The Distant Threshold
The ledger showed three hundred and twelve souls, each marked with a red ink cross for the tithe, a black square for the grain, and a small circle for the labor owed to the Citadel. Elias counted them twice, the quill scratching a dry, rhythmic note against the parchment, his eyes dry and fixed on the column of names that stretched down to the bottom of the page. He was thirty-two, a captain in...
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