Elantris

by Brandon Sanderson

  “You have no idea how happy I am you offered to come with me,” Shuden confided as they entered the room. A large band played at one end of the hallway, and couples either spun through the center of the room in dance or stood around the wide periphery in conversation. The room was bright with colored lights, the rocks they had seen outside burning intensely from placements atop banisters or poles. There were even chains of tiny candles wrapped around several of the pillars—contraptions that probably had to be refilled every half hour.

  “Why is that, my lord?” Sarene asked, gazing at the colorful scene. Even living as a princess, she had never seen such beauty and opulence. Light, sound, and color mixed intoxicatingly.

  Shuden followed her gaze, not really hearing her question. “One would never know this country is dancing on the lip of destruction,” he muttered.

  The statement struck like a solemn death knell. There was a reason Sarene had never seen such lavishness—wondrous as it was, it was also incredibly wasteful. Her father was a prudent ruler; he would never allow such profligacy.

  “That is always how it is, though, isn’t it?” Shuden asked. “Those who can least afford extravagance seem to be the ones most determined to spend what they have left.”

  “You are a wise man, Lord Shuden,” Sarene said.

  “No, just a man who tries to see to the heart of things,” he said, leading her to a side gallery where they could find drinks.

  “What was that you were saying before?”

  “What?” Shuden asked. “Oh, I was explaining how you are going to save me quite a bit of distress this evening.”

  “Why is that?” she asked as he handed her a cup of wine.

  Shuden smiled slightly, taking a sip of his own drink. “There are some who, for one reason or another, consider me quite … eligible. Many of them won’t realize who you are, and will stay away, trying to judge their new competitor. I might actually have some time to enjoy myself tonight.”

  Sarene raised an eyebrow. “Is it really that bad?”

  “I usually have to beat them away with a stick,” Shuden replied, holding out his arm to her.

  “One would almost think you never intended to marry, my lord,” Sarene said with a smile, accepting his proffered arm.

  Shuden laughed. “No, it is nothing like that, my lady. Let me assure you, I am quite interested in the concept—or, at least, the theory behind it. However, finding a woman in this court whose twittering foolishness doesn’t cause my stomach to turn, that is another thing entirely. Come, if I am right, then we should be able to find a place much more interesting than the main ballroom.”

  Shuden led her through the masses of ballgoers. Despite his earlier comments, he was very civil—even pleasant—to the women who appeared from the crowd to welcome him. Shuden knew every one by name—a feat of diplomacy, or good breeding, in itself.

  Sarene’s respect for Shuden grew as she watched the reactions of those he met. No faces turned dark as he approached, and few gave him the haughty looks that were common in so-called genteel societies. Shuden was well liked, though he was far from the most lively of men. She sensed that his popularity came not from his ability to entertain, but from his refreshing honesty. When Shuden spoke, he was always polite and considerate, but completely frank. His exotic origin gave him the license to say things that others could not.

  Eventually they arrived at a small room at the top of a flight of stairs. “Here we are,” Shuden said with satisfaction, leading her through the doorway. Inside they found a smaller, but more skilled, band playing stringed instruments. The decorations in this room were more subdued, but the servants were holding plates of food that seemed even more exotic than those down below. Sarene recognized many of the faces from court, including the one most important.

  “The king,” she said, noticing Iadon standing near the far corner. Eshen was at his side in a slim green dress.

  Shuden nodded. “Iadon wouldn’t miss a party like this, even if it is being held by Lord Telrii.”

  “They don’t get along?”

  “They get along fine. They’re just in the same business. Iadon runs a merchant fleet—his ships travel the sea of Fjorden, as do those of Telrii. That makes them rivals.”

  “I think it’s odd that he’s here either way,” Sarene said. “My father never goes to these kinds of things.”

  “That is because he has grown up, Lady Sarene. Iadon is still infatuated with his power, and takes every opportunity to enjoy it.” Shuden looked around with keen eyes. “Take this room, for example.”

  “This room?”

