The Pale Banner
The mud was red. It stained Thomas’s boots, his hands, the hem of his coat. He did not feel it. He only felt the weight of the hammer in his right hand and the screaming in his ears. The city was not a city anymore. It was a throat. It was swallowing them whole. Around him, the men of the Guild moved in a blind, rhythmic fury. They were not fighting an army. They were fighting the air. They...
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