The Golden Quest
The iron key hung from a chain around the neck of Alistair Thorne, a heavy, rusted thing that had once been bright gold before the damp air of the Undercroft ate away its shine, and he held it in his left hand as if it were a living bird that might fly away at any second, its teeth worn smooth by decades of turning locks that should not have been opened by a man who had sworn an oath to keep...
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