Heroine Creation: All My Summons Are Custom Made

Frantic conversation buzzed the chamber. Council Members were contemplating through the conduits. The Sovereigns on their floating screens conferred among themselves, their voices too low to carry but their expressions telling everything.

Doubt. Fear. The slow, dawning realization that everything they had believed about the truce was a carefully constructed lie.

Then King Romsgard Goldstone spoke, and the room fell silent.

”My fellow Sovereigns.” His voice was heavy, weighed down by the gravity of what he was about to say. His eyes swept across the chamber, taking in the Council Members, the dead Demon Scouts on the marble floor, and finally the six figures standing at the center of the compass rose.

”The proof is here, and it is difficult to contend with. We have been played for fools by the Demons. A truce that could have led to a possible outer-world relationship and an end to the war has instead become the very reason this war will multiply by a thousand fold.”

King Ronald of Falcon Standing let out a booming laugh, his falcon flapping its wings to keep balance on his shoulder. ”I love the language you’re speaking, Romsy, my good friend! Finally, finally, someone speaks sense in this hall of caution and delay!”

King Odesto of Antarticon raised a slender hand, and the chamber quieted again.

He had a serene and angelic voice, soothing in a hypnotic way, although it had a little cunning to it.

”My parents always told me never to cut deals with the devil.” His white eyes drifted toward the dead Demons, then settled on Spectra with especially. ”Or devils, in this context. Perhaps we should applaud Lancet Leogardt and his Summons for uncovering what our own intelligence could not.”

Spectra met his gaze without flinching, her crimson eyes glinting with something between amusement and recognition. She inclined her head slightly, acknowledging his words.

’At least one of them are reasonable.’

Obel turned to Malakai, who still stood beside the Demon corpses. ”Are you absolutely certain of your assessment, Malakai? These are Demon Scouts? There can be no mistake?”

Malakai’s ice-chip eyes were steady. ”I have fought Demon Scouts in a dozen campaigns, Lord Obel. The markings on their necks, the shape of their chitin plating, the residual corruption patterns in their tissue.”

He pointed at each corpse in turn. ”These are Demon Scouts. Undeniably. I stake my reputation on it.”

Obel nodded slowly, his wizardly beard brushing the pages of his tome. He recorded Malakai’s testimony with a raise of his hand.

And then Verdrak spoke.

He had been silent since his last outburst, but the silence had not been peaceful. It had been the silence of a kettle building pressure. Now, the steam erupted.

”How can we just believe this instantly?” He pushed his chair back and stood, his pointed white beard jutting forward like a weapon.

”Don’t you see?” He thrust a finger toward Spectra. ”She’s a Demon Binder! She could have brought these Demons from her army and placed them here as a lie! It’s very convenient, given her power!”

Spectra turned her head slowly, like a cat noticing a particularly irritating mouse. ”I do not bind dead Demon bodies, white beard,” she said, taking a condescending tone. ”Besides, I retrieved these from my inventory, not my army.”

Verdrak met her gaze, and for a moment, his courage wavered. But he pressed on, raising his cracked ancient voice.

”So? Only the Elders know, you could have summoned them first — after you all realized the trouble you were getting into — then killed them and put them into your inventory to use to cover up your actions!”

He spread his arms wide, appealing to the chamber. ”Liars! You do not fool me, and you do not fool the Council!”

Spectra looked at Lancet. Her expression was mostly calm, but her crimson eyes told a different story. She was getting irritated. Very irritated. The kind of irritation that had, in the past, preceded the summoning of armies and the toppling of cities.

Lancet turned to Council, getting a little worried.

It was true that Verdrak’s theory was far-fetched. Absurd, even. But it was not completely out of place.

The Council Members, who had been nodding along with the testimony moments ago, were now exchanging uncertain glances. The Sovereigns, who had seemed ready to accept the evidence, had grown still and contemplative.

Even Romsgard — Lancet’s closest thing to an ally in this room — was stroking his golden beard with a furrowed brow.

The seed of doubt had been planted.

Obel, ever the mediator, turned back to Lancet. ”Do you have anything to say for yourself, Mr. Leogardt?”

Lancet shook his head slowly. ”Other than what I’ve already told you, nothing else. I’m telling the truth.” He gestured to the Demon corpses on the floor. ”With this evidence and the words of my Heroines, heroes of our world’s history, I do not see any reason for you to doubt.”

The chamber dissolved into whispers again. Council Members leaned toward each other, their voices low and urgent. The Sovereigns exchanged glances, their expressions ranging from conflicted to calculating. Lancet watched it all, his jaw tight, his hands clenched at his sides.

Queen Avanke of Ebonia spoke first. Her amethyst eyes were soft, sympathetic, but from the tone of her voice, it was obvious she wasn’t going to be agreeable.

”Like I said before, this is a delicate matter.” She folded her elegant hands before her. ”And I, for one, want to be the first to say that I do believe you, Lancet Leogardt. I believe your Heroines. I believe what my eyes are showing me.”

She paused, and her next words were the only ones that actually mattered. ”But what we can prove is more important than what we believe.”

”What we can prove?”

Thor stepped forward. She was at the edge now and this entire procession had vexed her long enough. Her stormy eyes blazed, and the air around her crackled with barely suppressed electricity.

”What other proof do you chair-warming monarchs want?!” She pointed at the three Demon corpses. ”The proof is right there! Demon Scouts! In a half-citadel that was supposed to be dormant! What more could you possibly need?!”

Lancet turned his gaze to King Romsgard. Surely he would speak up. Surely he would defend them.