The Distant Legend
You hold your breath. The air in the Guildhall is thick, stale with the smell of damp wool and old parchment. It tastes of iron. You are sitting in the back row, among the shadows, watching the High Warden take the stand. He looks small. That is the first surprise. You expected a mountain of a man, a figure carved from granite and authority. Instead, he is a withered thing, his skin hanging...
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