Lord Waldo and his entourage of soldiers left the bedchambers in a hurry after taunting the attacking Lord. Priska basked in their superiority for a moment, then the words that had been hastily exchanged between the young Lord and Jurgen settled in. She immediately left the room of wailing women and servants too old or young to have butchered in the courtyard below. Priska caught up with Waldo, the two men covered in blood and soaked in rain and mud who were talking to that merchant's daughter and Jurgen, who marched dutifully behind Waldo. They passed the main door, which sounded like a dance floor the way they were banging on it. The reality of what sometimes happens to noble Ladies when a keep is taken dawned on her, and she pushed past the warriors to the front of the group. Huffing to keep pace with the long-legged Jurgen, she grabbed him by the elbow, pushing her long nails into the inside of his elbow between the steel plates of his armour.

“Jurgen! You have to take me with you,” she hissed, cutting him off as he was about to protest. “You will not leave me here to be raped and ransomed! I’m coming with you and that’s final.”

The dull brute looked back and forth from her and his liege, eventually nodding. “Just keep close and stay quiet, Prisk--- Lady Steiber.” Priska slowed her pace, falling in behind the fighting men and the Fosdick woman. The hammer-wielding warriors gave her curious looks, but otherwise didn’t say anything and Priska refused to engage the merchant’s daughter with even a look.

They wound their way through a spiral staircase into the cellars. Lord Waldo lead the group, but every so often Jurgen would point him in the right direction. Priska suppressed a grin. The two of them had found a few quiet corners down here over the last few months, and made sure they didn’t stay quiet. They passed the keeps well, that had kept them in clean if unpleasant water throughout the siege, and came to a room full of now-empty cider barrels. Around the back of one huge puncheon barrel, was an old iron bound door. Lord Waldo produced a set of iron keys with a self important flourish and what he surely thought was a charming grin aimed at the merchant’s daughter. Any charm he may have mustered was ruined as he had to try several keys to open the old door.

“My Lord, I must insist I take the lead,” Jurgen said, surprising both Priska and Lord Waldo with his forthrightness. “Nobody from Lorch has been in this tunnel in years, and it’s possible the Talabecmen have found the other entrance.”

“A fine idea, soldier! You should take the lead, one of you others watch our rear,” commanded the Lordling, handing the keys to Roderick. It occurred to Priska that he might not even know Jurgen’s name, despite having been guarded by the Greatsword and his deceased comrade for months. The large man grabbed a torch from the wall, plunging the cellar into darkness and handed it to his Lord before entering the tunnel. Waldo followed, holding the flame high. Priska immediately went after, not bothering to wait for the other three.

Behind her, Brandt looked at Maria and Roderick, then pulled his wounded arm through the remains of his heater shield with a wince. “I’ll take the rear, if one of you wants to grab another torch for us.”