The Pale Verdict
The mule’s hoof struck the stone, a dull thud that vibrated up Mehdi’s shins. He was fifty, and his knees no longer forgave the incline of the Amber Stair, ninety-six of which remained between him and the shrine gate. The light before the hailstorm was greenish, a physical weight pressing against the rice paddies below. He carried the copper ingot shaped like an oxhide, its surface warm from...
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