The Distant Threshold
The mist in the North fenlands did not drift so much as it waited, a thick, grey curtain that swallowed the horizon and reduced the world to a radius of ten paces around Elias Thorne, who stood alone in the sucking mud, his breath pluming in the cold air as he clutched the vial against his chest. It was the year of our Lord 1342, and Elias, a thirty-five-year-old sergeant in the King’s Guard...
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