“None at all,” Kiin said.
“But why?”
Kiin looked at his wife, then back at Sarene. “Sarene, do you know what happened here ten years ago?”
“The Reod?” Sarene asked. “The Punishment?”
“Yes, but do you know what that means?”
Sarene thought for a moment, then shrugged slightly. “The end of the Elantrians.”
Kiin nodded. “You probably never met an Elantrian—you were still young when the Reod hit. It is hard to explain how much this country changed when the disaster struck. Elantris used to be the most beautiful city in the world—trust me, I’ve been everywhere else. It was a monument of glowing stone and lustrous metal, and its inhabitants looked like they were chiseled from the same materials. Then … they fell.”
“Yes, I’ve studied this before,” Sarene said with a nod. “Their skin turned dark with black spots, and their hair began to fall from their skulls.”
“You can say that with the knowledge of books,” Kiin said, “but you weren’t here when it happened. You can’t know the horror that comes from seeing gods turn wretched and foul. Their fall destroyed the Arelish government, throwing the country into total chaos.”
He paused for a moment, then continued. “It was the servants who started the revolution, Sarene. The very day their masters fell, the servants turned on them. Some—mostly the country’s current nobility—say it was because the lower class in Elantris was treated too well, that their pampered natures inspired them to cast down their former rulers at the first sign of weakness. I think it was simply fear—ignorant fear that the Elantrians had a vile disease, mixed with the terror that comes from seeing someone you had worshipped stricken down before you.
“Either way, the servants are the ones who did the most damage. First in small groups, then in an incredibly destructive riot, killing any Elantrian they could find. The most powerful Elantrians went first, but the killings spread to the weaker ones as well.
“It didn’t stop with the Elantrians either—the people attacked families, friends, and even those who had been appointed to positions by the Elantrians. Daora and I watched it all, horrified and thankful that there were no Elantrians in the family. Because of that night, we haven’t ever been able to convince ourselves to hire servants.”
“Not that we really need them,” Daora said. “You’d be surprised at how much you can get done on your own.”
“Especially when you have a couple of children to do the dirty jobs,” Kiin said with a sly smile.
“Is that all we’re good for, Father?” Lukel said with a laugh. “Scrubbing floors?”
“It’s the only reason I’ve ever found for having kids,” Kiin said. “Your mother and I only had Daorn because we decided we needed another couple of hands to wash chamber pots.”
“Father, please,” Kaise said. “I’m trying to eat.”
“Merciful Domi help the man who interrupts Kaise’s supper,” Lukel said with a chuckle.
“Princess Kaise,” the little girl corrected.
“Oh, so my little girl’s a princess now?” Kiin asked with amusement.
“If Sarene can be one, then so can I. After all, you’re her uncle, and that should make you a prince. Right, Father?”
“Technically yes,” Kiin said. “Though I don’t think I officially have a title anymore.”
“They probably kicked you out because you spoke of chamber pots during supper,” Kaise said. “Princes can’t do that sort of thing, you know. It’s horrible table manners.”
“Of course,” Kiin said with a fond smile. “I wonder why I never realized that before.”
“So,” Kaise continued. “If you are a prince, then your daughter is a princess.”
“I’m afraid it doesn’t work that way, Kaise,” Lukel said. “Father’s not king, so his kids would be barons or counts, not princes.”
“Is that true?” Kaise asked with a disappointed tone.
“I’m afraid so,” Kiin said. “However, trust me. Anyone who claims you’re not a princess, Kaise, hasn’t ever listened to you complain at bedtime.”
The little girl thought for a moment and, apparently unsure how to take the comment, simply turned back to her dinner. Sarene wasn’t paying much attention; her mind had frozen at the part where her uncle had said “I don’t think I officially have a title anymore.” It smelled of politics. Sarene thought she knew every important event that had happened in Teod’s court during the last fifty years, and she knew nothing of Kiin being officially stripped of his title.
Before she could ponder any more on the incongruity, Ashe floated in through a window. In the excitement of the dinner, Sarene had almost forgotten that she’d sent him to follow the Gyorn Hrathen.
