The Beginning After The End novel Chapter 468

Chapter 468

Chapter 466: Words Almost Said

SETH MILVIEW

The couple hours after the Wraith’s arrival and Agrona’s message seemed like a fever dream. Lauden Denoir, Sulla Drusus, and the others weren’t the last to succumb to our cursed runes, and there was just no way to come to terms with the person next to you spontaneously combusting in a cloud of their own destructive magic.

Just as there was no way to come to terms with the fact that I was being asked to pick up a weapon and take lives to save my own—the lives of people who Professor Grey had convinced to give us a chance.

We didn’t spring into action immediately. Our people had to be collected from across the borderland—the farthest of which was a journey of a few hours—Lady Seris was receiving our strategy and instruction from Perhata, and we were waiting for additional mages from Alacrya.

Lyra had handed me over to the quartermaster to help distribute equipment, and I was almost glad to be shuffled off to the large meeting hall, out of sight and out of mind, where I stood behind a crate of spears and handed them out one by one to all who approached. In the absence of a need for logical thought, my mind wandered desperately, almost vindictively.

When Circe went to war in Dicathen, she had little choice, but at least she had been a soldier going to war. She’d thought that she was fighting for her home and blood, and that by doing it well she could provide me a better life when our parents couldn’t. But this was different. I’d made friends with Dicathians and had seen the rot at the heart of Alacrya. It would be wrong to take the lives of others just to extend my own. Just because the High Sovereign held a guillotine over my neck…

I glanced at Lyra Dreide, who was overseeing things, encouraging those who hesitated, pushing all to action. Lady Seris and Lyra had seen so much more of the High Sovereign’s cruelty than I ever would, and yet they both chose life. What did that say about them?

What does it say about me? I wondered, handing a spear to a young woman I recognized from Central Academy but whom I didn’t know personally. She nodded firmly and moved on to collect a shield from Enola of Highblood Frost, who was standing grim-faced nearby.

Maybe…maybe it would be better to refuse, like the others. Go up quick, burn out like a candle flame. I felt my throat constrict as I considered it. Not so long ago, I might have welcomed death as an end to my sickness and suffering. Then Circe had succeeded where all other Sentries had failed in charting the elves’ magical forest, and we’d been elevated, and Mother and Father had gone away to establish themselves within Elenoir, and I’d been cured…and had met Professor Grey and Mayla and the rest of the students at the academy.

For the first time in my life, I felt like I truly had something to live for, and yet the cost was too high. How many lives would I have to trade for my own? I bit back a sudden dark, humorless chuckle. None, probably. I wasn’t a soldier. It was more than likely that I’d be cut down in the first minute of the fighting, and I’d die anyway.

That thought brought a sort of peaceful calm with it, easing the tortured ache behind my eyes. I shouldn’t die on his terms. If I have to end, shouldn’t I do so the right way?

I closed my eyes, unresponsive to the line of men and women still waiting for their weapons, and took a deep breath. High Sovereign. I hope you can hear me. If you can, listen very carefully. My name is Seth Milview. My sister was Circe. Silas was my father and Cerise my mother. They have all died for this war, for you, but I will not. I ref—

A commotion from outside interrupted my thoughts. The lines for weapons and armor were breaking apart as people tentatively made their way out into the sunlight, looking around. Enola cast me a dark look and then left her posting.

Curiosity waging a war against the unthought words still burning in the back of my mind, I followed more slowly, almost clinging to the walls, nervous to leave the shelter they provided from the chaotic swell of activity throughout the encampment.

Outside, in an open space near one of the raised fields, several Instillers had set up a large rectangular frame out of some dark material. It was powered by metallic blue wiring connected to large mana crystals. A portal already shined within the frame, and people were beginning to step out.

My heart sank.

I recognized some of them as members of the bloods that had accepted the High Sovereign’s invitation to abandon the rebellion and return to their normal lives, yet they supposedly offered to end the fighting in response to the dragons’ presence in Dicathen.

Those who arrived looked afraid and confused. They were armed much more effectively than our ragtag collection of weapons and armor, but they utterly failed to maintain any semblance of order. Seris, shadowed by the Wraith, Perhata, attempted to maintain at least a bit of organization, offering the force’s leaders quick instructions about where to go and how long it would be.

