The Distant Clue
The autumn of 1348 settled over the valley like a shroud, thick with the smell of wet rot and the metallic tang of fear, and it was in this suffocating silence that Elias Vane, a man whose hands had spent four decades grinding herbs and measuring out death’s precursor in small, precise doses, decided to walk into the mouth of the beast. He was forty years old, though the wasting fever that had...
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