The Beginning After The End novel Chapter 470

Chapter 470

Chapter 468: Manaless

CAERA DENOIR

The palace was abuzz with activity, which was no surprise. Slightly more surprising was the fact that no one had told me to get out or tried to clap me in irons yet, but I was thankful they hadn’t. They needed the information I could provide because I knew what was coming.

In the unplanned-for absence of Guardian Vajrakor and his cohort of dragons, I had turned to Virion Eralith, de facto leader of the elves, to deliver the news of Agrona’s attack. Arthur had left him as military commander of Vildorial, much to the dwarven lords’ collective chagrin. Within the hour, he had assembled his war council and began preparing for a potential assault on the city.

Durgar Silvershale, son of Daglan, lord of their clan, presented himself before Bairon and Virion as his father looked on proudly. “The city is sealed up tight,” he said as Virion acknowledged him. “Every entrance grown over with several feet of solid stone, like you said.”

“With the new bunkers in place and any assault funneled through so few possible points of attack, the people will be safe,” Hornfels Earthborn added, smiling as if this was the greatest possible news.

Daglan Silvershale cleared his throat. “Yes, well, you Earthborns have had two whole weeks to make that happen, haven’t you?”

Lance Bairon stepped into the middle of the conversation, silencing a potential argument before it could fester. “We’re still waiting for confirmation that all of the teleportation gates in Vildorial are deactivated,” he said, making no effort to disguise his frustration as he looked from the Silvershales to the Earthborns. “It should have been completed hours ago.”

Daglan Silvershale cleared his throat. “We have disabled the new long-range teleportation gate brought in from western Darv, as well as all the short-range portals in the lower levels and the outskirts. The, ah, lords believe that keeping the gate here in the palace active is essential, and a few of us have private artifacts in our own estates, some of which should be kept in working order so that the nobility will be able to escape if necessary. Disabling all gates, along with sealing the great cavern, would trap us within the city, would it not? If what the Alacryan girl has said is true, and we are without both the dragons and Arthur Leywin, then I wouldn’t see our beloved home become an abattoir, not when we can save some, rather than none.”

I bit my lower lip as the dwarf brought me into it.

Hornfels looked sheepish. “In this Lord Earthborn shares the Silvershale clan’s opinion. After all, Commander Virion, you yourself have sent your people out of the city for their safety. It would only be proper to leave us a potential escape route should such a thing become necessary.”

Lance Bairon rubbed the bridge of his nose, his mana seething around us. He spared a quick glance at Virion and then said, “No portals are to remain accessible for any reason, Lord Silvershale. Deactivate them immediately.”

The dwarven lord crossed his arms and glowered right back. “This should be decided by committee, general. May I remind you that Commander Eralith and yourself have no official capacity to give orders in Vildorial. Arthur Leywin, while a great hero, is not king of all Dicathen.”

Virion gave Silvershale a friendly smile, and the hair on the back of my neck stood on end. “You are right, of course. I can’t make you do anything. But if you do not deactivate them, Bairon here will smash them to rubble. Bairon.”

The serious-looking Lance nodded, and his feet lifted off the ground as he flew toward the doors of the war room. Daglun paled and sputtered incoherently as he chased after Bairon. “Wait now, see here, one of those gates is in my estate. Don’t you—” His words were lost to the general noise as he raced down the hall after the Lance, followed by Durgar, several attendants and members of his clan, and even Hornfels Earthborn.

Virion turned to the next person waiting for his attention, a kind-looking elven woman whose auburn hair was just starting to gray. “What news from our people, Saria?”

The woman gave Virion a soft, melancholy smile. “They have set up a temporary camp in the forested lands west of Mirror Lake. Aside from some tension with a few farmers, the journey appears to have been blessedly anticlimactic.”

“Good,” Virion said, his voice a growl. “Then I would like you to join them. Bairon will be taking you and a few other members of the small council, then he will stay to watch over the people there.”

Saria’s brows shot up and she took half a step back. Others within the war room were pretending not to watch the exchange carefully. “Forgive me, Virion. You have always been kind to my family. In many ways, the Triscans and Eraliths have been like kin. But I would not have you treat me as a child. I may not be my cousin, but neither am I helpless. Please, I would stay.”

Virion sighed and turned to a stack of scrolls, unrolling one and beginning to peruse it. “You’re worse than Bairon. No, Saria. Our people need leadership as well, and protection. Would that I could be in two places at once, but I trust you and Bairon to serve well in my stead.”

The woman bit back her response, gave Virion a shallow bow, and then turned and strode quickly away.

