Elantris - Brandon Sanderson [93]
“Kings bow to gyorns in the East,” Sarene said. “They practically grovel when Wyrn visits.”
“And it all came from one elderly Jindo,” Shuden noted, pausing to replace their cups with wine from a passing servant. It was a much better vintage. “It always interests me to see what you people have done with Keseg’s teachings.”
“‘You people’?” Sarene asked. “I’m Korathi—don’t lump me together with the gyorn.”
Shuden held up a hand. “I apologize. I didn’t mean to be offensive.”
Sarene paused. Shuden spoke Aonic as a native and lived in Arelon, so she had assumed him to be Korathi. She had misjudged. Shuden was still Jindoeese—his family would have believed in Shu-Keseg, the parent religion of both Korath and Dereth. “But,” she said, thinking out loud, “Jindo is Derethi now.”
Shuden’s face darkened slightly, eyeing the gyorn. “I wonder what the great master thought when his two students, Korath and Dereth, left to preach to the lands northward. Keseg taught of unity. But what did he mean? Unity of mind, as my people assume? Unity of love, as your priests claim? Or is it the unity of obedience, as the Derethi believe? In the end, I am left to ponder how mankind managed to complicate such a simple concept.”
He paused, then shook his head. “Anyway, yes, my lady, Jindo is Derethi now. My people allow Wyrn to assume that the Jindo have been converted because it is better than fighting. Many are now questioning that decision, however. The arteths are growing increasingly demanding.”
Sarene nodded. “I agree. Shu-Dereth must be stopped—it is a perversion of the truth.”
Shuden paused. “I didn’t say that, Lady Sarene. The soul of Shu-Keseg is acceptance. There is room for all teachings. The Derethi think they are doing what is right.” Shuden stopped, looking over at Hrathen, before continuing. “That one, however, is dangerous.”
“Why him and not others?”
“I visited one of Hrathen’s sermons,” Shuden said. “He doesn’t preach from his heart, Lady Sarene, he preaches from his mind. He looks for numbers in his conversions, paying no attention to the faith of his followers. This is dangerous.”
Shuden scanned Hrathen’s companions. “That one bothers me as well,” he said, pointing to a man whose hair was so blond it was almost white.
“Who is he?” Sarene asked with interest.
“Waren, first son of Baron Diolen,” Shuden said. “He shouldn’t be here in this room, but he is apparently using his close association with the gyorn as an invitation. Waren used to be a notably pious Korathi, but he claims to have seen a vision of Jaddeth commanding that he convert to Shu-Dereth.”
“The ladies were talking about this earlier,” Sarene said, eyeing Waren. “You don’t believe him?”
“I have always suspected Waren’s religiousness to be an exhibition. He is an opportunist, and his extreme piety gained him notoriety.”
Sarene studied the white-haired man, worried. He was very young, but he carried himself as a man of accomplishment and control. His conversion was a dangerous sign. The more such people Hrathen gathered, the more difficult he would be to stop.
“I shouldn’t have waited so long,” she said.
“For what?”
“To come to these balls. Hrathen has a week’s edge on me.”
“You act as if it were a personal struggle between you two,” Shuden noted with a smile.
Sarene didn’t take the comment lightly. “A personal struggle with the fates of nations at stake.”
“Shuden!” a voice said. “I see that you are lacking your customary circle of admirers.”
“Good evening, Lord Roial,” Shuden said, bowing slightly as the old man approached. “Yes, thanks to my companionship, I have been able to avoid most of that tonight.”
“Ah, the lovely Princess Sarene,” Roial said, kissing her hand. “Apparently, your penchant for black has waned.”
“It was never that strong to begin with, my lord,” she said with a curtsy.
“I can imagine,” Roial said with a smile. Then he turned back to Shuden. “I had hoped that you wouldn’t realize your good fortune, Shuden. I might