"You talk as if Teod will fall," Sarene whispered back. "You may go priest, but I will not leave my homeland."
"If you value its safety, you will," Hrathen snapped. "I know Dilaf—he is a man obsessed. If you stay in Teod, so will he. If you leave, perhaps he will follow."
Sarene ground her teeth. The gyorn's words had apparent sense in them, but it was possible he was concocting things to get her to accompany him. Of course, there was no reason for him to do such a thing. What cared he for Sarene? She had been his fervent enemy.
They moved slowly, unwilling to set themselves apart from the crowd by increasing their speed. 'You didn't really answer my question before, priest." Sarene whispered. "You have turned against your religion. Why?"
Hrathen walked in silence for a moment. "I ... I don't know. woman. I have followed Shu-Dereth since I was a child—the structure and formality of it have always called to me. I joined the priesthood. I ... thought I had faith. It turned out. however, that the thing I grew to believe was not Shu-Dereth after all. I don't know what it is."
"Shu-Korath?"
Hrathen shook his head. "That is too simple. Belief is not simply Korathi or Derethi. one or the other. I still believe Dereth's teachings. My problem is with Wyrn, not God."
¤ ¤ ¤
HORRIFIED at his show of weakness before the girl, Hrathen quickly steeled his heart against further questions. Yes, he had betrayed Shu-Dereth. Yes, he was a traitor. But, for some reason, he felt calm now that he had made the decision. He had caused blood and death in Duladel. He would not let that happen again.
He had convinced himself that the Republic's fall was a necessary tragedy. Now he had dispelled that illusion. His work in Duladel had been no more ethical than what Dilaf had attempted here in Teod. Ironically, by opening himself to truth. Hrathen had also exposed himself to the guilt of his past atrocities.
One thing. however, kept him from despair—the knowledge that whatever else happened to him, no matter what he had done, he could say that he now followed the truth in his heart. He could die and face Jaddeth with courage and pride.
The thought crossed his mind right before he felt the stab of pain in his chest. He reached over in surprise, grunting as he brought his hand up. His fingers were stained with blood. He felt his feet weaken, and he slumped against a building, ignoring Sarene's startled cry. Confused, he looked out into the crowd, and his eyes fell on the face of his murderer. He knew the man. His name was Fjon—the priest Hrathen had sent home from Kae the very day he had arrived. That had been two months ago. How had Fjon found him? How ... ? It was impossible.
Fjon smiled, then disappeared into the throng of people.
As the darkness closed in. Hrathen discarded all questions. Instead his view and consciousness was filled with Sarene's worried face. The woman who had destroyed him. Because of her, he had finally rejected the lies he had believed all of his life.
She would never know that he had come to love her.
Goodbye, my princess, he thought. Jaddeth, be merciful to my soul. I only did the best I could.
¤ ¤ ¤
SARENE watched the light fading from Hrathen's eyes.
"No!" she cried, pressing her hand against his wound in a futile attempt to stop the blood. "Hrathen, don't you dare leave me alone here!"
He didn't respond. She had fought with him over the fate of two countries. but had never really known who he was. She never would.
A startled scream shocked Sarene back into the tangible world. People gathered around her, upset by the sight of a dying man in the street. Stunned, Sarene realized she had become the center of attention. She lifted her hand, pulled away as if to hide, but it was too late. Several bare-chested forms appeared from an alley to investigate the disturbance. One of them had blood on his face, the sign of a broken nose.
¤ ¤ ¤
FJON slipped away from the crowd, exulting at the ease of his first kill. They had told him that it would be simple: He needed only to knife a single man, and then he would be admitted into the monastery of Rathbore, where he would be trained as an assassin.
You were right, Hrathen, he thought. They did give me a new way to serve Jaddeth's empire—an important one.
How ironic that the man he had been ordered to kill had turned out to be Hrathen himself. How had Wyrn known that Fjon would find Hrathen here, on the streets of Teod of all places? Fjon would probably never know; Lord Jaddeth moved in ways beyond the understanding of men. But Fjon had performed his duty. His period of penance was over.
With a merry step, Fjon went back to his inn and ordered breakfast.
¤ ¤ ¤
"LEAVE me," Lukel said with a pained tone. "I'm nearly dead—see to the oth—"
"Stop whining." Raoden said, drawing Aon Ten in the air above the wounded Lukel. He crossed it with the Chasm line, and the wound in the merchant's leg resealed instantly. Not only did Raoden know the proper modifiers this time, but his Aons had the power of Elantris behind them. With the resurrection of the city, AonDor had regained its legendary strength.
Lukel looked down, experimentally bending his leg and feeling where the cut had been. Then he frowned. "You know, you could have left a scar. I had to go through an awful lot to get that wound—you should have seen how courageous I was. My grandchildren are going to be disappointed that I don't have any scars to show them."
"They'll live," Raoden said, rising and walking away.
"What's wrong with you?" Lukel said from behind. "I thought we won."
We won, Raoden thought, but I failed. They had searched the city—there was no sign of Sarene, Dilaf, or Hrathen. Raoden had captured a straggling Derethi soldier and demanded to know where they were, but the man had pled ignorance, and Raoden had released him with disgust.
