Fourteenth of Striving 1106 - 36 Years Ago

The library in the castle in Melar was enormous. Huge wooden bookcases lined every wall, spanning the distance to the high ceiling. Three large circular dark wood tables, polished to a shine, were equally spaced throughout the room, each surrounded by four matching chairs. Between the bookcases, magical lamps illuminated the entire space. There would be no fire in this room to threaten the wealth of tomes, books and scrolls.

Prince Leonid stood over a book-laden table, casting his eyes over the entire collection, searching for the one volume that might contain the solution he sought. The chair behind him remained unused. There had to be an answer. There had to be—or so he had assumed when he’d begun his research. Unfortunately, there was little information to be found.

The issue, of course, was why he couldn’t cast a spell, even when he understood it so perfectly. The term used most often was competence. Some people were spell competent. It was very rare. It meant they could learn and cast any spell in existence. There were others who were competent only with certain types, such as fire, ice or divination spells. This was somewhat more common.

There was always a chance that a mage couldn’t learn a specific spell, and rarely a specific type of spell. There were many theories as to why that was, but no one seemed to know. It was all guesswork. Even the greatest magical scholars, a group of people Leonid now found himself a part of, didn’t seem to have a clue. He didn’t understand why more research hadn’t been done in this area. One day, he’d have to rectify that.

Spell incompetence, the inability to cast any spells at all, occurred with the same frequency as spell competence. Prince Leonid was spell incompetent and hated it, hence is preoccupation with the topic.

Only a book written by a mage who called himself Lost gave Leonid any hope at all. Lost had been declared spell incompetent, first by his mentor, then by the magic guild. Like Leonid, Lost turned his attention to studying magic, even though he couldn’t use it at all. What he found was that though he was spell incompetent with every spell he attempted, there was one school of magic he’d never tried, and that turned out to be the only magic he could cast. It was a small hope, but that was better than no hope at all.

Leonid created a list of every type of spell, and crossed off the ones he had worked with extensively. All the elements were out. Divination, alteration, time…he’d tried a number of spells of those types. Same with animals and plants. But there were a few less common spell types that people didn’t discuss. Some older ones were no longer listed, and those were the ones that interested him.

Spirit magic was the one he’d tried the least. There weren’t many books with spirit magic spells listed, but he knew a lot about the theory. All he really needed was the segunda syllable that would attune the magic he was attempting to use to the spirit plane. He knew the words and gestures. He knew the format for making a spell. A simple one was what he needed. Something easy.

Paper and ink were always nearby, and he fetched them now. He started working out a spell formula for what he was trying to do. He had never summoned a spirit before but felt it shouldn’t be that hard to compose a spell. The only real issue he had was tracking down the magical signature of something that had once been alive. There were a few books that listed magical signatures. Not many, but enough. It took him a while to find one, but his father’s library had always been extensive. He suspected his father regretted tethering to Se Karn instead of Mitra. This library had been his penance. Sometimes Leonid wondered how Se Karn felt about the situation. Why would a god want someone who wanted to worship another? He had no idea. He forced his mind back to the topic at hand.

He looked up and took a moment to stretch. He’d have to take a break soon. He’d been at this for hours, and fatigue was beginning to overtake him. Just a bit more and he’d be able to rest.

First he drew a magical circle on the floor of the library. He didn’t worry about being discovered. In all the time he’d spent here, no one had ever entered. As far as he knew, he was the only one who used this place. He inscribed the entity’s name inside the circle, carefully copying it from the book he had originally found it in. He finished by drawing the necessary ritual symbols to keep it contained. Now all that was left was the summoning.

He copied the magical signature down onto the page with the rest of his spell, checked over how it meshed with the rest of the formula. It looked like a good spell. He couldn’t see any reason why it wouldn’t work. All he needed to do was try to cast it.

As he mentally prepared, he realized that there were people out there who despised spirit magic. It was considered a gray art rather than a dark one but still had a bad reputation. Gray magic wasn’t illegal anywhere, however, and Leonid was getting desperate.

