By afternoon, the oppressive heat showed no sign of easing.
Yet throughout the vast tea plantations stretching across the hills, the tea pickers continued working without the slightest slackening.
The Toksor estate lay just ahead.
Aegon had halted his force of more than three hundred men several miles from the estate, deliberately keeping his distance.
It was essentially a declaration that his army posed no immediate threat while giving the estate’s people time to approach him.
If he had marched straight into the estate with hundreds of armed cavalrymen, it would inevitably have caused unnecessary panic and trouble.
Aegon found a shady spot beneath a tree and sat down.
He noticed Belwas, Connington, and the others following closely behind.
His outburst earlier had merely been intended to firmly establish his authority over the army.
He had never actually intended to drive Connington away.
He also knew Connington would never leave so easily.
Aegon hated internal power struggles.
This was all Illyrio’s fault.
He would simply have to stab the old man a few extra times when he got the chance.
Connington and the others quickly caught up, but they did not immediately approach Aegon.
He had been young once himself and understood that a young man’s anger sometimes needed a little time to cool.
Moreover, Connington believed that if Aegon had managed to train this army to its present state, then the young man must possess genuine ability.
Before long, Aegon spotted seven or eight riders approaching from the direction of the estate.
The man leading them wore a loose, spotless white robe and, at first glance, looked almost like a holy man.
“Give him the letter,” Aegon instructed Rogett Torreo.
Rogett hurried forward and handed over the letter Galeri had previously given them.
The soldiers grew increasingly irritated as the man carefully examined the envelope.
They had been riding all day, were exhausted and thirsty, and their waterskins were already empty.
All they wanted was to rest as soon as possible.
But Aegon’s back remained ramrod straight.
Seeing their commander still standing there without complaint, none of them dared relax even slightly.
Soon enough, the white-robed estate master broke into a broad smile and approached Aegon.
“So you are Lord Silas.
We have already prepared dinner and accommodations for you.
Please rest here for a while.”
Aegon nodded.
“Then you have my thanks.”
Guided by the white-robed landowner, Aegon led his men into the estate, with the soldiers following closely behind.
Connington was about to step forward when Young Griff suddenly spoke.
“My lord, are we going inside as well?
You don’t need to endure this humiliation for my sake.
Seeing Young Griff trying to dissuade him, Connington felt a warm sense of satisfaction.
For a moment, he saw the shadow of another young man.
Rhaegar had been like this too—always capable of noticing the feelings of those around him.
Connington would never forget that handsome crown prince, a man who seemed to radiate both sunlight and the quiet air of a scholar.
He gently pulled himself away from the memories and shook his head.
“This has nothing to do with you.
Besides, for someone who will sooner or later have to go to war, training on a practice field alone is nowhere near enough.
Learning how to interact with people and resolve disputes and conflicts is equally important.
These are skills you must learn.
That is also one of the first lessons we want you to understand.”
Connington knew that Aegon’s actions had merely been the result of a young man’s pride.
But Young Griff possessed that same fierce pride, and all Connington could do was patiently guide him through it.
Aegon had no idea what the supposed father and son were discussing.
Under the white-robed landowner’s guidance, he had already entered the estate proper.
The moment he stepped through the entrance, however, the scene before him made his heart tighten.
There was something horrifying about it.
Lining both sides of the road leading deeper into the estate stood a row of crosses.
Men who looked little better than living corpses had been firmly bound to them.
Under the merciless sun, they remained tied to the wooden crosses, forced to endure the blazing heat without moving.
Even getting a sip of water to relieve their thirst was an impossible luxury.
Their cracked lips were crawling with flies.
Many were already severely dehydrated, having collapsed unconscious from heatstroke.
Their upper bodies were completely bare.
Every rib protruded sharply beneath their skin, making them look like skeletons wrapped in a thin layer of flesh.
It was nothing short of a living hell.
And there were more than twenty people being subjected to this punishment.
“Master of the estate,” Aegon said, his voice calm, “if I remember correctly, slavery is not permitted within Pentos.
What grievous crimes have these men committed to deserve such treatment?”
The white-robed landowner answered casually.
“Oh, they were originally hired laborers on the estate.
They incurred debts and were working them off, but they were constantly shirking their duties and even attempted to escape.
So I had them captured and punished.”
As he spoke, the white-robed estate master looked at Aegon with a trace of disdain.
Just as I thought.
He’s one of those city-bred nobles.
And this is nothing.
He hasn’t even seen the real punishments yet.
Only then did Aegon notice the oil-slick leather whip the man had been holding throughout their conversation.
Aegon said nothing more.
He simply followed the man into a spacious, cool wooden hall.
Only Rogett and Mengo accompanied him inside.
Everyone else—including Belwas and Connington—was assigned separate accommodations.
After drinking several cups of iced tea, the white-robed estate master began explaining the situation surrounding the bandits.
According to him, the bandit leader named Luchys was a monster who had committed every imaginable crime—murder, arson, robbery, assaulting women, and countless other atrocities.
“Those people are the laziest creatures in the world.
They were given the opportunity to work peacefully and earn an honest living, yet they show absolutely no gratitude.”
“Some are even worse.
They don’t merely run away.
They actually join that Luchys fellow, guide his people through the countryside, and help them attack our estates.
People like that deserve to have every bone in their bodies pulled apart while they’re still alive.”
The man spoke as casually as though he were discussing how good the food in his kitchen was.
He didn’t regard these people as human beings at all.
Aegon already understood.
This Luchys was probably not some bloodthirsty monster who had simply decided to become a bandit.
More likely, he was a desperate man who had been driven into rebellion.
And Aegon had learned something else that was extremely important.
Luchys was a Rhoynar.
Aegon’s biological mother was Princess Elia Martell of Dorne, and the Dornish proudly regarded themselves as descendants of the Rhoynar.
Which meant that, by blood, Aegon himself carried Rhoynar ancestry.
The Rhoynar had originally lived for generations along the Rhoyne, where they had built a powerful civilization.
Then they made the mistake of provoking the Valyrian Freehold at the height of its power.
Three hundred dragons descended upon them and utterly destroyed the Rhoynar homeland.
Some of the Rhoynar died in battle or were taken captive.
Others fled westward to the continent of Westeros.
Those became the two principal fates of the Rhoynar people.
But there was another group of survivors.
They scattered into hiding, desperately clinging to life around the Rhoyne.
To their west lay the sphere of Pentoshi influence.
To their east stretched the grasslands where the Dothraki roamed.
These people had lost their homeland and were now trapped between two great powers, struggling simply to survive.
As the Pentoshi continued expanding their influence and the Dothraki launched endless raids, the weakened Rhoynar were simply incapable of resisting either side.
Listening to the white-robed estate master’s account, Aegon realized that defeating Luchys would not be easy.
Even if the bandit leader had only a hundred or so men capable of fighting, he possessed a certain natural aptitude for military tactics—and, more importantly, the support of the local population.
If Aegon made even one careless mistake, he could find himself completely surrounded.
He could be swallowed by a vast sea of enemies.