The Pale Verdict
The snow on the northern pass did not fall; it hung in the air like suspended ash, heavy and gray, refusing to touch the earth until the wind forced it down. Sir Aldric of the King’s Guard rode a horse that had lost its name three days ago, a creature reduced to muscle and bone, its breath a ragged whistle in the freezing dark. He was forty years old, and his lungs felt as though they were...
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