The Faded Shield
Eamon. The name was spat by the High King’s herald, a sound sharp as a snapped twig in the silent hall, and it struck the knight with the force of a physical blow, pinning him to the cold stone floor of the throne room. The air in the chamber smelled of wet wool, old blood, and the metallic tang of fear that seemed to seep from the pores of the assembled courtiers, a scent that clung to the...
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