Elantris - Brandon Sanderson [169]
“What now?” Galladon asked.
“We put him in,” Raoden guessed, kneeling to lower the Elantrian into the pool. The man floated for a moment in the deep sapphire water, then released a blissful sigh. The sound opened a longing within Raoden, an intense desire to be free of his pains both physical and mental. The old Elantrian’s face seemed to smooth slightly, his eyes alive again.
Those eyes held Raoden’s for a moment, thanks shining therein. Then the man dissolved.
“Doloken!” Galladon cursed as the old Elantrian melted away like sugar in a cup of adolis tea. In barely a second, the man was gone, no sign remaining of flesh, bone, or blood.
“I’d be careful if I were you, my prince,” Karata suggested.
Raoden looked down, realizing how close he was to the pool’s edge. The pain screamed; his body shook, as if it knew how close it was to relief. All he had to do was fall….
Raoden stood, stumbling slightly as he backed away from the beckoning pool. He wasn’t ready. He wouldn’t be ready until the pain ruled him—as long as he had will left, he would struggle.
He placed a hand on Galladon’s shoulder. “When I am Hoed, bring me here. Don’t make me live in pain.”
“You’re young to Elantris yet, sule,” Galladon said scoffingly. “You’ll last for years.”
The pain raged in Raoden, making his knees tremble. “Just promise, my friend. Swear to me you will bring me here.”
“I swear, Raoden,” Galladon said solemnly, his eyes worried. Raoden nodded. “Come, we have a long trek back to the city.”
CHAPTER 26
The gate slammed shut as Sarene’s cart rolled back into Kae. “You’re certain he’s the one in charge?” she asked.
Ashe bobbed slightly. “You were correct, my lady—my information about the gang leaders was outdated. They call this newcomer Lord Spirit. His rise was a recent event—most hadn’t heard of him more than a month ago, though one man claims that Lord Spirit and Shaor are the same person. The reports agree that he defeated both Karata and Aanden. Apparently, the second confrontation involved an enormous battle of some sort.”
“Then the people I’m meeting with are impostors,” Sarene said, tapping her cheek as she rode in the back of the cart. It was hardly fitting transportation for a princess, but none of the day’s nobles had offered her a ride in their coaches. She had intended to ask Shuden, but he had disappeared—the young Torena had beat Sarene to him.
“Apparently they are, my lady. Are you angered?” Ashe asked the question carefully. He had made it quite clear he still thought her preoccupation with Spirit was an unnecessary distraction.
“No, not really. You have to expect a measure of subterfuge in any political engagement.” Or, so she said. Political necessity or not, she wanted Spirit to be honest with her. She was actually beginning to trust him, and that worried her.
He chose to confide in her for some reason. Around the others he was bright and cheerful, but no man could be that one-sidedly optimistic. When he spoke only to Sarene, he was more honest. She could see pain in his eyes, unexplained sorrows and worries. This man, warlord or not, cared about Elantris.
Like all Elantrians, he was more corpse than man: his skin wan and dry, his scalp and eyebrows completely hairless. Her revulsion was decreasing every day, however, as she grew accustomed to the city. She wasn’t to the point where she could see beauty in the Elantrians, but at least she wasn’t physically sickened by them any longer.
Still, she forced herself to remain aloof from Spirit’s overtures of friendship. She had spent too long in politics to let herself become emotionally open with an opponent. And he was definitely an opponent—no matter how affable. He played with her, presenting false gang leaders to distract, while he himself supervised her distributions. She couldn’t even be certain that he was honoring their agreements. For all she knew, the only ones allowed to receive food were Spirit’s followers. Perhaps he seemed so optimistic because she was inadvertently helping him reign supreme over the city.