The Pale Tower
Chapter One The caravan city of Skye moved with the slow, grinding inevitability of a millstone, its streets packed with merchants hauling silversmiths’ tools and bundles of river clay, the air thick with the dust of trade and the distant, rhythmic clang of hammers on anvil. In the shadow of the Pale Tower, where the karst limestone rose like broken teeth against a sky that refused to clear,...
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