“THERE is no hope for the king, I’m afraid.” Hrathen folded his arms across his breastplate thoughtfully as he looked back at the throne room.
“Your Grace?” Dilaf asked.
“King Iadon,” Hrathen said. “I had hoped to save him—though I never really supposed that the nobility would follow me without a fight. They’re too entrenched in their ways. Perhaps if we had gotten to them right after the Reod. But then, we weren’t sure that whatever disease had taken the Elantrians wouldn’t affect us as well.”
“Jaddeth struck down the Elantrians,” Dilaf said fervently.
“Yes,” Hrathen said, not bothering to look down at the shorter man. “But ofttimes Jaddeth uses natural processes to bring about His will. A plague will kill Fjordell as well as Arelene.”
“Jaddeth would protect His chosen.”
“Of course,” Hrathen said distractedly, shooting one more dissatisfied glance down the hallway toward the throne room. He had made the offer out of duty, knowing that the easiest way to save Arelon would be to convert its ruler, but he had little confidence that Iadon would respond favorably. If only the king knew how much suffering he could forestall with a simple profession of faith.
It was too late now; Iadon had formally rejected Jaddeth. He must be made an example. However, Hrathen would need to be careful. Memories of the Duladen revolution were still stark in Hrathen’s mind—the death, blood, and chaos. Such a cataclysm had to be avoided. Hrathen was a stern man, and a determined one, but he was no lover of carnage.
But with only three months’ time, he might not have a choice. If he was going to succeed, he might have to incite a revolt. More death and more chaos—horrible things to throw upon a nation that still hadn’t recovered from its last violent revolution. However, Jaddeth’s empire would not sit still and wait because a few ignorant nobles refused to accept the truth.
“I suppose I expected too much of them,” Hrathen mumbled. “They are, after all, only Arelenes.”
Dilaf made no response to the comment.
“I noticed someone odd in the throne room, Arteth,” Hrathen said as they turned and walked out of the palace, passing both sculpture and servant without so much as a glance. “Perhaps you can help me identify her. She was Aonic, but she was taller than most Arelenes, and her hair was much lighter than the average Arelene brown. She looked out of place.”
“What was she wearing, Your Holiness?” Dilaf asked.
“Black. All black with a yellow sash.”
“The new princess, Your Grace,” Dilaf hissed, his voice suddenly hateful.
“New princess?”
“She arrived yesterday, the same as yourself. She was to be married to Iadon’s son Raoden.”
Hrathen nodded. He hadn’t attended the prince’s funeral, but he had heard of the event. He hadn’t known, however, of the impending marriage. The betrothal must have occurred recently. “She’s still here,” he asked, “even though the prince died?”
Dilaf nodded. “Unfortunately for her, the royal engagement contract made her his wife the moment he died.”
“Ah,” Hrathen said. “Where is she from?”
“Teod, Your Grace,” Dilaf said.
Hrathen nodded, understanding the hatred in Dilaf’s voice. Arelon, despite the blasphemous city of Elantris, at least showed some possibility for redemption. Teod, however, was the homeland of Shu-Korath—a degenerate sect of Shu-Keseg, the parent religion of Shu-Dereth. The day Teod fell beneath Fjorden’s glory would be a joyous day indeed.
“A Teo princess could be a problem,” Hrathen mused.
“Nothing can hinder Jaddeth’s empire.”
“If nothing could hinder it, Arteth, then it would already encompass the entire planet. Jaddeth takes pleasure in allowing His servants to serve His empire, and grants us glory in bending the foolish before our will. And of all the fools in the world, Teo fools are the most dangerous.”
“How could one woman be a danger to you, Your Holiness?”
“Well, for one thing, her marriage means that Teod and Arelon have a formal blood bond. If we aren’t careful, we’ll have to fight them both at once. A man is more likely to think himself a hero when he has an ally to support him.”
“I understand, Your Grace.”
Hrathen nodded, sweeping out into the sunlight. “Pay attention, Arteth, and I will teach you a very important lesson—one that few people know, and even fewer can properly use.”
“What lesson is that?” Dilaf asked, following close behind.
Hrathen smiled slightly. “I will show you the way to destroy a nation—the means by which the man of Jaddeth can topple kingdoms and seize control of the people’s souls.”
“I am … eager to learn, Your Grace.”
“Good,” Hrathen said, looking across Kae at the enormous wall of Elantris. It rose above the city like a mountain. “Take me up there. I wish to view the fallen lords of Arelon.”
