Chapter 4: The Great Lie
A/N: So, I hope you all enjoyed the last chapter as much as I enjoyed writing it! This chapter is drawing upon the ET: Khaine book, along with my own imagination, so it will be an interesting thing to write. Much that once was is now overturned; age old facts become questionable fables and warriors who were once the bitterest of enemies fight side by side... Truly, the End Times have arrived and the Caledorians are the lynchpin to the greatest conspiracy since the Sundering. I warn you now, this chapter contains spoilers for the whole End Times series, although I may change a few things so that they fit the story better. Hope you enjoy the chapter!
Disclaimer: May the Chaos Gods take me if I would dare claim ownership over either IC or WFB, they belong to their respective owners.
The Naggarothi vessel was no great warship, but nor was she a simple tub with a sail. Wing of Darkness, as she was named, was quite clearly a transport ship, made to ferry troops and supplies across the huge expanse of the ocean. Each of her three deep purple sails bore the rune of Lileath in silver embroidery. Upon her prow, painted a deep blood-red colour, was the head of a dragon. Her single hull was painted black, as was the deck and masts. From above, Imrik could see a single figure standing at the prow of the ship. He looked over at his cousin as the two dragons swooped low over the merchant quarter of the city and down to the wharfs where the Naggarothi ship was mooring up. Lines were thrown onboard and the single figure strode forwards to tie the ship to the quay.
As they swept in to land in a courtyard not far from the docks, Imrik saw that Isorfindel was already upon the pontoons, her dragon Celarandra crouched upon the sea wall, her large eyes following every move of the ship as a lion watches its prey. Imrik and the Dragonlord dismounted and jogged down the paved streets, their cloaks flowing out behind them. Neither was armed, but then again, neither of them was expecting to fight... the ship was alone in a harbour full of Asur warships with three dragons surrounding it. If the Druchii were trying to attack, they wouldn't make it further than the deck of their ship.
"Hail cousins!" cried out Isorfindel as they approached. "Perhaps you'd like to tell me the reason that Celarandra and I haven't sent this Druchii barge to the bottom of the sea in flames?" Her voice was full of anger and confusion. Her sword was drawn and she was fully armoured for battle. She glared up at the Naggarothi ship with hatred.
"Peace, Isorfindel. This ship does not bear enemies of Caledor, at least, it doesn't anymore," said the Dragonlord as he drew level with Isorfindel. She spun to face him, her eyes widening in shock and outrage. The Crown Prince simply looked at her, meeting her burning eyes with his own steely gaze. "Later, I will explain all," he whispered, with a glace towards Imrik. Isorfindel didn't look satisfied with this answer, but sheathed her blade none the less. A plank was put up against the side of the Druchii ship and the figure descended onto the docks, the first Naggarothi to set foot upon those shores in peace for over six thousand years.
"Greetings, Asur. I am Malerath Voidblade, Dreadlord of Naggarond. I come at the request of our mutual friend, she who would see our races joined as one again, and of my king, Malekith of Nagarythe, the Son of Aenarion. I bring two gifts from my lord and our lady to Imrik, the Crown Prince of Caledor," the Dreadlord swept her hand in front of her chest and bowed before the assembled Caledorians. The Dragonlord stepped forwards.
"Greetings, Malerath of Naggaroth. I am Imrik, Crown Prince of Caledor, Dragonlord and descendant of Caledor Dragontamer. On behalf of my grandsire, who informed me of this meeting, I accept your gifts, such as they are. You, however, and the name of your master, have no influence here on Ulthuan and as such you will respect the laws of this land while you are here. You are not a guest here, nor is your presence welcome. You will be given quarters fit to your station and will be confined there under guard until I decide what to do with you. Now, speak quickly and deliver these gifts of yours," Imrik spoke with a clear, cold voice that made it clear to the Druchii who was in charge of the proceedings. Although her helmet was full faced, Imrik could feel the sneer on her lips.
