The Pale Circus
The Great Hall of the High Council was a cavern of stone and shadow, lit by tallow candles that burned with a sullen, yellow ferocity, casting long, trembling distortions across the faces of the twelve elders who sat in judgment. Silas Vane stood at the center of the room, his uniform tattered and stained with the red mud of the northern passes, his hands bound by iron cuffs that bit into his...
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