Elantris - Brandon Sanderson [129]
Raoden moved among them gravely, helping carry one of the fallen wildmen. There were only four to deposit; he had ordered the fifth man, the one Saolin had beheaded, buried. As far as anyone could tell, an Elantrian died when he was completely beheaded—at least, their eyes didn’t move, nor did their lips try to speak, if the head was completely separated from the body.
As he walked through the Hoed, Raoden listened to their quiet murmurings.
“Beautiful, once so very beautiful….”
“Life, life, life, life, life….”
“Oh Domi, where are you? When will it end? Oh Domi….”
He usually had to block the words out after a time, lest they drive him insane—or worse, reawaken the pain within his own body. Ien was there, floating around sightless heads and weaving between fallen bodies. The Seon spent a lot of time in the room. It was strangely fitting.
They left the Hall a solemn group, quiet and content to keep to their own thoughts. Raoden only spoke when he noticed the tear in Saolin’s robes.
“You’re wounded!” Raoden said with surprise.
“It is nothing, my lord,” Saolin said indifferently.
“That kind of modesty is fine on the outside, Saolin, but not here. You must accept my apology.”
“My lord,” Saolin said seriously. “Being an Elantrian only makes me more proud to wear this wound. I received it protecting our people.”
Raoden turned a tormented look back at the Hall. “It only brings you one step closer …”
“No, my lord, I don’t think it does. Those people gave in to their pain because they couldn’t find purpose—their torture was meaningless, and when you can’t find reason in life, you tend to give up on it. This wound will hurt, but each stab of pain will remind me that I earned it with honor. That is not such a bad thing, I think.”
Raoden regarded the old soldier with a look of respect. On the outside he probably would have been close to retirement. In Elantris, with the Shaod as an equalizer, he looked about the same as anyone else. One couldn’t tell age by looks, but perhaps one could tell it through wisdom.
“You speak discerningly, my friend,” Raoden said. “I accept your sacrifice with humility.”
The conversation was interrupted by the slap of feet against cobblestones. A moment later Karata dashed into view, her feet coated with fresh sludge from outside the chapel area. Kahar would be furious: she had forgotten to wipe down her feet, and now she was tracking slime over his clean cobblestones.
Karata obviously didn’t care about slime at the moment. She surveyed the group quickly, making sure no one was missing. “I heard Shaor attacked. Were there any casualties?”
“Five. All on their side,” Raoden said.
“I should have been here,” she said with a curse. During the last few days, the determined woman had been overseeing the relocation of her people to the chapel area; she agreed that a central, unified group would be more effective, and the chapel area was cleaner. Oddly enough, the idea of cleaning the palace had never occurred to her. To most Elantrians, the sludge was accepted as an irrevocable part of life.
“You have important things to do,” Raoden said. “You couldn’t have anticipated Shaor would attack.”
Karata didn’t like the answer, but she fell into line beside him without further complaint.
“Look at him, sule,” Galladon said, smiling slightly beside him. “I would never have thought it possible.”
Raoden looked up, following the Dula