The Pale Banner
In the center of the long oak table, a silver goblet sat heavy with wine, its rim tarnished by the fingers of a dozen men who had touched it before Elias Thorne, and he held it now with a grip that white-knuckled the metal, his eyes fixed not on the liquid but on the High Inquisitor, Aldous Vane, who sat at the head of the table with the stillness of a statue carved from cold stone. The feast...
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