Summoner in Darkness

Chapter 1 ~ Summoner in Darkness

Sweat dripped from Ireae’s brow as she frantically carved symbols in the ancient language of the Azeryian Empire onto the dirty wooden floor of the hovel she called home.

Well, not home. Not really.

Abandoned when she’d found it, no one else had bothered to claim it in the month since she had arrived in the Caledern Viscountcy. Her flight had seen her pass through numerous small towns, villages, and hamlets on her way east. No great plan or ambition drove her steps; her only goal was survival. Ireae had to escape Count Foltus and avoid recapture. If she could accomplish that then…after she could ponder what to do with the rest of her life. So her road weary feet had eventually led her here, to a small border town between her father’s county and that of the neighboring lord. It was here she’d discovered a suitable hideaway in the refuse mired slums.

And it was here Ireae had come to the realization that she had to fight back.

Enduring the torturous experiments performed on her at the Count’s orders was hellish. Her weak pleas and all the begging she did fell on the deaf ears of the Count, his vile sorcerers, and the guards who’d looked on as the experiments continued. It took everything in her just to find the will to live another day. Only the face of her mother and the remembered sound of her voice kept her going. It was Ireae’s weakness that made them underestimate a young girl, made them overlook the possibility of her understanding the reason behind the pain and the things they did to her. It was how she was able to escape.

Staring down at the ancient diagram in her mother’s grimoire, the text illuminated by flickering candlelight, Ireae recalled the minor spirit of air she’d summoned in her cell. It had no name, did not speak, and could not be seen. Yet she had felt it. It had appeared as a tiny gust of wind, made visible only by the swirling dust in the dim dungeon’s cold gloom. Conjured by her will and mana, the very essence of magic the Count’s sorcerers desired from her blood, the terrible experiments she’d been subjected to had finally proved successful.

Upon her command, it had retrieved the keys to her cage.

Now Ireae was desperate to succeed at something greater. Before her was the grand summoning circle she’d been studying ever since taking the stack of books belonging to her mother from their hiding place. Her vision blurred slightly as she carved another symbol into the grime covered planks of what was once a storeroom. The strange characters of the ancient language were only half understood despite the leaflet of translation notes tucked within the pages of the tome. Even so, Ireae was determined. Over the last few weeks she had painstakingly inscribed its lines in silver, moonstone, and black pearl as the grimoire instructed. Every sigil had a drop of her own blood mixed within to energize it with her mana.

It was expensive; the reagents and spell components that went into its construction were worth a small fortune. Ireae could have easily lived off of its value as a commoner for fifty years, maybe more. But that wouldn’t have gotten her what she wanted. The life of a peasant, the life she’d lived for the past fifteen years, couldn’t satisfy her. Not now, not after what she’d learned, not after what she’d lost. She’d had to sell most of her mother’s jewelry at a great loss to procure what she needed. It had taken hours of searching through the bustling the market to find the right buyers, then days to locate specialty shops to purchase arcane ingredients. Making her way back to her hideout in the slums without being robbed proved precarious.

But it was supposed to be worth it.

Akasha Azeryian, the last princess of the fallen empire and its greatest summoner, had created the circle. The grimoire had belonged to her. At least, that was what her mother’s notes stated. The tome was thick, leather-bound, and magically preserved. If it really once belonged to the princess, then it was over a thousand years old. Written in the ancient language of the Azeryian Empire, it and the other books her mother kept were full of translation notes. This was the one Ireae needed, however, because this one had Akasha’s circle. The Grand Circle, capable of summoning one of the Great Elemental Spirits. The histories mother made her study told of the Great Spirit of Storms, summoned by Akasha to defend the empire from the invading armies of humanoid monsters.

Ireae would perform the same feat. Even if she was only able to call and bind a spirit half as strong as the Great Spirit summoned by the princess, it would be worth it. It just had to.

A loud crash from elsewhere within the dwelling caused her to flinch. The sound had come from the front door, she was certain. Anxious, Ireae wiped at her sweat and felt tears prick at the corners of her eyes. She didn’t have much time left. Glancing behind her, she eyed the mess of rotted shelves, old barrels, and broken boxes in front of the storeroom’s only exit. Everything her meager strength had been capable of moving had been stacked and shoved there to serve as barricade. If she didn’t finish the circle now…

Images of the dark, cold, cell in the Count’s dungeon flashed in her mind. The pain of sharpened implements and pointed needles scoring and piercing her body rose from memory, crawling over her flesh like hungry shades.

