The Pale Tower
The stone of the Pale Tower did not merely hold the walls together; it spoke. It was a low, granular hum that vibrated in the teeth of anyone who pressed their ear to the cold limestone, a sound like dry leaves skittering across a flagstone floor. For Thomas, a twelve-year-old scribe’s apprentice with ink-stained fingers and a hunger that was half physical and half spiritual, the hum was the...
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