The Distant Joke
The letter lay on the oak table, its seal broken, the ink still wet. It was a formal notice of censure from the High Council, written in the dry, bureaucratic hand of Alderman Vane, Kaelen’s former mentor. The text accused Kaelen of treason for withholding the village grain from the Northern Host, a charge that hung in the cold air of the watchtower like smoke. Kaelen read it twice, the short...
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