“Congratulations on ninth-tier!” Bjorgrund slapped Alex on the back, nearly knocking the young wizard over. The giant’s strength had grown from their daily training together, while his rune now blazed brighter, glowing under the divine new breastplate Alex had given him. The armour was a bit snug, but the protection it provided him was worth a little discomfort, he’d said.

“That's quite the accomplishment, Alex!” Birger said. “Congratulations!”

“Thank you,” the young wizard laughed, still stunned. “I can barely believe it myself…I mean, this time, not so long ago, the only thing I could cast was a Forceball!”

“What's a Forceball?” Bjorgrund asked.

“It’s an easy first-tier spell,” Birger explained.

“Yeah, that’s right, and it was all I could do. Now I…wow…” Alex shook his head.

“I'd be stunned too,” Birger gave Alex a gentle smile. “Take your time, boy.”

“But, after you finish taking your time, let's beat the ever living crap out of those church guys,” Bjorgrund grinned, looking around. “So what’d you cast? I didn't hear any explosions so I had no idea you'd done it! Don't ninth-tier spells involve a lot of explosions?”

Alex shook his head. “Not necessarily, not all of them. The one I cast summoned a powerful engeli, no fuss or explosions involved.”

“Aw, I wanted explosions,” the giant complained.

“Some of the most powerful and dangerous magics don’t involve explosions, son,” Birger said.

“Yeah, but that's not as much fun,” Bjorgrund grunted. “Anyway, so, if you summoned something, where is it? You called us here to show it to us, right?”

The giant looked around again, noticing the empty summoning circle.

“I sent him back,” Alex said. “We had a little chat, and introduced ourselves, and then he gave me his name.”

“That's it?” Bjorgrund asked.

“That's it,” Alex said.

“What's the point of him just giving you his name and you sending him away?” the young giant asked.

“Son, names have power,” Birger said. “I don't know much about summoning, but I do know that if you want to summon a specific entity, you need its name.”

“Huh,” Bjorgrund said, looking at Alex. “That means you can just call them from wherever you want?”

“I can call them from wherever they are across the planes,” Alex said.

“Well, thank the ancestors that the church can't do that,” Bjorgrund said. “Otherwise, if they knew our names, they could just call us right to them and gut us whenever they wanted to.”

“That's not quite how summoning works,” Alex said. “You can't summon something from the same plane you're on. And—as far as I know—summoning spells don't work on mortals from the material world. For example, I couldn't just go to the Hells, then summon you from the sanctum because I have your name.”

“Well, who can really say, right?” Bjorgrund shrugged. “I mean, you wouldn't even tell us the name of that fae that's with the church. You said you got warned that he might have traps in his name or something? However that works, if he can put traps in his own damn name, then who knows what else he's capable of: maybe he could summon us from ten feet in front of him. Not that he'd have to do that since we’d be only ten feet in front of him…that was kind of a stupid examp—Alex, are you okay?”

The General of Thameland was holding his breath.

He’d stopped moving.

He’d stopped blinking.

In that moment, he resembled a statue draped in flesh.

“Oh, by the Traveller, Bjorgrund, you really are a genius!” he cried. “I think that’s how he’s been tracking us! How he's been tracking me!”

“What?” Birger asked. “What do you mean?”

“My name. You said names have power, and I know names are important to the fae. They're important to all sorts of spirits: and like Bjorgrund said, if that fae has power over names then, what if he's tracking us through some kind of magic using my name!” He cried, slapping his forehead. “I must've been asleep for the past few months! It makes so much sense!”

“Hmmm,” Birger mused. “So if that's…true, it would explain a lot. No matter where we went, they always seemed to turn up shortly after. If that fae has power over names, that would make a lot of sense!”

“I wish I could stomp him until he's jam!” Bjorgrund snarled. “Nasty little thing! I can't believe that's what that sneaky wretch was doing to find us, if it’s true.”

“I bet you it is,” Alex said, remembering Gwyllain’s warning about the Guide’s names.

