"And soldiers use those veil-masks," Kendall noted, trying to fit all the variations they’d seen into this system.
Meniar nodded. "Families have particular colours and wear their crests. There’s some wonderful stories of deceptions played using masks, and Kolan mask farces don’t lose much in the translation."
Before Kendall could ask what a mask farce was, their palace guide pushed open the door and said: "Please come this way to the Primary Waiting Room. His Excellence will have time for you shortly."
Just as if they’d been the ones wanting the meeting. Maybe the Kolan Emperor’s wits were going, and they were being hauled before a senile Emperor. Better and better.
Their escort took them off through a pair of big doors with guards outside to show they were important, and enough magic inside to make Kendall want to sneeze. Lots of spells, too many to separate out.
Otherwise the throne room was boring: a white box without windows or any decoration. Nothing but a throne on a raised dais. And an Emperor.
After the riot of pattern outside, the blankness of the room was almost dizzying. Even the throne and the figure upon it lacked any colour. To non-mages that would give an impression of emptiness that must surely be deliberate, though Rennyn did not quite see what it was meant to symbolise. To the senses of a mage, however…
Old enchantment: thick, rich and deeply flavoured, filled every gleaming corner. A week ago the layers of it would have fascinated, but Rennyn was still not in any condition to enjoy magical puzzles, and only felt stifled. Her students reacted like dogs come to point, Kendall predictably rubbing her nose and squinting with irritation.
"Rennyn, Duchess of Surclere," announced their escort, then turned on her heel and left, the heavy doors closing behind her.
~Come forward.~
Absently analysing the enchantment structures that had produced the voice, Rennyn let her fingers brush Illidian’s, then pushed aside growing weariness to walk the short length of the room so that she could see the figure on the throne properly. Her companions followed a step behind, silent and wary.
Yscaren Corusar. The Undying. Emperor of Kole for well over two hundred and fifty years. The precise details of what he’d done to himself had never been made public, but enough mages had visited this room over the centuries that Rennyn had a rough idea of the spell structure and methodology even before the shape of the enchantment came clear around her. Castings that allowed him to see, to hear, and to speak, while his body was preserved within a container of inscribed, enamelled armour, sustaining his life force but not allowing him to move, to eat, to breathe. Corusar had found a way to live indefinitely by ceasing to live at all.
He looked like a segmented statue, the limbs smooth, the joints subtle. The white faceplate merely hinted at human features, and there were the faintest ridges in the armour’s smooth surface to suggest the possibility of clothing, of hair, of what the man within should look like. It would be interesting to know if the flesh had decayed beneath the casing.
All the white, without any hint of the Emperor’s family crest or colours, reminded Rennyn strongly of Solace as she’d been after so many years in the Eferum—bleached and without human warmth. Corusar’s reputation was of an impartial pragmatist, avoiding cruelty but not quick to give second chances. More Emperor than man. Even if his humanity had survived the preservation spell, it was unlikely they would succeed in achieving friendly terms with Kole’s Emperor, or have him place anything above his Empire’s interests.
Curtseying brought spots to dance before her eyes, but she kept any hint of asperity from her voice when she said: "You wished to see me, Your Excellence?"
~And your companions.~ The voice was directionless, without inflection, but gave her a definite impression of a mind, if not a personality. ~There have been many new reports of the people known as Kellian, and your activities on the border have caused considerable stir. The group you set down in Port Enara have not made such a loud impression, but their progress has not been without incident. They are expected to reach Koletor within four days.~
"Queen Astranelle mentioned the efficiency of Kole’s intelligence network," Rennyn said, faintly amused. "Allow me to introduce, then, my husband, Illidian Faille, my students Kendall Stockton, Sukata Illuma and Fallon DeVries, and our escorts Lieutenants Aven Meniar and Keste Faral of the Tyrian Sentene."
Stepping back, Rennyn made herself one of the group—and conveniently within range of Illidian’s arm. Her general stamina had dropped dramatically following that light casting, and she could only hope she made it through the audience without collapsing.
~There have been no confirmed reports of the one you hunt,~ the uninflected voice continued. ~A spate of unexplained deaths in Dunnesan five weeks previous, but no verification, and no further reports of killing of that type.~
Extremely efficient intelligencers. "Thank you. If we cannot gain his direction using our divinations, then that information may come in very useful."
~No pattern has been isolated that could be linked to the creature’s ability to control the Eferum spawn. However, the number of current occurrences significantly outweighs the aftermath of the previous Grand Summoning.~
"The final iteration of the casting was considerably more powerful than the first," Rennyn said, finding the abrupt series of statements a little disjointed, perhaps because the figure on the throne was a frozen object, not reacting to her responses. At least their audience was likely to be quick, given how much the Emperor already knew.
~In addition, in the months since your defeat of Solace, twenty-two of Kole’s strongest mages have vanished without trace. I cannot say whether he is responsible for this, or any of the instances of Eferum-Get outbreak, but Kole judges this Helecho Montjuste-Surclere a major threat. A resource has been assigned to coordinate action with you.~
The doors behind them opened, apparently indicating that their audience was over. Surprised by the number of missing mages—far more than generally discussed—Rennyn hesitated, then simply dropped into an abbreviated curtsey, and slid her arm through Illidian’s as he rose from his bow. Ushering her collection of students before her, she found their escort, Kishida Dzay, waiting outside the throne room doors beside a slim man wearing a charcoal grey mask that left only his chin exposed.
"Our resource, I presume?"
"Your Grace, allow me to introduce Dezart Rhael Samarin," Kishida said, then bowed and smoothly effaced herself. Samarin, by contrast, inclined his head just a little.
"So what does a resource do?" Rennyn asked Samarin, puzzled by the multiple traces of casting she could sense about the man. The mask had a certification enchantment, but there was layer upon layer of something else…something distinctly out of the ordinary.
"Channel to you any supplies or manpower you might need," Samarin replied, his voice younger than she’d expected, but immensely self-assured. "Whisk you past checkpoints unchallenged, authorise access to restricted areas—or keep you out of them."