Deacon Vane reached inside his leather document pouch and drew out the heavy, lead-wrapped iron cylinder of Magistrate Vane-Locke.
The cold metal clinked as he peeled away the protective lead foil.
For months, the late magistrate had kept this cylinder hidden in a hollow pillar of his manor. It had been his final insurance policy against Orson’s assassins.
On the cylinder’s rim, the coiled-viper seal aligned with the two carved dragon heads flanking the recessed socket.
Deacon stepped up to the obsidian pedestal, his hands steady as an appraiser weighing raw diamond dust. He slid the cylinder into the cylindrical slot and pressed down with his thumb.
CLICK.
An ancient, spring-loaded lock engaged deep inside the jade console.
The hundreds of pulsing runes across the tabletop flared with brilliant, azure light. The spatial copper cables embedded in the bedrock began to hum with deep harmonic vibration.
