The Distant Blade

added blog Literature

2026-08-20 12:42:36 -

The Distant Blade

The road was mud. Thick, sucking clay that pulled at the boots of Sir Alistair Thorne as he walked. He walked alone. The rain fell in sheets. Cold. Gray. It stung his face. It soaked his cloak. He did not stop. He could not stop. To stop was to think. To think was to feel the weight of the sword at his hip. The sword was heavy. It was always heavy now. He was a knight. He was the law. Or so the...

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