Two nights before

  The watch-fortress of Harbinth had always looked more like a warehouse than a place of command. Its walls were built of thick red brick, hardened in the kiln fires of a century past. By day the bricks gave off warmth, but at night they seemed to drink in the cold. The fortress was quiet now, its narrow halls dimly lit by torches that sputtered in their sconces. The smell of oil and old paper hung in the still air.

  Commander Ennett sat in one of the smaller rooms, a place that had once been used for storage. The walls were paneled with plain wood, the kind cut from the low forests outside the city. A round table filled the center, scuffed from years of use. On it, spread flat and pinned with iron nails at the corners, was a map of Harbinth.

  The door creaked open. Ennett did not lift her eyes.

  Guildkeeper Eborin stepped in first. His long robes shimmered faintly with gold thread, though dust clung stubbornly to the hem. He carried himself with the quiet pride of someone who knew his worth and expected others to recognize it as well. Behind him came Lord Mayor Haldrin, silver-bearded, with a voice that was usually soft but rarely ignored. A handful of others followed: harbor masters with sea-weathered faces, coin lords with heavy purses at their belts, and two senior scribes whose hands still bore ink stains.

  Ennett did not stand. Her voice was even and sharp. “Close the door.”

  They did.

  She gestured to the chairs. One by one the men and women took their seats. No one moved with ceremony, only with fatigue. Eborin leaned forward and folded his arms. His eyes fell to the map. “Well?”

  Ennett placed her fingertips against the table, just above the gates. She spoke in a calm, clipped tone that carried to every corner of the room.

  “As you all know, the City Watch was not built for war. We keep order. Enforce trade codes. Break up tavern fights. Chase off smugglers and street gangs. That is what we are meant to do. We are not prepared for a sustained assault from outside the walls.”

  Her words sank into the room like stones dropped in water.

  Lord Haldrin rubbed at his brow. “You’re convinced that’s what we’re facing?”

  “I’m not convinced of anything,” Ennett replied. “That’s the danger. Elzibar burned without warning. No declaration. No siege lines. Just ash where a town once stood. And we still don’t know why.”

  Eborin frowned. “Kobolds don’t make war in the human realms. Not like this. A raid here or there, yes. Some sheep taken, or a village threatened near a river crossing. But fire? Whole towns?” He shook his head. “That is not their way.”

  Ennett nodded once. “Which is why I sent word to the King’s Court. Quietly. I also sent messages through the guild networks. We are calling for any able-bodied folk we can trust to hold a spear, fighters, laborers, mercenaries with records clean enough to stomach.”

  She leaned back in her chair. “We’ve started drilling our own watchmen. We’ve pressed low-level criminals into provisional service, men and women with debts to pay or reputations to clean. Recruitment is happening in the lower wards. Posters. Coin offers. Promises of pardon for those who prove themselves.”

  Lord Haldrin’s eyes sharpened. “But no public notice?”

  “No,” Ennett said. “This is being done quietly, under the table.”

  One of the harbor masters frowned. “Why not tell the city outright? Wouldn’t honesty prepare people better?”

  If you stumble upon this tale on Amazon, it's taken without the author's consent. Report it.

  Eborin answered before Ennett could. “Because panic kills trade. And trade is what keeps Harbinth alive. We are not a fortress city. We have no army of our own, no fields to fall back on. We are a port. A lifeline. If panic spreads, merchant ships will reroute, and the coin that feeds this city will vanish. Fear will starve us before any enemy can.”

  Ennett gave a short nod. “He is right. For now we are reinforcing where we can: storehouses, docks, the water tower. Treasury funds have been released for discreet security work. Masons will start on night shift tomorrow. But open preparation? Soldiers drilling in the squares, gates being barred in daylight? Not unless we have certainty.”

  A heavy silence pressed on the room.

  Finally Haldrin spoke again, his voice low but firm. “If anyone hears anything, anything at all, it must come directly to the Watch. No rumors carried in the streets. No councilmen whispering to their own house guards. If this threat becomes real, then we move openly. Until then, we do not stir the nest.”

  Murmurs circled the table. Agreement, reluctant but firm.

  The meeting shifted to small matters: grain deliveries delayed on the South Quay, a fight between two guild apprentices that had left one boy with a broken arm, questions about coin for winter stores. None of it touched the weight of the main subject, but all of it lived in its shadow.

  At last, chairs scraped back. One by one, the figures rose. Some bowed their heads. Some avoided Ennett’s eyes. None lingered.

  Ennett remained seated as they left. The torches hissed faintly. The map still spread before her seemed suddenly larger, emptier.

  Her hand drifted toward Elzibar, where a black mark showed the town that was no more. For a long moment her finger stayed there, resting on the ruin.

  Then, slowly, it slid toward Harbinth. Toward the city that still laughed and worked and believed itself safe.

  Her hand stopped there. She did not move it again for a long while.

  The council’s voices faded down the hall until the fortress was quiet again. Ennett finally pushed herself back from the table. Her joints ached more than she liked to admit.

  She stepped into the corridor, where a single watchman stood at post. He was young, barely old enough to grow facial hair, with armor that looked a little too large for him. His helmet was tucked under his arm, and when he saw her he straightened at once, nearly dropping it.

  “Commander,” he said quickly. His voice cracked halfway through the word.

  Ennett studied him a moment. “Your name?”

  “Yultor, ma’am. Watchman third-class.”

  She nodded. “How long have you served?”

  “Weeks.” He swallowed. “Mostly gate duty. I’ve never been inside for a meeting like that before.”

  She glanced at the torchlight flickering on his nervous face. “You listened at the door?”

  His eyes went wide. “No, Commander! I swear, only what I caught when they passed by. I wouldn’t…”

  Ennett raised a hand, quieting him. “Relax. I don’t need to scold you. You’re here to learn.”

  Yultor exhaled, shoulders sagging slightly. “It sounded serious.”

  “It is,” Ennett said. She let the words hang in the air. “But seriousness doesn’t mean fear. It means preparation.”

  He hesitated, then asked the question he had probably been holding back since the council filed past. “Do you think… what happened at Elzibar could happen here?”

  Ennett looked at him for a long moment. The easy answer was no. The truer one was yes, but more like a maybe. She gave him neither.

  “I think,” she said carefully, “that our duty is to make sure it doesn’t. That means we drill harder. We keep our eyes open. We hold the line, even if the city behind us has no idea why.”

  Yultor nodded, though his throat bobbed nervously.

  Ennett placed a hand on his shoulder. “Courage isn’t about not being afraid. It’s about staying at your post when you are. Do that, and you’ll serve this city well.”

  He straightened again, more firmly this time. “Yes, Commander.”

  Ennett gave a small nod and moved past him down the corridor.

  Behind her, Yultor shifted his grip on his helmet, the weight of her words settling over him. He would remember them long after this night.

  Ennett walked on, her boots echoing against the old stone. She thought again of the map, of Elzibar’s black mark, and of Harbinth’s aged walls. She told the young watchman what he needed to hear.

  What she told herself was another matter.