Title: Empire: Conclusion of the Inheritance Trilogy (my version)
Author: Liduen Kvaedhí
Rated: K+ for right now for violence. Ratings subject to change.
Summary: "The board is set, the pieces are moving." –Gandalf, The Lord of the Rings
My version of Book 3. The plot thickens as we approach the conclusion of the Inheritance trilogy. Eragon and Roran are determined to rescue Katrina and avenge Garrow's death. The Varden are plotting against the Empire once more. The elves have devised a plan to steal the last dragon egg and discover its gender. But Galbatorix has finally set in motion the plan that may destroy them all. Please R&R.
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Do Not Fail
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The ruby-encrusted doors swung inward at the slightest touch, silent on well-oiled hinges. The throne room was large, almost frighteningly so, and so dark that the corners of the room escaped all attempts to be lit. Columns of shiny obsidian lined the walls, reflecting the light of the torches that hung from them in silver brackets.
Murtagh's footsteps echoed off the vaulted ceiling, as did the sound of Thorn's talons clicking on the polished floor. The two of them silently made their way to the end of the room.
The throne was empty for the moment. Murtagh took in the intricate detail with which the chair had been carved. A dragon's head curled from either side, framing the back, which depicted a gory battle between two dragons and their Riders. One was vaguely recognizable as Vrael, the fallen leader of the Riders. The other, Murtagh assumed, was Galbatorix. The throne's arms resembled those of a dragon as well, each ending in a talon wrapped around a ruby orb.
There was a rustled of movement, and a real dragon, enormous in its age, lifted its head over the back of the throne, inspecting Thorn and Murtagh with cold intelligence. Shruikan bared his teeth in a dragon grin. You are well? He asked them softly. Murtagh bowed and nodded. And how fares the king?
A puff of smoke from Shruikan's nostrils engulfed Murtagh. He is well enough. Word has reached his ears of Eragon's whereabouts. A sad expression came across the dragon's face, vanishing quickly. He is intent on destroying him, but if Eragon dies, his dragon will not wish to live, either. I know the pain of losing a rider. It is like losing a piece of yourself.
Murtagh examined the floor, feeling Shruikan's iron gaze burning into his skull. I do not wish to kill my own brother, he said finally. But I cannot avoid it short of killing myself.
Shruikan laid his head back on the floor, partially closing his bony eyelids. That is not an option. Thorn cannot be expected to endure that kind of torture. Nor is it an option to kill the Dragons' only hope of returning to Alagaësia. The dragon abruptly stopped speaking as a tall, narrow door behind the throne swung open. Galbatorix entered the room, crossing to his throne in long, graceful strides. Seating himself in the black chair, he turned his attention to Murtagh and Thorn. "I have another mission for you," he said quietly, "and this time I trust you will not fail me."
Murtagh bowed low. "What is it you wish, master?"
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Roran forced himself to swallow and looked intently at the pattern of the scales on Saphira's neck as her wings caught an updraft and she soared higher into the air. Even with the buckles around his legs and the molded saddle holding him steady, he was terrified of falling off the dragon's back.
This was the second day since the three travelers had left Surda. Helgrind had come into view only an hour ago, a dark blot against the clear blue sky. Now it stood against the rigid orange of the sunset, almost appearing to be on fire as the brilliant colors reflected off the flecks of obsidian buried in the dull black rock. Saphira hissed at the tooth-like projection, baring her teeth in anger. Murderers, she thought angrily, projecting it so that Roran could hear. The venom in her voice frightened him a little.
Saphira, do you see anything? Eragon looked over his cousin's shoulder and winked. Saphira caught his eye and returned the gesture. There's a narrow belt of trees a little to the east. It will be far enough from towns and from Helgrind that a fire would not be noticed. Eragon patted her scaly haunch.
Roran bit back a scream as the dragon suddenly folded her blue wings and plummeted headfirst toward the ground. Air rushed past his face and his stomach lurched as he watched the earth grow at an alarming rate. Just when he thought she would crash into the ground, her wings snapped open once more, and she glided lightly to a stop in the knee-high grasses. Eragon jumped down and helped Roran undo the buckles that held his legs secure to the saddle. Sliding down Saphira's side, Roran hit the ground and sank to his knees, his legs shaking too badly to support his weight.
I must hunt. I will return shortly. Stay hidden in the trees. With a nod from Eragon, the dragon lunged back into the air, flying low over the plains in search of a meal. The Rider watched her go before turning to his cousin. "Not bad for your second day of flying," he chuckled, dragging Roran to his feet. The older boy glowered at him before stalking off toward the tree belt, muttering something about eggheads.
Saphira returned almost an hour later, bearing the limp carcass of a hart. Landing only a few feet from their campsite, she promptly lay down and tore into her meal, growling happily. Eragon watched her eat with a combination of interest and disgust. Roran flinched as Saphira snapped up the meat, crunching bone between her teeth. She cocked her head. Would you like meat? She asked Roran, bobbing her head toward the carcass.
Roran looked to Eragon, who shrugged and bit into an apple. Roran approached the dragon slowly, pulling his hunting knife from its sheath. The dragon eyed him carefully as he cut a small chunk of meat from the deer's haunch and carried it back to the fire.
Over the next twenty minutes, Roran carefully prepared his meal. Cutting an apple into cubes, he threw it into the pot with some water and a pinch of salt from the pouch Eragon procured for him. He added in some vegetables and an odd fruit that looked like a fuzzy purple potato, and then carefully cubed and added the meat, setting the pot over the fire to cook.
Within twenty minutes the makeshift stew was wafting its aroma throughout the entire glade. Roran heard his stomach grumble as he poked the meat and found it to be cooked through and juicy. Removing the pot, he offered it to Eragon, who shook his head, and, shrugging, dove into the meal.
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Murtagh checked the last buckle on Thorn's armor and then placed his own helm on his head. Galbatorix was waiting outside the armory when dragon and Rider exited. Murtagh bowed low to the King, casting an eye at Shruikan, who winked at him, bony eyelid clicking. "You know your assignment?" Galbatorix questioned, raising his eyebrow. Murtagh nodded. "I do."
"Go then, and make sure you do not fail." He turned and swept away, leaving Shruikan behind. As the enormous black dragon turned to follow him, he left Murtagh with a parting thought. Remember what I told you, young one, and have faith. Murtagh patted Thorn's neck. Thank you, he whispered, as Shruikan's tail whipped around the corner.