  Shuden nodded. “Whenever Iadon comes to a party, he chooses a room aside from the main one and lets the important people gravitate toward him. The nobles are used to it. The man throwing the ball usually hires a second band, and knows to start a second, more exclusive party apart from the main ball. Iadon has made it known that he doesn’t want to associate with people who are too far beneath him—this gathering is only for dukes and well-placed counts.”

  “But you are a baron,” Sarene pointed out as the two of them drifted into the room.

  Shuden smiled, sipping his wine. “I am a special case. My family forced Iadon to give us our title, where most of the others gained their ranks through wealth and begging. I can take certain liberties that no other baron would assume, for Iadon and I both know I once got the better of him. I can usually only spend a short time here in the inner room—an hour at most. Otherwise I stretch the king’s patience. Of course, that is all beside the point tonight.”

  “Why is that?”

  “Because I have you,” Shuden said. “Do not forget, Lady Sarene. You outrank everyone in this room except for the royal couple themselves.”

  Sarene nodded. While she was quite accustomed to the idea of being important—she was, after all, the daughter of a king—she wasn’t used to the Arelish penchant for pulling rank.

  “Iadon’s presence changes things,” she said quietly as the king noticed her. His eyes passed over her dress, obviously noting its less than black state, and his face grew dark.

  Maybe the dress wasn’t such a good idea, Sarene admitted to herself. However, something else quickly drew her attention. “What is he doing here?” she whispered as she noticed a bright form standing like a red scar in the midst of the ballgoers.

  Shuden followed her eyes. “The gyorn? He’s been coming to the court balls since the day he got here. He showed up at the first one without an invitation, and held himself with such an air of self-importance that no one has dared neglect inviting him since.”

  Hrathen spoke with a small group of men, his brilliant red breastplate and cape stark against the nobles’ lighter colors. The gyorn stood at least a head taller than anyone in the room, and his shoulder plates extended a foot on either side. All in all, he was very hard to miss.

  Shuden smiled. “No matter what I think of the man, I am impressed with his confidence. He simply walked into the king’s private party that first night and began talking to one of the dukes—he barely even nodded to the king. Apparently, Hrathen considers the title of gyorn equal to anything in this room.”

  “Kings bow to gyorns in the East,” Sarene said. “They practically grovel when Wyrn visits.”

  “And it all came from one elderly Jindo,” Shuden noted, pausing to replace their cups with wine from a passing servant. It was a much better vintage. “It always interests me to see what you people have done with Keseg’s teachings.”

  “‘You people’?” Sarene asked. “I’m Korathi—don’t lump me together with the gyorn.”

  Shuden held up a hand. “I apologize. I didn’t mean to be offensive.”

  Sarene paused. Shuden spoke Aonic as a native and lived in Arelon, so she had assumed him to be Korathi. She had misjudged. Shuden was still Jindoeese—his family would have believed in Shu-Keseg, the parent religion of both Korath and Dereth. “But,” she said, thinking out loud, “Jindo is Derethi now.”

  Shuden’s fa
ce darkened slightly, eyeing the gyorn. “I wonder what the great master thought when his two students, Korath and Dereth, left to preach to the lands northward. Keseg taught of unity. But what did he mean? Unity of mind, as my people assume? Unity of love, as your priests claim? Or is it the unity of obedience, as the Derethi believe? In the end, I am left to ponder how mankind managed to complicate such a simple concept.”

  He paused, then shook his head. “Anyway, yes, my lady, Jindo is Derethi now. My people allow Wyrn to assume that the Jindo have been converted because it is better than fighting. Many are now questioning that decision, however. The arteths are growing increasingly demanding.”

  Sarene nodded. “I agree. Shu-Dereth must be stopped—it is a perversion of the truth.”

  Shuden paused. “I didn’t say that, Lady Sarene. The soul of Shu-Keseg is acceptance. There is room for all teachings. The Derethi think they are doing what is right.” Shuden stopped, looking over at Hrathen, before continuing. “That one, however, is dangerous.”

  “Why him and not others?”

  “I visited one of Hrathen’s sermons,” Shuden said. “He doesn’t preach from his heart, Lady Sarene, he preaches from his mind. He looks for numbers in his conversions, paying no attention to the faith of his followers. This is dangerous.”

