The Wistful Incense
The bells stopped ringing when the cart wheels hit the gravel. Elias, a man of forty with a face like a dried riverbed, stepped down from the vehicle and looked up at the Abbey of St. Jude. The stone was gray and pitted, worn by centuries of wind and neglect. He had come to investigate the death of Abbot Thomas, a task that would either secure his promotion or end his career. The King wanted...
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