Hrathen watched the door shut, then walked over to Dilaf, who was still sprawled on the pew.
'That was unexpected. Arteth,' he said. 'You should have spoken with me first.'
'It was not planned, my lord, Dilaf explained. 'I suddenly felt the need to speak. It was only done in your service, my hroden.'
'Of course,' Hrathen said, dissatisfied. Telrii was right: Dilaf's addition had been valuable. As much as Hrathen wanted to reproach the arteth, he could not. He would be negligent in his service to Wyrn if he didn't use every tool at his command to convert the people of Arelon, and Dilaf had proven himself a very useful tool. Hrathen would need the arteth to speak at later meetings. Once again, Dilaf had left him without many choices.
'Well, it is done,' Hrathen said with calculated dismissiveness. 'And they appear to have liked it. Perhaps I will have you speak again sometime. However. you must remember your place, Arteth. You are my odiv; you do not act unless I specifically tell you. Is that understood?'
'Perfectly, my lord Hrathen.'
Hrathen quietly shut the door to his personal chambers. Dilaf was not there; Hrathen would never let him see what was about to take place. In this Hrathen could still feel superior to the young Arelish priest. Dilaf would never rise to the highest ranks of the priesthood, for he could never do what Hrathen was about to do-something known only to the gyorns and Wyrn.
Hrathen sat in his chair quietly, preparing himself. Only after a half hour of meditation did he feel controlled enough to act. Taking a measured breath, Hrathen rose from his seat and moved to the large trunk in the corner of his room. It was topped with a stack of folded tapestries, carefully draped to obscure. Hrathen moved the tapestries reverently, then reached beneath his shirt to pull forth the gold chain that encircled his neck. At the end of the chain was a small key. With this he opened the trunk, revealing the contents-a small metal box.
The box was about the size of four stacked books, and its weight rested heavily in Hrathen's hands as he lifted it from the trunk. Its sides had been constructed of the best steel, and on its front was a small dial and several delicate levers. The mechanism had been designed by Svorden's finest locksmiths. Only Hrathen and Wyrn knew the proper method of turning and twisting that would open the box.
Hrathen spun the dial and turned the levers in a pattern he had memorized soon after being appointed to the position of gyorn. The combination had never been written down. It would be a source of extreme embarrassment to Shu-Dereth if anyone outside the inner priesthood discovered what was inside this box.
The lock clicked, and Hrathen pulled the top open with a firm hand. A small glowing ball sat patiently inside.
'You need me, my lord?' the Seon asked in a soft, feminine voice. 'Be quiet!' Hrathen ordered. 'You know you are not to speak.'
The ball of light bobbed submissively. It had been months since Hrathen had last opened the box, but the Seon showed no signs of rebelliousness. The creatures-or whatever they were-seemed to be unfailingly obedient.
The Seons had been Hrathen's greatest shock upon his appointment to the rank of gyorn. Not that he had been surprised to find that the creatures were real-though many in the East dismissed Seons as Aonic myths, Hrathen had, by that time, been taught that there were… things in the world that were not understood by normal people. The memories of his early years in Dakhor still caused him to shiver in fear.
No. Hrathen's surprise had come in discovering that Wyrn would consent to using heathen magics to further Jaddeth's empire. Wyrn himself had explained the necessity of using Seons, but it had taken years for Hrathen to accept the idea. In the end, logic had swayed him. Just as it was sometimes necessary to speak in heathen languages to preach Jaddeth's empire. there were instances where the enemy's arts proved valuable.
Of course, only those with the most self-control and holiness could use the Seons without being tainted. Gyorns used them to contact Wyrn when in a far country, and they did so infrequently. Instantaneous communication across such distances was a resource worth the price.
'Get me Wyrn,' Hrathen ordered. The Seon complied, hovering up a bit, questing with its abilities to seek out Wyrn's own hidden Seon-one attended
at all times by a mute servant, whose only sacred duty was to watch over the creature.
Hrathen eyed the Seon as he waited. The Seon hovered patiently. It always appeared obedient; indeed. the other gyorns didn't even seem to question the loyalty of the creatures. They claimed it was part of the Seons' magic to be faithful to their masters, even if those masters detested them.
Hrathen wasn't quite as certain. Seons could contact others of their kind, and they apparently didn't need half as much sleep as men. What did the Seons do, while their masters slept? What secrets did they discuss? At one point, most of the nobility in DuIadel, Arelon, Teod, and even Jindo had kept Seons. During those days, how many state secrets had been witnessed. and perhaps gossiped about, by the unobtrusive floating balls?
He shook his head. It was a good thing those days were past. Out of favor because of their association with fallen Elantris, prevented from any further reproduction by the loss of Elantrian magics, the Seons were growing more and more rare. Once Fjorden conquered the West, Hrathen doubted one would ever see Seons floating around freely again.
His Seon began to drip like water, and then it formed into Wyrn's proud face. Noble. squareish features regarded Hrathen.
'I am here, my son.' Wyrn's voice floated through the Seon.
'0 great lord and master, Jaddeth's anointed, and emperor in the light of His favor.' Hrathen said, bowing his head.
'Speak on, my odiv.'
'I have a proposal involving one of the lords of Arelon, great one…'
CHAPTER 13
'This is it' Raoden exclaimed. 'Galladon, get over here!' The large Dula set down his own book with raised eyebrows, then stood with his characteristic relaxed style and wandered over to Raoden. 'What have you found, rule?'
Raoden pointed to the coverless book in front of him. He sat in the former Korathi ehurch that had become their center of operations. Galladon, still determined to keep his small book-filled study a secret, had insisted that they lug the necessary volumes up to the chapel rather than let anyone else into his sanctuary.
'Sule. I can't read that,' Galladon protested, looking down at the book. 'It's written completely in Aons.'
'That's what made me suspicious,' Raoden said.
'Can you read it?' Galladon asked.
'No,' Raoden said with a smile. 'But I do have this.' He reached down and pulled out a similar coverless volume, its cover pages stained with Elantris grime. 'A dictionary of the Aons.'
Galladon studied the first book with a critical eye. 'Stile. I don't even recognize a tenth of the Aons on this page. Do you have any idea how long it's going to take you to translate it?'
Raoden shrugged. 'It's better than searching for clues in those other books. Galladon. if I have to read one more word about the landscape of Fjorden, I am going to be sick.'
Galladon grunted his agreement. Whoever had owned the books before the Reod must have been a geography scholar. for at least half of the volumes dealt with the topic.
`You're sure this is the one we want?' Galladon asked.
'I've had a little training in reading pure Aon texts, my friend,' Raoden said, pointing at an Aon on a page near the beginning of the book. 'This says AonDor.'
Galladon nodded. 'All right, rule. I don't envy you the task, however. Life would be much simpler if it hadn't taken your people so long to invent an alphabet. Kolo?'
'The Aons were an alphabet,' Raoden said. 'Just an incredibly complex one. This won't take as long as you think-my schooling should start to come back to me after a little while.'
'Sule, sometimes you're so optimistic it's sickening. I suppose then we should cart these other books back to where we got them?' There was a measure of anxiety in Galladon's voice. The books were precious to him; it had taken Raoden a good hour of arguing to convince the Dula to let him take off their covers, and he could see how
