The Distant Promise
The road to the Abbey of St. Jude was not a road at all, but a scar of mud and broken stone that cut through the weeping heath. Thomas Bradshaw walked it with the heavy, rhythmic tread of a man who had forgotten how to move silently. He was a knight of the King’s own guard, a title that had once meant iron and honor, but now felt like a chain around his neck, rusted and cold. Beside him, his...
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