Elantris - Brandon Sanderson [142]
Hrathen spun. “We? I ordered only you, Arteth.”
“Yes, my lord,” Dilaf said. “However, surely you don’t expect me to leave my odivs behind.”
“Odivs?” Hrathen asked. As an official member of the Derethi priesthood, Dilaf was able to swear odivs just as Hrathen had, continuing the chain that linked all men to Jaddeth. Hrathen hadn’t even considered, however, that the man might call odivs of his own. When had he found the time?
“Who, Dilaf?” Hrathen asked sharply. “Whom did you make your odiv?”
“Several people, my hroden,” Dilaf responded evasively.
“Names, Arteth.”
And he began to name them. Most priests called one or two odivs, several of the gyorns had as many as ten. Dilaf had over thirty. Hrathen grew increasingly stunned as he listened. Stunned, and angry. Somehow, Dilaf made odivs out of all Hrathen’s most useful supporters—including Waren and many of the other aristocrats.
Dilaf finished his list, turning traitorously humble eyes toward the floor.
“An interesting list,” Hrathen said slowly. “And who do you intend to take with you, Arteth?”
“Why, all of them, my lord,” Dilaf said innocently. “If this letter is as important as my lord implies, then I must give it proper protection.”
Hrathen closed his eyes. If Dilaf took all of the people he had mentioned, then it would leave Hrathen stripped of supporters—assuming, that was, they would go. The calling of odiv was very demanding; most normal Derethi believers, even many priests, were sworn to the less restrictive position of krondet. A krondet listened to the counsel of his hroden, but was not morally bound to do what he was told.
It was well within Dilaf’s power to make his odivs accompany him to Fjorden. Hrathen could have no control over what the arteth did with his sworn followers; it would be a grave breach of protocol to order Dilaf to leave them behind. However, if Dilaf did try to take them, it would undoubtedly be a disaster. These men were new to Shu-Dereth; they didn’t know how much power they had given Dilaf. If the arteth tried to drag them to Fjorden, it was unlikely they would follow.
And if that happened, Hrathen would be forced to excommunicate every single one of them. Shu-Dereth would be ruined in Arelon.
Dilaf continued his preparations as if he hadn’t noticed Hrathen’s internal battle. Not that it was much of a conflict—Hrathen knew what he had to do. Dilaf was unstable. It was possible that he was bluffing, but equally likely that he would destroy Hrathen’s efforts in spiteful retribution.
Hrathen gritted his teeth until his jaw throbbed. Hrathen might have stopped Dilaf’s attempt to burn the Elantrian, but the arteth had obviously realized what Hrathen’s next move would be. No, Dilaf didn’t want to go to Fjorden. He might have been unstable, but he was also much better prepared than Hrathen had assumed.
“Wait,” Hrathen ordered as Dilaf’s messenger turned to leave. If that man left the chapel, all would be ruined. “Arteth, I have changed my mind.”
“My hroden?” Dilaf asked, poking his head out of his chamber.
“You will not go to Fjorden, Dilaf.”
“But my lord …”
“No, I cannot do without you.” The lie made Hrathen’s stomach clinch tightly. “Find someone else to deliver the message.”
With that, Hrathen spun and stalked toward his chambers.
“I am, as always, my hroden’s humble servant,” Dilaf whispered, the room’s acoustics carrying the words directly to Hrathen’s ears.
Hrathen fled again.
He needed to think, to clear his mind. He had spent several hours stewing in his office, angry at both Dilaf and himself. Finally, he could stand it no longer, and so he absconded to the night streets of Kae.
As usual, he directed his path toward Elantris’s wall. He sought height, as if rising above the dwellings of man could give him a better perspective on life.
“Spare some coins, sir?” pled a voice.
Hrathen stopped in surprise; he had been so distracted that he hadn’t noticed