Brandon Sanderson - Elantris

"Doloken, Sule!" Galladon said, choked with emotion. 'Don't do this to me!" A noise came from Raoden's mouth, and Galladon leaned in eagerly, listening.

"Failed…" Raoden whispered. "Failed my love…" The mantra of the fallen: Raoden had joined the Hoed.

Galladon sank down on the hard cobblestones. his body shaking as he wept tearlessly. The last hour had been a horror. Galladon and Karata had been at the library, planning how to lead the people away from Elantris. They had heard the screams even at that distance, but by the time they had arrived at New Elantris. no one but Hoed remained. As far as he knew, he and Karata were the last two conscious Elantrians.

Karata placed a hand on his shoulder. "Galladon, we should go. This place is

not safe."

"No," Galladon said, climbing to his feet. "I have a promise to keep." He looked up at the mountain slope just outside of Kae, a slope that held a special pool of water. Then, reaching down. he tied his jacket around Raoden to cover the wound, and hefted his friend up onto his shoulder.

"Raoden made me vow to give him peace," Galladon said. "After I see to him. intend to do the same for myself. We are the last, Karata: there is no more room for us in this world."

The woman nodded, moving to take part of Raoden's burden on herself. Together. the two of them began the hike that would end in oblivion.

Lukel didn't struggle: there was little use in it. His father, however, was a different story. It took three Fjordells to bind Kiin and throw him on a horse-and even then. the large man managed to get off the odd kick at a passing head.

Eventually, one of the soldiers thought to smash him on the back of the skull with a rock, and Kiin fell still.

Lukel held his mother and wife close as the warriors herded them toward Elantris. There was a long line of people-nobles gathered from the eorners of Kae, their clothing and faces ragged. Soldiers kept a watchful eye on the captives-as if any of them had the courage or will left to try escaping. Most of the people didn't even look up as they were pushed through the streets.

Kaise and Daorn clung to Lukel, wide-eyed and frightened. Lukel pitied them the most. for their youth. Adien walked along behind him, apparently unconcerned. He slowly counted the steps as he moved. "Three hundred fifty-seven, three hundred fifty-eight, three hundred fifty-nine…"

Lukel knew that they were marching to their own execution. He saw the bodies that lined the streets, and he understood that these men were not intent on domination. They were here to commit a massacre, and no massacre would be complete with victims left alive.

He considered fighting back, grabbing a sword in some hopeless feat of heroism. But in the end. he simply plodded along with the others. He knew that he was going to die, and he knew there was nothing he could do to stop it. He was no warrior. The best he could hope for was a quick end.

Hrathen stood next to Dilaf, remaining perfectly still as instructed. They stood in a circle-fifty Dakhor, Sarene, and Hrathen, with one solitary monk in the center. The Dakhor raised their hands, and the men on either side of Hrathen placed a hand on his shoulder. His heart began to pound as the monks began E0 glow. the bone inscriptions beneath their skin shining. There was a jarring sensation, and Kae vanished around them.

They reappeared in an unfamiliar city. The houses lining the nearby street were tall and connected, rather than separated and squat like those of Kae. They had arrived in Teod.

The group still stood in a circle, but Hrathen did not fail to notice that the man in the center was now missing. Hrathen shuddered, images from his youth returning. The monk in the center had been fuel, his flesh and soul burned away-a sacrifice in return for the instantaneous transportation to Teod.

Dilaf stepped forward, leading his men up the street. As far as Hrathen could tell, Dilaf had brought the bulk of his monks with him, leaving Arelon in the care of regular Fjordell soldiers and a few Dakhor overseers. Arelon and Elantris had been defeated: the next battle was Teod. Hrathen could tell from Dilaf's eyes that the monk would not be satisfied until every person of Aonic descent was dead.

Dilaf chose a building with a flat roof and motioned for his men to climb. It was easy for them. their enhanced strength and agility helping them leap and

scramble up surfaces no normal man could possibly scale. Hrathen felt himself lifted and thrown over a monk's shoulder. and the ground fell away as he was carted up the side of the wall-carried without difficulty despite his plate armor. The Dakhor were unnatural monstrosities, but one couldn't help being awed at their power.

The monk dropped Hrathen unceremoniously on the roof, his armor clanking against the stone. As Hrathen pulled himself to his feet, his eyes found those of the princess. Sarene's face was a tempest of hatred. She blamed him, of course. She didn't realize that, in a way, Hrathen was as much a prisoner as she.

Dilaf stood at the edge of the roof, scanning the city. A fleet of ships was pulling into Teod's enormous bay.

"We are early." Dilaf said, squatting down. "We will wait."

Galladon could almost imagine that the city was peaceful. He stood on a mountainside boulder. watching the morning's light creep across Kae-as if an invisible hand were pulling back a dark shade. He could almost convince himself that the rising smoke was coming from chimneys, not the ashen wrecks of buildings. He could nearly believe that the specks lining the streets were not bodies, but bushes or boxes, the crimson blood on the streets a trick of the early sunlight.

Galladon turned away from the city. Kae might he peaceful. but it was the peace of death, not of serenity. Dreaming otherwise did little good. Perhaps if he had been less inclined to delusion, he wouldn't have let Raoden pull him out of Elantris's gutters. He wouldn't have allowed one man's simplistic optimism to cloud his mind: he wouldn't have begun to believe that life in Elantris could be anything but pain. He wouldn't have dared to hope.

Unfortunately, he had listened. Like a rulo, he had allowed himself to give in to Raoden's dreams. Once, he'd thought that he could no longer feel hope; he'd chased it far away, wary of its fickle tricks. He should have left it there. Without hope, he wouldn't have to worry about disappointment.

"Doloken, sule," Galladon mumbled, looking down at the mindless Raoden, you certainly made a mess of me."

The worst of it was, he still hoped. The light that Raoden had kindled still flickered inside Galladon's chest, no matter how hard he tried to stomp it out. The images of New Elantris's destruction were still crisp in his memory. Mareshe, an enormous, ragged hole torn in his chest. The quiet craftsman Taan, his face crushed beneath a large stone, but his fingers still twitching. The old Kahar-who had cleaned all of New Elantris practically by himself-missing an arm and both legs.

Galladon had stood amid the carnage, screaming at Raoden for abandoning them, for leaving them behind. Their prince had betrayed them for Sarene.

And still, he hoped.

It was like a small rodent, cowering in the corner of his soul, frightened by the anger, the rage, and the despair. Yet every time he tried to grab hold of it. the hope slipped to another part of his heart. It was what had spurred him to leave the dead behind, to crawl from Elantris in search of Raoden, believing for some irrational reason that the prince could still fix everything.

You are the fog Galladon. Not Raoden, Galladon told himself bitterly. He couldn't help being what he was. You, however, know better.

Yet, he hoped. A part of Galladon still believed that Raoden would somehow make things better. This was the curse his friend had set upon him, the wicked seed of optimism that refused to be uprooted. Galladon still had hope. and he probably would until the moment he gave himself up to the pool.