Elantris

CHAPTER 18

Dilaf walked in the door, looking a bit distracted. Then he saw the Elantrian sitting in the chair in front of Hrathen's desk. The shock nearly killed him. Hrathen smiled, watching as Dilaf's breath audibly caught in his throat, his eyes grew wide as shields, and his face turned a shade not unlike the color of Hrathen's armor. "Hruggath Jar Dilaf yelped in surprise, the Fjordell curse rising quickly to his lips.

Hrathen raised his eyebrows at the expletive-not so much because it offended him, but because he was surprised that it should come so easily to

Dilaf. The arteth had submerged himself in Fjorden's culture deeply indeed.

"Say hello to Diren, Arteth," Hrathen said, gesturing to the black-and-grayfaced Elantrian. "And kindly refrain from using Lord Jaddeth's name as a curse. That is one Fjordell habit I would rather you hadn't assumed."

"An Elantrian!"

"Yes," Hrathen said. "Very good, Arteth. And no, you may not set fire to him."

Hrathen leaned back slightly in his seat. smiling as Dilaf glared at the EIantrian. Hrathen had summoned Dilaf to the room knowing full well the kind of reaction he would get, and he felt a little petty at the move. That, however, didn't stop him from enjoying the moment.

Finally. Dilaf shot Hrathen a hateful look-though he quickly masked it with one of barely controlled submissiveness. "What is he doing here, my hroden?"

"I thought it would be good to know the face of our enemy, Arteth," Hrathen said, rising and walking over to the frightened Elantrian. The two priests were, of course, conversing in Fjordell. There was confusion in the Elantrian's eyes, along with a feral sort of fear.

Hrathen squatted down beside the man, studying his demon. "Are they all bald, Dilaf?" he asked with interest.

"Not at first." the arteth answered sullenly. "They usually have a full head when the Korathi dogs prepare them for the city. Their skin is paler as well."

Hrathen reached our, feeling the man's cheek. The skin was tough and leathery. The Elantrian watched him with frightened eyes. "These black spots-these are what distinguish an Elantrian?"

"It is the first sign, my hroden," Dilaf said, subdued. Either he was getting used to the Elantrian, or he had simply gotten over his initial burst of hatred and had moved on to a more patient, smoldering form of disgust. "It usually happens overnight. When the accursed one wakes up, he or she will have dark blotches all over their body. The rest of their skin turns grayish brown, like this one. over time."

"Like the skin of an embalmed corpse," Hrathen noted. He had visited the university in Svorden on occasion, and knew of the bodies they kept there for study.

"Very similar," Dilaf agreed quietly. "The skin isn't the only sign, my hroden. Their insides are rotten as well."

"How can you tell?"

"Their hearts do not beat," Dilaf said. "And their minds do not work. There are stories from the early days ten years ago, before they were all locked away in that city. Within a few months they turn comatose, barely able to move, except to bemoan their pain."

"Pain?"

"The pain of their soul being burned by Lord Jaddeth's fire," Dilaf explained. "It builds within them until it consumes their consciousness. It is their punishment."

Hrathen nodded, turning away from the Elantrian.

"You shouldn't have touched him, my hroden," Dilaf said.

"I thought you said that Lord Jaddeth would protect his faithful," Hrathen said. "What need have I to fear?"

"You invited evil into the chapel, my hroden."

Hrathen snorted. "There is nothing sacred about this building, Dilaf, as you know. No holy ground can be dedicated in a country that hasn't allied itself with Shu-Dereth."

"Of course." Dilaf said. His eyes were growing eager for some reason.

The look in Dilaf 's eyes made Hrathen uncomfortable. Perhaps it would be best to minimize the time the arteth spent in the same room as the Elantrian.

"I summoned you because I'm going to need you to make the preparations for the evening sermon," Hrathen said. "I can't do them myself-I want to spend a bit of time interrogating this Elantrian..

