The refugees packed what meager belongings they had left, meals of bread and cheese given by the city's good graces.

They had handcarts for the injured or the very young. Most of the elderly had not made it. They all seemed troubled by the things they had witnessed. I knew some of them had been eaten, and knew better than to ask about it.

That didn't stop someone from telling me though. "They'd open the barrel. And a few had died already, you know, from heart attack or injuries when they dragged us there. And we would all lift up the bodies for them to grab first."

My stomach clenched. I could taste her despair in the air. I looked away, taking a deep inhale of the clean snow-crisp air. "You had to to survive."

"And when they tried to get to us, we would all run from the hands, hunch down, shove someone else forward so they wouldn't eat us."

"But the cows—"

"They ate them too."

I felt sick. There was nothing I could say, so I didn't. I listened for a bit, until it got too heavy, too repetitive, and I felt oddly claustrophobic.

I made the excuse of scouting the road ahead and quickened my pace before the group. It felt good to be away from all the people and I enjoyed the partial quiet. I climbed to the top of a cairn. Grass poked out of snow in places. A set of tracks were recent. I guessed a deer and crouched low once I reached the top.

At first, I didn't see it, for it was white and blended with the landscape, then it raised its head. The big buck was a pristine white, like something out of a fairy tale. It went back to pawing at the snow to get at the new growth.

They said that a white deer was a sign of some kind of adventure, in folklore, and that the thing to do was to hunt it.

I drew my bow, but not because of folklore; because the refugees were hungry.

I notched an arrow and kept low to the ground. Despite the need to feed these people, it was still a beautiful animal and deserved respect shown to it. I did not want to spoil the hide.

I pulled the arrow back, angled just right and released. Some part of me had been expecting to miss, or to just graze the creature and send it running off in escape.

Instead, the arrow pierced into it, burrowed down to its heart. It staggered once. Its big black eyes turned to look at me, as if measuring my worth, then slowly it collapsed into the snow. I moved to it swiftly, checked that it was slain, and began the busy work of bleeding and dressing it. I wanted to waste nothing of it, and I must have taken so long one of the villagers came to look for me, following my footprints through the snow

The woman exclaimed in excited surprise. "What a magnificent creature. You felled this?"

I gestured to the arrow I had yet to work out of it. "If you can get someone with a tarp to drag the animal back."

"Of course." She returned momentarily with two men, who helped me in the task. One skinned it while I cleaned and dressed the head. I had no prayers to whisper over the remains, but I hoped some creature that needed it would take it, or else that it would return to the earth in peace.

They wanted to hear this tale as well, and others agreed with me about the white deer being a sign of things yet to come. It cheered them. I was glad to bring them some cheer at least.

At the foothills around Bryn Shandor, it was warm with hot springs steaming the air that irrigated their crops and protected them from the frost. The foothills became mountain peaks and there was the city atop it.

The city was split between two plateaus with a series of bridges between them I could see as we approached. A wall surrounding the plateaus. A road was carved up the mountain to the city. We passed sentry towers on their way resting on top of the hills at intervals. At the first of them, the guard stopped us.

I was barely able to introduce myself before the guard said, "Oh! You're the ones. I'll send word ahead."

They used some kind of semaphore flags between them to allow passage. At the first gate, at the foot of the mountain, there was a small farming village. At the outskirts were a few other more unsavory things, like a tannery.

The guards were pleased to see me, and had supplies for the refugees to camp while they figured out what to do with them. At least it was spring. I requested materials to roast the deer, and the guards were excited to do this as well, and hear of the tale of its hunt. I was not much of a storyteller, though, and deferred to one of the refugees to tell the tale.

While the deer was roasting, I took the hide to the tannery. The tanner was willing to tan it, at first asking for money, then recognized me. I supposed fame had its good points; I had to settle for telling the man my stories, inviting him to partake in the kill.

It was succulently roasted, if a simple meal, and quite welcome. A couple of the council had come down to oversee the operation.

The first of them was an elf. I had seen elven things before—silks, carvings, that sort of thing—but I had never actually seen many elves. I tried not to stare, but couldn't quite help myself.

The elf strode right up to me once he noticed me. He had an accent when he spoke, not unpleasant, but unfamiliar, even old despite his youthful appearance. I reminded myself that elves lived a long time. "You must be the hero of the day." He extended his hand. "I'm Lord Ylteth Taervelaine. Come, I was just about to give a speech to celebrate your deeds."

