Elantris - Brandon Sanderson [220]
“And Elantris goes free?” Dilaf demanded.
“No, most certainly not,” Hrathen said. “There will be time enough to deal with it after this nation—and its monarch—is firmly in Jaddeth’s grasp.”
Hrathen smiled to himself, turning away from the scowling Dilaf.
It’s over, he realized. I actually did it—I converted the people without a bloody revolution. He wasn’t finished yet, however. Arelon was his, but one nation still remained.
Hrathen had plans for Teod.
CHAPTER 43
The door had been barred shut from the inside, but the wooden portal was part of the original Elantris—subject to the same rot that infested the rest of the city. Galladon said the mess had fallen off its hinges practically at a touch. A dark stairwell lay hidden inside, ten years of dust coating its steps. Only a single set of footprints marked the powder—footprints that could have been made only by feet as large as Galladon’s.
“And it goes all the way to the top?” Raoden asked, stepping over the sodden wreck of a door.
“Kolo,” Galladon said. “And it’s encased in stone the entire way, with only an occasional slit for light. One wrong step will send you tumbling down a series of stone steps as long—and as painful—as one of my hama’s stories.”
Raoden nodded and began climbing, the Dula following behind. Before the Reod, the stair must have been lit by Elantrian magic—but now the darkness was broken only by occasional thin spears of light from the scattered slits. The stairs circled up against the outer wall of the structure, and the lower curves were dimly visible when one peered down the center. There had been a railing once, but it had long since decayed.
They had to stop often to rest, their Elantrian bodies unable to bear the strain of vigorous exercise. Eventually, however, they reached the top. The wooden door here was newer; the Guard had probably replaced it after the original rotted away. There was no handle—it wasn’t really a door, but a barricade.
“This is as far as I got, sule,” Galladon said. “Climbed all the way to the top of the Doloken stairs, only to find out I needed an axe to go on.”
“That’s why we brought this,” Raoden said, pulling out the very axe Taan had almost used to topple a building down on Raoden. The two set to work, taking turns hacking at the wood.
Even with the tool, cutting through the door was a difficult task. Raoden tired after just a few swings, and each one barely seemed to nick the wood. Eventually, however, they got one board loose and—spurred by the victory—they finally managed to break open a hole large enough to squeeze through.
The view was worth the effort. Raoden had been atop the walls of Elantris dozens of times, but never had the sight of Kae looked so sweet. The city was quiet; it appeared as if his fears of invasion had been premature. Smiling, Raoden enjoyed the sense of accomplishment. He felt as if he had climbed a mountain, not a simple stairwell. The walls of Elantris were once again back in the hands of those who had created them.
“We did it,” Raoden said, resting against the parapet.
“Took us long enough,” Galladon noted, stepping up beside him.
“Only a few hours,” Raoden said lightly, the agony of the work forgotten in the bliss of victory.
“I didn’t mean cutting through the door. I’ve been trying to get you to come up here for three days.”
“I’ve been busy.”
Galladon snorted, mumbling something under his breath.
“What was that?”
“I said, ‘A two-headed ferrin would never leave its nest.’”
Raoden smiled; he knew the Jindoeese proverb. Ferrins were talkative birds, and could often be heard screaming at one another across the Jindoeese marshes. The saying was used in reference to a person who had found a new hobby. Or a new romance.
“Oh, come now,