Stained Glass Monsters

Chapter Six

"You’re going to give that to them?"

Rennyn glanced up at Seb, then finished drawing an anti-trace casting in a circle around the list she’d made. "I’m worried about the duration of the first breach."

"The Sentene exist to deal with these kind of things."

"True."

She could practically hear him deciding what to say next.

"Planning to just walk up and hand it to them?"

"I was toying with the idea of sending it to the Grand Magister in the mail. It’s a difficult one. Perhaps it was always too much to hope to have nothing to do with the Sentene until the last couple of incursions. They know my face now, and the more I avoid them, the more they’ll come after me. This is a compromise – hopefully it will distract them."

"Likely?"

"Not at all."

She finished her casting and went to the kitchen, but was not surprised when he followed her. He was trying so hard not to criticise, but couldn’t quite let it alone.

"How can we justify it?" he asked, worrying at the point which bothered him most. "Yes, I – I guess that villager would probably have died if you hadn’t sent her off. How many will die if we fail? We have a duty to see this through. And to do that we have to stay alive, keep ourselves safe. Now, for the sake of some random village girl, you’re exposed."

"Would you have left her to be crushed by the expansion, then?"

He flushed and looked down, chewing his lower lip. "If it put what we had to do at risk. I suppose it must have seemed unlikely they’d work it out, though," he conceded. "But you know that eventually–"

"I know." She sighed. "People may have to die. But she didn’t. Yes, just some random villager, but even knowing it would mark me, I’d probably do it again. I don’t want to be a person who stands and watches. And she at least taught me not to underestimate the Sentene. Or pure bad luck. Besides, all it’s done is throw off our timing. No-one cut my throat."

For all one had had ample opportunity. Her great-grandmother had loathed the Kellian, had called them stained glass monsters, but it was not the right term for the man of mist and flint she’d met. A creature born of cobweb, dew and dawn light. And flesh. The cobweb had given strength, the dew an unusual relationship with light, and dawn brought speed. Who, after all, could outrun the dawn? The Kellian were a triumph of Symbolic magic, and immensely dangerous. The originals had all been women, voiceless and deadly. Bodyguards who would never betray their Queen. It had been such a gamble, to walk up to a descendent of one, to trust to her defences. And for all she knew about Kellian speed, she hadn’t quite been able to believe how quickly he’d drawn that sword.

"Telling the Sentene where the incursions will take place will make meeting with them more likely, but I’ll accept that if it means not having things like Kentatsuki loose any longer than necessary. Even with them on the scene, it’s easy to avoid encounters so long as I’m prepared. To which point–"

Slipping into her jacket, she began checking the contents of her skirt pockets, making certain she had all that was necessary before picking up a sturdy stoneware jar filled with water, which she concealed by draping a coat over her arm. If she made her move while it was still the middle of the day, she’d have a better chance of avoiding any watch the Sentene may have set for her.

"I’ll have a hot dinner waiting for you." There was a hint of apology in Seb’s voice, underlying the worry and frustration he felt having to continually see her off into possible danger.

"And something sugary for afters?"

"You and your cakes. I’ll find something. Come back as soon as you can, Ren."

She smiled and snapped him a salute, then walked through the wards to the landing. A quick clatter down the stair and she was out into the noisy streets of Asentyr.

The capital of Tyrland was a sprawling city, cramped only in a few places. The palace stood on a hill and looked down over the Temple District to the Docks and the river which cut through marshes to the west toward the sea. The bulk of the city spread east, rolling over a series of smaller hills which gradually petered out into fields and fields and fields punctuated by smaller towns and villages.

There were three Claire properties in Asentyr. The neat and compact apartment on the northern edge of the Temple District would be home until the Grand Summoning was complete. There was also a basement storehouse close to the docks, which held a great deal of old Surclere junk and copies of the most important books. On the far side of Aliace Hill, on the outskirts of the city proper, was a dusty house surrounded by a high wall. Seb had checked it once to ensure it was intact, and they would only go there again if they were desperate for shelter.

The northern edge of the Temple District held the city’s busiest streets. Tall houses were jammed together, crammed with people, and a dozen play-houses stood out among the narrow buildings, queens each with a little court of taverns. The area was called Crossways, and it seemed to Rennyn as if the entire population of Tyrland passed through it three times daily. A useful thing. She lost herself in the crowd, letting it carry her down the largest of the roads toward the river.

They’d started setting up the blockade already, though people would be allowed through until sunset, and then a curfew would be enforced over the entire Temple District. A dramatic move, but a sensible one. It would be night, and even warned and waiting the Sentene might not be able to intercept a major creature immediately. Keeping the area as free from unnecessary wanderers as possible would prevent deaths.

