Elantris - Brandon Sanderson [123]
“It was inevitable,” Dilaf said. “Eventually all things must bow before Jaddeth’s will—and it is his will that all of Elantris burn. I was simply following fate.”
“You nearly lost control of that crowd with your ravings, Arteth,” Hrathen snapped. “A riot must be very carefully planned and executed, otherwise it will just as likely turn against its creators as their enemies.”
“I … got carried away,” Dilaf said. “But, killing one Elantrian would not have made them riot.”
“You don’t know that. Besides, what of Iadon?”
“How could he object?” Dilaf said. “It is his own order that escaping Elantrians can be burned. He would never take a stand in favor of Elantris.”
“But he could take a stand against us!” Hrathen said. “You were wrong to bring this creature to the meeting.”
“The people deserved to see what they are to hate.”
“The people are not ready for that yet,” Hrathen said harshly. “We want to keep their hatred formless. If they start to tear up the city, Iadon will put an end to our preaching.”
Dilaf’s eyes narrowed. “You sound as if you are trying to avoid the inevitable, my hroden. You fostered this hatred—are you unwilling to accept responsibility for the deaths it will cause? Hate and loathing cannot remain ‘formless’ for long—they will find an outlet.”
“But that outlet will come when I decide it,” Hrathen said coldly. “I am aware of my responsibility, Arteth, though I question your understanding of it. You just told me that killing this Elantrian was fated by Jaddeth—that you were simply following Jaddeth’s fate by forcing my hand. Which is it to be? Would the deaths I cause in riot be my doing, or simply the will of God? How can you be an innocent servant while I must accept full accountability for this city’s people?”
Dilaf exhaled sharply. He knew, however, when he had been defeated. He bowed curtly, then turned and entered the chapel.
Hrathen watched the arteth go, fuming quietly. Dilaf’s action this night had been foolish and impulsive. Was he trying to undermine Hrathen’s authority, or was he simply acting on his zealous passions? If it was the second, the near riot was Hrathen’s own fault. He had, after all, been so proud of himself for using Dilaf as an effective tool.
Hrathen shook his head, releasing a tense breath. He had defeated Dilaf this evening, but the tension was growing between them. They couldn’t afford to get into visible arguments. Rumors of dissension in the Derethi ranks would erode their credibility.
I will have to do something about the arteth, Hrathen decided with resignation. Dilaf was becoming too much of a liability.
His decision made, Hrathen turned to leave. As he did, however, his eyes fell again on the Elantrian’s charred remains, and he shuddered despite himself. The man’s willful acceptance of immolation brought memories to Hrathen’s mind—memories he had long tried to banish. Images of pain, of sacrifice, and of death.
Memories of Dakhor.
He turned his back on the charred bones, walking toward the chapel. He still had one other task to complete this evening.
_______
The Seon floated free from its box, responding to Hrathen’s command. Mentally, Hrathen chided himself—this was the second time in one week he had used the creature. Reliance on the Seon was something to be avoided. However, Hrathen could think of no other way to accomplish his goal. Dilaf was right: Time was very scarce. Fourteen days had already passed since his arrival in Arelon, and he had spent a week traveling before that. Only seventy days remained of his original allotment, and, despite the size of the night’s congregation, Hrathen had converted only a tiny fraction of Arelon.
Only one fact gave him hope: Arelon’s nobility was concentrated in Kae. To be away from Iadon’s court was political suicide; the king granted and took away titles willfully, and a high profile was necessary to assure a firm place in the aristocracy. Wyrn didn’t care if Hrathen converted