5. Chief hatred - by Tanaqui
In the midst of his joy, a chill gripped his heart. Yet still he would have spurred his horse to meet his enemy, black-robed and black-masked, if his mount had not been mastered by its fear.
Cold laughter followed him.
Seventy-five years did not lessen its bite, nor soften the new taunt. He knew it was folly to ride forth, yet he must go.
History will not judge me weak nor faint-hearted.
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