The Pale Tower
The iron bit of my lance was already splintering against the breastplate of the man in the black surcoat, the impact vibrating up through my arms and into the teeth, a cold shock that felt less like battle and more like the sudden, brutal snapping of a bone. I was not fighting for glory, nor for the King, nor even for the holy cause that the preachers had worn like a second skin in the chapel...
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