Elantris (Elantris 1)

After the battle and sleeping so late, over half the day’s light had already been wasted, and Raoden attacked his studies with determination. While Galladon planted and Karata evacuated the palace, it was Raoden’s self-appointed duty to decipher as much as he could about AonDor. He was becoming increasingly convinced that the ancient magic of the characters held the secret of Elantris’s fall.

He reached through one of the chapel windows and pulled out the thick AonDor tome sitting on a table inside. So far, it hadn’t been as helpful as he had hoped. It was not an instruction manual, but a series of case studies explaining odd or interesting events surrounding AonDor. Unfortunately, it was extremely advanced. Most of the book gave examples of what wasn’t supposed to happen, and so Raoden needed to use reverse reasoning to decipher the logic of AonDor.

So far he had been able to determine very little. It was becoming obvious that the Aons were only starting points—the most basic figures one could draw to produce an effect. Just like the expanded healing Aon from his dream, advanced AonDor consisted of drawing a base Aon in the center, then proceeding to draw other figures—sometimes just dots and lines—around it. The dots and lines were stipulations, narrowing or broadening the power’s focus. With careful drawing, for instance, a healer could specify which limb was to be healed, what exactly was to be done to it, and how an infection was to be cleansed.

The more Raoden read, the less he was beginning to see Aons as mystical symbols. They seemed more like mathematical computations. While most any Elantrian could draw the Aons—all it required was a steady hand and a basic knowledge of how to write the characters—the masters of AonDor were the ones who could swiftly and accurately delineate dozens of smaller modifications around the central Aon. Unfortunately, the book assumed that its reader had a comprehensive knowledge of AonDor, and passed over most of the basic principles. The few illustrations included were so incredibly complex that Raoden usually couldn’t even tell which character was the base Aon without referring to the text.

“If only he would explain what it means to ‘channel the Dor’!” Raoden exclaimed, rereading a particularly annoying passage that kept using the phrase.

“Dor, sule?” Galladon asked, turning away from his planting. “That sounds like a Duladen term.”

Raoden sat upright. The character used in the book to represent “Dor” was an uncommon one—not really an Aon at all, but simply a phonetic representation. As if the word had been transliterated from a different language.

“Galladon, you’re right!” Raoden said. “It isn’t Aonic at all.”

“Of course not—it can’t be an Aon, it only has one vowel in it.”

“That’s a simplistic way of putting it, my friend.”

“But it’s true. Kolo?”

“Yes, I suppose it is,” Raoden said. “That doesn’t matter right now—what matters is Dor. Do you know what it means?”

“Well, if it’s the same word, then it refers to something in Jesker.”

“What do the Mysteries have to do with this?” Raoden asked suspiciously.

“Doloken, sule!” Galladon swore. “I’ve told you, Jesker and the Mysteries are not the same thing! What Opelon calls the ‘Jeskeri Mysteries’ is no more related to Duladel’s religion than it is to Shu-Keseg.”

“Point taken,” Raoden said, raising his hands. “Now, tell me about Dor.”

“It’s hard to explain, sule,” Galladon said, leaning on a makeshift hoe he had crafted out of a pole and some rocks. “Dor is the unseen power—it is in everything, but cannot be touched. It affects nothing, yet it controls everything. Why do rivers flow?”

“Because the water is pulled downwards, just like everything else. The ice melts in the mountains, and it has to have a place to go.”

“Correct,” Galladon said. “Now, a different question. What makes the water want to flow?”

“I wasn’t aware that it needed to.”

“It does, and the Dor is its motivation,” Galladon said. “Jesker teaches that only humans have the ability—or the curse—of being oblivious to the Dor. Did you know that if you take a bird away from its parents and raise it in your house, it will still learn to fly?”

Raoden shrugged.

“How did it learn, sule? Who taught it to fly?”

“The Dor?” Raoden asked hesitantly.

“That is correct.”

