-high metal barricades, which in addition to a company of unarmed guards were all that was keeping them back. Cah’lia doubted the rusty barricades would hold under pressure. If just a few of these people were determined enough to get through, then they would most certainly succeed in knocking it down—and the guards along with it.

A bit beyond these barricades, Duncan stood on top of the stage, already waiting for Cah’lia and the others ahead of their arrival. His back was straight, and he held his staff firmly in his right hand with the base of it resting against the stage’s wooden surface. Fanning out to both his sides were several more mages. Cah’lia supposed that, together with the five High-Mages escorting her, the ones on the stage with Duncan numbered among those he most trusted.

As they drew nearer, the Archmage spotted them coming and glared at them from out of his terrible, hate-filled eyes. He extended his arm, raised his finger, and pointed to them. It was in this moment that many in the crowd spun around and first noticed them approaching from behind; it was also in this moment that Cah’lia began realizing just how wrong she’d been.

Up until now, she’d assumed that the citizens of Magia would look forward to the day’s spectacle with great eagerness; she’d thought they would cheer, clap, and shout horrific, vile words of hate while they delighted in the suffering of others. She’d imagined they’d be bloodthirsty—that they’d throw stones, glass bottles, or other sharp if not lethal objects at the five of them. Cah’lia had even accepted the possibility that she or one of the others might die before the executions had actually begun if the crowd got too out of hand. Now, however, she understood that her prejudice had led her judgment astray, and she’d been totally off base.

I completely misjudged them all
.

The enraged mob who’d flocked to the city square did in fact
do many of the things that Cah’lia had assumed they would. They shouted wildly, they threatened the guards, and a few threw stones at the stage. They also became markedly more agitated once they’d spotted the High-Mages leading her and the others to the execution platform. They began hammering their fists against the cheap, rusted barricades, adding a constant loud banging noise to the sound of their voices; others raised their hands defiantly in the air and yelled harsh words of protest.

This behavior was just as Cah’lia had anticipated it would be—but with one glaring, ever-important exception. And it was one that served as the sole reason she’d been so terribly wrong about the people of Magia. Because while it was true that the locals had formed into exactly the sort of feverish mob she’d been expecting, she now saw that they had not done so out of contempt for her and the others. Their purpose in coming here, contrary to what she’d believed, had
not
been to enjoy watching them die.

All it took was the sight of the stones lobbed at the Archmage—none of which managed to reach him—for Cah’lia to discover who it was these people
actually
wanted dead, and it was not her or her friends. No, the overwhelming hatred of nearly a thousand angry citizens was focused solely upon Duncan and upon him alone. It was the Archmage whom they directed their combined vitriol. And now that Cah’lia and her small group had been dragged into their view, their outrage grew exponentially.

“Tell us what they’ve done!” a man shouted from within the crowd, his voice just managing to rise above all the others. Even as one of the guards placed their hands on his shoulders to keep him back, he continued to press forward and yell at Duncan, who peered down at them all from his place on top of the stage. “Under what lawless God do you now serve, Archmage? You cannot execute these people without a trial! It is forbidden, it is…it is
murder
!”

The mob of angry Magian natives roared their agreement. “Tell us what they’ve done,” another man demanded. “What gives you the right to shed their blood in
our
name? May you be cursed and stricken blind!”

“And look,” an elderly woman said, pointing her finger at Shina and prompting all those nearest her to turn their heads. “That one there is just a child. Duncan is going to kill a child. Murderer! Animal! He’s a disgrace to Magia and her people!”

“And she’s one of our own, too,” said a man who wore the robes of a mage. “Duncan is going to murder one of our own!”

“Three of our own,” a woman said. “Look at those who follow behind.”

Even more voices entered the growing storm of dissent after Kellar poked his head out from behind Patrick and grinned at them.

“
Two
of them are children!” came the shocked, incensed voice of another mage. “How can Duncan do this? How can he execute the children of Magia? That savage creature.
He
should be the one to die.”

“
Death to the Archmage!
” the mob chanted, the sound of their voices followed by loud bangs as they slapped, punched, and kicked at the barricades. “
Death to the Archmage! Death to the murderer!
”

As the five High-Mages ushered them closer to the stage, both mages and non-mages alike began reaching out as though to grab them, many with tears in their eyes. Quite a few offered impassioned, heartfelt apologies on behalf of Magia.

“I am so sorry, little one,” an old man said with a whimper. He stood up on his tiptoes so that he could reach over the barricades and gently pat Shina on her shoulder. “My dearest girl, I beg that you forgive us for what we have allowed ourselves to become.”

The outrage was so great that an entire company of more than a hundred guards had been called in to maintain control of the crowd. Spread out evenly on the opposite side of the thin, fragile barricades, they struggled to keep the agitated citizens from getting any closer to Duncan and the stage just beyond them. As things were, the people of Magia looked more than willing to storm their way over to Duncan and attempt to put a stop to him themselves.

