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 much it bothered the larger man to have the books exposed to the slime and dirt of Elantris.
"That should be all right," Raoden said. None of the other books were about AonDor, and while some of them were journals or other records that could hold clues, Raoden suspected that none of them would be as useful as the one in front of him. Assuming he could translate it successfully.
Galladon nodded and began gathering up the books; then he looked upward apprehensively as he heard a scraping sound from the roof. Galladon was convinced
that sooner or later the entire assemblage would collapse and. inevitably, fall on his shiny dark head.
"Don't worry so much, Galladon," Raoden said. "Maare and Riil know what they're doing."
Galladon frowned. "No they don't. sule. I seem to recall that neither of them had any idea what to do before you pressed them into it."
'I meant that they're eompetent." Raoden looked up with satisfaction. Six days of working had completed a large portion of the roof. Mareshe had devised a claylike combination of wood scraps. soiI, and the ever-prevalent Elantris sludge. This mixture, when added to the fallen support beams and some less-rotted sections of cloth, had provided materials to make a ceiling that was, if nor superior, at least adequate.
Raoden smiled. The pain and hunger were always there, but things were going so well that he could almost forget the pain of his half-dozen bumps and cuts. Through the window to his right he could see the newest member of his band, Loren. The man worked in the large area beside the church that had probably once been a garden. According to Raoden's orders, and equipped with a newly fashioned pair of leather gloves, Loren moved rocks and cleared away refuse, revealing the soft dirt underneath.