The Pale Tower
The lock on the cell door had rusted through at the hinge, a thin line of orange flaking off the iron, and Elias Thorne sat on the stone floor with his back against the damp wall, watching General Vane cross the room with the measured, heavy steps of a man who had never once in his life been hurried by anything that mattered. Vane did not sit. He stood by the narrow window where the rain...
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