The Golden Quest
The iron of the pike bit deep into the shoulder of the man in the black tunic, a sound like a wet branch snapping underfoot, and then there was only the smell of copper and the heavy, suffocating silence of the great hall. Sir Thomas Bradshaw did not pull the weapon free. He held it there, the blade trembling in his grip, while the blood ran hot and thick down his forearm, soaking into the worn...
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