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.
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.