The Distant Blade
The rain had not stopped for three days, a relentless, gray curtain that turned the road into a slurry of mud and rot, and Thomas Ashworth walked through it with the heavy, rhythmic tread of a man who had long since ceased to care whether the earth beneath his feet was solid or merely a suggestion held together by the sheer weight of his own exhaustion. He was a soldier of the Crown, or had...
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