Elantris - Brandon Sanderson [118]
“Say hello to Diren, Arteth,” Hrathen said, gesturing to the black-and-gray-faced Elantrian. “And kindly refrain from using Lord Jaddeth’s name as a curse. That is one Fjordell habit I would rather you hadn’t assumed.”
“An Elantrian!”
“Yes,” Hrathen said. “Very good, Arteth. And no, you may not set fire to him.”
Hrathen leaned back slightly in his seat, smiling as Dilaf glared at the Elantrian. Hrathen had summoned Dilaf to the room knowing full well the kind of reaction he would get, and he felt a little petty at the move. That, however, didn’t stop him from enjoying the moment.
Finally, Dilaf shot Hrathen a hateful look—though he quickly masked it with one of barely controlled submissiveness. “What is he doing here, my hroden?”
“I thought it would be good to know the face of our enemy, Arteth,” Hrathen said, rising and walking over to the frightened Elantrian. The two priests were, of course, conversing in Fjordell. There was confusion in the Elantrian’s eyes, along with a feral sort of fear.
Hrathen squatted down beside the man, studying his demon. “Are they all bald, Dilaf?” he asked with interest.
“Not at first,” the arteth answered sullenly. “They usually have a full head when the Korathi dogs prepare them for the city. Their skin is paler as well.”
Hrathen reached out, feeling the man’s cheek. The skin was tough and leathery. The Elantrian watched him with frightened eyes. “These black spots—these are what distinguish an Elantrian?”
“It is the first sign, my hroden,” Dilaf said, subdued. Either he was getting used to the Elantrian, or he had simply gotten over his initial burst of hatred and had moved on to a more patient, smoldering form of disgust. “It usually happens overnight. When the accursed one wakes up, he or she will have dark blotches all over their body. The rest of their skin turns grayish brown, like this one, over time.”
“Like the skin of an embalmed corpse,” Hrathen noted. He had visited the university in Svorden on occasion, and knew of the bodies they kept there for study.
“Very similar,” Dilaf agreed quietly. “The skin isn’t the only sign, my hroden. Their insides are rotten as well.”
“How can you tell?”
“Their hearts do not beat,” Dilaf said. “And their minds do not work. There are stories from the early days ten years ago, before they were all locked away in that city. Within a few months they turn comatose, barely able to move, except to bemoan their pain.”
“Pain?”
“The pain of their soul being burned by Lord Jaddeth’s fire,” Dilaf explained. “It builds within them until it consumes their consciousness. It is their punishment.”
Hrathen nodded, turning away from the Elantrian.
“You shouldn’t have touched him, my hroden,” Dilaf said.
“I thought you said that Lord Jaddeth would protect his faithful,” Hrathen said. “What need have I to fear?”
“You invited evil into the chapel, my hroden.”
Hrathen snorted. “There is nothing sacred about this building, Dilaf, as you know. No holy ground can be dedicated in a country that hasn’t allied itself with Shu-Dereth.”
“Of course,” Dilaf said. His eyes were growing eager for some reason.
The look in Dilaf’s eyes made Hrathen uncomfortable. Perhaps it would be best to minimize the time the arteth spent in the same room as the Elantrian.
“I summoned you because I’m going to need you to make the preparations for the evening sermon,” Hrathen said. “I can’t do them myself—I want to spend a bit of time interrogating this Elantrian.”
“As you command, my hroden,” Dilaf said, still eyeing the Elantrian.
“You are dismissed, Arteth,” Hrathen said firmly.
Dilaf growled quietly, then scuttled from the room, off to do Hrathen’s bidding.
Hrathen turned back to the Elantrian. The creature didn’t seem “mindless,” as Dilaf had put it. The Guard captain who’d brought the Elantrian had even mentioned the creature’s name; that implied that it could speak.
“Can you understand me, Elantrian?” Hrathen asked in Aonic.
Diren paused, then nodded his