by Andrea Höst
"The first was a child of rape," Faille told her. "Those who dwell in Semarrak, the inhabitants older than the Kellian, are considered creatures of great good fortune, to be captured and used as talismans. A man of ambition mistook his prey."
It made him angry to speak of it. Not at her, but at a long-dead beast who had seen a Kellian, perhaps in strong sunlight or moonlight when they were at their most exotic, and somehow managed to force himself on her. Rennyn wasn't entirely certain how she knew the Captain was angry – in the dimmer light of the Docks she had no hope of gauging his expression, and his voice hadn't changed. Perhaps because he suddenly seemed ten times as dangerous.
"The child was a daughter. They named her Faille, which is a Verisian word meaning 'incalculable'."
She'd certainly blundered straight onto sensitive ground. There were no good responses, so Rennyn swallowed the awkwardness and guessed: "Experiencing that child prompted them to seek more?"
"I believe she gave them some purpose beyond existing."
That matched Rennyn's understanding of the golems Solace had created. Raising and protecting their children would fill the void Tiandel had left. Wondering what the runaway bondswoman had been like, she turned off the main road into the back streets of the Dock District, where great hulking warehouses were interspersed with tight, cramped housing. It wasn't a pleasant smelling area.
"We are being followed."
"I don't expect to leave the palace and not be followed," Rennyn said, amused given that he'd trailed her out as well. "And, frankly, unless it's a small army, I would only feel sorry for them if they were stupid enough to attack."
He'd warned her because the area she was heading into was increasingly secluded. The noise of the magelight-studded main road died away, and as she found her destination there were only her own footsteps and not a single light except that of the stars.
"The street completely devoured by the Azrenel."
She took the unprompted comment as a sign of increasing curiosity. Walking down here had been an impulse sparked by her empty stomach, and the challenge of tracking a guised creature to which she had no powerful connection. Magic was both greatly limited by distance and tremendously dangerous when asked to perform a vague or imprecise action. To find a familiar thing nearby was easy. To find an unknown at a distance was very near to impossible. The map-based divination which allowed her family to pinpoint the first expression of the Grand Summoning was one of the most complex pieces of magic she knew, and only worked because her family had both exacting knowledge of the spell, and a real and tangible link to the caster.
Rennyn reached back and pulled free the long black ribbon she used to hold her hair away from her face. Knotting it into a large loop, she threaded her fingers through and then clasped her hands together. She needed a link.
"Unaet," she said. "Temaru. Arlaeth." Dark. Cold. Hungry.
Turning, she walked back down the street, repeating the names of three sigils over and over. Unaet. Temaru. Arlaeth. Dark. Cold. Hungry. Here, to this place the Azrenel had come. Here it had feasted, drawing out life after life, but for an Azrenel it would never be enough. Hungry.
Her stomach was a pit, echoing, and her breath puffed out in clouds. As she reached the head of the street and turned toward the river, she brought the night with her, streaming behind like a cloak, dripping from her hands. Dark. Cold. Hungry.
Ahead was the broad, flat expanse of the Murian River, stinking liquid black, but before that was the band of inscribed paving stones which marked Asentyr's circle. All circles were literally that, as perfectly round as they could be made. It was Symbolic magic, a thing many didn't realise, though they understood well enough that circles couldn't cross each other. Circles within circles were acceptable, such as the circle around the crown of Aliace Hill, but to cross a circle with another was to weaken both. The city of Asentyr had dozens of circles clustered about the edges of the main, like the two immediately ahead: one large enough to encompass a tavern and several houses to the right, and another filled by a lone warehouse. Little islands of protection, with darkness between.
When Rennyn crossed Asentyr's circle, it shuddered. Reinforced countless times, the circle's entire purpose was to keep Eferum-Get out, to protect the city from creatures which would feed on the living. When she crossed the circle, she was remembering a time when cooked food made her ill, and she was hungry all the time but nothing seemed to satisfy. That craving filled her as she stopped in the empty, unprotected point between the three nearest circles and looked back into the light of the city.
