The Distant Clue
The caravan of the Inquisition moved through the mist-choked valley of the Ashenwood, a procession of iron-gray robes and silent, heavy steps that seemed to absorb the light of the early morning. Margaret Holloway walked in the second rank, her back straight against the biting cold, her hands wrapped tightly around the leather satchel that hung from her belt. Inside that satchel, wrapped in...
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