The Golden Oath
The solstice feast in the great hall of Aldric Manor was a cacophony of roasting meat and lute strings, the air thick with the scent of spiced wine and the sweat of forty servants, but twelve-year-old Thomas Bradshaw stood in the shadows of the servants’ corridor, his fingers stained black with iron-gall ink, listening to the rhythmic, wet weeping that came from the ancient oak in the...
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