The Golden Quest
Chapter One Ladislav Novak ground the steel against the whetstone, the rhythm a dull, wet thud that matched the beating of his own pulse. He was forty-two, and his hands were slick with the gray slurry of the rice mill’s canal water, a place where the air tasted of iron and old rot. The winter solstice was three days away, and his son Tomas sat in the debtors’ cell, his stomach a hollow drum...
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