The Pale Verdict
The iron bit of the warhorse screamed against the wood of the gate, a sound like a nail being pulled from a coffin, and Thomas Bradshaw knew with the cold, absolute clarity of a man who has seen too much death that he was not fighting for the crown, nor for the glory of the King, nor even for the sacred honor of the order he had sworn to protect, but solely for the thinning, brittle crust of...
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