"Very well, Dragonlord," she said, ice in her voice. "The first gift I am commanded to give you is myself, and my personal guard of three hundred Dreadspears, who are currently embarked on the ship. Our lady has seen fit to ally our races, and she wishes me to serve you, and I do not argue with a goddess," at this, the Dreadlord took off her helm and shook free her long, back hair. Her face was pale and noble, with high cheek bones and a long nose. Her brows were turned down, giving her the appearance of a hunting bird. Her cheek was marred with a long scar than ran like a razor from her eye to her chin. Her eyes were ice blue and had a cruel look to them. She was beautiful, in a harsh and deadly way. "I see I am not as alone as I thought I would be," she said, her eyes focusing on the Young Dragon. "Hello, little cousin." Malerath spoke with a bite to her speech.
Imrik realised to what she was inferring and swelled with rage at the barb. "I am no Druchii," he spat, his eyes filled with flames of anger.
"Oh? You certainly aren't a pure-blooded Caledorian, are you, little prince?" she mocked, stepping forward to sneer at him. Imrik stepped forward, his hands raised with a spell upon his lips.
"That is of little concern to you, witch," said Isorfindel, her hand also reaching for her weapon.
"Calm yourselves, cousins," said the Dragonlord, his voice ringing hard with command. With a grimace, Imrik and Isorfindel stood down, but Imrik's eyes blazed with hatred for the insult done to him. He began to doubt heavily if Caledor's plan could ever succeed.
"My apologies if I have caused offence," smirked the Dreadlord, making it clear that she had meant every offence possible to the Caledorians. "Perhaps I can make amends with my second gift?" She turned and barked a command to the ship. A creaking of movement and her personal guard emerged, each one carrying a large chest in their arms. They trooped down onto the docks, placed the chests upon the quay, then withdrew to their ship once more. Malerath smiled, then walked to one of the chests, squatted down and opened it to reveal a dragon egg.
The dragons roared collectively, a sound of relief and outrage that shook the ship and even wipes the smirk from Malerath's face momentarily.
"How came you by these?" asked Minaithnir, his long neck bending down to inspect the chests.
"They are the eggs that have been taken over the past centuries by our raiders and thieves, yet they would not hatch for us. They are returned now as a gesture of Malekith's good will and in the hope you shall see the wisest course to take. The End Times approach, Dragonlord. Who will Caledor fight for?" she smirked again. Imrik looked at his cousin.
"Take her, and her crew, to the dungeons. Individual cells, search them thoroughly. Bread and water only. I have many things to consider before I pronounce my judgement upon you and your warriors. Begone!" commanded the Dragonlord, sweeping his hands. The warriors who had been assembling around the wharf moved forwards, forming a tight circle around the group of Naggarothi, then marched them away towards the keep. The Dragonlord turned to his cousins and beckoned them to him. "Meet me in my quarters, I will need your advice for I make my next move and before we convene the Council of Caledor. All the lords should be here soon, we have only a day left to us." With that, he turned and strode away towards his mount, then flew back to the keep.
Imrik watched his cousin fly away and then glared after the retreating Druchii with hatred. Isorfindel followed his gaze. "Have no care for them, little cousin. You are a prince of Caledor, second in line to the throne. If you have Naggarothi blood in you, it is the purest of all strains, for they were not always as they are now," she said, slapping him on the back before heading to her own dragon. Imrik stayed still and watched the last of the purple cloaks disappear before finally turning to Gwihir and jumping into the saddle, his mind a furnace of emotions.
They were assembled in the Dragonlord's quarters, Imrik and Isorfindel standing with their arms crossed, Elorfildur sitting on one side of the table and the Dragonlord on the other. The tension in the air was palpable as Imrik still fumed with suppressed rage. He would never fight with scum like them and he said as much. "Not even if you ordered me to, cousin! I won't do it!" he yelled, his chin in the air.
"Imrik," said the Dragonlord, his voice tired, "I did not ask you to fight with them, I simply asked for your council on accepting their service. As you know, we have a choice to make that will decide the fates of all the elves in Caledor, and perhaps all of the elves in the world. We cannot afford rash decisions, so I suggest you calm yourself or I will have you removed from this chamber." Imrik glared at his cousin, but did not reply. The Dragonlord took his silence for consent.
