The Wistful Crossroads
The axe bit deep. Wood splintered with a sound like a bone breaking. Silas wiped his brow. Sweat stung his eyes. He did not look up. He could not. To look up was to see the King. To see the King was to know he was dead. “Again,” said the man behind him. Silas swung. The blade found the grain. It split clean. The courtyard was stone. Cold. Wet. Rain slicked the flagstones. It smelled of iron and...
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