* * *
WHEN HRATHEN HAD first arrived at the outer city of Kae, he had noted how indefensible it was. Now, standing atop the wall of Elantris, Hrathen could see that he had underestimated how pathetic Kae’s fortifications were. Beautiful, terraced steps ran up the exterior of Elantris’s wall, providing outside access to the top. They were firm, stone constructions; it would be impossible to destroy them in an emergency. If Kae’s inhabitants retreated into Elantris, they would be trapped, not protected.
There were no archers. The Elantris City Guard members carried large, unwieldy spears that looked like they were far too heavy to be thrown. They held themselves with a proud air, wearing unarmored yellow-and-brown uniforms, and they obviously considered themselves far above the regular city militia. From what Hrathen had heard, however, the Guard wasn’t even really necessary to keep the Elantrians in. The creatures rarely tried to escape, and the city wall was far too large for the Guard to patrol extensively. The force was more of a public relations operation than a true military; the people of Kae felt much more comfortable living beside Elantris when they knew a troop of soldiers watched the city. However, Hrathen suspected that in a war, the Guard members would be hard-pressed to defend themselves, let alone protect Kae’s population.
Arelon was a ripe jewel waiting to be pillaged. Hrathen had heard of the days of chaos directly following Elantris’s fall, and of the invaluable treasures that had been plundered from the magnificent city. Those riches were now concentrated in Kae, where the new nobility lived practically unguarded. He had also heard that, despite the thievery, a large percentage of Elantris’s wealth—pieces of art too large to move easily, or smaller items that hadn’t been plundered before Iadon began enforcing the city’s isolation—remained locked within Elantris’s forbidden walls.
Only superstition and inaccessibility kept Elantris and Kae from being raped by invaders. The smaller thieving bands were still too frightened of Elantris’s reputation. The larger bands were either under Fjordell control—and therefore wouldn’t attack unless instructed to do so—or had been bribed by Kae’s nobles to stay away. Both situations were temporary by nature.
And that was the basic reason Hrathen felt justified in taking extreme action to bring Arelon under Fjorden’s influece—and protection. The nation was an egg balanced on the peak of a mountain, just waiting for the first breeze to plunge it to the hard ground below. If Fjorden didn’t conquer Arelon soon, then the kingdom would certainly collapse beneath the weight of a dozen different problems. Beyond inept leadership, Arelon suffered from an overtaxed working class, religious uncertainty, and dwindling resources. All of these factors competed to deliver the final blow.
His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of harsh breathing behind him. Dilaf stood on the other side of the wall walk, looking out over Elantris. His eyes were wide, like those of a man who had been punched in the stomach, and his teeth were clenched. Hrathen half expected him to start frothing at the mouth.
“I hate them,” Dilaf whispered in a harsh, almost unintelligible voice.
Hrathen crossed the wall walk to stand beside Dilaf. Since the wall had not been constructed for military purposes, there were no battlements, but both sides had raised parapets for safety. Hrathen rested against one of these, looking out to study Elantris.
There wasn’t much to see; he’d been in slums more promising than Elantris. The buildings were so decayed that it was a miracle any of them still had roofs, and the stench was revolting. He doubted anything could possibly be alive in the city, but then he saw some forms running furtively along the side of a building. They were crouched with their hands outstretched, as if prepared to fall on all fours. One paused, looking up, and Hrathen saw his first Elantrian.
It was bald, and initially Hrathen thought its skin was dark, like that of a member of the JinDo noble caste. However, he could see splotches of light grey on the creature’s skin as well—great uneven pale masses, like lichen on a stone. He squinted, leaning forward against the parapet. He couldn’t make out the Elantrian’s eyes, but somehow Hrathen knew they would be wild and feral, darting around like those of an anxious animal.
The creature took off with its companions—its pack. So this is what the Reod did, Hrathen mused to himself. It made beasts out of gods. Jaddeth had simply taken what was in their hearts and showed it for the world to see. According to Derethi philosophy, the only thing that separated men from the animals was religion. Men could serve Jaddeth’s empire; beasts could serve only their lusts. The Elantrians represented the ultimate flaw of human arrogance: They had set themselves up as gods. Their hubris had earned them their fate. In another situation, Hrathen would have been content in leaving them to their punishment.
However, he happened to need them.
Hrathen turned to Dilaf. “The first step in taking control of a nation, Arteth, is the simplest. You find someone to hate.”
* * *
“TELL ME OF them, Arteth,” Hrathen requested, entering his room inside the chapel. “I want to know everything you know.”
“They are foul, loathsome creatures,” Dilaf hissed, entering behind Hrathen. “Thinking of them makes my heart grow sick and my mind feel tainted. I pray every day for their destruction.”