"Now, for you, Elorfildur and Isorfindel, I must explain why our attitude to the Druchii has suddenly changed... Last night, I was visited by a vision. Lileath came to me, acting as the messenger for Caledor Dragontamer. She guided me to the centre of the Vortex, where I met with Caledor. He spoke to me of many things, but he insisted that I must embrace the future and let go of the past. I assumed that this applied to Imrik, and perhaps it still does, but Imrik was also visited by a vision from his friends in the other world. She had had communication with Finubar, who revealed to her many things that she then related to Imrik. Here is how things stand as I see them. Finubar is dead, or will be soon. Nagash has risen in the Old World and will soon consume all that stands in his path. Chaos is rising in the north and the humans teeter on the brink of obliteration. From what Malerath has said, Naggaroth is under siege from the barbarians in the north and the Witch King is preparing for his next and final invasion of Ulthuan. He is bringing his full strength, abandoning his cities and towers in one last gambit to take the throne. He is in alliance with Teclis of Saphrey, who means to unite our peoples. The Everqueen, it seems, has travelled to Athel Loren and means to forge alliance with the wood elves... The End Times approach, the final battle of the gods. The elves will unite or die, and we must chose which side we will support. Do we hold to our past and fight with our Asur brethren, or put aside the hatreds we have held and join forces with Malekith?"
A silence followed his words which grew pregnant with expectation. Isorfindel looked torn and confused, not sure which way to swing. Elorfildur had his eyes directed at the table, his grim countenance bearing a sadness Imrik had not seen for a long time. It was this that helped to cool his wrath towards Malerath and allow his mind to think straight again. He let Gwihir into his thoughts once more and opened his mind. He tried to think about logically.
"Fighting for Malekith rails against everything that I have been taught, everything that I have held true since birth... Can it truly be one great lie?"
"I do not know, Imrik. However, your goddess has spoken her plans to Finubar and to your ancestor. You have heard the plan from more than one throat, so there must be something behind it. After all, Lileath is the only goddess to show interest in the elves for many years, save for Asuryan intervening during the battle of Farthen Dûr and the messengers that contacted Oromis... You could have been wrong in assuming they were Kurnus and Isha... It could have easily been Asuryan and Lileath, working in concert," replied Gwihir, his own calmness helping to cool Imrik's residual anger.
"You could be right, old friend... Oromis did only say that they had masculine and feminine presences, he couldn't fathom anything else from them. It would also make more sense if that were the case, as Asuryan has already intervened in my life and now Lileath is showing her hand. It seems the gods have chosen Caledor to lead the way for the elves to follow..." Imrik drifted into silence with Gwihir for a moment.
"Do you mean to follow Malekith then?" asked the dragon, his voice carefully measured.
Imrik hesitated, his pride and teaching screaming in his ears. "I don't know... I cannot stomach fighting alongside those who have for centuries been reavers and ravagers of our lands, yet I am loyal to my lord and cousin, and as I said to Eragon, I cannot and will not challenge the will of the gods. It seems we have no choice but to follow in the path they are trying to lay down for us," replied Imrik, his heart heavy.
"Caledor will follow you, Imrik, no matter which way you chose," he said finally. His cousin looked up at him. "The princes and princesses won't offer much resistance when faced with extinction."
"I do not think an alliance with Malekith is possible," said Isorfindel, shaking her head as she said it, "And even if we did ally with him, do you see the sons and daughters of Caledor bending their knees to the son of Aenarion, after all he has done to us. We have not forgotten, and I doubt Malekith has either, that it was your namesake that fought against him through The Sundering and finally defeated him... How can we be sure this isn't just a trap?"
"Teclis... Teclis is our assurance, as is Caledor and Lileath. All three are involved in this plot to put Malekith on the throne, and if we turn our back on their advice we would be bigger fools than Aenarion. The Dragontamer has yet to be wrong... And as for our... history with Aenarion and his descendants, we must learn to let go of the past and embrace the future. However, this doesn't mean that I will bend my knee to Malekith and accept his word as law. Caledor has ever been the most independent kingdom from the Phoenix Throne, and Malekith will need our full support if he means to claim the throne of his father."
