One
Vale was being Summoned.
He paused, one claw poised to trim a shadowy vine. Who was summoning him? Was one of his Skullstalker brothers in trouble?
Vale bowed his antlered head, concentrating. It did not feel like a fellow Skullstalker. It felt like a mortal, pulling him weakly toward the mortal realm.
Vale dropped the vine, considering. He did nothaveto obey the Summoning. The spell was weak. If he put the slightest amount of pressure on it, it would snap as easily as a rib-twig branch.
But Vale was curious. He had not been Summoned in an age. And never by a mortal. It was likely a useless affair, but he could spare a moment to see to it.
Well, he considered, staring around the twisted, messy overgrowth that made up the wilderness void nowadays.I cannot reasonably spare a moment. But I am surely due for a rest.
The idea made him uncomfortable. He had not rested in years. There was too much work to do. Once, he’d had magicalassistants to help him tend to the plants, keeping them healthy and content. But the assistants died centuries before. Perhaps millennia. It was difficult to keep track these days.
Vale strode through the thick black bushes to the silver pool that allowed him to travel between realms. But before he could step into it, something surprising happened: a bone tulip stretched out its chalky petals and curled around his wrist.
Vale looked down at it, shocked. Once, the void communed with him often. Nowadays, when a leaf brushed the skull mask that made up most of his face, it was simply the wind.
He touched the bone tulip reassuringly.
“I will be back soon,” he assured it.
The bone tulip shivered against his cool skin. The void was trying to say something. But try as it might, no words or even a fleeting emotion appeared in Vale’s head.
Vale unwound the bone tulip gently from his wrist. Then he closed his glowing green eyes and stepped into the silver pool, letting the Summoning drag him away.
The mortal realm stunk of blood.
Vale’s fanged mouth watered. He opened his eyes to see a dark forest. It was plain, sparse, and silent. Not like his own void, where crowded shadows dripped and faraway beasts cawed.
There was a circle drawn around him in the dirt, the exact shape of the pool he had just stepped into. It was crafted with the same blood that smelled so enticing upon his arrival.
The source of the blood was obvious: directly in front of him lay a plump young woman tied to a decrepit stone slab. Her wrists and ankles were bound with silk, her right arm dripping blood onto her white dress. The blood was almost as bright asher hair, which was wrapped in a crimson braid around her head.
This woman was the source of the Summoning, Vale realized. The weak tug of magic ended with her.
An older mage stood next to her, sweating hard, a staff clutched in his hands. The one who cast the spell, Vale decided. His attire was luxurious but tattered. He had the same features as the woman, plump and crimson-haired. Unlike the woman, he looked positively delighted to see the Skullstalker appear.
Further into the forest, a group of humans gasped at Vale. Several of them gripped arrows or held up axes.
“Be still,” the mage barked. He wiped his damp forehead and gave Vale a triumphant grin.
Vale had never been smiled at by a mortal before. His brief encounters with mortals usually included screaming, running, and occasionally a meal. They were decent food, if Vale could be bothered to make the journey to the mortal realm.
“What did I tell you?” the mage declared, lifting his staff. There was a vial tied onto the end that dangled annoyingly every time it moved.
“He appears, just as I proclaimed!” the mage continued. “Another victory for the Circle of the Jeweled Fist.”
A reverent murmur echoed around the group huddled behind them. Vale paid them no mind. He was transfixed by the mysterious woman on the stone slab.
She was terrified. He could smell it on her sweat-slick skin. But for some reason, it hardly showed on her face. If he couldn't smell the fear rolling off of her in waves, he would think she was merely nervous.
“Mighty Skullstalker,” the mage declared. “I am Christopher Silverpetal! I present my dutiful niece, whom I prize above all things, as a sacrifice.”
The woman’s face went pale. She looked over at her uncle in alarm. “Trade! You said trade!”
“A trade, of course.” Christopher bowed his head to Vale. “My apologies, Skullstalker. My tongue slipped. My point is, she is yours. Take her back to your wilderness void and do whatever you wish with her. In exchange, you will give my circle a boon.”
