The Pale Banner
The road to the High Keep was not a road at all, but a scar of packed earth and mud that bled into the fog, a path that seemed to exist only in the memory of the horses pulling Thomas Bradshaw’s carriage. He sat in the back, his hands resting on his knees, feeling the vibration of the wheels through his bones, a rhythm that matched the slow, heavy thumping of his own heart. It had been forty...
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