Elantris - Brandon Sanderson [163]
“No,” Raoden said. “Even if they didn’t kill some of the nobles, the Elantris City Guards would slaughter them.”
“Isn’t that what we want, sule?” Galladon asked with an evil twinkle in his eyes.
“Definitely not,” Raoden said. “I think Princess Sarene has a secondary purpose behind this Trial of hers. She brings different nobles with her every day, as if she wanted to acclimatize them to Elantris.”
“What good would that do?” Karata asked, speaking for the first time as she put away her sewing utensils.
“I don’t know,” Raoden said. “But it is important to her. If Shaor’s men attacked the nobility, it would destroy whatever the princess is trying to accomplish. I’ve tried to warn her that not all Elantrians are as docile as the ones she’s seen, but I don’t think she believes me. We’ll just have to keep Shaor’s men away until Sarene is done.”
“Which will be?” Galladon asked.
“Domi only knows,” Raoden replied with a shake of his head. “She won’t tell me—she gets suspicious every time I try to probe her for information.”
“Well, sule,” Galladon said, regarding Saolin’s wounded arm, “you’d better find a way to make her stop soon—either that, or prepare her to deal with several dozen ravenous maniacs. Kolo?”
Raoden nodded.
A dot in the center, a line running a few inches above it, and another line running along its right side—Aon Aon, the starting point of every other Aon. Raoden continued to draw, his fingers moving delicately and quickly, leaving luminescent trails behind them. He completed the box around the center dot, then drew two larger circles around it. Aon Tia, the symbol for travel.
Raoden didn’t stop here either. He drew two long lines extending from the corners of the box—a proscription that the Aon was to affect only him—then four smaller Aons down the side to delineate the exact distance it was to send him. A series of lines crossing the top instructed the Aon to wait to take effect until he tapped its center, indicating that he was ready.
He made each line or dot precisely; length and size was very important to the calculations. It was still a relatively simple Aon, nothing like the incredibly complex healing Aons that the book described. Still, Raoden was proud of his increasing ability. It had taken him days to perfect the four-Aon series that instructed Tia to transport him precisely ten body lengths away.
He watched the glowing pattern with a smile of satisfaction until it flashed and disappeared, completely ineffective.
“You’re getting better, sule,” Galladon said, leaning on the windowsill, peering into the chapel.
Raoden shook his head. “I have a long way to go, Galladon.”
The Dula shrugged. Galladon had stopped trying to convince Raoden that practicing AonDor was pointless. No matter what else happened, Raoden always spent a few hours each day drawing his Aons. It comforted him—he felt the pain less when he was drawing Aons, and he felt more at peace during those few short hours than he had in a long time.
“How are the crops?” Raoden asked.
Galladon turned around, looking back at the garden. The cornstalks were still short, barely more than sprouts. Raoden could see their stems beginning to wilt. The last week had seen the disappearance of most of Galladon’s workers, and now only the Dula remained to labor on the diminutive farm. Every day he made several treks to the well to bring water to his plants, but he couldn’t carry much, and the bucket Sarene had given them leaked.
“They’ll live,” Galladon said. “Remember to have Karata send for some fertilizer in the next order.”
Raoden shook his head. “We can’t do that, my friend. The king mustn’t find out that we’re raising our own food.”
Galladon scowled. “Well, I suppose you could order some dung instead.”
“Too obvious.”
“Well, ask for some fish then,” he said. “Claim you’ve gotten a sudden craving for trike.”
Raoden sighed, nodding. He should have thought a little more before he put the garden behind his own home; the scent of rotting fish was