Elantris e-1

by Brandon Sanderson

"If I weren't so busy eating, I'd respond to that," Sarene said, waving her fork at them. She hadn't realized exactly how hungry she was until she'd entered Kiin's kitchen, where the lingering scents of past banquets hung in the air like a delectable fog. She was only now appreciating how useful it was to have a world-traveled chef as an uncle.

  Kiin entered with a pan of semi-boiling meat and vegetables in a red sauce. "It's Jindoeese RaiDomo Mai. The name means 'meat with fiery skin.' You're fortunate I had the proper ingredients, the Jindo RaiDel pepper had a poor crop last season, and…" He trailed off as Sarene began heaping meat onto her plate. "You don't care, do you?" he asked with a sigh. "I could have boiled it in dishwater, and it would be the same to you."

  "I understand, Uncle." Sarene said. "You suffer for your art."

  Kiin sat down, looking at the empty dishes scattered across the table. "Well, you certainly inherited the family appetite."

  "She's a big girl," Lukel said. "It takes a lot of fuel to keep that body going." Sarene shot him a look between bites.

  "Is she slowing down at all?" Kiin asked. "I'm running out of supplies."

  "Actually," Sarene said, "I think this should about do it. You don't understand what it was like in there, gentlemen. I did actually enjoy myself, but there wasn't a lot of food to be had."

  "I'm surprised there was any at all." Lukel said. "Elantrians like to eat."

  "But they don't actually need to," Kiin said, "so they can afford to stockpile."

  Sarene kept eating, not looking up at her uncle and cousin. Her mind, however, paused. How did they know so much about Elantrians?

  "Whatever the conditions, Princess." Roial said, "we thank Domi for your safe return."

  "It isn't as miraculous as it seems, Roial," Sarene said. "Did anyone count how many days Hrathen was in Elantris?"

  "Four or five," Lukel said after a moment's thought.

  "I'd be willing to bet it was five days-exactly the same amount of time it took me to get thrown in and then be 'healed.' "

  Roial nodded. "The gyorn had something to do with this. Have you spoken with your father yet?"

  Sarene felt her stomach turn. "No. I'm… going to do that soon."

  There was a knock at the door, and a few moments later Eondel entered, Shuden in tow. The young undo had been out riding with Torena.

  As he entered, the baron's face broke into an uncharacteristically wide smile. "We should have known you'd be back, Sarene. If anyone could be sent to hell and return untouched, it would be you."

  "Not exactly untouched," Sarene said raising her hand to feel her bald scalp. "Did you find anything?"

  "Here, my lady," Eondel said, holding out a short blond wig. "It was the best I could find-most of the others felt so thick I would have sworn they were made of horse hair."

  Sarene looked over the wig with a critical eye-it would barely come down to her shoulders. But, it was better than baldness. In her estimation, her hair was the greatest loss incurred by her exile. It was going to take years to grow it to a decent length again.

  "Too bad no one gathered up my own hair." she said, tucking the wig away until she could find time to put it on properly.

  "We didn't exactly anticipate your return, Cousin," Lukel said. picking at the last few pieces of meat in the pan. "It was probably still attached to your veil when we burned it."

  "Burned it?"

  "Arelish custom, 'Ene," Kiin explained. "When someone is thrown into Elantris, we burn their possessions."

  "Everything?" Sarene asked weakly.

  "I'm afraid so," Kiin said with embarrassment.

  Sarene closed her eyes, exhaling. "Never mind," she said. regarding them. "Where's Ahan?"

  "At Telrii's palace." Roial said.

  Sarene frowned. "What's he doing there?"

  Kiin shrugged. "We figured we should send someone, at least. to make an

  overture to the new king. We're going to have to work with him. so we might as well see what kind of cooperation we can expect."

  Sarene eyed her companions. Despite their obvious joy at seeing her. she sensed something in their expressions. Defeat. They had worked so hard to keep Telrii off the throne, and they had failed. Inside, Sarene barely acknowledged that she felt many of the same emotions. She felt sick. She couldn't decide what she wanted: everything was so confused. Fortunately. her sense of duty provided guidance. Spirit was correct: Arelon was in serious danger. She didn't want to even contemplate the things Hrathen had said about her father-she only knew that no matter what else happened, she had to protect Arelon. For Elantris's sake.

