Elantris - Brandon Sanderson [280]
“You can’t get us home?” Sarene asked, climbing to her feet.
“Not by Aon, I can’t,” Raoden said. Then, taking her hand, he started running.
Her mind was so full of questions the entire world seemed a confused jumble. What had happened to Raoden? How had he recovered from the wound Dilaf gave him? She choked the questions back. It was enough that he had come.
Frantic, Raoden searched for a means of escape. Perhaps alone he could have outrun Dilaf’s men, but never with Sarene in tow. Their street emptied onto the docks, where Teod’s large warships were ponderously moving from the bay to engage a fleet bearing Fjorden’s flag. A man in royal green robes stood at the far side of the docks, conversing with a couple of adjuncts. King Eventeo—Sarene’s father. The king didn’t see them, instead turning to walk in a rushed step down a side alley.
“Father!” Sarene yelled out, but the distance was too far.
Raoden could hear footsteps approaching. He spun, thrusting Sarene behind him, and raised his arms to begin an Aon Daa with each hand. The Aons were weaker in Teod, but they weren’t ineffectual.
Dilaf held up a hand, slowing his men. Raoden froze, unwilling to commit himself to a final battle unless he had to. What was Dilaf waiting for?
Bare-chested monks poured from alleys and streets. Dilaf smiled, waiting as his warriors gathered. Within a few minutes his group had grown from twelve to fifty, and Raoden’s odds had plummeted from bad to hopeless.
“Not much of a rescue,” Sarene muttered, stepping forward to stand next to Raoden, staring down the group of monstrosities with a contemptuous air.
Her defiant irony brought a smile to Raoden’s lips. “Next time, I’ll remember to bring an army with me.”
Dilaf’s monks charged. Raoden completed his duplicate Aons—sending out a pair of powerful energy blasts—then quickly began drawing again. Yet, holding to his waist with tense hands, Sarene could see that Raoden wouldn’t finish before the supernaturally quick warriors arrived.
The docks shook with a powerful force. Wood cracked and stone shattered, and an explosion of wind blasted across her. She had to cling to Raoden’s somehow more stable body to keep from being thrown to the ground. When she finally dared open her eyes, they were surrounded by hundreds of silver-skinned forms.
“Aon Daa!” Galladon ordered with a booming voice.
Two hundred hands raised in the air, scribbling Aons. About half of them made mistakes, their Aons evaporating. Enough finished, however, to send a wave of destruction toward Dilaf’s men that was so powerful it tore completely through the first few monks.
Bodies collapsed and others were thrown backward. The remaining monks paused in shock, staring at the Elantrians.
Then the Dakhor scattered in an offensive charge, turning from Raoden and Sarene to attack this new foe.
Dilaf was the only one of his men who thought to duck. The rest, confidently arrogant in their strength, simply allowed the powerful blasts to hit them.
Fools! Dilaf thought as he rolled away. Every Dakhor was blessed with special skills and powers. They all had increased strength and nearly indestructible bones, but only Dilaf bore the power that made him resistant to attacks by the Dor—a power that had required the deaths of fifty men to create. He felt, rather than saw, as his men were torn apart by the Elantrians’ attack.
The remaining monks were horribly outnumbered. They attacked bravely, trying to kill as many of the vile Elantrians as they could. They had been trained well. They would die fighting. Dilaf yearned to join them.
But he did not. Some thought him mad, but he was not a fool. The screams in his head demanded revenge, and there was still a way left. One way to get vengeance on the Teoish princess and her Elantrians. One way to fulfill Wyrn’s commands. One way to turn the tide of this battle.
Dilaf scrambled away, stumbling slightly as a bolt of energy sprayed against his back. His bone wardings held, and he was left