The Summons

In a Grand Hall, lit by the soft light of a full moon through stained glass windows, a circle of  runes glowed brightly.  

Surrounding the runes were twelve Magi, chanting and waving their arms in arcane patterns as shining symbols floated in the air by their hands.

A distance away from the ritual circle, a contingent of one-hundred soldiers stood in solid ranks behind King Aravar, Supreme Ruler of Velmaria, Lord of the Five Crowns, Defender of Titan's Teeth, Scourge of the Wildlands.

A general stood at the king's side, leaning close to whisper to the monarch.

"A thousand pardons for my impertinence, Your Grace, but is this not a ritual to summon our prophecized Champion?  I am concerned that by greeting him with a contingent of soldiers may give the wrong impression."

The King replied, just as quietly, "I would rather have his first impression of our Kingdom be of strength.  Besides, Archmagus Whitewind and the princess have told me the summoning will not only bring the hero, but at least fifty of his most powerful supporters."

The general looked surprised, but pleased.

"A group of such fighters would be vital to pushing back the Ferals and consolidating our forces.  We could crush this rebellion in a matter of months!"  The general said.

Aravar frowned, "Indeed, if they are willing to help us.  I noticed that in the parameters of the summoning spell and the lines of prophecy, it says nothing about bringing the Champion here consensually.  There is every chance we could be summoning a confused and hostile force directly into the heart of our power."

The general was taken aback, "Should I summon another regiment, Your Grace?"

King Aravar waved him off, "No. The men here should be enough to make them hesitate.  Long enough to overcome their confusion.  I don't expect a fight, but it's best to be prepared."

Before the general could suggest bringing more men to be even more prepared, the ritual circle began to shine brighter and the chanting of the Magi reached a cresendo.

There was a shuffle of boots and a creaking of leather as the ranks of soldiers stiffened.

The light coming from the ritual reached a blinding level, just for a moment, as a powerful surge of magic passed through the Grand Hall.

King Aravar blinked rapidly, readjusting to the relative darkness, tense and ready to give the order to subdue the Champion's forces.

Looking past the Magi, the King expected to see the Champion, standing before his own ranks of soldiers, opposite the King.

Instead he saw... nothing.

The Magi began muttering in panic.  Something had gone wrong.

"What is this? Archmagus Whitewind? Explain!" Aravar bellowed.

But it wasn't the Archmagus who responded.

"Father," Princess Salera said from her position among the Magi, "it appears the Champion and his household have not answered the summons...yet."

Aravar was livid, but he couldn't bring himself to shout at his beloved daughter.  His anger simmered under the surface, thinking that Archmagus Whitewind had planned for Salera to bring bad news to the king, knowing he would moderate his reactions.

The princess continued, "There was a chance that the first summons would not work.  A pathway through the Webwork requires a significant amount of energy.  It is likely that we have done the majority of creating that pathway during this ritual.  When we try the spell again, I am sure the summons will be answered, but..."

"But what?" The king asked.

"The required confluence of Webwork Lines will not come together again until noon tomorrow..." Salera answered.

"That's right before the Grand Feast! The Champion must already be there!  All the nobles in Velmaria will be in attendance!  If we cannot produce the Champion, they will lose all confidence in my rule and your Magi Society!"

Princess Salera raised her hands in a placating gesture.

"Father, please, trust us.  We will bring the hero here.  Imagine the spectacle!  The nobles seeing the aftermath of the ritual circle and seeing the Champion seated near us in the Grand Hall.  They wouldn't be able to deny he is from another world, rather than a warrior we have trained in secret."

"I can trust a warrior we have trained..." Aravar muttered to himself before saying in a louder voice, "Fine, daughter.  Make it so.  But if this doesn't work..."

The king pointed a finger at Archmagus Whitewind.

"It'll be on your head."