Elantris - Brandon Sanderson [120]
“Yes, my hroden.”
“Do not forget, Arteth,” Hrathen said, “that there is a point to our hatred.”
“It unifies our followers—it gives them a common enemy.”
“Correct,” Hrathen said, resting his arms on his desk. “There is another purpose, however. One just as important. Now that we have given the people someone to hate, we need to create an association between Elantris and our rivals.”
“Shu-Korath,” Dilaf said with a sinister smile.
“Again correct. The Korathi priests are the ones who prepare new Elantrians—they are the motivation behind the mercy this country shows its fallen gods. If we imply that Korathi tolerance makes its priests sympathizers, the people’s loathing of Elantris will shift to Shu-Korath instead. Their priests will be faced with two options: Either they accept our incrimination, or they side with us against Elantris. If they choose the former, then the people will turn against them. If they choose the latter, then it puts them under our theological control. After that, a few simple embarrassments will make them appear impotent and irrelevant.”
“It is perfect,” Dilaf said. “But will it happen quickly enough? There is so little time.”
Hrathen started, looking over at the still smiling arteth. How had the man known about his deadline? He couldn’t—he must be guessing.
“It will work,” Hrathen said. “With their monarchy unstable and their religion wavering, the people will look for a new source of leadership. Shu-Dereth will be like a rock amidst shifting sands.”
“A fine analogy, my hroden.”
Hrathen could never tell if Dilaf mocked him with such statements or not. “I have a task for you, Arteth. I want you to make the connection in your sermon tonight—turn the people against Shu-Korath.”
“Will my hroden not do it himself?”
“I will speak second, and my speech will offer logic. You, however, are more passionate—and their disgust for Shu-Korath must first come from their hearts.”
Dilaf nodded, bowing his head to show that he acceded to the command. Hrathen waved his hand, indicating the conversation was over, and the arteth backed away, closing the door behind him.
_______
Dilaf spoke with characteristic zeal. He stood outside the chapel, on a podium Hrathen had commissioned once the crowds became too large to fit in the building. The warm spring nights were conducive to such meetings, and the half-light of sunset, combined with torches, gave the proper mixture of visibility and shadow.
The people watched Dilaf with rapture, even though most of what he said was repetitious. Hrathen spent hours preparing his sermons, careful to combine both duplication for reinforcement and originality to provide excitement. Dilaf just spoke. It didn’t matter if he spouted the same denunciations of Elantris and the same redundant praises to Jaddeth’s empire; the people listened anyway. After a week of hearing the arteth speak, Hrathen had learned to ignore his own envy—to an extent, at least. He replaced it with pride.
As he listened, Hrathen congratulated himself on the arteth’s effectiveness. Dilaf did as Hrathen had ordered, beginning with his normal ravings about Elantris, then moving boldly into a full accusation of Shu-Korath. The crowd moved with him, allowing their emotions to be redirected. It was as Hrathen had planned; there was no reason for him to be jealous of Dilaf. The man’s rage was like a river Hrathen himself had diverted toward the crowd. Dilaf might have the raw talent, but Hrathen was the master behind it.
He told himself that right up to the moment Dilaf surprised him. The sermon progressed well, Dilaf’s fury investing the crowd with a loathing of everything Korathi. But then the tide shifted as Dilaf turned his attention back to Elantris. Hrathen thought nothing of it at first—Dilaf had an incorrigible tendency to wander during his sermons.
“And now, behold!” Dilaf suddenly commanded. “Behold the Svrakiss! Look