  "You speak as if there weren't anything we could do about Telrii's claim of the throne," Sarene said to the quiet room.

  "What could we do?" Lukel said. "Telrii's been crowned, and the nobility supports him."

  "So does Wyrn." Sarene reminded. "Sending Ahan is a good idea. but I doubt you'll find any leniency in Telrii's reign-for us, or for the rest of Arelon. My lords, Raoden should have been king. and I am his wife. I feel responsible for his people. They suffered under Iadon. If Telrii turns this kingdom over to Wyrn, then Arelon will become nothing more than another Fjordell province."

  "What are you implying, Sarene?" Shuden asked.

  "That we take action against Telrii-any action we can."

  The table fell silent. Finally, Roial spoke. "This is different from what we were doing before, Sarene. We opposed Iadon, but we did not plan to remove him. If we take direct action against Telrii, then we will be traitors to the Crown."

  "Traitors to the Crown, but not the people," Sarene said. "In Teod, we respect the king because he protects us. It is a bargain-a formal agreement. Iadon did nothing to protect Arelon. He built no army to keep Fjorden away, he devised no legal system to insure that his subjects were treated fairly, and he did nothing to care for the spiritual welfare of his nation. My instincts warn me that Telrii will be even worse."

  Roial sighed. "I don't know, Sarene. Iadon overthrew the Elantrians to seize his power. and now you suggest that we do the same thing. How much of this can a country stand before it breaks apart?"

  "How much of Hrathen's string pulling do you think it can stand?" Sarene asked pointedly.

  The gathered lords looked at each other. "Let us sleep on it, Sarene," Shuden requested. "You speak of difficult matters-ones that should not be entered into without careful meditation."

  Agreed," Sarene said. She was looking forward to the night's rest herself. For the first time in almost a week, she was going to actually be warm as she slept. The lords nodded, rising to go their separate ways. Roial hung back for a

  moment. "It looks as if there is no reason to continue our betrothal, is there, Sarene?" "I don't think so, my lord. If we take the throne now, it will be through force, not manipulation of politics."

  The elderly man nodded wistfully. "Ah, it was far too good to be true anyway. my dear. Goodnight, then."

  "Goodnight," Sarene said, smiling fondly as the aged duke left. Three engagements and no weddings. She was amassing a poor track record indeed. With a sigh, she watched Roial close the door. then turned to Kiin. who was fastidiously clearing away the remains of her meal.

  "Uncle," she said. "Telrii has moved into the palace and my things have been burned. I find myself suddenly without lodgings. Might 1 accept your offer of two months ago and move in here?"

  Kiin chuckled. "My wife will be seriously annoyed if you don't. 'Ene. She spent the last hour preparing a room for you."

  Sarene sat on her new bed. wearing one of her aunt's nightgowns. Her legs were pulled tightly against her chest, and her bowed head was sorrowful.

  Ashe fuzzed for a moment, her father's face disappearing as the Seon returned to his normal shape. He was silent for a long moment before saying, "I am sorry, my lady."

  Sarene nodded, her bald head rubbing against her knees. Hrathen had not been lying-he hadn't even been exaggerating. Her father had converted to Shu-Dereth.

  The ceremony hadn't been performed yet
: there were no Derethi priests in Teod. However, it was apparent that as soon as Hrathen finished with Arelon, he intended to travel to her homeland and personally collect her father's formal oath. The oath would place Eventeo at the bottom of the Derethi hierarchy, forcing him to submit to the whims of even a simple priest.

  No amount of raving or explaining had changed her father's resolve. Eventeo was an honest man. He had sworn to Hrathen that if Sarene returned safely, he would convert. It didn't matter that the gyorn's trickery was behind both her curse and restoration; the king would honor his promise.

  Where Eventeo led, Teod would follow. It would take time, of course: the people of Teod were not sheep. However, as the arteths Hooded her homeland, the people would give ear where they would have given only fists before-all beeause they knew that their king was Derethi. Teod had been changed forever.

  And he had done it for her. Of course, he claimed that he also knew it was best for the country. No matter how good Teod's navy was, sheer numbers insured that a determined Fjordell campaign would eventually punch through the armada. Eventeo claimed he would not fight a hopeless war.