Hrathen closed the door to his chambers, dissatisfied. It was possible for a man to be too passionate. “Arteth, I understand you have strong feelings,” Hrathen said sternly, “but if you are to be my odiv you will need to see through your prejudices. Jaddeth has placed these Elantrians before us with a purpose in mind, and I cannot discover that purpose if you refuse to tell me anything useful.”
Dilaf blinked, taken aback. Then, for the first time since their visit to Elantris, a level of sanity returned to his eyes. “Yes, Your Grace.”
Hrathen nodded. “Did you see Elantris before its fall?”
“Yes.”
“Was it as beautiful as people say?”
Dilaf nodded sullenly. “Pristine, kept white by the hands of slaves.”
“Slaves?”
“All of Arelon’s people were slaves to the Elantrians, Your Grace. They were false gods, giving promises of salvation in exchange for sweat and labor.”
“And their legendary powers?”
“Lies, like their supposed divinity. A carefully crafted hoax to earn them respect and fear.”
“Following the Reod, there was chaos, correct?”
“Chaos, killing, riots, and panic, Your Grace. Then the merchants seized power.”
“And the Elantrians?” Hrathen asked, walking over to take a seat at his desk.
“There were few left,” Dilaf said. “Most had been killed in the riots. Those remaining were confined to Elantris, as were all men that the Shaod took from that day forward. They looked much as you just saw them, wretched and subhuman. Their skin was patched with black scars, like someone had pulled away the flesh and revealed the darkness underneath.”
“And the transformations? Did they abate at all after the Reod?” Hrathen asked.
“They continue, Your Grace. They happen all across Arelon.”
“Why do you hate them so, Arteth?”
The question came suddenly, and Dilaf paused before answering, “Because they are unholy.”
“And?”
“They lied to us, Your Grace. They made promises of eternity, but they couldn’t even maintain their own divinity. We listened to them for centuries, and were rewarded with a group of impotent, vile cripples.”
“You hate them because they disappointed you,” Hrathen said.
“Not me, my people. I was a follower of Shu-Dereth years before the Reod.”
Hrathen frowned. “Then you are convinced that there is nothing supernatural about the Elantrians other than the fact that Jaddeth has cursed them?”
“Yes, Your Grace. As I said, the Elantrians created many falsehoods to reinforce their divinity.”
Hrathen shook his head, then stood and began to remove his armor. Dilaf moved to help, but Hrathen waved the arteth away. “How then do you explain the sudden transformation of ordinary people into Elantrians, Arteth?”
Dilaf didn’t have a response.
“Hate has weakened your ability to see, Arteth,” Hrathen said, hanging his breastplate on the wall beside his desk and smiling. He had just experienced a flash of brilliance; a portion of his plan suddenly fit into place. “You assume because Jaddeth did not give them powers, they did not have any.”
Dilaf’s face grew pale. “What you say is—”
“Not blasphemy, Arteth. Doctrine. There is another supernatural force besides our God.”
“The Svrakiss,” Dilaf said quietly.
“Yes.” Svrakiss. The souls of the dead men who hated Jaddeth, the opponents to all that was holy. According to Shu-Dereth, there was nothing more bitter than a soul who had had its chance and thrown it away.
“You think the Elantrians are Svrakiss?” Dilaf asked.
“It is accepted doctrine that the Svrakiss can control the bodies of the evil,” Hrathen said, unbuckling his greaves. “Is it so hard to believe that all this time they have been controlling bodies of the Elantrians, making them appear as gods to fool the simpleminded and unspiritual?”
There was a light in Dilaf’s eyes; the concept was not new to the arteth, Hrathen realized. Suddenly his flash of inspiration didn’t seem quite so brilliant.
Dilaf regarded Hrathen for a moment, then spoke. “You don’t really believe it, do you?” he asked, his voice uncomfortably accusatory for one speaking to his hroden.
Hrathen was careful not to let discomfort show. “It doesn’t matter, Arteth. The connection is logical; people will follow it. Right now all they see are the abject remnants of what were once aristocrats—men do not loathe such, they pity them. Demons, however, are something everyone can hate. If we denounce the Elantrians as devils, then we will have success. You already hate the Elantrians; that is fine. To make others join you, however, you’ll have to give them more of a reason than ‘they disappointed us.’”
“Yes, Your Grace.”
“We are religious men, Arteth, and we must have religious enemies. The Elantrians are our Svrakiss, no matter if they possess the souls of evil men long dead or evil men now living.”
“Of course, Your Holiness. We will destroy them then?” There was eagerness in Dilaf’s face.
“Eventually. Right now, we will use them. You will find that hate can unify people more quickly and more fervently than devotion ever could.”