The Golden Scar
Chapter One Vazgen Javakhishvili ran with his fingers stained black and red, the lead type still warm in the pocket of his coat where he had hidden the clay tablet. The fog rolled off the drowned villages of the coast, thick as wool, turning the world into a grey smear where the road never stopped sounding, a low, grinding hum that vibrated in his molars. He clutched the tablet against his...
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