My eyes widened. "What?"

But I found myself swept up and all I could do was follow and stand there awkwardly as the highborn elf gave a speech about charity, heroics, the good nature of people—no matter their appearance or seeming. It seemed, in many ways, a little as if the man were talking down to the people here. I supposed he was a lord and quite old compared to the humans gathered, but I was unimpressed. Thay had so many unaging undead, and I was vaguely reminded of the Thayan nobles—not the wickedness, but the smug superiority.

I did my best to be gracious, and was still awkward when Lord Taervelaine awarded me with a copper ring, which he said would grant me entrance to Bryn Shandor.

I had to ask a guard what the ring meant, when I could slink from the rock being used as a stage. The woman said, "Not everyone is allowed inside the heart of the city. The ring will give you easy access in and out, despite being foreign-born. It's an honor."

I slipped the ring onto an empty finger. It was etched and had a pink stone that I guessed was a regional color.

"Valac." A deep bass voice made me turn. I backed a pace automatically, just to look up. He was not a giant, but perhaps he was some kin to them in the distant past—a goliath. I had seen more elves than goliath, and I was a bit in awe of him. He spoke slowly, as if debating each syllable before he spoke. "You have impressed me and that is not an easy thing to do. I am Pharadin of the North Wilds."

I relaxed by degrees. "A pleasure."

"The stag was a fine kill, and because you have impressed me with your deeds, I will tell you of a sage of my tribe, far to the north in the foothills toward the sea. Bring the sage the stag trophy and your fate will be read."

I wasn't sure I wanted my fate read; I held more to the idea that I forged my own destiny, but I wasn't about to spurn the big man's beliefs. "Thank you."

A slow, kindly smile spread over his bearded face. "Not all the little folk are like you, Valac. Treasure it and be careful your candle does not burn away."

I puzzled over what that meant as Pharadin turned away. I had no real time to think on it as a dwarf approached me next.

"Master Pharadin is a big fellow, but he's right." He spoke of Pharadin's size as if it were a grave shortcoming. "Bravery such as your own is a rare and fine gift." The dwarf's voice was as low as the goliath's was deep.

I blinked. I had seen dwarves before, but this one seemed different, harder somehow. Grim even. "I appreciate your words."

A nod. "Not much of one for mincin' words, lad. But great and noble deeds deserve a just reward." He passed me an iron coin. "This will be passage into the Iron clan, to the west, should you ever venture there."

I looked closely at the craftsmanship. I said, "Are you on the Council?"

"Aye. An ambassador." He nodded to Pharadin. "Same as Master Pharadin."

"Thank you. I'll keep it safe—"

"Aye." The dwarf, apparently not having patience for idle chatter, moved away. I realized I had not gotten his name and pulled a nearby guard to ask.

I inclined my head. "What's that dwarf's name? I didn't catch it."

"The last person who called him 'that dwarf' found an ax in their leg. But he's Lord Ambassador Borin Stonemarch." He raised a brow. "Rare for a gray dwarf to be topside, but you best not mention that either."

I thanked the guard. After a long day on the move and a good meal, I was ready to retire. I would have been perfectly happy camping with the refugees, but Taervelaine was insistent that I partake in the hospitality of the city. I hated the idea of staying at another noble's estate but didn't know how to politely refuse when all eyes were upon me, so I accepted and was brought along in the noble's carriage to the city, which made my stomach turn with an uneasy familiarity, but I kept telling myself it wasn't like that. So many carriage rides spent on my knees, or just sitting on the floor of the carriage. It was weird to sit on the bench.

I felt like I kept fidgeting and every movement I made was carefully scrutinized. The interior was plush, muffled the noise and the odors from the outside. It had cushions. The vehicle was nothing more than an extravagant waste.

To fill the void of silence, I said, "Do you happen to know Talia Silverstreak?"

"Do you suppose that just because we are elves, we might know one another?"
I tilted my head. "You knew she was an elf."

Taervelaine laughed. It was an odd thing to witness, because it looked like a practiced gesture, down to the way his face would wrinkle. "I suppose I did. Yes, I know Talia. What of her?"

I explained what had happened with Alfred. "He has a letter of thanks for her. I'd like to give it to her myself."

"Ah." He seemed to straighten somehow further. "She is about in the city somewhere, but I cannot say I ever know exactly where she is."

I didn't know why Taervelaine would lie about something like that, but something about his posturing, his phrasing, struck me as strange.

