Raoden next to the far wall.
'This, my dear Hrathen,' Dilaf said, 'is how you deal with heretics.'
Appalled, Hrathen turned away from the window. 'You are massacring the entire town, Dilaf! What is the point? Where is the glory for Jaddeth in this?'
'Do not question me!' Dilaf screamed. his eyes blazing. His raging zeal had finally been released.
Hrathen turned away. Of all the titles in the hierarchy of the Derethi Church, only two outranked gyorn: Wyrn, and gragdet-leader of a monastery. The gragdets were usually discounted, for they generally had little to do with the world outside their monasteries. Apparently that had changed.
Hrathen ran his eyes over Dilaf 's bare chest, seeing the twisted patterns that had always been hiding beneath the arteth's robes. Hrathen's stomach turned at the lines and curves that ran like varicose veins beneath the man's skin. It was bone, Hrathen knew-hard, unyielding bone. Dilaf wasn't just a monk, and he wasn't just a gragdet; he was monk and gragdet of the most infamous monastery in Fjorden. Dakhor. The Order of Bone.
The prayers and incantations used to create Dakhor monks were secret; even the gyorns didn't know them. A few months after a boy was initiated into the Dakhor order, his bones started to grow and twist, adopting strange patterns like those visible beneath Dilaf 's skin. Somehow, each of those patterns gave its bearer abilities, such as heightened speed and strength.
Horrible images washed through Hrathen's mind. Images of priests chanting over him: memories of an awesome pain rising within, the pain of his bones reshaping. It had been too much-the darkness, the screams, the torment. Hrathen had left after just a few months to join a different monastery.
He had not left behind the nightmares or memories, however. One did not easily forget Dakhor.
'So you were a Fjordell all this time?' Hrathen whispered.
'You never suspected, did you?' Mal asked with a smile. 'You should have realized. It is far easier to imitate an Arelene speaking Fjordell than it is for an actual man of Arelon to learn the Holy Language so perfectly.'
Hrathen bowed his head. His duty was clean Dilaf was his superior. He didn't know how long Dilaf had been in Arelon-the Dakhor lived unusually long lives-but it was obvious that Dilaf had been planning Kae's destruction for a very long time.
'Oh, Hrathen,' Dilaf said with a laugh. 'You never did understand your place, did you? Wyrn didn't send you to convert Arelon.'
Hrathen looked up with surprise. He had a letter from Wyrn that said otherwise.
'Yes, I know of your orders. Gyorn,' Dilaf said. 'Reread that letter sometime. Wyrn didn't send you to Arelon to convert, he sent you to inform the people of their impending destruction. You were a distraction, something for people like Eventeo to focus their attention on while I prepared for the city's invasion. You did your job perfectly.'
'Distraction…?' Hrathen asked. 'But the people…'
'Were never to be saved, Hrathen.' Dilaf said. 'Wyrn always intended to destroy Arelon. He needs such a victory to insure his grip on the other countries-despite your efforts. our control of Duladel is tenuous. The world needs to know what happens to those who blaspheme against Jaddeth.'
'These people don't blaspheme.' Hrathen said, feeling his anger rise. 'They don't even know Jaddeth! How can we expect them to be righteous if we don't give them a chance to convert!'
Dilaf's hand shot out. slapping Hrathen across the face. Hrathen stumbled back, cheek flaring with pain from the blow-delivered by an unnaturally strong hand, hardened by extra bones.
'You forget to whom you speak, Gyorn,' Dilaf snapped. 'This people is unholy. Only Arelenes and Teos can become Elantrians. If we destroy them, then we end the heresy of Elantris forever!'
Hrathen ignored his throbbing cheek. With growing numbness, he finally realized how deeply Di!af's hatred went. 'You will slaughter them all? You would murder an entire nation of people?'
'It is the only way to be certain,' Dilaf said, smiling.
CHAPTER 59
Raoden awoke to new pains. The sharpest was at the back of his head,
but there were others-scratches, bruises, and cuts across his entire body.
For a moment it was almost too much. Each wound stung sharply, never deadening, never weakening. Fortunately, he had spent weeks dealing with the Dot's all-powerful attacks. Compared to those crushing monuments of agony, the regular pains of his body-no matter how severe-seemed weaker. Ironically. the very force that had nearly destroyed him now allowed him to keep insanity at bay.
Though dazed, he could feel himself being picked up and thrown onto something hard-a saddle. He lost track of time as the horse cantered, and he was forced to struggle against the darkness of insensibility. There were voices around him, but they spoke in Fjordell, which he didn't understand.
The horse stopped. Raoden opened his eyes with a groan as hands pulled him off the beast and set him on the ground.
'Wake up, Elantrian,' said a voice speaking Aonic.
Raoden raised his head, blinking confused eyes. It was still night, and he could smell the thick scent of smoke. They were at the base of a hill-Kiin's hill. The blockish house stood only a few yards away, but he could barely make it out. His vision swam, everything blurry.
Merciful Domi, he thought. let Sarene be safe.
'I know you can hear me. Princess,' Dilaf yelled. 'Look who I have here. Let us make a deal.'
'No!' Raoden tried to say, but it came out as a croak. The blow to his head had done something to his brain. He could barely keep himself upright, let alone speak. The worst part was, he knew it would never improve.
He could not heal-now that the dizziness had come upon him, it would never leave.
'You realize that there is no dealing with him,' Kiin said quietly. They watched Dilaf and the staggering Raoden through one of Kiin's slitlike windows.
Sarene nodded quietly, feeling chill. Raoden wasn't doing well; he wobbled as he stood, looking disoriented in the firelight. 'Merciful Domi. What have they done to him?'
'Don't look. 'Ene,' Kiin said, turning away from the window. His enormous axe-the axe of Dreok the Pirate- stood ready in the corner.
'I can't look away,' Sarene whispered. 'I have to at least speak to him-to say goodbye.'
Kiin sighed, then nodded. 'All right. Let's go to the roof. At the first sign of bows, however, we're locking ourselves back in.'
Sarene nodded solemnly, and the two cIimbed the steps up onto the roof. She approached the roof's ledge, looking down at Dilaf and Raoden. If she could convince the priest to take her in exchange for Raoden, she would do it. However, she suspected that Dilaf would demand the entire household, and Sarene could never agree to such a thing. Daora and the children huddled in the basement under Lukel's care. Sarene would not betray them, no matter whom Dilaf held hostage.
She opened her mouth to speak, knowing that her words would probably be the last Raoden ever heard.
'Go!' Dilaf ordered.
Hrathen stood by, a dismayed observer, as Sarene fell into Dilaf 's trap. The Dakhor monks sprang forward. jumping from hiding places along the base of the building. They leaped to the walls, their feet seeming to stick as they found tiny footholds between bricks and arrow slits. Several monks. already in place hanging from the back of the rooftop, swung up and cut off Sarene's escape.
Hrathen could hear startled yells as Sarene and her companion realized their predicament. It was too late. A few moments later, a Dakhor jumped down from the rooftop, a struggling princess in his arms.
'Hrathen, get me your Seon,' Dilaf ordered.
Hrathen complied, opening the metal box and letting the ball of light float free. Hrathen hadn't bothered asking how the monk knew about the Seon. The Dakhor were Wyrn's favored warriors: their leader would be privy to many of his secrets.
'Seon, I wish to speak with King Eventeo,' Dilaf said.
The Seon complied. Soon its light molded into the head of an overweight man with a proud face.
