The Pale Verdict
The rain had not stopped for three days, turning the King’s Highway into a slurry of brown mud that sucked at the boots of the men who walked it. Thomas Hale felt the weight of his armor not as a burden of metal, but as a heavy, cold shroud that had grown into his skin over the last year of service. He was a sergeant in the garrison at Oakhaven, a man who had once known the smell of fresh hay...
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