What did the elf want from me? I had the nagging feeling that Taervelaine didn't do anything without some personal gain to himself. So what did he think he could use in me?

I tried to banish these thoughts and enjoy watching the city pass by. Bryn Shandor held many traces of its dwarven roots, down to the bridge we crossed to get to the clearly more expensive part of town. We passed large grand buildings, temples, shops, bakeries, the council house.

The carriage slowed a bit near it for the traffic, and I was afforded a spectacular view of the moonlight reflecting off the circular glass dome on the roof.

Adjacent to it was a building half a temple as much as a fortress. Armored guards in cloaks patrolled its walls.

Taervelaine said, "The Order of the Gauntlet. The word, as I'm sure you know, has several meanings, but mostly condenses to a bit of armor, or some kind of trial. I assure you, their order uses both meanings."

I resented being spoken down to as if I were a child, but not enough to offend my host, so I nodded.

Taervelaine went on, "The Order of the Gauntlet works closely with the Temple of Ilmater, as you can imagine."

I could not have put that together only by their names. I said, "Are there temples to elf gods in the city too?"
"No. There aren't many of us here. What sort of gods do you honor?"
A pause. I refused to believe that Taervelaine didn't guess what god, by my Thayan tattoos, by the way I spoke, by the collar on my neck, what I had been made to give homage to. Maybe he was just making conversation. I tried to relax. "I don't."

If Taervelaine thought it quaint or juvenile that I rejected faith, he masked it well, only nodding that he appreciated this knowledge.

The carriage rolled gently to a halt. The door opened and Taervelaine stepped out first. I followed him. The small yard held statuary probably hundreds of years old. The manor house was relatively small, built up rather than outward, for the limited space of the plateaus.

A butler greeted Taervelaine at the door and took his overcoat.

Taervelaine said, "I imagine you are tired from your travels. Quentin will show you to your room. Quentin, please see that my guest has every comfort, if you please."

Quentin bowed to Taervelaine and helped me put my weapons into a small armory, where he assured me that they would be perfectly safe.

A house this size was disorienting, and came with another bath. I wondered if this were a subtle way of saying that I smelled like ash and smoke, as the giant had said.

I scrubbed until all I could smell was the soap, but I imagined someone else would still smell ash and smoke off of me. I even washed my hair and scalp, but this, coupled with the carriage ride, sent me into a cringing fetal position it took me some time to recover from.

I clutched at my collar, and thought of how angry my master would be. Of how many bones he would break in the whipping boy—something he had concocted to prevent ruining the tattoos on me when I still required a beating, and every tear from those children felt like a lash to me. Precisely why he judged it so suitable a punishment for me.

If he would even allow me to live.

My eyes squeezed shut.

When I had recovered from this strange attack, I found I had wept. A little disquieted, and embarrassed despite that I had kicked out the servant who had tried to assist me before I even undressed, I washed my face again and put on the offered housecoat.

On the way back from the bath, I heard Taervelaine speaking to someone, who responded in a feminine voice. Talia?

I crept past, not wishing to disturb them even so.

The bed was absurdly wide, the pillows strangely fragrant. I tried to lay in it, but I felt like an imposter. Like at any moment, my master would float into the room, and press me down amidst the pillows to mount me. Or wrap a hand around one of my horns and drag me from it.

I couldn't sleep on it, no matter how I tried. I slept on the rug in front of the fire, watching the shapes it made, the soft crackle of the wood singing me to sleep.

A polite knock at the door startled me awake. Sunlight peaked around the edges of the curtains. Groggy, I rolled to my feet, embarrassed to have been sleeping on the floor. I clawed my way to the door, naked. I opened it a crack. "What?" I muttered sleepily.

"Ah, good. I see you're awake and about, Master Valac."

I tried to hide the flinch at Quentin's words. "Suppose I have you to thank for that," I said blandly.

To his credit, he did not stare at the visible tattoos on my arm and chest he could see through the crack.

"You are very welcome, ser. Wouldn't wish to miss breakfast." The butler pushed the door open and I jerked, stepping back before he ran over my toes with the door. He was not at all perturbed at my nakedness, going right to the heavy damask curtains. He opened them, hanging them to one side with yellow tassels. Sunlight made me flinch, but not recoil. I could have slept far longer. I pinched the bridge of my nose in exasperation. I had things to do though; I couldn't afford to sleep.

