founded. Gyorns rarely had much to do with day-to-day chapel practices, and Hrathen couldn't do everything himself. Dilaf stepped in to fill the gaps. Even if Hrathen didn't break down and make the obvious move-appointing Dilaf head arteththe eventual result would be the same.
Hrathen was losing his grip on Arelon. Nobles went to Dilaf now instead of him, and while Derethi membership was still growing. it wasn't increasing quickly enough. Sarene had somehow foiled the plot to put Telrii on the throne-and after visiting the city, the people of Kae would no longer regard Elantrians as demons. Hrathen was setting a poor precedent for his activities in Arelon.
On top of it all stood Hrathen's wavering faith. This was not the time to call his beliefs into question. Hrathen understood this. However, understanding-as
opposed to feeling-was the root of his problem. Now that the seed of uncertainty had been given purchase in his heart. he couldn't easily uproot it.
It was too much. Suddenly, it seemed as if his room were falling in on him. The walls and ceiling shrunk closer and closer, as if to crush him beneath their weight. Hrathen stumbled, trying to escape, and fell to the marble floor. Nothing worked, nothing could help him.
He groaned. feeling the pain as his armor bit into his skin at odd angles. He rolled to his knees, and began to pray.
As a priest of Shu-Dereth. Hrathen spent hours in prayer each week. However, those prayers were different-more a form of meditation than a communication, a means of organizing his thoughts. This time he begged.
For the first time in years he found himself pleading for aid. Hrathen reached out to that God that he had served so long lie had almost forgotten Him. The God he had shuffled away in a flurry of logic and understanding, a God he had rendered impotent in his life, though he sought to further His influence.
For once, Hrathen felt unfit to perform on his own. For once he admitted a need for help.
He didn't know how long he knelt, praying fervently for aid, compassion, and mercy. Eventually. he was startled from his trancelike pleading by a knock at his door.
'Come.' he said distractedly.
'I apologize for disturbing my lord.' said a minor underpriest, cracking open the door. 'But this just arrived for you.' The priest pushed a small crate into the room, then closed the door.
Hrathen rose on unstable feet. It was dark outside, though he had begun his prayers before noon. Had he really spent that long in supplication? A lirtle dazed, Hrathen picked up the box and placed it on his desk, prying loose the lid with a dagger. Inside, packed with hay, was a rack containing four vials.
My Lord Hrathen, the note read. Here is the poison you requested. All of the effects are exactly as you specified. The liquid must be ingested, and the victim won't display any symptoms until about eight hours afterwards.
In all things, praise to Lord Jaddeth.
Forton, apothecary and loyal subject of Wyrn.
Hrathen picked up a vial, regarding its dark contents with wonder. He had almost forgotten his late-night call to Forton. He vaguely remembered assuming he would administer the poison to Dilaf. That plan wouldn't work anymore. He needed something more spectacular.
Hrathen swished the poison around in its vial for a moment, then pulled off the stopper and drank it down in a single gulp.
CHAPTER 28
The most difficult part was deciding where to begin reading. The bookshelves extended out of sight. their information stretching as if to eternity. Raoden was certain that the clues he needed were contained somewhere within the vast sea of pages, but finding them seemed a daunting task indeed.
Karata was the one who made the discovery. She located a low bookshelf near the side of the room opposite the entrance. A set of about thirty volumes squatted on the shelf, waiting in their dust. They dictated a cataloguing system, with numbers relating to the various columns and rows of the library. From it, Raoden easily located the books on AonDor. He selected the least complicated volume he could find, and set to work.
Raoden restricted knowledge of the library to himself, Galladon, and Karata. Not only did he fear a repeat of Aanden's book boiling, but he sensed a sacredness to the structure. It was not a place to be invaded by visitors, misunderstanding fingers that would disorganize books and shatter the calm.
They kept the pool a secret as well, giving Mareshe and Saolin a simplified explanation. Raoden's own longings warned him how dangerous the pool was. There was a parr of him that wanted to seek out its deadly embrace, the refreshment of destruction. If the people knew that there was an easy, painless way to escape the suffering, many would take it without deliberation. The city would be depopulated in a matter of months.
Letting them do so was an option, of course. What right had he to keep the others from their peace? Still, Raoden felt that it was too soon to give up on Elantris. In the weeks before Sarene began giving out food, he had seen that Elantris could forget its pains and its hungers. The Elantrians could move beyond their urges-there was an escape for them besides destruction.
But not for him. The pain swelled with each passing day. It drew strength from the Dor, bringing him a little closer to submission with its every assault. Fortunately, he had the books to distract him. He studied them with hypnotic fascination, finally discovering the simple explanations he had sought for so long.
He read how the complex Aon equations worked together. Drawing a line slightly longer in proportion to the rest of an Aon could have drastic effects. Two
Aon equations could start the same, but-like two rocks rolled down a mountain on slightIy different paths- they could end up doing completely different things. All by changing the length of a few lines.
He began to grasp the theory of AonDor. The Dor was as Galladon had described it: a powerful reservoir just beyond the normal senses. Its only desire was to escape. The books explained that the Dor existed in a place that was full of pressure, and so the energy pushed its way through any viable exit, moving from an area of high concentration to one of low.
However, because of the Dor's nature, it could enter the physical world only through gates of the proper size and shape. Elantrians could create rifts with their drawings, providing a means for the Dor to escape. and those drawings would determine what form the energy took when it appeared. However, if even one line was of the wrong proportion, the Dor would be unable to enter-like a square trying to force its way through a round hole. Some theorists described the process using unfamiliar words like 'frequency' and 'pulse length.' Raoden was only beginning to understand how much scientific genius was held in the library's musty pages.
Still, for all of his studies, he was disappointingly unable to find out what had made AonDor stop working. He could only guess that the Dor had changed somehow. Perhaps now, instead of a square. the Dor was a triangle- and, no matter how many square-shaped Aons Raoden drew. the energy couldn't get through. What could have led to the Dor's sudden shift was beyond him.
'How did that get in here?' Galladon asked, interrupting Raoden's thoughts. The Dula pointed toward the Seon Ien, who floated along the top of a bookshelf, his light casting shadows on the books.
'I don't know.' Raoden said, watching ten loop a few times.
'I have to admit, sule. Your Seon is creepy.'
Raoden shrugged. 'All of the mad Seons are that way.'
'Yes, but the others generally stay away from people.' Galladon eyed Ten. shivering slightly. The Seon, as usual. didn't pay any apparent attention to Galladonthough Ien did seem to like staying near Raoden.
'Well, anyway,' Galladon said, 'Saolin's asking for you.'
Raoden nodded, closing his book and rising from the small desk-one of many at the back of the library. He joined Galladon at the doorway. The Dula shot one last, uncomfortable look at Ien before closing the door, locking the Seon in darkness.
'I don't know, Saolin,' Raoden said hesitantly.
'My lord, we have little choice,' the soldier said. 'My men have too many injuries. It would be pointless to stand against Shaor today-the wildmen would barely pause to laugh as they pushed us out of the way.'
