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."