The Distant Legend
The rain did not fall so much as it hung, a grey veil over the village of Oakhaven, seeping into the stones and the bones of the men who waited in the square. They stood in a loose circle, their breath pluming in the cold air, watching the figure who had just stepped off the mule. It was Aldous Vane. He was not a soldier, not in the way the men of the militia were soldiers. He was a scribe. A...
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