Cah’lia noticed that the guards, too, were sympathetic. Judging from the way these blue-coated men and women seemed unable to meet her eyes, she imagined that it was not out of love for Duncan that they fought so ardently to hold back the crowd, but rather a genuine concern for their safety. This, she could understand. After having seen the Archmage in action twice now, she was sure that Duncan would have no qualms about killing his own people if any got in his way. The fact that Shina, Orellia, and Kellar were about to be executed was proof enough of that being the case.

“Faster,” Ammecia said. “Walk faster!”

As if made nervous by the seething hatred coming from the furious locals, the High-Mages each grabbed a part of the chain link and began dragging the five of them with a greater sense of urgency. Cah’lia struggled not to fall over, as she was limited in how quickly she could move while shackled.

Fighting to stay on her feet, she made her way beyond the sympathetic crowd and towards the few steps leading up to the stage. One of the guards addressed her as she passed him. He was a young boy, just a few years beyond puberty, and he removed his headgear while he spoke to her. “My apologies for this, ma’am,” he said. “But the Archmage is just too powerful and this is now all we can do to keep our people safe from him. I am truly sorry.”

Cah’lia nodded in understanding. It amazed her that just one man, acting alone and with such meager support, could do all of this. A single individual…and yet not even an entire city could stop him. Why had the Gods allowed someone so awful to wield such tremendous power? The kind of power that had allowed the lone Archmage to singlehandedly overthrow a ruling body of powerful mages and besiege an entire population.

Maybe the Gods are ignoring us
, Cah’lia thought, her body beginning to tremble. Only now did it begin sinking in that, in just mere moments, Orellia, Shina, Patrick, and Kellar would die while she was made to watch. Part of her could not bring herself to accept that this was happening: that this was real. How could she? How could
anyone
cope with the reality of what was taking place here? It defied rationality.

And it’s all the doings of one man: one deranged, impossibly powerful man
.

Cah’lia panicked as they reached the foot of the steps. With a sharp gasp, she realized she’d momentarily forgotten to keep breathing. One of the High-Mages mumbled something, and the shackles around her ankles fell away and vanished, leaving nothing behind and letting much-needed blood circulate back into her tingling feet. Then he nodded his head at the top of the stage.

“Go. Move.”

She placed her left foot on the first of the steps, but for some reason, she could not lift her right leg. Her knees began bending, and it was then she realized that fear had weakened her. She lacked even the strength necessary to climb a few steps.

The High-Mage, apparently short on patience, again grabbed the chain connecting her to the others and began pulling her up on his own. Cah’lia had to hop on one foot to follow after him without falling over.

“No,” Shina’s voice pleaded from behind her. Cah’lia stole a quick glimpse over her shoulder. Shina had stopped on the second of the eight steps leading up to the stage. “No, please…no.”

She too was pulled along, as was Patrick, who suffered from the same hesitation. Only Kellar and Orellia made their way up without one of the High-Mages needing to drag them. Knowing what came next, Cah’lia failed to control her emotions as she’d promised herself she would, and though she did not outright cry, dampness formed in her eyes. Everything had gone wrong in the worst way possible—and it was all her own fault for being so stupid.

Once she was up on the stage and near enough to the Archmage that she could be sure he’d hear her voice, she tried to reason with him. “Duncan! Don’t do this to them. You can still stop this. Please!” To both her anger and humiliation, Duncan did not respond or even bother turning his head her way. “You don’t have to do this to them. You don’t!”

Without ever directly setting his eyes on her, he ambled over to where she stood with the others, the stench of him strong enough to make her gag. He grabbed her by the chain around her neck and mumbled something—most likely a spell—that severed it and broke her link to the others. Then she once more found herself forcefully pulled along, but this time it was away from her friends and closer to the center of the stage. The act of being led like an animal turned some of her fear into fury. Did he think he would get away with this? Did he know how good it would feel to put a dagger in his back? If only she could. She would
gladly
put an end to this monster.

“This one will not be executed with the others,” Duncan explained to the mages on the stage with him. There were seven of them in total—twelve now that Ammecia and her group were up here too—and each submissively bowed their heads. “Once this is finished,” he continued, “one of you must take her to the Hall of Governance. Commander Ghell is waiting for her there, and he is losing his patience.”

“Understood, Lord Duncan,” the shortest and ugliest of the High-Mages said. He was a small, pudgy little man with a disfigured nose and a crooked grin. “I’ll take her there myself.”

Duncan gave him a curt not, then added, “Try not to speak or make eye contact with Commander Ghell. He is suffering from the same ailment as me, but where decades of intense magical study have sharpened my mind to the point I can stem off any deterioration, I’m afraid Ghell is steadily descending into madness. His brain rots along with his body, and he may just kill you if you upset him.”