The bell drove men to the yard like a drum drives feet.
Liam crossed the hall in three strides and took the steps two at a time.
Armor clinked behind him, a river of iron he did not bother to look at.
The east gate yawned; captains formed their knots without needing names.
“Open," Liam said.
The portcullis climbed with a rack of chain.
Wind shoved the smell of pine and smoke into the square.
Beyond the wall, rogues filled the slope in a crescent—lean bodies, patched leathers, wolves pacing, bows already up.
They had not come to test a gate.
They had come like weather that knows the roof's weakness.
“Shields," a captain called.
“First line, kneel!".
“Hold," Liam said, eyes on the center where a figure stood on a fallen trunk like a mark in a story.
She wore clothes the woods ha
