Raoden shook his head. While his troop was growing, most of his followers were physically weak. Shaor’s men, however, were frighteningly strong—and every one of them was a warrior. Their rage gave them strength, and Raoden’s followers couldn’t stand against them for much longer.
Raoden had to find Shaor. If only he could speak with the man, he was sure they could find a compromise. It was said that Shaor himself never went on the raids. Everyone referred to the band as “Shaor’s men,” but no one could ever remember seeing Shaor himself. It was entirely possible that he was just another maniac, indistinguishable from the rest. It was also possible that the man Shaor had joined the Hoed long ago, and the group continued without leadership.
Still, something told him that Shaor was alive. Or, perhaps Raoden simply wanted to believe so. He needed an adversary he could face; the madmen were too scattered to be efficiently defeated, and they outnumbered Raoden’s soldiers by a significant number. Unless Shaor existed, unless Shaor could be swayed, and unless Shaor could control his men, Raoden’s band was in serious trouble.
“We’re close now,” Galladon whispered as they approached one final street. There was movement to one side, and they waited apprehensively until it appeared to have passed on.
“The bank,” Galladon said, nodding to a large structure across the street. It was large and boxy, its walls dark beyond even what the slime normally produced. “The Elantrians maintained the place for the local merchants to keep their wealth. A bank inside Elantris was seen as far more secure than one in Kae.”
Raoden nodded. Some merchants, like his father, hadn’t trusted the Elantrians. Their insistence on storing their fortunes outside of the city had eventually proven wise. “You think Shaor’s in there?” he asked.
Galladon shrugged. “If I were going to choose a base, this would be it. Large, defensible, imposing. Perfect for a warlord.”
Raoden nodded. “Let’s go, then.”
The bank was definitely occupied. The slime around the front door was scuffed by the frequent passing of feet, and they could hear voices coming from the back of the structure. Galladon looked at Raoden inquiringly, and Raoden nodded. They went in.
The inside was as drab as the outside—dull and stale, even for fallen Elantris. The vault door—a large circle etched with a thick Aon Edo—was open, and the voices came from inside. Raoden took a deep breath, ready to confront the last of the gang leaders.
“Bring me food!” wailed a high-pitched voice.
Raoden froze. He craned his neck to the side, peeking into the vault, then recoiled with surprise. At the back of the chamber, sitting on a pile of what appeared to be gold bars, was a young girl in a pristine, unsoiled pink dress. She had long Aonic blond hair, but her skin was black and gray like that of any other Elantrian. Eight men in ragged clothing knelt before her, their arms spread out in adoration.
“Bring me food!” the girl repeated in a demanding voice.
“Well, behead me and see me in Doloken,” Galladon swore behind him. “What is that?”
“Shaor,” Raoden said with amazement. Then his eyes refocused, and he realized that the girl was staring at him.
“Kill them!” Shaor screamed.
“Idos Domi!” Raoden yelped, spinning around and dashing toward the door.
_______
“If you weren’t dead already, sule, I’d kill you,” Galladon said.
Raoden nodded, leaning tiredly against a wall. He was getting weaker. Galladon had warned him it would happen—an Elantrian’s muscles atrophied the most near the end of his first month. Exercise couldn’t stop it. Even though the mind still worked and the flesh did not decay, the body was convinced that it was dead.
The old tricks worked the best—they had eventually lost Shaor’s men by climbing up the side of a broken wall and hiding on a rooftop. The madmen might act like hounds, but they certainly hadn’t acquired a dog’s sense of smell. They had passed by Raoden and Galladon’s hiding place a half-dozen times, and never thought to look up. The men were passionate, but they weren’t very intelligent.
“Shaor is a little girl,” Raoden said, still shocked.
Galladon shrugged. “I don’t understand either, sule.”
“Oh, I understand it—I just can’t believe it. Didn’t you see them kneeling before her? That girl, Shaor, is their god—a living idol. They’ve regressed to a more primitive way of life, and have adopted a primitive religion as well.”
“Be careful, sule,” Galladon warned, “many people called Jesker a ‘primitive’ religion.”
“All right,” Raoden said, gesturing that they should begin moving again. “Perhaps I should have said ‘simplistic.’ They found something extraordinary—a child with long golden hair—and decided that it should be worshipped. They placed it on an altar, and it makes demands of them. The girl wants food, so they get it for her. Then, ostensibly, she blesses them.”
