The Pale Shadows
The rain fell in a cold, steady sheet over the mud of the outer bailey, turning the earth into a slick, sucking mire that clung to Sir Eamon’s boots as he stood before the sealed gates of Kael Fortress. He was forty years old, his face a map of scars and deep lines, and his want was singular, a burning point in his chest: to enter the keep and secure the release of his wife, Elara, who held the...
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