He brooded, watching the people celebrate. Despite the deaths, despite the near-complete destruction of Kae, they were happy. Fjorden had been cast out and Elantris had returned. The days of the gods had come again. Unfortunately, Raoden couldn't enjoy the sweetness of his victory. Not without Sarene.
Galladon approached slowly, ambling away from the group of Elantrians. The mass of sliver-skinned people were, for the most part. disoriented. Many of them had been Hoed for years, and knew nothing of current events.
"They're going to be—" the Dula began.
"My lord Raoden!" a voice suddenly interrupted—a voice Raoden recognized. "Ashe?" he asked anxiously, seeking out the Seon.
"Your Majesty!" Ashe said, zipping across the courtyard. "A Seon just spoke with me. The princess! She is in Teod, my lord. My kingdom is under attack as well!"
"Teod?" Raoden asked, dumbfounded. "How in Domi's name did she get there?"
¤ ¤ ¤
SARENE backed away, wishing desperately for a weapon. The townspeople noticed Dilaf and his warriors and, seeing the Fjordells' odd twisted bodies and malevolent eyes, scattered in fright. Sarene's reflexes urged her to join them, but such a move would only put her directly in Dilaf's hands. The small monk's warriors quickly fanned out to cut off Sarene's escape.
Dilaf approached—his face stained with drying blood, his bare torso sweating in Teod's cold air, the intricate patterns beneath the skin on his arms and chest bulging. his lips curved in a wicked smile. At that moment, Sarene knew that this man was the most horrifying thing she would ever see.
¤ ¤ ¤
RAODEN climbed to the top of Elantris's wall, taking the steps two at a time, his restored Elantrian muscles moving more quickly and tirelessly than even those of his pre-Shaod self.
"Sule!" Galladon called with concern, rushing up behind him.
Raoden didn't respond. He topped the wall, pushing his way through the crowds of people who stood looking over the remains of Kae. They parted as they realized who he was, some kneeling and mumbling "Your Majesty." Their voices were awed. In him they saw a return to their former lives. Hopeful, luxurious lives filled with ample food and time. Lives nearly forgotten over a decade of tyranny.
Raoden gave them no heed, continuing until he stood on the northern wall, which overlooked the broad blue Sea of Fjorden. On the other side of those waters lay Teod. And Sarene.
"Seon," Raoden ordered, "show me the exact direction Teod's capital is from this point."
Ashe hovered for a moment, then moved to a spot in front of Raoden, marking a point on the horizon. "If you wanted to sail to Teod, my lord, you would go in this direction."
Raoden nodded, trusting the Seon's innate sense of direction. He began to draw. He constructed Aon Tia with frantic hands, his fingers tracing patterns he had learned by rote, never thinking they would do any good. Now, with Elantris somehow feeding the Aons' strength, lines no longer simply appeared in the air when he drew—they exploded. Light streamed from the Aon, as if his fingers were ripping tiny holes through a mighty dam, allowing only some of the water to squirt through.
"Sule!" Galladon said, finally catching up to him. "Sule. what is going on?" Then, apparently recognizing the Aon, he cursed. "Doloken, Raoden. you don't know what you're doing!"
"I am going to Teod," Raoden said, continuing to draw.
"But sule," Galladon protested. "You yourself told me how dangerous Aon Tia can be. What was it you said? If you don't know the exact distance you need to travel, you could be killed. You can't go into this blind. Kolo?"
"It's the only way. Galladon," Raoden said. "I have to at least try."
Galladon shook his head. laying a hand on Raoden's shoulder. "Sule, a meaningless attempt won't prove anything but your stupidity. Do you even know how far it is to Teod?"
Raoden's hand fell slowly to his side. He was no geographer; he knew Teod was about four days' sail, but he had no practical knowledge of how many miles or feet that was. He had to work a frame of reference into Aon Tia, give it some sort of measurement, so that it knew how far to send him.
Galladon nodded, clapping Raoden on the shoulder. "Prepare a ship!" the Dula ordered to a group of soldiers—the last remnants of the Elantris City Guard.
It will be too late! Raoden thought with sorrow. What good is power, what good is Elantris, if I can't use it to protect the one I love?
"One million, three hundred twenty-seven thousand. forty-two," said a voice from behind Raoden.
Raoden turned with surprise. Adien stood a short distance away, his skin shining with a silvery Elantrian glow. His eyes betrayed none of the mental retardation that had cursed him since birth: instead they stared lucidly ahead.
"Adien," Raoden said with surprise. "You're ..."
The young man, looking strikingly like Lukel now that he was healed, stepped forward. "I ... I feel like my entire life has been a dream, Raoden. I remember everything that happened. But. I couldn't interact—I couldn't say anything. That's changed now, but one thing remains the same. My mind ... I've always been able to figure numbers...."
"Footsteps." Raoden whispered.
"One million. three hundred twenty-seven thousand, forty-two," Adien repeated. "That is how many steps it is to Teod. Measure my stride. and use that as your unit."