The Golden Scar
The Inquisition’s decree arrived before the noon bell. Mwanaidi Mrisho stood in the shadow of the temple granary, his hands wrapped around a merchant's folding scale that had seen better days. The metal was cold, the brass links worn smooth by decades of weighing salt. He was thirty-two, a senior inquisitor, and he owed a debt to a man everyone feared. The rain fell in sheets, turning the...
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