“Sir—” the man managed between gasps.

“An attack?” Corc asked pointedly.

The man nodded deeply, his expression as dire as his message. Bantam Flyn shot up out of his chair.

“Do the walls hold?” Sir Corc pressed.

“Not…the walls,” the man was finding his lungs. “The port. Men attacked the port.”

“Men?” Rosheen asked.

The man glanced quickly at her and looked back to Sir Corc before answering. “Aye. Middangearders. They came in ships painted black. Black sails…before the moon rose. Some of them were already docked, sir…disguised as merchants. All at once they were everywhere!”

“How many ships?” the knight demanded.

The man shook his head in bewilderment, struggling for an answer. “A dozen at least…maybe more.”

“Did the undine respond?”

Another nod. “They sunk one, maybe two…before they could land, but the others made port and raiders hit the docks running…took the wharf guard by surprise. They were overrun.”

Sir Corc wasted no more time with questions. “Lochlann, get the mule. Lady Rosheen if you would be kind enough to wake Pocket and see that he is ready to leave. Squire Flyn--”

“Is not running,” Flyn finished. He looked to the watchman. “You. Lead me to the battle.”

“No,” Sir Corc took a step towards the squire. “We are going.”

“How can you?” Flyn asked, his voice pained. “How can you just run when the city is threatened?”

“I have my duties, squire,” the knight answered, his voice taut.

“If that lie holds well with your honor, then go,” Flyn said, slinging the greatsword harness over his shoulder. “But I will not so shame myself.”

“Do not defy me Bantam Flyn,” Corc warned. “Your oath--”

“Is to lend aid wherever I am able! Have you grown so feeble minded in your dotage that you have forgotten?”

“Flyn, do not…” Rosheen began.

“No,” the squire said. “Pardons, milady but you had the right of it before. There are no knights in this room.”

Rosheen saw the feathers bristle across Sir Corc’s arms, shoulders and neck at these words. He radiated fury, but remained silent.

It is his way.

“I am just a squire,” Flyn continued, heedless of the elder coburn’s anger. “And I may stay one forever, but I will no longer sit idly by while earnestly asked for aid. Your words, lady piskie, remember? I thank you for them.” He motioned towards the door. “Lead on my brave man.”

The watchman hesitated, eyes wide and mouth slack at the confrontation, but Flyn sidestepped Sir Corc and clapped the man firmly on the shoulder, turning him towards the door.

“Flyn,” Sir Corc said as the squire opened the door. “Leave the sword.”