"As you command. my hroden," Dilaf said, still eyeing the Elantrian. "You are dismissed. Arteth," Hrathen said firmly.

Dilaf growled quietly, then scuttled from the room, off to do Hrathen's bidding.

Hrathen turned back to the Elantrian. The creature didn't seem "mindless." as Dilaf had put it. The Guard captain who'd brought the Elantrian had even mentioned the creature's name; that implied that it could speak.

"Can you understand me, Elantrian?" Hrathen asked in Aonic.

Diren paused, then nodded his head.

"Interesting." Hrathen said musingly.

"What do you want with me?" the Elantrian asked.

"Just to ask you some questions," Hrathen said, stepping back to his desk and sitting down. He continued to study the creature with curiosity. Never in all of his varied travels had he seen a disease such as this.

"Do you… have any food?" the Elantrian asked. There was a slight edge of wildness to his eyes as he mentioned the word "food."

"If you answer my questions, I promise to send you back to Elantris with a full basket of bread and cheese."

This got the creature's attention. He nodded vigorously.

So hungry, Hrathen thought with curiosity. And, what was it that Dilaf said? No heartbeat? Perhaps the disease does something to the metabolism-makes the heart beat so quickly that it's hard to detect, increases the appetite somehow?

"What were you before you were thrown into the city, Diren?" Hrathen asked. "A peasant, my lord. I worked the fields of Aor Plantation."

"And, how long have you been an Elantrian?"

"I was thrown in during the fall," Diren said. "Seven months? Eight? I lose track…"

So Dilaf 's other assertion, that Elantrians fell "comatose" within a few months. was incorrect. Hrathen sat thoughtfully, trying to decide what kind of information this creature might have that could be of use to him.

"What is it like in Elantris?" Hrathen asked.

"It's. terrible, my lord," Diren said, looking down. "There's the gangs. If you go the wrong place, they'll chase you, or hurt you. No one tells the newcomers about things. so if you aren't careful, you'll walk into the market… That's not good. And, there's a new gang now-so say a few of the Elantrians I know on the streets. A fourth gang. more powerful than the others."

Gangs. That implied a basic level of society, at least. Hrathen frowned to himself. If the gangs were as harsh as Diren implied, then perhaps he could use them as an example of Svrakiss for his followers. However, speaking with the complacent Diren, Hrathen was beginning to think that perhaps he should continue making his condemnations from a distance. If any percentage of the Elantrians were as harmless as this man, then the people of Kae would probably be disappointed in the Elantrians as "demons."

As the interrogation proceeded, Hrathen realized that Diren didn't know much more that was of use. The Elantrian couldn't explain what the Shaod was like-it had happened to him while he was sleeping. He claimed that he was "dead," whatever that meant, and that his wounds no longer healed. He even showed Hrathen a cut in his skin. The wound wasn't bleeding, however. so Hrathen just suspected that the pieces of skin hadn't sealed properly as they healed.

Diren knew nothing of the Elantrian "magic." He claimed that he'd seen others doing magical drawings in the air, but Diren himself didn't know how to do likewise. He did know that he was hungry-very hungry. He reiterated this idea several times, as well as mentioning twice more that he was frightened of the gangs.

Satisfied that he knew what he'd wanted to find out-that Elantris was a brutal place, but disappointingly human in its methods of brutality-Hrathen sent for the Guard captain who had brought Diren.

The captain of the Elantris City Guard entered obsequiously. He wore thick gloves, and he prodded the Elantrian out of its chair with a long stick. The captain eagerly accepted a bag of coins from Hrathen, then nodded as Hrathen made him promise to purchase Diren a basket of food. As the captain forced his prisoner out of the room, Dilaf appeared at Hrathen's door. The arteth watched his prey leave with a look of disappointment.

"Everything ready?" Hrathen asked.

"Yes, my hroden," Dilaf said. "People are already beginning to arrive for the services."

