Raoden frowned. If this Aanden really had been a baron, then Raoden would have known him. However, he didn't recognize the name. Either Aanden had lied about his background, or he had chosen a new name after entering Elantris.
Raoden studied the area in between the university and the palace. A certain object had caught his attention. Something so mundane he wouldn't have given it a second look, had it not been the first of its kind he had seen in all of Elantris.
"Is that a well?" he asked uncertainly.
Galladon nodded. "The only one in the city."
"How is that possible?"
"Indoor plumbing, sule, courtesy of AonDor magic. Wells weren't necessary." "Then why build that one?"
"I think it was used in religious ceremonies. Several Elantrian worship services required water that had been freshly gathered from a moving river." "Then the Aredel river does run under the city," Raoden said.
"Of course. Where else would it go. Kolo?"
Raoden narrowed his eyes thoughtfully, but he didn't volunteer any information. As he stood, watching the city, he noticed a small ball of light floating through one of the streets below. The Seon meandered with an aimless air, occasionally floating in circles. It was far too distant for him to make out the Aon at its center.
Galladon noticed Raoden's scrutiny. "A Seon," the Dula noted. "Not uncommon in the city."
"It's true, then?" Raoden asked.
Galladon nodded. "When a Seon's master gets taken by the Shaod, the Seon itself is driven mad. There's a number of them floating through the city. They don't talk, they just hover about, mindless."
Raoden glanced away. Since being thrown into Elantris, he'd avoided thinking about his own Seon. Ien. Raoden had heard what happened to Seons when their masters became Elantrians.
Galladon glanced up at the sky. "It will rain soon."
Raoden raised an eyebrow at the cloudless sky. "If you say so."
"Trust me. We should get inside, unless you want to spend the next few days in damp clothing. Fires are hard to make in Elantris! the wood is all too wet or too rotten to burn."
"Where should we go?"
Galladon shrugged. "Pick a house, sule. Chances are it won't be inhabited." They had spent the previous night sleeping in an abandoned house-but now, something occurred to Raoden. "Where do you live, Galladon?"
Duladel," Galladon immediately answered.
"I mean nowadays."
Galladon thought for a moment, eyeing Raoden uncertainly. Then, with a shrug, he waved Raoden to follow him down the unstable stairs. "Come."
"Books! " Raoden said with excitement.
"Should never have brought you here," Galladon muttered. "Now I'll never get rid of you."
Galladon had led Raoden into what had seemed to be a deserted wine cellar, but had turned out to be something quite different indeed. The air was drier here-even though it was below ground-and much cooler as well. As if to revoke his earlier cautions about fire, Galladon had pulled a lantern from a hidden alcove and lit it with a bit of flint and steel. What the light had revealed was surprising indeed.
It looked like a learned man's study. There were Aons-the mystical ancient characters behind the Aonic language-painted all over the walls, and there were several shelves of books.
"How did you ever find this place?" Raoden asked eagerly.
"I stumbled upon it." Galladon said with a shrug.
"All these books," Raoden said, picking one up off its shelf. It was a bit moldy, but still legible. "Maybe these could teach us the secret behind the Aons, Galladon! Did you ever think of that?"
"The Aons?"
"The magic of Elantris," Raoden said. "They say that before the Reod. Elantrians could create powerful magics just by drawing Aons."
"Oh, you mean like this?" the large dark-skinned man asked, raising his hand. He traced a symbol in the air, Aon Deo, and his finger left a glowing white line behind it.
Raoden's eyes opened wide, and the book dropped from his stunned fingers. The Aons. Historically, only the Elantrians had been able to call upon the power locked within them. That power was supposed to be gone: it was said to have failed when Elantris fell.
Galladon smiled at him through the glowing symbol that hovered in the air between them.
CHAPTER 5
"Merciful Domi," Sarene asked with surprise, "where did he come from?" The gyorn strode into the king's throne room with the arrogance characteristic of his kind. He wore the shining bloodred armor of a Derethi high priest, an extravagant crimson cloak billowing out behind him, though he bore no weapon. It was a costume meant to impress-and, despite what Sarene thought of the gyorns themselves, she had to admit that their clothing was effective. Of course, it was mostly for show: even in Fjorden's martial society, few people could walk as easily as this gyorn while wearing full plate armor. The metal was probably so thin and light that it would be useless in battle.
The gyorn marched past her without a seeond glance, his eyes focused directly on the king. He was young for a gyorn, probably in his forties, and his short, well-styled black hair had only a trace of gray in it.
"You knew there was a Derethi presence in Elantris, my lady," Ashe said, floating beside her as usual, one of only two Seons in the room. "Why should you be surprised to see a Fjordell priest?"
"That is a full gyorn, Ashe. There are only twenty of them in the entire Fjordell Empire. There may be some Derethi believers in Kae, but not enough to warrant a visit from a high priest. Gyorns are extremely miserly with their time."
Sarene watched the Fjordell man stride through the room. cutting through groups of people like a bird tearing through a cloud of gnats. "Come on," she whispered to Ashe, making her way through the peripheral crowd toward the front of the room. She didn't want to miss what the gyorn said.
She needn't have worried. When the man spoke, his firm voice boomed through the throne room. "King Iadon." he said, with only the slightest nod of his head in place of a bow. "I, Gyorn Hrathen, bring you a message from Wyrn Wulf-den the Fourth. He thinks that it is time our two nations shared more than a common border." He spoke with the thick, melodic accent of a native FjordeIl.
Iadon looked up from his ledgers with a barely masked scowI. "What more does Wyrn want? We already have a trade treaty with Fjorden."
"His Holiness fears for the souls of your people. Your Majesty," Hrathen said. "Well, then, let him convert them. I have always allowed your priests complete freedom to preach in Arelon."
"The people respond too slowly, Your Majesty. They require a push-a sign, if you will. Wyrn thinks it is time you yourself converted to Shu-Dereth."
This time Iadon didn't even bother masking the annoyance in his tone. "I already believe in Shu-Korath. priest. We serve the same God."
"Derethi is the only true form of Shu-Keseg," Hrathen said darkly.
Iadon waved a dismissive hand. "I care nothing for the squabbles between the two sects, priest. Go convert someone who doesn't believe-there are still plenty of Arelenes who hold to the old religion."
"You should not dismiss the offering of Wyrn so casually," the gyorn warned.
'Honestly. priest, do we need to go through this? Your threats hold no weight-Fjorden hasn't held any real influence for two centuries. Do you seriously think to intimidate me with how powerful you used to be?"
Hrathen's eyes grew dangerous. "Fjorden is more powerful now than it ever was before."
"Really?" Iadon asked. "Where is your vast empire? Where are your armies? How many countries have you conquered in the last century? Maybe someday you people will realize that your empire collapsed three hundred years ago."