Elantris (54 page)

“I don’t know,” Raoden said, watching Ien 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 Ien, shivering slightly. The Seon, as usual, didn’t pay any apparent attention to Galladon—though 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.”

Raoden nodded with a sigh. The soldier was right: They couldn’t keep holding Shaor’s men away from Sarene. Though Saolin had grown quite proficient at fighting with his left hand, there just weren’t enough warriors left to protect the courtyard. In addition, it seemed that Shaor’s men were growing more and more dangerous in their ferocity. They could obviously sense that there was food in the courtyard, and the inability to reach it had driven them to an even deeper level of insanity.

Raoden had tried leaving food out for them, but the distraction only worked for a short time. They stuffed their faces, then rushed on, even more furious than before. They were driven by a single-minded, obsessive goal: to reach the carts of food in the courtyard.

If only we had more soldiers!
Raoden thought with frustration. He’d lost many of his people to Sarene’s handouts, while Shaor’s numbers were apparently remaining strong. Raoden and Galladon had both offered to join Saolin’s fighters, but the grizzled captain would hear nothing of it.

“Leaders don’t fight,” the broken-nosed man had said simply. “You’re too valuable.”

Raoden knew the man was right. Raoden and Galladon were not soldiers; they wouldn’t do much besides disorder Saolin’s carefully trained troops. They had few choices left, and it appeared Saolin’s plan was the best of several bad options.

“All right,” Raoden said. “Do it.”

“Very good, my lord,” Saolin said with a slight bow. “I will begin the preparations—we only have a few minutes until the princess arrives.”

Raoden dismissed Saolin with a nod. The soldier’s plan was a desperate last-ditch attempt at a trap. Shaor’s men tended to take that same path each day before splitting up to try and work their way into the courtyard, and Saolin planned to ambush them as they approached. It was risky, but it was probably their only chance. The soldiers could not continue fighting as they were.

“I suppose we should go, then,” Raoden said.

Galladon nodded. As they turned to walk toward the courtyard, Raoden couldn’t help feeling uncomfortable with the decision he’d made. If Saolin lost, then the wildmen would break through. If Saolin won, it would mean the death or incapacitation of dozens of Elantrians—men, on both sides, that Raoden should have been able to protect.

Either way, I’m a failure, Raoden thought
.

Sarene could tell something was wrong, but she wasn’t sure what it could be. Spirit was nervous, his friendly banter subdued. It wasn’t her—it was something else. Perhaps some burden of leadership.

She wanted to ask him what it was. She moved through the now familiar routine of food distribution, Spirit’s worry making her nervous. Each time he approached to accept an item from the cart, she looked into his eyes and saw his tension. She couldn’t force herself to ask about the problem. She had gone too long feigning coldness, too long rebuffing his attempts at friendship. Just as in Teod, she had locked herself into a role. And, just as before, she cursed herself, not quite knowing how to escape her self-imposed indifference.

Fortunately, Spirit didn’t share her same inhibitions. As the noblemen gathered to begin the handouts, Spirit pulled Sarene aside, walking just a short distance from the main group.

She eyed him curiously. “What?”

Spirit glanced back at the collection of noblemen, and even a few noblewomen, who were waiting for the Elantrians to approach and receive their food. Finally, he turned to Sarene. “Something might happen today,” he said.

“What?” she asked, frowning.

“Do you remember how I told you that not all Elantrians were as docile as the ones here?”

“Yes,” Sarene said slowly.
What’s your trick, Spirit? What game are you playing?
He seemed so honest, so earnest. Yet, she couldn’t help worrying that he was just toying with her.

“Well, just …” Spirit said. “Just be ready. Keep your guards close.”

Sarene frowned. She sensed a new emotion in his eyes—something she hadn’t seen in him before. Guilt.

As he turned back toward the food line, leaving his foreboding words ringing in her mind, a part of Sarene was suddenly grateful that she had remained aloof. He was hiding something from her—something big. Her political senses warned her to be wary.

Whatever he had been expecting, however, it didn’t come. By the time they had begun handing out food, Spirit had relaxed somewhat, speaking cheerfully. Sarene began to think that he had made a big show out of nothing.

Then the yelling began.

Raoden cursed, dropping his bag of food as he heard the howl. It was close—far too close. A moment later he saw Saolin’s beleaguered form appear at the mouth of an alley. The soldier was swinging his sword wildly at four separate opponents. One of the wildmen smashed a cudgel against Saolin’s legs, and the soldier fell.

Then Shaor’s men were upon them.

They spilled out of every alleyway—nearly two dozen howling madmen. The Elantris City Guards jumped up in surprise, startled from their leisurely idling
near the gate, but they were too slow. Shaor’s men leapt toward the group of aristocrats and Elantrians, their mouths open savagely.

Then Eondel appeared. By some fortune of chance, he had chosen to accompany Sarene on the day’s trip and, as always, he had worn his sword—defying convention in favor of safety. In this instance, his caution was well placed.

Shaor’s men weren’t expecting resistance, and they stumbled over themselves before the general’s swinging blade. Despite his accumulating years, Eondel fought with spry dexterity, beheading two wildmen in one breath. Eondel’s weapon, powered by healthy muscles, easily cut through the Elantrian flesh. His attack slowed the wildmen long enough for the Guards to join the battle, and they formed a line beside him.

Finally realizing that they were in danger, the nobles began to scream. Fortunately, they were only a few steps away from the gate, and they easily fled the chaos. Soon only Raoden and Sarene remained, looking at each other through the battle.

