Chapter 431 — An Inspiring Moment

Once the first man had risen, more at last took heart. These men, whose spirits had been all but shattered by the bombardment at Gravel Ridge and the running battles through the Southland, now somehow squeezed out a shred of courage, and one after another they began to answer the call, vowing to bring the few dozen or few hundred followers they had left and mount the walls, to live or die with the fortress, every inch the picture of men resolved to resist the Cecil to the very end. For all that many of them would regret it once they had left this hall—regret it the moment the fiery words had left their mouths—at least in this moment they were stirred to their feet.

And for a noble, once a man had risen in such a moment, it was not so easy to sit back down.

Ropeni Glane watched this with satisfaction, and Sir Marchi watched it with satisfaction too. The latter could not keep himself from nodding. These southern nobles and the few retainers they had left might be no great force, but they could at least ease the shortage of hands. If nothing else, the nobles who knew magic could surely be set to charge the mage towers—and with these people, Boulder Fortress could hold out that much longer.

Perhaps long enough for the kingdom's fortunes to turn.

He had never doubted that his fortress could withstand the Cecil's assault; his only fear was that a defense drawn out so long would wear down a Boulder Fortress left with no one to turn to.

After that admirable viscountess had succeeded in rousing the southern nobles and had unmistakably become the leader of these castaway nobles once more—the last time she had led them was when she brought them out of the Southland—Sir Marchi addressed her. "Lady Glane, your brave conduct is the very embodiment of the noble spirit. I would have you gather the southern nobles' forces and lead them yourself. I will assign you to guard and maintain the fortress's inner mage towers and the second wall. I trust the gentlemen present have no objection?"

The southern nobles present all voiced their agreement.

Sir Marchi then summoned his household guards and began to set the fortress's defenses in order. "First, clear out those scattered farmsteads south of the fortress... bring everyone back inside the walls, burn whatever is left, and fill in the wells...

"Clear every tree along the edge of the hills to the south—burn them or cut them down. Leave nothing that could block a line of sight.

"Double the patrols..."

After leaving the main hall, Ropeni Glane walked alongside her steward.

Sir Marchi no longer had time for trifling matters; Ropeni Glane would take her own people to find quarters for rest, and that suited her perfectly.

She looked at her steward in his ragged clothes, and at the trusted men who had "fled" here with him. The tattered garments on their bodies were real, the mud and grease were real, and the welts and wounds beneath those rags... were real as well.

Only when there was no one else around did she speak, softly. "You have borne much hardship."

"It is our honor."

"How goes it?"

"The hawk has left the nest. The chicks are safe."

Ropeni Glane gave a nod so slight it was barely perceptible, then lifted her head and, through the tall narrow windows along one side of the castle corridor, looked out at the distant evening clouds where a thread of red was beginning to seep through.

"At long last, this lengthy roster is drawing to its close."

. . m.

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