Rosheen stifled a yawn and flapped her wings to dispel her weariness. At Sir Corc’s request, she had spent the entire day perched on Black Pool’s outer wall, watching for some sign of an approaching army. According to that ridiculous hobgoblin, Muckle, they still had at least another day before the Red Caps would reach the city, but the knight was not taking any chances and instructed Rosheen to fly back and report to him at even the slightest inclination of attack. So she had flitted from turret roof to battlement to gatehouse and back again, watching the horizons from west to south. The men and goblins of the city watch also walked the walls in greater numbers, and Rosheen was relieved to see the Lord of the Pile had not completely dismissed their warning. But she was still not convinced the city could hold. It was fortified well enough, with thick walls of stone guarding every landward approach, tall as ten men and interrupted by only two gates, each protected by a portcullis and strong doors banded in iron. In addition to the city watch, Black Pool was home to scores of mercenaries from across the Tin Isles, but rather than add strength to the city they offered only more uncertainty. A sellsword swings to the side of the last coin it was dealt. By its very nature Black Pool was a haven for the itinerant, each resident using the city as a refuge for whatever private ambition they pursued or crime they fled. Could the city’s discordant inhabitants rally under the common cause of saving their home? Rosheen dared not hope.

By dusk, she had seen nothing to alert suspicion and had returned to the townhouse as instructed to await the fullness of night. Sir Corc wanted to leave when most of the city slept for reasons he would not share. Rosheen wondered how he planned on exiting the city, as the Lord of the Pile had ordered both gates shut and barred after sundown. Some of her ire for Corc had dwindled since their meeting with Black Pool’s disturbing potentate, and she no longer questioned his every decision, but the knight’s laconic manner continued to annoy her. She trusted him, she would be foolish not to, but that did not mean she was unaware that he kept secrets.

Perhaps that is why the Order chose you, you tight-lipped rooster.

Rosheen was startled out of her revelry by the sudden and strong hammering of a fist beating repeatedly against the door. Bantam Flyn glanced up from the fire carelessly as Old Lochlann made his creaking way over to answer the violent knocking. By the time the old man opened the door and admitted a sweaty, out of breath man, Sir Corc was already standing in the common room. The desperate looking visitor wore the doublet of the city watch and he looked hard at the knight as he sucked in air.