“What was that?” Hrathen asked, approaching several guards who stood in a ring of glittering torchlight.

The guards shrugged, though one pointed at two forms walking through the darkened courtyard below. “They must have caught someone trying to escape.”

Hrathen wrinkled his brow. “Does that happen often?”

The guard shook his head. “Most of them are too mindless to try escaping. Every once in a while, one tries to scurry away, but we always catch ’em.”

“Thank you,” Hrathen said, leaving the guards behind as he began the long descent to the city below. At the foot of the stairs he found the main guardhouse. The captain was inside, his eyes drowsy as if he had just awakened.

“Trouble, Captain?” Hrathen asked.

The captain turned with surprise. “Oh, it’s you, Gyorn. No, no trouble. Just one of my lieutenants doing something he shouldn’t have.”

“Letting some Elantrians back into the city?” Hrathen asked.

The captain frowned, but nodded. Hrathen had met the man several times, and at each encounter he had fostered the captain’s greed with a few coins. This man was nearly his.

“Next time, Captain,” Hrathen said, reaching onto his belt and pulling out a pouch, “I can offer you a different option.”

The captain’s eyes shone as Hrathen began to pull gold wyrnings—stamped with Wyrn Wulfden’s head—out of the pouch.

“I have been wanting to study one of these Elantrians up close, for theological reasons,” Hrathen explained, setting a pile of coins on the table. “I would be appreciative if the next captured Elantrian found his way to my chapel before being thrown back into the city.”

“That can probably be arranged, my lord,” the captain said, slipping the coins off the table with an eager hand.

“No one would have to know about it, of course,” Hrathen said.

“Of course, my lord.”

CHAPTER 16

Raoden had once tried to set Ien free. He had been a young boy then, simple of mind but pure of intention. He had been learning about slavery from one of his tutors, and had somehow gotten it into his mind that the Seons were being held against their will. He had gone to Ien tearfully that day, demanding that the Seon accept his freedom.

“But I am free, young master,” Ien had replied to the crying boy.

“No you’re not!” Raoden had argued. “You’re a slave—you do whatever people tell you.”

“I do it because I want to, Raoden.”

“Why? Don’t you want to be free?”

“I want to serve, young master,” Ien explained, pulsing reassuringly. “My freedom is to be here, with you.”

“I don’t understand.”

“You look at things as a human, young master,” Ien said with his wise, indulgent voice. “You see rank and distinction; you try to order the world so that everything has a place either above you or beneath you. To a Seon, there is no above or beneath, there are only those we love. And we serve those we love.”

“But you don’t even get paid!” had been Raoden’s indignant response.

“But I do, young master. My payment is that of a father’s pride and a mother’s love. My wages come from the satisfaction of seeing you grow.”

It had been many years before Raoden understood those words, but they had always remained in his mind. As he had grown and learned, listening to countless Korathi sermons on the unifying power of love, Raoden had come to see Seons in a new way. Not as servants, or even as friends, but as something much more deep and more powerful. It was as if the Seons were an expression of Domi himself, reflections of God’s love for his people. Through their service, they were much closer to heaven than their supposed masters could ever really understand.

“You’re finally free, my friend,” Raoden said with a wan smile as he watched Ien float and bob. He still hadn’t been able to get even a flicker of recognition from the Seon, though Ien did seem to stay in Raoden’s general vicinity. Whatever the Shaod had done to Ien, it had taken away more than just his voice. It had broken his mind.

“I think I know what’s wrong with him,” Raoden said to Galladon, who sat in the shade a short distance away. They were on a rooftop a few buildings down from the chapel, ejected from their habitual place of study by an apologetic Kahar. The old man had been cleaning furiously in the days since his arrival, and the time had finally come for the final polishing. Early in the morning he had contritely, but insistently, thrown them all out so he could finish.

Galladon looked up from his book. “Who? The Seon?”

Raoden nodded, lying on his stomach near the edge of what was once a garden wall, still watching Ien. “His Aon isn’t complete.”

“Ien,” Galladon said thoughtfully. “That’s healing. Kolo?”

“That’s right. Except his Aon isn’t complete anymore—there are tiny breaks in its lines, and patches of weakness in its color.”

Galladon grunted, but didn’t offer anything more; he wasn’t as interested in Aons or Seons as Raoden was. Raoden watched Ien for a few more moments before turning back to his study of the AonDor book. He didn’t get far, however, before Galladon brought up a topic of his own.

“What do you miss most, sule?” the Dula asked contemplatively.

“Miss most? About the outside?”

“Kolo,” Galladon said. “What one thing would you bring here to Elantris if you could?”

“I don’t know,” Raoden said. “I’d have to think about it. What about you?”

“My house,” Galladon said with a reminiscent tone. “I built it myself, sule. Felled every tree, worked every board, and pounded every nail. It was beautiful—no mansion or palace can compete with the work of one’s own hands.”

Raoden nodded, imagining the cabin in his mind. What had he owned that he missed the most strongly? He had been the son of a king, and had therefore had many possessions. The answer he came up with, however, surprised him.

“Letters,” he said. “I’d bring a stack of letters.”

“Letters, sule?” It obviously hadn’t been the response he had been expecting. “From whom?”

“A girl.”

Galladon laughed. “A woman, sule? I never figured you for the romantic type.”

“Just because I don’t mope around dramatically like a character from one of your Duladen romances doesn’t mean I don’t think about such things.”

Galladon held up his hands defensively. “Don’t get DeluseDoo on me, sule. I’m just surprised. Who was this girl?”

“I was going to marry her,” Raoden explained.

“Must have been some woman.”

“Must have been,” Raoden agreed. “I wish I could have met her.”

“You never met her?”

Raoden shook his head. “Hence the letters, my friend. She lived in Teod—she was the king’s daughter, as a matter of fact. She started sending me letters about a year ago. She was a beautiful writer, her words were laced with such wit that I couldn’t help but respond. We continued to write for the better part of five months; then she proposed.”

“She proposed to you?” Galladon asked.

“Unabashedly,” Raoden said with a smile. “It was, of course, politically motivated. Sarene wanted a firm union between Teod and Arelon.”

“And you accepted?”

“It was a good opportunity,” Raoden explained. “Ever since the Reod, Teod has kept its distance from Arelon. Besides, those letters were intoxicating. This last year has been … difficult. My father seems determined to run Arelon to its ruin, and he is not a man who suffers dissent with patience. But, whenever it seemed that my burdens were too great, I would get a letter from Sarene. She had a Seon too, and after the engagement was formalized we began to speak regularly. She would call in the evenings, her voice drifting from Ien to captivate me. We left the link open for hours sometimes.”

“What was that you said about not moping around like a character from a romance?” Galladon said wi

th a smile.

Raoden snorted, turning back to his book. “So, there you have it. If I could have anything, I’d want those letters. I was actually excited about the marriage, even if the union was just a reaction to the Derethi invasion of Duladel.”

There was silence.

“What was that you just said, Raoden?” Galladon finally asked in a quiet voice.

“What? Oh, about the letters?”

“No. About Duladel.”

Raoden paused. Galladon had claimed to have entered Elantris a “few months” ago, but Dulas were known for understatement. The Duladen Republic had fallen just over six months previously….

“I assumed you knew,” Raoden said.

Tags: Brandon Sanderson Elantris Fantasy
Source: readsnovelonline.net