The Distant Crown
The rain slicked the cobblestones of the lower city. It was a cold, gray Tuesday. Thomas Vance stood at the edge of the moat. He held his sword. The steel was wet. It dripped onto his boots. He looked up. The castle loomed above him. It was a mass of black stone. The windows were empty. The flags were torn. The air smelled of rot and iron. Thomas was a sergeant. He had served for ten years. His...
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