He studied the spell until he had it completely memorized, then cleared his mind and began casting. It felt like every other attempt he’d ever made. There was no power there, just the words and gestures. He had to restart the spell twice, because of his growing frustration. He had to force himself to perform the spell perfectly. It was the only way he could know.

Finally, on his third try, he managed to get it right. The casting was perfect. It was never going to get better than that. Of course, there were always individual spells specific mages couldn’t cast, and not being able to cast this one didn’t prove that he couldn’t cast any spirit spell. But he knew, deep inside, that it wasn’t going to work. That the power to cast was simply not in him.

Leonid sighed and finally sat on the seat he’d vacated so long ago. He dropped his head. Another failure. He had no idea how long he could go on like this.

Lost in the pain of failure, he failed to notice the faint hum at first. This was his last chance. If this didn’t work, it would confirm him as spell incompetent. Why was he like this? Why be able to appreciate the beauty of magic in such vivid detail, if you can’t ever cast a spell? What had he ever done to deserve such punishment?

The humming had grown louder now, and he looked up. There, in his circle, the air shimmered as if something were forming inside it. Something large from the look of it. Much larger than he had expected it to be. Had something gone wrong with the spell?

Wrong with the spell? It had worked. Wrong or right, he had cast a spell that had some effect. He held his breath as the magic coalesced within the circle, first a cloud of magical mist, white tinged with purple, then growing more vivid, the color deepening, the white fading. He stared in triumph, in awe, in trepidation as the cloud grew even bigger, drawing more and more magic into the spell matrix.

It took nearly five more minutes for it to form. He wondered later if he’d held his breath for all of it. For there, in the middle of his magical circle, stood a creature. It was half again as tall as he was, purple, like the mist that had formed it. Its huge head seemed to rest directly on its shoulders as if no neck could ever support something so large and unwieldy. Though its mouth was closed, two tusks jutted up from inside its lower lip. Its bloodshot eyes had no pupils, and its nose looked as if it had been mashed flat against that huge head.

It had the body of a great ape, covered in purple hair, barrel chested, leaning forward as if the weight of its head wouldn’t let it walk completely erect. When it spoke, its voice was a rasp of malice that made the air around him vibrate.

“Summoned, I’ve been, but by you? What are you? Eighth level?”

“Level 6.”

“Six! Impossible. You think a sixth level summoner can hold me?”

“I know I can. Level doesn’t matter. Only the quality of the circle, and I was careful.”

“Careful? Full of yourself, you are. Quick will be your death.”

Leonid stood proudly. He knew magic. He knew that the creature could not touch him, though it would try to trick him. He wasn’t going to fall for it. Nor would he back down from a creature he was meant to control. He had to let it know that he was in charge. And he was in charge. Right up until the creature, without even a hint of struggle, stepped from the circle and moved toward him.

He felt his heart pounding. He wanted to scream. He knew the spells. He understood the magic. That shouldn’t have been possible. But he was wrong. Somewhere, he had made a mistake. It was all the thoughts he had time for before the creature was on him.

A real mage would have had attack spells to strike out at it or defense spells to shield himself. Leonid, by contrast, hadn’t even thought to bring a weapon, which was fine, because he wasn’t any good with them anyway. All his time was spent studying magic—for all the good it did him.

The creature backhanded him with a massive fist, sending him flying. The heavy wooden bookcase that broke his fall, also broke his back—at least it felt like that. He struck the floor hard, face first. A moment later that same bookcase toppled over, landing on top of him, compounding the damage that had already been done. And that damage wasn’t just physical. He felt broken, humiliated, ready to die. He had finally succeeded in casting a spell, and he’d blown it. It was over. He was ready for Se Karn to take him. The experiment that had been his life had ended in failure. He only wished he knew what he’d done wrong.

He lay prone, injured, helpless under the weight of the thick wooden structure, and then he heard the creature approaching. It would be nothing for a thing that large to lift the bookcase up and finish him off. He felt pressure as the creature stepped on top of it, but it only lasted a moment. Then the pressure was gone, and he heard it move away.