"I still feel that many of the noble houses will not support this action, Imrik... They may rebel and join forces with Tyrion, or simply stay neutral and refuse to fight. If Malekith holds true to his character, I doubt that Ulthuan's lords and ladies will kneel before one who is so brutal and cruel. I certainly won't join a court where I am likely to be assassinated for an offhand remark. It worries me greatly, Imrik," replied Isorfindel, her fingers drumming rhythms on her armour.
"The fickly loyalties of the minor houses do not concern me at present. If Caledor is right and the end truly faces us, then they will see that not supporting Malekith is madness. What worries me is Tyrion. He will not bow to the Druchii, and when the invasion comes, he will champion Ulthuan's defence. We will have to betray him, and the elves that support him. Many will fight against us, some that call us friends currently," said the Dragonlord, his face half hidden behind his fingers, which he had formed into a spire.
"If I am to succeed in my mission, then the war cannot break out before I leave with my troops. If I have troops from the different kingdoms in my army and Malekith invades, we will have a mutiny on our hands within Caledor, elves will want to return and defend their families," said Imrik.
"Then your plans must accelerate. We no longer go to Lothern, it is too risky now. No one is to leave Caledor without my permission. Imrik, send a messenger to meet with your allies in Lothern. Tell them to journey here. We will look to our own until the time comes to chose a side. Yet still we must decide who we back; Tyrion or Malekith. Elorfildur, you have been rather quiet,"
"I remember the times of Tethis, when Caledor and her allies drove the Druchii into the sea. My father and grandfather died in the fighting. Countless generations have perished because of Malekith. He is wicked, cruel and arrogant to the point of hubris... and yet, he is the best hope for the elves. Tyrion worries me also, although not for the same reasons. He bears, in both appearance and bearing, an uncanny resemblance to Aenarion. Morathi still lives, and while the Hag Queen breaths I will not trust the elf who is Aenarion reborn. At Finuval Plain, I saw what many missed. I saw the enchantment that his Poisonblade and prevented him from killing Tyrion there and then. The only ones powerful enough to have worked such an enchantment are Malekith, Teclis or Morathi, but when I approached Teclis to talk to him about it, he seemed mystified and insulted that I had suggested that he had interfered, and I felt no lie in his words. Morathi, therefore, has already intervened in the life of Tyrion, and I will not trust him until she is dead. That is not to say that I trust Malekith, but if we are to be ruled once and for all by the blood of Aenarion, I would rather Malekith over Tyrion." With this, Elorfildur fell silent and brooded.
The other three looked at the old elf, then at each other. "So," said Imrik, his eyes sliding between his cousins, "we fight with the Witch King?" he asked.
"If it means the survival of the elves, then yes," said Isorfindel, her heart heavy.
"May the gods have mercy upon our souls," said the Dragonlord. "We will put this before the Council tomorrow. I will retire, please excuse me." And with that, he withdrew and the three of them were left alone. Elorfildur rose, and tears etched his cheeks. He left silently and Isorfindel followed, her expression one of worry. Imrik remained for a while, then headed back to his chambers.
"How will the dragons react to this, Gwihir?" He asked as he walked. The dragon had been silent for a while now, but Imrik had been monitoring his emotions closely.
"We will have to discuss this among ourselves, but it is unlikely that the dragons will not follow the sons of Caledor into battle. We knew this day would eventually come, it has always been known since the elves first made contact with us," replied the great drake. Imrik glimpsed in his mind the image of hundreds of eggs under the mountains.
"We could take some of the eggs with us into the new world, which would allow the dragons to survive the End Times and flourish as well as the elves..." suggested Imrik, sensing his friend's concern. Gwihir sent a mental nod of affirmation as Imrik hurried down the corridor and into his rooms.
