The Pale Verdict
The rain had been falling on the grey stone of the keep for three days straight, a relentless, cold weeping that turned the muddy courtyard into a slick, treacherous mirror of the overcast sky, and it was in this damp, oppressive silence that Master Thomas Ashworth found his hands trembling, not from the chill that seeped through the thick wool of his gambeson, but from the sudden, terrifying...
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