It was loose. In the castle. His family. He could barely move. He couldn’t think. Someone would take it out. The only question was how many would die before that happened. All his fault. As he lay there, letting the pain of his injuries wash over him, he turned his mind to trying to figure out what had gone wrong. He had worked out the spell meticulously. He had drawn the circle perfectly. Everything had been correct, he was sure of it. Unless…

An idea formed in his mind, and he couldn’t get rid of it. Perhaps he had made a mistake after all, but he wasn’t the one paying. It was the unsuspecting victims in the castle above, going about their business, not knowing that a demon was on the loose, hunting. All his fault.

He couldn’t lift the bookcase, but he could drag himself. Pushing the books out of the way with his hands, he moved with a swimming motion, pushing forward with his legs, clearing away the books with his arms, inching his way toward freedom. His body ached all over. He was having trouble breathing, but he forced himself to continue. He had to free himself to check his work. Please, Iorana, don’t let this be my fault.

Inch by inch he worked himself forward. How long had it taken so far? He had no idea. Was that screams he heard in the distance? No. Just his imagination. But whether he heard them or not, it was likely there had been some screams. Move, dammit. Faster.

But his body couldn’t go any faster. It took him precious long minutes to finally free himself enough to pull his legs from under the bookcase. As soon as he was free, he tried to stand, but his legs collapsed from under him. He crawled to the chair and used it to pull himself up. He managed to maneuver his body until he was sitting. Another minute. Sweat was pouring into his eyes, and he cleared it with his arm, then cast his gaze around the table, looking for the book with the name. Fortunately, it was close, and he didn’t have to reach for it. He opened the book, looked at the name and it looked right.

Then he reached for the place where he’d scribed his spell. When he compared the two names, his breath caught in his throat. They were ever so slightly different. The name drawn inside the circle was not the name of the creature he had summoned. It explained why the circle had not held it.

He needed to start again despite his injuries. Still, he had done it once. If he were careful, if he could get it right. Leonid couldn’t prevent the damage the creature was doing, would do in the minutes that followed, but he could try to put an end to it.

If only he had access to a healing potion, but the closest one was too far and would take too long to reach. Furthermore, it would put him out there with a demon on the loose. So he forced himself to quiet his mind and recall the spell. Every particular. Every syllable. Every gesture. He wouldn’t be able to use the old circle, it had the wrong name in it. He’d have to draw a whole new one. That would take time and would be devilishly difficult if he couldn’t stand.

Think! There had to be a way.

Okay, what if he simply inscribed the correct name in the circle, in a different position than the first name. There was no reason a circle couldn’t be made to contain two summons, though he had never read anything confirming that. Still, it might work.

The decision made, he took the charcoal he had used to draw the circle, which was sitting on the table in front of him. He also took the scroll on which he had written the spell formula that contained the wrong name. He wondered how likely it was that he’d actually summoned a different demon by chance, or had the name been close enough to attract the demon’s attention, and it had used that power opportunistically to invade Thysandrika. He would probably never know.

Then he half lowered, half dropped to the floor. He winced as he struck but the anticipation was worse than the pain that eventuated. So far, so good. Slowly, he inched his way closer to the circle. He had to be very careful not to smear it.

In theory, reusing a circle was possible. Some summoners had permanent circles that they used over and over again, after all. And this only needed to work one more time.

It took him longer than he would have liked to make it to the summoning circle and then more time still to copy the name inside of it. He checked it carefully this time, forcing himself to slow down and focus to the exclusion of all else. He also checked to make sure he hadn’t smudged the circle. Then he crawled to the wall and sat himself against it. His entire body was on fire, but he had a job to do. He had a spell to cast.

It finally hit him at that moment. He had cast a spell. He could do it. Admittedly, it wasn’t the area of magic he was most interested in, but it was magic. He started to think about what else he might be able to do, before chastising himself, and making himself focus on the matter at hand.

He had been standing the first time he’d cast the spell, but it shouldn’t matter. He could do the hand gestures sitting down, as they were relatively basic. He just had to be careful to use the name he’d inscribed, instead of the name in the book. He took his time, intoning each word carefully. The only change he made was casting the spell at one level higher, so that if it needed to, it could override the initial spell. He wasn’t sure it was necessary, but why take a chance? It was an easy enough adjustment to make. It didn’t even require him to rewrite the spell. The casting of protu, the first syllable, was the first thing a young mage learned, and he had had much practice after all the time he’d spent attempting to cast spells.

