Elantris - Brandon Sanderson [265]
Merciful Domi, he thought, let Sarene be safe.
“I know you can hear me, Princess,” Dilaf yelled. “Look who I have here. Let us make a deal.”
“No!” Raoden tried to say, but it came out as a croak. The blow to his head had done something to his brain. He could barely keep himself upright, let alone speak. The worst part was, he knew it would never improve.
He could not heal—now that the dizziness had come upon him, it would never leave.
“You realize that there is no dealing with him,” Kiin said quietly. They watched Dilaf and the staggering Raoden through one of Kiin’s slitlike windows.
Sarene nodded quietly, feeling chill. Raoden wasn’t doing well; he wobbled as he stood, looking disoriented in the firelight. “Merciful Domi. What have they done to him?”
“Don’t look, ’Ene,” Kiin said, turning away from the window. His enormous axe—the axe of Dreok the Pirate—stood ready in the corner.
“I can’t look away,” Sarene whispered. “I have to at least speak to him—to say goodbye.”
Kiin sighed, then nodded. “All right. Let’s go to the roof. At the first sign of bows, however, we’re locking ourselves back in.”
Sarene nodded solemnly, and the two climbed the steps up onto the roof. She approached the roof’s ledge, looking down at Dilaf and Raoden. If she could convince the priest to take her in exchange for Raoden, she would do it. However, she suspected that Dilaf would demand the entire household, and Sarene could never agree to such a thing. Daora and the children huddled in the basement under Lukel’s care. Sarene would not betray them, no matter whom Dilaf held hostage.
She opened her mouth to speak, knowing that her words would probably be the last Raoden ever heard.
“Go!” Dilaf ordered.
Hrathen stood by, a dismayed observer, as Sarene fell into Dilaf’s trap. The Dakhor monks sprang forward, jumping from hiding places along the base of the building. They leaped to the walls, their feet seeming to stick as they found tiny footholds between bricks and arrow slits. Several monks, already in place hanging from the back of the rooftop, swung up and cut off Sarene’s escape.
Hrathen could hear startled yells as Sarene and her companion realized their predicament. It was too late. A few moments later, a Dakhor jumped down from the rooftop, a struggling princess in his arms.
“Hrathen, get me your Seon,” Dilaf ordered.
Hrathen complied, opening the metal box and letting the ball of light float free. Hrathen hadn’t bothered asking how the monk knew about the Seon. The Dakhor were Wyrn’s favored warriors; their leader would be privy to many of his secrets.
“Seon, I wish to speak with King Eventeo,” Dilaf said.
The Seon complied. Soon its light molded into the head of an overweight man with a proud face.
“I do not know you,” Eventeo said. “Who calls for me in the middle of the night?”
“I am the man who has your daughter, King,” Dilaf said, prodding Sarene in the side. The princess yelped despite herself.
Eventeo’s head turned, as if searching out the source of the sound, though he would only be able to see Dilaf’s face. “Who are you?”
“I am Dilaf. Gragdet of the Dakhor Monastery.”
“Merciful Domi …” Eventeo whispered.
Dilaf’s eyes thinned, and he smiled evilly. “I thought you had converted, Eventeo. No matter. Wake your soldiers and gather them on their ships. I will arrive in Teod one hour from now, and if they are not ready to present a formal surrender, I will kill the girl.”
“Father no!” Sarene yelled. “He can’t be trusted!”
“Sarene?” Eventeo asked anxiously.
“One hour, Eventeo,” Dilaf said. Then he swiped his hand in the air dismissively. The king’s confused face melted back into the smooth spherical shape of a Seon.
“You will kill the Teos as well,” Hrathen said in Fjordell.
“No,” Dilaf said. “Others will perform those executions. I will just kill their king, then burn Teod’s ships with the sailors still on them. Once the armada is gone, Wyrn can land his armies on Teod’s shore and use the country as a battleground to prove his might.”
“It is unnecessary you know,” Hrathen said, feeling sick. “I had him—Eventeo