The gyorn's armor clinked as he climbed the steps, then peeked cautiously into the room. He motioned for Sarene to follow, then moved into the small kitchen at the back of the house. He began pulling off his armor, dropping its pieces to the floor. Though he gave no explanation. Sarene understood the action. The bloodred gyorn's armor was far too distinctive to be worth its protective value.
As he worked, Sarene was surprised at the apparent weight of the metal.
"You've been walking around all these months in real armor? Wasn't that difficult?"
"The burden of my calling," Hrathen said. pulling off his final greave. Its bloodred paint was now scratched and dented. "A calling I no longer deserve." He dropped it with a clank.
He looked at the greave, then shook his head, pulling off his bulky cotton underclothing, meant to cushion the armor. He stood bare-chested, wearing only a pair of thin, knee-length trousers and a long, sleevelike band of cloth around his right arm.
Why the covered arm? Sarene wondered. Some piece of Derethi priest's garb? Other questions were more pressing. however.
"Why did you do it. Hrathen?" she asked. "Why turn against your people?"
Hrathen paused. Then he looked away. "Dilaf 's actions are evil."
"But your faith . .
"My faith is in Jaddeth, a God who wants the devotion of men. A massacre does not serve Him."
"Wyrn seems to think differently."
Hrathen did not respond, instead selecting a cloak from a nearby chest. He handed it to her, then took another for himself. "Let us go."
¤ ¤ ¤
RAODEN 'S feet were so covered with bumps, lacerations, and scrapes that he no longer related to them as pieces of flesh. They were simply lumps of pain burning at the end of his legs.
But still he ran on. He knew that if he stopped, the pain would claim him once again. He wasn't truly free—his mind was on loan, returned from the void to perform a single task. When he was finished, the white nothingness would suck him down into its oblivion again.
He stumbled toward the city of Kae, feeling as much as seeing his way.
¤ ¤ ¤
LUKEL lay dazed as Jalla pulled him back toward the mass of terrified townspeople. His leg throbbed, and he could feel his body weakening as blood spilled from the long gash. His wife bound it as best she could, but Lukel knew that the action was pointless. Even if she did manage to stop the bleeding, the soldiers were only going to kill them in a few moments anyway.
He watched in despair as one of the bare-chested warriors tossed a torch onto the pile of Elantrians. The oil-soaked bodies burst into flames.
The demon-man nodded to several soldiers, who pulled out their weapons and grimly advanced on the huddled townspeople.
¤ ¤ ¤
"WHAT is he doing?" Karata demanded as they reached the bottom of the slope. Raoden was still ahead of them, running in an unsteady gait toward Kae's short border wall.
"I don't know," Galladon said. Ahead, Raoden grabbed a long stick from the ground, then he started to run, dragging the length of wood behind him.
What are you up to, sule?Galladon wondered. Yet he could feel stubborn hope rising again. "Whatever it is, Karata, it is important. We must see that he finishes." He ran after Raoden, following the prince along his path.
After a few minutes, Karata pointed ahead of them. "There!" A squad of six Fjordell guards, probably searching the city for stragglers, walked along the inside of Kae's border wall. The lead soldier noticed Raoden and raised a hand.
"Come on," Galladon said, dashing after Raoden with sudden strength. "No matter what else happens, Karata, don't let them stop him!"
¤ ¤ ¤
RAODEN barely heard the men approaching. and he only briefly recognized Galladon and Karata running up behind him, desperately throwing themselves at the soldiers. His friends were unarmed; a voice in the back of his head warned that they would not be able to win him much time.
Raoden continued to run, the stick held in rigid fingers. He wasn't sure how he knew he was in the right place, but he did. He felt it.
Only a little farther. Only a little farther.
A hand grabbed him; a voice yelled at him in Fjordell. Raoden tripped, falling to the ground—but he kept the stick steady, not letting it slip even an inch. A moment later there was a grunt, and the hand released him.
Only a little farther!
Men battled around him, Galladon and Karata keeping the soldiers' attention. Raoden let out a primal sob of frustration, crawling like a child as he dug his line in the ground. Boots slammed into the earth next to Raoden's hand, coming within inches of crushing his fingers. Still he kept moving.
He looked up as he neared the end. A soldier finished the swing that separated Karata's beleaguered head from her body. Galladon fell with a pair of swords in his stomach. A soldier pointed at Raoden.
Raoden gritted his teeth. and finished his line in the dirt.
Galladon's large bulk crashed to the ground. Karata's head knocked against the short stone wall. The soldier took a step.
Light exploded from the ground.
It burst from the dirt like a silver river, spraying into the air along the line
Raoden had drawn. The light enveloped him—but it was more than just light. It was essential purity. Power refined. The Dor. It washed over him, covering him like a warm liquid.
And for the first time in two months, the pain went away.
¤ ¤ ¤
THE light continued along Raoden's line, which connected to Kae's short border wall. It followed the wall, spurting from the ground. continuing in a circle until it completely surrounded Kae. It didn't stop. The power shot up the short road between Kae and Elantris, spreading to coat the great city's wall as well. From Elantris it moved to the other three outer cities, their rubble all but forgotten in the ten years since the Reod. Soon all five cities were outlined with light—five resplendent pillars of energy.
