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.
Luke! 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.'
'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.
'Leave me,' Lukel said with a pained tone. 'I'm nearly dead-see to the oth'
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 faddeth'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
