Stripped of his armor and every scrap of silk that marked him as the member of a Great House, Latio was made to walk. And walk. And walk still.
There were two hundred of them, each with a sturdy mount, yet he was kept on his own two feet. He had reached a point that he would have been willing to be sharing a saddle with any of them, stinking, savage, and lice-ridden as they were. Anything was better than this relentless, rhythmic trudge that lasted from the first grey light of dawn until the stars burned cold above.