Just before her were several people. Captain Faille, a sword in one hand, and three others she couldn't spare thought to recognise. Between them was the thick border of the circle, and trailing streamers of night trapped in the shield. Mist curled around her, lifting from the ground, and she gazed upward as something drifted down from the sky, an insubstantial thing drawn to her, attracted by the memory of an Azrenel's feasting just as it would be to a sleeping and undefended human.
"Life Stealer!" exclaimed one of the people, and drew power. But that wasn't needed.
Unclasping her hands as she lifted them, Rennyn held up a cat's cradle made of black ribbon, criss-crossing lines trailing darkness. The Life Stealer, no more than a wisping grey shape, was tangled, trapped, and Rennyn held it out toward the shield as it writhed impotently.
"Unaet," she said again, pushing the creature into a shield specifically designed to keep it out. Light bloomed where it touched, a delicate purple haze. "Temaru. Arlaeth."
Power poured through her and into Asentyr's shield. The light spread, dancing in gem hues, racing along the boundary of the circle, lifting into the sky. The shield shimmered into visibility, shifting slowly from dome to a pillar of colour rising straight from the ground all through the area it protected. Swathes of green and red, orange and purple, thickened the air. Around the palace and various other minor circles the colour flared into brighter points of white, but these did not impede the flow of her casting.
"Senyatel," Rennyn said, when all the city blazed with a peacock aurora. "Senyatel." Revealed. Revealed.
The Life Stealer burned into nothing and Rennyn staggered and fell forward through a shield which no longer resisted her. Faille managed to get an arm between her and the ground and set her easily back on her feet as the light display faded abruptly away, leaving only two colourful motes on Aliace Hill. Raindrop beacons spearing the sky.
"What did you do?" asked one of her audience, and she recognised Lieutenant Meniar, the Sentene mage who was part of the detail to accompany her to Surclere.
"Spectacular, but–?" asked the woman. A member of the Hand. Rennyn wondered how many others had followed her from the palace.
"That was some kind of divination, wasn't it?" said the last, a well-dressed young boy Rennyn didn't recognise, his red hair dimmed by eyes brimming with amazement.
"Like calls to like," Rennyn explained. "The only thing I could think of to counter guised Eferum-Get roaming inside a circle."
Captain Faille's attention had been on the two remaining motes of colour, but he looked back as Rennyn went and sat heavily on a nearby crate. "Meniar, get a message to Captain Illuma," he ordered. "Have squads investigate the target of those lights. And give Lady Montjuste-Surclere your coat."
"Yessir." Meniar wasn't in uniform either, but his coat was still large and warm and a welcome relief. He gave her shoulders a little squeeze as he put it around her, then retreated and began the difficult task of sending a message by magic.
"Do you suppose that tavern serves anything edible?" Rennyn asked, tucking her hands in her armpits in the hope of unfreezing them. Her already healthy appetite had become an urgent need to replace lost energy.
"I'll go look," said the boy, and after a moment's hesitation the Hand mage followed him, for it was not the kind of place noble youths could walk into safely.
"Will your brother be able to complete the attunement if you cannot?" Captain F
aille asked.
"Yes. Though I would prefer that he didn't have to." Rennyn considered the man, who wasn't quite criticising her, but who obviously thought she'd taken an unnecessary risk casting such a massive spell. And might well feel that permission should be gained before altering the city's main protection. "If my Wicked Uncle comes into this city, I want to know it. If anything comes near my brother, I want more warning than we had today."
"How long will the divination last?"
"Anywhere between a few weeks and a few centuries." She shrugged, and gazed at the lights of the city. "Long enough."
Her stomach hurt. Too convinced by her spell that she, like the Eferum-Get, was a bottomless void, an emptiness that even a thousand lives could not fill. "What prompted the Kellian's departure from the Forest of Semarrak?" she asked, hoping to distract herself.
