The Wistful Throne
The road to the city of Aethelgard was not so much a path as a wound in the earth, a long, red gash that bled dust into the wind. Thomas Bradshaw walked it with the heavy, deliberate steps of a man who had long since stopped expecting the ground to hold him. He was a man of the law, or had been, before the law had turned its face away from him like a lover repulsed by a sudden, inexplicable...
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