The Distant Clue
The rain had not stopped for three days, turning the mud roads of the valley into rivers of brown slurry that swallowed the wheels of the cart. Elias Thorne sat in the back, his knees drawn up to his chest, a leather satchel clutched against his ribs. He was a man of letters, a scholar of the old rites, though the university in the city had long since stopped calling him by that title. He was...
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