Chapter 441 — Fire

They swept across the sky without cease; the low, deep hum became something the southern nobles feared more than the shrieking of falling Skyfire. The beams no longer lingered to cut the walls, but instead steadily destroyed the mage towers, arrow towers, watchtowers, and the upper reaches of the castle within the city and upon the walls.

Every high structure that might serve as a strongpoint was being cleared away, one by one.

Viscount Mari Oran and Viscount Consco ran along the castle's outer stairway, desperate to escape this hell on earth.

Explosions and human cries came from every direction; from the sky came the endless shrieking of falling Skyfire and the humming of the beams as they swept past. In that moment they remembered once more the horror of Brokenstone Ridge, and the even more horrifying, even more despairing flight through the wilderness that had followed—and they no longer cared about noble dignity or the most basic propriety. Every attendant was abandoned, every shred of honor could be cast aside; they changed into the clothes of the castle's drudges and stablehands, swept up every piece of gold, silver, and gemstone in sight before fleeing their rooms, and then ran without pause down that stairway that seemed never to end.

Another grating hum came from high above; the short, stout Viscount Mari Oran turned in terror to look back, and saw a blinding white beam slowly sweeping across the towers of the castle's upper district. Wherever the beam touched, stone towers were annihilated in a chain of explosions, and what remained of them became a "rain of stone" that fell from the sky; a little farther off lay what had been the castle's roof—that too had been swept away by the beam.

Though he could not understand why the Cecil forces had never bombarded the castle district with Skyfire, and only swept the upper levels of the castle with the beams, Viscount Mari Oran and Viscount Consco dared not ponder such things at a time like this. Overawed by the dreadful power of the beams, their one thought was to turn at once and keep fleeing north.

They ran down the stairs, along a narrow path, through the already chaotic inner city, and gradually drew near the northern gate of Boulder Fortress—here the Cecil assault grew somewhat weaker, for the straight-line beams could not reach the lower northern district once they had passed over the high walls, and the Cecil's Skyfire had never bombarded this place either. Yet still the two viscounts dared not halt for even an instant.

They ran on and on, gasping hoarsely as they went; the gold and gems stuffed in their bosoms now felt extraordinarily heavy. What should have brought them hope was now costing them double their strength with every step—but the northern wall of the fortress was already close at hand.

A pungent smell stabbed into Viscount Consco's nostrils; as he ran he could not help but cast a quick glance around, and in his field of vision thick smoke and leaping flames were rising from several nearby military installations.

This was fire from some unknown source... someone was setting the city alight... the already chaotic, all-but-collapsing fortress would plunge straight into the abyss once these fires took hold.

But that no longer had anything to do with him.

"I... I can't run much farther..." said the already weak Viscount Mari Oran beside him, brokenly, his breathing growing more and more disordered. "You... wait for me a moment..."

Viscount Consco glanced back at Viscount Mari Oran, but he scarcely paused, and did not even open his mouth to speak.

To speak even one extra word now was to waste the strength that might keep him alive.

The fires in the city burned ever more fiercely; columns of black smoke were rising from ever more places, as though a hundred men were running about the inner city setting blazes. Smoke and dust poured in from every direction, stinging Viscount Consco's already sensitive windpipe, yet he pressed on through the billowing smoke—because the wall was now only a few hundred meters away.

Only two hundred meters left.

Only a hundred meters now.

Life was close at hand, the road out of hell lay right there; in that moment even Viscount Mario Oran beside him rallied and quickened his pace to follow in Viscount Consco's footsteps.

Through the swirling dust and smoke, Viscount Consco dimly made out what seemed to be a number of figures standing ahead, planted on the only road to the North Gate.

Once he had run closer, he finally made out the face of that figure: it was Lady Ropenny Glan.

The viscountess stood there with a faint smile on her face, regarding the two viscounts in their groom's and menial's clothes with elegant composure.

And beside her stood a golden-haired male elf such as none of them had ever seen, while not far behind the two of them were ranged several dozen fully armed warriors.

"Gods above!" Viscount Consco was greatly startled; what with the dust and the confusion of his own thoughts, he paid no heed for the moment to the soldiers not far behind Ropenny, and instead cried out in amazement, "Viscountess Glan, so you had already..."

"Viscount Consco, and Viscount Oran, good day to you," Ropenny said with a slight bow, smiling, her tone gentle, her words carrying clearly to the ears of both viscounts. "What do you think of the blaze we have today?"

Viscount Consco's expression seemed to stiffen for an instant, and his voice trembled slightly: "What do you mean by that..."

But Ropenny paid him no mind and merely went on softly: "Does it not resemble the one eleven years ago?"

.。m.

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