The peaceful reverie of Red-Oak Ridge was shattered at the fourth hour of morning by the sharp, piercing screech of a Bloodthorn shadow-falcon diving through the mist. General Ronan stood on the veranda of the central lodge, extending his heavy leather gauntlet to catch the magnificent bird. Untying the small, wax-sealed cylinder of black bone from the falcon’s leg, Ronan cracked the seal, read the ciphered parchment within, and his…
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