"Good." Hrathen said, leaning back in his chair, Iacing his fingers thoughtfully.

"Does something concern you. my hroden?"

Hrathen shook his head. "I was just planning for the evening speech. I believe it is time for us to move on to the next step in our plans."

"The next step. my hroden?"

Hrathen nodded. "I think we have successfully established our stance against Elantris. The masses are always quick to find devils around them. as long as you give them proper motivation."

"Yes. my hroden."

"Do not forget. Arteth." Hrathen said, "that there is a point to our hatred." "It unifies our followers-it gives them a common enemy."

"Correct," Hrathen said, resting his arms on his desk. "There is another purpose, however. One just as important. Now that we have given the people someone to hate, we need to create an association between Elantris and our rivals."

"Shu-Korath," Dilaf said with a sinister smile.

"Again correct. The Korathi priests are the ones who prepare new Elantrians- they are the motivation behind the mercy this country shows its fallen gods. If we imply that Korathi tolerance makes its priests sympathizers, the people's loathing of Elantris will shift to Shu-Korath instead. Their priests will be faced with two options: Either they accept our incrimination, or they side with us against Elantris. If they choose the former, then the people will turn against them. If they choose the latter. then it puts them under our theological control. After that, a few simple embarrassments will make them appear impotent and irrelevant."

"It is perfect." Dilaf said. "But will it happen quickly enough? There is so little time."

Hrathen started, looking over at the still smiling arteth. How had the man known about his deadline? He couldn't-he must be guessing.

"It will work," Hrathen said. "With their monarchy unstable and their religion wavering, the people will look for a new source of leadership. Shu-Dereth will be like a rock amidst shifting sands."

"A fine analogy, my hroden."

Hrathen could never tell if Dilaf mocked him with such statements or not. "I have a task for you. Arteth. I want you to make the connection in your sermon tonight-turn the people against Shu-Korath."

"Will my hroden not do it himself?"

"I will speak second. and my speech will offer logic. You, however, are more passionate-and their disgust for Shu-Korath must first come from their hearts."

Dilaf nodded, bowing his head to show that he acceded to the command. Hrathen waved his hand. indicating the conversation was over. and the arteth backed away. closing the door behind him.

Dilaf spoke with characteristic zeal. He stood outside the chapel, on a podium Hrathen had commissioned once the crowds became too large to fit in the building. The warm spring nights were conducive to such meetings. and the half-light of sunset, combined with torches, gave the proper mixture of visibility and shadow.

The people watched Dilaf with rapture, even though most of what he said was repetitious. Hrathen spent hours preparing his sermons, careful to combine both duplication for reinforcement and originality to provide excitement. Dilaf just spoke. It didn't matter if he spouted the same denunciations of Elantris and the same redundant praises to Jaddeth's empire; the people listened anyway. After a week of hearing the arteth speak, Hrathen had learned to ignore his own envy-to an extent, at least. He replaced it with pride.

As he listened. Hrathen congratulated himself on the arteth's effectiveness. Dilaf did as Hrathen had ordered, beginning with his normal ravings about Elantris. then moving boldly into a full accusation of Shu-Korath. The crowd moved with him, allowing their emotions to be redirected. It was as Hrathen had planned; there was no reason for him to be jealous of Dilaf. The man's rage was like a river Hrathen himself had diverted toward the crowd. Dilaf might have the raw talent, but Hrathen was the master behind it.

He told himself that right up to the moment Dilaf surprised him. The sermon progressed well, Dilaf's fury investing the crowd with a loathing of everything Korathi. But then the tide shifted as Dilaf turned his attention back to Elantris. Hrathen thought nothing of it at first-Dilaf had an incorrigible tendency to wander during his sermons.

"And now, behold!" Dilaf suddenly commanded. "Behold the Svrakiss! Look into its eyes, and find form for your hate! Feed the outrage of Jaddeth that burns within you all!"