Virion looked up from his scroll, his gaze tracking across the room. No one else was waiting for him, and so he turned his attention to me. “And what of you, Caera? Are you certain you want to risk the long journey to the Beast Glades after what has happened?”

“I have to,” I said earnestly, thinking about what must be happening in the Alacryan encampments.

What would be worse? If Corbett, Lenora, Lauden, or the others had hesitated to fall in line…or if they were readying their weapons to go to war in search of Arthur…

“Lady Seris needs to know what I discovered. If I can help the others…”

“One last thing I should ask, I suppose, and I hope you’ll forgive me, but…you’re certain whatever happened—this combustion of your mana—will not continue to be a threat? I can’t put others in danger if Agrona can use you as a weapon.”

I bit my lip, considering my words carefully. “I can’t be certain, Commander Virion. I didn’t even know this trap had been set in my very flesh until today. No one did, I’m certain of that. But I can feel how it affected me…like it hollowed me out somehow. My own runes—my magic—feel distant, less mine. So no, I can’t be certain, but I feel that the thing inside of me has gone… burned up. I should have burned along with it, so perhaps they did not anticipate needing to set it off more than once.”

Virion extended his hand, and I took it firmly. “Arthur trusted you, so I will too. I may not know you well, but I can see you’ve got a good heart,” he said, surprising me. “That as much as anything gives me some small inkling of hope for the future of our two peoples. I’ll send word that the long-range teleportation gate can be active briefly, just to let you through. We can get you as close as Xyrus City, although it’s still a journey to the Wall from there. If you don’t mind accepting a suggestion, see if you can link up with a group of adventurers from the guild, since they’re—”

The harsh rumble of an explosion shook the palace and brought dust cascading down from the ceiling. A wave of tension washed over the faces of all present as they turned to Virion.

He closed his eyes and seemed to be searching with his mana for the source. “It’s only Bairon,” he confirmed a moment later. “It seems as though Silvershale and the other dwarven lords proved less than accommodating about the portals,” he added somewhat harshly.

There was some grumbling from the dwarves in the room, conjuring a palpable tension, and Virion softened. “Forgive me, friends. Your people deserve better leadership than they’ve gotten since the Greysunders, but you all have performed admirably.”

This simple comment seemed to diffuse the tension, and finally, Virion returned his attention to me. “Anyway, I’ve rambled enough. Good luck, Lady Denoir.”

“You too, Commander Virion,” I said, feeling slightly awkward as I turned and marched quickly toward the door.

Behind me, I heard one of the dwarves say, “Commander, a message from Etistin. They…they’ve spotted Alacryan forces near the city.”

I slowed, turning back slightly to hear more.

“Damn it. Get word down to Gideon and that asura. No more time to wait. If they’ve got some weapon cooked up, they need to mobilize it now.”

Just then, a powerful mana signature appeared as if from nowhere, cast across the city like a giant shadow.

I gasped, spinning on my heel to meet Virion’s wide eyes. “Seris!”

The sounds of battle followed almost immediately.

I didn’t wait for the Dicathians, instead springing away as fast as I could. My body ached and my core was depleted, but I cast the pain aside. If Seris was here herself—with Cylrit and Lyra of Highblood Dreide, so far as I could sense—then they hadn’t known how else to prevent the Alacryan refugees from becoming walking bombs.

But Arthur wasn’t in Vildorial. He was the objective. Perhaps if I am able to convince them of that fact, they can leave without retribution from Agrona, I thought hopefully.

By the time I had exited the palace, Alacryan soldiers were already streaming from a partially collapsed tunnel into one of the dwarven clan’s personal residences. Dicathian soldiers were hurrying out of the palace ahead of me and forming up across the road above the breach, preventing the Alacryans from coming this way.

The response from below was slower. Most of Vildorial’s soldiers had been arranged in support of the sealed-off gateways into and out of the city, as well as at strategic defensive positions to protect infrastructure and the civilians.

The flow of Alacryans wasn’t exactly rapid, with the tunnel they were exiting from half-collapsed, but Seris and the two retainers must have arrived first, paving the way for the others.

Now, Seris and Cylrit were engaged with Bairon over the city. Even as I watched, Bairon unleashed attacks at the cavern wall, attempting to close off the tunnel from which Alacryan soldiers were issuing, but clouds of dark mist—Seris’s void technique—absorbed every one of his lightning blasts before they could land.

I stood frozen, unsure what to do next.

Was my blood down there, fighting for Agrona? Or had they resisted and met the fate that would have taken me if not for my new spellform and Ellie?