One of Shaor’s followers fell at their feet, knocking over a carton of grain mush. The creature’s belly was sliced waist to neck, and his arms flailed awkwardly, mixing the white mush paste with the slime of the cobblestones. His lips trembled as he stared upward.

“Food. We only wanted a little food. Food …” the madman said, beginning the mantra of a Hoed.

Sarene looked down at the creature, then took a step back. When she looked back up at Raoden, her eyes shone with the icy rage of betrayal.

“You held food back from them, didn’t you?” she demanded.

Raoden nodded slowly, making no excuse. “I did.”

“You tyrant!” she hissed. “You heartless despot!”

Raoden turned to look at Shaor’s desperate men. In a way, she was right. “Yes. I am.”

Sarene took another step backward. However, she stumbled against something. Raoden reached out to steady her, but then stopped as he realized what had tripped her. It was a sack of food, one of the overstuffed bags Raoden had prepared for the Hoed. Sarene looked down as well, realization dawning.

“I almost started trusting you,” Sarene said bitterly. Then she was gone, dashing toward the gate as the soldiers fell back. Shaor’s men did not follow, instead falling on the bounty that the nobles had abandoned.

Raoden stepped back from the food. Shaor’s men didn’t even seem to notice him as they tore into the scattered supplies, stuffing their faces with dirty hands. Raoden watched them with tired eyes. It was over. The nobles would not enter Elantris again. At least none of them had been killed.

Then he remembered Saolin. Raoden dashed across the courtyard to kneel beside his friend. The old soldier stared sightlessly into the sky, his head rocking
back and forth as he mumbled, “Failed my lord. Failed my lord Spirit. Failed, failed, failed….”

Raoden moaned, bowing his head in despair.
What have I done?
he wondered, helplessly cradling the newly made Hoed.

Raoden stayed there, lost in sorrow until long after Shaor’s men had taken the last of the food and run off. Eventually, an incongruous sound brought him out of his grief.

The gates of Elantris were opening again.

CHAPTER 29

“My lady, are you injured?” Ashe’s deep voice was wrought with concern.

Sarene tried to wipe her eyes, but the tears kept coming. “No,” she said through her quiet sobs. “I’m fine.”

Obviously unconvinced, the Seon floated around her in a slow semicircle, searching for any outward signs of injury. Houses and shops passed quickly beyond the carriage window as the vehicle sped them back to the palace. Eondel, the carriage’s owner, had stayed behind at the gate.

“My lady,” Ashe said, his tone frank. “What is wrong?”

“I was right, Ashe,” she said, trying to laugh at her stupidity through the tears. “I should be happy; I was right about him all along.”

“Spirit?”

Sarene nodded, then rested her head against the back of the seat, staring up at the carriage’s ceiling. “He was withholding food from the people. You should have seen them, Ashe—their starvation had driven them mad. Spirit’s warriors kept them away from the courtyard, but they must have finally gotten hungry enough to fight back. I can’t imagine how they did it—they didn’t have armor or swords, just their hunger. He didn’t even try to deny it. He just stood there, watching his schemes fall apart, a stash of hoarded food at his feet.”

Sarene raised her hands to her face, holding her head in frustration. “Why am I
so stupid?
”

Ashe pulsed with concern.

“I knew what he was doing. Why does it bother me to find out I was right?” Sarene took a deep breath, but it caught in her throat. Ashe had been right: She had allowed herself to get too caught up in Spirit and Elantris. She had become too emotionally involved to act on her suspicions.

The result was a disaster. The nobility had responded to Elantrian pain and wretchedness. Long-held prejudices had weakened, the Korathi teachings of temperate understanding proving their influence. Now, however, the nobility would only remember that they had been attacked. Sarene could only thank Domi that none of them had been hurt.

Sarene’s thinking was interrupted by the sounds of armor clinking outside of her window. Recouping her composure the best she could, Sarene poked her head out the window to see what was causing the ruckus. A double line of men in chain and leather marched past her carriage, their livery black and red. It was Iadon’s personal guard, and they were heading for Elantris.

Sarene felt a chill as she watched the grim-faced warriors. “Idos Domi,” she whispered. There was hardness in these men’s eyes—they were prepared to kill. To slaughter.

At first, the coachman resisted Sarene’s commands that he drive more quickly, but few men found it easy to resist a determined Teoish princess. They arrived at the palace shortly, and Sarene hopped from the carriage without waiting for the coachman to pull down the steps.

Her reputation with the palace staff was growing, and most knew to get out of her way as she stalked through the hallways. The guards at Iadon’s study were also growing used to her, and they simply sighed resignedly as they pushed open the doors for her.

The king’s face fell visibly as she entered. “Whatever it is, it will wait. We have a crisis—”

Sarene slammed her open palms down on Iadon’s desk, shaking the wood and knocking over the penstand. “What in the blessed name of Domi do you think you’re doing?”

Iadon reddened with frustrated anger, standing. “There has been an attack on members of my court! It is my duty to respond.”

“Don’t preach to me about duty, Iadon,” Sarene countered. “You’ve been looking for an excuse to destroy Elantris for ten years now—only the people’s superstitions kept you back.”

“Your point?” he asked coldly.

“I am not going to be the one who gives you that excuse!” she said. “Withdraw your men.”

Iadon snorted. “You of all people should appreciate the quickness of my response, Princess. It was your honor that was slighted by that attack.”

“I’m perfectly capable of protecting my own honor,
Iadon.
Those troops move in direct opposition to everything I’ve accomplished these last few weeks.”