"How heavy is that thing? To you, I mean?" he asked.
Rennyn picked it up doubtfully, controlling the faint, ever-present wobble which was its reaction to the Grand Summoning. "About four pounds?"
"Is it necessary to wear it all the time? Is that part of the attunement?"
"It’s to stop me dropping it," Rennyn replied, and placed the focus carefully on the ground. As soon as she let go it sank several inches, and then the earth around it trembled, compressing out in a series of rings which came perilously close to undermining the fire-pit. "You can imagine what would happen if it fell off my lap while I was in the coach," Rennyn added, as the entire camp stopped to stare.
Tenbury, one of the younger Hand mages, recovered more quickly than the rest and crossed to the depression, gauging it with probing fingers. "It mimics the distortion?" he said, more to himself than Rennyn, then looked sharply at her, adding: "You will allow us to divine this effect?"
His tone was more demand than request, but Rennyn shrugged, not inclined to spoil her day arguing. She didn’t like Tenbury, who never succeeded in hiding his resentment when she refused to share information, but she knew there was little he’d be able to do with the focus.
She watched their initial attempts to pick it up while Meniar salved her wrist and cast an encouragement to healing. "The bracelet doesn’t leave room for a great deal of padding," he said, winding on a thin layer of bandage. "Can you at least alternate hands?"
"Yes – the other’s just more awkward, especially if I’m writing. I only really need to carry it when we’re travelling. Or on marshy ground. Or in wooden buildings. It grows heavier with each expansion of the main distortion, but I doubt it will become impossible to cart about. That would defeat the purpose."
As soon as both her wrists were neatly protected with soft bandage, Rennyn changed her shoes and went for a walk, since the area in front of her tent was now crowded with excited mages. There were plenty of criss-crossing animal trails through the undergrowth, and she followed them at random. Berries, flowers, sun-spotted clearings, the occasional bird or small animal which would leap away. Guards. It was certainly the most well-protected bit of forest in all Tyrland.
She walked until the sun started slanting, stopping by a small stream, perhaps the same one which ran by the camp, though she had taken enough turns to have no idea where the camp was. There was a rock there which made a nice seat, and she studied the mix of sun and shadow on the water, then looked at Faille, who was as dappled as the forest. He moved near-silently, but she’d known he followed.
"The question of whether my distant uncle is loyal to Solace is giving me a lot of trouble," she said.
Shifting position from voiceless guard to consultative strategist without blinking an eye, Faille said: "The difficulty lies in the Azrenel."
Like Seb, he was quick to see critical points. "Hate us or not, sane or not, for Solace to loose an Azrenel is outside all expectations. Even if she were intent on destroying Tyrland instead of ruling it, to not do so personally is out of character. It was only through a fortunate set of circumstances that we were able to stop it so quickly. I just can’t see her enjoying a return to an empty kingdom."
"It may be the bargain she has made."
That was true. Being trapped within the cycle of the Grand Summoning could have brought her to total desperation. "Again out of character," Rennyn said slowly.
"Three choices. Queen Solace allowed it. Prince Helecho arranged it outside her knowledge. Or the Azrenel was an opportunist, following the activity of the lesser Eferum-Get."
Prince Helecho. The title distracted, raising so many issues, but Rennyn put it from her thoughts. "The organisation of the incursions falls under the same question: with or without her knowledge?"
"If Prince Helecho is disloyal, there must be some bar which prevents him from simply attacking Queen Solace. Else, we would not be facing this."
"Tiandel did give her a lesson in trust. Helecho may be operating under a deep-set injunction, the kind of thing where he would have to at least obey the letter of her commands, if not the intent."
"Much as you answer questions."
She looked over at him, but matters were coming too close to the end for her to smile at the comment. "True enough."
"Is it so difficult to trust us?"
Faille’s voice was even thinner than usual, and she met something exposed in his gaze. She should have known not to start a conversation, and realised she’d been drawn to do so precisely because she did trust him. Not just to keep the conversation to himself, but to understand the problem and help her see it more clearly. To support her.
"This isn’t about trust," she said, not able to hold sunlit eyes. Not when the explanation she dreaded was only a few days away, and would change everything. Not when she was discovering that it would cost her to hurt him.
Then, because there didn’t seem to be anything else to say, she started back to the camp, letting Solace’s focus lead her. He followed silently in her wake, voiceless guard once again. Tool in the service of a Montjuste-Surclere.
"And what is that one? To the right of the arrow?"
"Fel’s Veil. Down below it is Rothyria the Wolf."
"A wolf? How?"
"Eh, just the head, I guess. Kind of squashed. The ears are pricked up and pointing east, see."
Kendall was introducing Sukata to the stars. City-raised, the Kellian girl had spent too much time in stone buildings, and not enough looking up. Besides, with almost everyone off standing around some random patch of forest waiting for Rennyn and any other monsters to come out of the Hells, there wasn’t a whole heap to do.
"Are you certain you’re not inventing these?" Sukata asked for the third time.
"Look them up in that library when we get back."
"I will do that."
Kellian humour, Kendall decided. It was growing easier to work out Sukata. Not chatty, but a lot like Nina Lippon, who was the quiet, smart one of the Lippon brood. She wasn’t shy, she wasn’t particularly stuck-up, but she liked to listen more than talk. The thing was all the Kellian were like that. Maybe talking hurt them: their voices all sounded damaged in some way, thin and weak. Captain Faille had said the first Kellian hadn’t been able to speak at all.
"Do you see the wolf’s nose?"
"Possibly."
"Look the way it’s pointing and there’s a swirly clump. That’s the Emperor’s Clasp, the one the Emperor of Kole lost when he was trying to walk across whatever that sea is called."
"The Sanase. The Sea of Tears. It is…it is a lake, not a sea, but a large lake. The legend says the water is sweet. Have you heard the story behind that?"
Kendall didn’t answer right away, because Sukata had stopped looking at the sky, had turned her head and gone extra still. Then the Kellian girl reached out and gripped Kendall’s arm urgently, so Kendall managed to say: "Don’t think so."
"Alar Anase, the founder of Kole, was a wandering mage. This was after the days of the Elder Mages, when the kingdoms were fractured and Eferum-Get had begun to walk the world. She was exploring north, following the rivers and trying to penetrate the deeps of the Forest of Semarrak, but was caught in a storm-flood. She managed to make it to land, but was in a very bad state, and collapsed on the stony shore."
While she spoke, Sukata had produced the long knife she kept strapped to one of her legs and was slowly shifting, moving by inches to a better position in which to spring up. All the while Kendall strained to discover what it was she was reacting to. They weren’t alone in the camp, and Sukata was staring toward the tents around the central fire, where a few of the Ferumguard were working on dinner preparations.