The iron gate did not creak, a fact that unsettled Elias more than the wind howling off the moors could have ever managed. It stood open, a jagged mouth in the stone face of the keep, waiting to swallow the last of the King’s shield-bearers. Behind him, the rain hammered against the wet wool of his cloak, a rhythmic, percussive drumming that seemed to count down the seconds until the end. He...
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