Raoden smiled; the explanation sounded too religiously mysterious to be useful. But then he thought of his dream, his memories of what had happened so long ago. When the Elantrian healer had drawn her Aon, it appeared as if a tear were appearing in the air behind her finger. Raoden could still feel the chaotic power raging behind that tear, the massive force trying to press its way through the Aon to get at him. It sought to overwhelm him, to break him down until he became part of it. However, the healer’s carefully constructed Aon had funneled the power into a usable form, and it had healed Raoden’s leg instead of destroying him.

That force, whatever it had been, was real. It was there behind the Aons he drew, weak though they were. “That must be it…. Galladon, that’s why we are still alive!”

“What are you babbling about, sule?” Galladon said, looking up from his work with tolerance.

“That is why we live on, even though our bodies don’t work anymore!” Raoden said with excitement. “Don’t you see? We don’t eat, yet we get the energy to keep moving. There must be some link between Elantrians and the Dor—it feeds our bodies, providing the energy we need to survive.”

“Then why doesn’t it give us enough to keep our hearts moving and our skin from turning gray?” Galladon asked, unconvinced.

“Because it’s barely enough,” Raoden explained. “AonDor no longer works—the power that once fueled the city has been reduced to a bare trickle. The important thing is, it’s not gone. We can still draw Aons, even if they are weak and don’t do anything, and our minds continue to live, even if our bodies have given up. We just need to find a way to restore it to full power.”

“Oh, is that all?” Galladon asked. “You mean we need to fix what is broken?”

“I guess so,” Raoden said. “The important thing is realizing there’s a link between ourselves and the Dor, Galladon. Not only that—but there must be some sort of link between this land and the Dor.”

Galladon frowned. “Why do you say that?”

“Because AonDor was developed in Arelon and nowhere else,” Raoden said. “The text says that the farther one traveled from Elantris, the weaker the AonDor powers became. Besides—only people from Arelon are taken by the Shaod. It can take Teoish people, but only if they’re living in Arelon at the time. Oh, and it takes the occasional Dula as well.”

“I hadn’t noticed.”

“There’s some link between this land, the Arelish people, and the Dor, Galladon,” Raoden said. “I’ve never heard of a Fjordell getting taken by the Shaod, no matter how long he lives in Arelon. Dulas are a mixed people—half Jindo, half Aonic. Where was your farm in Duladen?”

Galladon frowned. “In the north, sule.”

“The part that borders Arelon,” Raoden said triumphantly. “It has something to do with the land, and with our Aonic bloodlines.”

Galladon shrugged. “It sounds like it makes sense, sule, but I’m just a simple farmer—what know I of such things?”

Raoden snorted, not bothering to respond to the comment. “But why? What’s the connection? Maybe the Fjordell are right—maybe Arelon is cursed.”

“Hypothesize away, sule,” Galladon said, turning back to his work. “I don’t see much empirical good to it, though.”

“All right. Well, I’ll stop theorizing as soon as you tell me where a simple farmer learned the word ‘empirical.’”

Galladon didn’t respond, but Raoden thought he could hear the Dula chuckling softly.

CHAPTER 20

“Let me see if I understand you, Princess dear,” Ahan said, holding aloft a chubby finger. “You want u

s to help Iadon? How foolish I am—I thought we didn’t like the fellow.”

“We don’t,” Sarene agreed. “Helping the king financially doesn’t have anything to do with our personal feelings.”

“I’m afraid I have to agree with Ahan, Princess,” Roial said with outspread hands. “Why the sudden change? What good will it do to aid the king now?”

Sarene gritted her teeth in annoyance. Then, however, she caught a twinkle in the elderly duke’s eye. He knew. The duke reportedly had a spy network as extensive as most kings’—he had figured out what Hrathen was trying to do. He had asked the question not to provoke her, but to give her an opportunity to explain. Sarene exhaled slowly, grateful for the duke’s tact.

“Someone is sinking the king’s ships,” Sarene said. “Common sense confirms what my father’s spies say. Dreok Crushthroat’s fleets couldn’t be sinking the boats—most of Dreok’s ships were destroyed fifteen years ago when he tried to take the throne of Teod, and any remnants have long since disappeared. Wyrn must be behind the sinkings.”

“All right, we accept that much,” Ahan said.

