The Distant Clue
The torchlight in the scriptorium flickered, casting Elias Thorne’s shadow against the stone wall, but the shadow did not move when he did. It stood still, a dark smear of defiance, while Elias slammed his quill onto the desk. He was thirty years old, a scribe of the Order of Saint Benedict, and he had come to the Abbot’s private chamber to demand the release of his younger brother, Julian. The...
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