The Distant Joke
The rain on the shield of Sir Alistair Vance was not merely water; it was a heavy, grey curtain that sought to obscure the truth of his journey, a truth he had carried for three days along the muddy causeway leading to the high seat of House Blackwood. He was a man carved from the same stone as the walls he now approached, a soldier whose life had been defined by the rigid geometry of command...
0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews