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266 pages, Kindle Edition
Published March 1, 2025
Many years back, when she had first come to Sturmund and his men, seeking them out where they roved, she had presented herself by the same title and had worn it proudly ever after. She said she had been called such as long as she could recall, first by her father and countless men thereafter. It had never bothered her. After all, had she not put those same men beneath the ground, filled their mouths with dirt and their guts with steel?
But even the sturdiest must some time set down weighty arms, if only to remind himself how hollow the ache of a hand without a hilt.
They were a storied lot, Sturmund’s men, but the story was old and dim, tarnished with disuse, rusty from neglect, and that was the greatest dishonor of all—when to be forgotten was no different than never having lived.
The clouds opened then and began to piss on Hull as if they had been waiting all evening for the right moment.