The Distant Blade
Could a dead man’s lie hold a mountain up? Guenter Zimmermann stood in the mud of the alpine bog, his boots sinking to the ankle in the cold, spring water. The monastery behind him groaned, a sound like a bone snapping under a heavy boot. He was forty-two, a structural engineer with hands roughened by more than just chalk and paper, and he had come here to save what his father, Heinrich, had...
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