The Golden Oath
The rain in Kaelen’s Hollow did not wash things clean; it only made the mud slicker and the shadows deeper. You stand in the mud, Eamon, your shield arm aching from a day’s march, watching the High Justiciar’s men drag Cillian from the crowd. He is smaller than you, always has been, but his eyes are wide and bright with a terror that makes your stomach turn. The accusation hangs in the air,...
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