Ora Stonebeard's hand trembled slightly.
That hand could grip a battleaxe and split a man's head in two, yet now it could barely hold a weightless quill steady.
The aroma of the roast meat in the lunch on the table was like an invisible hand clamped around his throat, making him feel as though he were suffocating.
Veylin neither spoke nor hurried him. He simply stood there quietly.
He was like an experienced hunter, knowing that the more a trapped beast struggled, the tighter the snare would cinch.
"My... my knights..." Ola's voice was dry and hoarse. "Just try laying a finger on them!"
"Baron, let's look at this another way." Veylin's voice was perfectly level. He pointed at the pitch-black camp outside the window. "Every war has a losing side. Under the Duchy's laws, you owe war reparations. I've done the calculations. Selling all of you to work in the mines for thirty years should just about cover it."
"That's a terrible option. It benefits neither you, your men, nor me." He paused, letting that cold reality settle in the air.
"But this labor contract," Veylin tapped the parchment, "is the second path I'm offering you. A more civilized path. You'll repay your debt with your body. You and your men will exchange your freedom for the right to stay alive."
Freedom.
Coming from Veylin's mouth, the word sounded like a vicious curse.
Ola's gaze moved back and forth between the contract and the dinner before finally settling on Veylin's far-too-young face.
He thought of the bastards under his command. They were always noisy and spent money like water, but not one of them was a coward on the battlefield.
He remembered the resentment and fear on their faces when they were captured.
Dwarven honor...
Honor, my ass!
He