Elantris - Brandon Sanderson [146]
Still, something told him that Shaor was alive. Or, perhaps Raoden simply wanted to believe so. He needed an adversary he could face; the madmen were too scattered to be efficiently defeated, and they outnumbered Raoden’s soldiers by a significant number. Unless Shaor existed, unless Shaor could be swayed, and unless Shaor could control his men, Raoden’s band was in serious trouble.
“We’re close now,” Galladon whispered as they approached one final street. There was movement to one side, and they waited apprehensively until it appeared to have passed on.
“The bank,” Galladon said, nodding to a large structure across the street. It was large and boxy, its walls dark beyond even what the slime normally produced. “The Elantrians maintained the place for the local merchants to keep their wealth. A bank inside Elantris was seen as far more secure than one in Kae.”
Raoden nodded. Some merchants, like his father, hadn’t trusted the Elantrians. Their insistence on storing their fortunes outside of the city had eventually proven wise. “You think Shaor’s in there?” he asked.
Galladon shrugged. “If I were going to choose a base, this would be it. Large, defensible, imposing. Perfect for a warlord.”
Raoden nodded. “Let’s go, then.”
The bank was definitely occupied. The slime around the front door was scuffed by the frequent passing of feet, and they could hear voices coming from the back of the structure. Galladon looked at Raoden inquiringly, and Raoden nodded. They went in.
The inside was as drab as the outside—dull and stale, even for fallen Elantris. The vault door—a large circle etched with a thick Aon Edo—was open, and the voices came from inside. Raoden took a deep breath, ready to confront the last of the gang leaders.
“Bring me food!” wailed a high-pitched voice.
Raoden froze. He craned his neck to the side, peeking into the vault, then recoiled with surprise. At the back of the chamber, sitting on a pile of what appeared to be gold bars, was a young girl in a pristine, unsoiled pink dress. She had long Aonic blond hair, but her skin was black and gray like that of any other Elantrian. Eight men in ragged clothing knelt before her, their arms spread out in adoration.
“Bring me food!” the girl repeated in a demanding voice.
“Well, behead me and see me in Doloken,” Galladon swore behind him. “What is that?”
“Shaor,” Raoden said with amazement. Then his eyes refocused, and he realized that the girl was staring at him.
“Kill them!” Shaor screamed.
“Idos Domi!” Raoden yelped, spinning around and dashing toward the door.
_______
“If you weren’t dead already, sule, I’d kill you,” Galladon said.
Raoden nodded, leaning tiredly against a wall. He was getting weaker. Galladon had warned him it would happen—an Elantrian’s muscles atrophied the most near the end of his first month. Exercise couldn’t stop it. Even though the mind still worked and the flesh did not decay, the body was convinced that it was dead.
The old tricks worked the best—they had eventually lost Shaor’s men by climbing up the side of a broken wall and hiding on a rooftop. The madmen might act like hounds, but they certainly hadn’t acquired a dog’s sense of smell. They had passed by Raoden and Galladon’s hiding place a half-dozen times, and never thought to look up. The men were passionate, but they weren’t very intelligent.
“Shaor is a little girl,” Raoden said, still shocked.
Galladon shrugged. “I don’t understand either, sule.”
“Oh, I understand it—I just can’t believe it. Didn’t you see them kneeling before her? That girl, Shaor, is their god—a living idol. They’ve regressed to a more primitive way of life, and have adopted a primitive religion as well.”
“Be careful, sule,” Galladon warned, “many people called Jesker a ‘primitive’ religion.”
“All right,” Raoden said, gesturing that they should begin moving again.