Stained Glass Monsters (6 page)

"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.