  Shuden scanned Hrathen’s companions. “That one bothers me as well,” he said, pointing to a man whose hair was so blond it was almost white.

  “Who is he?” Sarene asked with interest.

  “Waren, first son of Baron Diolen,” Shuden said. “He shouldn’t be here in this room, but he is apparently using his close association with the gyorn as an invitation. Waren used to be a notably pious Korathi, but he claims to have seen a vision of Jaddeth commanding that he convert to Shu-Dereth.”

  “The ladies were talking about this earlier,” Sarene said, eyeing Waren. “You don’t believe him?”

  “I have always suspected Waren’s religiousness to be an exhibition. He is an opportunist, and his extreme piety gained him notoriety.”

  Sarene studied the white-haired man, worried. He was very young, but he carried himself as a man of accomplishment and control. His conversion was a dangerous sign. The more such people Hrathen gathered, the more difficult he would be to stop.

  “I shouldn’t have waited so long,” she said.

  “For what?”

  “To come to these balls. Hrathen has a week’s edge on me.”

  “You act as if it were a personal struggle between you two,” Shuden noted with a smile.

  Sarene didn’t take the comment lightly. “A personal struggle with the fates of nations at stake.”

  “Shuden!” a voice said. “I see that you are lacking your customary circle of admirers.”

  “Good evening, Lord Roial,” Shuden said, bowing slightly as the old man approached. “Yes, thanks to my companionship, I have been able to avoid most of that tonight.”

  “Ah, the lovely Princess Sarene,” Roial said, kissing her hand. “Apparently, your penchant for black has waned.”

  “It was never that strong to begin with, my lord,” she said with a curtsy.

  “I can imagine,” Roial said with a smile. Then he turned back to Shuden. “I had hoped that you wouldn’t realize your good fortune, Shuden. I might have stolen the princess and kept off a few of the leeches myself.”

  Sarene regarded the elderly man with surprise.

  Shuden chuckled. “Lord Roial is, perhaps, the only bachelor in Arelon whose affection is more sought-after than my own. Not that I am jealous. His Lordship diverts some of the attention from me.”

  “You?” Sarene asked, looking at the spindly old man. “Women want to marry you?” Then, remembering her manners, she added a belated “my lord,” blushing furiously at the impropriety of her words.

  Roial laughed. “Don’t worry about offending me, young Sarene. No man my age is much to look at. My dear Eoldess has been dead for twenty years, and I have no son. My fortune has to pass to someone, and every unmarried girl in the realm realizes that fact. She would only have to indulge me for a few years, bury me, then find a lusty young lover to help spend my money.”

  “My lord is too cynical,” Shuden noted.

  “My lord is too realistic,” Roial said with a snort. “Though I’ll admit, the idea of forcing one of those young puffs into my bed is tempting. I know they all think I’m too old to make them perform their duties as a wife, but they assume wrong. If I were going to let them steal my fortune, I’d at least make them work for it.”

  Shuden blushed at the comment, but Sarene only laughed. “I knew it. You really are nothing but a dirty old man.”

  “Self-professedly so,” Roial agreed with a smile. Then, looking over at Hrathen, he continued. “How’s our overly armored friend doing?”

  “Bothering me by his mere noxious presence, my lord,” Sarene replied.

  “Watch him, Sarene,” Roial said. “I hear that our dear lord Telrii’s sudden good fortune isn’t a matter of pure luck.”

  Shuden’s eyes grew suspicious. “Duke Telrii has declared no allegiance to Derethi.”

  “Not openly, no,” Roial agreed. “But my sources say that there is something between those two. One thing is certain: There has rarely been a party like this in Kae, and the duke is throwing it for no obvious reason. One begins to wonder just what Telrii is advertising, and why he wants us to know how wealthy he is.”

  “An interesting thought, my lord,” Sarene said.

  “Sarene?” Eshen’s voice called from the other side of the room. “Dear, would you come over here?”

