The Golden Oath
The mud of the King’s highway was a living thing, a slick, sucking entity that pulled at our boots and threatened to drag us down into the black, silent earth. I remember the smell of it, that ancient, rotting scent of peat and iron, which clung to my hair and my skin long after we had climbed the muddy banks of the river. We were three men, though we did not feel like men; we felt like stones...
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