He closed his eyes, drew a deep breath and started casting. He ignored the blood on his hands as he made the gesture, the pain in his chest and legs, the fear that had suddenly taken hold of him as he began to wonder if he was too late. No, focus. Concentrate!

Slowly, the spell began to form. This time, he could feel the power and knew he had succeeded, possibly because he knew he could, possibly because he was casting it at a higher power level.

The purple mist formed as it had before, though perhaps it was a bit denser. He watched it go through the processes of growing, forming, and suddenly, the demon appeared inside the circle.

“What!” it roared.

“We meet again, it seems.”

This time his voice wasn’t full of confidence. He was exhausted, humbled.

The demon glared at him. Leonid was unhappy to see the blood dripping from its mouth and onto its fur.

“I’ve escaped this circle once already…or did you forget.”

“I think you’ll find I’ve improved it since your last attempt.”

The demon sneered and tried to push a clawed hand through the magical barrier. Fire burned where the two touched, and it jerked its hand back.

“You shouldn’t even know this spell at your level.”

This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

“There are a lot of things I shouldn’t know but do. Want to see my favorite?”

The demon narrowed his eyes suspiciously. “We can make a deal, human.”

“No. We can’t.”

Leonid began casting a spell he’d never attempted, but it was a spirit spell, and closely related to the one he’d already cast. The demon howled, cursed, threatened, tried to distract him, but Leonid’s mind remained focused.

“One day, human, I will end you. You haven’t seen the last of me.”

Leonid would have liked to answer, but he was busy. He was casting a spell. He made sure to use the incorrect name he had penned on his spell, rather than the one from the book but just as it was about to end, the creature threw his entire body against the barrier surrounding it. Leonid had no idea what it thought it would accomplish, as he had made certain the barrier would hold, and it did. All it accomplished was now, before the demon’s banishment took effect, it had managed to set itself on fire. Then, screaming in pain or frustration, it slowly faded from existence and returned to where it came from.

Leonid had cast three spells, and yet he did not feel victorious. He could barely move. He was sure at least some of his bones had been broken. All he could do was lean against the wall and hope someone would come to find him soon.

Almost as he thought it, the door opened and his brother Alexi entered. He looked around and as soon as he saw Leonid, ran to him.

“Are you all right?”

Leonid had only enough time to shake his head before finally surrendering consciousness.

*

When Prince Leonid next opened his eyes, he was lying in his own bed in his own rooms. At first he thought he was alone, but then he noticed his brother Alexi sitting on a chair, reading a book. He opened his mouth to ask what had happened, but ended up coughing instead. Alexi was on his feet immediately.

“Take it easy. It’s okay.”

Leonid spent several minutes coughing before he was finally able to talk.

“What happened?”

“You passed out. You were badly injured, but we managed to get a healing potion into you, and you should be fine if you take it easy for a few days. I…ummm…cleaned up the library after getting you help. No one has to know.”

“Has to know what?”

“The demon was yours, was it not?”

Alexi stared at him, and everything came rushing back to him. “It was. I made a mistake in the spell and lost control of it. I’m sorry. Did anyone get hurt?”

Alexi’s mouth tightened into a straight line, and his face grew ashen. “There were a lot of deaths. Are you sure you want to hear about this now?”

“Yes.”

“We lost seventeen people, and many others were injured. Leo…”

“Tell me.”

“It got mom.”

Silence. There was nothing he could say to that. There was no way he could apologize. He had cast his first spell, and it had cost his mother her life. “It was an accident, I swear it.”

“No one knows that it was yours, Leo. You’re safe.” Alexi placed a hand on his arm. “I won’t tell anyone, I swear it.”

“And father?”

“He thinks it was an attack but doesn’t know who’s behind it.”

“I have to tell him the truth, Lex.”

“The hell you do. Do you know what he’ll do to you if he finds out? He might even have you executed. It’s not worth the risk.”

