The Pale Banner
The sky above the ruins of Vane’s Keep did not merely darken; it bruised, a deep, purplish-black that seemed to press down upon the shoulders of Sir Alaric as he stood in the mud of the outer court. He was thirty years old, though the hollows beneath his cheekbones and the tremor in his left hand made him appear a decade older, a man worn down by the grinding friction of exile and the secret,...
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