  Yet, this was the same man who had instructed Sarene that principle was

  always worth fighting to protect. Eventeo had sworn that truth was immutable, and that no bartle-even a hopeless one-was in vain when defending what was right. But, apparently. his love was stronger than truth. She was flattered, but the emotion made her sick. Teod would fall because of her, becoming just another Fjordell state, its king little more than Wyrn's servant.

  Eventeo had implied that she should lead Arelon to do as he had done, though she could tell from his voice that he was proud when she refused. She would protect Arelon, and Elantris. She would struggle for the survival of her religion, because Arelon-poor sickIy Arelon-was now Shu-Korath's final sanctuary. Where Arelon had once been a nation populated by gods, now it would serve as the final haven for Domi Himself.

  CHAPTER 48

  Rathen sat in the palace waiting room with growing dissatisfaction.

  H Around him, the signs of a changing government were already evident. It seemed remarkable that one man could own so many tapestries. rugs. and brocades. The palace sitting room was so draped with cloth plushness that Hra-

  then had been forced to shove a virtual mountain of pillows out of the way before finding a stone ledge upon which to sear himself.

  He sat near the stone hearth. jaw clenched as he regarded the assembled nobility. As could be expected, Telrii had quite suddenly become a very busy man. Every nobleman, landholder, and ambitious merchant in the city wanted to pay his "respects" to the new king. Dozens waited in the sitting room, many without firm appointments. They hid their impatience poorly, but not a one was brave enough to voice annoyance at the treatment.

  Their inconvenience was unimportant. The intolerable factor was Hrathen's inclusion in the group. The rabble of supposed nobility was a pandering, indolent lot. Hrathen, however, was backed by the power of Wyrn's kingdom and Jaddeth's empire-the very power that had given Telrii the wealth he needed to claim the throne.

  And yet Hrathen was forced to wait. It was maddening, it was discourteous, and it was unbelievable. Yet Hrathen had no choice but to endure it. Backed by Wyrn's power though he was, he had no troops, no might to force Telrii's hand. He could not denounce the man openly-despite his frustration, Hrathen's political instinct was too keen to let him do something like that. He had worked hard to get a potential sympathizer on the throne; only a fool would let his own pride ruin such an opportunity. Hrathen would wait, tolerating disrespect for a short time, to achieve the eventual prize.

  An attendant entered the room, draped in fine silks-the exaggerated livery of Telrii's personal heralds. The room's occupants perked up, several men standing and straightening their clothing.

  "Gyorn Hrathen," the attendant announced.

  The noblemen wilted, and Hrathen stood and brushed past them with a dismissive step. It was about time.

  Telrii waited beyond. Hrathen paused just inside the door, regarding the chamber with displeasure. The room had once been Iadon's study. and at that time it had been marked by a businessman's efficiency. Everything had been well placed and orderly: the furniture had been comfortable without being lavish.

  Telrii had changed that. Attendants stood at the sides of the room. and beside them sat carts heaped with exotic foods, purchased from the merchants of the Arelene Market. Telrii reclined in a massive pile of cushions and silks, a pleasant smile on his purple-birthmarked face. Rugs coated the floor, and tapestries overlapped one another on the walls.

  The men I am forced to work with… Hrathen thought with an inward sigh. Iadon, at least, had been businesslike.

  "Ah, Hrathen," Telrii said with a smile. "Welcome."

  "Your Majesty," Hrathen said, masking his disgust. "I was hoping we could speak in private."

  Telrii sighed. "Very well," he said with a wave of his hand, dismissing the attendants. They left, pulling the outer doors closed.

  "Now," Telrii said, "why have you come? Are you interested in the tariffs on your merchants setting up for the Arelene Market?"

  Hrathen frowned. "I have more important matters to consider, Your Majesty. As do you. I have come to collect on the promises of our allegiance." "Promises, Hrathen?" Telrii asked idly. "I made no promises."

  And so the game began. "You are to join the Derethi religion." Hrathen said. "That was the deal."

  "I made no such deal, Hrathen," Telrii said. "You offered me funds: I accepted them. You have my gratitude for the support, as I said that you would."

