The Wistful Incense
The feast of Lord Vane was a riot of tallow light and roasted boar, the air thick with the cloying, sweet scent of the wistful incense that lined the hall’s pillars. Sergeant Thomas Hale stood by the hearth, his hand resting on the pommel of his sword, his eyes fixed on the Lord’s empty chair. He wanted the promotion to Captain, a title that would clear his family’s debt to the moneylenders and...
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