"Tyrland is our home."
"That's the answer to a different question," Rennyn pointed out, looking up at him. "Had the last of the originals died?"
During the silence which followed she could hear Lieutenant Meniar sounding out each sigil he activated, and a gust of laughter from the tavern. It was the first time she'd asked something that it seemed Faille might not answer and she studied his profile as best she could when he blended so well into the night. Despite obliging with answers, this man was as far from the obedient ciphers of the originals as it was possible to be. Grim courtesy could not mask a sheerly incisive mind, and a tendency not to express his opinions did not leave her in any doubt that he had them. He weighed every word she spoke, and judged whether she deserved any response.
"Nine of the Ten remain."
Remain? He meant they were still alive? Rennyn stared at him. The original golems would have been long-lived, true, but she would not have expected their life-span to be more than one hundred and fifty or perhaps two hundred years.
"One was killed in battle," Captain Faille continued. "The rest...grew weary. To wake, to move, to do more than subsist, became beyond their strength. But they do not die."
Words failed her, and she shook her head in futile denial. Still alive? Unable to die? But she saw what was behind this. She understood the rules which bound the Kellian golems' existence, and could see a reason. Unless they were killed through violence they would not die.
They hadn't been given permission.
Chapter Sixteen
Stupid, stuck-up, full of himself, know-it-all, pampered...
Kendall ran out of new things to call Sebastian Montjuste-Surclere and started the list over, stomping a foot in time to each word. What business was it of his to look down on her? She hadn't been learning magic since she could crawl.
Well, enough was enough. Sebastian could admire himself as much as he liked. The idiots at the Arkathan could gossip and nudge and whisper and smirk at each other. Kendall didn't need to hang around for that. She had money enough to find a place to stay, and smarts enough to find a job. She'd practice holding pebbles in the meantime, and if it ever looked like she might be able to do more she'd find a teacher. There were plenty of mages outside the Houses of Magic. Better mages.
At least, now that she'd decided to leave, she would be able to see the city. Who would have thought she'd have spent all this time in Asentyr and not even looked around? It was a stupid rule that students of the Arkathan couldn't leave the Houses of Magic without permission, and Kendall felt as if she was kicking off chains as she marched down Aliace Hill.
Someone walking the other way stopped and turned around, following after her. Busybody. Kendall shot them a withering glare, which didn't have much effect on Rennyn Montjuste-Surclere. The woman only seemed entertained by Kendall's expression.
"Been arguing with Seb?" she asked, unexpectedly perceptive.
"No!" Kendall increased her pace, but found her elbow taken in a firm grip.
"Let's go eat something. There's a nice-looking teashop down here."
"Don't you have a kingdom to save?"
"Tea first, then kingdom."
Kendall debated pulling free. "Look, Lady Mon-"
"Oh, call me Rennyn. I don't have a title and we'll dump the stupid surname as soon as this is over. Rennyn Claire, no more complicated than that."
"Then why introduce yourself as Montjuste-Surclere?"
"Because it's simpler right now. Expediency excuses many sins."
Her voice was so bitter that Kendall had to stare, and she was curious enough to follow meekly into a tea-shop full of snotty types who were even less impressed with Kendall than the lot up at the palace. Without the all-concealing blue and black uniform smock, her worn dress marked her as exactly what she was.
"Spiced tea for two and a selection of cakes, please," Rennyn Claire ordered, tucking her bags under the table and gesturing for Kendall to do the same. "So you bored of the Arkathan?"
"They weren't teaching me anything."
"Are they teaching anyone anything much at the moment? I understood the Arkathan teachers were covering the Hand's duties, while the Hand mages are off helping the Sentene, who are hopelessly overstretched. They can barely keep up with the natural breaches, let alone the larger ones."
"I know all that," Kendall said, crossly. "I'm not asking them to stop or anything. I'm just putting my own time to better use."
"Having argued with Seb."
