The Distant Blade
The parchment lay on the anvil, its edges curling slightly from the heat of the forge. It was a bill, or perhaps a notice of forfeiture, written in the stiff, angular hand of the Steward. You read it once, the letters blurring as the cough seized your chest, a dry, rattling thing that felt like a stone being dragged across the inside of your ribs. The document stated that the commission for the...
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