The Distant Cartograph
The nib scraped against the vellum with a sound like a bone being ground, and Elias Thorne did not stop, could not stop, for the ink was not merely pigment but a viscous, living thing that drew the warmth from his fingertips and sank it into the parchment’s fibers. He was mapping the northern reaches of the King’s domain, a commission that promised the sum of fifty gold crowns, a fortune that...
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