The Golden Master
The road to the highlands was not a road at all, but a suggestion of passage carved into the bone of the earth, and it was there, in the thinning mist that clung to the heather like a shroud, that Sir Julian’s hand began to tremble. He held the vial close to his chest, a small glass phial filled with a liquid that shimmered not with water’s clarity, but with the heavy, suspended gold of old...
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