The Pale Path
Aldric. The name was not spoken by a lover, nor by a son, but by the steward, a man whose voice had gone thin and reedy like a dry reed snapped in the wind. He stood at the threshold of the great hall, where the afternoon light slanted through the high windows, catching the dust motes that swirled in the stagnant air. Aldric turned from the window, where he had been watching the borderlands...
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