  “Oh no,” Sarene said, looking over at the queen, who was waving her to approach. “What do you suppose this is about?”

  “I’m intrigued to find out,” Roial said with a sparkle in his eyes.

  Sarene acknowledged the queen’s gesture, approaching the royal couple and curtsying politely. Shuden and Roial followed more discreetly, placing themselves within earshot.

  Eshen smiled as Sarene approached. “Dear, I was just explaining to my husband about the idea we came up with this morning. You know, the one about exercising?” Eshen nodded her head toward the king enthusiastically.

  “What is this nonsense, Sarene?” the king demanded. “Women playing with swords?”

  “His Majesty wouldn’t want us to get fat, would he?” Sarene asked innocently.

  “No, of course not,” the king said. “But you could just eat less.”

  “But, I do so like to exercise, Your Majesty.”

  Iadon took a deep, suffering breath. “But surely there is some other form of exercise you women could do?”

  Sarene blinked, trying to hint that she might be close to tears. “But, Your Majesty, I’ve done this ever since I was a child. Surely the king can have nothing against a foolish womanly pastime.”

  The king stopped, eyeing her. She might have overdone it that last time. Sarene assumed her best look of hopeless idiocy and smiled.

  Finally, he just shook his head. “Bah, do whatever you want, woman. I don’t want you spoiling my evening.”

  “The king is very wise,” Sarene said, curtsying and backing away.

  “I had forgotten about that,” Shuden whispered to her as she rejoined him. “The act must be quite the burden to maintain.”

  “It is useful sometimes,” Sarene said. They were about to withdraw when Sarene noticed a courier approaching the king. She placed her hand on Shuden’s arm, indicating that she wanted to wait a moment where she could still hear Iadon.

  The messenger whispered something in Iadon’s ear, and the king’s eyes grew wide with frustration. “What!”

  The man moved to whisper again, and the king pushed him back. “Just say it, man. I can’t stand all that whispering.”

  “It happened just this week, Your Majesty,” the man explained.

  Sarene edged closer.

  “How odd.” A slightly accented voice suddenly drifted in their direction. Hrathen stood a short dista
nce away. He wasn’t watching them, but somehow he was directing his voice at the king—as if he were intentionally allowing his words to be overheard. “I wouldn’t have thought the king would discuss important matters where the dull-minded can hear. Such people tend to be so confused by events that it is a disservice to allow them the opportunity.”

  Most of the people around her didn’t even appear to have heard the gyorn’s comment. The king, however, had. Iadon regarded Sarene for a moment, then grabbed his messenger by the arm and strode quickly from the room, leaving a startled Eshen behind. As Sarene watched the king leave, Hrathen’s eyes caught her own, and he smiled slightly before turning back to his companions.

  “Can you believe that?” Sarene said, fuming. “He did that on purpose!”

  Shuden nodded. “Often, my lady, our deceptions turn on us.”

  “The gyorn is good,” Roial said. “It’s always a masterful stroke when you can turn someone’s guise to your advantage.”

  “I have often found that no matter what the circumstance, it is most useful to be oneself,” Shuden said. “The more faces we try to wear, the more confused they become.”

  Roial nodded slightly, smiling. “True. Boring, perhaps, but true.”

  Sarene was barely listening. She had assumed that she was the one doing the manipulating; she had never realized the disadvantage it gave her. “The façade is troubling,” she admitted. Then she sighed, turning back to Shuden. “But I am stuck with it, at least with the king. Honestly though, I doubt he would have regarded me any other way, no matter how I acted.”

  “You’re probably right,” Shuden said. “The king is rather shortsighted when it comes to women.”

  The king returned a few moments later, his face dark, his humor obviously ruined by whatever news he had received. The courier escaped with a look of relief, and as he left, Sarene caught sight of a new figure entering the room. Duke Telrii was customarily pompous in bright reds and golds, his fingers speckled with rings. Sarene watched him closely, but he didn’t join—or even acknowledge—the gyorn Hrathen. In fact, he seemed to doggedly ignore the priest, instead making the proper hostly overtures, visiting with each group of guests in turn.