Read Chapter Eight here
“Elijah, you have to help me.” Jestin’s desperate voice roused him from his sleep, along with said demon viciously shaking his shoulder.
His eyes snapped open and he cursed himself. Living in this castle had made him lax; he should’ve awakened the moment the demon had entered his room. “What is it? Are we under attack?”
Jestin shook his head, fear emanating from him. “No. He’s found me. You have to hide me.”
“Who found you?” Elijah expanded his inner sense, marking the location of the occupants within the castle. He found no extras, no one lurking in the woods surrounding them. Maybe Jestin had a bad dream?
“The Overlord,” he hissed, eyes darting around as if afraid naming his pursuer would summon him. “He controls all the demons, including my race. He wants me back.”
“How can I hide you? I’m still learning magic. I’m not powerful enough to go against a demon overlord.” He jumped out of bed, clad in a thin nightshirt, and yanked on his leather pants. With swiftness born of familiarity, he armed himself; a throwing axe on his right side, a short sword on his left.
Jestin stayed crouched by the bed, stark terror etched on his features. “You’re the only one I trust.”
Elijah finished dressing. The weapons comforted him even if they were useless against this new threat. “That’s a sad statement. We’ve known each other for a few fortnights. What about Caymus?”
“He’s Fae. His first loyalty will always be to his Queen. You have a surprisingly good heart for someone who’s seen and caused so much death. You won’t use this against me.” Jestin stood and held out his fist, waiting for Elijah. Hesitantly, he reached out, palm up, and the incubus dropped a blood red ruby ring into his hand.
“A ring? It has no magic to it.” Elijah opened his inner sight to view the piece of jewellery. Ordinary, a plain circle of gold with a gem, and as devoid of magic as his bed. “What am I to do with this?”
“Tie my essence to it. Create a summoning ring. When you dismiss me, my essence will go into the gem and I’ll be hidden from him. Anyone with this ring will have complete control over me.”
Not much surprised Elijah anymore. He’d lived through wars, famine, and betrayals. This, however, shocked him, and a fission of fear snaked up his spine. How evil was this Overlord that Jestin would willingly give up his freedom to escape him? And this demon was heading their way?
“I’ve never done this before. What if I cast it wrong?” He wanted to outright deny Jestin this request, except the thought of acquiring more knowledge pushed at him. His mind absorbed information with ease, each piece readily accessible when he needed it.
Jestin ignored him; instead he brushed clean a small area on the floor. “Here is where we’ll create the summoning circle. I’ve written the symbols and words out for you. Follow them and you’ll be fine. It requires a steady stream of magic, or the circle will explode.”
“I can’t create a steady stream. I’m Resistant, and it interferes,” he said matter-of-factly. Tamhas continued working with him, but he still wasn’t proficient at dropping his resistance. Some spells veered into unexpected territories.
“I have no choice. You must do this, or he’ll find me.” The stark terror convinced him.
Suppressing his doubt, he accepted the scroll Jestin handed to him and read over the unfamiliar characters. The words flowed into his mind before lodging themselves into his throat, waiting to be used. He nodded once he had it memorized.
Taking a deep breath, Elijah used his hunting knife to slice his forearm. This spell required blood from the caster in order to create a deeper bond. He dipped his finger into the red liquid, then squatted near Jestin. He drew a tight circle around the incubus, replenishing the blood on his makeshift writing tool several times.
Once satisfied there were no breaks within the lines, he began drawing the symbols outside the circle. A tiny amount of his energy powered them, readying them for the ritual. Elijah stood up, ignoring the blood dripping from his arm. Afterwards he’d heal himself.
The words flowed from his lips, harsh and guttural, and his mouth protested making the sounds. Yet there was no stopping once he started. The chant continued unabated, ripping apart his throat. Blood mixed with his saliva. Wind ripped through the room, responding to the almost uncontrollable energy.
With his hand held out, the ruby gleaming in the firelight, he hoarsely shouted the final word to the ritual. A bright flash lit up the room and when it disappeared, Jestin had vanished with it.
Read Chapter Ten here