The Faded Sutra
The iron bit of the lance caught the throat of the enemy horse, a wet, tearing sound that was swallowed by the thunder of hooves and the shriek of breaking wood. Aldric Vane did not see the death. He saw only the geometry of the charge, the perfect line of his own armor against the chaotic swarm of the Blackwood levies. He was a man made of steel and silence, a weapon forged in the cold...
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