by Andrea Höst
"Oh?" Rennyn sat down in one of the high-backed chairs before the desk. "I wondered how they'd managed so few casualties."
"Instinct." Lady Weston shook her head, then rang a bell, summoning a secretary to send for spiced tea. "The Kellian have a command, Full Clear – they train it, but I've not heard of it being used before. It means 'take your mage and run'. Their speed and Faille's instinct – which is the best among the Kellian and as close to precognition as anything is likely to come – is all that prevented almost the entire Sentene from dying to that exploit of the shield. They managed to get most of the Hand present out too, and the Ferumguard were fortunately further back. But there were still deaths, and many injuries."
"Not a good moment for spiteful interrogations."
"No." Lady Weston gave Rennyn a searching glance. "I admit that I'm surprised. I had an impression you were less than eager to associate with the Kellian."
"True enough," Rennyn said, thinking over what it was safe to admit. "But that's nothing to do with their loyalties."
"Then why?"
"Guilt, I suppose you could say." She shrugged at Lady Weston's startled expression. "Queen Solace did two major things during her rule. The Grand Summoning is the thing she's known for, but it's the second which is perhaps the larger achievement."
"She created a race."
"I don't think it was deliberate. The original Kellian were designed to be long-lived, but nothing I've read suggests that she intended them to breed. That's Symbolic magic: you get more than you ask for. But even if it was only a question of the original ten golems – my family has devoted itself to dealing with the Grand Summoning; we took responsibility for it. But the Kellian – after Solace was gone, Tiandel ordered the Kellian to leave Tyrland and never return. They were...barely people. Not mindless dolls, but they existed for a specific purpose. It was everything they were. They didn't have personal goals, personal desires. They couldn't even speak. And Tiandel told them to go away and not come back."
"Does avoiding the Kellian who exist today balance that?"
"Not at all. But – do you know, that horrible second son of hers saw it straight away? 'A Montjuste-Surclere with a Kellian bodyguard'. I don't want them protecting me. I hate the idea of – using them. Besides, I just as strongly feel that I shouldn't be talking about 'taking responsibility' for them. They're people, not children, not tools. Between feeling I should do something for them, and knowing I could get them killed – it's cowardly, I know, but I just wanted to have as little to do with them as possible. Mainly to spare my own feelings."
They were interrupted by the arrival of tea and cakes, and Rennyn was glad to have been stopped. She shouldn't have tried to explain. "Complicated, you see," she said, busying herself taking several slices of something particularly sticky and rich. "Do they have so many enemies?"
"Enough to matter. It's not merely their appearance, or even the fact that they are superlative killers. That watchful repose rouses suspicion, and this is not the first time they've been accused of conspiracies, of keeping themselves separate, of being loyal not to Queen and country, but to themselves or in this case Solace Montjuste-Surclere. It's amazing the impression a lack of casual chatter can make. If they behaved more like humans, fidgeted and complained, schemed and drank, bickered and laughed, they would be accepted far more readily, no matter what they looked like."
"Yet their magi partners are so upset at the idea of them being interrogated."
"Yes. I spent a brief period in the Sentene, many years ago. My partner was Korion Asaka. I swear he didn't say two unprompted words to me during our first five assignments. Even when I asked him questions, his answers were so brief I felt I was being rejected. But – he made it is his business, first and foremost, to keep me alive. And I very quickly started finding Korion a most reassuring presence, his silence simply a part of his nature. After many assignments I was bold enough to ask him why he did not speak more, and he told me, 'I forget that I can'. It wasn't that he was blankly passive inside, either; he simply rarely brought any of himself to the surface. That is what the Kellian are. They behave the way they do not out of any belief in their superiority, or dislike of humans, but because smiling or laughing or even talking are not automatic responses for them. It doesn't mean they don't feel, or that they aren't proud, or loyal. There's not one among them who isn't fiercely protective of Tyrland. Once they recognise that, most of the Sentene mages grow very protective of the Kellian in return."
