The Pale Fracture
The rain in the year of our Lord 1342 did not fall so much as it seeped, a cold, grey mist that found the cracks in Sir Aldric’s armor and settled into the marrow of his bones, a dampness that had been his constant companion for twenty years of service on the Border. He stood upon the ramparts of Dunmore Keep, his knuckles white around the hilt of his sword, watching the Pale Fracture pulse...
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