Elantris - Brandon Sanderson [240]
“It doesn’t,” Raoden said, turning. “It targets my shirt. The illusion is like an article of clothing—it only covers up my skin; it doesn’t change anything.”
“Then what good is it?”
Raoden smiled. “It is going to get us out of Elantris, my friend.”
CHAPTER 50
“What took you so long?”
“I couldn’t find Spirit, my lady,” Ashe explained, floating into her carriage window. “So I had to deliver the message to Master Galladon. After that, I went to check on King Telrii.”
Sarene tapped her cheek with annoyance. “How is he doing, then?”
“Galladon or the king, my lady?”
“The king.”
“His Majesty is quite busy lounging in his palace while half of Arelon’s nobility waits outside,” the Seon said with a disapproving tone. “I believe his largest current complaint is that there aren’t enough young women left on the palace staff.”
“We’ve exchanged one idiot for another,” Sarene said with a shake of her head. “How did that man ever acquire enough wealth to become a duke?”
“He didn’t, my lady,” Ashe explained. “His brother did most of the work. Telrii inherited upon the man’s death.”
Sarene sighed, leaning back as the carriage hit a bump. “Is Hrathen there?”
“Often, my lady,” Ashe said. “Apparently, he visits the king on a daily basis.”
“What are they waiting for?” Sarene asked with frustration. “Why doesn’t Telrii just convert?”
“No one is certain, my lady.”
Sarene frowned. The continued game left her baffled. It was well known that Telrii had attended Derethi meetings, and there was no reason for him to maintain an illusion of Korathi conservatism. “No new news on that proclamation the gyorn has supposedly drafted?” she asked with trepidation.
“No, my lady,” came the blessed reply. Rumors claimed that Hrathen had drawn up a bill that would force all of Arelon to convert to Shu-Dereth or face incarceration. Though the merchants put on a face of normalcy, holding the spring Arelene Market, the entire city was on edge with a sense of tense anxiety.
Sarene could easily imagine the future. Soon Wyrn would send a fleet of priests into Arelon, followed closely by his warrior monks. Telrii, at first a sympathizer, then a convert, would eventually become less than a pawn. In just a few years Arelon wouldn’t be just a country of Derethi believers, but a virtual extension of Fjorden itself.
Once Hrathen’s bill passed, the priest would waste no time in arresting Sarene and the others. They would be locked away or, more likely, executed. After that, there would be no one to oppose Fjorden. The entire civilized world would belong to Wyrn, a final fulfillment of the Old Empire’s dream.
And yet, despite all of this, her allies debated and talked. None of them believed that Telrii would actually sign a document forcing conversion; such atrocities didn’t happen in their world. Arelon was a peaceful kingdom; even the so-called riots of a decade past hadn’t been that destructive—unless one was an Elantrian. Her friends wanted to move carefully. Their caution was understandable, laudable even, but their timing was terrible. It was a good thing she had an opportunity to practice fencing this day. She needed to release a little aggression.
As if in response to her thoughts, the carriage pulled to a halt in front of Roial’s manor. In the wake of Telrii’s move into the palace, the women had relocated their fencing practice to the old duke’s gardens. The weather of late had been warm and breezy, as if spring had decided to stay this time, and Duke Roial had welcomed them.
Sarene had been surprised when the women insisted that they continue the fencing practice. However, the ladies had shown strength in their resolve. This one meeting would continue, every second day, as it had for over a month now. Apparently, Sarene wasn’t the only one who needed an opportunity to work out her frustration with a sword.
She climbed out of the carriage, dressed in her usual white jumpsuit and wearing her new wig. As she rounded the building, she could make out the sounds of syres clashing in the background.