The Distant Crown
The gate of Acre lay in ruins, a splintered jaw of oak and iron that had failed to hold. Captain Elias Thorne stood before the breach, the dust of the siege settling on his armor like a second skin. He wanted the granary. He needed the grain. The garrison was starving, their strength failing with the summer heat, and without food, the walls would fall not to the Saracen sword, but to weakness....
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