Dawn of Night Read Online Free PDF

and Syluné embodied the dual aspect of the primordial universe that had spawned them, just as the Weave and Shadow Weave embodied the dual nature of magic on Toril, the Weave Tap embodied a dichotomous duality. Crafted with Shadow Magic, the Tap nevertheless reached its roots and limbs into both the Weave and the Shadow Weave; it existed simultaneously in both the Prime Material Plane and the Plane of Shadow. The Weave Tap, a living artifact, bridged the two sources of Toril’s arcane energy, drawing power from both.
    Vhostym found it fascinating, and was mildly chagrined that he had not thought to craft it himself.
    To satisfy its dual nature, the Weave Tap required the life-force, the very magical natures, of both fiends and celestials. Vhostym long had kept plenty of the former in his pocket plane as spell component material, and he prepared to procure the first of the latter.
    Like many of the chambers that honeycombed the underground realm of his pocket plane, Vhostym’s summoning chamber was a spherical cyst of stone with no
    apparent ingress or egress. Engraved runes traced in platinum and gold covered the walls. A circular slab of polished granite floated in midair in the center of the chamber. Upon its face was etched a thaumaturgic circle.
    The chamber was unlit, though Vhostym could see well enough. In fact, the magical darkness in the chamber was so complete that not even magical light sources could penetrate it—a necessary precaution when summoning celestials. Though not even the strongest of the celestials could approach Vhostym in power, their ability to generate and radiate light could prove painful unless Vhostym took precautions.
    He floated around the slab, running his long, pale fingers along the etching, examining the lines for imperfections. As expected, he found none.
    Vhostym took a moment to prepare a few defensive spells, warding himself against all but the most powerful magic and rendering his body impervious to physical attack. Ready, he moved his hands in complex gestures. Waves of arcane power gathered, went forth from his fingers, and coalesced above the granite slab. The lines of the thaumaturgic circle began to glow a soft, almost imperceptible, yellow.
    When the power reached the necessary level, Vhostym spoke aloud an arcane phrase and felt a hole open in the walls between the planes. He called the name of the celestial being he sought to summon.
    “Phaedriel,” he pronounced.
    Vhostym felt his magically augmented voice reach through the planes, find the deva, and try to pull the creature back to him. He felt the celestial’s resistance, but it lasted only a moment before being overpowered by the force of Vhostym’s calling.
    A muted flash of pure white light flared in the midst of the summoning platform, forcing Vhostym to shield his eyes. Had he not prepared a spell ahead of time to mute it, the flash would have blinded him and charred his skin. When the spots from even that dim light cleared from
    before his eyes, Vhostym saw that his calling had been successful.
    Phaedriel stood on the summoning platform, bound by the lines of power that went up from the floor. The tips of the deva’s feathered wings, white and opalescent even in the darkness, touched the edge of the binding. Pale gold skin covered the celestial’s perfectly proportioned, well-muscled body. A silver mace, powerfully magical, hung from the deva’s belt. Piercing white eyes gazed out from over an aquiline nose and strong jaw. The smell of flowers filled the summoning chamber. The deva surveyed the space.
    “What is this plane?” said Phaedriel, in the purest tenor voice that Vhostym had ever heard.
    “You are on a plane of my own devising,” Vhostym answered.
    The celestial made no response, only fixed his eyes on Vhostym. A lesser being would have recoiled at the force emitted by those orbs, but Vhostym answered the deva’s stare with one of his own.
    “What type of creature are you?” the deva asked at