But I didn’t take in any of her words. My focus—my entire consciousness—honed in on a single point.

Even with her long brown hair hidden beneath a leather helm, Mayla was unmistakable. Her bright eyes, wet with tears and crinkled in worry, shone like beacons through the press of bodies that surrounded her. She clutched an oversized pike close against her chest, the sharp tip pointing straight up into the air, and she looked around her with obvious terror.

Breaking into a run, I pushed my way past other people, barely registering that they were just as out of place and uncomfortable as Mayla, trying to reach her. She was being pushed along with her battle group within a larger patrol of mostly young Alacryans, none of whom I recognized aside from her. I searched their faces for an older girl who looked like Mayla, but no one matched that description. Although it wasn’t much to be relieved about, at least it seemed as though her sister hadn’t been sent as well. As an unadorned, it was unlikely that Loreni would have survived even moments in battle with Dicathian mages.

“Mayla!” I shouted, waving one hand over my head. “Mayla, over here!”

She frowned, her neck twisting this way and that as she searched the milling soldiers for who was shouting. Through a gap between two huddled battle groups, her eyes met mine, and she broke down into sobs.

I burst through the others and had to reign myself in so I didn’t knock her down when I ran into her. Still, we came together like storm-tossed waves against seashore cliffs, knocking a struggling breath from both of us. A breathless laugh wheezed through Mayla’s crying, and I choked on the many competing emotions tumbling through my own chest.

A heavily armored young man who was a foot taller and a hundred pounds heavier than me grabbed Mayla’s shoulder. “Back in line, Fairweather, we need—”

Despite his obvious physical advantage, I pierced him with a white-hot glare, and he jerked his hand away as if he’d been burned, regarded me uncertainly for a couple seconds, then shrugged and rejoined the rest of the battle group.

“Vritra, Seth, what’s going on?” Mayla asked after a few more long moments, her voice strained. “What are you doing here?”

“Didn’t they tell you where you were going?” I asked.

She shook her head weakly. “We’re in Dicathen, right? We…we were all rounded up and brought to Taegrin Caelum. I thought they were going to kill us! And they did…a few, anyway. When they said they wouldn’t fight. Because that’s why we’d been gathered together—to be armed and sent to fight in Dicathen.”

I was shaking my head in disbelief. “It’s worse than that, Mayla. The High Sovereign, he’s searching for Professor Grey. That’s what we’re doing: fighting our way across Dicathen to search for him. And if we refuse…” My eyes narrowed, a hot blade of anger cutting through the confusion of all those other emotions. “He’s turning the runes against us, Mayla. Burning us up with our own magic.”

She somehow paled even further, her eyes flaring. “That’s not…”

“It is,” I assured her desperately. “He can sense it in us, that hesitation and refusal. If you even think you aren’t going to follow him, he’ll scorch you from the inside out.”

I quickly explained everything that had happened, my will to refuse service waning. Mayla grew more shocked with every word and was left empty and drained by the time I’d finished. Unexpectedly, she suddenly brightened as some thought struck her. “But Professor Grey…Arthur Leywin. He can fight back against Agrona. If we do find him, we can—”

I shook my head frantically and squeezed her hand tight. “Don’t. Don’t even think about it. Whatever happens or doesn’t, just focus on fighting our way through to the professor. That’s it.”

She seemed hesitant. “But what if…” She swallowed, clearly not wanting to finish the sentence.

“We’ll take care of each other,” I said firmly, trying to believe it. Even if I had been ready to make that decision for myself, I couldn’t ask Mayla to do it too. Neither could I take the easy way out and leave her to fight and maybe die in this battle, alone. “We’ll form our own battle group and do what we’ve been told in our own way.” I was scrambling, searching for any path through this, but I was careful to control my thoughts. I wasn’t refusing service, and neither was Mayla. We are complying, I thought forcefully.

Holding her hand, I began pulling her away from the lines of Alacryans still filing through the portal, and I had another revelation. Seris and Lyra…they aren’t fighting back against these orders because…they can’t ask us all to sacrifice ourselves. That was it, that was the trap. Even those of us who wouldn’t fight to save our own lives would for our bloods…our families…the people we—my eyes jumped to Mayla and away again even more quickly—loved.