Hrathen felt himself grow cold. Dilaf gestured to the side of the stage, where a pair of torches suddenly burst into flame. Diren the Elantrian stood tied to a post, his head bowed. There were cuts on his face that had not been there before.

"Behold the enemy!" Dilaf screamed. "Look, see! He does not bleed! No blood runs through his veins, and no heart beats in his chest. Did not the philosopher Grondkest say that you can judge the equality of all men by their common unity of blood? But what of one who has no blood? What shall we call him?"

"Demon!" a member of the crowd yelled.

"Devil!"

"Svrakiss!" Dilaf screamed.

The crowd raged, each member yelling his own accusations at the wretched target. The Elantrian himself screamed with wild, feral passion. Something had changed within this man. When Hrathen had spoken with him, the Elantrian's

answers had been unenthusiastic. but lucid. Now there was nothing of sanity in his eyes-only pain. The sound of the creature's voice reached Hrathen even over the congregation's fury.

"Destroy me!" the Elantrian pled. "End the pain! Destroy me!"

The voice shocked Hrathen out of his stupor. He realized one thing immediately: that Dilaf couldn't be allowed to murder this Elantrian in public. Visions of Dilaf 's crowd becoming a mob flashed through Hrathen's mind, of them burning the Elantrian in a fit of collective passion. It would destroy everything: Iadon would never suffer something as violent as a public execution, even if the victim was an Elantrian. It smelled too much of chaos a decade old, chaos that had overthrown a government.

Hrathen stood at the side of the podium dais, amid a group of priests. There was a pressing crowd bunched up against the front of the dais, and Dilaf stood in front of the podium itself, hands outstretched as he spoke.

"They must be destroyed!" Dilaf screamed. "All of them! Cleansed by holy fire!"

Hrathen leaped up onto the dais. 'And so they shall be!" he yelled, cutting the arteth off.

Dilaf paused only briefly. He turned to the side, nodding toward a lesser priest holding a lit torch. Dilaf probably assumed that there was nothing Hrathen could do to stop the execution-at least, nothing he could do that wouldn't undermine his own credibility with the crowd.

Not this time, Arteth, Hrathen thought. I won't let you do whatever you wish. He couldn't contradict Dilaf, not without making it seem like there was a division in the Derethi ranks.

He could, however, twist what Dilaf had said. That particular vocal feat was one of Hrathen's specialties.

"But, what good would that do?" Hrathen yelled, struggling to speak over the screaming crowd. They were surging forward in anticipation of the execution, calling out curses at the Elantrian.

Hrathen gritted his teeth, pushing past Dilaf and grabbing the torch from the passing priest's hand. Hrathen heard Dilaf hissing in annoyance, but he ignored the arteth. If he didn't gain control of the crowd, they would simply push forward and attack the Elantrian on their own.

Hrathen held aloft the torch, thrusting it upward repeatedly, causing the crowd to yell with pleasure, building a kind of chanting rhythm.

And in between pulses of rhythm, there was silence.

"I ask you again, people!" Hrathen bellowed as the crowd fell silent, preparing for another yell.

They paused.

"What good would killing this creature do?" Hrathen asked.

"It's a demon!" one of the men in the crowd yelled.

"Yes!" Hrathen said. "But it is already tormented. Jaddeth himself gave this demon its curse. Listen to it pleading for death! Is that what we want to do? Give the creature what it wants?"

Hrathen waited tensely. While some of the crowd's members screamed "Yes!" out of habit, others paused. Confusion showed, and a bit of the tension deflated.

"The Svrakiss are our enemies," Hrathen said, speaking with more control now, his voice firm rather than passionate. His words calmed the people further. "However, they are not ours to punish. That is Jaddeth's pleasure! We have another task.

"This creature, this demon, this is the thing that the Korathi priests would have you pity! You wonder why Arelon is poor compared to the nations of the East? It is because you suffer the Korathi foolishness. That is why you lack the riches and blessings found in nations like Jindo and Svorden. The Korathi are too lenient. It may not be our task to destroy these creatures, but neither is it our task to care for them! We certainly shouldn't pity them or suffer them to live in such a grand. rich city as Elantris."