The ball of light stopped hesitantly in the air near the window. “My lady, am I interrupting?”
“No, Ashe, come in and meet my family.”
“You have a Seon!” Daorn exclaimed with amazement. For once his sister seemed too stunned to speak.
“This is Ashe,” Sarene explained. “He’s been serving my house for over two centuries, and he’s the wisest Seon I’ve ever known.”
“My lady, you exaggerate,” Ashe said modestly, yet at the same time she noticed he was glowing a bit brighter.
“A Seon …” Kaise said with quiet wonder, her dinner forgotten.
“They’ve always been rare,” Kiin said, “now more than ever.”
“Where did you get him?” Kaise asked.
“From my mother,” Sarene said. “She Passed Ashe to me when I was born.” The Passing of a Seon—it was one of the finest gifts a person could receive. Someday, Sarene would have to Pass Ashe, selecting a new ward for him to watch over and care for. She had planned it to be one of her children, or perhaps grandchildren. The possibility of either ever existing, however, was looking increasingly unlikely….
“A Seon,” Kaise said with wonder. She turned to Sarene, eyes alight with excitement. “Can I play with him after supper?”
“Play with me?” Ashe asked uncertainly.
“Can I please, Cousin Sarene?” Kaise begged.
“I don’t know,” Sarene said with a smile. “I seem to recall a few comments about my height.”
The little girl’s look of disappointed chagrin was a source of great amusement to all. It was at that moment, among their laughter, that Sarene began to feel her tension ease for the first time since leaving her homeland a week before.
CHAPTER 6
“There is no hope for the king, I’m afraid.” Hrathen folded his arms across his breastplate thoughtfully as he looked back at the throne room. “Your Grace?” Dilaf asked.
“King Iadon,” Hrathen explained. “I had hoped to save him—though I never really expected the nobility to follow me without a fight. They’re too entrenched in their ways. Perhaps if we had gotten to them right after the Reod. Of course, we weren’t sure that whatever disease had taken the Elantrians wouldn’t affect us as well.”
“Jaddeth struck down the Elantrians,” Dilaf said fervently.
“Yes,” Hrathen said, not bothering to look down at the shorter man. “But ofttimes Jaddeth uses natural processes to bring about His will. A plague will kill Fjordell as well as Arelene.”
“Jaddeth would protect his chosen.”
“Of course,” Hrathen said distractedly, shooting one more dissatisfied glance down the hallway toward the throne room. He had made the offer out of duty, knowing that the easiest way to save Arelon would be to convert its ruler, but he hadn’t expected Iadon to respond favorably. If only the king knew how much suffering he could forestall with a simple profession of faith.
It was too late now; Iadon had formally rejected Jaddeth. He would have to become an example. However, Hrathen would have to be careful. Memories of the Duladen revolution were still stark in Hrathen’s mind—the death, blood, and chaos. Such a cataclysm had to be avoided. Hrathen was a stern man, and a determined one, but he was no lover of carnage.
“I suppose I expected too much of them,” Hrathen mumbled. “They are, after all, only Arelenes.”
Dilaf made no response to the comment.
“I noticed someone odd in the throne room, Arteth,” Hrathen said as they turned and walked out of the palace, passing both sculpture and servant without so much as a glance. “Perhaps you can help me identify her. She was Aonic, but she was taller than most Arelenes, and her hair was much lighter than the average Arelish brown. She looked out of place.”
“What was she wearing, Your Holiness?” Dilaf asked.
“Black. All black with a yellow sash.”
“The new princess, Your Grace,” Dilaf hissed, his voice suddenly hateful.
“New princess?”
“She arrived yesterday, the same as yourself. She was to be married to Iadon’s son Raoden.”
Hrathen nodded. He hadn’t attended the prince’s funeral, but he had heard of the event. He hadn’t known, however, of the impending marriage. The betrothal must have occurred recently. “She’s still here,” he asked, “even though the prince died?”