My tail flipped to cover my groin awkwardly, realizing that it's something a normal person would do, then I remembered the Asmodeus symbol on my chest and I lifted my hand trying to cover it. But I wondered if I wasn't just drawing attention to it. I glanced about for a robe.

Quentin said, "Would the ser require assistance—"

"No!" I yelped. "Out."

He walked, in a stately manner, out of the room, and closed the door gently.

At the breakfast table, Taervelaine was already seated and an elf woman was beside him at the table. Another spot was laid out in a triad.

She had the look about her more of a warrior than a highborn lady, though I felt she was likely both of those things. She was as beautiful as Alfred's sighs and pining implied.

"I've heard so much about you, Valac. I'm Talia Silverstreak."

I blinked and reached for my belt pouch. "You're Talia? Pardon me, may I give you a letter from Alfred? He said he didn't get the opportunity to properly thank you."

I passed her the letter. She smiled and took it graciously, but set it beside her plate without opening it. "I'll read it in private later. Tell me your version of events."

I was so tired of the story I would rather listen to her own, but I indulged her anyway, putting some particular emphasis on how I admired that despite that Alfred had been frightened, he had overcome his fear for the greater good. I said, "I think that's more admirable than just not being afraid, don't you?"

She nodded me on and I finished the tale.

I said, "That is the range of events as I know them. What of your version?"

"I was riding up the river and I saw someone casting spells, the trees being torn from their roots. That could be but one thing and the mage was only using the barest of spells, so I knew he was in danger. I got there only just in time to save him. I left him relatively hidden under the branches of the tree and lured the giant away. I suppose you dealt with the other?"

"They're all still alive, as far as I am aware."

"You've made an enemy, then." Her silvery eyes sparkled. "You stole their meal, ruined their camp, and left one with permanent marrings."

"With any luck, he will get an infection and die when it reaches his brain," I said, then realized it was probably quite crass.

Talia laughed, even if Taervelaine seemed to think little of the remark. Elves seemed to mostly eat salad, by the spread on the table, even though I was certain I never actually witnessed either put food in their mouths. Despite their generosity, I was still glad to be on my own again as I stepped out, not least of which because I could buy a sausage roll at a stand and snack on it while I walked to the shipping company.

A few questions, showing the papers, and I had gotten no closer. The person I talked to was concerned once he heard the news and was happy to show me around while someone else looked into where it had come from.

"Can I get the name and address of the wagon driver too?"

The man said, "Yes of course. Would've been a Mister Joseph Frank. I'll write his address for you. He isn't in today."

"Can I look around the stockyard too?"

He showed me there while he wrote down a couple of addresses. The yard was only accessible either through the warehouse or an alley, unless someone had climbed over the rooftops, which wasn't impossible, I had to admit. I didn't think it was likely and it had enough foot traffic that I was unlikely to find anything revealing here.

The one who had shipped the cargo was a noble house.

The bald-headed clerk said, "House Fangberg. Very old bloodline. Their daughter is engaged to young master Norwith, bit of a controversy that."

I looked over the address. "Why is that?" I wasn't particularly interested, but the man had brought it up and clearly wanted to divulge.

The man beamed. "Ancient family feud. Delightful scandal. But Norwith is in dire straights, so they buckled at the peace offering."

"Money trouble?"

"Oh, yes. They say their mines are overrun with all manner of vermin and flooding. Fangberg was willing to step in if their families wed, start pumping the water, ridding the mines of the vermin, that sort of thing. Very messy business."

I could not explain how dull the affairs of nobles were to me, but I smiled and thanked him for the directions and was on my way to visit the driver.

Frank lived in a small apartment part of a sectioned house on the opposite side of the city. He seemed to have a cold, so I stayed a bit back.

Frank described the way to Targos and back as uneventful. "But you're not the first to come ask about it," he said. "The guard came by yesterday."

I supposed the news had traveled faster than I had. "I see. Was there anything odd about the cargo?"

The man paused. "Funny. Y'know, they only asked me about the journey." He sniffled. "Yes, actually. It was heavier than wine. But y'know, people are always lying about what they have in there, that kind of thing, but I knew when they weighed it, it had to be wrong."

The orcs couldn't have been in those barrels for days. How? A day of travel time, some time in storage, loading onto the ship. Two days stuffed in those barrels, at least. Why? And how? Had they been drugged, then woke up in the barrels panicking? I said, "That's useful. Thank you. Is there anything else you can remember? What were they supposed to be transporting?"
"Grain. House Fangberg has most the granaries 'round here. Weren't no grain. You don't ship grain in casks anyway, right?"
"Thank you, ser. You've been a great help. Can you tell me if there's a barrel maker in town?"