People weren’t afraid yet. This blockade had been announced as a precaution for a suspected outbreak, and the destruction of Falk was the centre of gossip as an ongoing magical disaster, but they’d not announced the Grand Summoning for what it was. Rennyn had no doubt it had been discussed in Private Council, and it was sure to eventually become obvious to anyone who had read a history book, but for now Tyrland went about its business much as usual.

Sliding her free hand into her pocket, Rennyn carefully slipped a ring onto her middle finger, and lifted up the egg-sized stone attached to it by a sturdy chain. Solace Montjuste-Surclere. She’d been a strong ruler, occasionally harsh, but not unusually so. Until the Grand Summoning, she’d not done anything to make herself reviled. But her rule had been threatened. Internally by a cousin who claimed a truer right to the throne. Externally by a foreign empire greedy for expansion. Her response was called the Madness of Queen Solace now, but it seemed to Rennyn a coldly calculated and conscienceless move. The Grand Summoning. It would make Tyrland almost impossible to attack, and consolidate the Montjuste-Surclere rule. What were a few innocent lives compared to that cause?

Rennyn let go the stone, so it swung below her hand. The Grand Summoning had destroyed the town of Eberhart, the first expansion killing at least a hundred. The half-dozen incursion points that opened over Tyrland had released Eferum-Get which had killed many more. Sacrifices to a cause. How many did you have to make, before they called you evil?

The stone swung forward, tugging at the ring. Rennyn followed its pull, and was not surprised to be led along the street until she was directly in front of the Devourer’s Temple. She stopped, ignoring the swirl of the crowd, and gazed up the broad flight of steps to the huge cowled statues, each with most of the face hidden, but for an overlong mouth which curled up too far. Patient, smirking Death, greedy and complacent.

Turning in a circle, Rennyn decided on the building opposite the Devourer’s, which was three stories high and flat-roofed. It housed some kind of private and irreverently-named club, and there was not a great deal of traffic moving in and out. Rennyn followed an alleyway alongside it, and found herself among neatly-kept trash bins outside a busy kitchen.

There were wards on the doors and windows, but nothing which would notice her lifting herself onto the roof. There she found pigeon-cotes and gently smoking chimneys and a nice clear space at the front.

Setting down the jar, she took a paintbrush from her pocket and began marking a circle of sigils on the dark stone. It was necessary to work quickly, before any part dried, but was a simple method of ensuring that any sign of her casting would evaporate soon after she’d gone through. The jar sitting quietly in the corner of the roof would be much less obvious than the usual chalk sigils. Satisfied that she’d drawn the circle correctly, Rennyn absently murmured the names of the sigils as she pushed power into them, and watched the world fade about her.

Last time, at the town north-east of Sark – Finton it had been called – she had arrived close on the incursion. Starting a full twelve hours beforehand in Asentyr meant she had time to pause in the cool of the Eferum, to close her eyes and allow the power to tingle through her, enjoying the conflicting sensation of floating and being crushed. This, she’d often thought, must be what it was like in the very depths of the ocean. Nothing all around but cold blackness, supported by the water, wrenched at by the tides.

Since she wasn’t here to summon, Rennyn made no attempt to hold off the great force of power, but simply let it flow through her, stealing warmth and teasing her thoughts out in streamers which swept away and were lost on the currents. She often used black ribbons in her casting purely because she’d spent so much time in the Eferum it felt as if half her mind was out there, spun into lost threads of thought.

Turning, Rennyn oriented on the point where the incursion would take place, allowing herself to see the outline of the buildings and road and the fantastical trailing pinpricks of light which were people. Already hours must have passed. The trails of light died away of a sudden, until only the occasional mote zoomed by. The curfew was in place. Soon, soon now.

She clasped the stone, making certain the ring was firmly in place. It was coming, changing the tides around her. A great wave of power, distorting the normal flows, bellying out to touch the world beyond. Rennyn tightened her hand and felt the stone slip and tug, vibrating with the force of the Grand Summoning. She had–

Rennyn gasped, a futile thing in a place without breath, serving only to chill her lungs. Outside Finton she had seen the three Eferum-Get as they escaped into the world. The breach from the Eferum had been a sizeable width, increasing the likelihood that something would be near enough to slip through. This one was not much larger, but – no, the shadows which were momentarily outlined by the breach hadn’t been nearby. They’d been brought to this point – pushed by – riding? – the wave of power itself. And there were so many.

