The Pale Door
Chapter One The ink on the parchment had not yet dried when the first sack of grain burst, sending a cascade of pale kernels across the stone floor of the archive room. Athol Toshach, thirty-two years old and already bent by the weight of his duties, stared at the spill not with horror but with the cold, calculating precision of a man who knew that the winter solstice was only twelve days away....
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