The Squire's hand froze on the door handle.
He did not push the door open.
A moment later, the door was shoved open from outside.
The force knocked the Squire straight to the floor. His back slammed against the flagstones with a dull thud.
The doorway stood wide open.
Outside, countless torches lit the night as brightly as day.
A troop of fully armed knights stood at the entrance, wearing gleaming silver plate armor and pure white cloaks. Their breastplates bore three ravens clutching three blood-red hearts-the heraldry of House Corbray.
At their head stood a young nobleman, his chin slightly raised as he surveyed the wreckage inside the hall.
Behind them, a long line of torches stretched along the mountain road outside the inn, its end lost from sight.
Armor reflected the firelight, and the horses' breath turned to white mist in the night air.
There was no telling how many men were out there.
Armored boots rang against the floor.
The white-cloaked knights poured into the inn, more than a dozen filing through the doorway and filling the hall in an instant.
The guests already huddled against the walls were forced farther into the corners, hardly daring to breathe. The innkeeper crouched behind the counter, his face deathly pale.
Only Aegon, Arya, Brienne, and the Squires lying on the floor remained in the center of the hall.
The knights of House Corbray closed around them in a tight ring.
Only then did the young nobleman enter, accompanied by two personal guards.
He wore a finely made dark blue velvet coat beneath chainmail, with a longsword hanging at his waist in an elegantly decorated scabbard.
By the torchlight, the Squire on the floor recognized the newcomer's face.
Far from being frightened, he looked delighted. He scrambled to his feet