The Golden Cellar
The bell tolled. It did not ring. It struck. A dull, iron sound that vibrated in the teeth. Silas stood in the mud. Rain slicked his hair. He was a scholar. He knew Latin. He knew the weight of words. He did not know how to bleed. A spear tip pressed against his throat. The man holding it was large. His face was hidden by a helm. The metal was dented. It had seen many winters. "Yield," the man...
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