The Wistful Throne
"Does the iron still hold its weight, Captain, or has the rust finally eaten the soul out of the steel?" Sir Aldous Vane did not look up from the whetstone, the rhythmic *shhk-shhk* of the steel against the abrasive grit filling the silence of the keep with a sound that was less a noise and more a kind of breathing, a long, labored exhalation of a century that refused to die, while outside the...
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