"I haven't argued with anyone."
"Bah. What did he say to you that's annoyed you then?"
"You're as bad as he is – you always think you're right."
"That's because I usually am." Rennyn Claire smiled provocatively, then sat back as the snooty ladies filled their table with tea things and cakes. "So what is he wrong about?"
"This has nothing to do with your brother."
"If you say so. Have a cake."
It was early for lunch, so Kendall picked at a piece of seedcake, and watched Rennyn Claire put away enough for four. The woman ate with a straightforward enjoyment of all things sweet and sticky, her attention on the people walking past outside. Every time Kendall saw her the circles under her eyes were darker, but except for that brief remark about expediency she acted as calm as she had that day in Finton. Almost as insufferable as her brother.
"Do you think if you just sit there eating I'll suddenly decide to tell you?"
"I think that the more times I ask the same question, the less likely you are to answer. You're the one who has to decide whether it costs you anything to tell me."
In other words, she was curious but she didn't really care. And Kendall had to admit there was nothing stopping her from answering the question.
"...he called me a would-be rote mage."
"What, to your face? Seb's manners are slipping. Why does it matter what kind of mage Seb thinks you'll make?"
Kendall groped for words. "It's what he thinks matters. He acts like the world is full of two kinds of people: 'real' mages and everyone unimportant."
Rennyn laughed. "Not so bad as that. But – Seb is like a musician in a world of the tone-deaf. He loves magic and adores talking about it, and if people can't tell one note from the other they won't understand what he's saying. Does it matter to you what kind of mage you become?"
"A well-paid one." Kendall wasn't going to pretend otherwise. "Anything that will earn more money than I would selling vegetables and running errands."
"How much more? A deviser, one with the depth of understanding to do more than just repeat back spells they've learned, is ten times more valuable than any rote mage."
"Maybe. But I'm not going to suddenly be this magic-is-my-life person. I'll try and get good at it, but I'm not going to act like it's the only thing in the world worth doing."
"Fair enough, though treating magic as a profession doesn't prevent you from becoming a deviser – or being a 'real' mage if you want to call it that. The thing I don't understand is how leaving all the free food and accommodation helps."
"It lets me get some peace and quiet. The Arkathan is full of idiots who want me to te
ll them everything about you two, and won't leave me alone when I won't."
"So tell them. I doubt there's anything that most of them don't know already."
"I'm not there for their benefit."
"Hah." Rennyn drained her teacup and dropped some money on the table. "If nothing else, being able to stand your ground will come in useful when you're casting. How about this – for the next five or so days I get to be dragged about Tyrland pinpointing incursion points again. Come with me and I'll give you some tedious lectures on magical theory. When you get back you can decide if it's worth hanging around the Arkathan any more."
Kendall glowered at the woman while she worked their bags free from beneath the table, but waited until they were outside to say anything.
"I'm not some charity case."
"Would you like me to charge you for lessons or something? It's not going to cost me anything to talk at you, and will pass some time for me since I don't find it at all easy to read or write while travelling. Though I do warn you that I'm planning to sleep most of the way to Knifecliff."
"That's where the next breach will be?"
"Just south of it."
The idea of returning to the front row of the drama of Tyrland's defence was a good deal less attractive after seeing one of the Night Roamers far too close up. Kendall would never forget that crab-thing's fleshy mouth. But still, to be able to witness one of the battles which would shape the whole kingdom's future: it was definitely tempting. And she had to admit that the Montj– the Claires at least acted like they knew more about magic than everyone else put together.
"They'll start to fret if I don't show up soon," Rennyn said, starting back down the street. "Come if you're coming."
Kendall went.
-oOo-
The stable yard of the Houses of Magic was full of horses and coaches. After Rennyn found them the right coach to put their bags in, she disappeared into the Sentene's barracks. Kendall went to collect her dictionaries, which she'd left on her bed with her smock and a snippy little note resigning from the Arkathan.