by Andrea Höst
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 p
reviously, 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.
Chapter Seven
Sunlight. The smell of medicine and recently-laundered linen. A bed, over-firm, though the pillow was nice. She was lying on her back, and her arms ached, and her hands were stiff. Her chest felt like she'd been breathing knives. Rennyn flexed fingers cautiously, and found they were bandaged but seemed to be all there, so she opened her eyes.
There was a Kellian watching her from the doorway. Two Kellian, and a red-haired woman. Rennyn lifted her head to look at them properly, then lay back and laughed. Not dead after all.
Ignoring her audience, she looked around more of the room. Four beds, and Seb on the one beside hers. Pale and lying very still, but he breathed.
"How is he?" she asked the small, elderly woman sitting on the far side of his bed.
"Out of the woods. He'll be sitting up in a day or two. It will take several weeks of treatment before muscle function is fully restored, though."
Irisian poison paralysed before death. But still, he would recover, and in time. Not much else was going according to plan, but she would at least have her brother.
"Is it still the same day?" she asked, suddenly worried.
"The same." The woman was watching her with an air of entertainment which Rennyn definitely didn't appreciate. "You'll be hungry, I expect."
More than. Moving cautiously, Rennyn sat up. She was wearing some kind of shift, and her focus stone was missing. Both of them. The sense of unreality was fading, leaving her feeling less than pleased with herself. Events had spiralled out of her control.
"What is this place? Sentene headquarters?"
A third Kellian had appeared in the doorway, and this one Rennyn recognised. "The infirmary of the Houses of Magic in Villemar Palace," the Kellian mage said. "The Sentene occupy one branch of the Houses. The Grand Magister asks if you feel able to meet with her after lunch."
Time for interrogation. Rennyn supposed there was no escaping that. "Provided my clothes can be found," she said, which proved an effective Sentene-banishing charm. They withdrew to other parts of the infirmary while the old woman produced her clothing, recently laundered, and directed her to a small side-room where she could change and clean up.
Her clothes, but not her other belongings. It would be inconvenient if they tried to keep the focuses. Rennyn took her time dressing, weighing options: how much to tell them, what to keep back, and when to lie. Associating with the Sentene now changed the timing but not the main features of the plan. Since she'd survived the night she would make the assumption that she wasn't under imminent threat from within their ranks. Besides, after last night she had to shift her priorities, due to both the strength of the incursions, and Seb's injuries. She couldn't care for him and go racketing about the country, which left her with absolutely no choice in the matter.
"You've some minor frost bite on your hands," said the old woman, when she emerged. "The severe chill was the more serious matter. Exhausted as you were, you're at a high risk for lung infection. I boosted your defences as best I could, but you'd be well advised to keep warm and take a few days' rest."
That sounded nice. Rennyn put it on her list of things to do, and turned to the tray of food which had been brought in her absence, concentrating on filling the aching pit in her stomach. A cup of spiced tea with half a pot of honey dumped into it raised her spirits enormously.
"Thank you for looking after my brother," she said, when she rose to depart. "I mightn't be here when he wakes, so can you tell
him that before I get back he needs to produce a highly imaginative and original explanation of just what exactly he was doing anywhere near that incursion?"
There was only one Sentene outside the door now, the red-headed woman she'd seen in Finton, who said: "The Grand Magister's Chambers are upstairs," and led her past a number of empty rooms to curving corridors and then up stairs which wound inside a circular tower. They stopped at a well-lit room dominated by a long table.
The Grand Magister was standing with a group of people on the far side of the table, but turned and nodded her welcome when Rennyn came in. "I am glad to see you recovered, young lady," she said. "Please, sit."
The missing contents of her pockets were lined along one end of the table, so Rennyn sat down before them. Both focuses were there, two innocuous round globes, one less than half the size of the other. The larger was clear, with only a few faint traces to show how it had grown, while her own was pitch black. She fastened it around her neck.
"How many died last night?" she asked, as the others settled around the table.
"We don't have a final tally," Lady Weston replied, lines momentarily etching themselves between her brows. "It may be days before we uncover all the bodies. The Docks are the worst hit. Households, ships, even an entire street with nothing but dead. Over a thousand."
It could not have been more than an hour between the breach and Rennyn's casting. A thousand dead in an hour. Rennyn stared down at her bandaged hands, and wondered if there was any way she could have prevented this.