Stained Glass Monsters

by Andrea Höst

  It had grown overcast by the time the carriage drew to a halt, and a fine misting rain was keeping everything in whatever town this was damp. A far bigger place than Falk, with a lot of dark stone crawled over with ivy. The carriage had drawn up in the centre of a cobbled, lichen-spattered square and when Kendall jumped down she could see the main part of the town to the right, and to the left a hedge-lined road. Straight ahead was a stone wall topped with a spiked fence, along which stood a row of musket-men with their guns trained on the fields. Guns, even magicked ones, were said to be not very effective against Night Roamers, but a whole row of them might be worth trying. A great heap of other people were confident enough to crowd to either side of them, peering through the fence.

  "Thank you for coming," said a round, elderly woman, moving toward them among a group of town guard. "They were sighted several hours ago, and went to ground almost immediately. One we inadvertently flushed while putting up a cordon, but we did not pursue and have not seen it since, so we do not think it moved far."

  "Fortunate that we reached here before nightfall," Lady Weston commented, inclining her head to the townswoman. "If you will tell us the layout of the area infested, we will decide our approach."

  While the old lady proceeded to use a lot of words to say there were a few fields criss-crossed by hedges and the occasional line of trees, Kendall watched Captain Faille do his own bit of preparation. First he took off the coat, revealing a uniform fashioned of heavy black cloth reinforced with dark leather. Much more practical for fighting. Then he slid a long, thin sword from beneath one of the seats and strapped it to his back. His hair and eyes had gone grey again, and the fine rain spun about him and turned him into an insubstantial thing, a man of mist wearing night.

  It was the first time Kendall had even seen the whole of the Captain's face. He was more fine-boned than she'd expected, the jaw almost delicate, but his mouth was a thin, harsh stroke bracketed by bitter lines. There was something about his proportions, a stretching that went beyond long-limbed. He was very tall, and whip-cord muscular and...wrong to look at. Best of all, he had claws. Or, at least, nails which projected past the fingertip and finished in a point which looked sharp enough to cut. He, far more than Lieutenant Danress, really did look like he'd been fathered by something out of the Hells.

  Not wanting to be caught staring, Kendall looked away, and felt her jaw sag. A woman had walked up the hedge-lined road, and had that moment reached the point where it opened up into the square. She was dressed for riding. Her hair was long and black and she wore a hat with ribbons trailing off the back. She saw Kendall staring at her and went still, then turned her head to one side as if considering a sudden retreat.

  Captain Faille had caught Kendall's change of expression. He pivoted on his heel, gazed at the only person standing in that direction, and said "M'Lady" in a warning tone, so that the Grand Magister and Lieutenant Danress turned. Kendall was very surprised when, after another moment's hesitation, the black-haired woman began walking toward them.

  "Child, is this–?" Lady Weston began, and Kendall nodded. "No coincidence at all, then." Lady Weston sounded dangerously pleased. After staving off the townswoman with a word, she went to meet the person who'd saved them all the trouble of hunting her down, Kendall and the Sentene in train.

  "It seems the adage about no good deed going unpunished is a true one," the woman said when they were in earshot. The quizzical look she added sent a sudden rush of heat over Kendall's face and throat. She hadn't thought about it properly, but this woman had saved her life. She hadn't gained anything out of that, had just done it for no reason that Kendall could see. In return, Kendall had put the Sentene on her trail.

  That's what you got for not minding your own business.

  Still, she didn't look too terribly upset, and was eyeing Lady Weston without any sign of dismay. "You have something to say to me?"

  "I have a great many things to ask you, young woman," Lady Weston said, and Kendall blinked at the ice in her voice. "You will not deny foreknowledge of these events, I presume?"

  "No."

  "I wonder that you can admit it so calmly." Lady Weston did not at all resemble the relaxed gentlewoman Kendall had spent a day watching. Instead, holding herself very erect, each word clear and clipped, she was truly the Grand Magister, commander of Tyrland's magical defences, and very angry indeed. She lifted a hand and one of her bracelets began to glow. As the air filled with a scent like overheated metal, Kendall saw there were sigils etched around the circle of silver. A hot wind swirled around the black-haired woman, who frowned and held on to her hat, looking none too pleased herself.

  "Now," Lady Weston said grimly. "You will tell me who it is who has cast this Grand Summoning, where they cast it from, and how they reconstructed the spell."