“What about that hair?”
“It’s a wig,” Raoden said. “I recognized her. She was the daughter of one of the most wealthy dukes in Arelon. She never grew hair, so her father had a wig made for her. I guess the priests didn’t think to take it off before throwing her in here.”
“When was she taken by the Shaod?”
“Over two years ago,” Raoden said. “Her father, Duke Telrii, tried to keep the matter quiet. He always claimed she had died of dionia, but there were a lot of rumors.”
“Apparently all true.”
“Apparently,” Raoden said with a shake of his head. “I only met her a few times. I can’t even recall her name—it was based on Aon Soi, Soine or something like that—I only remember that she was the most spoiled, insufferable child I’d ever met.”
“Probably makes a perfect goddess then,” Galladon said with a sarcastic grimace.
“Well, you were right about one thing,” Raoden said. “Speaking with Shaor isn’t going to work. She was unreasonable on the outside; she’s probably ten times worse now. All she knows is that she’s very hungry, and those men bring her food.”
“Good evening, my lord,” a sentry said as they rounded a corner and approached
their section of Elantris—or New Elantris, as the people were starting to call it. The sentry, a stout younger man named Dion, stood up tall as Raoden approached, a makeshift spear held firmly at his side. “Captain Saolin was quite disturbed by your disappearance.”
Raoden nodded. “I’ll be sure to apologize, Dion.”
Raoden and Galladon pulled off their shoes and placed them along the wall next to several other dirty pairs, then put on the clean ones they had left behind. Also present was a bucket of water, which they used to wash off as much of the slime as they could manage. Their clothing was still dirty, but there was nothing else they could do; cloth was rare, despite the numerous scavenging parties Raoden had organized.
It was amazing how much they found. True, most of it was rusted or rotting, but Elantris was enormous. With a little organization—and some motivation—they had discovered a great number of useful items, from metal spearheads to furniture that could still hold weight.
With Saolin’s help, Raoden had sectioned off a marginally defensible section of town to be New Elantris. Only eleven streets led into the area, and there was even a small wall—the original purpose of which baffled them—running along about half of the perimeter. Raoden had placed sentries at the tip of every road to watch for approaching marauders.
The system kept them from being overwhelmed. Fortunately, Shaor’s men tended to attack in small bands. As long as Raoden’s guards could get enough warning, they could gather and defeat any one group. If Shaor ever organized a larger, multidirectional assault, however, the result would be disastrous. Raoden’s band of women, children, and weakened men just couldn’t stand against the feral creatures. Saolin had begun teaching simple combat techniques to those capable, but he could use only the safest and most elementary training methods, lest the combatants’ sparring wounds prove more dangerous than Shaor’s attacks.
The people, however, never expected the fighting to go that far. Raoden heard what they said about him. They assumed that “Lord Spirit” would somehow find a way to bring Shaor to their side, just as he had with Aanden and Karata.
Raoden began to feel sick as they walked toward the chapel, the mounting pains of his several dozen bruises and scrapes suddenly pressing against him with suffocating pressure. It was as if his body were encased in a blazing fire—his flesh, bones, and soul being consumed in the heat.
“I’ve failed them,” he said quietly.
Galladon shook his head. “We can’t always get what we want on the first try. Kolo? You’ll find a way—I would never have thought you’d get this far.”
I was lucky. A lucky fool
, Raoden thought as the pain pounded against him.
“Sule?” Galladon asked, suddenly looking at Raoden with concern. “Are you all right?”
Must be strong. They need me to be strong.
With an inner groan of defiance, Raoden pushed through the haze of agony and managed a weak smile. “I’m fine.”
“I’ve never seen you look like this, sule.”
Raoden shook his head, leaning up against the stone wall of a nearby building. “I’ll be all right—I was just wondering what we’re going to do about Shaor. We can’t reason with her, and we can’t defeat her men by force….”
“You’ll think of something,” Galladon said, his normal pessimism overridden by an obvious desire to encourage his friend.
Or we’ll all die
, Raoden thought, hands growing tense as they gripped the stone corner of the wall.
For good this time
.
