Inheritance

Act 1: Brave New World

Chapter 1: The Fall Of Illiria

Behold, the land of Alagaesia! A truly wonderful land, as ecologically diverse as the people that inhabit it. Towering mountains, scorching deserts, flowing rivers, dense forests and vicious wildlife, it is a land of great beauty and terrible danger.

And the people of Alagaesia! The race of Man, who live in the west, their cities built upon the great, grassy plains and hills. The Urgals, savage and warmongering, who live in the mountain range, The Spine. The race of Dwarves, short but sturdy, who have made their halls of stone within the Beor Mountains, their mountain tops reaching up into the heavens. The race of Elves, fair and mighty in strength and magic, standing tall and proud within their cities of trees. And finally, the Dragons. The Dragons! Those magnificent creatures, soaring high upon the clouds, their scales glittering like the finest jewels within the Earth, their wings beating upon the wind, clapping like thunder, scorching fire erupting from their jaws. No race can match the Dragons, for they are old, powerful and wise, watching the mortal races from above.

Alagaesia is the land of the Dragon Riders.

An ancient Order of peacekeepers, formed from an ancient pact between the elves and Dragons, and later including the Humans, their duty is to protect the weak, uphold kingdoms and guide the lost. They are the might and power of Alagaesia.

And they have now met their end.

The fallen Rider, Galbatorix, with the help of the 30 traitors known as the Forsworn, have overthrown the Order of Dragon Riders, and now nothing can stop him from attaining ultimate power.

But the Wanderer knew nothing of this rebellion.

At the farthest edge of the eastern corner of Alagaesia stood the Dwarven outpost of Hedarth, a small, lonely collection of wooden buildings built by the Dwarves to serve as a trading hub between the Beor Mountains and the forest of Du Weldenvarden.

Snaking around the village was the Edda river, which forked off into the north and south and far east, leading to a far away land unknown to the people of Alagaesia. However, one man had made the perilous journey into the unknown, and is now making his way back home. Onward he came, the wanderer. dressed from head to foot in a ragged and filthy cloak, marred by the passage of time, like all things made. As he found his way to Hedarth, the wanderer halted and took in the sight of his home land, his cloak rippling in the wind as a sad smile spread across his face.

It was good to be home again.

"With me!" shouted King Evandar, his long silver hair billowing out across his armored shoulders, lifting his fine Elven blade over his head for all to see. "For the fallen Riders! For the fallen Dragons!"

Behind him, the great Elven horde stood, garbed in gleaming silver armor, swords and spears raised above, answered their king with a single, full-throated bellow: "For the Fallen!" they brandished their weapons and charged forward towards the enemy.

The Elves' battlecry was was answered by their enemy, an army of Human barbarians, the descendants of King Palancar, the Mad King. and at their front, leading the charge, was Galbatorix, sitting astride his Dragon slave, Shruikan, the great black Dragon roaring. And above, flew the 13 remaining Forsworn riding atop their Dragons, aglow with magical energy.

The two charging armies clashed. Though they were outnumbered, the elves's strength, speed and stamina was ten-fold that of any Human and thus, they easily cut through the charging mass of barbarians. However, despite their great strength in magic, the Elves couldn't outright sweep aside the enemy, as they were protected by Galbatorix and the Forsworn, whose power matched that of the Elves.

After the great clash, the battle quickly devolved into a free-for-all, with no apparent strategy; they were there merely to kill each other. The Dragons of the Forsworn swooped down over the battlefield, grabbing at warriors and releasing burning torrents of flame that were so great, they would have burned them to ashes if not for their magic wards.

Evandar scanned the battlefield for Galbatorix and found the traitor standing in the thick of battle, swinging the pale, white blade Islingr, the weapon that once belonged to Vrael, the leader of the Dragon Riders. watching the traitor wielding the blade of his old friend enraged Evandar, and throwing caution to the wind, he charged forward and crossed blades with Galbatorix.

"Ah, lo and behold, the King of the Elves!" Galbatorix jeered, his hawkish face twisted into a sneer, his black eyes gleaming with malice and madness. "Your rule ends this day. I will sweep aside the old world, and rebuild it anew!"

"Careful traitor," warned Evandar, sternly and with authority. "You have yet to win."

