Elantris - Brandon Sanderson [84]
“And your decision?”
“Doesn’t matter,” Karata said, wiping her dry eyes by reflex. “You fulfilled your bargain admirably. My people will leave you alone.”
“That’s not enough, Karata,” Raoden said, standing up.
“You would demand more beyond our bargain?”
“I demand nothing, Karata,” Raoden said, offering his hand to help her to her feet. “But you know who I am, and you can guess what I am trying to do.”
“You’re like Aanden,” Karata said. “You think to lord over Elantris as your father rules the rest of this cursed land.”
“People certainly are quick to judge me today,” Raoden said with a wry smile. “No, Karata, I don’t want to ‘lord over’ Elantris. But I do want to help it. I see a city full of people feeling sorry for themselves, a people resigned to seeing themselves as the rest of the world sees them. Elantris doesn’t have to be the pit that it is.”
“How can you change that?” Karata demanded. “As long as food is scarce, the people will fight and destroy to sate their hunger.”
“Then we’ll just have to fill them,” Raoden said.
Karata snorted.
Raoden reached inside a pocket he had formed in his ragged clothing. “Do you recognize this, Karata?” he asked, showing her a small cloth pouch. It was empty, but he kept it as a reminder of his purpose.
Karata’s eyes blazed with desire. “It held food.”
“What kind?”
“It’s one of the pouches of corn that is part of the sacrifice that comes with a new Elantrian,” Karata said.
“Not just corn, Karata,” Raoden said holding up a finger. “Seed corn. Part of the ceremony requires that a grain offering be plantable.”
“Seed corn?” Karata whispered.
“I’ve been collecting it from the newcomers,” Raoden explained. “The rest of the offerings don’t interest me—only the corn. We can plant it, Karata. There aren’t that many people in Elantris; it wouldn’t be hard to feed them all. Goodness knows we have enough free time to work a garden or two.”
Karata’s eyes were wide with shock. “No one’s ever tried that before,” she said, dumbfounded.
“I figured as much. It requires foresight, and the people of Elantris are too focused on their immediate hunger to worry about tomorrow. I intend to change that.”
Karata looked up from the small pouch to Raoden’s face. “Amazing,” she mumbled.
“Come on,” Raoden said, tucking the pouch away, then hiding the stolen sword beneath his rags. “We’re almost to the gate.”
“How do you intend to get us back in?”
“Just watch.”
As they walked, Karata paused beside a dark home.
“What?” Raoden asked.
Karata pointed. On the window, inside the glass, sat a loaf of bread.
Suddenly, Raoden felt his own hunger stab sharply at his insides. He couldn’t blame her—even in the palace, he’d been watching for something to swipe.
“We can’t take that chance, Karata,” Raoden said.
Karata sighed. “I know. It’s just that … we’re so close.”
“All the shops are closed, all the houses locked,” Raoden said. “We’ll never find any.”
Karata nodded, lethargically moving again. They turned a corner and approached the broad gate to Elantris. A squat building sat beside it, light pouring from the windows. Several guards lounged inside, their brown-and-yellow Elantris City Guard uniforms bright in the lamplight. Raoden approached the building and tapped on a window with the back of his fist.
“Excuse me,” he said politely, “but would you mind opening the gates please?”
The guards, who had been playing a game of cards, threw back their chairs in alarm, shouting and cursing as they recognized his Elantrian features.
“Be quick about it,” Raoden said airily. “I’m getting tired.”
“What are you doing out?” one of the guards—an officer by appearances—demanded as his men piled out of the building. Several of them pointed their wicked spears at Raoden’s chest.
“Trying to get back in,” Raoden said impatiently.
One of the guards raised his spear.
“I wouldn’t do that, if I were you,” Raoden said. “Not unless you want to explain