The red light from the dying blood-talisman faded into the morning clouds, leaving only the smell of burnt cedar and cold mountain granite.
Kaelen Vance tilted his head back, watching the faint crimson trail dissolve into the blue sky.
Grand Chancellor Vaelen now knows what I look like, Kaelen thought with a faint, sleepy shrug.
Let him send twenty more sky-barges if he likes.
As long as his imperial hounds don’t ring the morning gong before noon, I don’t care who is steering them.
Kaelen looked down at the small pile of gray ash where Grandmaster Volkov had stood three breaths earlier.
Among the charred silk fibers lay a heavy, dark bronze key. It was ten inches long, shaped like a three-headed salamander with emerald eyes and carved with ancient Seven-Tower seal script.
Kaelen bent his knees and picked up the bronze key with his left hand.
