“You are losing too much blood,” I said, crossing to the soldier. I yanked at the top sheet of my bed, made a slit with my sword, and ripped off a piece of linen.
Only then did I see the trail of crimson running from between his gorget around his neck and his pauldron. The soldier’s knees began to buckle, but he grabbed onto the doorframe to hold himself erect. I’d ordered my captain of the guard to do whatever he could to stop the digging, but he’d been too busy fending off siege engines and invaders scaling the walls. While I’d hoped the tunnel would weaken and collapse on the sappers in order to halt their progress, they’d moved with remarkable speed and without any mishaps, clearly well commanded. I just never expected it to be so quickly. From the moment Lord Pitt’s sappers started digging the underground passageway beneath the walled fortifications several days ago, I’d known it was only a matter of time before they broke into the castle. After all, I’d spent the past night, like everyone else, anxiously listening to the steady ring of picks as sappers chipped away the last of the stone under the wall. The news of the collapse didn’t surprise me.
Ludlow Castle, Eastern Marches June, in the year of our Lord 1392 “The inner bailey wall to the south is down, my lady, and the castle will soon be overrun.” The soldier faltered in the doorway of my chambers, his armor slick with the blood of battle.
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