The Pale Altar
The banquet hall smelled of roasted boar and old stone. Candles burned low on the high tables, casting long, trembling shadows against the vaulted ceiling. The air was thick with the scent of wine and the sweat of men in heavy furs. They laughed. The laughter sounded wet and sharp in the quiet corners of the room. Sir Thomas Ashworth sat at the edge of the long table. His back was straight. His...
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