The Pale Tower
The iron bit is in your mouth, tasting of rust and old blood, as you drive the sword through the gap in the shield wall. The air is thin here, at the edge of the world where the pine forests thin out into the gray, wind-scoured heather. You are a man of the King’s Guard, a shield-bearer, a wall of steel and leather, and yet you feel hollowed out, scraped clean by the years of service that have...
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