The Faded Shield
The iron bit of the mace strikes the visor with a sound like a bone snapping in a dry field, and you do not blink, for your eyes are already closed behind the steel, seeing only the trembling dark where the world has been reduced to the vibration of your own skull. You are holding the line, or what remains of it, against the flood of crimson that is the King’s guard, and the air tastes of...
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