Ola Stonebeard's hand was trembling slightly.
This was a hand that could wield a battle-ax to split a man's head in two, yet now it couldn't even hold a light, flimsy quill steady.
The aroma of the roasted meat from the lunch on the table was like an invisible hand clutching his throat, making him feel as if he were about to suffocate.
Velin didn't speak or rush him, just stood there quietly.
He was like an experienced hunter who knew that the more a beast struggled in a trap, the tighter the snare would become.
"My... my Knights..." Ola's voice was dry and hoarse. "You just try laying a hand on them!"
"Baron, let's look at this another way." Velin's voice was steady, without a hint of fluctuation. He pointed to the dark encampment outside the window. "In any war, there is always a losing side. According to the laws of the Duchy, you are required to pay war reparations. I've done the math. Selling all of you into the mines for thirty years would probably cover it."
