RAODEN inched forward, slowly peeking around the corner. He should have been sweating—in fact, he kept reaching up to wipe his brow, though the motion did nothing but spread black Elantris grime across his forehead. His knees trembled as he huddled against the decaying wooden fence, anxiously searching the cross street for danger.
“Sule, behind you!”
Raoden turned, startled by Galladon’s warning, and slid on the slimy paving stones, slipping to the ground. The fall saved him. As he grappled for purchase, Raoden felt something whoosh through the air above him. The leaping madman howled in frustration as he missed and smashed through the fence, rotten wood chips spraying into the air.
Raoden stumbled to his feet. The madman moved far more quickly. Bald and nearly naked, the man howled as he ripped his way through the rest of the fence, growling and tearing at the wood like a mad hound.
Galladon’s board smacked the man directly in the face. Then, while the man was stunned, Galladon grabbed a paving stone and smashed it against the side of the man’s head. The madman collapsed and did not rise.
Galladon straightened. “They’re getting stronger somehow, sule,” he said, dropping his paving stone. “They seem almost oblivious to pain. Kolo?”
Raoden nodded, calming his nerves. “They haven’t been able to capture a newcomer in weeks. They’re getting desperate, falling more and more into their bestial state. I’ve heard of warriors who grow so enraged during combat that they ignore even mortal wounds.” Raoden paused as Galladon poked at the attacker’s body with a stick to make sure he wasn’t feigning.
“Maybe they’ve found the final secret to stopping the pain,” Raoden said quietly.
“All they have to do is surrender their humanity,” Galladon said, shaking his head as they continued to sneak through what had been the Elantris market. They passed piles of rusted metal and crushed ceramics etched with Aons. Once these scraps had produced wondrous effects, their powerful magics demanding unparalleled prices. Now they were little more than obstacles for Raoden to avoid, lest they crunch noisily beneath his feet.
“We should have brought Saolin,” Galladon said quietly.
Raoden shook his head. “Saolin is a wonderful soldier and a good man, but he’s completely lacking in stealth. Even I can hear him approaching. Besides, he would have insisted on bringing a group of his guards. He refuses to believe I can protect myself.”
Galladon glanced at the fallen madman, then back at Raoden with sardonic eyes. “Whatever you say, sule.”
Raoden smiled. “All right,” he admitted, “he might have been useful. However, his men would have insisted on pampering me. Honestly I thought I’d left that sort of thing behind in my father’s palace.”
“Men protect things they find important.” Galladon shrugged. “If you object, you shouldn’t have made yourself so irreplaceable. Kolo?”
“Point taken,” Raoden said with a sigh. “Come on.”
They fell quiet as they continued their infiltration. Galladon had protested for hours when Raoden had explained his plan to sneak in and confront Shaor. The Dula had called it foolhardy, pointless, dangerous, and just plain stupid. He hadn’t, however, been willing to let Raoden go alone.
Raoden knew the plan probably was foolhardy, pointless, and all the other things Galladon said. Shaor’s men would rip them apart without a second thought—probably without even a first thought, considering their mental state. However, during the last week, Shaor’s men had tried to capture the garden three times. Saolin’s guards were collecting more and more wounds while Shaor’s men seemed to be getting more feral and wild.
Raoden shook his head. While his group 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 cast an inquiring look at Raoden, 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. 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 blonde hair, but her skin was black and grey 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 she should be worshipped. They placed her on an altar, and she 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 some kind of permanent 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 remove it 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, shaking 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’s grimace was sarcastic.
“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 a small wall—the original purpose of which baffled them—running along about half of the perimeter. Raoden had placed sentries at every intersection 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 had 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 pushing 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.
Sighing, Raoden pushed away from the wall, and the stone crumbled beneath his fingers. Startled, he turned and regarded the wall. 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 marble is softer than soapstone!”
“Elantris,” Galladon said. “Things decay quickly here.”
“Yes, but stone?”
“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 blonde hair framing a sharp face. She wore a smooth, full-bodied brown dress with a black scarf tied around her right arm, which was raised to one of the horses’ necks, patting the nervous beast. She studied the dirty, slime-splattered courtyard with calculating eyes.
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 said. “Our people are just starting to get a sense of independence; they’re beginning to 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 said. “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 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 dear princess,” Raoden whispered. “You probably mean well, but handing these people food is the worst thing you could do to them.”
* * *
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 said, surprised.
“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.”