The Faded Shield
The rain in the city of Aethelgard did not fall so much as it suspended, a fine, grey mist that clung to the cobblestones and the faces of the passersby, erasing the sharp lines of the world until everything looked as though it had been painted by a hand that had forgotten how to hold the brush. In the high tower of the Magistrate’s residence, old Silas Vane stood by the window, watching the...
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