The Pale Bridge
The count was simple: forty-two men, thirty-eight swords, and one bridge made of bone. Captain Elias Thorne stood at the edge of the mist, his boots sinking into the wet moss of the valley floor. The air smelled of wet iron and old rot, a scent that clung to the back of the throat and refused to leave. Behind him, the King’s garrison waited, their armor dented and repaired with wire, their...
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