"What's the Queen's attitude? She is allowing this."
"The Queen – Her Majesty's reserve is born out of their origin, I believe. The Kellian are a remnant of the Montjuste-Surclere rule. And whatever else can be said of her, there's few that will not acknowledge that Solace Montjuste-Surclere had a right to her throne. When the children of the original Kellian came to Tyrland, over one hundred years ago now, they asked to be allowed to serve the kingdom. They consider it their homeland. That was during a particularly bad outbreak of Eferum-Get, and the King of that time saw the Kellian as useful to his plans for a special force of hunters. And they are very useful to the kingdom, invaluable. But the Montjustes have always considered the Kellian a group with no loyalty to them."
"The uniform was specifically designed to distract from those wearing it, wasn't it?" Rennyn had thought as much. "Though from what I've seen of them, I'd say the Kellian do keep themselves separate."
"To a degree," Lady Weston conceded. "They are not human: they live longer than all but the most skilled mages, their senses are sharper, they mature differently, respond differently. Even after three hundred years, there are only some sixty individuals. They will develop friendships and relationships with humans, and very occasionally they marry outside their kind. I believe they make an effort to avoid in-breeding. But to the casual observer, they must seem a closed community."
"Sixty deadly people loyal to each other," Rennyn said.
"Some are convinced that there is a Kellian ruler dictating the decisions of the group, and the re-emergence of the Black Queen only adds fuel to this fire. But there is no conspiracy to be found, and no leaders. A kind of unspoken accord, perhaps."
"No leaders? Truly?" Rennyn had not had that impression.
"Outside the structure of the Sentene, no. They'll take ranks and give orders as part of their duty, but on a personal level Kellian strongly resist imposing their will on each other. The Illumas, for instance: it is immensely rare for Kellian to show the ability to be mages. Sarana is only the second, and all the Kellian were, I think, tremendously pleased when Sukata Illuma showed the same ability as her mother. But none would suggest that Sarana try and have another child for the sake of increasing the number of Kellian mages, or try to force the issue if Sukata chose not to study the art. It's very rare that they'll even give their opinion unasked, because an opinion is itself a kind of expectation, a suggested direction. You look sceptical, Lady Montjuste-Surclere."
"I can't tell if you're idolizing them or not. You obviously care about them greatly."
"Indeed. They are a complicated group, misunderstood by most. Perhaps I misunderstand them too. But I do trust them. And I do consider them a responsibility, even though they are, as you say, people. To me they are simply people worth protecting."
Rennyn was starting to see she should have paid more attention to Tyrland's politics. It would probably not make a great deal of difference until the Grand Summoning was complete, but might complicate what vague hopes she had for the rest of her life.
"Do you have a map of the area around Sark?" she asked, deciding she really needed to stop talking about the Kellian. She'd asked to see the Grand Magister for an entirely different reason, and proceeded to further spoil Lady Weston's day by using the measurements she'd been making to calculate the eventual diameter of the area of distortion emanating from Falk. While the expansion would probably not cross Sark's circle, it would come very close. More people than Rennyn cared to imagine would need to be moved.
Lady Weston had barely time to call another secretary when two men dressed in the resplendent red and gold of the Royal Guard appeared with a summons for Rennyn. Unsurprised that they'd leapt at the chance to question her immediately, Rennyn followed obediently along behind.
The guardsmen took her deep into the Old Palace, to a room focused around a box-like podium constructed of marble heavily worked with sigils. This was the Hall of Question, where any injunction to tell the truth would be massively reinforced by this permanent working. It made even half-truths immensely difficult, though not impossible. Even the strongest-willed could not outright lie here. That was the risk in making this gesture. They might hit upon the right questions, and a refusal to answer could reveal almost as much as the truth.
