Brandon Sanderson: Elantris

"I was gragdet by then, Hrathen," Dilaf said. "Do you remember me?"

Then, looking into the man's eyes, Hrathen had a flash of remembrance. He remembered evil eyes in the body of a tall, unmerciful man. He remembered chants. He remembered fires. He remembered screams-his screams-and a face hanging above him. They were the same eyes.

"You!" Hrathen said with a gasp.

"You remember."

"I remember," Hrathen said with a dull chill. "You were the one that convinced me to leave. In my third month, you demanded that one of your monks use his magic and send you to Wyrn's palace. The monk complied, giving up his life to transport you a distance that you eould have walked in fifteen minutes."

"Absolute obedience is required. Hrathen," Dilaf whispered. "Occasional tests and examples bring loyalty from the rest." Then. pausing, he looked out over the bay. The armada was docked, waiting as per Dilaf's order. Hrathen scanned the horizon, and he could see several dark specks-the tips of masts. Wyrn's army was coming.

"Come," Dilaf ordered, rising to his feet. "We have been successful; the Teoish armada has docked. They will not be able to stop our fleet from landing. I have only one duty remaining-the death of King Eventeo."

A vision sprung into Raoden's impassive mind. He tried to ignore it. Yet, for some reason, it refused to leave. He saw it through the shimmering surface of his pain-a simple picture.

It was Aon Rao. A large square with four circles around it, lines connecting them to the center. It was a widely used Aon-especially among the Korathi-for its meaning. Spirit. Soul.

Floating in the white eternity, Raoden's mind tried to discard the image of Aon Rao. It was something from a previous existence, unimportant and forgotten. He didn't need it any longer. Yet, even as he strove to remove the image, another sprung up in its place.

Elantris. Four walls forming a square. The four outer cities surrounding it, their borders circles. A straight road leading from each city to Elantris. Mercifid Domi!

The soldiers opened several barrels of oil, and Lukel watched with revulsion as they began pouring them over the heap of bodies. Three shirtless warriors stood at the side, singing some sort of chant in a foreign language that sounded too harsh and unfamiliar to be Fjordell. We will be next, Lukel realized.

"Don't look." Lukel ordered his family, turning away as the soldiers prepared Elantris for immolation.

King Eventeo stood in the distance, a small honor guard surrounding him. He bowed his head as Dilaf approached. The monk smiled, preparing his knife. Eventeo though he was presenting his country for surrender-he didn't realize that he was offering it up for a sacrifice.

Hrathen walked beside Dilaf, thinking about necessity and duty. Men would die, true, but their loss would not be meaningless. The entire Fjordell Empire would grow stronger for the victory over Teod. The hearts of men would increase in faith. It was the same thing Hrathen himself had done in Arelon. He had tried to convert the people for political reasons. using politics and popularity. He had bribed Telrii to convert, giving no heed to saving the man's soul. It was the same thing. What was a nation of unbelievers when compared with all of Shu-Dereth?

Yet, even as he rationalized, his stomach grew sick.

1 was sent to save these people, not to slaughter them!

Dilaf held Princess Sarene by the neck. her mouth gagged. Eventeo looked up and smiled reassuringly as they approached. He could not see the knife in Dilaf's hand.

"I have waited for this," Dilaf whispered softly. At first, Hrathen thought the priest referred to the destruction of Teod. But Dilaf wasn't looking at the king. He was looking at Sarene, the blade of his knife pressed into her back.

"You, Princess. are a disease," Dilaf whispered in Sarene's ear, his voice barely audible to Hrathen. "Before you came to Kae, even the Arelenes hated Elantris. You are the reason they forgot that loathing. You associated with the unholy ones. and you even descended to their level. You are worse than they are-you are one who is not cursed, but seeks to be cursed. I considered killing your father first and

making you watch. but now I realize it will be much worse the other way around. Think of old Eventeo watching you die, Princess. Ponder that image as I send you to Jaddeth's eternal pits of torment."

She was crying, the tears staining her gag.

Raoden struggled toward consciousness. The pain hit him like an enormous block of stone, halting his progress, his mind recoiling in agony. He threw himseIf against it. and the torment washed over him. He slowly forced his way through the resistant surface, coming to a laborious awareness of the world outside himself.

He wanted to scream, to scream over and over again. The pain was incredible. However, with the pain, he felt something else. His body. He was moving, being dragged along the ground. Images washed into his mind as sight returned. He was being pulled toward something round and blue.

The pool.

No! he thought desperately. Not yet! I know the answer!

Raoden screamed suddenly, twitching. Galladon was so surprised that he dropped the body.

Raoden stumbled forward, trying to get his footing, and fell directly into the pool.

Dilaf reached around the princess to press his dagger against her neck. Eventeo's eyes opened wide with horror.

Hrathen watched the dagger begin to slice Sarene's skin. He thought of Fjorden. He thought of the work he had done, the people he had saved. He thought of a young boy, eager to prove his faith by entering the priesthood. Unity.

"No!" Spinning, Hrathen drove his fist into Dilaf's face.

Dilaf stumbled for a moment, lowering his weapon in surprise. Then the monk looked up with rage and plunged the dagger at Hrathen's breast.

The knife slid off Hrathen's armor, scraping ineffectually along the painted steel. Dilaf regarded the breastplate with stunned eyes. -But, that armor is just for show…"

"You should know by now. Dilaf," Hrathen said, bringing his armored forearm up and smashing it into the monk's face. Though the unnatural bone had resisted Hrathen's fist. it crunched with a satisfying sound beneath steel. "Nothing I do is just for show."

Dilaf fell, and Hrathen pulled the monk's sword free from its seabbard. "Launch your ships. Eventeo!" he yelled. "Fjorden's armies come not to dominate, but to massacre. Move now if you want to save your people!"

"Rag Domi!" Eventeo cursed, yelling for his generals. Then he paused. "My daughter

"I will help the girl!" Hrathen snapped. "Save your kingdom, you fool!"

Though Dakhor bodies were unnaturally quick, their minds recovered from shock no more quickly than those of regular men. Their surprise bought Hrathen a few vital seconds. He brought his sword up, shoving Sarene toward an alleyway and backing up to block the entrance.

The water held Raoden in a cool embrace. It was a thing alive: he could hear it calling in his mind. Come, it said, I give you release. It was a comforting parent. It wanted to take away his pain and sorrows, just as his mother had once done.

Come, it pled. You can finally give up.

No. Raoden thought. Not yet.

The Fjordells finished dousing the Elantrians with oil, then prepared their torches. During the entire process, Shuden moved his arms in restrained circular patterns, not inereasing their speed as he had the time at the fencing class. Lukel began to wonder if Shuden wasn't planning an assault at all, but simply preparing himself for the inevitable.

Then Shuden burst into motion. The young baron snapped forward. spinning like a dancer as he brought his fist around. driving it into the chest of a chanting warrior monk. There was an audible crack, and Shuden spun again, slapping the monk across the face. The demon's head spun completely around, his eyes bulging as his reinforced neck snapped.