A chamber less than a meter wide, the stone walls as cold as solid ice.
Trembling gasps, a violently contracting heart, hot breath rebounded by the stone wall, endless darkness.
Roars, furious shouts, the metallic clang of weapons clashing, the screech of blades scraping against iron armor shriller than the wails of banshees.
Groans of pain, screams, flesh slapped onto the camel hair tapestry, the crisp snap of breaking bones.
Innumerable death knells intertwined, like invisible serpents pouring out of crevices and pipes, drilling en masse into Borso da Este's ears, nearly driving him insane.
Suddenly, all sounds vanished, and the world became silent, leaving only darkness.
A series of rapid and hurried footsteps.
A few barks of dogs.
Then a few knocks.
"Here!" someone shouted.
"Can't get in!"
"Bring the gunpowder, blow it up!"