“No,” she breathed, shuddering. “I won’t go back. I’ll never go back.” Ireae turned to the grand circle and redoubled her efforts.

Voices from beyond the storeroom where she worked called out angrily, driving up her growing fear. “Spread out and find her!” It was a man’s voice, one that sounded familiar. “They said the girl was here. Tear this place apart if you have to!”

Ireae flinched again, almost damaging the sigil she was working on. She couldn’t afford to make a mistake now, but her small frame was shaking on its own. More crashing and the heavy thud of booted feet reverberated through the thin walls. Her father’s men; Count Foltus’ knights had finally caught up to her. She had realized when she’d spotted them hours ago in the crowded market that she had been careless. A lone, dirty, girl selling such expensive pieces of jewelry was bound to draw attention. Even though Ireae was outside of her father’s territory, she had tried to be discreet, tried to keep her whereabouts hidden. Of course the Count would want her back, not because she was his daughter, but because of the magic in her blood. It had only been a matter of time until they found her.

Something hard collided with the door behind her. “Here! This one’s barred! She must be inside!”

Nearly sobbing, Ireae finished up the last of the necessary inscriptions. A flick of the small knife and she opened up a cut in the back of her arm. A few drops was all the blood required. She focused her mind, reaching within herself to the well of magic inside. Called different names by different cultures, different schools of magical discipline, it was really the same thing; the core of a caster’s Essence and the pool from where they drew their own magic. To Ireae it was the Crucible, and she would use it to make her will reality.

All that was left was the ritual. If she had the leisure to do it properly, it would take hours.

But now she had no more time.

“Open this door!” A voice called out from beyond the door. “If you come with us quietly, no harm will come to you. Don’t make this any more difficult than it has to be.”

Ireae ignored the man’s words, knowing them for the lie they were. All she’d ever experienced under the Count’s care was harm.

With trembling hands she brought out the Argyrian Shard from the pack to her left. It was a gem almost as large as her head. Clear and pristine, it shone with an inner radiance. A pure fire the color of burnished silver blazed inside its center. Few would have recognized the crystal itself for what it was, but none could have mistaken the holy significance of what lay within. It was the Silver Flame, essence of the Goddess that created the world. She couldn’t imagine what the Count had paid to acquire such a treasure, but it had been easy enough for a child no one had been watching out for to steal it from his study.

Ireae imagined it might have been fate that brought her and this crystal together.

“By darkest pearl I call thee,” Ireae began, chanting in the ancient language. “By silver, I part thee from shadow.” The candlelight flickering off the walls dimmed as she felt her Essence painfully siphoned out of the Crucible. “By moonstone I light thy path.” The circle and every sigil that contained Ireae’s blood lit up, shining with bright moonlight. “By the Silver Flame I clothe you in power!”

There was so much more that was supposed to be done by the summoner to call forth a Great Spirit; burning incense, ringing special silver bells, additional verses to gather and stabilize mana from the environment rather than the caster’s Essence. She should have been performing this on the night of a full moon, not a black moon like this one. But none of that mattered anymore. It was all or nothing. This was her last chance.

She drew a deep breath.

“I, Ireae Reed, by my name and blood summon thee! Great Spirit heed my call and appear before me now!” With those words, she cut her palm with the Argyrian Shard, drenching it in her own vital essence. 

The room shook as the air surrounding her seemed to bend in on itself. In her hands, the crystal turned red as Ireae’s blood as more of her Essence drained away. A sound, like a chiming bell, echoed out from the crystal as it shattered and became dust. The silver white flames inside were released with a roar as they flowed over the glowing circle, forming into blazing white chains. Flaring brightly, they settled into each of the sigils she’d inscribed, touching the very ceiling and leaving Ireae terrified that she was going to burn to death. A scream almost escaped her lips at the sight.

Behind her, the door splintered and cracked as half a dozen cloaked, armored, men with weapons in hand crashed into the room.

Then the room was plunged into darkness.