The Golden Master
The rain had not stopped for three days, a relentless, gray curtain that turned the moor into a soup of peat and silence, and Captain Arthur Penhaligon stood at the edge of the chasm, his hand resting on the hilt of a sword that had not seen battle in forty years, listening to the wind howl through the bones of the world. He was a man of the law, or so the town of Blackwater had believed, a...
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