Stained Glass Monsters

Chapter Twelve

The stables of the Houses of Magic were crowded, for most of the Sentene had returned to Asentyr ahead of Rennyn’s small party. Re-grouping to lick their wounds and make new plans. The undoing of the shield had been a bad blow.

"Can you tell Lady Weston I’d like to talk to her when she’s free?" Rennyn asked, lugging her bags out of the coach.

"Of course," Lieutenant Danress replied, not managing to hide a flash of curiosity. Rennyn saw her give Captain Faille a quick glance, but the man only turned to remove his overlong sword from the second coach.

"I’ll be with my brother." Rennyn wandered off, cheating a little with the weight of the bags. She hadn’t slept and was still very tired, but felt herself again. So long as she didn’t think too much.

Asking about, she was directed to a small room in the Sentene’s building. "I see you’re making good use of the library," she said.

"Ren!" Seb jumped to his feet and hugged her tight.

She was glad of it, holding him close for a long moment before she let him pull away.

"You look terrible."

"Thanks. Have you heard much of what’s been happening?"

"Hardly. They see me as babysitting, nothing more. The way they moved me this morning, I had a feeling they needed the infirmary."

"Yes." Rennyn cleared a few books from the bed, then took him through the events of the past few days. The excitement died from his eyes, but then he frowned and shook his head.

"It shouldn’t make any difference, really. Well, not to our plans, though if we think of any way to help the Sentene with the incursions, we could make a few suggestions. But – this Helecho – do you think he’s as loyal a son as Tiandel?"

Seb was always quick to the vital points. "The Summoning will be taking most of her concentration, so that…creature gives her a free agent. Whether he was supposed to come through a breach himself and work from this side, or whether this invasion attempt was even part of her plans, that I can’t guess. The Eferum may have changed her to the point where having a horde of Eferum-Get loose in Asentyr is acceptable to her."

"If he’s making a play of his own, he’ll not want her to complete the Summoning. Which would be reason enough to not kill you when he had the chance. It may mean things won’t play out as we expect." He looked at her anxiously.

"Possible, I suppose." Rennyn sighed. "Though there’s no proof he’s not acting on her instructions. Either way, he’s a nasty creature."

"Ren…"

"Mm?"

"The way this ends–"

"I know. I’ll try my best." She clasped his hand, forestalling anything else he might say in this place where anyone could be listening. "How are your treatments going?"

"The worst is gone, but it’ll be a couple of weeks yet before I’m clear of it. I’m clumsy, can’t write properly, and if I stand up too long I go all shaky. In a way – in a way I’m glad it happened, that I came here."

"Yes." Rennyn looked down at her hands. "It’s better to face some things, isn’t it? No matter the complications."

"Speaking of which – I may have been a little tactless." With a certain amount of relish he told her of an encounter with the royal heirs.

"You do get these righteous fits."

"You’d have done the same thing."

A knock at the door ended the conversation, and it opened to reveal Lieutenant Danress.

"Lady Weston is ready to speak with you now."

Rennyn blinked. The Sentene mage had her uniform fully fastened, hiding the lower part of her face but totally failing to disguise simmering fury. Rennyn reviewed her conversation, wondering what she could have revealed, but then she realized that Danress was barely looking at her. This was nothing to do with the Claires.

Exchanging a blank look with Seb, she allowed herself to be led away. It wasn’t just Danress. Rennyn caught a glimpse of several people having what seemed to be a heated argument in the Sentene’s central hall. The whole atmosphere was charged with sudden upset. Decidedly worrying.

Lady Weston was alone in a cavernous and slightly musty study. She looked old, closer to her true age instead of the forty-ish woman magic allowed her to remain. She didn’t seem surprised when Lieutenant Danress, instead of politely delivering Rennyn and departing, abruptly launched into speech.

"M’Lady, please, is there nothing you can do?"

The Grand Magister made a quelling gesture, fond but stern. "There are some battles it’s better to concede, Jolien. This is one."

"But it’s uncalled for," Lieutenant Danress said, tugging her collar open as if it stifled her. "They’ve done nothing to deserve it. And it’s so ungrateful. Not to mention unjust."

"Justice and politics rarely walk together," Lady Weston said.

"Has something happened?" Rennyn asked, though she had a suspicion.

Lieutenant Danress turned to her, with a hint of doubt which told its own story. "The Queen has ordered that the Kellian be placed under injunction and put to the Question," she said, her voice quavering with anger.

"Someone’s actually taking the idea of them worshipping Solace seriously?"

"Perhaps not worship. But the demand is growing that they submit some proof that there remains no lingering allegiance." Lady Weston shook her head. "The Kellian have their enemies, and this is naturally an ideal moment to strike. It comes as no surprise."

"An ideal moment?" Lieutenant Danress took a frustrated step, as if she were longing to hit someone not there. "Haven’t they noticed what’s been going on? There couldn’t be a worse moment! Don’t they understand anything at all about what the Kellian do for us?"

"Possibly not," Lady Weston said dryly. "But this is a command from our Queen, Jolien. The time for argument is past."

Rennyn was finding it very hard not to think about Captain Illuma catching her and carrying her out of the blast site. Nor of a badly-needed bath. She had been spending more than a little effort, these past couple of weeks, trying not to think constantly of the Kellian. It would have been so much easier if she’d been able to avoid working with them until the last moment. But Seb was right.

"Where do I fit into the interrogation schedule?" she asked, and smiled at their arrested expressions. "After all, I am Solace’s direct descendent, and head of the Montjuste-Surclere family. If anyone’s going to be accused of lingering allegiances, it should surely be me."

"You would allow that?" Lady Weston’s surprise was palpable.

"I don’t guarantee to answer everything, but somehow I suspect the questions they’ll ask are ones I have fairly definitive views about." She considered Lieutenant Danress. "You’re a descendent of one of those Eferum Travellers, aren’t you? Maybe you should be interrogated too, just in case you’re some kind of advance spy. Really, is there anyone in the Sentene who can truly be considered above suspicion? Questioning only the Kellian is a trifle lax, Lady Weston."

"That is an excellent point." Lady Weston glanced at Lieutenant Danress, who nodded eagerly.

"If it’s the only way to balance this," the younger mage said. "Gladly."

"Very well." Lady Weston pulled a sheet of paper from the reports spread on her desk, and began writing. "Take this to Councillor Allerton, Lieutenant," she ordered. "And then pass my command to the Senior Captains."

"Yes, M’Lady!" Lieutenant Danress said crisply, and strode out of the room. She looked very happy for someone who’d just been added to an interrogation list.

"A show of solidarity is little enough, but it will make all the difference to morale," Lady Weston said. "There are few Sentene magi who don’t owe their lives to their partners. Particularly after Darasum House. Only the Kellian could have saved that situation."

"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.