Rough curses and the sounds of dragging drew closer.
A man trussed up with coarse rope was dragged forward by two Ashen Company soldiers.
He was short and fat, like a bloated barrel filled with grease, his hair disheveled, his face a mixture of barely suppressed fear, anger, and lingering bruises.
"Let go! You savage bastards! Fools! I'm a nobleman! An anointed knight! You can't treat me like this!"
"I have a right to treatment befitting my station! My family will pay a ransom! All the Gold Dragons you want!"
Amory Lorch kicked his legs in vain. Because he refused to cooperate, the two tall, powerful soldiers all but carried him by his armpits as they dragged him along.
He shouted himself hoarse, trying to buy a moment's respite with his noble status and promises of ransom.
His only answer was an even rougher dragging.
The soldiers ignored his curses and dragged him straight to a spot a few paces before Aegon, then released him together.
Thud!
A dull impact rang out.
Amory Lorch was slammed onto the cold, hard blackstone floor like a heavy sack.
The fall struck him hard. His vision went black, and his organs seemed to shift inside him. Every curse caught in his throat, leaving only pained groans and violent coughing.
Neither Ashen Company soldier spared the prisoner on the floor another glance. They turned to Aegon together, struck their chests with their right fists, and gave a crisp, forceful military salute.
Aegon merely waved a hand.
The two soldiers obeyed, silently stepping back two paces to stand guard on either side, watching the writhing, huddled figure on the floor with cold eyes.
The vast, towering hall was deathly silent, save for restrained breathing and the faint, unsettling echoes from deep within the distant reaches