The Distant Clue
The Great Hall of Blackwood Keep did not smell of wine or roasted boar, as the histories claimed it should, but of damp wool, old stone, and the metallic tang of fear that had settled into the grout over centuries. Sir Aldric Thorne stood at the edge of the dais, his hand resting lightly on the hilt of his sword, his fingers white-knuckled against the leather wrap. He was a man of the court,...
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