Elantris 1 - Elantris by Brandon Sanderson

Author:Brandon Sanderson [Sanderson, Brandon]
Language: eng
Format: azw3, mobi
ISBN: 9780765350374
Published: 2006-05-30T00:00:00+00:00

Hrathen fled again.

He needed to think, to clear his mind. He had spent several hours stewing in his office, angry at both Dilaf and himself. Finally, he could stand it no longer, and so he absconded to the night streets of Kae.

As usual, he directed his path toward Elantris’s wall. He sought height, as if rising above the dwellings of man could give him a better perspective on life.

“Spare some coins, sir?” pled a voice.

Hrathen stopped in surprise; he had been so distracted that he hadn’t noticed the rag-clothed beggar at his feet. The man was old and obviously had poor sight, for he was squinting up at Hrathen in the darkness. Hrathen frowned, realizing for the first time that he had never seen a beggar in Kae.

A youth, dressed in clothing no better than that of the old man, hobbled around the corner. The boy froze, blanching pale white. “Not him, you old fool!” he hissed. Then, to Hrathen, he quickly said, “I’m sorry, my lord. My father loses his wits sometimes and thinks he is a beggar. Please forgive us.” He moved to grab the old man’s arm.

Hrathen held up his hand commandingly, and the youth stopped, growing another shade paler. Hrathen knelt down beside the elderly man, who was smiling with a half-senile daze. “Tell me, old man,” Hrathen asked, “why do I see so few beggars in the city?”

“The king forbids begging in his city, good sir,” the man croaked. “It is a poor sign of prosperity to have us on his streets. If he finds us, he sends us back to the farms.”

“You say too much,” the youth warned, his frightened face indicating that he was very close to abandoning the old man and bolting away.

The elderly beggar wasn’t finished. “Yes, good sir, we mustn’t let him catch us. Hide outside the city, we do.”

“Outside the city?” Hrathen pressed.

“Kae isn’t the only town here, you know. There used to be four of them, all surrounding Elantris, but the others dried up. Not enough food for so many people in such a small area, they said. We hide in the ruins.”

“Are there many of you?” Hrathen asked.

“No, not many. Only those who’ve the nerve to run away from the farms.” The old man’s eyes took on a dreamy look. “I wasn’t always a beggar, good sir. Used to work in Elantris—I was a carpenter, one of the best. I didn’t make a very good farmer, though. The king was wrong there, good sir—he sent me to the fields, but I was too old to work in them, so I ran away. Came here. The merchants in the town, they give us money sometimes. But we can only beg after night comes, and never from the high nobles. No, sir, they would tell the king.”

The old man squinted up at Hrathen—as if realizing for the first time why the boy was so apprehensive. “You don’t look much like a merchant, good sir,” he said hesitantly.

“I’m not,” Hrathen responded, dropping a bag of coins in the man’s hand.

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