“But it’s my fault!”

“You said it was an accident. Anyway, I’ve removed all the evidence.”

“Why? Why would you do that for me?”

Alexi sighed. “Because you’re my big brother.”

Leonid shook his head. “It’s more than that. Out with it.”

“If something happens to you, I’d be the heir, and I don’t want to be.”

“Why not? You’d make a great king.”

“No, Leo, I wouldn’t. If you thought about it, you’d know that. I’m not like you and dad. I can’t handle that kind of pressure. I never could. So I’ll protect your secret, because you’re going to be the next king.”

“And how do you expect me to live with the guilt of being responsible for my own mother’s death?”

“I don’t have an answer for you. Perhaps you should speak to a priest of Iorana. If it’s answers you want, the temple is your best bet.”

Leonid nodded. “Thank you. Who else did we lose?”

“Some of the servants, a few guards, Lord Annick and his son both.”

“Which one?”

“The tall skinny one. Can never remember his name.”

“Leek. I’m really sorry about that, I liked him. We weren’t exactly friends, but he was a good man.”

“He tried to slow the demon to buy time for the others in his family to get away. It was a good death, Leo.”

“Well, that’s something. But it never would have happened if I had been more careful. Lex…I don’t know how to live with what I’ve done.”

“You’ll find a way, Leo. You always find a way. You even found a way to cast a spell.”

“Yeah, and look at what that got me.”

Alexi didn’t have an answer, so he sat on the edge of the bed and didn’t say anything. Leonid hurt, not physically but emotionally. He was in too much pain to cry. He had no idea that such a thing was possible. He was numb. Empty. There was nothing left. His mother. Seventeen people—because he hadn’t rested before casting his first spell. How would he ever get over this? It would have been better if he’d remained spell incompetent. So many people dead because of his ego. His failure.

He did cry then, silently, and all the while Alexi sat with him, not saying a word.

Twenty-eighth of Striving 1106 - 36 years ago

King Ignatious and Queen Kaer had ruled the Kingdom of Melar for the past thirty years, and during that time, the kingdom had neither prospered nor suffered. History would remember the couple as a safe hand, maintaining what they had without taking risks.

They did nothing to antagonize Andara, for example. They made no trade deal with Lorelei, due to their alliance with Xarinos, and they neither attacked any other kingdom nor had to defend themselves against attack. A cynic might suggest that they didn’t have to defend themselves because they had little worth stealing, but the truth was, the king and queen were simply unambitious dull people who managed to accomplish little during their rather long rein.

Nothing particularly exciting had happened in Melar, until a demon appeared in the palace and killed a number of people, including the queen. Much changed after this unprovoked attack. King Ignatious, bent on revenge, ordered his people to spare no expense to locate the party behind the attack. The funny thing was, the king hadn’t even liked his wife. They had married to produce heirs and since that time, both rulers had engaged in a string of affairs that, despite their discretion, everyone knew about, but no one mentioned.

Leonid thought about them, his parents. They had never understood him. He never really liked his mother, and she had never liked him. That didn’t mean he wanted to see her dead. He simply had no strong feelings for her, one way or another. He felt much the same about his father. He was there, he had sired him, and he’d left the palace staff to raise him. It was a loveless household all around. Only he and Alexi had any sort of emotional relationship. And somehow, that was enough.

So Leonid dutifully mourned his mother’s death, but even more, he mourned the fact that the very first time he’d cast a spell, he’d botched it, and a lot of good people had died. A lot of good people and his mother. He bit back the thought as soon as he had it. Why was he angry at her? She hadn’t done anything.

But even as he asked the question, he knew the answer. Her death had inconvenienced him emotionally. He hadn’t picked up a book, studied a spell, or even prayed to Iorana since that day. He had loved magic so much, he’d forgotten that it was potentially dangerous. After all, even highly trained mages could, under certain conditions, have a spell backfire on them. And Leonid, for all his knowledge, was not a highly trained mage. He was a pretender. He had cast, by his count, three spells. One to summon a demon, which he botched, one to summon it again, and one to banish it.

