The Golden Master
The feast was a riot of tallow light and roasted fat. The hall groaned under the weight of its own abundance. Sir Aldric sat at the head of the table. His armor was polished to a mirror shine. He did not eat. He watched the shadows dance in the corners. The air smelled of smoke and old blood. He had come for the Golden Master. It was a rumor that had spread like a contagion through the northern...
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