The Distant Crown
The gate’s mechanism was failing, and Marianna Cieslak knew it with the same certainty she knew the weight of her own hands. "Can you hold the chokepoint, or do you want to die standing?" asked the squire, young Jan, his face pale under the grime. The question hung in the humid air of the courtyard, where the ancient oak bled thick, dark sap from a fresh wound in its bark. Marianna did not...
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