V. White Flag, Black Knight
It was midmorning, when the gates of Castle Angilbert finally opened and the drawbridge was lowered.
As one, Kurval’s archers drew their bows and aimed at the drawbridge.
“Hold,” Kurval ordered, “Do not fire except on my mark. Let’s see what they have to say first.”
Kurval pulled a spy glass, a remnant of his nautical days, from a saddle bag and held it to his eye.
He spied a lone figure emerging from the gates and traipsing across the drawbridge, clearly nervous, judging by how often the figure turned around to look over their shoulder. Once the lone figure was in the clear, the gates slammed shut and the bridge was drawn up again.
Whoever this figure was, it was clearly not the black knight. The figure was too short and portly, for starters, and not wear