  The woman didn't respond immediately, her dark eyes narrowed and her mouth turned down. Kendall could see the faint mist of raindrops turning to a haze of steam as they came close to her, and tried to guess at what exactly the spell did. Then the stranger let out a little 'tuh' of breath.

  "Solace Ariendal Montjuste-Surclere cast it," she said, her voice underlaid with irritation. "She cast it from the Summoning Hall, at the palace in Asentyr. As for reconstruction–"

  She looked at the ground, and Kendall gasped, rocked back on her heels by a boiling gale which blasted out from the woman all the way across the square. Suddenly the horses were snorting and backing, the crowd was gawping inward instead of outward, and Captain Faille had somehow drawn his sword and had it at the woman's throat.

  The stranger shifted her eyes to him briefly, but remained facing Lady Weston. "You are over-hasty," she said. "And are asking questions to which you should already know the answers. This is no recreation. It is the first, the only Grand Summoning."

  "But Queen Solace was killed," Kendall protested, when it seemed no-one else would speak. "The Prince killed her."

  "Tiandel pushed her deep into the Eferum. That could have killed her, but it seems not, since she keeps coming back."

  "Keeps–?" Lady Weston began, then stopped, and gestured for Captain Faille to move away his sword. "The White Lady phenomenon has each time been an expression of Queen Solace's Grand Summoning?"

  "At the earliest stage."

  "The Summoning starts over?" Lieutenant Danress asked. "But, then, why has it not gone further until now? What's different about this time?"

  "It's more what was different about last time," the woman replied, then glanced toward the fascinated audience along the fence. "You do know there's a Kentatsuki roaming around over there?"

  Both Sentene stiffened, their attention shifting firmly to the fields beyond the town.

  "The breach here was larger than I was expecting, though only a few Eferum-Get passed through it," continued the woman steadily. "The next major one will be in Asentyr, the Temple District near the Devourer's Shrine. Close to midnight, the third night from now." She turned, obviously intending to just walk away.

  "Wait." Lady Weston was no longer angry, but there remained a great deal of command in her voice. "You haven't told us what your involvement in this is. How do you know these things? What are you planning?"

  "I plan to stop her, of course." The woman gave the faintest smile, as if she knew how unlikely that sounded, then added: "I'd appreciate you not interfering."

  "Inter–" Lady Weston's head came up, a combination of affront and amusement. "Where is your sense? If you speak the truth, then the best course is for us to join forces."

  The woman shook her head, and started off. "All that would achieve would be to expose myself to attack," she said over her shoulder. "I can't risk being too easy to find."

  "M'Lady?" asked Captain Faille softly.

  "Let her be." Lady Weston looked down at her hand, and Kendall saw there was a fresh burn mark around her wrist. The bracelet was gone. "Set one of the Ferumguard to follow her, though I doubt that will serve much purpose. She spoke the truth before she broke
my injunction, so we have the information we needed, for what little good it does us. Nor can we neglect a Kentatsuki for a moment longer than strictly necessary. Go."

  The Sentene strode off, and Lady Weston returned to the townswoman, rattling off a string of orders. Kendall, well aware that she'd ceased to be important as soon as she'd identified the black-haired woman, returned to the coach.

  For some reason she didn't want to watch, didn't want to try and catch a glimpse of whatever was roaming around out there. All her life she'd been warned about Stalkers and Life Stealers, heard tales of Night Roamers rarer and more powerful, but she'd never seen any. She didn't want to start.

  Now what? Kendall had few illusions about how much she'd be involved after they'd reached Asentyr. Even if she was able to learn to be a mage, all that meant was that she'd be shuffled off to some school. Would Lady Weston pay for that? Or would Kendall be expected to work off some debt, once she had the means? That was the trap you fell into when you started letting people do things for you. They always expected something in return.

  Not that she could go home. Falk was kindling, and none of the surrounding towns were a good idea. None of Tyrland was a good idea.

  Threats to the kingdom, magic and monsters; it was all completely beyond the day-to-day worry about food and savings which had been Kendall's world since Gran died. What would it be like to be that woman? To be so powerful, to know what was going on, to be in control. What kind of person could stare down the Grand Magister, ignore a sword at her throat, dare even to say they were going to stop Black Queen Solace?

  It seemed to Kendall that if that was what a mage could be, she would certainly have to try it.

  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.