Elantris - Brandon Sanderson [19]
The people might not yet know it, but Hrathen was the only thing standing between them and utter annihilation. They had resisted Jaddeth and His people in arrogant defiance for far too long. Hrathen was their last chance. Someday they would call him their savior.
CHAPTER 4
The woman screamed until she grew too tired, calling for help, for mercy, for Domi. She clawed at the broad gate, her fingernails leaving marks in the film of slime. Eventually, she slumped to the ground in a quiet heap, shaking from occasional sobs. Seeing her agony reminded Raoden of his own pain—the sharp twinge of his toe, the loss of his life outside.
“They won’t wait much longer,” Galladon whispered, his hand firmly on Raoden’s arm, holding the prince back.
The woman finally stumbled to her feet, looking dazed, as if she had forgotten where she was. She took a single, uncertain step to her left, her palm resting on the wall, as if it were a comfort—a connection to the outside world, rather than the barrier separating her from it.
“It’s done,” Galladon said.
“Just like that?” Raoden asked.
Galladon nodded. “She picked well—or, as well as one could. Watch.”
Shadows stirred in an alleyway directly across the courtyard; Raoden and Galladon watched from inside a ramshackle stone building, one of many that lined Elantris’s entry courtyard. The shadows resolved into a group of men, and they approached the woman with determined, controlled steps, surrounding her. One reached out and took her basket of offerings. The woman didn’t have the strength left to resist; she simply collapsed again. Raoden felt Galladon’s fingers dig into his shoulder as he involuntarily pulled forward, wanting to dash out to confront the thieves.
“Not a good idea. Kolo?” Galladon whispered. “Save your courage for yourself. If stubbing your toe nearly knocked you out, think how it would feel to have one of those cudgels cracking across your brave little head.”
Raoden nodded, relaxing. The woman had been robbed, but it didn’t look like she was in further danger. It hurt, however, to watch her. She wasn’t a young maiden; she bore the stout figure of a woman accustomed to childbirth and the running of a household. A mother, not a damsel. The strong lines of the woman’s face bespoke hard-won wisdom and courage, and somehow that made watching her more difficult. If such a woman could be defeated by Elantris, what hope was there for Raoden?
“I told you she chose well,” Galladon continued. “She might be a few pounds of food lighter, but she doesn’t have any wounds. Now, if she had turned right—like you did, sule—she would have been at the dubious mercy of Shaor’s men. If she had gone forward, then Aanden would have had the right to her offerings. The left turn is definitely best—Karata’s men take your food, but they rarely hurt you. Better to be hungry than spend the next few years with a broken arm.”
“Next few years?” Raoden asked, turning away from the courtyard to regard his tall, dark-skinned companion. “I thought you said our wounds would last us an eternity.”
“We only assume they will, sule. Show me an Elantrian who has managed to keep his wits until eternity ends, and maybe he’ll be able to prove the theory.”
“How long do people usually last in here?”
“A year, maybe two,” Galladon said.
“What?”
“Thought we were immortal, did you? Just because we don’t age, we’ll last forever?”
“I don’t know,” Raoden said. “I though you said we couldn’t die.”
“We can’t,” Galladon said. “But the cuts, the bruises, the stubbed toes … they pile up. One can only take so much.”
“They kill themselves?” Raoden asked quietly.
“That’s not an option. No, most of them lie around mumbling or screaming. Poor rulos.”
“How long have you been here, then?”
“A few months.”
The realization was