The book lay open on the floor, its pages illuminated by the barely adequate glow of candles. The air was still, quiet, the night seeming to hold its breath in anticipation of the impending storm. Lightning flickered beyond the window, though the roll of thunder was not heard for several long seconds. The tempest was still distant, but approaching rapidly. The next flare of light was followed more quickly by the basso rumble.
A robed and hooded figure knelt within a diamond of silver dust, a lit white candle at each of the four points. A whispered chant filled the room and a slim hand occasionally reached out to turn a page.
Beyond the northern point of the diamond, a mist began to form. It billowed and swirled, rising from the floor in a rotating pillar of fog as it slowly coalesced into the figure of a man. Though the face could not be seen, there was no doubt as to the gender of the summoned.
He was tall, taller than any mortal man, and lean, with the air of a large cat stalking prey. His armor was plain, unadorned by any crest or symbol, but of exquisite, unearthly craftsmanship. It reflected the wildly dancing candle flames in tiny flashes that hurt the eyes. The naked sword in one gauntleted fist was likewise unadorned, save for the large moonstone in its pommel. The visor on his helm was lowered, but through twin slits, two points of glacial blue light burned like cold fire.
“You dare to come before me so covered?” rasped a voice. The sound was cold, the words like winter sleet hurled against the senses; stinging, bitter, biting. It was alien and terrible.
“I did not know what garb was appropriate, my lord,” came the trembling reply.
“Once only will I overlook such disrespect,” the armored figure warned. He stood utterly still, but the threat in his voice was unmistakable. The hooded form touched its head to the floor.
“You are most gracious, Guardian.”
“Why have you summoned me, mortal?”
“I seek the power to right a wrong, address an injustice done to me,” the supplicant hissed.
“The Consorts do not give freely.” Contempt, disdain, boredom.
“With your permission, Great One, may I rise and present my offering?”
The helmet bobbed once and the hooded figure rose. It glided to the corner and drew forth a struggling child. The little boy was gagged, his hands bound, wide green eyes bulging in abject terror. The front of his worn trousers turned dark as he was pulled into the flickering light and the reek of urine filled the small chamber. He was pushed to his knees, his head yanked back by a fist in his riot of ebon curls. A little whimper of panic escaped the gag.
“This one is not ready for judgment.”
“But will you accept his soul in return for what I seek?” the voice from within the hood demanded.
An object appeared in the air above the diamond; an oval moonstone on a fine silver chain. It caught and reflected the light in a rainbow of colors. The boy’s eyes followed it, becoming glassy.
“Excellent.”
The drawstring of a small, black silk bag opened with a quiet slithering sound and a coin gleamed in a smooth palm before being slapped against the boy’s forehead. He screamed as the hand was removed, a line of fire circling the coin’s edge, burning and blackening the tender skin. His eyes rolled back in his head and he slumped forward. The summoner let him fall.
Violet light streaked from the crumpled body and into the outstretched hand of the Guardian. As soon as it reached him, thunder boomed and the window flew open. The storm poured in, the wind and rain snuffing out every candle in the chamber.
The pendant and chain dropped to the floor.