Elantris - Brandon Sanderson [203]
The captain’s eyes brightened, and Hrathen was suddenly very grateful he had begun bribing the man. “Where are the rest of your men, Captain?”
“Protecting the new king,” the captain said proudly.
“New king?” Hrathen asked.
“You’ve missed a lot, my lord. Lord Telrii rules in Arelon now—or, at least, he will as soon as Iadon’s funeral is over.”
Weakened as he was, Hrathen could only stand in shock. Iadon dead? Telrii seizing control? How could five days bring about such drastic events?
“Come,” Hrathen said firmly. “You can explain it to me on the way to the chapel.”
The crowds gathered around him as he walked; the captain owned no carriage, and Hrathen didn’t want to bother waiting for one. For the moment, the exhilaration of a plan fulfilled was enough to keep him moving.
The crowds helped as well. As news spread, the people—servants, merchants, and nobles alike—came to stare at the recovered Elantrian. All parted before him, regarding him with looks that ranged from stunned to worshipful, some reaching out to touch his Elantrian robe in awe.
The trip was crowded, but uneventful—except for one moment when he looked down a side street and recognized the Teoish princess’s head poking out of a carriage window. In that moment, Hrathen felt a sense of fulfillment that rivaled the day he had become a full gyorn. His healing wasn’t just unexpected, it was unfathomable. There was no way Sarene could have planned for it. For once, Hrathen had total and complete advantage.
When he reached the chapel, Hrathen turned to the mass of people with raised hands. His clothing was still stained, but he held himself as if to make the grime a badge of pride. The dirt signaled his suffering, proving that he had traveled to the very pit of damnation and returned with his soul intact.
“People of Arelon!” he yelled. “Know ye this day who is Master! Let your hearts and souls be guided by the religion which can offer evidence of divine support. Lord Jaddeth is the only God in Sycla. If you need proof of this, look at my hands that are clean from rot, my face that is pure and unblemished, and my scalp rough with stubble. Lord Jaddeth tested me, and as I relied on Him, He blessed me. I have been healed!”
He lowered his hands and the crowd roared their approval. Many had probably doubted after Hrathen’s apparent fall, but they would return with renewed dedication. The converts he made now would be stronger than any that had come before.
Hrathen entered the chapel, and the people remained outside. Hrathen walked with increasing fatigue, the energy of the moment finally giving way to five days’ worth of strain. He flopped to his knees before the altar, bowing his head in sincere prayer.
It didn’t bother him that the miracle was an effect of Forton’s potion—Hrathen had found that most supposed miracles were either natural or the result of human intervention. Jaddeth was behind them, as He was behind all things, using natural phenomena to increase the faith of man.
Hrathen raised praises to God for giving him the capacity to think of the plan, the means to execute it, and the climate to make it succeed. The captain’s arrival had certainly been a result of divine will. That the man would leave Telrii’s camp just when Hrathen needed him, and that he would hear Hrathen yelling through the thick wood, was simply too much to be a coincidence. Jaddeth might not have “cursed” Hrathen with the Shaod, but He had certainly been behind the plan’s success.
Drained, Hrathen finished his prayer and lurched to his feet. As he did so, he heard a chapel door open behind him. When he turned, Dilaf stood behind him. Hrathen sighed. This was a confrontation he had hoped to avoid until he’d had some rest.
Dilaf, however, fell to his knees before Hrathen. “My hroden,” he whispered.
Hrathen blinked in surprise. “Yes, Arteth?”
“I doubted you, my hroden,” Dilaf confessed. “I thought Lord Jaddeth had cursed you for incompetence. Now I see that your faith is much stronger than I realized. I know why you were chosen to hold the position