With a sigh, Raoden pushed away from the wall, the stone crumbling beneath his fingers. He turned around and looked at the wall with surprise. Kahar had recently cleaned it, and its white marble glistened in the sun—except where Raoden’s fingers had crushed it.
“Stronger than you thought?” Galladon asked with a smirk.
Raoden raised his eyebrows, brushing at the broken stone. It crumbled away. “This stone is as soft as pumice!”
“Elantris,” Galladon said. “Things decay quickly here.”
“Yes, but marble?”
“Everything. People too.”
Raoden smacked the broken spot of stone with another rock; small flecks and chips cascaded to the ground at the impact. “It’s all connected somehow, Galladon. The Dor is linked to Elantris, just as it’s linked to Arelon itself.”
“But why would the Dor do this, sule?” Galladon asked with a shake of his head. “Why destroy the city?”
“Maybe it’s not the Dor,” Raoden said. “Maybe it’s the sudden
absence
of the Dor. The magic—the Dor—was a part of this city. Every stone burned with its own light. When that power was removed, the city was left hollow. Like the discarded shell of a small rivercrawler that has grown too big for its skin. The stones are empty.”
“How can a stone be empty?” Galladon said skeptically.
Raoden cracked off another piece of marble, crumbling it between his fingers. “Like this, my friend. The rock spent so long infused by the Dor that it was weakened irreparably by the Reod. This city really is a corpse—its spirit has fled.”
The discussion was interrupted by the approach of an exhausted Mareshe. “My lord Spirit!” he said urgently as he approached.
“What is it?” Raoden asked apprehensively. “Another attack?”
Mareshe shook his head, confusion in his eyes. “No. Something different, my lord. We don’t know what to make of it. We’re being invaded.”
“By whom?”
Mareshe half smiled, then shrugged. “We think she’s a princess.”
_______
Raoden crouched on the rooftop, Galladon at his side. The building had been transformed into an observation area to watch the gates for newcomers. From its vantage, he could get a very good look at what was happening in the courtyard.
A crowd had gathered atop the Elantris city wall. The gate stood open. That fact was amazing enough; normally, after newcomers were cast in, the gate was immediately pulled shut, as if the guards were frightened to let it rest open for even a moment.
However, in front of the open gate sat a sight even more dumbfounding. A large horse-drawn cart rested in the middle of the courtyard, a cluster of well-dressed men huddled at its side. Only one person looked unafraid of what she saw before her—a tall woman with long blond hair. She wore a smooth, full-bodied brown dress with a black scarf tied around her right arm, and she stood with her arm raised to one of the horses’ necks, patting the nervous beast. Her sharp face held a set of capable eyes, and she studied the dirty, slime-splattered courtyard with a calculating expression.
Raoden exhaled. “I only saw her through Seon,” he mumbled. “I didn’t realize she was so beautiful.”
“You recognize her, sule?” Galladon asked in surprise.
“I … think I’m married to her. That could only be Sarene, the daughter of King Eventeo of Teod.”
“What is she doing here?” Galladon asked.
“More importantly,” Raoden said, “what is she doing here with a dozen of Arelon’s most influential nobles? The older man near the back is Duke Roial—some say he’s the second-most-powerful man in the kingdom.”
Galladon nodded. “And I assume the young Jindo is Shuden, the Baron of Kaa Plantation?”
Raoden smiled. “I thought you were a simple farmer.”
“Shuden’s caravan route runs directly through the center of Duladel, sule. There isn’t a Dula alive who doesn’t know his name.”
“Ah,” Raoden said. “Counts Ahan and Eondel are there as well. What in Domi’s name is that woman planning?”
As if in response to Raoden’s question, Princess Sarene finished her contemplation of Elantris. She turned and walked to the back of the cart, shooing away apprehensive nobles with an intolerant hand. Then she reached up and whipped the cloth off the back of the cart, revealing its contents.
The cart was piled with food.
“Idos Domi!” Raoden cursed. “Galladon, we’re in trouble.”
Galladon regarded him with a frown. There was hunger in his eyes. “What in Doloken are you blabbering about, sule? That’s food, and my intuition tells me she’s going to give it to us. What could be wrong with that?”
“She must be doing her Widow’s Trial,” Raoden said. “Only a foreigner would think to come into Elantris.”