The Wistful Mountain
The iron seal on the letter was still warm when Sir Alistair Craven broke it with the tip of his sword, the wax shattering into a red starburst that stained his gauntleted hand like a fresh wound, and he did not look down but held the parchment high against the pale, weeping light of the hall window, reading the words in his mind as they burned themselves into his consciousness, for the command...
0 Commenti 0 condivisioni 3 Views 0 Anteprima