The Distant Threshold

added blog Literature

2026-08-22 21:43:02 -

The debt is three hundred silver marks, and the silence in the great hall is worth ten times that sum. Sir Aldric stood before the high table, his hand resting on the pommel of his sword, feeling the cold iron bite into his palm. The air in Lord Vane’s castle smelled of roasting venison, stale wine, and the sharp, metallic tang of fear. It was a feast for the autumn harvest, the table groaning...

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