Elantris - Brandon Sanderson [25]
The gyorn marched past her without a second 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 Wulfden 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 Fjordell.
Iadon looked up from his ledgers with a barely masked scowl. “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.”
Hrathen paused for a moment; then he repeated his introductory nod and spun around, his cloak billowing dramatically as he stalked toward the door. Sarene’s prayers were not answered, however—he didn’t step on it and trip himself. Just before Hrathen left, he turned to shoot one final, disappointed look at the throne room. His gaze however, found Sarene instead of the king. Their eyes locked for a moment, and she could see a slight hint of confusion as he studied her unusual height and blond Teoish hair. Then he was gone, and the room burst into a hundred prattling conversations.
King Iadon snorted and turned back to his ledgers.
“He doesn’t see,” Sarene whispered. “He doesn’t understand.”
“Understand what, my lady?” Ashe asked.
“How dangerous that gyorn is.”
“His Majesty is a merchant, my lady, not a true politician. He doesn’t see things the same way you do.”
“Even so,” Sarene said, speaking quietly enough that only Ashe could hear. “King Iadon should be experienced enough to recognize that what Hrathen said—at least about Fjorden—was completely true. The Wyrns are more powerful now than they were centuries ago, even at the height of the Old Empire’s power.”
“It is hard to look past military might, especially when