Elantris - Brandon Sanderson [264]
Horrible images washed through Hrathen’s mind. Images of priests chanting over him; memories of an awesome pain rising within, the pain of his bones reshaping. It had been too much—the darkness, the screams, the torment. Hrathen had left after just a few months to join a different monastery.
He had not left behind the nightmares or memories, however. One did not easily forget Dakhor.
“So you were a Fjordell all this time?” Hrathen whispered.
“You never suspected, did you?” Dilaf asked with a smile. “You should have realized. It is far easier to imitate an Arelene speaking Fjordell than it is for an actual man of Arelon to learn the Holy Language so perfectly.”
Hrathen bowed his head. His duty was clear; Dilaf was his superior. He didn’t know how long Dilaf had been in Arelon—the Dakhor lived unusually long lives—but it was obvious that Dilaf had been planning Kae’s destruction for a very long time.
“Oh, Hrathen,” Dilaf said with a laugh. “You never did understand your place, did you? Wyrn didn’t send you to convert Arelon.”
Hrathen looked up with surprise. He had a letter from Wyrn that said otherwise.
“Yes, I know of your orders, Gyorn,” Dilaf said. “Reread that letter sometime. Wyrn didn’t send you to Arelon to convert, he sent you to inform the people of their impending destruction. You were a distraction, something for people like Eventeo to focus their attention on while I prepared for the city’s invasion. You did your job perfectly.”
“Distraction …?” Hrathen asked. “But the people …”
“Were never to be saved, Hrathen,” Dilaf said. “Wyrn always intended to destroy Arelon. He needs such a victory to insure his grip on the other countries—despite your efforts, our control of Duladel is tenuous. The world needs to know what happens to those who blaspheme against Jaddeth.”
“These people don’t blaspheme,” Hrathen said, feeling his anger rise. “They don’t even know Jaddeth! How can we expect them to be righteous if we don’t give them a chance to convert!”
Dilaf’s hand shot out, slapping Hrathen across the face. Hrathen stumbled back, cheek flaring with pain from the blow—delivered by an unnaturally strong hand, hardened by extra bones.
“You forget to whom you speak, Gyorn,” Dilaf snapped. “This people is unholy. Only Arelenes and Teos can become Elantrians. If we destroy them, then we end the heresy of Elantris forever!”
Hrathen ignored his throbbing cheek. With growing numbness, he finally realized how deeply Dilaf’s hatred went. “You will slaughter them all? You would murder an entire nation of people?”
“It is the only way to be certain,” Dilaf said, smiling.
CHAPTER 59
Raoden awoke to new pains. The sharpest was at the back of his head, but there were others—scratches, bruises, and cuts across his entire body. For a moment it was almost too much. Each wound stung sharply, never deadening, never weakening. Fortunately, he had spent weeks dealing with the Dor’s all-powerful attacks. Compared to those crushing monuments of agony, the regular pains of his body—no matter how severe—seemed weaker. Ironically, the very force that had nearly destroyed him now allowed him to keep insanity at bay.
Though dazed, he could feel himself being picked up and thrown onto something hard—a saddle. He lost track of time as the horse cantered, and he was forced to struggle against the darkness of insensibility. There were voices around him, but they spoke in Fjordell, which he didn’t understand.
The horse stopped. Raoden opened his eyes with a groan as hands pulled him off the beast and set him on the ground.
“Wake up, Elantrian,” said a voice speaking Aonic.
Raoden raised his head, blinking confused eyes. It was still night, and he could smell the thick scent of smoke. They were at the base of a hill—Kiin’s hill. The blockish house stood only a few yards away, but he could barely make it out. His vision swam, everything blurry.