Done with their banter, the two warriors began to fight each other in earnest, their super-human strength and speed causing the blades to clap like thunder and give off great gusts of wind with every blow struck. Evandar fought Galbatorix blow for blow, never tiring nor losing in strength or speed. His Elven warriors were channeling what energy they can spare to him so that he could fight to the best of his abilities. They saw him as the best hope of defeating the traitor and he wasn't going to disappoint his beloved people.

how long they fought, he knew not, but neither combatant showed signs of tiring. When Evandar raised his sword to strike again, their was a flash of pink energy, a sign of magic cast by Galbatorix, and the blade in the King's hand shattered, leaving him with a jagged and useless weapon to defend himself. With a savage cry of victory, Galbatorix pushed Evandar to the ground and raised Islingr high above his head to cut down the king.

However, before the fatal blow could be struck, their was a bright flash of multi-colored light, and Galbatorix was flung backwards.

Evandar stared, dumb-founded, at the back of the cloaked figure standing between him and Galbatorix. Even though his savior was covered from head-to-foot in a filthy, rugged cloak, he recognized him. Or rather, he recognized the sword he was wielding.

It was the blade of a Dragon Rider.

But it was a truly unique Rider's sword. It's blade shone iridescently with all the colors of the light spectrum, matching the rainbow hue of the Dragon it was patterned after. It was a hand-and-a-half sword, with a diamond in it's pommel, held in place by 4 clawed ribs. The blade is called Minneyar, (or Memory in the common tongue) and it was the blade of a man Evandar had long-thought dead.

"You!" bellowed a raging Galbatorix, scrambling to his feet and staring at the interloper, his eyes bulging with shock and fear. "Eragon Skymage!"

With a dramatic flair, the assailant flung aside his cloak to reveal a tall, fare and handsome Elf, with shoulder length, chestnut brown hair, piercing blue eyes and a sternly serene expression on his face as he beheld the traitor. Then he turned his head to take in the sight of Evandar, disheveled and laid low to the ground, and a warm smile appeared on his face.

"Evandar Konungr," said Eragon softly, the smile never leaving his face. 'My friend, go and see to our people. I will take on the task of disciplining my wayward student."

Evandar frowned, and surveyed the battle. His army was losing; despite their many advantages over the mortal race of Man, the Elves were being pushed back by the combined magical power of the Forsworn, and the martial skill of the Human warriors. Rising to his feet, Evandar inclined his head to his old friend and spoke: "Very well, Eragon. I leave this to you."

And without another word, Evandar left the two former Dragon Riders to rejoin the battle. yes, it would be best for Eragon to put an end to this. After all, who better to stop the traitor than his old teacher?

Even as the battle raged about them, Eragon and Galbatorix stood stock-still, their blades at the ready, their wielders staring each other down in a silent battle of wills. Then Galbatorix spoke, his voice dripping with absolute hate and disgust as he took in the sight of his former teacher: "You were a fool to come here, Eragon. Even if you had not wasted away and died when I slew Ragnarok, I would have allowed you to spend the rest of your pathetic life in exile. Now, I will end you and I will no longer be the student, but the master."

Eragon raised his left brow impassively at the mention of his beloved companion, the Dragon Ragnarok. If Galbatorix sought to unsettle him, then Eragon wouldn't give him the satisfaction of a heated response. In the last 20 years, Eragon had come to peace over the loss of his Dragon and so mentioning Ragnarok won't wound him overly much.

"A master of what, exactly?" asked Eragon coolly. "With the death of Jarnunvosk, you can no longer be called a Dragon rider and so I highly doubt that anyone will call you teacher, especially with the Order laid waste. Tell me, why did you do all this? What did you hope to achieve with this little rebellion of yours, Galbi?"

"VENGEANCE!" bellowed Galbatorix, his face contorted in fury, his anger provoked by Eragon speaking of his lost Dragon, and insulting him by calling him by his kid name, Galbi. "It's your fault that she died! Yours, and the blasted Order! The Elders would horde to themselves the secrets of powerful magic, while leaving the rest of us weak! If I was but more powerful, I could have protected Jarnunvosk and she would still be here with me! And with the order overthrown, nothing can stop me from taking control of this land and instilling my authority over all things! I will forge an Empire that will last thousands of years; an Empire greater than any other!"

After his heated declaration, silence reigned between the two warriors, although the sounds of battle, and dying screams filled the air.

