Hans stood atop the gatehouse platform, his empty left sleeve pinned neatly across his chest with a silver brooch.
Hans called down to the portcullis crew to test the counterweight release while the remaining civilians crossed behind the gate.
High above the archway, counterweights of the portcullis creaked faintly as the dawn wind blew from the valleys.
In his right hand, the veteran commander held a balanced broadsword, its pommel resting lightly against his leather thigh guard.
Beside him, two dozen city guardsmen paced behind the battlements, gripping their spears with nervous, tense anticipation.
"Stay alert down there," Hans called out to the lower courtyard, his gruff voice steady and commanding.
"The wind brought no smoke from the viaduct, but the alley cats are not prowling this morning."
"The morning fog is thicker than usual, commander," his lead sergeant observed, leaning over the parapet.
