The Pale Tower
Chapter One Could a man’s hands be punished for a crime he had not committed, or was the pain simply the price of keeping a machine that was not his own? Estrid Dahl woke in the narrow cot of the watchtower with a headache that felt like a hammer striking the inside of his skull, and when he pulled back the wool blanket, the air was so cold it burned his lungs. He looked down at his left palm,...
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