The Pale Banner
The letter lay on the oak desk, the ink still wet and glistening under the single, flickering tallow candle. It was a summons from King Malacor, written in a hand that was sharp and angular, demanding the immediate surrender of the Pale Banner by moonrise or the Archivist’s head on a pike. Elias read it twice, his fingers trembling not from fear, but from the sudden, violent clarity of the...
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