The Distant Blade
The blade did not sing; it hummed, a low, tectonic vibration that traveled up the arm of Eleanor Vane and settled in the marrow of her wrist. It was a sound less of steel and more of breath, a sustained, hollow note that seemed to emanate from the air itself, pressing against the eardrums like the drop in pressure before a storm. In the grand, vaulted hall of the Guildhall, where the air...
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