HRATHEN was hot within his bloodred armor, exposed as he was to the bright sunlight. He was consoled by how imposing he must look, standing atop the wall, his armor shining in the light. Of course, no one was looking at him—they were all watching the tall Teo princess distribute her food.
Her decision to enter Elantris had shocked the town, as had the king’s bestowal of permission. The walls of Elantris had filled early, nobles and merchants packing themselves along the open, wall-top walkway. They had come with faces like men watching a Svordish shark fight, leaning over the wall to get the best view of what many projected would be a thrilling disaster. It was commonly thought that the savages of Elantris would rip the princess apart within the first few minutes of her entrance, then proceed to devour her.
Hrathen watched with resignation as Elantris’s monsters came placidly, refusing to ingest even a single guard—let alone the princess. His demons refused to perform, and he could see the disappointment in the crowd’s faces. The princess’s move had been masterful, castrating Hrathen’s devils with one sweep of the brutal scythe known as truth. Now that Sarene’s personal aristocrats had proven their courage by entering Elantris, pride would force the others to do so as well. Hatred of Elantris would evaporate, for people couldn’t fear that which they pitied.
As soon as it became obvious that no princesses would be devoured this day, the people lost interest, returning down the wall’s long flight of steps in a steady, dissatisfied trickle. Hrathen joined them, climbing down the stairs, then turning toward the center of Kae and the Derethi chapel. As he walked, however, a carriage pulled up alongside him. Hrathen recognized the Aon on its side: Aon Rii.
The carriage pulled to a stop and the door opened. Hrathen climbed in, seating himself opposite Duke Telrii.
The duke was obviously not pleased. “I warned you about that woman. The people will never hate Elantris now—and if they don’t hate Elantris, they won’t hate Shu-Korath either.”
Hrathen waved his hand. “The girl’s efforts are irrelevant.”
“I don’t see how that is the case.”
“How long can she keep this up?” Hrathen asked. “A few weeks, a month at the most? Right now, her excursions are a novelty, but that will wear off soon. I doubt many of the nobility will be willing to accompany her in the future, even if she does try and keep these feedings going.”
“The damage is done,” Telrii said insistently.
“Hardly,” Hrathen said. “Lord Telrii, it has barely been a few weeks since I arrived in Arelon. Yes, the woman has dealt us a setback, but it will prove a minor inconvenience. You know, as I do, that the nobility are a fickle group. How long do you think it will take for them to forget their visits into Elantris?”
Telrii didn’t look convinced.
“Besides,” Hrathen said, trying another tactic, “my work with Elantris was only a small part of our plan. The instability of Iadon’s throne—the embarrassment he will sustain at the next taxing period—is what we should be focusing on.”
“The king recently found some new contracts in Teod,” Telrii said.
“They won’t be enough to recoup his losses,” Hrathen said dismissively. “His finances are crippled. The nobility will never stand for a king who insists that they maintain their level of wealth, but who doesn’t apply the same standard to himself.
“Soon we can begin spreading rumors as to the king’s reduced circumstances. Most of the high-ranking nobility are merchants themselves—they have means of discovering how their competitors are doing. They’ll find out just how much Iadon is hurting, and they’ll begin to complain.”
“Complaints won’t put me on the throne,” Telrii said.
“You’d be surprised,” Hrathen said. “Besides, at that same time we’ll begin implying that if you were to take the throne, you would bring Arelon a lucrative trade treaty with the East. I can provide you with the proper documents. There will be money enough for all—and that is something that Iadon hasn’t been able to provide. Your people know that this country is on the verge of financial ruin. Fjorden can bring you out of it.”
Telrii nodded slowly.
Yes, Telrii, Hrathen thought with an inward sigh, that’s something you can understand, isn’t it? If we can’t convert the nobility, we can always just buy them.
The tactic wasn’t as certain as Hrathen implied, but the explanation would do for Telrii while Hrathen devised other plans. Once it was known that the king was bankrupt and Telrii was rich, certain other … pressures placed on the government would make for an easy—if abrupt—transfer in power.
The princess had countered the wrong scheme. Iadon’s throne would collapse even as she handed out food to the Elantrians, thinking herself clever for having foiled Hrathen’s plot.
“I warn you, Hrathen,” Telrii said suddenly, “do not assume me a Derethi pawn. I go along with your plans because you were able to produce the wealth that you promised me. I won’t just sit back and be pushed in any direction you wish, however.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it, Your Lordship,” Hrathen said smoothly.
Telrii nodded, calling for the coachman to stop. They weren’t even halfway to the Derethi chapel.
“My mansion is that direction,” Telrii said airily, pointing down a side street. “You can walk the rest of the way to your chapel.”
Hrathen clenched his jaw. Someday this man would have to learn proper respect for Derethi officials. For now, however, Hrathen simply climbed out of the carriage.
Considering the company, he preferred walking anyway.
* * *
“I’VE NEVER SEEN this kind of response in Arelon,” one priest noted.
“Agreed,” said his companion. “I’ve been serving the empire in Kae for over a decade, and we’ve never had more than a few conversions a year.”
Hrathen passed the priests as he entered the Derethi chapel. They were minor underpriests, of little concern to him; he noticed them only because of Dilaf.
“It has been a long while,” Dilaf agreed. “Though I remember a time, just after the pirate Dreok Crushthroat assaulted Teod, when there was a wave of conversions in Arelon.”