Hrathen extinguished the torch, then waved for a priest to go and do the same for the lights illuminating the poor Elantrian. As those torches winked out, the Elantrian disappeared from view, and the crowd began to settle down.

"Remember," Hrathen said. "The Korathi are the ones who care for the Elantrians. Even now, they still hedge when asked if the Elantrians are demons. The Korathi are afraid that the city will return to its glory, but we know better. We know that Jaddeth has pronounced His curse. There is no mercy for the damned!

"Shu-Korath is the cause of your pains. It is the thing that supports and protects Elantris. You will never be rid of the Elantrian curse as long as the Korathi priests hold sway in Arelon. So. I say to you. go! Tell your friends what you have learned, and urge them to shun Korathi heresies!"

There was silence. Then people began to call out in agreement. their dissatisfaction successfully transferred. Hrathen watched them carefully as they yelled approval, then finally began to disperse. Their vengeful hatred had mostly dissipated. Hrathen sighed with relief-there would be no midnight attacks on Korathi priests or temples. Dilaf's speech had been too fleeting, too quick, to have done lasting damage. The disaster had been averted.

Hrathen turned, eyeing Dilaf. The arteth had left the stage after Hrathen had seized control, and now he stood watching his crowd disappear with petulant anger.

He would turn them all into zealous replicas of himself Hrathen thought. Except, their passion would burn out quickly once the moment passed. They needed more. They needed knowledge, not just hysteria.

"Arteth," Hrathen said sternly, catching Dilaf's attention. "We need to speak."

The arreth contained a glare, then nodded. The Elantrian was still screaming for death. Hrathen turned to another pair of arteths, waving toward the Elantrian. "Collect the creature and meet me in the gardens."

Hrathen turned to Dilaf, nodding curtly toward the gate at the back of the Derethi chapel. Dilaf did as ordered, moving toward the gardens. Hrathen followed him, on the way passing the confused Elantris City Guard captain.

"My lord?" the man asked. "The young priest caught me before I got back to the city. He said you wanted the creature back. Did I do wrong?"

"You are fine," Hrathen said curtly. "Go back to your post; we'll deal with the Elantrian."

The Elantrian seemed to welcome the flames, despite the terrible pain they must have caused.

Dilaf huddled to the side, watching eagerly, though it had been Hrathen's hand-not Dilaf's-that had dropped the torch onto the oil-soaked Elantrian. Hrathen watched the poor creature as it burned, its cries of pain finally silenced by the roaring fire. The creature's body seemed to burn easily-too easily-within the licking flames.

Hrathen felt a stab of guilt for betraying Diren, though that emotion was foolish: the Elantrian might not have been a true devil, but he was certainly a creature that Jaddeth had cursed. Hrathen owed the Elantrian nothing.

Still, he regretted having to burn the creature. Unfortunately, Dilaf's cuts had obviously maddened the Elantrian, and there was no sending him back to the city in his current state. The flames had been the only option.

Hrathen watched the pitiful man's eyes until the flames consumed him completely.

"And the burning fire of Jaddeth's displeasure shall cleanse them," Dilaf whispered, quoting the Do-Dereth.

"Judgment belongs to Jaddeth alone, and it is executed by his only servant Wyrn," Hrathen quoted, using a different passage from the same book. 'You should not have forced me to kill this creature."

"It was inevitable," Dilaf said. "Eventually all things must bow before Jaddeth's will-and it is his will that all of Elantris burn. I was simply following fate."

"You nearly lost control of that crowd with your ravings, Arteth," Hrathen snapped. "A riot must be very carefully planned and executed, otherwise it will just as likely turn against its creators as their enemies."

"I… got carried away," Dilaf said. "But, killing one Elantrian would not have made them riot."

