The Faded Shield
The rain had not stopped for three days, turning the cobblestones of the Lower Ward into a slick, black mirror that reflected the jagged spires of the keep above. I stood in the center of the square, the weight of the iron shield on my left arm a familiar, cold anchor to the earth. It was a heavy thing, forged in the old ways, its surface etched with the family crest of the Ashworth line,...
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