The Golden Oath
The bell tolled not for a meal, but for a massacre, the bronze tongue of the Great Hall’s clock striking a discordant, heavy note that vibrated in the marrow of your bones. You stood in the courtyard, the mud caked to your shins, the smell of iron and wet wool thick in the air. It was the third day of the siege, or perhaps the fourth; time had dissolved into a grey slurry of fear and hunger....
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