The Distant Blade
The rain had been falling on the industrial district of Newbridge for three days, a persistent, grey sheet that turned the cobblestones into a mirror of the soot-stained sky, and within the high-ceilinged hall of the Royal Foundry, Arthur Vane stood motionless before the great anvil, his hands resting lightly on the hilt of the broadsword that had been his father’s, and his father’s before him,...
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