Argyle awoke to the sound of shouting outside. He'd been sleeping a lot lately, when he probably shouldn't be. Must be age getting to you, he thought to himself. He stretched, scratched himself, and called down through the murder-hole next to the straw pallet he'd been sleeping on, "Hold your horses. We're getting to it."
An initiate's face appeared at the top of the ladder to the space above the gate. Argyle nodded to him. "Open it up, so these mercenaries can 'feed the beast' as they like to say - feed him our horde, they'd like." The initiate nodded and climbed back down the ladder. Dumb kid, thought Argyle, they get dumber all the time. Not like in my day. Just me and Silakul left, now there's a man with vision.
There was a rumbling noise, as the initiate and two others, at least as dumb, wound the large winch and the heavy gates slowly opened. Argyle slid down the ladder with a grace that belied his age, and he stepped out into the dark night to meet the arriving mercenaries. Or so he thought.
"Rowloe, I presume?" he said to the shadowy figure riding shotgun in the wagon, "They told me you'd be coming before dark."