His dream had come true. He had finally cast a spell, and it would be the last spell he would ever have the honor of casting. He had been a fool. Spells weren’t for people like him. They were for the special people. Adventurers, mages, people who lived lives of adventure and daring. Those are the people who deserved that talent. But he was nothing. Not worthy of being named a mage. He had ruined everything.

And that was the crux of his anger. Had he killed a few servants, that would bother him, but he could have lived with it. But he hadn’t only killed servants. He’d killed nobles. He’d killed guards. And he’d killed his mother. He couldn’t return from that, ever.

He knew logically, he had no reason to be angry at her for that, but he couldn’t help it. He was angry. He had finally cast a spell, and she had ruined everything. It wasn’t logical. It wasn’t right or fair to her that he should feel this way, but it was how he felt.

Leonid did everything a prince in mourning was supposed to do. He had attended his mother’s funeral, he had consoled his father, even though he knew it was unnecessary, and he took on extra responsibilities to ease the king’s burden. He knew he was doing it out of guilt. No one else was going to punish him, so he was punishing himself. Perhaps that’s also why he had walked away from magic. Nothing hurt him more than that. But he knew deep inside that he did not deserve Iorana’s grace.

He was in his chambers, when a page knocked on his door to inform him that the High Priest of Iorana awaited his pleasure. The seneschal had led the priest to one of the more private, elegant sitting rooms, as befit his station. Dreading this meeting, but knowing there was no way to avoid it, Prince Leonid made his way downstairs to greet the priest. He might as well get this over with.

High Priest Dorean sat in a chair, sipping a glass of wine. He rose and bowed low when Leonid entered, but the prince had no patience for formality today. He noted that the high priest was as thin as ever, practically a wraith beneath his heavy robes of office. Those robes were so large on him, he looked like a child playing dress up with his father’s clothes. The high priest was a bald, clean-shaven man, with sunken cheeks, perfectly aligned yellow teeth, and a nose that was almost a perfect equilateral triangle, down to the pointed tip. Leonid had never seen a nose like that and had to fight hard not to stare at it.

“High Priest Dorean, to what do I owe the honor of this visit?”

“You can’t guess?”

The high priest’s accent was Andaran. He had spent a lot of time there, and for some reason, Iorana thought stationing him in Melar was a good idea. Leonid had no idea why that was, but he assumed she must have had a reason.

“I can guess.”

“Iorana knows what you’ve done. I know what you’ve done. It is not your fault.”

This was precisely the wrong thing to say, considering that Leonid had been thinking the exact opposite since it had happened two weeks earlier.

“Of course it’s my fault! I botched the spell. There is no one else to blame.”

“My prince, sometimes there is no one to blame. You were exhausted and made a mistake, true. But everyone makes mistakes. In this particular case, it was costly. And the goddess understands that you want to foot the bill.”

Leonid didn’t reply. He had nothing to say to that.

“Yet, there is a flaw in your reasoning. In order for you to make amends, you must have the power to do so. You can’t possibly do that without magic. There’s nothing else that you’re good at.”

“If I were good at magic, I wouldn’t have screwed up.”

“Do you think Arch Mages don’t make mistakes? Do you think the gods don’t make mistakes? Are you the equal of a god?”

“I’m not even the equal of a man.”

The high priest shook his head then grew angry. “You have a future as a summoner, and you need to accept that future. There are so few summoners left. Your contribution to this field is extremely important. If you want to pay for what you have done, apply yourself to the work and do better.”

“High Priest Dorean. You know what would have happened if that thing had killed me, do you not?”

“Of course, I know.”

“It would have remained here, on the physical plane, gaining power until something could defeat it. The death toll would have been much higher.”

“But you survived, figured out what was wrong and banished it. Some would say those actions were heroic. There you were, in pain, injured, exhausted after days of research, but you didn’t give up. You fought through the pain, and the fatigue, and the fear, especially the fear. You figured out what you’d done wrong, you figured out a way to fix it and you saved other people who might have died from a terrible fate. Doesn’t that deserve some consideration?”

“No. Because others paid the price. Not me.”

