Barred Gate

Night deep in the stone halls. Wind whistled cold under the portcullis bars. Bad gap. Sneaking feet could slip right beneath. I propped the heavy cleaver upright against my thigh. Found a thick iron locking bar thrown in the corner muck. Clamped both fists around the cold shaft. Hauled it high, grunting low in my throat. Dropped it hard across the twin wall-brackets. Loud iron clatter echoed off the ceiling vaults. Squeezed the rusted drop-pin and rammed it through the retaining ring with one blunt blow of my palm heel. Gate stays locked fast. Snatched cleaver back into both fists. Hall is sealed.