“Where are we going?” Mayla asked, stumbling along beside me.

“To find the rest of our battle group,” I explained firmly, searching the crowd for familiar faces. When I caught sight of who I’d most hoped to see, I waved. “Enola!”

Enola of Highblood Frost was easy to spot; her golden hair practically glowed in the sun. She was standing with some members of her blood, but thankfully her intimidating grandfather wasn’t present. They all turned to look at me when I shouted her name, and I felt myself shrinking as my steps faltered.

Enola said something to the others, then broke away and marched swiftly toward us. I stopped, glad to be able to speak out of earshot of her blood.

“What is it, Seth? Shouldn’t you—Mayla!” Enola regarded the other girl skeptically. “Is it true, then? They’re forcing everyone associated with Lady Seris to fight?”

Mayla filled Enola in on what she’d experienced, adding a few details that she’d omitted previously—like the pile of bodies that retainer Mawar used to make an example of anyone too frightened to comply with orders, or the fact that she was basically kidnapped from her own home by a couple of goons, leaving her mother and sister screaming after her. It wasn’t just those who had walked away from Seris’s rebellion in the Relictombs that came through the portal, however; their entire extended bloods—at least, those who were mages—were forced to fight as well, and many residents of Sehz-Clar who were only tangentially connected to the rebel forces had been caught up in this too.

“Vritra’s horns,” Enola cursed, her nostrils flaring. “All this for what? A wild woggart chase through Dicathen for the professor? I can’t believe that after everything, I still ended up fighting in the High Sovereign’s armies. Professor Grey, he said…” She trailed off and shook her head slightly. “Nevermind. So what is it you want from me?”

I cleared my throat and shuffled uncomfortably. “I…well, Mayla and I have no blood here. I haven’t received a battle group posting, and she is placed with strangers who don’t know her and whom she can’t trust with her life. We’ve trained together, and we all know what’s happening. If we stick together…”

Enola stare was intense and even a bit intimidating, but when I trailed off, she didn’t hesitate to answer. “My blood has formed battle groups of their own, but I wouldn’t see the two of you cast off. I’ll join you. Together, we can keep each other alive and proceed with this ‘mission’ in a way that will not stain our honor.”

I breathed a sigh of relief. “Oh, thank you.”

Mayla practically fell forward and wrapped her arms around Enola, making the other girl look extremely uncomfortable. “Thanks,” she let out through a choked sob, then pulled away and cleared her throat, standing a little taller. “Thank you,” she said again more firmly.

“I’m a Striker, obviously, and Mayla, you’re a Sentry?” Enola asked. When Mayla answered affirmatively, Enola inspected me closely. “I can’t seem to recall talking to you about your runes or training, Seth. What role do you fill?”

I rubbed the back of my neck nervously. “I’m…flexible. It seems like we need a Shield most, but I can work as a Caster as well.”

Enola blinked. “What do you mean?”

Someone began shouting behind me, and I flinched instinctively. Irritated with myself for my skittishness, I forced myself to straighten. “My emblem is a bit more flexible than most, I guess.”

Enola’s light brows rose, but her eyes flicked past me, prompting me to turn and look.

“—simply unfair! A rotting branch is reason to prune it, not to rip up the entire tree by the root and cast it into the fire.” A young woman with brown skin and dark eyes was making a scene. Lyra was cutting through the crowd toward her.

I didn’t recognize the woman, but I did know two of the people who surrounded her, clearly her blood. Director Ramseyer attempted to speak to her, trying to assure her of something, but she was refusing to look at him. As startling as it was to see the director here of all places, though, seeing Valen standing several feet away, his arms crossed and back to his blood, a horrible scowl on his face, was even more so. But his eyes were red, and his dark skin wan and almost sickly looking, and I immediately felt a pang of worry for him.

Lyra raised her voice as well, pointing at the Ramseyer blood accusingly, when Valen noticed me watching him. He cast a disparaging glance over his shoulder and marched quickly away from the commotion, which had gathered quite a bit of attention.

“You were aligned with Lady Seris?” Enola said in disbelief bordering on disgust.

