The Pale Door
The road to the Abbey of St. Jude was not a road in the true sense, but a scar cut into the hillside, worn smooth by the passage of iron-shod hooves and the weary feet of those who had nowhere else to go. Thomas Bradshaw walked it with the heavy, deliberate gait of a man carrying a stone in his chest. He was a sergeant of the King’s Guard, a title that had once meant protection and order, but...
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