The leader of the Guard kicked the body. There was no satisfaction in it,the dead cannot repay the living. This corpse had cost him five men before falling, and for what? An empty guardtower and no suspect to account for it. He paced the room,ready for an ambush or foolhardy escape.

  His men had torn apart the cabinets, looked under the floors. The room the fighter the watchman who had come with the Guard detachment identified as Heron must have been clued into the raid.

  “Smart old bastard. Used to fight for anyone who gave him the coin for it. Hung out with the Kings,probably their best. At least we put down a criminal menace.” the whip-thin watchman looked over the body, finally drawing up enough spit to spray on the dead man’s face.

  “Six men, Rod. Six damned men down. Dawn and Light will die before the night is over, the rest will be out of service, perhaps permanently.” the leader grabbed the watchman by his collar and slammed the light man to the far wall, Rod knocking into a shelf and a low slung bench “would you consider two of your own idiots dead a boon for the Watch?”

  “I meant nothing by it Sir Garnet. I just, just, you know. They get away with everything and there’s plenty of them and few of us.” the man came close to weeping, and Garnet set him down on the bench in disgust.

  “These old towers were built to defend, not to hide. I seem to recall there being-”

  No. Nothing there.

  “being solid walls though. Damn idiots must have taken them for pavers, could have collapsed the whole place.”

  Sir Garnet walked out of the room, confused by the whole affair. As he passed through the threshold he thought he heard laughter, a sound ignored after he heard the cry of the horn.

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  Four blasts. All Guard to arms, Guard overwhelmed. His men rushed out then waited for him as they poured out of the tower.

  “We called for assistance before. Maybe it’s an answer? Surely it’s an answer.” he looked to his men. Fifteen left, three to guard the wounded comes to a dozen to go off to the fight.

  The horn blew again, the last of the cries squeaking out and leaving the Barrow silent save for the call of birds.

  “It sounds like it came from the bridge, Captain.” Harrow, the only smart one. Born to a lord rich in grain, the man was Garnet’s most trusted.

  Garnet had gone to war and found himself unworthy. Running was a better bet, his father had always told him, and even as he ascended as a Captain he refused to believe otherwise. His men numbered a hundred, one of four centuries dispatched from the Capital. He hoped others would get to the fray before them, though he would have to bring his men with haste. Better dead than dishonored, though one can find many ways to keep honor in a retreat.

  “Three to stay behind, one of you will run to get a physic. The rest of us will march double time, call for no quarter until the men are free.” Sir Garnet wiped his brow with a kerchief, his men already in motion.

  Let it be a drunken Guard. This place is a damned tinderbox as is. The roads in had been loaded down with the few poor with the wherewithal or spare coin to buy, beg, or steal wagons. Mothers calmed suckling babes and toddlers, while fathers drove the wagon. Sons, and even some daughters, those old enough to hold a stave or knife stood watch over their kin. A rickety merchant drag, like a war chariot, was being pulled by main power by a hulking monstrosity while its master sat calm in the safe nook, a golden fish in a stream of muddy eels squirming to be free of the morass.

  Those on foot were stripped by lazy bandits of their meager goods and coin. Garnet watched as an old man was shaken like a schoolboy by a man covered in burn scars, the small pit-sized unfinished stones the man had attempted to swallow coming up in a gout of sick.

  There would be a battle. Men would die here for foolish reasons.

  Garnet shook his sleeves free and rested his palms on the wide leather belt his uncle had given him for his commission present. He could only hope they gave their due.