The Distant Nightmare
The knife is dull, Elias. You look at the blade in your hand, a strip of steel no wider than your thumb, and you think about how the Duke’s armory keeps the inventory in a ledger bound in cracked leather. The ledger lists three hundred swords, forty shields, and twelve sets of chainmail, but it does not list the cost of a man’s silence. You are thirty years old, a knight in the service of the...
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