"If only he would explain what it means to 'channel the Dor'!" Raoden exclaimed, rereading a particularly annoying passage that kept using the phrase.
"Dor, sule?" Galladon asked, turning away from his planting. "That sounds like a Duladen term."
Raoden sat upright. The character used in the book to represent "Dor" was an uncommon one—not really an Aon at all, but simply a phonetic representation. As if the word had been transliterated from a different language.
"Galladon, you're right!" Raoden said. "It isn't Aonic at all."
"Of course not—it can't be an Aon, it only has one vowel in it."
"That's a simplistic way of putting it. my friend."
"But it's true. Kolo?"
"Yes. I suppose it is," Raoden said. "That doesn't matter right now—what matters is Dor. Do you know what it means?"
"Well, if it's the same word, then it refers to something in Jesker."
"What do the Mysteries have to do with this?" Raoden asked suspiciously.
"Doloken, sule!" Galladon swore. "I've told you, Jesker and the Mysteries are not the same thing! What Opelon calls the 'Jeskeri Mysteries' is no more related to Duladel's religion than it is to Shu-Keseg."
"Point taken." Raoden said. raising his hands. "Now, tell me about Dor."
"It's hard to explain, sule," Galladon said, leaning on a makeshift hoe he had crafted out of a pole and some rocks. "Dor is the unseen power—it is in everything, but cannot be touched. It affects nothing, yet it controls everything. Why do rivers flow?"
"Because the water is pulled downwards, just like everything else. The ice melts in the mountains, and it has to have a place to go."
"Correct," Galladon said. "Now, a different question. What makes the water want to flow?"
"I wasn't aware that it needed to."
"It does, and the Dor is its motivation," Galladon said. "Jesker teaches that only humans have the ability—or the curse—of being oblivious to the Dor. Did you know that if you take a bird away from its parents and raise it in your house, it will still learn to fly?"
Raoden shrugged.
"How did it learn, sule? Who taught it to fly?"
"The Dor?" Raoden asked hesitantly.
"That is correct."
Raoden smiled; the explanation sounded too religiously mysterious to be useful. But then he thought of his dream. his memories of what had happened so long ago. When the Elantrian healer had drawn her Aon, it appeared as if a tear were appearing in the air behind her finger. Raoden could still feel the chaotic power raging behind that tear, the massive force trying to press its way through the Aon to get at him. It sought to overwhelm him, to break him down until he became part of it. However, the healer's carefully constructed Aon had funneled the power into a usable form, and it had healed Raoden's leg instead of destroying him.
That force, whatever it had been, was real. It was there behind the Aons he drew, weak though they were. "That must be it.... Galladon, that's why we are still alive!"
"What are you babbling about, sule?" Galladon said, looking up from his work with tolerance.
"That is why we live on, even though our bodies don't work anymore!" Raoden said with excitement. "Don't you see? We don't eat, yet we get the energy to keep moving. There must be some link between Elantrians and the Dor—it feeds our bodies, providing the energy we need to survive."
"Then why doesn't it give us enough to keep our hearts moving and our skin from turning gray?" Galladon asked, unconvinced.
"Because it's barely enough," Raoden explained. "AonDor no longer works—the power that once fueled the city has been reduced to a bare trickle. The important thing is, it's not gone. We can still draw Aons, even if they are weak and don't do anything. and our minds continue to live, even if our bodies have given up. We just need to find a way to restore it to full power."
"Oh, is that all?" Galladon asked. "You mean we need to fix what is broken?"
"I guess so," Raoden said. "The important thing is realizing there's a link between ourselves and the Dor. Galladon. Not only that—but there must be some sort of link between this land and the Dor."
Galladon frowned. "Why do you say that?"
"Because AonDor was developed in Arelon and nowhere else," Raoden said. "The text says that the farther one traveled from Elantris, the weaker the AonDor powers became. Besides—only people from Arelon are taken by the Shaod. It can take Teoish people, but only if they're living in Arelon at the time. Oh, and it takes the occasional Dula as well."
"I hadn't noticed."
"There's some link between this land, the Arelish people, and the Dor, Galladon," Raoden said. "I've never heard of a Fjordell getting taken by the Shaod, no matter how long he lives in Arelon. Dulas are a mixed people—half Jindo, half Aonic. Where was your farm in Duladen?"
Galladon frowned. "In the north, sule."
"The part that borders Arelon." Raoden said triumphantly. "It has something to do with the land, and with our Aonic bloodlines."
Galladon shrugged. "It sounds like it makes sense, sule, but I'm just a simple farmer—what know I of such things?"
Raoden snorted, not bothering to respond to the comment. "But why? What's the connection? Maybe the Fjordell are right—maybe Arelon is cursed."
"Hypothesize away, sule," Galladon said, turning back to his work. don't see much empirical good to it, though."
"All right. Well, I'll stop theorizing as soon as you tell me where a simple farmer learned the word 'empirical.' "
Galladon didn't respond. but Raoden thought he could hear the Dula chuckling softly.
