AllFreeNovel
Share Us
I suppose this is why I learn the name of the Void Prince of Envy first. A demonologist from a thousand years ago, before dark magic was outlawed in Nolderan, writes about her. She was Lady Eladine Pembelson of Montarra, a land annexed by Tirith long ago, and her sister who was younger and more beautiful married the Crown Prince. Jealous, she used dark magic to kill her. And then when she became the Queen of Montarra, she envied her husband and killed him too and reigned as the sole monarch until her natural death. Her soul was so wicked that the Void King took it for his own.
On the next page, I find a sketch of her. She is depicted as slender with dark curly hair, and her wings and talons and horns make her as deadly as she is beautiful.
I could summon her now, since I know her true name, but I instead continue my search. The Void Prince of Wrath must surely be the most ferocious, and if I am to sell my soul, I must choose the demon which provides me the greatest chance of defeating Arluin and freeing my father.
It takes an entire bookcase before I learn the name of another Void Prince. Though this one is still not Wrath, his description causes me to pause.
Natharius Thalanor was the greatest High Enchanter of Lumaria ever to exist, and the most arrogant. He is the only mortal evil enough to bargain his soul and the souls of his entire city to the Void King in exchange for power. He now resides over the Realm of Pride, as one of the Void King’s seven lieutenants.
Unlike the book which mentioned Lady Eladine, this one provides no illustration of the aforementioned Void Prince.
I lean back against the nearby wall and reread the paragraph several times. Though it was the Void Prince of Wrath I sought, there’s something about this demon which makes me linger. Perhaps it’s because he was once the High Enchanter of Lumaria and wielded aether like us magi, or perhaps it’s because his wickedness and ambition greatly overshadow Lady Eladine’s. If he was truly that powerful as a mortal, I can only imagine his strength as a demon. Surely a demon this formidable will be enough to destroy Arluin.
“Natharius Thalanor,” I whisper. The demon’s name is like a prayer, a promise, upon my lips.
My mind already decided, I close the book. I could continue searching this chamber for the Void Prince of Wrath, but if he wasn’t previously mortal and has kept his true name well-guarded, I may never find him. And even if I do, he may not be as formidable as the Void Prince of Pride.
I peel myself from the wall and retrieve a tri-colored shard from one of the shelves. The stone hums beneath my fingers. I didn’t realize at the time, until I found sketches of the reagent inside the tomes, but this shard is a soul-gem. If my heart was not steeled with cold, hard determination, the thought of holding someone’s soul in my hands might have nauseated me. Now, as I gaze at it, I see it only as a weapon.
I have my name; I have my soul-gem. Now to summon my Void Prince, I must first learn to harness dark magic.
Forty-Two
Forcountlesshours,Isitatthecenterofthechamberandpracticechannelingdarkmagic.Dozensoftomessurroundmeinaseaofparchmentandink.Intheend,IfindthatthefirstoneIselectedwasn’tsufficient.Myinitialattemptsarepitiful,thoughthesubsequentaren’tvastlyimproved.Ialwaysimaginedthatdarkmagicwouldcomereadily,givenhowcorruptiveitis,butIdiscoveritrequiresmuchconcentration.
Since there is little dark magic flowing through my veins, I must use my aether as bait to draw the shadows toward me. At first they are unresponsive, and I am required to manifest even greater quantities of my magic before the darkness is finally lured in.
It snatches the aether from my fingers and corrupts it. Then, before I can realize, the shadows are lost to the air. If I were a dark sorcerer, I would be able to snap all the dark magic back to my command, but I am not and can only use my aether to entice it.
Over and over I try, until I am quick enough to capture the shadows. Though I succeed, the dark magic is merely a faint wisp of black smoke in my fingers—nowhere near enough to summon a Void Prince from the Abyss.
It takes me a long while and hundreds of failed attempts to conjure enough. When plumes of dark energy manifest in my fingers, Zephyr whimpers and cowers into the cushioned armchair. I extinguish the shadows and turn to him.
“I know what I’m doing is wrong,” I say, “but this is the only way.” Despite the cold look I give him, I find myself yet again doubting this path. But I quickly banish the thought because there is no alternative. I will summon the Void Prince of Pride and bind him to my soul, and I will defeat Arluin and save my father from the shackles of undeath—even if the cost of all that is my own soul.
I can’t hesitate. I can’t fail.
When I am satisfied with my ability to conjure dark magic, I return all the tomes to their shelves and replace them with pages and pages of summoning circles. I choose the most complex pattern I can find because if my chains aren’t strong enough, the Void Prince will burst free and kill me before I can bind him to my soul. This particular summoning circle consists of a seven-pointed star, each of its diagonals crossing through the center and forming smaller triangles. Between each point of the stars lies a circle filled with runes I don’t recognize, but I know they must be the letters of Abyssal, the language of demons.
The books state it doesn’t matter what substance is used to draw the summoning circles; it may be with dark magic, blood, ink, chalk, or even aether. I choose the latter, not wishing to wield dark magic for longer than is necessary.
“Volu.” Violet light blooms in my hands. I kneel and press my glowing fingers to the marble floor and trace the summoning circle with as much precision as I can. A few of the lines aren’t straight enough, thanks to my wobbling hand, so I murmurterminirand erase them all. I draw them again more carefully, and when I am certain the summoning circle looks identical to the one sketched inside the tomes, I take an obsidian dagger from the nearest shelf.
Everything is prepared. All that remains is blood. My blood.
I press the blade into my palm and hiss as the skin breaks. For a demon as powerful as the Void Prince, much blood will be required. I cut deeply enough to draw plenty and through the pain, I conjure the image of Arluin plunging his dagger through my father’s heart, of Eliya lying as lifeless as a doll inside her crystal coffin.My heart hurts so much that my physical pain numbs.
When I remove the dagger and reopen my eyes, blood flows across my palm. I try not to spill any as I grasp a soul-gem and return to the center of my summoning circle.
I tighten both my fists. My left hand stings with the rawness of the wound, while my other aches from where the soul-gem’s protruding edges dig into my flesh. But I care not for the pain. What I am about to do will change everything. It will grant me what I seek but cost me all I have left to lose in this world.My soul.
It almost seems a reasonable exchange. Perhaps even that I’m paying too little.
The incantation’s letters flash through my mind. I studied them for so long, worried I would forget them in this crucial moment. I’m not sure how accurate my pronunciation will be, since I have never learned Abyssal, but the language forms the spell-words of the magic that necromancers wield and I have heard them speak the dark tongue many times. I hope my imitation will be close enough.
I draw aether into my bloodied hand and use it to summon the shadows. Darkness swirls in my fingers. My heart stills. I stare at the dark magic, a distant part of me questioning how I have ended up here. But I shake away that thought. Doubt will not serve me. I must sharpen my focus into a blade point.
Now that dark magic lies in my grasp, I must begin the ritual.
