The Distant Blade
The rain did not fall so much as it besieged the glass, a relentless, gray curtain that blurred the world outside into a smear of mud and decay. Inside the High Court of the Valley, the air was thick with the scent of wet wool, stale pipe tobacco, and the metallic tang of fear. Brother Julian stood at the center of the circular chamber, his white robes stained with the grime of the journey, his...
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