Elantris (18 page)

There was an uncomfortable moment of silence. Finally—the arteth’s sudden exclamation having spoiled his rhythm—Hrathen leaned back in his chair, crossing his fingers before him to show that the meeting was at an end. The nobles left, their troubled faces showing that they understood the difficult decision Hrathen had placed before them. Hrathen studied them, deciding which ones it would be safe to contact again. Idan was his, and with him would inevitably come several of his followers. Hrathen probably had Ramear as well, assuming he met privately with the man and offered him a solid promise of backing. There were a couple of others like Ramear, and then there was Waren, whose eyes were tinged with what looked like respect. Yes, he could do grand things with that one.

They were a politically weak, relatively unimportant lot, but they were a beginning. As Shu-Dereth gained followers, increasingly important nobles would throw their weight behind Hrathen. Then, when the country finally collapsed beneath the weight of political unrest, economic uncertainty, and martial threats, Hrathen would reward his followers with positions in the new government.

The key to reaching that success was still sitting at the back of the meeting, watching quietly. Duke Telrii’s air was stately, his face calm, but his reputation for extravagance spoke of great potential.

“My lord Telrii, a moment please,” Hrathen requested, rising. “I have a special proposal that might be of interest to you.”

CHAPTER 10

“Sule, I don’t think this is a good idea.” Galladon’s whisper was unenthusiastic as he crouched next to Raoden.

“Hush,” Raoden ordered, peeking around the corner toward the courtyard. The gangs had heard about Raoden’s recruitment of Mareshe, and were convinced that he intended to start his own rival gang. When Raoden and Galladon had arrived the day before to look for newcomers, they had found a group of Aanden’s men waiting for them. The reception hadn’t been pleasant. Fortunately, they had escaped without any broken bones or stubbed toes, but this time Raoden intended to be a little more subtle.

“What if they’re waiting for us again?” Galladon asked.

“They probably are,” Raoden said. “Which is why you should keep your voice down. Come on.”

Raoden slipped around the corner and into an alleyway. His toe pained him as he walked, as did his scraped hands and a bruise he had picked up on his arm. In addition, the hunger called to him, a phantom passion from within.

Galladon sighed. “I’m not so bored with death that I want to abandon it in favor of an existence of pure pain. Kolo?”

Raoden turned back with tolerant eyes. “Galladon, someday you’re going to get over this determined pessimism of yours, and all of Elantris will collapse from the shock.”

“Pessimism?” Galladon demanded as Raoden crept down the alleyway. “Pessimism? Me? Dulas are the most lighthearted, easygoing people in Opelon! We look at each day with—Sule? Don’t you dare leave when I’m defending myself!”

Raoden ignored the large Dula. He also tried to ignore his pains, sharp though they were. His new leather shoes helped immensely; despite Galladon’s reservations, Mareshe had created a product to match his considerable ego. The shoes were sturdy, with a strong, protective sole, but the soft leather—from the covers of Galladon’s books—fit perfectly and didn’t rub.

Peeking carefully around the corner, Raoden studied the courtyard. Shaor’s men weren’t visible, but they were probably hiding nearby. Raoden perked up as he saw the city gate swinging open. The day had brought a new arrival. However, he was shocked when the Elantris City Guard pushed not one, but three separate white-clothed forms through the gate.

“Three?”
Raoden said.

“The Shaod is unpredictable, sule,” Galladon said, creeping up behind him.

“This changes everything,” Raoden said with annoyance.

“Good. Let’s go—the others can have today’s offering. Kolo?”

“What? And miss such a grand opportunity? Galladon, I’m disappointed in you.”

The Dula grumbled something Raoden couldn’t catch, and Raoden reached back to clap the big man reassuringly on the shoulder. “Don’t worry—I have a plan.”

“Already?”

“We have to move quickly—any minute now one of those three is going to take a step, and then our opening will be gone.”

“Doloken,” Galladon muttered. “What are you going to do?”

