“There isn’t enough room for a decent crop,” Galladon argued. “It will be little more than a garden.”
“There’s enough space to plant this little amount. Next year we’ll have more corn, and then we can worry about room. I hear the palace gardens were rather large—we could probably use those.”
Galladon shook his head. “The problem in that statement, sule, is the part about ‘next year.’ There won’t be a ‘next year.’ Kolo? People in Elantris don’t last that long.”
“Elantris will change,” Raoden said. “If not, then those who come here after us will plant the next season.”
“I still doubt it will work.”
“You’d doubt the sun’s rising if you weren’t proven wrong each day,” Raoden said with a smile. “Just give it a try.”
“All right, sule,” Galladon said with a sigh. “I suppose your thirty days aren’t up yet.”
Raoden smiled, passing the corn to his friend and placing his hand on the Dula’s shoulder. “Remember, the past need not become our future as well.”
Galladon nodded, putting the corn back in its hiding place. “We won’t need this for another few days—I’m going to have to figure out a way to plow that garden.”
“Lord Spirit!” Saolin’s voice called faintly from above, where he had constructed himself a makeshift watchtower. “Someone is coming.”
Raoden stood, and Galladon hurriedly replaced the stone. A moment later one of Karata’s men burst into the room.
“My lord,” the man said, “Lady Karata begs your presence immediately!”
“You are a fool, Dashe!” Karata snapped.
Dashe—the extremely large, well-muscled man who was her second-in-command—simply continued to strap on his weapons.
Raoden and Galladon stood confused at the doorway to the palace. At least ten of the men in the entryway—a full two-thirds of Karata’s followers—looked as if they were preparing for battle.
“You can continue to dream with your new friend, Karata,” Dashe replied gruffly, “but I will wait no longer—especially not as long as that man threatens the children.”
Raoden edged closer to the conversation, pausing beside a thin-limbed, anxious man named Horen. Horen was the type who avoided conflict, and Raoden guessed that he was neutral in this argument.
“What’s happening?” Raoden asked quietly.
“One of Dashe’s scouts overheard Aanden planning to attack our palace tonight,” Horen whispered, carefully watching his leaders argue. “Dashe has wanted to strike at Aanden for months now, and this is just the excuse he needed.”
“You’re leading these men into something far worse than death, Dashe,” Karata warned. “Aanden has more people than you do.”
“He doesn’t have weapons,” Dashe replied, sliding a rusted sword into its sheath with a click. “All that university held was books, and he already ate those.”
“Think about what you are doing,” Karata said.
Dashe turned, his boardlike face completely frank. “I have, Karata. Aanden is a madman; we cannot rest while he shares our border. If we strike unexpectedly, then we can stop him permanently. Only then will the children be safe.”
With that, Dashe turned to his grim band of would-be soldiers and nodded. The group moved out the door with purposeful strides.
Karata turned to Raoden, her face a mixture of frustration and pained betrayal. “This is worse than suicide, Spirit.”
“I know,” Raoden said. “We’re so few we can’t afford to lose a single man—not even those who follow Aanden. We have to stop this.”
“He’s already gone,” Karata said, leaning back against the wall. “I know Dashe well. There’s no stopping him now.”
“I refuse to accept that, Karata.”
“Sule, if you don’t mind my asking, what in Doloken are you planning?”
Raoden loped along beside Galladon and Karata, barely keeping up with the two. “I have no idea,” he confessed. “I’m still working on that part.”
“I figured as much,” Galladon muttered.
“Karata,” Raoden asked, “what route will Dashe take?”
“There’s a building that runs up against the university,” she replied. “Its far wall collapsed a while ago, and some of the stones knocked a hole in the university wall it abuts. I’m sure Dashe will try to get in there—he assumes Aanden doesn’t know about the breach.”
“Take us there,” Raoden said. “But take a different route. I don’t want to run into Dashe.”
Karata nodded, leading them down a side street. The building she’d mentioned was a low, single-story structure. One of the walls had been built so close to the university that Raoden was at a loss to guess what the architect had been thinking. The building had not fared well over the years; although it still had its roof—which was sagging horribly—the entire structure seemed on the edge of collapse.
They approached apprehensively, poking their heads through a doorway. The building was open on the inside. They stood near the center of the rectangular structure, the collapsed wall a short distance to their left, another doorway a short distance to their right.
Galladon cursed quietly. “I don’t trust this.”
“Neither do I,” Raoden said.
“No, it’s more than that. Look, sule.” Galladon pointed to the building’s inner support beams. Looking closely, Raoden recognized the marks of fresh cuts in the already weakened wood. “This entire place is rigged to fall.”
Raoden nodded. “It appears as if Aanden is better informed than Dashe assumed. Maybe Dashe will notice the danger and use a different entrance.”
Karata shook her head immediately. “Dashe is a good man, but very single-minded. He’ll march right through this building without bothering to look up.”
Raoden cursed, kneeling beside the doorframe to think. He soon ran out of time, however, as he heard voices approaching. A moment later Dashe appeared in the doorway on the far side, to Raoden’s right.
Raoden—halfway between Dashe and the fallen wall—took a deep breath and called out. “Dashe, stop! This is a trap—the building is rigged to collapse!”
Dashe halted, half of his men already in the building. There was a cry of alarm from the university side of the room, and a group of men appeared behind the rubble. One, bearing Aanden’s familiar mustached face, held a worn fire axe in his hands. Aanden jumped into the room with a cry of defiance, axe raised toward the support pillar.
“Taan, stop!” Raoden yelled.
Aanden stopped his axe in midswing, shocked at the sound of his real name. One half of his fake mustache drooped limply, threatening to fall off.
“Don’t try to reason with him!” Dashe warned, pulling his men from the room. “He’s insane.”
“No, I don’t think he is,” Raoden said, studying Aanden’s eyes. “This man is not insane—just confused.”
Aanden blinked a few times, his hands growing tense on the axe handle. Raoden searched desperately for a solution, and his eyes fell on the remnants of a large stone table near the center of the room. Gritting his teeth and muttering a silent prayer to Domi, Raoden stood and walked into the building.
Karata gasped behind him, and Galladon cursed. The roof moaned ominously.
Raoden looked at Aanden, who stood with the axe prepared to swing. His eyes followed Raoden into the center of the room.
“I’m right, am I not? You aren’t mad. I heard you babbling insanely at your court, but anyone can babble. An insane man doesn’t think to boil parchment for food, and a madman doesn’t have the foresight to plan a trap.”
“I am not Taan,” Aanden finally said. “I am Aanden, Baron of Elantris!”