"You don't know that. Besides, what of Iadon?"

"How could he object?" Dilaf said. "It is his own order that escaping Elantrians can be burned. He would never take a stand in favor of Elantris."

"But he could rake a stand against us!" Hrathen said. "You were wrong to bring this creature to the meeting."

"The people deserved to see what they are to hate."

"The people are not ready for that yet," Hrathen said harshly. "We want to keep their hatred formless. If they start to tear up the city, Iadon will put an end to our preaching.

Dilaf's eyes narrowed. "You sound as if you are trying to avoid the inevitable, my hroden. You fostered this hatred-are you unwilling to accept responsibility for the deaths it will cause? Hate and loathing cannot remain 'formless' for long-they will find an outlet."

"But that outlet will come when I decide it," Hrathen said coldly. "I am aware of my responsibility. Arteth, though I question your understanding of it. You just told me that killing this Elantrian was fated by Jaddeth-that you were simply following Jaddeth's fate by forcing my hand. Which is it to be? Would the deaths I cause in riot be my doing. or simply the will of God? How can you be an innocent servant while I must accept full accountability for this city's people?"

Dilaf exhaled sharply. He knew, however, when he had been defeated. He bowed curtly, then turned and entered the chapel.

Hrathen watched the arreth go. fuming quietly. Dilaf's action this night had been foolish and impulsive. Was he trying to undermine Hrathen's authority, or was he simply acting on his zealous passions? If it was the second, the near riot was Hrathen's own fault. He had. after all, been so proud of himself for using Dilaf as an effective tool.

Hrathen shook his head, releasing a tense breath. He had defeated Dilaf this evening, but the tension was growing between them. They couldn't afford to get into visible arguments. Rumors of dissension in the Derethi ranks would erode their credibility.

I will have to do something about the arteth, Hrathen decided with resignation. Dilaf was becoming too much of a liability.

His decision made, Hrathen turned to leave. As he did, however, his eyes fell again on the Elantrian's charred remains, and he shuddered despite himself. The man's willful acceptance of immolation brought memories to Hrathen's mind-memories he had long tried to banish. Images of pain, of sacrifice, and of death.

Memories of Dakhor.

He turned his back on the charred bones, walking toward the chapel. He still had one other task to complete this evening.

The Seon floated free from its box, responding to Hrathen's command. Mentally, Hrathen chided himself-this was the second time in one week he had used the creature. Reliance on the Seon was something to be avoided. However. Hrathen could think of no other way to accomplish his goal. Dilaf was right: Time was very scarce. Fourteen days had already passed since his arrival in Arelon, and he had spent a week traveling before that. Only seventy days remained of his original allotment, and, despite the size of the night's congregation, Hrathen had converted only a tiny fraction of Arelon.

Only one fact gave him hope: Arelon's nobility was concentrated in Kae. To be away from Iadon's court was political suicide; the king granted and took away titles willfully, and a high profile was necessary to assure a firm place in the aristocracy. Wyrn didn't care if Hrathen converted the masses or not; as long as the nobility bowed, the country was considered Derethi.

So, Hrathen had a chance, bur he still had much work to do. An important piece of it lay in the man Hrathen was about to call. His contact was not a gyorn, which made Hrathen's use of the Seon a little unorthodox. However, Wyrn had never directly commanded him not to call other people with his Seon, so Hrathen was able to rationalize the use.

The Seon responded promptly, and soon Forton's large-eared, mouselike face appeared in its light.

"Who is it?" he asked in the harsh Fjordell dialect spoken in the country of Hrovell.

"It is I, Forton."

"My lord Hrathen?" Forton asked with surprise. "My lord, it has been a long time."

"I know, Forton. I trust you are well."

The man laughed happily, though the laugh quickly turned to a wheeze. For-ton had a chronic cough-a condition caused. Hrathen was certain, by the various substances the man was fond of smoking.