“Fjorden is also giving financial support to Duke Telrii,” Sarene continued.

“You don’t have any proof of that, Your Highness,” Eondel pointed out.

“No, I don’t,” Sarene admitted, pacing between the men’s chairs, the ground soft with new spring grass. They had eventually decided to hold this meeting in the gardens of Kae’s Korathi chapel, and so there was no table for her to circle. Sarene had managed to remain seated during the first part of the meeting, but had eventually stood. She found it easier to address others when she was on her feet—something of a nervous habit, she realized, but she also knew that her height lent her an air of authority.

“I do, however, have logical conjecture,” she said. Eondel would respond well to anything following the word “logical.” “We all attended Telrii’s party a week ago. He must have spent more on that ball than most men make in a year.”

“Extravagance isn’t always a sign of wealth,” Shuden pointed out. “I’ve seen men poor as a peasant put on dazzling shows to maintain an illusion of security in the face of collapse.” Shuden’s words rang true—a man at their own meeting, Baron Edan, was doing just what Shuden described.

Sarene frowned. “I’ve done some checking around—I had a lot of free time this last week, since none of you managed to get this meeting together, despite its urgency.” None of the noblemen would meet her eyes after that comment. She’d finally gotten them together. But, unfortunately, Kiin and Lukel hadn’t been able to attend because of a prior engagement. “Anyway, rumors say that Telrii’s accounts have swelled drastically during the last two weeks, and his shipments to Fjorden turn fantastic profits no matter what he chooses to send, whether it be fine spices or cow dung.”

“The fact remains that the duke has not aligned himself with Shu-Dereth,” Eondel pointed out. “He still attends his Korathi meetings piously.”

Sarene folded her arms, tapping her cheek in thought. “If Telrii openly aligned himself with Fjorden, his earnings would be suspicious. Hrathen is far too crafty to be so transparent. It would be much smarter for Fjorden to remain separate from the duke, allowing Telrii to appear a pious conservative. Despite Hrathen’s recent advances, it would be much easier for a traditional Korathi to usurp the throne than it would be for a Derethi.”

“He’ll take the throne, then make good on his pact with Wyrn,” Roial agreed.

“Which is why we have to make sure Iadon starts earning money again very soon,” Sarene said. “The nation is running dry—it is very possible that Telrii will earn more in this next accounting period than Iadon, even including taxes. I doubt the king would abdicate. However, if Telrii were to stage a coup, the other nobles might go along with him.”

“How do you like that, Edan?” Ahan asked, directing a hearty laugh at the anxious baron. “You might not be the only one who loses his title in a few months—old Iadon himself might join you.”

“If you please, Count Ahan,” Sarene said. “It’s our duty to make sure that doesn’t happen.”

“What do you want us to do?” Edan asked nervously. “Send gifts to the king? I don’t have any money to spare.”

“None of us do, Edan,” Ahan responded, hands resting on his ample belly. “If it were ‘spare’ it wouldn’t be valuable now, would it?”

“You know what he means, Ahan,” Roial chided. “And I doubt gifts are what the princess had in mind.”

“Actually, I’m open for suggestions, gentlemen,” Sarene said, spreading out her hands. “I’m a politician, not a merchant. I’m a confessed amateur at making money.”

“Gifts wouldn’t work,” Shuden said, hands laced before his chin contemplatively. “The king is a proud man who has earned his fortune through sweat, work, and scheming. He would never take handouts, even to save his throne. Besides, merchants are notoriously suspicious of gifts.”

“We could go to him with the truth,” Sarene suggested. “Maybe then he’d accept our help.”

“He wouldn’t believe us,” Roial said with a shake of his aged head. “The king is a very literal man, Sarene—even more so than our dear Lord Eondel. Generals have to think abstractly to outguess their opponents, but Iadon—I seriously doubt he’s had an abstract thought in his life. The king accepts things as they appear to be, especially if they are the way he thinks they should be.”

“Which is why Lady Sarene fooled His Majesty with her apparent lack of wits,” Shuden agreed. “He expected her to be foolish, and when she appeared to fit his expectations he dismissed her—even if her act was terribly overdone.”