Seated at the long table before this podium were the seven who were conducting the questioning, though a reasonable audience had been allowed in as well. Mostly Councillors, Rennyn assumed. There were also two powerful shields, one around the podium and one enclosing the section of seats to the right of the Hall. This area was half-filled with Kellian waiting their turn. Many of their mage partners had joined them, including Lieutenant Danress, face set beneath her bright hair. Captain Faille was currently being questioned.
Rennyn was immediately struck by the fact that none of the Kellian were wearing their uniform coat. She'd seen them remove it so it wouldn't hamper them in battle, but never otherwise outside the Houses of Magic. A gesture, a very deliberate gesture: they had removed the Montjuste Phoenix. The Kellian might have accepted this questioning, but they were far from impressed by it.
Her entrance had caused a little stir, which was immediately overshadowed when below to the left a small but grand door was flung open and a very upright and decorative man strode in, crying: "All rise for Her Majesty, Queen Astranelle." Since Rennyn was already standing, she stayed where she was and curtseyed on cue when, after a stream of minor courtiers, the Queen entered the room.
Astranelle Montjuste was in her sixties, and had the timeless appearance that anyone with access to powerful magery could achieve, though Rennyn understood she was no more than a competent caster herself. She was small-boned, her ash-blonde hair drawn up into tidy confinement except for soft curls framing her face. She was not astonishingly beautiful, but looked...sweet. A lovely, blue-eyed delicate creature in floating blue and turquoise silks. Queen of Tyrland, and by all accounts an intelligent and practical woman.
Queen Astranelle surveyed the room until she found Rennyn, and then stood gazing at her. Given the foolery about challenges to the throne, Rennyn supposed it was unfortunate that she was standing at the top of the stairs, forcing the Queen to look up at her. Magic was not the only arena where symbols had power. With that in mind, Rennyn curtseyed again, as deeply as she was able without falling over. The Queen inclined her head in return, then sat down, and people began to move.
After some murmured consultation with a member of the Queen's entourage, one of the people conducting the questioning said, "Thank you, Captain. That will be all for now," and the official in charge of the shields made some adjustment which opened a passage to the waiting area. It seemed that although the Queen had ordered their interrogation, she had no real interest in what the Kellian had to say.
Without any hint of surprise, Captain Faille bowed and left the dock. Remembering his little catalogue of her reactions, Rennyn suspected the man was probably rarely surprised by anything – when he did bother to speak his comments were always perceptive and on occasion exceedingly dry. She watched him covertly as she started down the stair, but Danress' whispered explanations provoked no change of expression. He simply sat down to watch.
"Rennyn Montjuste-Surclere, you are called to Question."
The official opened the shield for Rennyn to pass through, and she stepped up to the podium. It was a thick marble box, reaching as high as her chest, with a gap cut in one side for people to pass through. Interesting how just standing in it made her feel like a criminal.
Rennyn looked out at her audience and remembered she was tired. Politics did not amuse her. Touching the cold marble gingerly, she gauged the power running through it. A strong shield. She wondered what that monster Helecho had used to convert the Sentene's to an explosion.
With the injunction settling around her, Rennyn reminded herself that she'd chosen to do this. Exploding shields would not be necessary.
Chapter Thirteen
"Please state your full name," the person sitting in the centre of the examiner's table said. She was a woman with short-cropped brown hair, a voice of warm smoke, and a most suspicious gaze. Councillor Allerton, perhaps.
"Rennyn Helena Montjuste-Surclere," Rennyn replied, then added, "Though Rennyn Helena Claire on the Dawnbringer's Register. And various aliases."
Interesting. She'd answered rather more than she'd been intending. It was a clever spell, encouraging thorough explanation, a potentially fatal chattiness. Narrowing her eyes, Rennyn concentrated on the task of choosing exactly what truth she would tell, and no more.
"Can you prove that?" asked a dark-bearded man sitting at the far right of the table. "Evidently you believe that you are a descendent of Solace Montjuste-Surclere, but that may merely be something you have been told."