Dilaf nodded. “Unfortunately for her, the royal engagement contract made her his wife the moment he died.”
“Ah,” Hrathen said. “Where is she from?”
“Teod, Your Grace,” Dilaf said.
Hrathen nodded, understanding the hatred in Dilaf ‘s voice. Arelon, despite the blasphemous city of Elantris, at least showed some possibility for redemption. Teod, however, was the homeland of Shu-Korath—a degenerate sect of Shu-Keseg, the parent religion of Shu-Dereth. The day Teod fell beneath Fjorden’s glory would be a joyous day indeed.
“A Teoish princess could be a problem,” Hrathen mused.
“Nothing can hinder Jaddeth’s empire.”
“If nothing could hinder it, Arteth, then it would already encompass the entire planet. Jaddeth takes pleasure in allowing His servants to serve Him, and grants us glory in bending the foolish before our will. And of all the fools in the world, Teoish fools are the most dangerous.”
“How could one woman be a danger to you, Your Holiness?”
“Well, for one thing, her marriage means that Teod and Arelon have a formal blood bond. If we aren’t careful, we’ll have to fight them both at once. A man is more likely to think himself a hero when he has an ally to support him.”
“I understand, Your Grace.”
Hrathen nodded, sweeping out into the sunlight. “Pay attention, Arteth, and I will teach you a very important lesson—one that few people know, and even fewer can properly use.”
“What lesson is that?” Dilaf asked, following close behind.
Hrathen smiled slightly. “I will show you the way to destroy a nation—the means by which the man of Jaddeth can topple kingdoms and seize control of the people’s souls.”
“I am … eager to learn, Your Grace.”
“Good,” Hrathen said, looking across Kae at the enormous wall of Elantris. It rose above the city like a mountain. “Take me up there. I wish to view the fallen lords of Arelon.”
When Hrathen had first arrived at the Outer City of Kae, he had noted how indefensible it was. Now, standing atop the wall of Elantris, Hrathen could see that he had actually underestimated how pathetic Kae’s fortifications were. Beautiful, terraced steps ran up the outside of Elantris’s wall, providing outside access to the top. They were firm, stone constructions; it would be impossible to destroy them in an emergency. If Kae’s inhabitants retreated into Elantris, they would be trapped, not protected.
There were no archers. The Elantris City Guard members carried large, unwieldy spears that looked like they were far too heavy to be thrown. They held themselves with a proud air, wearing unarmored yellow-and-brown uniforms, and they obviously considered themselves far above the regular city militia. From what Hrathen had heard, however, the Guard wasn’t even really necessary to keep the Elantrians in. The creatures rarely tried to escape, and the city wall was far too large for the Guard to patrol extensively. The force was more of a public-relations operation than a true military; the people of Kae felt much more comfortable living beside Elantris when they knew a troop of soldiers watched the city. However, Hrathen suspected that in a war, the Guard members would be hard-pressed to defend themselves, let alone protect Kae’s population.
Arelon was a ripe jewel waiting to be pillaged. Hrathen had heard of the days of chaos directly following Elantris’s fall, and of the incalculable treasures that had been plundered from the magnificent city. Those valuables were now concentrated in Kae, where the new nobility lived practically unguarded. He had also heard that, despite the thievery, a large percentage of Elantris’s wealth—pieces of art too large to move easily, or smaller items that hadn’t been plundered before Iadon began enforcing the city’s isolation—remained locked within Elantris’s forbidden walls.
Only superstition and inaccessibility kept Elantris and Kae from being raped by invaders. The smaller thieving bands were still too frightened of Elantris’s reputation. The larger bands were either under Fjordell control—and therefore wouldn’t attack unless instructed to do so—or had been bribed to stay away by Kae’s nobles. Both situations were extremely temporary in nature.
