Chapter 436 — The Magic Barrier of Boulder Fortress

"The barrier's stopped the Skyfire!" "The barrier caught them!" "The Cecil men can't break in!" "We're safe!!"

The cheers rose first from those southerners' mouths, and then the other soldiers and knights of Boulder Fortress—strung to the breaking point, sick with dread—took up the cheering as well.

In the castle district, the nobles and the high knights cheered too.

"Ladies! Gentlemen! We may set our minds at ease," said Sir Marchi, standing on the high dais of the castle's great hall, arms spread wide, smiling down at every face below him—at the southern nobles beaming with delight, at the fortress knights who had finally relaxed. "The Cecil men's 'fancy trinkets' are not, it seems, invincible after all. Against a magic barrier, they can be stopped just the same!"

A southern noble rose, bowed deeply to Sir Marchi in an exaggerated gesture of respect, then turned and addressed the assembly in some florid, operatic tone: "My friends—we may bring the red wine up from the cellars!"

After so long trembling under such relentless tension and oppression, the nobles seemed to need a banquet to settle their nerves.

And before the banquet began, that "Skyfire" from on high gradually ceased; perhaps even the Cecil men had recognised the strength of Boulder Fortress, or perhaps their magical devices needed to cool and rest. This circumstance only lightened the mood in the fortress further.

Sir Marchi and his knights could still keep their emotions in check; but the southern nobles... they had been pent up too hard, strung too tight, and now that they had finally relaxed, their banquet threatened to turn into an orgy of revenge.

But Sir Marchi smiled and permitted it all—in his view, these poor gentlemen truly did need a good relaxation; the pressure they had borne of late had simply been too great.

The castle district blazed with light, and a feast was swiftly laid out.

The nobles' celebration seemed to come too abruptly, too extravagantly—but nobles are that kind of breed: holding banquets is not merely their amusement but their social life, their work, even their daily existence. They knew the soldiers elsewhere in the fortress would still be at their posts, and so they could raise their cups and pass the wine in the banquet hall with perfect confidence. Nobles are skilled at giving feasts, and accustomed to giving them on any pretext and under any name—to say nothing of a situation with cause as ample as this one.

Viscount Carroll, however, could not quite endure this violent shift of atmosphere. After a short while in the banquet hall he felt stifled, made some excuse, and left the hall for the outside; on the terrace he found a quiet corner and breathed the fresh night air.

It was the highest terrace in the castle district, and from here the state of the magic barrier could be seen clearly.

The magical barrier of Boulder Fortress remained active, a translucent energy shield enveloping the outer walls and faintly linked to the magically conductive metal embedded within them. Drawing upon the ancient and potent magical focus at the fortress's core, together with the arcane energy the walls had accumulated during the day, this barrier could be sustained until the next day—until the sun rose again and recharged it. And even should the next day bring no sun, the several great mage towers within the fortress could draw power from the subterranean magical focus and keep the barrier running at reduced capacity.

Gazing at that distant magical barrier, Viscount Karol, whose mood had been inexplicably frayed, felt a measure of reassurance steal over him. He exhaled softly and, through the translucent curtain of light, cast his gaze farther still.

The Cecil assault had ended—so brief in its course, so abrupt in its conclusion, that Viscount Karol, a veteran of the bombardment at Gravel Ridge, could not help but feel a touch of something unnatural. He pondered a moment, then traced several runes in the air and opened the "Mage's Eye" upon himself.

His vision was instantly projected into the distance, and through that slightly warped and quivering sight he beheld the Cecil camp beneath the night sky, running on as usual.

The details the Mage's Eye could discern were limited, but one thing he could affirm: those Cecil soldiers lounging about adjusting their "Skyfire Devices" and chatting and laughing around their campfires as though nothing were amiss harbored not the slightest air of defeat...

Footsteps sounded behind him, and Viscount Karol at once dispelled the Mage's Eye. At the same moment, he heard the somewhat cool voice of Viscountess Lopenny Gran come from behind: "Viscount Karol, what are you doing?"

Karol turned and saw that awe-inspiring lady who had led them all out of hell. He could not help but breathe a sigh of relief—but the next instant his brow furrowed: "Viscountess Gran, I believe something is wrong!"

Lopenny's slender brows rose slightly. "Something is wrong?"

"The Cecil attack cannot possibly have been so trifling... They bombarded Gravel Ridge for a full hour without pause—there is no reason they should be so slack when assaulting Boulder Fortress," Viscount Karol said anxiously, laying out his discovery. "I just looked with the Mage's Eye. Their camp is in perfect order, not a sign that their offensive has met with a setback..."

"Is that so... That is indeed a disturbing state of affairs," Viscountess Lopenny said, her expression turning grave, and she seemed unconsciously to rub a ring upon her finger. "...Most disturbing."

"I must go warn Sir Maki," Viscount Karol said with a frown—but no sooner had he spoken than he regarded Lopenny with some curiosity. "But then again... Viscountess, why have you also left the banquet hall? Have you noticed something too?"

"I have just come from the walls," Lopenny said mildly. "Have you forgotten? Sir Maki assigned us the defense of the second wall and a portion of the mage towers. Unfortunately, nearly everyone is in the banquet hall drinking, so I had no choice but to come out and attend to some real business."

"Thank heaven there are still ladies like you keeping watch," Viscount Karol said in admiration, and he lifted his foot to stride toward the castle district. "We must go to Sir Maki—"

His words broke off.

A soft, faintly chill hand caught him by the arm—a hand upon which a ring glowed with a dim blue light.

Viscount Karol felt a cold numbness spread from his arm through his entire body. With great effort he turned his head slightly and saw the expressionless face of Lopenny Gran. He tried to open his mouth, but not a sound would come.

He heard the still-beautiful lady before him speak to him—she had drawn very close and murmured at his ear: "My lord viscount, do you know? Eleven years ago, when those ruffians stormed my husband's castle, there was only one loyal sentry standing upon the watchtower, trying to stop them with a crossbow..."

Lopenny Gran drew back a little, and beneath Karol's terrified gaze she began, inch by inch, to push his body.

"That sentry was the same age as you when he fell from the watchtower. Your knight, when he returned to report to you, most likely never mentioned this small detail at all..."

Viscount Karol's body tilted to a perilous angle at the edge of the terrace. Rigidly he rolled his eyes, but apart from rolling his eyes there was no part of him that could move in the slightest—a mage, once his spellcasting was first sealed off, could hardly break such bodily restraint by muscle strength alone.

At the final moment, Lopenny gave Viscount Karol a gentle push.

At the final moment, the viscount heard but one indistinct phrase carried on the wind: "...That is how the sentry fell."

.。m.