Hrathen looked up. The name and words were Fjordell. but the accent was slightly off. It sounded almost… 'You're Arelish?' Hrathen said with surprise.
The priest bowed with the proper amount of subservience; his eyes, however, were defiant.
'How did you become a priest of Derethi?' Hrathen asked.
'I wanted to serve the empire, — the man replied, his voice quietly intense. 'Jaddeth provided a way.'
No, Hrathen realized. It isn't defiance in this man's eyes-it's religious fervor. One did not often find zealots in the Derethi religion: such people were more often drawn to the frenzied lawlessness of the Jeskeri Mysteries than to the militaristic organization of Shu-Dereth. This man's face, however, burned with fanatical
Empire is eternal, my patience will soon end. Not much longer will I slumber within a tomb of rock. The Day of Empire is at hand, and my glory will soon shine forth, a second sun blazing forth from Fjorden.
The pagan nations of Arelon and Teod have been blackened scars upon my land for long enough. Three hundred years have my priests served amongst those tainted by Elantris, and few have harkened to their call. Know this, High Priest: My faithful warriors are prepared and they wait only the word of my Wyrn. You have three months to prophesy to the people of Arelon. At the end of that time, the holy soldiers of Fjorden will descend on the nation like hunting predators, rending and tearing the unworthy life from those who heed not my words. Only three months will pass before the destruction of all who oppose my Empire.
The time for my ascension nears, my son. Be stalwart, and be diligent.
Words of Jaddeth, Lord of all Creation, through his servant Wyrn Wulf-den the Fourth, Emperor of Fjorden, Prophet of Shu-Dereth, Ruler of Jaddeth's Holy Kingdom, and Regent of all Creation.
The time had finally come. Only two nations resisted. Fjorden had regained its former glory, glory lost hundreds of years ago when the First Empire collapsed. Once again, Arelon and Teod were the only two kingdoms who resisted Fjordell rule. This time. with the might of Jaddeth's holy calling behind it. Fjorden would prevail. Then, with all mankind united under Wyrn's rule, Jaddeth could rise from His throne beneath the earth and reign in glorious majesty.
And Hrarhen would be the one responsible for it. The conversion of Arelon and Teod was his urgent duty. He had three months to change the religious temperament of an entire culture: it was a monumental task, but it was viral that he succeed. If he did not, Fjorden's armies would destroy every living being in Arelon, and Teod would soon follow; the two nations, though separated by water, were the same in race, religion, and obstinance.
The people might not yet know it, but Hrathen was the only thing standing between them and utter annihilation. They had resisted Jaddeth and His people in arrogant defiance for far too long. Hrathen was their last chance.
Someday they would call him their savior.
CHAPTER 4
The woman screamed until she grew too tired. calling for help, for mercy. for Domi. She clawed at the broad gate, her fingernails leaving marks in the film of slime. Eventually, she slumped to the ground in a quiet heap, shaking from occasional sobs. Seeing her agony reminded Raoden of his own pain-the sharp twinge of his toe. the loss of his life outside.
'They won't wait much longer,' Galladon whispered, his hand firmly on Rao-den's arm, holding the prince back.
The woman finally stumbled to her feet, looking dazed, as if she had forgotten where she was. She took a single, uncertain step to her left, her palm resting on the wall. as if it were a comfort-a connection to the outside world, rather than the barrier separating her from it.
'It's done,' Galladon said.
'Just like that?' Raoden asked.
Galladon nodded. 'She picked well-or, as well as one could. Watch.'
Shadows stirred in an alleyway directly across the courtyard: Raoden and Galladon watched from inside a ramshackle stone building, one of many that lined Elantris's entry courtyard. The shadows resolved into a group of men, and they approached the woman with determined, controlled steps, surrounding her. One reached out and took her basket of offerings. The woman didn't have the strength left to resist; she simply collapsed again. Raoden felt Galladon's fingers dig into his shoulder as he involuntarily pulled forward, wanting to dash our to confront the thieves.
'Not a good idea. Kolo?' Galladon whispered. 'Save your courage for yourself. If stubbing your toe nearly knocked you out. think how it would feel to have one of those cudgels cracking across your brave little head.'
Raoden nodded, relaxing. The woman had been robbed, but it didn't look like she was in further danger. It hurt, however, to watch her. She wasn't a young maiden; she bore the stout figure of a woman accustomed to childbirth and the running of a household. A mother, not a damsel. The strong lines of the woman's face bespoke hard-won wisdom and courage, and somehow that made watching her more difficult. If such a woman could be defeated by Elantris, what hope was there for Raoden?
'I told you she chose well,' Galladon continued. 'She might be a few pounds of food lighter, but she doesn't have any wounds. Now, if she had turned right-like you did. sule-she would have been at the dubious mercy of Shaor's men. If she had gone forward. then Aanden would have had the right to her offerings. The left turn is definitely best-Karata's men take your food, but they rarely hurt you. Better to be hungry than spend the next few years with a broken arm.'
'Next few years?' Raoden asked, turning away from the courtyard to regard his tall. dark-skinned companion. 'I thought you said our wounds would last us an eternity.'
'We only assume they will, sule. Show me an Elantrian who has managed to keep his wits until eternity ends, and maybe he'll be able to prove the theory.' 'How long do people usually last in here?'
'A year, maybe two,' Galladon said.
'What?'
'Thought we were immortal, did you? Just because we don't age, we'll last forever?'
'I don't know.' Raoden said. 'I though you said we couldn't die.'
'We can't,' Galladon said. 'But the cuts. the bruises. the stubbed toes… they pile up. One can only take so much.'
'They kill themselves?' Raoden asked quietly.
'That's not an option. No, most of them lie around mumbling or screaming. Poor rulos.'
'How long have you been here, then?'
'A few months.'
The realization was another shock to pile on the already teetering stack. Rao-den had assumed that Galladon had been an Elantrian for at least a few years. The Dula spoke of life in Elantris as if it had been his home for decades, and he was impressively adept at navigating the enormous city.
Raoden looked back at the courtyard, but the woman had already gone. She could have been a maid in his father's palace, a wealthy merchant's lady, or a simple housewife. The Shaod respected no classes; it took from all equally. She was gone now, having entered the gaping pit that was Elantris. He should have been able to help her.
'All that for a single loaf of bread and a few flaccid vegetables.' Raoden muttered.
'It may not seem like much now, but just wait a few days. The only food that enters this place comes clutched in the arms of its new arrivals. You wait, sule. You will feel the desire as well. It takes a strong man to resist when the hunger calls.'
'You do it,' Raoden said.
'Not very well-and I've only been here a few months. There's no telling what the hunger will drive me to do a year from now.'
Raoden snorted. 'Just wait until my thirty days are done before you become a primordial beast, if you please. I'd hate to feel that I hadn't got my beef's worth
out of you.'
Galladon paused for a moment, then laughed. 'Does nothing frighten you, sule?'