Startled, Rennyn had to laugh. "It would be an elaborate ruse, if so. Let me see. I don't imagine the usual paternity castings would cover such a distant connection, but feel free to devise one. I have a few centuries of documentation, various objects which belonged to the family. I–" She paused, then shrugged. "There's a collection of letters from King Eliathas. One has the official seal on it. That would establish Tiandel's survival, at least."
"King Eliathas was aware of the ruse?"
"Pretending to die is perhaps not so hard. Pretending to die after moving your most precious belongings out of your house and shuffling your fortune about in interesting ways, that requires a little collusion."
"Reasonable," the man continued. "What other members of the Montjuste-Surclere line survive?"
"My brother, Sebastian. Solace. This new son of hers, Helecho." The name sat bitter on her tongue.
"After three hundred years, only two descendents of Tiandel remain?"
Rennyn shrugged. "Three hundred years of experiments with the Eferum. It's not the safest preoccupation."
"Experiments based around the Grand Summoning? It is true, is it not, that this would involve continuing research into the function of the spell? That you would have the means to recreate the Grand Summoning?"
"Quite true." She did not look down, did not dwell on the day her father had not returned, of the void that had left. And she never allowed herself to think of her mother's death.
"Have you ever planned to cast the Grand Summoning yourself?"
"No."
"Have you supported, assisted or colluded in any other individual casting the Grand Summoning?"
"No."
"Have you, or do you intend to assist or aid Queen Solace in completing the Grand Summoning?"
"No."
Lady Weston's voice suddenly interjected, "Do you know of any way to stop the Grand Summoning before it completes?"
Rennyn blinked, turning. The Grand Magister had arrived unnoticed to sit beside the Queen. The map of Sark was open before them. Even at this distance Rennyn could see the sharp line she'd drawn along the outskirts of the city.
"Yes." Rennyn ignored the murmur which ran around the room. "The obvious way: go into the Eferum where she is and attack her. She will have the means to fight back, and it now seems possible that she's guarded by Eferum-Get, but a sufficient force, well-prepared, should overwhelm even that. After all, people die all the time in the midst of summoning focus stones. The problem is what happens with the power she is manipulating. Even if she'd been killed as soon as the Falk expression had appeared, the minimum consequence would be a backlash which could have shattered Aliace Hill and sent pieces of it raining down on the city. To be clear, other than usi
ng the attuned focus to push her back during the last moments, I do not know of a way to stop the Grand Summoning without destroying large pieces of Tyrland in the process."
"What do you intend to do after her defeat?" the Queen asked, her voice a very resonant one for such a small woman. Her gaze was steady and unwavering, reserved but not hostile.
"If Solace is pushed back into the Eferum, she will not have been defeated," Rennyn explained. "So I would inevitably have to prepare for her return. But – either way, if I pushed her back or were to succeed in killing her, I..." She shrugged, for she had never found this question easy to answer. "For a while at least, I would do the things I haven't been able to spare the time to do now. Trivial things. Beyond that I can't say I've made any firm plans. Travel. I've not been able to risk leaving Tyrland."
The Queen had listened with an air of polite attention. "You have heard of the recent debates regarding your claim to the throne?"
"Yes. I was surprised by it. I have no claim to the throne. Tiandel abdicated."
"The argument is that if Solace still lives, Tiandel had no throne from which to abdicate."
Rennyn was trying to work out what was going on. It didn't seem to her that the Queen was concerned in the slightest about the legitimacy of any claim to her throne.
"Well, given that Solace still lives, it's her claim to the throne which seems to me the point of contention," Rennyn said. "Either way, Tiandel removed himself from the line of succession. Which would make that creature Helecho Crown Prince. Perhaps you should take this discussion up with him?"
The Queen said something softly to Lady Weston, then sat back. Rennyn found the entire exchange confusing, and could only presume that some political point had been made.
"Were you aware of this Helecho's existence before your encounter in Surclere?" Lady Weston asked.
"No."
"Do you believe it is he who was responsible for the death of your Great-Grandfather?"