“Hmmm, you feel like you need to pay. And the goddess wishes you to become a summoner. I think we might be able to come to an arrangement.”

“Oh?”

“Let’s take a walk.”

“To?”

“The temples.”

“You won’t change my mind.”

“I know. I’m a mere servant. I won’t be changing anything. But there are powers greater than me in the world. You may think that your will is a match for theirs, but that’s merely the hubris of youth.”

“And what of free will?”

“The gods won’t make you change your mind. They’ll offer you something so tempting, so unexpected, so far beyond your wildest imagination that you will want to bend to their will.”

“Can you offer me absolution?”

“As I’ve said, I can’t offer you anything. Let’s see what the gods can come up with.”

Prince Leonid searched the priest’s eyes, but there was nothing to see there, since he wouldn’t be the one at the bargaining table.

*

As in most cities, the temple district was located near the palace, so the walk was short. However, instead of heading toward Iorana’s temple, the high priest turned right.

“Where are we going?” asked Leonid.

“We’re going to visit Sarith.”

“Sarith.”

Leonid’s feet stopped of their own volition. He’d passed the black temple many times, but like most people, he kept his distance. The curiosity, of course, had always been there, but the fear accompanied it.

“Come,” said the priest, who had also stopped. “We don’t want to keep the goddess waiting.”

“We’re not meeting Sarith herself, are we?”

“Correct. We’re not meeting Sarith. You are.”

Leonid still hadn’t started up again. “You expect me to meet the goddess of war.”

“No. She does. I would suggest you don’t disappoint her.”

Well, that put it into perspective. Leonid started walking again, but he had stopped thinking. No matter what, there was no way he could possibly figure out what the goddess wanted with him, so there was no point wasting time on it.

As he walked, he tried to control his breathing. He’d never met a god before and, though it wasn’t his god, it was an honor. He had to remember that. He couldn’t imagine would would become of him if he offended Sarith in her own domain.

As the temple drew closer, he could feel the nerves beginning to build. The look of the place terrified him, with its sharp angled towers and the ever-present shadows that seemed to have a life of their own. His body didn’t want to continue, but he forced it forward. The priest, on the other hand, didn’t seem to have a problem, strolling casually, as if this was a place he’d visited every day.

“Been here before?”

“No.”

“Then why aren’t you more scared?”

“Because I have faith in Iorana. A quality you shared not very long ago.”

Leonid thought about it, and it was true. He lost his faith the day he’d killed his mother. But he didn’t blame the goddess. He just didn’t feel worthy of her anymore.

“Also,” said the high priest, “I’m not entering. This is your journey. I’m just an escort. Whatever will be discussed beyond those walls is not meant for my ears.”

“You want me to go in there alone?”

“You defeated and banished a demon. Surely you have nothing to fear in a temple.”

Leonid regarded him skeptically. “Tell me the truth. Will I be safe inside?”

The high priest chuckled. “As safe as anyone, I would imagine. Probably safer. I think it unlikely that Sarith would directly harm the servant of another god.”

“And indirectly?”

The high priest shrugged, bowed and walked back the way they had come, leaving Leonid alone in front of the temple. He could leave now, return to the palace, and carry on with his life, but something drew him onward. Not curiosity, it was more than that. It was the same emotion that had driven him so hard in his study of magic—the desire to know everything. He had thought it lost forever, but here it was again, driving him forward. The same thing that had pushed him into attempting to create a spirit spell without any training in spirit magic.

He walked up to the large, black double doors and pushed one open. Like the outside, the inside of the temple was solid black. Black marble floors, black walls, a black vaulted ceiling and black wall sconces in which burned torches with black flame that somehow shed light. Trying to figure out how, hurt his mind. Then he noticed something else. He was the only person in sight.

It wasn’t like any other temple he’d been in. There was no entrance foyer. No common area with seating. There was only a long corridor with doors on either side. He started forward down the corridor and as he drew closer, a door swung open of its own accord.

“Not too creepy.”

Yet he continued forward. He had to know what was happening.