The city complex was an enormous Aon—a focus for Elantrian power. All it had needed was the Chasm line to make it begin working again.
One square. four circles. Aon Rao. The Spirit of Elantris.
¤ ¤ ¤
RAODEN stood in the torrent of light, his clothing fluttering in its unique power. He felt his strength return, his pains evaporate like unimportant memories, and his wounds heal. He didn't need to look to know that soft white hair had grown from his scalp, that his skin had discarded its sickly taint in favor of a delicate silver sheen.
Then he experienced the most joyful event of all. Like a thundering drum, his heart began to beat in his chest. The Shaod, the Transformation, had finally completed its work.
With a sigh of regret, Raoden stepped from the light, emerging into the world as a metamorphosed creature. Galladon, stunned, rose from the ground a few feet away, his skin a dark metallic silver.
The terrified soldiers stumbled away. Several made wards against evil, calling upon their god.
"You have one hour," Raoden said, raising a gIowing finger toward the docks. "Go."
¤ ¤ ¤
LUKEL clutched his wife, watching the fire consume its living fuel. He whispered his love to her as the soldiers advanced to do their grisly work. Father Omin whispered behind Lukel, offering a quiet prayer to Domi for their souls, and for those of their executioners.
Then, like a lantern suddenly set aflame, Elantris erupted with light. The entire city shook, its walls seeming to stretch, distorted by some awesome power. The people inside were trapped in a vortex of energy, sudden winds ripping through the town.
All fell still. They stood as if at the eye of an enormous white storm, power raging in a wall of luster that surrounded the city. Townspeople cried out in fear. and soldiers cursed, looking up at the shining walls with confusion. Lukel wasn't watching the walls. His mouth opened slightly in amazement as he stared at the pyre of corpses—and the shadows moving within it.
Slowly, their bodies glistening with a light both more luminous and more powerful than the flames around them, the Elantrians began to step from the blaze, unharmed by its heat.
The townspeople sat stunned. Only the two demon priests seemed capable of motion. One of them screamed in denial, dashing at the emerging Elantrians with his sword upraised.
A flash of power shot across the courtyard and struck the monk in the chest, immolating the creature in a puff of energy. The sword dropped to the cobblestones with a clang. followed by a scattering of smoking bones and burnt flesh.
Lukel turned bewildered eyes toward the source of the attack. Raoden stood in the still open gate of Elantris, his hand upraised. The king glowed like a specter returned from the grave, his skin silver, his hair a brilliant white, his face effulgent with triumph.
The remaining demon priest screamed at Raoden in Fjorden, cursing him as a Svrakiss. Raoden raised a hand, quietly sketching in the air, his fingers leaving gleaming white trails—trails that shone with the same raging power that surrounded Elantris's wall.
Raoden stopped, his hand poised next to the gleaming character—Aon Daa, the Aon for power. The king looked through the glowing symbol, his eyes raised in a challenge to the lone Derethi warrior.
The monk cursed again, then slowly lowered his weapon.
"Take your men, monk," Raoden said. "Board those ships and go. Anything Derethi, man or vessel, that remains in my country after the next hour's chime will suffer the force of my rage. I dare you to leave me with a suitable target."
The soldiers were already running, dashing past Raoden into the city. Their leader slunk behind them. Before Raoden's glory, the monk's horrible body seemed more pitiful than it did terrifying.
Raoden watched them go, then he turned toward Lukel and the others. "People of Arelon. Elantris is restored!"
Lukel blinked dizzily. Briefly, he wondered if the entire experience had been a vision concocted by his overtaxed mind. When the shouts of joy began to ring in his ears, however, he knew that it was all real. They had been saved.
"How totally unexpected," he declared, then proceeded to faint from blood loss.
¤ ¤ ¤
DILAF tenderly prodded at his shattered nose, resisting the urge to bellow in pain. His men, the Dakhor, waited beside him. They had easily slain the king's guards, but in the combat they had somehow lost not only Eventeo and the princess, but the traitor Hrathen as well.
"Find them!" Dilaf demanded, rising to his feet. Passion. Anger. The voice of his dead wife called in his ears, begging for revenge. She would have it. Eventeo would never launch his ships in time. Besides, fifty Dakhor already roamed his capital. The monks themselves were like an army, each one as powerful as a hundred normal men.
They would take Teod yet.
CHAPTER 62
SARENE and Hrathen shambled down the city street, their nondescript cloaks pulled close. Hrathen kept his hood up to hide his dark hair. The people of Teod had gathered in the streets, wondering why their king had brought the armada into the bay. Many wandered in the direction of the docks, and with these Sarene and Hrathen mingled, stooped and subservient, trying their best to look commonplace.
"When we arrive, we will seek passage on one of the merchant ships." Hrathen said quietly. "They will bolt from Teod as soon as the armada launches. There are several places in Hrovell that don't see a Derethi priest for months at a time. We can hide there."