“The trouble is, there's nothing we could have done about it,” Birger said. “Short of changing your name, giving yourself time to get used to not answering to ‘Alex’ or ‘Alexander’—and then getting accustomed to thinking of yourself by another name—there would have been no way of stopping them from finding you, unless we knew exactly how the magic worked and how to dismantle it.”

“Anyway, I still feel better understanding how they're tracking me. The good news is that we don't have to stop them from tracking me. Once we're finished with our preparations, we’ll want them to find us. …I think having this information will help us, because it'll make it easier for us to bait them.”

A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

He patted Bjorgrund on the arm. “Either way, good job, big guy. Now let's get to the real reason why I brought you here. So, I'll be casting a ninth-tier spell again: this time it could involve explosions or worse. I’ll need you to help me set it up.”

“What do we need to do?” Bjorgrund asked.

“It calls for a lot of iron as well as some blood,” Alex said. “You know, the sort of thing that war-spirits are interested in.”

###

For the next few hours, Alex carefully constructed a new summoning circle: created specifically for Asmaldestre the Unmaker. He used the sanctum’s summoning circle as a base, then laid iron filings over the new circle in a precise formation.

Inside the circle, he included numerous glyphs of protection and conjuration written in iron filings—taken from the golem-making supplies—ensuring the summoning circle was sealed tight. He wasn’t taking any chances, making sure that the protection magic would have both a ‘ceiling’ and ‘floor’. One thing he definitely couldn’t afford to have happen, was for one of the most feared war-spirits in all the planes to simply leap over the top of the circle and be free.

When he’d finished laying down the protection barrier, he placed seven candles from Kelda’s summoning supplies at equidistant points along the edge of the circle.

They were infused with mana and blood magic, and were used for a host of magic spells and processes, including the summoning arts.

After lighting them, Alex turned to his two companions.

“Now for the next part,” the young wizard said, reaching for a knife. “The spell needs blood from the summoner, but I think adding a bit of blood from a rune-marked would help to reinforce it.”

The giant looked at his father, who peered at Alex.

“I have trust in you, but this is my son you’ll be involving, so I need to ask, are there risks to Bjorgrund in this?” the old firbolg asked.

Alex shook his head. “The only one at risk is me.”

“Oh is that all?” Birger shook his head. “Well, I leave the decision to you then son.”

“I’ll do it, if it helps,” Bjorgrund said. “It's the least I can for this fancy armour and axe you gave me.”

The giant went to Alex, extending his arm above a silver chalice.

Using the tip of the blade on Bjorgrund’s outstretched arm that was suspended just outside the circle, Alex ran it along the young giant’s tough skin. It resisted, only yielding to the knife’s edge after three tries.

Red ran down to the chalice below in a steady stream.

Once the cup was half-filled, Alex cast Mana to Life, healing Bjorgrund’s wound.

He rolled up his own sleeve next to repeat the process.

The vicious looking scar spreading along his left arm was a reminder of Burn-saw.

Alex raised the blade.

“Blood from an old wound,” he said, and reopened the scar.

His blood ran freely, joining Bjorgrund’s, mixing together.

The air felt charged the instant their blood touched.

Power rose, poised to converge in the summoning circle.

The young wizard cast blood magic again, closing his wound. “Make sure the other four weapons are on display,” Alex said, referring to Uldar’s trident, hammer, curved sword and mace. “I want her to see them right away.”

“They’re propped up on the table behind us,” Bjorgrund said. “Right there for anyone to see.”

“Good. Now, you both had better step back: especially since I've never called her before. Get near that portal leading out of here, just to be on the safe side,” the young wizard warned.

Father and son moved to the opening.

Alex faced the summoning circle, and opened the spell-guide for Conjure Ultimate Ally, which he'd already read a dozen times. He remembered being in the Cells when Professor Jules and her assistants had conjured a being—he’d considered to be of great power at the time—a creature that had chilled his blood.

