1812
Dusk over Uru'baen and a faint shroud of smoke hovering over the horizon, the beat of wingtips in a regular rhythm as Eragon rested, flat on his back upon the massive muscled torso- back, feeling that trace of muscles loosening and tightening, lines upon her flesh that he knew so well running down her that was flexing and breathing.
Just below him Saphira hummed and went into a steep dive that drove him from his stupor and he flipped himself nimbly forwards again to ride. Ten minutes more, she whispered close to his ear and he nodded in reply, sparing a glance downwards where row upon row, block upon block he watched the grey mass that was the city, blurred in motion, spill out before his senses. An hour per day is too short, he said in reply and he could feel her nod in silent agreement. Let us make the most of it then.
Eragon and Saphira were invisible, hidden not only by cloud cover and volumes of dust that was regularly kicked up into the skies by the metropolis' bustling streets, but by a clever spell reworked by their combined efforts that proved enough to persuade the King to let them fly out in the open.
I suppose we need to return. Saphira turned one last time across to make a final sweep, staring wistfully, Eragon thought at the glorious sunset that was about to break. Then, with a sigh the pair returned to the palace compound, a hulking granite structure with glass slits for windows. Eragon surveyed as he always did the twenty four lean towers standing menacingly astride the surrounding cliffs, and Saphira never lingered here for long. Insidious, hidden by magic of course. The old Castle. Illirea it was once called. Saphira snorted and shook her great scaled crown. The elves who lived here are long dead. You had best banish those thoughts from your mind before your meeting with the King or we may just live to regret it.
As he entered the plain but imposing throne room with its steepled high-flowing rooftop of quivering hard stone, his footsteps echoing, however much he tried to move quietly. Behind a triple level throne wide enough for four horses to march, lay Shruikan, a magnificent forlorn creature lying pitifully chained to it, twisted and black, fast asleep. Galbatorix, frail, but not through weakness, Eragon knew, had his back turned to him apparently in silent contemlation.
"Approach," came the quiet voice that Eragon knew so well. So capable of limitless variations according to mood and situation. Yet he was accustomed to nearly all, he heard it often enough, more than any man or woman alive, he realized. With his head bent in absolution, his mind was clear, he knelt before the steps.
"And have you heard?" the King questioned with tones of false irony. "Rumours of a new rider abound. From around Carvahall and Daret to Teirm and Dras Leona they speak of a new rider and his red dragon."
"I had not heard your majesty," Eragon replied breathlessly. "I… do not know these things, nothing until you tell me. I am… ignorant of the goings-on of the realm as you know."
"But of course," Galbatorix replied turning so that Eragon caught sight, despite himself, of that sinister figure that belied his true power. Copper skin and sleek black hair in black array, but his eyes had a gleam of red that showed when he wanted something very dear.
"What is it that you desire of me?" Eragon whispered half in dread and half in a strange eager anticipation. Perhaps… finally he was going to… be given the chance…
"You are happy", Galbatorix noted staring downwards and Eragon met his stare. "I wonder why?"
Eragon didn't move for the King's face held a strange hypnotic power. "I am ready your majesty. I am at your command."
And Galbatorix laughed long and hard, it rang from the four high corners. He settled his arms and folded them across his chest. With a neat swish of his cape he was walking sideways, slowly his movement sleek.
"But I am not ready to unleash you still. You will relieve Durza of his duties in Gil'ead. He will be returning to the capital ahead of you. You will be travelling in secret of course. I shall give you two weeks after which I will send Morzan. Do not disappoint me."
"Do not misunderstand your majesty. I only wish to see more of your Kingdom…" Eragon replied earnestly. "I am loyal to your will. And I swear to accomplish all your commands to the utmost of my ability."
But the King waved him off. "Enough flattery for today Eragon. Attend to your lessons. You leave on the 'morrow."
And Eragon getting on his feet turned his back nervously upon Galbatorix and staggered from the throne room, his knees sore for he knew Galbatorix had placed a deliberate spell upon the floor tiles.
As he staggered back into his quarters, somewhat shakily he felt the welcome voice flood into his head again as he passed the wards. A sensation of warmth and he felt able to relax. Just beyond that wall he knew Saphira would have been walking alongside him, much like the Helgrind that he had read, the castle had used various spells to alter space such that even mature dragons could walk along certain corridors though you couldn't see. It was another perk of knowing the true name of the Ancient Language that even space and time was not beyond your manipulation.