Astonished and dismayed, Rennyn spoke the trigger which would shift her to the far side of the veil. She’d delayed last time, measuring the flow of the Eferum, and come out many hours after the incursion. Even now, she would be returned well after the moment of incursion, but she had to – had to–

Coughing, skin goose-nabbed and jittering, Rennyn staggered the few steps to the small wall which edged the roof and looked out at the city. She could hear screaming. Shouts. Something breaking. The third building down to the right was in flames. A clutch of people stood before it, black shapes dominated by the glimmer of the Montjuste Phoenix. And everywhere moving shadows. Shadows with claws.

Even these Summoning-produced incursions should not involve more than a handful of Eferum-Get. They were problematic because the breaches were large enough to allow through other types of Eferum-Get than the more common Night Stalkers and Life Stealers, those which excelled at slipping through the smaller, natural breaches. This – this had been dozens, perhaps even hundreds, cramming through in one concerted rush.

Leaning out, Rennyn strained to see the blockade at the head of the street. Movement: fire, flickering shadows, the occasional flash which told her mages were at work. Most of the Eferum-Get would not have engaged directly, but simply run. They would burrow into Asentyr, away from the people with blades and flame, and then they would hunt. They–

Rennyn gasped again, and broke into another fit of coughing, the price to be paid for taking a breath in the Eferum. The group in front of the burning building were mostly Sentene, but there was a small collection of more ordinary folk in their centre, clinging to each other protectively. At their fore was a dark-haired youth clutching his abdomen, the focus of all their attention. Rennyn shook her head in utter disbelief, then twisted shadows into a pocket and took herself below.

"Seb."

"Ren!"

Seb was used to Rennyn’s favourite castings and simply sagged with relief when she appeared before him. The woman behind him screamed, and there was a brief flurry of movement from the Sentene which Rennyn ignored, staring at the dark blood leaking around the pad of cloth her brother was clutching to his stomach.

"What was it?" she asked.

"Irisian, I think," he said, voice shaking. His eyes were wide and agonised, not only with pain, but with the magnitude of disaster. And the effects of the poison an Irisian would have left in him.

"And you are here why?"

"There was a girl. I know I – you were right. About watching people. I – Ren–"

"Enough. I understand." She squeezed his shoulder. "You’re still alive, Seb. Anything else is secondary." And, in truth, their long-term goals weren’t even an issue at the moment. To which point she turned to the Sentene watching her and asked: "Which of you is in charge?"

"I am." One of the Kellian, a woman wearing a sword but carrying the slate which was the classic symbol of a mage. Rennyn had known there was a Kellian mage, but if she posed an added danger it didn’t seem to be immediate.

"If I draw them to me, can you stand against so many?"

"Draw–?!" someone behind her began, but broke off.

The Kellian in charge weighed the question, her reactions hidden by the all-enveloping uniform. "Suitably prepared, yes. Where will you cast?"

"The centre-point of the breach."

"We will need to reinforce our numbers." The woman turned away, and began relaying orders in a voice notable for a thready, reedy quality. "Essan, Steen, take these out of here, and inform Lady Weston. Bring back the second squad, and the Hands." She paused as one of the shadows clinging to the wall opposite the fire made a sudden movement, then added: "See the boy gets treatment."

An Irisian’s poison wasn’t immediately fatal, but it would be a battle to keep Seb alive through the night. Rennyn nodded to acknowledge that addition, then leaned down to press her cheek against her brother’s, murmuring: "Stay alive, stay quiet. We’ll get through this."

"I’m sorry, Ren."

"I’ll only be angry if you die on me, little brother."

She let him go, carried easily by one of the Kellian while the other herded the civilians and watched for attack. Rennyn strode in the opposite direction, immediately flanked by four Sentene. Her mind was reeling through consequences, incredulous at the sheer numbers of the incursion, shrinking from the possibility of Seb dying, and the sudden unravelling of a sixty-year plan. But reaching the breach point, she made herself stop thinking of anything but the now, taking her box of chalk from her skirt pocket and rapidly sketching out the kind of circle she’d need onto the road’s slabs of stone. At least the Temple District wasn’t cobbled.

Three concentric rings of sigils. Not a quick task, but that allowed the reinforcements time to arrive, and they had their own preparations to make. When she looked up, she found herself surrounded by mages holding closely-written slates and standing in protective circles. The Sentene usually worked in pairs: a mage and a weapons-expert. Those with weapons, almost all Kellian, had positioned themselves in alternating places between their mages. Slightly closer were the Hands: more senior mages responsible for unpicking complex castings and investigating violations of the laws constraining mages.

