Chapter 419 — Behold This City, Impregnable as Iron

Ever since those unsettling reports had begun trickling down from the north, the situation in the south seemed to be swallowed all at once by dark clouds and plunged into utter confusion, and the mood within Stonehold Fortress had grown tenser with each passing day. This fortress, charged with guarding the southern gate, was the most magnificent bastion standing at the southern edge of the Sanctus Plain, and every man took pride in it—yet now that same fortress had suddenly become a lone island caught between two storms. Every noble house in the south had abruptly lost contact, that Cecil family which had lain silent for a hundred years appeared to be planning something momentous, and the couriers the fortress sent north to beg for support brought back only dispiriting news—

With the situation in the royal capital deteriorating and the shadow of civil war gathering, the two regent dukes and the prince regent had already begun calling upon the nobles of every region to raise troops against the rebels of the Eastern Marches. The capital had no energy to spare for Stonehold Fortress—least of all while the fortress had yet to suffer any real attack. The great men of the capital seemed nowhere near aware of just how fast the southern situation was deteriorating; in their eyes, rebels led by a prince and a duke of the martial faction were plainly far more serious a matter than the "chaos" in the south.

Under such tense and delicate circumstances, Stonehold Fortress could only seal its gates and impose the strictest of closure edicts. Apart from merchants bearing passes signed in Count Pompey's own hand and the extraordinaries of the regions surrounding the fortress, no one was permitted to pass through—and in truth, even without such edicts, the number of traders and travelers at Stonehold had already dwindled to its lowest point in recent days.

Keen-nosed merchants had sensed the danger early. In such a sensitive hour, no one dared risk being seized as a spy by some noble lord and clapped in irons simply for crossing the fortress; in the last few days the merchants passing through its gates had numbered fewer than two digits at the quietest hours—nothing compared to the peaks of last autumn and winter, and by the standards of any ordinary year, a pitifully small figure indeed.

And today, Stonehold Fortress had finally received another great host of "guests"—nobles who had been defeated in the south and driven out.

At the sight of nearly a thousand men in ragged clothes, sallow and gaunt, yet bearing arms, the whole fortress very nearly went to battle stations. The soldiers could hardly take them for a noble retinue; they assumed instead that every down-and-out mercenary, bandit, and cutthroat in the south had banded together to come plunder Xuanyao City. Only after a tense standoff and a long, tedious round of identity checks did Sir Maqi, commander of the fortress, finally confirm that this band, which looked like the union of a gang of robbers and a troop of beggars, really was the nobility of the south—nobility fallen on hard times.

He would never forget the sight as long as he lived.

The fortress's great gates, studded with purple steel rivets and plated with adamant, were thrown open, and Sir Maqi—tall, powerfully built, his black hair curling—led the knightly order out to receive these fallen gentlemen and ladies. He stared in disbelief at the young man in the procession, clad in a torn coat, his hair greasy and hanging in clumps, his face waxen and cracked, and it took him a long struggle before he recognized Viscount Carroll. Carroll Territory lay closest to Stonehold, and the viscount and Maqi had met more than once—but never, never like this.

"Ancestors above! My lord viscount! What have you all been through?" Sir Maqi gazed at the refugees in shock, and in the ranks he spotted several more familiar faces. "So those dreadful rumors are all true?!"

"Disaster. A disaster. A dreadful, merciless, brutal war with not a shred of classical courtesy about it destroyed everything," Viscount Carroll could not help trembling slightly. "And, honored sir, pray do not sigh over the ancestors above—those words give me nightmares now whenever I hear them."

Beside him Viscount Consco pressed a hand to his brow, his voice thick with anguish: "We were beaten by the ancestors..."

"...May the gods watch over you. All will be well," said Sir Maqi. He had weathered a great many storms in his life, but a scene like this he had truly never seen, and he had no notion how to take up so bizarre a thread. He could only hurry these fallen gentlemen and ladies into the city. "I have hot water prepared for you. Tramping through muddy wilds must have been dreadful."

"Food first. Cheese, cutlets, wine—by the gods, the bathing can wait!" Viscount Mari Oran said urgently. "Is there anything to eat?"

"Of course. I sent word ahead to have food prepared the moment I rode out; Stonehold's stores are ample," Sir Maqi nodded at once. But as a high knight who held a fortress, he could not help casting a wary glance at that column of nearly a thousand. "Forgive my caution, however—taking so many inside at once is dangerous. I must have them searched as necessary, lest the enemy's spies be hidden among them. In circumstances like these, that happens easily enough."

Viscount Consco glanced back at the soldiers and knights who had followed him all the way through the war zone, and said loudly to Sir Maqi: "Honored sir, these men have faced death at our side, and their loyalty is worthy of all respect. Naturally I understand the fortress's rules, so I ask only that you complete the inspection quickly, that these brave warriors may enter and eat and rest the sooner."

At these upright and generous words the soldiers were all visibly moved—whereupon Viscount Consco, without so much as a change of expression, rode his horse up beside Sir Maqi, lowered his voice, and murmured: "Search them however you like. Just get us something to eat first."

The nobles, knights, and priests in the column made their way toward the city in Sir Maqi's company and that of the fortress's knights, while the rest began submitting to inspection by the garrison. Viscountess Luopeni cast the searching soldiers one indifferent glance, then fell in with the other nobles.

She knew exactly what such an inspection amounted to, and so she was not in the least worried. Without a proper system of registration and identity verification, a "search" was nothing more than asking the others in the same company whether they could vouch for one another. Perhaps such questioning was of some use when a handful of spies slipped into an army—but who would ever imagine that an entire noble's personal retinue, from top to bottom, was made up of spies?

She raised her head and watched the towering gate of Stonehold Fortress draw nearer and nearer before her, then stepped through it.

"Ladies and gentlemen, you are safe now," said Sir Maqi from the saddle. As he crossed the threshold of the fortress gate, he turned his head with a smile and looked at the nobles, whose faces were relaxing at last. "This bastion is impregnable."

Viscount Carroll lifted his head and looked at the black wall that gave off a faint aura of magic. That famous wall did indeed set his heart somewhat at ease, but still he could not refrain from saying: "Honored sir, allow me one word—the danger that is Gaoyang Cecil is beyond anything you can imagine! By some unknown means he has forged a terrifying legion. We were routed almost before we could bring it to open battle. Even now he is likely gathering men and hoarding strength in the south, and he may well set his sights on this place..."

Sir Maqi could not help turning back: "But I am told it was not he who started the war?"