Elantris - Brandon Sanderson [56]
“What if they’re waiting for us again?” Galladon asked.
“They probably are,” Raoden said. “Which is why you should keep your voice down. Come on.”
Raoden slipped around the corner and into an alleyway. His toe pained him as he walked, as did his scraped hands and a bruise he had picked up on his arm. In addition, the hunger called to him, a phantom passion from within.
Galladon sighed. “I’m not so bored with death that I want to abandon it in favor of an existence of pure pain. Kolo?”
Raoden turned back with tolerant eyes. “Galladon, someday you’re going to get over this determined pessimism of yours, and all of Elantris will collapse from the shock.”
“Pessimism?” Galladon demanded as Raoden crept down the alleyway. “Pessimism? Me? Dulas are the most lighthearted, easygoing people in Opelon! We look at each day with—Sule? Don’t you dare leave when I’m defending myself!”
Raoden ignored the large Dula. He also tried to ignore his pains, sharp though they were. His new leather shoes helped immensely; despite Galladon’s reservations, Mareshe had created a product to match his considerable ego. The shoes were sturdy, with a strong, protective sole, but the soft leather—from the covers of Galladon’s books—fit perfectly and didn’t rub.
Peeking carefully around the corner, Raoden studied the courtyard. Shaor’s men weren’t visible, but they were probably hiding nearby. Raoden perked up as he saw the city gate swinging open. The day had brought a new arrival. However, he was shocked when the Elantris City Guard pushed not one, but three separate white-clothed forms through the gate.
“Three?” Raoden said.
“The Shaod is unpredictable, sule,” Galladon said, creeping up behind him.
“This changes everything,” Raoden said with annoyance.
“Good. Let’s go—the others can have today’s offering. Kolo?”
“What? And miss such a grand opportunity? Galladon, I’m disappointed in you.”
The Dula grumbled something Raoden couldn’t catch, and Raoden reached back to clap the big man reassuringly on the shoulder. “Don’t worry—I have a plan.”
“Already?”
“We have to move quickly—any minute now one of those three is going to take a step, and then our opening will be gone.”
“Doloken,” Galladon muttered. “What are you going to do?”
“Nothing. You, however, are going to have a nice stroll out there in the courtyard.”
“What?” Galladon asked. “Sule, you’ve gone kayana again. If I go out there, the gangs are going to see me!”
“Exactly,” Raoden said with a smile. “Just make sure you run very quickly, my friend. We wouldn’t want them to catch you.”
“You’re serious,” Galladon said with growing apprehension.
“Unfortunately. Now get moving—lead them off to the left, and I’ll do the rest. We’ll meet back where we left Mareshe.”
Galladon huffed something about “not being worth all the dried meat in the world,” but he let Raoden push him into the courtyard. A moment later a series of startled growls came from the building where Shaor’s men usually hid. The feral men burst out, forgetting the three newcomers in their hatred of the man who had wronged them just a few days earlier.
Galladon shot one final withering look in Raoden’s direction, then took off at a dash, choosing a street at random and leading Shaor’s men away. Raoden gave him a moment, then ran out into the middle of the courtyard, making a great show of breathing deeply, as if from exhaustion.
“Which way did he go?” he demanded sharply of the three confused newcomers.
“Who?” one of them finally ventured.
“The large Dula! Quickly, man, which way did he go? He has the cure!”
“The cure?” the man asked with surprise.
“Of course. It’s very rare, but there should be enough for all of us, if you tell me which way he went.