Silence, heavy and sacred, enveloped the Imperial Bedchamber. King Alden lay back against his pillows, staring down at the towering monarch of Mount Sorrow kneeling in deep, respectful homage at his bedside. For forty years, Alden had read the intelligence folios of the Solar Inquisitors, had listened to the venomous warnings of High Chancellor Malakar, and had signed treaties of containment against the 'bloodthirsty savages of the northern crags.' He…
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