“Nothing. You, however, are going to have a nice stroll out there in the courtyard.”

“What?”
Galladon asked. “Sule, you’ve gone kayana again. If I go out there, the gangs are going to see me!”

“Exactly,” Raoden said with a smile. “Just make sure you run very quickly, my friend. We wouldn’t want them to catch you.”

“You’re serious,” Galladon said with growing apprehension.

“Unfortunately. Now get moving—lead them off to the left, and I’ll do the rest. We’ll meet back where we left Mareshe.”

Galladon huffed something about “not being worth all the dried meat in the world,” but he let Raoden push him into the courtyard. A moment later a series of startled growls came from the building where Shaor’s men usually hid. The feral men burst out, forgetting the three newcomers in their hatred of the man who had wronged them just a few days earlier.

Galladon shot one final withering look in Raoden’s direction, then took off at a dash, choosing a street at random and leading Shaor’s men away. Raoden gave him a moment, then ran out into the middle of the courtyard, making a great show of breathing deeply, as if from exhaustion.

“Which way did he go?” he demanded sharply of the three confused newcomers.

“Who?” one of them finally ventured.

“The large Dula! Quickly, man, which way did he go? He has the cure!”

“The cure?” the man asked with surprise.

“Of course. It’s very rare, but there should be enough for all of us, if you tell me which way he went. Don’t you want to get out of here?”

The newcomer raised a wavering hand and pointed at the path Galladon had taken.

“Come on!” Raoden urged. “Unless we move quickly we’ll lose him forever!” With that, he started running.

The three newcomers stood for a moment; then, Raoden’s sense of urgency too much for them, they followed. All three of their first steps, therefore, were to the north—the direction that would have made them the property of Shaor’s men. The other two gangs could only watch with frustration as all three dashed away.

“What can you do?” Raoden asked.

The woman shrugged. “Maare is my name, my lord. I was a simple housewife. I have no special skills to speak of.”

Raoden snorted. “If you’re like any other housewife, then you’re probably more skilled than anyone here. Can you weave?”

“Of course, my lord.”

Raoden nodded thoughtfully. “And you?” he asked of the next man.

“Riil, a workman, my lord. I spent most of my time building on my master’s plantation.”

“Hauling bricks?”

“At first, my lord,” the man said. He had the wide hands and ingenuous face of a worker, but his eyes were keen and intelligent. “I spent years learning with the journeymen. I hoped that my master would send me to apprentice.”

“You’re very old to be an apprentice,” Raoden noted.

“I know, my lord, but it was a hope. Not many of the peasantry have room for hopes anymore, even ones so simple.”

Raoden nodded again. The man didn’t speak like a peasant, but few people in Arelon did. Ten years ago, Arelon had been a land of opportunity, and most of its people had been at least slightly educated. Many of the men in his father’s court complained that learning had ruined the peasantry for good work, selectively forgetting that they themselves had been members of the same “peasantry” a decade earlier.

“All right, how about you?” Raoden asked the next man.

The third newcomer, a well-muscled man with a nose that appeared to have
been broken at least a dozen times, regarded Raoden with hesitant eyes. “Before I answer, I want to know just why I should listen to you.”

“Because I just saved your life,” Raoden said.

“I don’t understand. What happened to that other man?”

“He should show up in a few minutes.”

“But—”

“We weren’t really chasing him,” Raoden said. “We were getting you three out of danger. Mareshe, please explain.”

The artisan jumped at the chance. With wild gestures he explained his narrow escape two days earlier, making it appear that he had been on the verge of death before Raoden appeared and helped him to safety. Raoden smiled; Mareshe had a melodramatic soul. The artist’s voice rose and fell like a well-written symphony. Listening to the man’s narrative, even Raoden nearly believed he had done something incredibly noble.

Mareshe finished with a proclamation that Raoden was trustworthy, and encouraged them all to listen to him. At the end, even the burly, hook-nosed man was attentive.

“My name is Saolin, Lord Spirit,” the man said, “and I was a soldier in Count Eondel’s personal legion.”

