The Golden Visit
The blade did not sing; it screamed, a high, thin shriek of steel tearing through the humid air of the crypt, where the torches burned with a sickly, phosphorescent blue light that seemed to eat the shadows rather than illuminate them. Sir Edward Ashworth held his ground in the center of the stone circle, his knees locked, his breath coming in ragged, desperate gasps that fogged in the...
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