"Of course. my lord," Forton said through his coughing. "When am I not well?" Forton was a man utterly contented with his life-a condition that was also caused by the various substances he was fond of smoking. "What can I do for you?"

"I have need of one of your elixirs, Forton." Hrathen said.

"Of course, of course. What must it do?"

Hrathen smiled. Forton was an unparalleled genius, which was why Hrathen suffered his eccentricities. The man not only kept a Seon, but was a devout follower of the Mysteries-a degenerate form of the Jesker religion common in rural areas. Though Hrovell was officially a Derethi nation, most of it was a primitive, sparsely populated countryside which was difficult to supervise. Many of the

peasants attended their Derethi services with devotion, then took part in their midnight Mystery ceremonies with equal devotion. Forton himself was considered something of a mystic in his town. though he always put on a show of Derethi orthodoxy when he spoke with Hrathen.

Hrathen explained what he wanted, and Forton repeated it back. Though For-ton was often drugged, he was very accomplished at the mixing of potions, poisons, and elixirs. Hrathen had met no man in Sycla who could match Forton's skill. One of the eccentric man's concoctions had restored Hrathen to health after he had been poisoned by a political enemy. The slow-acting substance was said to have no antidote.

"This will be no problem, my lord," Forton promised Hrathen in his thick dialect. Even after years of dealing with the Hroven, Hrathen had trouble understanding them. He was certain that most of them didn't even know there was a pure, correct form of their language back in Fjorden.

"Good." Hrathen said.

"Yes, all I'll need to do is combine two formulas I already have," Forton said. "How much do you want?"

"At least two doses. I will pay you the standard price."

"My true payment is the knowledge I have served Lord Jaddeth," the man said piously.

Hrathen resisted the urge to laugh. He knew how much of a hold the Mysteries had on Hrovell's people. It was a distasteful form of worship, a syncretic combination of a dozen different faiths, with some aberrations-such as ritual sacrifice and fertility rites-added in to make it more alluring. Hrovell, however, was a task for another day. The people did what Wyrn commanded, and they were too politically insignificant to cause Fjorden distress. Of course. their souls were in serious danger: Jaddeth was not known for his leniency toward the ignorant.

Another day, Hrathen told himself. Another day.

"When will my lord be needing this potion?" the man asked.

"That is the thing. Forton. I need it immediately."

"Where are you?"

"In Arelon." Hrathen said.

"Ah, good," Forton said. "My lord has finally decided to convert those heathens."

"Yes," Hrathen said with a slight smile. "We Derethi have been patient with the Arelenes long enough."

"Well, Your Lordship couldn't have picked a place farther away," Forton said. "Even if I finish the potion tonight and send it in the morning, it will take at least two weeks to arrive."

Hrathen chafed at the delay, but there was no other option. "Then do so, For-ton. I will compensate you for working on such short notice."

lord."

"A true follower of Jaddeth wilI do anything to bring about His Empire, my

Well, at least he knows his Derethi doctrine, Hrathen thought with a mental shrug.

"Is there anything else, my lord?" Forton asked. coughing slightly. "No. Get to work, and send the potions as quickly as possible."

"Yes, my lord. I'll get started immediately. Feel free to pray to me any time you need to."

Hrathen frowned-he had forgotten about that Iittle inaccuracy. Perhaps For-ton's mastery of Derethi doctrine wasn't all that sound after all. Forton didn't know Hrathen had a Seon; he simply assumed that a gyorn could pray to Jaddeth and that God would direct his words through the Seons. As if Lord Jaddeth were a member of the post.

"Goodnight. Forton." Hrathen said, keeping the displeasure from his voice. Forton was a drug addict, a heretic, and a hypocrite-but he was still an invaluable resource. Hrathen had long ago decided that if Jaddeth would suffer his gyorns to communicate using Seons, then He would certainly let Hrathen use men such as Forton.

After all, Jaddeth had created all men-even the heretics.