Frank gave directions. There were a couple, but Frank thought that only the one on Steel Row would make anything fit for a noble. It was as good a place as any to start, so I followed his directions there. Steel Row was a row of armorers, leatherworkers, fletchers, carpenters, and the like, a few greasy food vendors along the way. I stopped at a blacksmith when I thought I must have gotten lost. I said, "Is there a barrel maker about?"

The blacksmith said, "The cooper? Aye, but like as not, he's closed."

The sun was about to go down. Going back and forth about the city had taken a while. I said, "I see. You ever get orders from House Fangberg?"

The man paused and looked me up and down. "And who are you, to be asking?"

I offered my hand, completely uncaring to the soot on the other's. "Valac. I'm a traveler, from the east."

"Ah. You must be the one everyone is talking about. The guardian angel disguised as a devil."

I groaned internally, and prayed that was not going to catch on. The irony was not lost on me. "I'm afraid so."

The other grinned. "Well. You led with your occupation of sorts, instead of your fame, so I'll take it." He thrust his thumbs behind his heavy apron. "I craft nails and hoops for the cooper. Asked for several, when I heard the specifications, I thought it was for wine, but he said grain, and they'd need to support a heavier weight. Thought it was odd. You don't ship grain in casks. Not my business though, I s'pose."

I considered, my head tilting wolfishly as I thought. "Has that house ordered anything else that's strange?"

He scratched his stubbled jaw, swiped sweat from his brow. "Let's see... Aye, that they did. Chains. Big sturdy ones. Said they were for dogs. But they don't have any dogs there. Must be on the farms."

"Where were they delivered?"

"Can't rightly recall. Could ask my delivery boy, he might remember, but, ah…"

My brow furrowed. "He sick?"
"Nah. Refusing to work after dark, y'see. Makes sure he's always home before it's dark."

"Why?"

He waved the matter off. "Says he saw a werewolf, around the Southside at night, chased him a short ways, so he says."

I leaned against a post. "He the type to make up stories?"

"Nah. Ain't got no imagination. Least he didn't before. Now every shadow is a werewolf."

I shook my head. "I can't imagine a werewolf in a town."
"Well, y'see, before the war, there was a werewolf incursion. We beat them back, of course, but I suppose it's possible we missed one. And they can spread."

They could have even instigated the war. "Thanks, you've been very helpful. I hope it's not werewolves."

"Have a good evening, ser."

I bid him a good evening and took a few streets to House Fangberg, recognizable by the crest of three yellow shafts of wheat inside a triangle shape. They were beside one of the city walls with iron-capped fencing and a series of patrolling guards. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary, but stories about werewolves and orcs danced through my head. Fangberg was at the center of it.

I should talk to the guard if I wanted to investigate nobles though. I'd need their help. With the bridge closed and the watchmen directing me to the main building on the other side if I had non-urgent issues, I went to the lower district and found an accommodating inn.

A few other wary travelers had blown in with the wind. A well-dressed merchant telling stories, two fur trappers, and a woman at a corner counting coins on the table. She was armored and armed, but a bit naive to be doing that if she were alone.

I went over to her. "Can I sit down?"
She smiled, as if she really didn't see what I looked like. "Of course. Please. I'm Aela. I was going to go to the temple, but it's already getting dark and they've closed the bridges."

I returned the expression, without teeth. "Valac. I'll walk you there. I was on my way near there myself tomorrow."

"Do you seek healing, or divine guidance?" She seemed hopeful.

I shook my head. "No, I needed to talk to the guard station near there. I was going to inquire about… something." I rested an elbow on the table. "You shouldn't count so many coins out in the open like this. Some people are up to no good."

She looked at the piles, then jerked, immediately swiping them off the table and into a pouch, which she tucked out of sight. "Thanks. I guess I don't have much experience outside my hometown—Loudwater. I'm from, well, a much warmer climate."

I rested my hands on the table. "How'd you end up here?"
She fidgeted, and I noticed that despite that she hadn't been obviously fearful when I sat down, she was awkward about it. I suppose that might as easily be because I'm a man. "I was stationed here. After an incident."

I tilted my head. "Are you all right?"
She forced a smile. "It's not a bad thing. It's a holy calling, being in a place where so many people neglect the gods. Other towns don't even have these temples."

