The Wistful Mirror
Chapter One "Another frost," Halloway said, his breath pluming in the grey light of the smithy. "The buds are dead again. We lose the spring ration." Ray Muncy wiped the soot from his hands, the grit working into the creases of his skin. He was thirty-two, an accountant for the temple granary, and he owed four months' rent to the high priest. The pension was the only way out. To get it, he had...
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