When he stepped inside, he closed the door and strode over to Gwihir. Sitting down next to the dragon, Imrik held his head in his hands and blew out a sigh of compressed air. The tension flooded out of him and he reeled from the consequences of what had just been decided... Caledor was declaring war on the rest of Ulthuan, joining forces with Malekith and Imrik would have to keep this a secret to all who came on his expedition into Alagaësia, lest they revolt against his leadership. He realised that he had been drawn into the web of intrigues and knew that he would have to start weaving his own if he wanted his mission to succeed.
The dungeons of Caledor were not what Malerath had been expecting. Instead of being led underground to some subterranean cell and abandoned there to rot in filth and squalor, she and her warriors were taken high above the city, almost to the top of the mountain which Tor Caled was built around. There, they set eyes upon their accommodation. The top of the mountain has been undercut from the back and a ledge jutted out from the overhang, leaning out into the nothingness of the sky.
"Look well, Druchii, on the dungeons of Caledor," said their guide, a Caledorian sentinel who's helm bore the wings of a golden dragon and his shield was emblazoned with the sigil of the royal house of Caledor. He pointed with his spear at the masonry and smiled grimly. "We call it The Perch. I hope you have good balance, or we will have to increase our patrols of the undercave to keep away the scavengers."
Malerath sneered at the captain. His threats did not scare her. She had been born in Naggarond, fought her way through the cutthroat society and claimed her rightful place as one of the cities Dreadlords. She had served on the Black Council of the Witch King, lived every day of her life under the constant threat of death and mutilation in the harshest of all lands. She was Naggarothi, warrior-born, and fear was for lesser forms of life. She marched forwards with her head held high, her sable hair rippling behind her. Her guard, the Void Heralds, although stripped of their armour and arms, stood tall and proud against the strong mountain air, their robes whipping about them. Their faces were impassive as they looked at the mountain top dungeon. They had faced horrors far worse than this and held their nerve; there was no place for weakness amongst their ranks.
The Caledorians marched them into the sky dungeon and placed them each in an individual cell. The cells were small, semi-circular and smooth walled. The side opposite the door was open to the sky with nothing between Malerath and the open air. The floor was flat and level next to the door, but then descended towards the open air in steps. There was no furniture. The harsh wind blew and ruffled her hair. She glared back towards the solid door, eyeing the grate at the bottom clearly used for passing meals through to the prisoner and growled. She did not like to be caged.
Time passed slowly in the dungeons of Caledor. Malerath and her companions had sailed into the harbour in mid-morning, and escorted up to the cells they now inhabited just after noon. Bread and cheese had been passed through, with a flagon of water, but that seemed like hours ago. Once or twice, Malerath had tried to look at the position of the sun by walking to the edge of her cell, but she soon realised that as she got closer to the open maw of the sky, the stronger the wind got until it was practically sucking her out of the cell when she stood near the edge. After that, she had tried to look at the shadows on the cell wall, but the clouds had settled on the top of the mountain and obscured her view of the sun. Sighing, she sat with her back to the door and tried to lull herself into a meditative state which would allow her to pass the time while keeping her mind focused.
The trance that she strove to achieve had been revealed to her by Malekith when he had chosen her to be his envoy. The trance had allowed her to communicate with Lileath directly and learn her will. Although she was the weakest god in the whole of the pantheon of Naggaroth, Malekith seemed to put stock in what she said and the plan she had set out for him, and Malerath had learned from an early age that Malekith didn't keep his place at the top of the Druchii hierarchy by being wrong in who he trusts. Slowly, she blocked out the noise of the wind and the cold of the stones the sat on until she was floating in an oasis of calm. There, she held herself in the nothingness and reached out to contact the goddess. At first, she felt nothing, her mind wandering across the empty landscape of thought. Then, slowly, she sensed the goddess approach her. Lileath appeared as an elf maiden, full of purity and beauty. On her brow shone a crescent moon and her face was kind.
"Greetings, my agent. What troubles you?" she asked, her voice soft and kind. Malerath would have sneered at her weakness, but thought better of it. She had, after all, been the one to contact the goddess.
