The Pale Banner
The stone is bleeding. That is the first thing you notice as the King’s herald, a man with a face like a crumpled map of grievances, points a trembling finger at the central arch. You are Elias, thirty years old, a master mason, and you are standing on the scaffolding in the biting wind of the year 1240, your hands black with dust and sweat, while the herald shouts that you are a traitor for...
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