The Distant Blade
The ink in the vial was not black but a deep, arterial red that seemed to pulse against the glass, a biological fluid rather than a pigment, and Elias Vane held it with a steadiness that belied the trembling of his hands as he prepared to transcribe the Distant Blade. He was thirty years old, a scribe of the high court of Aethelgard, a place where the stone walls were carved with runes that...
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