I noticed she had dodged the question, but let it go. "Where will you go after you check in at the temple?"
"Further north, to preach to the godless masses." She said this without an ounce of irony or sarcasm.

I fought the urge to rub my temples. "Well. I'm headed near the temple tomorrow. Like I said, I need to see the guard. Then I'm probably going north. If we're going the same way, it might be safer to travel together?"
She was not as willing to let these things go. She said, "What did you need to report to the guard?"

I looked around, then leaned in. "I need to report some suspicious activity and maybe lend a hand if they'll have me."

She drummed her fingers on the tabletop. "What activity?"

"Have you heard about the orcs in the harbor?" I explained the recent events to her ever-widening eyes. "So I wanted to relay my first hand account of the events." And see why they hadn't investigated House Fangberg. Maybe they had and uncovered nothing. But that didn't make sense either, did it?

"I'll go with you to the guardhouse in the morning. That sounds important. Why don't you do it tonight?"

"Bridge is closed." I shrugged. "There's a watchhouse, but when I stopped by, they wanted me to make reports to the main building unless it's an emergency, which I guess it isn't, as far as they're concerned."

She fumed for a moment. "Well. Best get some rest. We'll need to be up bright and early in the morning." She rose to her feet, a bit taller than I was expecting. "I have morning prayer, so I'll probably be up earlier than you, but I'll wait for you."

I was just about to start thinking she was cute before she mentioned the prayers. I nodded. "Of course."

"Unless you want me to wake you. We could say them together."

I scrambled for any reason to get out of that. "Ah. I might prefer to sleep. Lot of traveling is exhausting and I might be up a bit later." At her frown, I added, "I wanted to look at the night market, maybe hear some of the gossip around town and see if I can find out anything."

She nodded, as if this met her staunch approval. "The market will be bigger closer to the festival, but they said it goes on all month while travelers trickle in."

The influx of new people was what concerned me. Wares weren't being inspected as securely. Hadn't anyone inspected the goods on the way out of the city? And into Targos, for that matter? I should have thought to ask, but I reasoned that the guards, if they were investigating and they must be, would have already looked into that.

I couldn't let all these disjointed facts lie. While I had no real intentions of looking at the night market, I nonetheless found myself going out. The cold did not bother me, some internal furnace keeping me warm. I didn't think it had used to, and it wasn't my ignorance of such cold temperatures.

I was reminded of the story of the werewolf, so I averted my path toward the right area. I walked down the center of the streets, making myself visible but not easily attacked from the alleys.

It seemed a foolish venture, and I wondered if I should have just stayed at the inn.

Someone from an alleyway called out, someone whose poxy face and tired smile lurked in every dark place. She lifted her skirt to display a leg as if it were tempting.

I walked by. She called me a wretch, which I actually pitied her for.

I was considering going back to the inn when a flash of something overhead drew my attention. I strained to see, peered down a close alleyway. Footsteps down the alley made me slink away, step behind a building, out of sight. I peered around the side.

A man walked with some confidence down the alley, self-assured. The man kept his cloak close about him, which might have been for the cold, but he wasn't as gaunt as a beggar and clinked with armor when he walked, so it could only be a guard or something similar. Shouldn't they be patrolling in pairs?

I stayed a distance behind him, slinking from the shadows and trying to stay downwind of the man, just in case.

Once on a main thoroughfare, the guard shrugged his cloak back. By the uniform, I had guessed correctly.

The man took a somewhat linear path from the district to the wall, which he climbed up to walk to the other side of the city.

My eyes narrowed. I didn't see how I was going to follow him from this side. Maybe it was just a patrol route, but I wasn't sure.

I looked around for a likely lookout spot I could climb to. The highest buildings were watchtowers, but I spied a church steeple near the bridge. The guard was moving slowly, stopped to talk to someone. I hurried toward the church and slipped over the fence. It was a brick building and easy to climb. There were a few spots I had to leap to, but I persevered and clawed my way to the top. I balanced on the steeple and looked around to reorient myself. The guard had moved on and I nearly lost him, but I saw the man head down the stairs on the other side. I lost him amidst the buildings.

I didn't think the man was working.

I started to climb down, but a heartbeat later, the second floor lights in one of the big houses along the wall all were lit. Shadows passed in the windows, far more than looked appropriate for a house that size, then were quickly put out.

I thought it was House Fangberg.