Hrathen frowned. Something about Dilaf’s comment bothered him. He forced himself to continue walking, but he shot a glance back at the arteth. Dreok Crushthroat had attacked Teod fifteen years before. It was possible that Dilaf would remember such a thing from his childhood, but how would he have known about Arelene conversion rates?
The arteth had to be older than Hrathen had assumed. Much older. Hrathen’s eyes widened as he studied Dilaf’s face in his mind. He had placed Dilaf as no older than twenty-five, but he could now detect hints of age. Only hints, however—he was probably one of those rare individuals who seemed many years younger than they really were. The “young” Arelene priest feigned lack of experience, but his planning and scheming revealed an otherwise hidden degree of maturity. Dilaf was far more seasoned than he led people to assume.
But what did that mean? Hrathen shook his head, pushing the door open and walking into his rooms. Dilaf’s power over the chapel was growing as Hrathen struggled to find an appropriate, and willing, new head arteth. Three more men had refused the position. That was more than just suspicious—Hrathen was certain that Dilaf had something to do with the matter.
He’s older than you assumed, Hrathen thought. He’s also had influence over Kae’s priests for a very long time.
Dilaf claimed that many of the original Derethi followers in Kae had originally come from his personal chapel in southern Arelon. How long had it been since he’d come to Kae? Fjon had been head arteth when Dilaf arrived, but Fjon’s leadership in the city had lasted a long time.
Dilaf had probably been in the city for years. He had probably been associating with the other priests—learning to influence them, gaining authority over them—that entire time. And given Dilaf’s ardor for Shu-Dereth, he had undoubtedly chosen the most conservative and effective of Kae’s arteths to be his associates.
And those were exactly the men Hrathen had let remain in the city when he’d first arrived. He’d sent away the less devoted men, and they would have been the ones that would have been insulted or alarmed by Dilaf’s extreme ardor. Unwittingly, Hrathen had culled the chapel’s numbers in Dilaf’s favor.
Hrathen sat down at his desk, this new revelation disturbing him. No wonder he was having trouble finding a new head arteth. Those who remained knew Dilaf well; they were probably either afraid to take a position above him, or they had been bribed by him to step aside.
He can’t have that kind of influence over them all, Hrathen thought firmly. I’ll just have to keep looking. One of the priests will take the position eventually.
Still, he was worried about Dilaf’s startling effectiveness. The arteth held two firm grips over Hrathen. First, Dilaf still had power over many of Hrathen’s strongest converts through his odiv oaths. Second, the arteth’s unofficial leadership of the chapel was growing more and more secure. Without a head arteth, and with Hrathen spending much of his time giving sermons or meeting with nobility, Dilaf had slowly been siphoning away power over the day-to-day workings of the Derethi church in Arelon.
Over it all, there was an even more disturbing problem—something Hrathen didn’t want to confront, something even more disarming than Sarene’s Trial or Dilaf’s maneuverings. Hrathen could face external forces such as theirs, and he could be victorious.
His internal wavering, however, was something entirely different.
He reached into his desk, seeking out a small book. He remembered unpacking it into the drawer, as he had during countless other moves. He hadn’t looked at it in years, but he had very few possessions, and so he had never found himself overburdened enough to discard the book.
Eventually he located it. He flipped through the aging pages, selecting the one he was looking for.
I have found purpose, the book read. Before, I lived, but I didn’t know why. I have direction now. It gives glory to all that I do. I serve in Lord Jaddeth’s empire, and my service is linked directly to Him. I am important.
Priests in the Derethi faith were trained to record spiritual experiences, but Hrathen had never been diligent in this particular area. His personal record contained only a few entries—including this one, which he had written a few weeks after his decision to join the priesthood many years before. Just before he entered Dakhor monastery.
What happened to your faith, Hrathen?
Omin’s questions plagued Hrathen’s thoughts. He heard the Korathi priest whispering in his mind, demanding to know what had happened to Hrathen’s beliefs, demanding to know the purpose behind his preaching. Had Hrathen become cynical, performing his duties simply because they were familiar? Had his preaching become a logical challenge and not a spiritual quest?
He knew, in part, that it had. He enjoyed the planning, the confrontation, and the thinking it took to convert an entire nation of heretics. Even with Dilaf distracting him, Hrathen found the challenge of Arelon invigorating.
But what of the boy Hrathen? What of the faith, the almost unthinking passion he had once felt? He could barely remember it. That part of his life had passed quickly, his faith transforming from a burning flame into a comfortable warmth.
Why did Hrathen want to succeed in Arelon? Was it for the notoriety? The man who converted Arelon would be long remembered in the annals of the Derethi church. Was it a desire to be obedient? He did, after all, have a direct order from Wyrn. Was it because he seriously thought conversion would help the people? He had determined to succeed in Arelon without a slaughter such as he had instigated in Duladel. But again, was it really because he wanted to save lives? Or was it because he knew that a smooth conquest was more difficult, and therefore more of a challenge?
His heart was as unclear to him as a room filled with smoke.
Dilaf was slowly seizing control. That in itself wasn’t as frightening as Hrathen’s own sense of foreboding. What if Dilaf was right to try and oust Hrathen? What if Arelon would be better off with Dilaf in control? Dilaf wouldn’t have worried about the death caused by a bloody revolution; he would have known that the people would eventually be better off under Shu-Dereth, even if their initial conversion required a massacre.
Dilaf had faith. Dilaf believed in what he was doing. What did Hrathen have?
He wasn’t certain anymore.