The Distant Cartograph
The mud of the King’s highway sucked at Elias Thorne’s boots with a wet, persistent hunger, pulling him deeper into the earth as he marched his squad toward the gates of Oakhaven. It was the year of our Lord 1342, and the autumn air bit at his exposed cheeks, carrying the scent of rotting leaves and distant smoke. Elias was thirty years old, a sergeant of the Crown’s levy, a man who had built...
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