"Is that so?" asked Eragon softly, his eyes boring into his former student's with fiery intensity. "Tell me something; did Jarnunvosk want you to avenge her?"

"W-what?" choked Galbatorix, his tone bewildered and defensive. 'What are you getting at?"

"I remember Jarnunvosk," said Eragon, his tone firm and resolute, eyes never wavering from Galbatorix's. "She was my student, just as much as you were, and I remember how proud she was to have you as her Dragon Rider, and proud to be in the Order. What if she is watching you from the heavens above? Would she be happy to see you consumed by rage and hatred? Would she be happy to see you in your endless killing spree, hunting down the Dragons and wiping them out? Turning against your comrades and teachers? No, if she saw you as you are now, your actions would make her miserable forever; she would never be able to be at peace.

"You killed Ragnarok, Galbi. When he died, it felt like the world had ended. the world became grey and dark and colorless. My food turned to ashes in my mouth, my dreams were plagued by nightmares where I saw him die again and again and again, without end. I was like a walking corpse, an emotionless, empty creature that simply walked without thought. And yet, I came to terms with my loss. And though I can never truly be happy, I am at peace.

"Regardless of what you have done, I cannot bring myself to hate you, for to give into such a monstrous feeling is to fall into an endless cycle of violence and retribution. Ragnarok is not here with me now, but I know in my heart that he would not want me to avenge him, rather, he would want me to stop you. stop you from causing more death and pain and misery. Stop you from tearing apart loved ones in your quest for vengeance and power.

"Vengeance is the desire of a man lash out at others to ease their pain and guilt. You, who cannot bare the guilt of failing to protect you Dragon, would simply shift the blame onto your enemies to justify your actions. It is not vengeance that I seek, but justice. And it is justice that I will mete out to you this day, Galbatorix!"

Eragon could see Galbatorix's face grow uglier and uglier throughout his long-winded speech. And then his rage erupted like a volcano. "You self-righteous cretin!" he screamed, spittle flying from his mouth, eyes bulging. "How dare you stand there and spout nonsense! You speak to me as though I am a filthy slug, crawling in the mud, while you behave as though you are better than me! As though you are more noble! Our predicament is the same; how can you not hate me?!" Lunging forward, Galbatorix swung Islingr at his opponent; Eragon parried his strike with Minneyar, their blades locking at the cross guards.

"Yes, we are the same, " agreed Eragon calmly, as he looked into Galbatorix's hateful eyes with pity and understanding. "We were both dragon Riders, and we have both loved and lost."

The two broke apart and the battle between master and student began. The duel was long and brutal, with neither warrior conceding defeat. As skilled as Galbatorix was, Eragon had centuries of experience to draw on, and he was in the right mindset for the duel; he was calm and collected, carefully analyzing his opponent's technique and spotting weaknesses to exploit. Galbatorix, on the other hand, was still enraged from their discussion, and kept blindly charging at Eragon, relying on raw power to enhance the strength of his blows. But Eragon had a vast amount of energy stored within Minneyar's diamond, allowing him to match his student's overwhelming power, which was already heavily depleted from his duel with king Evandar.

Parrying a blow from Islingr, Eragon twisted Minneyar and scored a cut on Galbatorix's right shoulder, drawing blood. Before he could swing his blade once more, Eragon was thrown backwards by Shruikan, who had flown in between the two combatants, shielding Galbatorix from further harm. Before Eragon could retaliate, Shruikan grabbed Galbatorix with his great claws, and flew away to safety.

"Retreat!" came King Evandar's voice, thunderously ringing across the battlefield in the Ancient Language, heard by all warriors above the din of battle. "The Forsworn are too powerful; we must retreat to Du Weldenvarden!"

Eyes sweeping across the battlefield, Eragon saw the Elves abandon their fight against Galbatorix's followers, sheathing their weapons, hastily retrieving their dead and wounded. Eragon sighed and sheathed Minneyar, joining the retreating Elves, who began to sing an enchantment to aid the army in the retreat. They fled eastwards, towards the Hadarac desert. Then they will go north, to the forests of Du Weldenvarden, the domain of the Elves.

The battle for Illiria was over, but for Eragon, the war was merely beginning.

Author's Note. This is officially my first Fanfic, so be gentle. NO FLAMING!