The Pale Banner
The gate would not lock. Sir Aldric stood in the shadow of the portcullis, his hands trembling not from the cold damp of the stone keep but from the sudden, sickening realization that the iron mechanism had been tampered with. He was forty years old, a captain of the guard who had served the Duke of Ashworth for two decades, and he clutched a white silk shawl in his left hand, the fabric...
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