The Faded Sutra

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2026-08-22 16:21:57 -

The Faded Sutra

The parchment lay on the oak table, the ink still wet, smelling of iron and vinegar. Sir Eadric stared at the list of names, his left hand trembling so violently that the quill in his right hand scratched a jagged line across the paper. The feast hall of the Duke of York was loud, a roar of goblets and laughter that bounced off the stone walls, but Eadric heard only the dry rattle of his own...

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