The Golden Maze
The map is blank, you say. I held the parchment up to the candlelight, the wax dripping in thick, heavy drops onto the stone floor. The blind seer, old Halloway, had charged me three shillings for it, a sum that would have bought a week’s bread in the village, but I paid without haggling. My hands shook, not from the cold that seeped through the monastery walls, but from the weight of the...
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