Elantris - Brandon Sanderson [128]
The corpse tumbled to the ground, and Saolin saluted Raoden with his blade, shooting him a gap-toothed smile of reassurance. Then he spun around to face a group of wildmen charging down a nearby street toward them.
Stunned, Raoden stumbled backward. “Saolin, no! There are too many of them!”
Fortunately, Saolin’s men had heard the commotion. Within seconds, there were five of them—Saolin, Dashe, and three other soldiers—standing against the attack. They fought in an efficient line, blocking their enemy’s path to the rest of the gardens, working with the coordination of trained soldiers.
Shaor’s men were more numerous, but their rage was no match for martial efficiency. They attacked solitarily, and their fervor made them stupid. In moments the battle was over, the few remaining attackers dashing away in retreat.
Saolin cleaned his blade efficiently, then turned with the others. They saluted Raoden in coordination.
The entire battle had happened almost more quickly than Raoden could follow. “Good work,” he finally managed to say.
A grunt came from his side, where Galladon knelt beside the decapitated body of the first attacker. “They must have heard we had corn in here,” the Dula mumbled. “Poor rulos.”
Raoden nodded solemnly, regarding the fallen madmen. Four of them lay on the ground, clutching various wounds—all of which would have been fatal had they not been Elantrians. As it was, they could only moan in torment. Raoden felt a stab of familiarity. He knew what that pain felt like.
“This cannot continue,” he said quietly.
“I don’t see how you can stop it, sule,” Galladon replied at his side. “These are Shaor’s men; not even he has much control over them.”
Raoden shook his head. “I will not save the people of Elantris and leave them to fight all the days of their lives. I will not build a society on death. Shaor’s followers might have forgotten that they are men, but I have not.”
Galladon frowned. “Karata and Aanden, they were possibilities—if distant ones. Shaor is another story, sule. There isn’t a smear of humanity left in these men—you can’t reason with them.”
“Then I’ll have to give them their reason back,” Raoden said.
“And how, sule, do you intend to do that?”
“I will find a way.”
Raoden knelt by the fallen madman. A tickle in the back of his mind warned him that he recognized this man from recent experience. Raoden couldn’t be certain, but he thought that the man had been one of Taan’s followers, one of the men Raoden had confronted during Dashe’s attempted raid.
So, it’s true, Raoden thought with a crimp in his stomach. Many of Taan’s followers had come to join Raoden, but the larger part had not. It was whispered that many of these had found their way to the merchant sector of Elantris, joining with Shaor’s wildmen. It wasn’t all that unlikely, Raoden supposed—the men had been willing to follow the obviously unbalanced Aanden, after all. Shaor’s band was only a short step away from that.
“Lord Spirit?” Saolin asked hesitantly. “What should we do with them?”
Raoden turned pitying eyes on the fallen. “They are of no danger to us now, Saolin. Let’s put them with the others.”
Soon after his success with Aanden’s gang, and the subsequent swell in his band’s numbers, Raoden had done something he’d wanted to from the beginning. He started gathering the fallen of Elantris.
He took them off the streets and out of the gutters, searched through buildings both destroyed and standing, trying to find every man, woman, and child in Elantris who had given in to their pain. The city was large, and Raoden’s manpower was limited, but so far they had collected hundreds of people. He ordered them placed in the second building Kahar had cleaned, a large open structure he had originally intended to use as a meeting place. The Hoed would still suffer, but at least they could do it with a little decency.
And they wouldn’t have to do it alone.