The cold dawn fog rolled through the cobblestone streets of the Sixth District, muffling the distant rumble of the northern viaduct battle.
At the main southern district gate, Hans stood atop the stone gatehouse platform, his empty left sleeve pinned neatly beneath his leather cuirass.
In his right hand, the veteran guard captain held a balanced steel broadsword, its pommel counterweighted to compensate for the absence of his missing left arm.
Fifty watchmen and volunteers held the inner barricades, the other fifty covering the street approaches under the defense plan Taren had agreed with Hans.
Hans had drilled these volunteer tradesmen and apprentices for three weeks, teaching them to stand firm against intimidation and to trust the strength of their locked shields.
Suddenly, a series of concussive thuds reverberated through the iron gate, followed by the clanking of grapnels hooking onto the outer parapet.
