The Golden Visit
The arrow hits you in the throat before you even hear the whistle. It is a thick, fletched shaft, tipped with iron that gleams like a tear in the grey morning light. You do not fall. You cannot fall. The pain is a white, screaming bell that rings in your ears, drowning out the clash of steel and the shouts of the men around you. You are holding the line on the rampart of King’s Keep, a fortress...
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