Now, here he was a few years later, conjuring something even greater on his own.

He set the spell-guide aside, and raised his hand toward the circle.

“Asmaldestre the Unmaker! Lady of Battle, Terror of the Planes, slaughterer of the Infinite! I call upon you!” he roared, his voice echoing through the chamber.

He began casting the ninth-tier spell.

Eclipsing what he’d felt earlier when he’d cast Summon Astral Engeli, a transcendent feeling, like he was touching cosmic forces older than time, washed over him.

Mana rushed out like a waterfall, and the energies building within the circle answered.

The incantation poured from his lips, the Traveller’s power joined it, reinforcing the spell.

The room trembled.

The seven candles blazed, then dimmed, only to flare again.

A scent of blood and iron stung Alex's nostrils as he chanted the war-spirit’s name. Sounds of clashing weapons scraping against shields reached him, wet sounds of flesh tearing, crackling flames, and screams from fires burning through armies soon followed.

A sensation, throbbing with pure violence, crawled across his skin.

The magic circuit completed within his mana pool.

The General felt his magic and the Traveller’s power reach out across the planes; from battlefield to battlefield, calling out to something.

For a time, the spell hung, like a fishing lure dangling above the sea.

Unanswered.

He began to wonder if something had gone wrong.

Then, the lure jerked.

Something had caught it.

A chill ran down Alex’s spine.

Something was coming—a creature of immense power was speeding through the planes.

The energies approaching were much stronger than those of the greater demons Zonon-In, Kaz-Mowang and Yantrahpretaye. If those monsters still lived, they might have wisely quaked in the face of such power.

Perhaps, even the self-assured Ezaliel might have knelt before what was now nearing.

“Do you feel that, father?” Bjorgrund cried. “It feels incredible!”

“Incredible? It feels horrible!” Birger shouted. “We should—”

Then, it appeared.

Iron filings—and glyphs of iron—blazed red as though engulfed in a forge’s flame. Unseen war drums pounded. Blood and fire erupted, staining the air.

Within the summoning circle, the air ruptured.

A being stepped through.

One claw—like a dragon’s with scales of steel—touched the ground. Another followed. A silhouette of flesh and steel materialised as an entity formed, wavering like rippling flame and blood.

Alex hissed; the creature’s countenance and bearing stung the eye, but he couldn't turn away.

He could not show fear.

The young wizard squinted as though peering at the sun, taking in the form of what he’d summoned. Asmaldestre looked similar to a centaur in shape: with a humanoid upper body, emerging from a bestial lower half.

But, that was where the similarities ended.

The war-spirit’s lower body was unlike any horse Alex had ever seen, instead, it was draconic, though wingless and formed of steel. Metal scales ringed in serrated edges wept boiling, bubbling blood. Behind its dragon form trailed a tail like a snake—coated in spikes—ending in a blade teeming with lethal symbols of war. They flared intermittently, blazing with red light. Claws flexed and relaxed, seemingly readying to rend the sanctum walls like parchment.

A humanoid torso bore six arms, three on either side, each gripping a weapon: blades, spears, and others Alex could not name. Some reminded him of Shale’s Gale Force Cannon Mk. I Prototype, which they had test-fired in her basement long ago.

The war-spirit stood unmoving, her body radiating pure power.

Her presence and spirit radiating her desire for violence.

The crimson skin covering her torso was etched with more ragged scars than Alex could count, hundreds of tiny blades were woven through flowing, ink black hair. The terrible beauty of her face could be compared to a sword: a weapon incarnate.

Her three eyes suddenly opened.

One boiled like a ball of molten steel.

The other resembled an orb of rippling blood.

The third, a burning blue star.

Her broad lips opened, revealing dozens of metallic fangs.

“Speak.” was all she said.

The word struck like a blow; even her voice was violence.

But, the wizard was undeterred.

“I am Alexander Roth, known also as the General of Thameland,” he said. “Welcome. I have called you here to recruit you to my army.”