CHAPTER 20
LET me see if I understand you, Princess dear," Ahan said, holding aloft a chubby finger. "You want us to help Iadon? How foolish I am—I thought we didn't like the fellow."
"We don't." Sarene agreed. "Helping the king financially doesn't have anything to do with our personal feelings."
"I'm afraid I have to agree with Ahan, Princess," Roial said with outspread hands. "Why the sudden change? What good will it do to aid the king now?"
Sarene gritted her teeth in annoyance. Then, however, she caught a twinkle in the elderly duke's eye. He knew. The duke reportedly had a spy network as extensive as most kings'—he had figured out what Hrathen was trying to do. He had asked the question not to provoke her, but to give her an opportunity to explain. Sarene exhaled slowly, grateful for the duke's tact.
"Someone is sinking the king's ships." Sarene said. "Common sense confirms what my father's spies say. Dreok Crushthroat's fleets couldn't be sinking the boats—most of Dreok's ships were destroyed fifteen years ago when he tried to take the throne of Teod, and any remnants have long since disappeared. Wyrn must be behind the sinkings."
"All right, we accept that much," Ahan said.
"Fjorden is also giving financial support to Duke Telrii." Sarene continued.
"You don't have any proof of that, Your Highness," Eondel pointed out.
"No, I don't," Sarene admitted, pacing between the men's chairs, the ground soft with new spring grass. They had eventually decided to hold this meeting in the gardens of Kae's Korathi chapel. and so there was no table for her to circle. Sarene had managed to remain seated during the first part of the meeting, but had eventually stood. She found it easier to address others when she was on her feet—something of a nervous habit, she realized, but she also knew that her height lent her an air of authority.
"I do, however, have logical conjecture," she said. Eondel wouId respond well to anything following the word "logical." "We all attended Telrii's party a week ago. He must have spent more on that ball than most men make in a year."
"Extravagance isn't always a sign of wealth." Shuden pointed out. "I've seen men poor as a peasant put on dazzling shows to maintain an illusion of security in the face of collapse." Shuden's words rang true—a man at their own meeting, Baron Edan. was doing just what Shuden described.
Sarene frowned. "I've done some checking around—I had a lot of free time this last week, since none of you managed to get this meeting together, despite its urgency." None of the noblemen would meet her eyes after that comment. She'd finally gotten them together. But, unfortunately, Kiin and Lukel hadn't been able to attend because of a prior engagement. "Anyway, rumors say that Telrii's accounts have swelled drastically during the last two weeks, and his shipments to Fjorden turn fantastic profits no matter what he chooses to send, whether it be fine spices or cow dung."
"The fact remains that the duke has not aligned himself with Shu-Dereth." Eondel pointed out. "He still attends his Korathi meetings piously."
Sarene folded her arms, tapping her cheek in thought. "If Telrii openly aligned himself with Fjorden, his earnings would be suspicious. Hrathen is far too crafty to be so transparent. It would be much smarter for Fjorden to remain separate from the duke, allowing Telrii to appear a pious conservative. Despite Hrathen's recent advances, it would be much easier for a traditional Korathi to usurp the throne than it would be for a Derethi."
"He'll take the throne, then make good on his pact with Wyrn." Roial agreed.
"Which is why we have to make sure Iadon starts earning money again very soon," Sarene said. "The nation is running dry—it is very possible that Telrii will earn more in this next accounting period than Iadon, even including taxes. I doubt the king would abdicate. However, if Telrii were to stage a coup, the other nobles might go along with him."
"How do you like that, Edan?" Ahan asked, directing a hearty laugh at the anxious baron. "You might not be the only one who loses his title in a few months—old Iadon himself might join you."
"If you please, Count Ahan," Sarene said. "It's our duty to make sure that doesn't happen."
"What do you want us to do?" Edan asked nervously. "Send gifts to the king? I don't have any money to spare."
"None of us do. Edan," Ahan responded, hands resting on his ample belly. "If it were 'spare' it wouldn't be valuable now, would it?"
"You know what he means, Ahan," Roial chided. "And I doubt gifts are what the princess had in mind."
"Actually, I'm open for suggestions, gentlemen," Sarene said, spreading out her hands. "I'm a politician, not a merchant. I'm a confessed amateur at making money."
"Gifts wouldn't work," Shuden said, hands laced before his chin contemplatively. "The king is a proud man who has earned his fortune through sweat, work, and scheming. He would never take handouts, even to save his throne. Besides merchants are notoriously suspicious of gifts."
"We could go to him with the truth," Sarene suggested. "Maybe then he'd accept our help."
"He wouldn't believe us," Roial said with a shake of his aged head. "The king is a very literal man, Sarene—even more so than our dear Lord Eondel. Generals have to think abstractly to outguess their opponents, but Iadon—I seriously doubt he's had an abstract thought in his life. The king accepts things as they appear to be, especially if they are the way he thinks they should be."