The Distant Joke
The bell of the Great Keep did not ring so much as it groaned, a low, resonant thrum that vibrated through the soles of Edward Ashworth’s boots and settled heavy in his chest. It was a sound that had defined the rhythm of his life for forty years, a metronome for the rise and fall of the kingdom’s power, but today the rhythm was broken. The sky above the citadel was not the blue of a summer...
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