Elantris

  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.”

  “Sule,” Galladon said instantly, “tell me what you’re thinking.”

  “The timing is wrong, Galladon,” Raoden explained. “Our people are just starting to get a sense of independence; they’re beginning focus on the future and forget their pain. If someone hands them food now, they’ll forget everything else. For a short time they’ll be fed, but Widow’s Trials only last a few weeks. After that, it will be back to the pain, the hunger, and the self-pity. My princess out there could destroy everything we’ve been working for.”

  “You’re right,” Galladon realized. “I’d almost forgotten how hungry I was until I saw that food.”

  Raoden groaned.

  “What?”

  “What happens when Shaor hears about this? Her men will attack that cart like a pack of wolves. There’s no telling what kind of damage it would do if one of them killed a count or a baron. My father only suffers Elantris because he doesn’t have to think about it. If an Elantrian kills one of his nobles, however, he could very well decide to exterminate the lot of us.”

  People were appearing in the alleys around the courtyard. None appeared to be Shaor’s men; they were the tired, wretched forms of those Elantrians who still lived on their own, wandering through the city like shades. More and more of them had been joining with Raoden—but now, with free food available, he would never get the rest of them. They would continue without thought or purpose, lost in their pain and damnation.

  “Oh, my lovely princess,” Raoden whispered. “You probably mean well, but handing these people food is the worst thing you could do to them.”
br />   Mareshe waited at the bottom of the stairs. “Did you see her?” he asked anxiously.

  “We did,” Raoden said.

  “What does she want?”

  Before Raoden could reply, a firm, feminine voice called out of the courtyard. “I would speak with the tyrants of this city—the ones who call themselves Aanden, Karata, and Shaor. Present yourselves to me.”

  “Where …?” Raoden asked with surprise.

  “Remarkably well informed, isn’t she,” Mareshe noted.

  “A little outdated, though,” Galladon added.

  Raoden ground his teeth, thinking quickly. “Mareshe, send a runner for Karata. Tell her to meet us at the university.”

  “Yes, my lord,” the man said, waving over a messenger boy.

  “Oh,” Raoden said, “and have Saolin bring half of his soldiers and meet us there. He’s going to need to keep an eye on Shaor’s men.”

  “I could go fetch them myself, if my lord wishes,” offered Mareshe, ever watchful for a chance to impress.

  “No,” Raoden said. “You have to practice being Aanden.”

  CHAPTER 23

  Eondel and Shuden both insisted on going with her. Eondel kept one hand on his sword—he usually wore the weapon no matter what Arelish propriety said about them—and he watched both their guide and their complement of Elantris City Guards with equal amounts of suspicion. For their parts, the guards did a fair job of looking nonchalant, as if coming into Elantris were an everyday occurrence. Sarene could sense their anxiety, however.

  Everyone had objected at first. It was unthinkable that she let herself be lured into the bowels of Elantris to meet with despots. Sarene, however, was determined to prove that the city was harmless. She couldn’t very well balk at a short trip inside if she wanted to persuade the other nobles to enter the gates.

  “We’re nearly there,” the guide said. He was a taller man, about the same height as Sarene in heels. The gray parts of his skin were a little lighter than those on the other Elantrians she had seen, though she didn’t know if that meant he had been pale-skinned before, or if he had simply been in Elantris a shorter time than the rest. He had an oval face that might have been handsome before the Shaod destroyed it. He wasn’t a servant; he walked with too proud a gait. Sarene guessed that even though he was acting as a simple messenger, he was one of the trusted minions of an Elantris gang leader.

  “What is your name?” she asked, careful to keep her tone neutral. He belonged to one of three groups who, according to Ashe’s sources, ruled the city like warlords and enslaved those who were newly cast inside.

  The man didn’t respond immediately. “They call me Spirit,” he eventually said.

  A fitting name, Sarene thought, for this man who is so much a ghost of what he once must have been.

  They approached a large building that the man, Spirit, informed her used to be Elantris’s university. Sarene regarded the building with a critical eye. It was covered with the same odd, brownish green sludge that coated the rest of the city, and while the structure might have once been great, now it was just another ruin. Sarene hesitated as their guide walked into the building. In Sarene’s estimation, the upper floor was seriously considering a collapse.

  She shot Eondel a look. The older man was apprehensive, rubbing his chin in thought. Then he shrugged, giving Sarene a nod. We’ve come this far … he seemed to be saying.

  So, trying not to think about the sagging ceiling, Sarene led her band of friends and soldiers into the structure. Fortunately, they didn’t have to go far. A group of Elantrians stood near the back of the first room, their dark-skinned faces barely visible in the dim light. Two stood on what appeared to be the rubble of a fallen table, raising their heads a few feet above the others.

  “Aanden?” Sarene asked.

  “And Karata,” replied the second form—apparently a woman, though her bald head and wrinkled face were virtually indistinguishable from those of a man. “What do you want of us?”