I couldn’t reach Seris while she was fighting the Lance. Even if I’d had the energy to fight, I couldn’t turn against either the Alacryans under Seris—most of whom I had served with throughout the short-lived rebellion—or the Dicathians that had allowed me to live among them.

Waves of magic, drawn in the air like lines of black noise, spilled across the battlefield below. Retainer Lyra. As the foundations of an idea churned sluggishly to life in my head, I began sprinting down the highway with the forces still trickling out of the dwarven palace.

I hadn’t gone five steps before another problem presented itself.

I slowed well before the fighting, not wanting to get caught up in it. Lyra’s flame-red hair was visible like a battleflag near the center of the Alacryan forces. The Vildorian soldiers were launching spells and mundane attacks from both sides, but Lyra countered many of them all by herself. Alacryan Strikers were driving into the Dicathians, trying to burst through the lines.

“Lyra!” I shouted, but she gave no indication of hearing me. The sounds of battle—spellfire, shouted orders, and the screams of the wounded—swallowed my voice before it could reach her.

And yet it was far too great a risk to try and press through the front lines, where I could be mistaken as an enemy combatant by soldiers on either side.

With the little mana I had drawn in and purified since the detonation of my runes, I reached for the emblem that empowered my wind-attribute spells. Fatigue burned behind my temples in response, but the magic only flickered.

A stream of boiling water arced over the front line of Dicathians and fell among the mages, sizzling against the stonework only a few feet from me. At the same time, the highway trembled beneath my feet as, below, a huge boulder of ice crashed down into the forces attempting to block the lower direction.

Before I could gather the strength to attempt another casting, a shockwave of subaudible noise slammed into the Dicathian lines, tossing dozens upon dozens of dwarves and their human and elven allies to the ground. Alacryan mages forged up the highway toward me, sprinting right past the prone soldiers.

“Into the palace!” Lyra’s voice sounded, issuing from the air itself as if she were standing right beside me. “Search every room, every level. We must find Arthur Leywin.”

Behind me, the elite palace guard, all mages, moved into position across the palace entrance. They held up rune-etched shields and worked in concert to conjure a magical barrier over the heavy doors, which were being dragged shut behind them.

Making a decision, I rushed forward, weaving between the retreating Dicathians who were being pushed back by the sudden surge. If only I could reach Lyra, I could—

“Caera!”

My gaze snapped around, searching the lines of charging Alacryans. It was with a mixture of relief and horror that I met the eyes of my adoptive mother, Lenora. Corbett was with her, as were Taegen and Arian, my protectors. I recognized soldiers and guards of the Denoir blood interspersed throughout the surrounding battle groups as well.

Fortifying myself with a deep breath, I plunged onward, dodging the occasional spell and avoiding the Dicathians as best I could. My adoptive blood was slowing, other battle groups rushing onward, flowing around them in a tide of magic and steel. Behind, though, those Dicathian soldiers knocked down by the sonic blast were slowly getting back to their feet.

“Arthur isn’t here!” I found myself shouting as soon as I was close enough to make myself heard clearly. “Fall back! He isn’t in Vildorial!”

“Vritra’s horns, Caera, you’re alive,” Lenora gushed, wrapping me in her arms. She was sobbing, I realized, and a cool dread drew in my chest. “Where’s Lauden?”

Corbett, looking out of place in his ill-fitting leather armor and wielding a shield and spear, blinked several times and wouldn’t look directly at me. “It would seem you and Scythe Seris—Lady Seris—inspired in your brother a reckless courage, Caera. He…”

Corbett hesitated, but I already knew what he was going to say. I swallowed down the conflicted emotions Lauden’s sacrifice conjured within me. There would be time to face them later—if we survived.

“You have to fall back,” I forged on. “Retreat from the city if you can. Take your men, as many as will follow you.”

The mask of pain on Corbett’s face cracked. “Did you not hear me? Your brother is already dead, and you would have us meet the same fate? There is no refusing this, Caera.” He suddenly regarded me with suspicion. “Although this does not seem true for everyone equally.”

Lenora stepped in front of him, scowling viciously. “By the Vritra, Corbett, use that blistering intellect that brought me to love you.”

He stared at her, affronted.

Farther down the road, the front line of the Dicathians had been cornered into a knot, now surrounded by our people. The Alacryans who exited the collapsed tunnel were dispersing out into the city with only token opposition.

“Please, listen to me,” I begged him, something I couldn’t recall ever doing in my adult life. “I heard the message. And your mission here is already complete, father. Arthur isn’t here, I swear it on my life.”