Beyond the door was a small room with a single table and a chair on either side. The chair close to him was empty, but an impossibly beautiful woman sat on the other, dressed in a black dress that did very little to hide the lush body beneath it. Her hair was black and fell in loose locks around her shoulders. Her eyes were black as well, completely black, with no hint of white anywhere in them. By contrast her skin was fair, and perfect. Her full lips were vivid red and the smile on her face was predatory.

“Prince Leonid, at last, a pleasure.”

Her voice was silk and steel at the same time. Leonid studied the goddess and liked what he saw. Admittedly, he couldn’t imagine any man not liking it. He wondered if she had chosen that form just for this meeting, but immediately rejected the idea as preposterous. A goddess wouldn’t be trying to impress him.

“I don’t know how to address you,” he said.

“My name is Sarith. Feel free to use it.”

He licked his lips. His throat seemed impossibly dry. Her physical beauty aside, the power he felt emanating from her made him feel tiny.

“You have a problem,” she continued. “Iorana sees no value in a mage who refuses to study magic, or to use it. She has little interest in you at the moment. I, however, have some interest. So Iorana and I have come to terms.”

“Terms?”

“Yes. She’s willing to trade you for one of mine.”

“I didn’t know that was possible.”

“The gods make deals like this sometimes, probably more often than you think. There is no reason to talk about it publicly, so we don’t. But the truth is, I can use you.”

“Do I have a say in this matter?”

“Of course. We can’t make the deal without your consent and the consent of the other. But if you’re truly done with magic, why stay? I can offer you something Iorana can not.”

“Oh? And that is?”

“Penance.”

He stared at her.

“What, exactly, are you offering?”

“A chance to experience power like no one has experienced in hundreds of years. You will be unique in this world. But no gift without a price. No one will know you have this power. It will be a secret you’ll take to the grave, an event that may come sooner than you expect, for this transition is not without its dangers. A great weight will hover over your head. A weight that can drop at any moment.

“You would no longer serve Iorana. You would serve me. A secret you must keep from even the high priest. But you will be protected. I will make sure that a Sarithan assassin is assigned to you at all times, to make certain you live. And when the moment comes where you will do Thysandrika the most good, that assassin will claim your life. Your death will offset the evil you have accidentally done. You will die a great hero, and everyone will know it, as long as you keep your secret until then.”

“What if the other says he doesn’t want to serve Iorana?”

“I suspect there is little chance of that. When he learns I have no interest in his service, he’ll take any offer he receives. I’m told I can be a harsh mistress.”

Of that, Leonid had no doubt. “How long do I have to decide?”

“Are you really going to sit there and pretend you haven’t decided already?”

“Talking to gods is frustrating,” grumbled Leonid.

Sarith burst out laughing, and Leonid could not help but laugh with her. It was infectious. He laughed until his lungs hurt, releasing the tension he’d spent two weeks building. When he finally caught his breath, he spoke.

“It seems I have little choice.”

“There are always choices. But I trust you will make the wise decision.”

“I want to pay for my crime. Iorana will not give that to me, and I’m too weak a man to arrange it myself, so if you can offer me that, and make it mean something, I suppose this is the only deal in town.”

“Then accept me as your goddess.”

“Yes, my goddess. I accept you.”

Sarith’s voice was suddenly inside his mind.

You are no longer a servant of Iorana. You have lost the following skills; fluent aldevarian, ancient aldevarian, speed reading, quick research, quick write, memorize, concentrate.

You have gained a new yet ancient class, Dark Summoner. You have attained Level 1. You have gained the following skills; Summon lesser spirit, create ritual circle, create light.

In the years to come, as you level, you will gain more and more powerful skills, but remember, should anyone I have not approved learn of this, you will forfeit your ability to use all your skills. Is that clear?

“Yes, my goddess.”

Then rejoice. Leave this place and never return. You will continue to make your trips to Iorana’s Temple as always. Only the goddess of magic knows of your change. Everyone else will believe you still worship her.

“I’m surprised she agreed to this.”

She suggested it. She knows how important you will become.

He couldn’t help but puff his chest out with pride. Sarith laughed.

I can’t even begin to imagine how you’ll suffer knowing that everyone thinks you’re powerless.