Almost fifty people, which must be at least half of Tyrland’s Sentene and Hands. They’d been diverted from the urgent pursuit of Eferum-Get to form a wall around her, which said something for the weight placed on the judgment of the Kellian mage who’d made this decision. Rennyn wondered if it would be enough and, looking around, spotted the woman she’d met in Finton, Lady Weston.

"I’ll not be able to defend myself while this goes on," she said. "They’ll disperse again if I’m interrupted."

"My dear, if you can truly bring them, be assured we will not be lax concerning their despatch."

Rennyn nodded, and with a glance up at the unsettling shadows lurking in the portico of the Devourer’s Temple, began casting. This was a spell of many phases, represented by her three circles. The inner was similar to the gate she had cast previously, but this time she didn’t intend stepping into the Eferum, but looking into it; to thin the veil between worlds so that it became a window.

The flags of the street faded to soot, leaving the sigils forming the inner circle glowing white against nothing. The second circle flared brightly as the dark flowed past it, not stopping the tide but anchoring it so that it would not extend beyond the borders of the original breach. A wave of cold followed behind and Rennyn’s breath puffed mist as she waited for the full breach to be outlined. Even firmly anchored, almost the entire width of the street was engulfed, with all but a few of her defenders standing on the surface of a black lake.

The Hand members were watching her with open fascination, but not a single Sentene faced inward. They would not turn their backs on Eferum-Get. That unity made Rennyn a little more confident about survival, and she set her jaw to stop her teeth from chattering as she activated the outer circle. Dark lines began lifting from the surface of the lake, slowly at first, then streaking upward and outward like a tarry sunburst. One, two, three darted directly into the furthest recesses of the Devourer’s portico, but most spread far out into the city.

They’d all passed through this point, all the Eferum-Get loose in Asentyr. That was the connection she exploited, making tangible the fact of their passage, turning it into a visible trail.

"Be ready," she said, lowering herself to her knees then resting back on her heels. One hand she lifted to press against her focus against her chest, warm with her body’s heat. The other she held above the surface of the dark beneath her. Then, closing her eyes, she made a scooping, gathering motion, as if collecting a tangle of black ribbons floating beneath the surface. The trail became a thread, a link, a chain. And she hauled on it.

"Above!"

Rennyn firmed her grip as whatever had been lurking in the portico leapt straight at her. There was a brief warmth as someone loosed a casting, then heavy meaty noises. The noises were harder to block out, but she tried, hauling on the icy, slippery tangle which joined the Eferum-Get to the breach between the worlds. Hand over hand, dragging them back, her fingers turning to sharp spikes of pain, then losing feeling.

Sounds kept breaking through. Sharp commands, the ring of steel on…something, bursts and whumps of offensive casting. The staccato of hasty sigil writing. Her throat and chest started to hurt, and it became as hard to breathe as it was to hold on to the tangled, thinning rope, and that was very hard indeed when only the effort it took to pull told her she still had it.

The thinner it grew, the heavier it seemed, until she finally realised that she wasn’t able to pull the last strand any further. Telling her fingers to tighten, she wound it around and around her hands so it wouldn’t slip, and opened her eyes.

Pieces of monster were everywhere, scattered across a street slick with blood and ash. The neat formation of mages had broken, and beside her was a little cluster of people working over two fallen defenders. Everyone else, all of them, were arrayed to her right, toward the Docks District. She couldn’t see what they faced, but she could feel it. An intensity, a swell of power which left her head throbbing, like a sound too low to hear.

The urgent discussions among the Sentene on what to do next gave her a name. Azrenel-type. Possibly the most powerful of the Eferum-Get. They were intelligent with little physical presence, similar to the Life Stealers though fortunately far rarer. Only two had been encountered in recorded history. Rennyn looked down at her hands, at the black line cutting into numb, blue skin. This fragile thread stretched between her and a thing that unchecked could lay waste to the entire kingdom in a matter of weeks. She’d been dragging it up the street.

There was a strange noise, high and harsh, and she realised it was her breath, tearing in her throat. She’d done too much, was exhausting her physical as well as casting strength. The sixty-year plan, the entire purpose of her family, had been suddenly side-lined, leaving only that thread. She would hold it till all her strength was gone. Then she would sleep, if her heart did not stop, and the Azrenel would no longer be pinned.

What was worse? To let go, to let this creature run loose so she could continue on the task she’d been raised to carry out? Or to turn away from stopping Solace? The Grand Summoning seemed diminished by comparison. And yet, wasn’t this an effect of the Summoning, on a vastly larger than expected scale? There would be five more incursions.

Overwhelmed, Rennyn leaned forward, curling over her bound hands. She couldn’t think of it. Better just to close her eyes again, and remember to breathe.