Sarene chose not to rebut that remark.

“Pirates are something Iadon understands,” Roial said. “They make sense in the world of shipping—in a way, every merchant considers himself a pirate. However, governments are different. In the king’s eyes, it wouldn’t make sense for a kingdom to sink ships filled with valuable merchandise. The king would never attack merchants, no matter how tense the war. And as far as he knows, Arelon and Fjorden are good friends. He was the first one to let Derethi priests into Kae, and he has given that gyorn Hrathen every liberty of a visiting nobleman. I seriously doubt we could convince him that Wyrn is trying to depose him.”

“We could try framing Fjorden,” Eondel suggested. “Making it obvious that the sinkings are Wyrn’s work.”

“It would take too long, Eondel,” Ahan said, shaking his jowls. “Besides, Iadon doesn’t have many ships left—I doubt he’ll risk them in those same waters again.”

Sarene nodded. “It would also be very difficult for us to establish a connection to Wyrn. He’s probably using Svordish warships for the task—Fjorden itself doesn’t have much of a navy.”

“Was Dreok Crushthroat Svordish?” Eondel asked with a frown.

“I heard he was Fjordell,” Ahan said.

“No,” Roial said. “I think he was supposed to be Aonic, wasn’t he?”

“Anyway,” Sarene said impatiently, trying to keep the meeting on track as she paced across the loamy garden floor. “Lord Ahan said he wouldn’t risk his ships in those waters again, but the king obviously has to keep them shipping somewhere.”

Ahan nodded in agreement. “He can’t afford to stop now—spring is one of the best buying seasons. People have been cooped up all winter with drab colors and drabber relatives. As soon as the snows melt, they’re ready to splurge a little. This is the time when expensive colored silks go for a premium, and that is one of Iadon’s best products.

“These sinkings are a disaster. Not only did Iadon lose the ships themselves, he lost the profit he would have made off all those silks, not to mention the other cargo. Many merchants nearly bankrupt themselves this time of year by stockpiling goods that they know they can eventually sell.”

“His Majesty got greedy,” Shuden said. “He bought more and more ships, and filled them with as much silk as he could afford.”

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nbsp; “We’re all greedy, Shuden,” Ahan said. “Don’t forget, your family earned its fortune by organizing the spice route from Jindo. You didn’t even ship anything—you just built the roads and charged the merchants to use them.”

“Let me rephrase, Lord Ahan,” Shuden said. “The king let his greed make him foolish. Disasters are something every good merchant should plan for. Never ship what you can’t afford to lose.”

“Well put,” Ahan agreed.

“Anyway,” Sarene said, “if the king only has a couple of ships left, then they have to deliver a solid profit.”

“‘Solid’ isn’t the right word, my dear,” Ahan said. “Try ‘extraordinary.’ It is going to take a miracle for Iadon to recoup from this little catastrophe—especially before Telrii humiliates him irreparably.”

“What if he had an agreement with Teod?” Sarene asked. “An extremely lucrative contract for silks?”

“Maybe,” Ahan said with a shrug. “It’s clever.”

“But impossible,” Duke Roial said.

“Why?” Sarene demanded. “Teod can afford it.”

“Because,” the duke explained, “Iadon would never accept such a contract. He’s too experienced a merchant to make a deal that appears too fabulous to be realistic.”

“Agreed,” Shuden said with a nod. “The king wouldn’t be against making a horrible profit off of Teod, but only if he thought he was cheating you.”

The others nodded at Shuden’s statement. Although the Jindoeese man was the youngest in the group, Shuden was quickly proving himself to be as shrewd as Roial—perhaps more so. That capability, mixed with his deserved reputation for honesty, earned him respect beyond his years. It was a powerful man indeed who could mix integrity with savvy.

“We’ll have to think on this some more,” Roial said. “But not too long. We must solve the problem by the accounting day, otherwise we’ll be dealing with Telrii instead of Iadon. As bad as my old friend is, I know we’d have less luck with Telrii—especially if Fjorden is backing him.”