  “I was led to believe you two were enemies,” Sarene said suspiciously.

  “We recently realized the benefits of an alliance,” Aanden said. He was a short man with cautious eyes, his small face shriveled like that of a rodent. His pompous self-important attitude was about what Sarene had expected.

  “And the man known as Shaor?” Sarene asked.

  Karata smiled. “One of the aforementioned benefits.”

  “Dead?”

  Aanden nodded. “We rule Elantris now, Princess. What do you want?”

  Sarene didn’t answer immediately. She had been planning to play the three different gang leaders against each other. She would have to present herself differently to a unified enemy. “I want to bribe you,” she said straightforwardly.

  The woman raised an eyebrow with interest, but the small man huffed. “What need have we of your bribes, woman?”

  Sarene had played this game far too often; Aanden used the uninterested front of a man unaccustomed to serious politics. She had met men like him dozens of times while serving in her father’s diplomatic corps—and she was very tired of them.

  “Look,” Sarene said, “let’s be frank—you’re obviously not very good at this, and so extended negotiations would be a waste of time. I want to bring food to the people of Elantris, and you’re going to resist me because you think it will weaken your hold on them. Right now you’re probably trying to figure out how to control who benefits from my offerings and who doesn’t.”

  The man squirmed uncomfortably, and Sarene smiled. “That is why I am going to bribe you. What will it take for you to let the people come and get food freely?”

  Aanden balked, obviously uncertain how to proceed. The woman, however, spoke firmly. “You have a scribe to write down our demands?”

  “I do,” Sarene said, gesturing for Shuden to pull out his paper and charcoalpen.

  The list was extensive—even larger than Sarene had expected—and it included many odd items. She had assumed they would request weapons, perhaps even gold. Karata’s demands, however, began with cloth, moved through various grains, some worked-metal sheets, lengths of wood, straw, and ended with oil. The message was clear: Rule of Elantris depended not on force or wealth, but on controlling basic necessities.

  Sarene agreed to the demands curtly. If she had been dealing with Aanden only, she would have argued for less, but this Karata was a straightforward, unwavering woman—the type who didn’t have much patience for haggling.

  “Is that everything?” Sarene asked as Shuden scribbled down the final request.

  “That will do for the first few days,” Karata said.

  Sarene narrowed her eyes. “Fine. But I have one rule you have to follow. You can’t forbid anyone from coming to the courtyard. Rule as despots if you wish, but at least let the people suffer with full stomachs.”

  “You have my word,” Karata said. “I will keep no one back.”

  Sarene nodded, motioning that the meeting was finished. Karata assigned a guide to lead them back to the gate—not Spirit, this time. He stayed behind, approaching the city’s two tyrants as Sarene left the building.

  “Was that good enough, my lord?” Mareshe asked eagerly.

  “Mareshe, that was perfect,” Raoden replied, watching the retreating princess with satisfaction.

  Mareshe smiled modestly. “Well, my lord, I do my best. I haven’t much experience with acting, but I do think I played a properly decisive and intimidating leader.”

  Raoden caught Karata’s eye. The gruff woman was trying very hard not to laugh. The pompous artisan had been perfect—neither decisive or intimidating. People outside Elantris saw the city as a lawless realm lorded over by harsh, thieving despots. Together Mareshe and Karata had portrayed exactly what the princess and her companions had expected to see.

  “She suspected something, sule,” Galladon noted, walking out of the shadows at the side of the room.

  “Yes, but she doesn’t know what,” Raoden said. “Let her suspect
that ‘Aanden’ and Karata are playing tricks on her; it will do no harm.”

  Galladon shook his head slightly, his bald head shining in the dim light. “What’s the point? Why not bring her to the chapel; let her see what we really are?”

  “I’d like to, Galladon,” Raoden said. “But we can’t afford to let out our secret. The people of Arelon tolerate Elantris because the Elantrians are so pitiful. If they discover we’re establishing a civilized society, their fears will surface. A mass of moaning wretches is one thing, a legion of unkillable monstrosities is another.”

  Karata nodded, saying nothing. Galladon, the eternal skeptic, simply shook his head—as if unsure what to think.

  “Well, she certainly is determined. Kolo?” he finally asked, referring to Sarene.

  “Determined indeed,” Raoden agreed. Then, with amusement, he continued, “And I don’t think she likes me very much.”

  “She thinks you’re the lackey of a tyrant,” Karata pointed out. “Is she supposed to like you?”

  “True,” Raoden said. “However, I think we should add a clause to our agreement that says I can attend all of her distributions. I want to keep an eye on our benevolent princess—she doesn’t strike me as the type to do anything without several motives, and I wonder just what made her decide to do her Trial here in Elantris.”

  “That went well,” Eondel said, watching their guide disappear back into Elantris.

  “You got away easily,” Shuden agreed. “The things they demanded can be obtained without much expenditure.”

  Sarene nodded slightly, rubbing her fingers along the cart’s wooden side. “I just hate to deal with people like that.”