At a landing, three guards bowed low, thinking him a Lord. Eragon took the staircase to a tower. When he had reached the peak, sticking her head from above, he greeted Saphira unfolding her wings. Eragon marvelled once again the oscillating length of her enormous tail.
A feet longer again and it's only been a week. From what I remember that's-
Fifteen years we've lived here. Tomorrow we're gone.
There was an expected pause before she stuck her head down again and Eragon paused at the windowsill to look back up at her.
To where? she demanded.
Gil'ead. It's perhaps the first step towards some kind of freedom.
Saphira snorted again and looked skeptical.
So long as he knows our true names, we will never be free.
Maybe so. But for now I like to stop thinking about it all the time. I need to go and practice my swordplay.
With him again?
It's going to be hell if Morzan shows up. Otherwise it'll be a dozen of the King's finest.
Can you defeat him? You told me you probably could.
I'm getting close to his ability I think. But he has decades worth of experience. We've never even seen action before, you and I.
She hummed again and after stretching flew off the tower without another word. Eragon watched her sleek blue form fade away as she ascended another tower to perform another round of gymnastics and flying exercises, eager for tomorrow. He himself, took up his sheathed blade and put on a vest of leather, and picking up a nearby whetstone set about to work.
Ten minutes later he had descended into the gallery, a long hall of mirrors on every side and angle, pock-marked and worn wooden panels that made up the scratched flooring. Morzan, his brows twitching with a mad dislike approached with Za'roc in tow. Eragon drew his blade in caution though he knew Morzan would never truly strike at him with the intent to kill for fear of the King.
We must let him think that he can still best us.
Aye.
"Well, boy," Morzan spat, "I've been instructed by the King to oversee your learning again. You can thank me afterwards when I've put you to the ground and bruised you up from shins to collarbone. So I've flown all the way here to this shit pile of a city just for you."
"I killed a dragon named Saphira once. Brom's dragon" Morzan continued. He looked as though he wanted something more to say but grimaced instead, a look of deepest loathing passing his darkened face that was beginning to sag with age, and then breathing heavily as if to restrain himself.
Morzan the Conqueror of Surda, the Urgal's Bane. Resides in the Spine. Cleared it of Urgals. Galbatorix made a deal with them a few years back. About half the clans agreed to move to Hedarth and sack it, forming their own Urgal nation east of the Hadarac. The other half Morzan exterminated on behalf of Galbatorix. No more Urgals live in the Spine.
Yes I know.
Be careful.
Yes.
With a sudden lunge Morzan lashed out and was met with a parry the force of the blow shook Eragon's arms but he held steady. Driven by rage, Morzan hacked wildly with massive swings that cascaded blows out of every side that Eragon could see and barely keep up. Every crash of metal was painful, Morzan however was clearly not in the best of form. He hardly ever is nowadays.
Don't help me Saphira. I need to see if I can handle him alone. He's not fighting at full strength either.
"Twelve years she has hatched to me." Eragon gritted his teeth as they tested each their strength. "I have learned much from our King since. Is that what you're afraid of?"
Morzan struggled and cursed, breaking free from the lock of blades and drove relentlessly forwards. Eragon matching his every swing but at a critical moment relented and was rewarded by a shattering of ribs that sent him reeling. But a second was all he needed to repair the damage with magic and still grimacing stepped forwards again. Forty exchanges had him lying in the ground a pool of blood gathering about his bowels. Morzan snorted and spat inches away then turned on his heels and left without another word.
You let him do that.
As I did the time before, and the time before. Every time he has to visit the capital. The sooner Galbatorix realizes I'm capable the sooner he'll have me out there committing atrocities. I won't partake in them if I can help it Saphira. Give me strength.
And yet you really wish to see the outside world as I do little one?
Eragon grimaced and shook his head with a rueful grin. Of course I do. Anything to leave this place. But still it's better that the King believes I am a weakling. I'm not though.
Saphira was silent at this as Eragon picked himself off the ground and swiftly healed his wounds again. Meet you in the courtyard. Saphira hummed and took off. As he left the gallery he made sure to walk with a steady limp in sight of all the courtiers.