The Fall of Lord Blackthorn

By Book

A crash thundered in the distance, or so it seemed. An eternity passed before he realized the noise had been his sword splintering the bed stand in two. The vial shattered; droplets sprayed across him, and they burned. He collapsed against the wall. He slid down, lower and lower, until he sat helplessly on the floor. His sword dropped from his hand.

The healer now stood over the knight, frantically searching for a pulse, first on her wrist, then upon her throat. His lamp lay forgotten near the door, glass broken from its own fall, its flame guttering upon the floor as if taking its final breaths. Other folk appeared, first the innkeeper, then the guards, as the healer called for help. Throughout it all, Shaana did not stir. Not a breath escaped her. As the old woman had promised, the knight's sleep would be sound.

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