The Golden Oath
The first thing Silas did when he arrived at my shop was drop a piece of lead caming on my workbench, the sharp clang of it cutting through the low hum of the forge. He was young, perhaps nineteen, with the hollowed look of a man who had run too far and too fast, and he wore a coat that had seen better decades. I was forty-two, a glazier who had spent the last three years trying to keep the...
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