Elantris - Brandon Sanderson [176]
Raoden had tried leaving food out for them, but the distraction only worked for a short time. They stuffed their faces, then rushed on, even more furious than before. They were driven by a single-minded, obsessive goal: to reach the carts of food in the courtyard.
If only we had more soldiers! Raoden thought with frustration. He’d lost many of his people to Sarene’s handouts, while Shaor’s numbers were apparently remaining strong. Raoden and Galladon had both offered to join Saolin’s fighters, but the grizzled captain would hear nothing of it.
“Leaders don’t fight,” the broken-nosed man had said simply. “You’re too valuable.”
Raoden knew the man was right. Raoden and Galladon were not soldiers; they wouldn’t do much besides disorder Saolin’s carefully trained troops. They had few choices left, and it appeared Saolin’s plan was the best of several bad options.
“All right,” Raoden said. “Do it.”
“Very good, my lord,” Saolin said with a slight bow. “I will begin the preparations—we only have a few minutes until the princess arrives.”
Raoden dismissed Saolin with a nod. The soldier’s plan was a desperate last-ditch attempt at a trap. Shaor’s men tended to take that same path each day before splitting up to try and work their way into the courtyard, and Saolin planned to ambush them as they approached. It was risky, but it was probably their only chance. The soldiers could not continue fighting as they were.
“I suppose we should go, then,” Raoden said.
Galladon nodded. As they turned to walk toward the courtyard, Raoden couldn’t help feeling uncomfortable with the decision he’d made. If Saolin lost, then the wildmen would break through. If Saolin won, it would mean the death or incapacitation of dozens of Elantrians—men, on both sides, that Raoden should have been able to protect.
Either way, I’m a failure, Raoden thought.
Sarene could tell something was wrong, but she wasn’t sure what it could be. Spirit was nervous, his friendly banter subdued. It wasn’t her—it was something else. Perhaps some burden of leadership.
She wanted to ask him what it was. She moved through the now familiar routine of food distribution, Spirit’s worry making her nervous. Each time he approached to accept an item from the cart, she looked into his eyes and saw his tension. She couldn’t force herself to ask about the problem. She had gone too long feigning coldness, too long rebuffing his attempts at friendship. Just as in Teod, she had locked herself into a role. And, just as before, she cursed herself, not quite knowing how to escape her self-imposed indifference.
Fortunately, Spirit didn’t share her same inhibitions. As the noblemen gathered to begin the handouts, Spirit pulled Sarene aside, walking just a short distance from the main group.
She eyed him curiously. “What?”
Spirit glanced back at the collection of noblemen, and even a few noblewomen, who were waiting for the Elantrians to approach and receive their food. Finally, he turned to Sarene. “Something might happen today,” he said.
“What?” she asked, frowning.
“Do you remember how I told you that not all Elantrians were as docile as the ones here?”
“Yes,” Sarene said slowly. What’s your trick, Spirit? What game are you playing? He seemed so honest, so earnest. Yet, she couldn’t help worrying that he was just toying with her.
“Well, just …” Spirit said. “Just be ready. Keep your guards close.”
Sarene frowned. She sensed a new emotion in his eyes—something she hadn’t seen in him before. Guilt.
As he turned back toward the food line, leaving his foreboding words ringing in her mind, a part of Sarene was suddenly grateful that she had remained aloof. He was hiding something from her—something big. Her political senses warned her to be wary.
Whatever he had been expecting, however, it didn’t come. By the time they had begun handing out food, Spirit had relaxed somewhat, speaking cheerfully. Sarene began to think that he had made a big show out of nothing.
Then the