The Distant Blade
The silver signet ring sat on Elias Thorne’s index finger, the metal worn to a dull, frictionless shine by the constant, anxious rubbing of his thumb. It was a cheap thing, purchased from a peddler in the market square for two shillings, yet to Elias it was the only solid thing in a world that had grown soft and treacherous. He sat in the command tent, the canvas walls damp with the cold...
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