the smuggler’s bible

Dromond of Frisia

Azincourt is a mess by anybody’s estimation, but Dromond manages to avoid the worst of it. Jenny’s still missing—some six years by now—so he’s stuck in the first battle with a crossbow slung over his shoulder and dark wet mud sucking at his calves.

Beside him, a dirty Burgundian in a pot helmet spits on the ground. “The charge will break them in half,” he says. “Merde.”

The next few hours are hell, Dromond hears later. It’s three days before he wakes up and pulls the arrow out of his shoulder. He leaves the crossbow where it fell.