Elantris - Brandon Sanderson [79]
He wasn’t sure how long he would last. After barely a week and a half in Elantris, he was already in so much pain it was sometimes difficult to focus. How long would it be before he couldn’t function at all? Or, how long before he was reduced to the subhuman level of Shaor’s men? One question was more frightening than them all. When he fell, how many people would fall with him?
And yet, he had to bear the weight. If he didn’t accept the responsibility, no one else would—and these people would become slaves either to their own agony or to the bullies on the streets. Elantris needed him. If it used him up, then so be it.
“Lord Spirit!” called a frantic voice.
Raoden looked as a worried Saolin rushed into the room. The hook-nosed mercenary had fashioned a spear from a piece of only half-rotten wood and a sharp stone, and had taken to patrolling the area around the chapel. The man’s scarred Elantrian face was wrinkled with concern.
“What is it, Saolin?” Raoden asked, alarmed. The man was an experienced warrior, and was not easily unsettled.
“A group of armed men coming this way, my lord. I counted twelve of them, and they are carrying steel weapons.”
“Steel?” Raoden said. “In Elantris? I wasn’t aware that there was any to be found.”
“They’re coming quickly, my lord,” Saolin said. “What do we do—they’re almost here.”
“They are here,” Raoden said as a group of men forced their way through the chapel’s open doorway. Saolin was right: several carried steel weapons, though the blades were chipped and rusted. The group was a dark-eyed, unpleasant lot, and at their lead was a familiar figure—or, at least, familiar from a distance.
“Karata,” Raoden said. Loren should have been hers the other day, but Raoden had stolen him. Apparently, she had come to make a complaint. It had only been a matter of time.
Raoden glanced toward Saolin, who was inching forward as if anxious to try his makeshift spear. “Stand your ground, Saolin,” Raoden commanded.
Karata was completely bald, a gift from the Shaod, and she had been in the city long enough that her skin was beginning to wrinkle. However, she held herself with a proud face and determined eyes—the eyes of a person who hadn’t given in to the pain, and who wasn’t going to do so any time soon. She wore a dark outfit composed of torn leather—for Elantris, it was well made.
Karata turned her head around the chapel, studying the new ceiling, then the members of Raoden’s band, who had gathered outside the window to watch with apprehension. Mareshe and Kahar stood immobile at the back of the room. Finally, Karata turned her gaze on Raoden.
There was a tense pause. Eventually, Karata turned to one of her men. “Destroy the building, chase them out, and break some bones.” She turned to leave.
“I can get you into Iadon’s palace,” Raoden said quietly.
Karata froze.
“That is what you want, isn’t it?” Raoden asked. “The Elantris City Guards caught you in Kae. They won’t suffer you forever—they burn Elantrians who escape too often. If you really want to get into the palace, I can take you there.”
“We’ll never get out of the city,” Karata said, turning skeptical eyes back on him. “They’ve doubled the guard recently; something to do with looking good for a royal wedding. I haven’t even been able to get out in a month.”
“I can get you out of the city too,” Raoden promised.
Karata’s eyes narrowed with suspicion. There was no talk of price. They both knew that Raoden could demand only one thing: to be left alone. “You’re desperate,” she finally concluded.
“True. But I’m also an opportunist.”
Karata nodded slowly. “I will return at nightfall. You will deliver as promised, or my men will break the limbs of every person here and leave them to rot in their agony.”
“Understood.”
“Sule, I—”
“Don’t think this is a good idea,” Raoden finished with a slight smile. “Yes, Galladon, I know.”
“Elantris is a big city,” Galladon said. “There are plenty of places to hide that not even Karata could find us. She can’t spread herself too thin, otherwise