“A church,” Galladon said. “Korathi.”
“How do you know?” Raoden asked with surprise.
“Has the feel, sule.”
“Why would there be a Korathi church in Elantris?” Raoden argued. “The Elantrians were their own gods.”
“But they were very lenient gods. There was supposed to be a grand Korathi chapel here in Elantris, the most beautiful of its kind. It was built as an offering of friendship to the people of Teod.”
“That seems so odd,” Raoden said with a shake of his head. “Gods of one religion building a monument to Domi.”
“Like I said. The Elantrians were very lax gods. They didn’t really care if the people worshipped them—they were secure in their divinity. Until the Reod came along. Kolo?”
“You seem to know quite a bit, Galladon,” Raoden noted.
“And since when has that been a sin?” Galladon said with a huff. “You’ve lived in Kae all your life, sule. Maybe instead of asking why I know these things, you should wonder why you don’t.”
“Point taken,” Raoden said, glancing to the side. Mareshe was still deeply involved in his explanation of an Elantrian’s danger-fraught life. “He’s not going to be done anytime soon. Come on, there’s something I want to do.”
“Does it involve running?” Galladon asked in a pained voice.
“Only if they spot us.”
Raoden recognized Aanden. It was difficult to see—the Shaod brought profound changes—but Raoden had a knack for faces. The so-called Baron of Elantris was a short man with a sizable paunch and a long drooping mustache that was obviously fake. Aanden did not look noble—of course, few noblemen Raoden knew looked very aristocratic.
Regardless, Aanden was no baron. The man before Raoden, seated on a throne of gold and presiding over a court of sickly-looking Elantrians, had been called Taan. He had been one of Kae’s finest sculptors before the Shaod took him, but he had not been of noble blood. Of course, Raoden’s own father had been nothing more than a simple trader until chance had made him king. In Elantris, Taan had apparently taken advantage of a similar opportunity.
The years in Elantris had not been kind to Taan. The man was blubbering incoherently to his court of rejects.
“He’s mad?” Raoden asked, crouched outside the window they were using to spy on Aanden’s court.
“We each have our own way of dealing with death, sule,” Galladon whispered. “The rumors say Aanden’s insanity was a conscious decision. They say that after being thrown into Elantris he looked around and said, ‘There’s no way I can face this sane.’ After that, he declared himself Baron Aanden of Elantris and began giving orders.”
“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.”