The wind over the Red Stone River blew sharp and cold, carrying the damp spray of churning rapids and the distant, metallic scent of eighty thousand armed men. On the northern bridgehead, Captain Thorne and five veteran outriders of the Nightwatch waited impassively beside the colossal granite arch that anchored the ancient span. Their broadswords were sheathed, but their hands rested casually upon the wire-wrapped hilts, their quartz eyes tracking…
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