“I know Eondel,” Raoden said with a nod. “He’s a good man—a soldier himself before he was granted a title. You were probably trained well.”

“We are the best soldiers in the country, sir,” Saolin said proudly.

Raoden smiled. “It isn’t hard to best most of the soldiers in our poor country, Saolin. However, I’d match Eondel’s legion against soldiers from any nation—I always found them to be men of honor, discipline, and skill. Much like their leader. Giving Eondel a title is one of the few intelligent things Iadon has done recently.”

“As I understand it, my lord, the king didn’t have much choice,” Saolin said with a smile, showing a mouth that was missing a couple of teeth. “Eondel has amassed quite a large fortune by hiring out his personal forces to the Crown.”

“That’s the truth,” Raoden said with a laugh. “Well, Saolin, I am glad to have you. A professional soldier of your skill will certainly make us all feel a lot safer around here.”

“Whatever Your Lordship needs,” Saolin said, his face growing serious. “I pledge you my sword. I know little about religion besides saying my prayers, and I don’t really understand what’s going on here, but a man who speaks well of Lord Eondel is a good man in my estimation.”

Raoden clasped Saolin on the shoulder, ignoring the fact that the grizzled soldier didn’t have a sword to pledge anymore. “I appreciate and accept your protection, friend. But I warn you, this is no easy burden you take upon yourself. I’m quickly amassing enemies in here, and it is going to require a great deal of vigilance to make sure we aren’t surprised by an attack.”

“I understand, my lord,” Saolin said fervently. “But, by Domi, I won’t let you down!”

“And what of us, my lord?” asked Riil the builder.

“I have a grand project in store for you two as well,” Raoden said. “Look up and tell me what you see.”

Riil raised his eyes to the sky, his eyes confused. “I see nothing, my lord. Should I?”

Raoden laughed. “Not a thing, Riil. That’s the problem—the roof to this building must have fallen in years ago. Despite that, it’s one of the largest and least-degenerate buildings I’ve found. I don’t suppose your training included some experience in roof building?”

Riil smiled. “It certainly did, my lord. You have materials?”

“That’s going to be the tricky part, Riil. All of the wood in Elantris is either broken or rotted.”

“That is a problem,” Riil acknowledged. “Perhaps if we dried out the wood, then mixed it with clay….”

“It isn’t an easy task, Riil, Maare,” Raoden said.

“We’ll give it our best try, my lord,” Maare assured him.

“Good,” Raoden said with an approving nod. His bearing, coupled with their insecurity, made them quick to listen. It wasn’t loyalty, not yet. Hopefully, time would gain him their trust as well as their words.

“Now, Mareshe,” Raoden continued, “please explain to our new friends about what it means to be an Elantrian. I don’t want Riil falling off the top of a building before he realizes breaking his neck won’t necessarily mean an end to the pain.”

“Yes, my lord,” Mareshe said, eyeing the newcomers’ food, which was sitting on a relatively clean section of the floor. The hunger was affecting him already.

Raoden carefully chose a few items from offerings, then nodded to the rest. “Divide this up amongst yourselves and eat it. Saving it won’t do any good—the hunger is going to start immediately, and you might as well get this down before it has time to make you greedy.”

The four nodded, and Mareshe began to explain the limitations of life in Elantris as he divided the food. Raoden watched for a moment, then turned away to think.

“Sule, my hama would love you. She always complained that I don’t get enough exercise.” Raoden looked up as Galladon strode into the room.

“Welcome back, my friend,” Raoden said with a smile. “I was beginning to worry.”

Galladon snorted. “I didn’t see you worrying when you shoved me out into that courtyard. Seen worms on hooks treated more kindly. Kolo?”

“Ah, but you made such fantastic bait,” Raoden said. “Besides, it worked. We got the newcomers, and you appear remarkably bruise-free.”

“A state of being that is most likely a source of grand displeasure to Shaor’s dogs.”