“Of course not!” Valen snapped with his usual superior air. “But my cousin, Augustine, failed to hold some city against Arthur Leywin, and my grandfather hired him and gave him significant support before his identity was revealed, and that is apparently all it takes to damn our entire blood. Sending an eighty-year-old man into war on a moment’s notice, can you imagine? The High Sovereign has lost his Vritra mind.”

“Well, you’re with us now,” Mayla said with a weak smile.

She reached out her hand to Valen, and the simple gesture was enough to crack his stone-carved exterior. He took her hand, outwardly relieved.

We filled Valen in on what we knew and had planned, and his face grew stony and distant again. “That makes sense. Looking at how disordered this rabble is, no one will think to counter us. Not the most battle-tested of groups, but if we stay close to the Ramseyer and Frost bloods, we’ll be well protected.”

“While ensuring we adhere to the letter of the High Sovereign’s commands!” Enola said quickly, her voice growing momentarily thin with nerves as her eyes cast about like she expected to find the High Sovereign hiding in the shadows watching us.

“Then we have our battle group,” I said with a firm nod.

Enola and Valen left to inform their bloods of their intentions while Mayla and I shuffled out of the bustle. An awkward silence fell between us, swallowed by the greater noise of the preparations. Mages continued to file through the portal for a few more minutes with varying degrees of disorientation and resistance.

My thoughts were a complicated muddle, and I could feel the same from Mayla. We held hands, but I found it difficult to look at her, dressed in her leather and chain armor, the runes on her back proudly displayed. Her jaw was rigid with tension, her eyes downcast.

We’d been so close to a different life, but I felt like I’d woken up from a dream all of a sudden, and the worst thing was that I couldn’t even trust my own mind not to betray me. I had to keep my thoughts ordered and marching in neat little rows, carefully skirting around any rebellious intentions.

I squeezed her hand. “We’re going to get through this.”

She tried to smile, but the expression didn’t reach her eyes. All she managed for a response was a weak nod.

Enola returned first, grim-faced but set on her path. Valen was there a minute later, his gaze distant and haunted. We didn’t speak, only watched as people much older and more frightened than us struggled to follow orders and organize into battle groups. At length, the Instillers deactivated the portal, appeared to work on changing the settings, and then reactivated it.

“How do they know where to send us?” Mayla asked.

I thought perhaps it was a rhetorical question, but I’d overheard the Wraith explaining to Seris earlier, and so I answered. “The dragons have apparently all been drawn to the place where our world connects to theirs. We’re being sent into a city called Vildorial. They’ve deactivated their long range teleportation gates and even most of their local gates, but apparently this new technology can search out and link to any active portal. All we need is for them to miss even one of the portals, and we can connect and infiltrate the city that way.”

“And have they?” Mayla said. “Missed one, I mean?”

Valen gestured to the freshly activated portal and the Instillers gathered around it with Seris, Lyra, Highlord Frost, Highlord Denoir, and a number of other ranking Alacryans, all under the watchful eye of Perhata. “Seems they must have. I doubt there was any question. I don’t know anything about this city, but it seems unlikely the High Sovereign would have left such a thing to chance. Not for an operation of this scale.” _{freewebnσvel.cøm}

Suddenly Lyra’s group was breaking up, and someone sounded a signal. Group leaders were shouting orders, battle groups fell into line, and my heart began to beat rapidly.

Enola, I noticed, was looking away from the portal. I followed the line of her gaze to a large group of children being monitored by a handful of unadorned—who couldn’t, lucky for them, be forced into this war by the threat of their runes, since they had none.

When I looked back, Lyra was marching straight toward us. I straightened nervously.

“You’ve found some people you can trust to have your back, that’s good,” she began without preamble. “Place yourselves near the middle of the line if you can. Avoid being on the front line, but being too near the rear could result in you meeting an already-engaged Vildorian defensive effort. Don’t be heroes, but…” She paused, rolling her words around in her mouth. “This thing we must do…there is no reason to make yourselves villains, either. Trust that there is more to all this than what you can see, and protect yourselves while being true to what you believe. The world has changed a lot in the last two years, for all of us. Don’t despair that this change will result in nothing but a reversion to the worst of us. Understand?”

A chill ran up my back. Although Lyra’s words were directed to all four of us, her eyes stayed on mine the entire time. I nodded weakly. “Of course, Lady Lyra. And…thank you, for everything.”