The Distant Blade
Thorne. The name was not called with affection, but with the sharp, clipped precision of a man checking a ledger, and it cut through the humid roar of the banquet hall in the shadow of the Ashworth Ironworks. Sergeant Elias Thorne stood at the center of the long table, his tunic buttoned to the throat, his eyes fixed on the crystal flute of champagne in his hand, waiting for the promotion that...
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