  "I will not squabble with you, merchant," Hrathen said, wondering how much money Telrii would demand to "remember" their agreement. "I am no sycophant

  to be baited. If you do not do as Jaddeth expects. then I will find someone else. Do not forget what happened to your predecessor."

  Telrii snorted. "Don't take credit for something you had no hand in, priest. Iadon's fall was, as I recall, caused by the Teoish princess. You were in Elantris at the time. Now, if Fjorden wishes a Derethi on the throne of Arelon, that can probably be arranged. There will be, however, a price."

  Finally, Hrathen thought. He clenched his jaw, feigning anger, and waited a moment. Then he sighed. "Very well. How much-"

  "However," TeIrii interrupted, "it is not a price you can pay."

  Hrathen froze. "Excuse me?"

  "Yes," Telrii said. "My price must be paid by someone with a little more… authority than yourself. You see, I've learned that Derethi priests cannot appoint men to their own position in the Church hierarchy."

  Hrathen felt a chill grow within him as he connected the pieces of Telrii's statements. "You can't possibly be serious," he whispered.

  "I know more than you assume, Hrathen," Telrii said. "You think me a fool, ignorant of the ways of the East? Kings bow to gyorns. What power will I hold if I let you make me into nothing more than a Derethi slave? No, that will not do for me. I don't plan to bow anytime one of your priests comes to visit. I will convert to your religion, but I will do so only with the promise of an ecclesiastic rank to match my civil one. Not just King Telrii, but Gyorn Telrii."

  Hrathen shook his head in wonder. How easily this man claimed that he was not "ignorant" of the ways of the East, yet even Fjordell children knew enough doctrine to laugh at such a ridiculous suggestion. "My lord Telrii," he said with amusement. 'Non have no idea-"

  "I said, Hrathen," Telrii interrupted, "that there is nothing you can do for me. I have sought to deal with a higher power."

  H rathen's apprehension returned. "What are you saying?"

  "Wyrn," Telrii said with a wide smile. "I sent him a messenger several days ago, informing him of my demand. You are no longer necessary. Hrathen. You may withdraw."

  Hrathen stood, stunned. The man had sent a letter to Wyrn himself… Telrii had made demands of the Regent of All Creation? "You are a foolish, foolish man," Hrathen whispered. finally realizing the sev
erity of his problems. When Wyrn received that message…

  "Go!" Telrii repeated pointing toward the door.

  Slightly dazed, Hrathen did as commanded.

  CHAPTER 49

  At first Raoden stayed away from the library, because it reminded him of her.

  Then. he found himself drawn back to it-because it reminded him of her.

  Instead of thinking about his loss, Raoden focused on the connection Sarene had made. He studied Aon after Aon, noticing other features of the landscape in their forms. Aon Eno, the character for water, included a wiggling line that matched the meanderings of the Aredel River. The character for wood-Aon Dii-included several circles that represented the southern forests.

  The Aons were maps of the land, each one a slightly different rendering of the same general picture. Each one had the three basic lines-the coast line, the mountain line, and the dot for Lake Alonoe. Many often had a line at the bottom to represent the Kalomo River, which separated Arelon from Duladel.

  Some of the features completely baffled him, however. Why did Aon Mea, the character for thoughtfulness have an X that crossed somewhere in the middle of the Eon County? Why was Aon Rii specked with two dozen seemingly random dots? The answers might have been held in one of the library's tomes, bur so far he had found nothing in the way of explanation.

  The Dor attacked him at least twice a day now. Each battle seemed like it would be his last, and each time he seemed a little weaker when the fight was through-as if his energy were a finite well, dribbling a little lower with each confrontation. The question was not whether he would fall or not, but whether he would find the secret before he did.

  Raoden pounded the map with frustration. Five days had passed since Sarene's departure, and he still couldn't find the answer. He was beginning to feel that he would continue for eternity, agonizingly close to the secret of AonDor yet forever unable to find it.

  The large map, now hung from the wall near his desk, fluttered as he pushed it flat, studying its lines. Its edges were worn with age, and the ink was beginning to fade. The map had lived through Elantris's glory and collapse: how he wished it could speak, whisper to him the mysteries it knew.