Elantris - Brandon Sanderson [107]
Raoden’s words echoed through the silent room. Finally, a voice broke the tension.
“I will join you,” Taan said, rising to his feet. His voice wavered slightly, but his face was resolute. “I thought I had to be mad to live in Elantris, but madness was what kept me from seeing the beauty. Put down your weapons, men.”
They balked at the order.
“I said put them down.” Taan’s voice grew firm, his short, large-bellied form suddenly commanding. “I still lead here.”
“Baron Aanden ruled us,” one of the men said.
“Aanden was a fool,” Taan said with a sigh, “and so was anyone who followed him. Listen to this man—there is more royalty in his argument than there ever was in my pretend court.”
“Give up your anger,” Raoden pled. “And let me give you hope instead.”
A clank sounded behind him—Dashe’s sword falling to the stones. “I cannot kill today,” he decided, turning to leave. His men regarded Aanden’s group for a moment, then joined their leader. The sword sat abandoned in the center of the room.
Aanden—Taan—smiled at Raoden. “Whoever you are, thank you.”
“Come with me, Taan,” Raoden said. “There is a building you should see.”
CHAPTER 17
Sarene strode into the palace dance hall, a long black bag on her shoulder. There were several gasps from the women inside.
“What?” she asked.
“It’s your clothing, dear,” Daora finally answered. “These women aren’t accustomed to such things.”
“It looks like men’s clothing!” Seaden exclaimed, her double chin jiggling indignantly.
Sarene looked down at her gray jumpsuit with surprise, then back at the collected women. “Well, you didn’t really expect us to fight in dresses, did you?” However, after studying the women’s faces, she realized that that was exactly what they had expected.
“You have a long way to go here, Cousin,” Lukel warned quietly, entering behind her and taking a seat on the far side of the room.
“Lukel?” Sarene asked. “What are you doing here?”
“I fully expect this to be the most entertaining experience of the week,” he said, reclining in his chair and putting his hands behind his head. “I wouldn’t miss it for all the gold in Wyrn’s coffers.”
“Me too,” Kaise’s voice declared. The small girl pushed her way past Sarene and scuttled toward the chairs. Daorn, however, darted in from the side and hopped into Kaise’s chosen seat. Kaise stamped her foot with pique, then, realizing that every chair along the wall was exactly the same, chose another.
“I’m sorry,” Lukel said with an embarrassed shrug. “I was stuck with them.”
“Be nice to your siblings, dear,” Daora chided.
“Yes, Mother,” Lukel responded immediately.
Slightly put off by the sudden audience, Sarene turned to her prospective students. Every woman from the embroidery circle had come—even the stately Daora and the equally scatterbrained Queen Eshen. Sarene’s clothing and actions might have mortified them, but their hunger for independence was greater than their indignation.
Sarene allowed the bag to slide off her shoulder and into her hands. One side opened with some snaps, and she reached inside to whip out one of her practice swords. The long, thin blade made a slight metallic scrape as she pulled it free, and the collected women shied away.
“This is a syre,” Sarene said, making a few slices in the air. “It’s also called a kmeer or a jedaver, depending on which country you’re in. The swords were first crafted in Jaador as light weapons for scouts, but they fell into disuse after only a few decades. Then, however, the swords were adopted by Jaadorian nobility, who favored them for their grace and delicacy. Duels are common in Jaador, and the quick, neat style of syre fencing requires a great deal of skill.”
She punctuated her sentences with a few thrusts and swipes—mostly moves she would never use in a real fight, but ones that looked good nonetheless. The women were captivated.
“The Dulas were the first ones to turn fencing into a sport, rather than a means of killing