The crossbar was pushed over the second bracket, and the gate began to open.
Heavy timber reinforced with iron bands swung on mountain hinges. The noise came lower and deeper than the scrape of the bar itself, a long groan that rolled across the yard, climbed the stone walls, and echoed through the fort.
Inside the barracks, the first questioning voice became several. Boots struck a wooden floor.
Then the yard-facing door flew open.
The first mercenary stepped through barefoot and unarmed. He saw the gate standing open and stopped in the middle of the yard, his head turning between the gate and the barracks. Something was wrong. He knew that much, but he had not yet figured out what.
Col stayed at the shadows in right flank of the gate and watched.
More men emerged from the barracks. Nine. Then twelve. Then the pace increased as they hurried into the yard, partially dressed and focused on the open gate.
