Elantris - Brandon Sanderson [60]
“And people follow him?”
“Some do,” Galladon whispered with a shrug. “He may be mad, but so is the rest of the world—at least, to the eyes of one who’s been thrown in here. Kolo? Aanden is a source of authority. Besides, maybe he was a baron on the outside.”
“He wasn’t. He was a sculptor.”
“You knew him?”
“I met him once,” Raoden said with a nod. Then he looked back at Galladon with inquisitive eyes. “Where did you hear the rumors about him?”
“Can we move back first, sule?” Galladon requested. “I’d rather not end up a participant in one of Aanden’s mock trials and executions.”
“Mock?”
“Everything’s mock but the axe.”
“Ah. Good idea—I’ve seen all I needed to.”
The two men moved back, and as soon as they were a few streets away from the university, Galladon answered Raoden’s question. “I talk to people, sule; that’s where I get my information. Granted, the great majority of the city’s people are Hoed, but there’re enough conscious ones around to talk with. Of course, my mouth is what got me in trouble with you. Maybe if I’d kept it shut I’d still be sitting on those steps enjoying myself, rather than spying on one of the most dangerous men in the city.”
“Perhaps,” Raoden said. “But you wouldn’t be having half as much fun. You’d be chained to your boredom.”
“I’m so glad you liberated me, sule.”
“Anytime.”
Raoden thought as they walked, trying to decide on a plan of action should Aanden ever come looking for him. It hadn’t taken Raoden long to adjust to walking on Elantris’s uneven, slime-covered streets; his still painful toe was a wonderful motivator. He was actually beginning to regard the dun-colored walls and grime as normal, which bothered him much more than the city’s dirtiness ever had.
“Sule,” Galladon eventually asked. “Why did you want to see Aanden? You couldn’t have known you’d recognize him.”
Raoden shook his head. “If Aanden had been a baron from the outside, I would have known him almost immediately.”
“You’re certain?”
Raoden nodded absently.
Galladon was silent for a few more streets, then spoke with sudden understanding. “Now, sule, I’m not very good with these Aons you Arelenes hold in such esteem, but unless I’m completely wrong, the Aon for ‘spirit’ is Rao.”
“Yes,” Raoden said hesitantly.
“And doesn’t the king of Arelon have a son named Raoden?”
“He did.”
“And here you are, sule, claiming to know all the barons in Arelon. You’re obviously a man with a good education, and you give commands easily.”
“You could say that,” Raoden said.
“Then, to top it all off, you call yourself ‘Spirit.’ Pretty suspicious. Kolo?”
Raoden sighed. “I should have picked a different name, eh?”
“By Doloken, boy! You’re telling me you’re the crown prince of Arelon?”
“I was the crown prince of Arelon, Galladon,” Raoden corrected. “I lost the title when I died.”
“No wonder you’re so frustrating. I’ve spent my entire life trying to avoid royalty, and here I end up with you. Burning Doloken!”
“Oh quiet down,” Raoden said. “It’s not like I’m really royalty—it’s been in the family for less than a generation.”
“That’s long enough, sule,” Galladon said sullenly.
“If it helps, my father didn’t think I was fit to rule. He tried everything to keep me from the throne.”
Galladon snorted. “I’d be scared to see the man Iadon found fit to rule. Your father’s an idiot—no offense intended.”
“None taken,” Raoden replied. “And I trust you’ll keep my identity secret.”
Galladon sighed. “If you wish.”
“I do. If I’m going to do any good in Elantris, I need to win followers because they like what I’m doing, not because they feel a patriotic obligation.”
Galladon nodded. “You could have at least told me, sule.”
“You said we shouldn’t talk about our pasts.”
“True.”
Raoden paused. “Of course, you know what this means.”
Galladon eyed