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Chris Turner

Copyright 2012 Chris Turner

Cover Design: Chris Turner

Published by Innersky Books on Smashwords

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This is a work of fiction. All the characters and events portrayed in these stories are either fictitious or are used fictitiously.

The low mound at Risgan’s feet was anything but ordinary to his trained eye. Underneath it had the look of treasure. It is said that grave-robbing was bad for the soul, likely to incur the wrath of the spirits. But Risgan was not of this belief, nor an entertainer of superstition; ’twas bad for business. Without hesitation, he swung his pickaxe hard on the packed earth. His trim leather hunting breeches creaked with the effort. Standing atop his pile made him seem taller than usual in his low black boots. His square chin, brawny arms and untroubled stance had a queer way of looking quixotic in this deserted quarter with only fallen, moss-covered columns to his left and a collapsed lichen-ridden domed prayer hall to his right. The air, sticky and sweltering, was laced with a soft melancholy, tinged with antiquity and moulder. Flung to a side in the dirt were scalpel, scoop, wire brush, bodkin, bone horn: certain accoutrements of his profession, along with his diamond scratcher for measuring gem hardness, and a polished truncheon of gibbeth femur useful for surprising bandits, whom he encountered often in his trade.

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