The Wistful Silence
The bell tolled four. It was a low, wet sound that seemed to rise from the mud itself. Thomas stood on the rampart, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword. The steel was cold. The air was colder. "You are late, Sergeant," said a voice behind him. Thomas did not turn. He knew the voice. It belonged to Elias. Elias, who had sworn an oath of blood. Elias, who had kissed the ring. "I was...
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