The Pale Meridian
The wind in the valley of Ashenmoor did not howl but whispered, a low, continuous susurrus that seemed to originate from the very bedrock of the earth, carrying with it the scent of wet iron and ancient, decayed peat. It was a whisper that Edric Vane had followed for seven years, across the jagged borders of three kingdoms and over the frozen, indifferent expanse of the northern sea, seeking...
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