And that was the basic reason Hrathen felt justified in taking extreme action to bring Arelon under Fjorden control—and protection. The nation was an egg balanced on the peak of a mountain, just waiting for the first breeze to plunge it to the hard ground below. If Fjorden didn’t conquer Arelon soon, then the kingdom would certainly collapse beneath the weight of a dozen different problems. Beyond inept leadership, Arelon suffered from an overtaxed working class, religious uncertainty, and dwindling resources. All of these factors competed to deliver the final blow.
His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of harsh breathing behind him. Dilaf stood on the other side of the wall walk, looking out over Elantris. His eyes were wide, like those of a man who had been punched in the stomach, and his teeth were clenched. Hrathen half expected him to start frothing at the mouth.
“I hate them,” Dilaf whispered in a harsh, almost unintelligible voice.
Hrathen crossed the wall walk to stand beside Dilaf. Since the wall had not been constructed for military purposes, there were no battlements, but both sides had raised parapets for safety. Hrathen rested against one of these, looking out to study Elantris.
There wasn’t much to see; he’d been in slums more promising than Elantris. The buildings were so decayed that it was a miracle any of them still had roofs, and the stench was revolting. At first he doubted anything could possibly be alive inside the city, but then he saw some forms running furtively along the side of a building. They were crouched with their hands outstretched, as if prepared to fall on all fours. One paused, looking up, and Hrathen saw his first Elantrian.
It was bald, and at first Hrathen thought its skin was dark, like that of a member of the Jindo noble caste. However, he could see splotches of light gray on the creature’s skin as well—great uneven pale masses, like lichen on a stone. He squinted, leaning forward against the parapet. He couldn’t make out the Elantrian’s eyes, but somehow Hrathen knew they would be wild and feral, darting around like those of an anxious animal.
The creature took off with its companions—its pack. So this is what the Reod did, Hrathen mused to himself. It made beasts out of gods. Jaddeth had simply taken what was in their hearts and showed it for the world to see. According to Derethi philosophy, the only thing that separated men from the animals was religion. Men could serve Jaddeth’s empire; beasts could serve only their lusts. The Elantrians represented the ultimate flaw of human arroganc
e: they had set themselves up as gods. Their hubris had earned their fate. In another situation, Hrathen would have been content in leaving them to their punishment.
However, he happened to need them.
Hrathen turned to Dilaf. “The first step in taking control of a nation, Arteth, is the simplest. You find someone to hate.”
“Tell me of them, Arteth,” Hrathen requested, entering his room inside the chapel. “I want to know everything you know.”
“They are foul, loathsome creatures,” Dilaf hissed, entering behind Hrathen. “Thinking of them makes my heart grow sick and my mind feel tainted. I pray every day for their destruction.”
Hrathen closed the door to his chambers, dissatisfied. It was possible for a man to be too passionate. “Arteth, I understand you have strong feelings,” Hrathen said sternly, “but if you are to be my odiv you will need to see through your prejudices. Jaddeth has placed these Elantrians before us with a purpose in mind, and I cannot discover that purpose if you refuse to tell me anything useful.”
Dilaf blinked, taken aback. Then, for the first time since their visit to Elantris, a level of sanity returned to his eyes. “Yes, Your Grace.”
Hrathen nodded. “Did you see Elantris before its fall?”
“Yes.”
“Was it as beautiful as people say?”
Dilaf nodded sullenly. “Pristine, kept white by the hands of slaves.”
“Slaves?”
“All of Arelon’s people were slaves to the Elantrians, Your Grace. They were false gods, giving promises of salvation in exchange for sweat and labor.”
“And their legendary powers?”
“Lies, like their supposed divinity. A carefully crafted hoax to earn them respect and fear.”
“Following the Reod, there was chaos, correct?”
“Chaos, killing, riots, and panic, Your Grace. Then the merchants seized power.”
“And the Elantrians?” Hrathen asked, walking over to take a seat at his desk.
“There were few left,” Dilaf said. “Most had been killed in the riots. Those remaining were confined to Elantris, as were all men that the Shaod took from that day forward. They looked much as you just saw them, wretched and subhuman. Their skin was patched with black scars, like someone had pulled away the flesh and revealed the darkness underneath.”
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