"The sons of Caledor have been less than helpful to our plans, lady, having imprisoned both myself and my guard in their dungeons. I do not see us being released any time soon. I am beginning to think that an alliance with Caledor is wishful thinking. They are just as arrogant and self-important as they have always been," replied Malerath, letting her displeasure flow into her voice. Lileath's face morphed into something that might have been a smirk.
"Fear not, Dreadlord, for you will not be held in these cells for much longer, if I have the measure of the sons and daughters of Caledor. As we speak, events are taking place that are like the falling of small stones that begin a landslide. You need only be ready and recognise your role when you are asked to play it."
Malerath was confused, but before she could speak, she was roughly pulled from her trance by a reverberation of sound. The goddess shimmered and disappeared and Malerath was back in the material world. A second impact slammed into her ear drums and she opened her eyes to glare at the source of the noise. A dragon hung in the air in front of her cell and on its back was the young Caledorian prince, spear in hand and eyes glaring back into hers.
"Greeting, princeling. How can this humble captive be of service?" she called mockingly. The dragon growled. Imrik pulled himself out of his saddle and, with a display of grace and surefootedness that actually managed to impress Malerath, walked the length of the dragon's neck and jumped into her cell from the base of the dragon's skull.
"I have come to ask you a few questions, Druchii. I would suggest you answer if you wish to wake and see another dawn," replied Imrik, his voice high and cold. He was clearly not in the mood for jest.
Malerath sneered at him, her pride flaring at this young upstart. He was less than a tenth of her age, he had no right to order her around. "Oh really, princeling? And how do you mean to accomplish that? I doubt your cousin would send you here with orders to kill me if I refused you. Or are Caledorian lords so squeamish that they cannot even execute their own prisoners?"
The spear lanced forward and stopped less than an inch from her throat. Malerath looked down the long spear and up into the green eyes that glared back at her. "I would suggest," said the young prince in a voice of pure fury and hatred, "that you refrain from insulting the nobility of Caledor for the duration of my visit, or I will make my questioning very painful for you. Are you willing to comply, or do I have to ask Gwihir to show you what the ocean looks like from three thousand feet in the air?"
Malerath did not show any outwards signs of yielding, for she was still convinced that the young Caledorian was not a real threat, yet the dragon... the dragon was something else entirely, and the way it was looking at her with a predatory gleam in its eyes made her reconsider her position.
"Fine, ask your questions Asur, and leave me in peace," she replied, folding her arms and glaring at her opponent.
Imrik smirked. "I thought that would change your tune. Let us begin."
For the next hour and a half, Imrik interrogated Malerath about her goals, her past and what had led her to become Malekith's envoy to Ulthuan. She answered honestly where it suited her, and deflected his questions about her private affairs with half-truths, ensuring that her privacy remained intact. When he had finished, he stood.
"Thank you for your answers. However, I wish to make sure you were telling me the truth, and so I wish to inspect your mind. Are you familiar with telepathic contact?" he asked, raising one of his curved eyebrows in an expression of contempt.
Malerath glowered at him. "My thoughts are my own, youngling. I will not share them with anyone."
"Then I will break your mind and take them from you. You don't have the power to resist me and Gwihir. You are subject to my mercy. If you try to stop me, then it will not end well for your sanity, so I suggest you simply open your mind and allow me to inspect the truth of your answers." The dragon growled as if to emphasise the point. It had landed now, and was perched at the far end of the cell, where the stonework was just large enough to accommodate his massive form.
Malerath stood to face her captors. "I will not submit to some untested youngling. You have no right to my mind or to give me such orders. If you wish to try and take my mind from me, I welcome you to try. I have stood on the Black Council, Caledorian. I am over ten times your age and have lived, nay thrived, in Naggarond's social circles. Your threats don't sway me. I would rather die than have my mind violated by some arrogant child." She spat on his boots and stomped back to the door of her cell, where she turned and faced the Caledorian, daring him to confront her.
She watched his face as an interesting show of emotion played through his eyes. Anger flared with pride, but something warred with it. He cocked his head and his eyes unfocused from her. He turned around and walked back to his dragon, then paced back towards her. His face was set, but it was not openly aggressive. Malerath went on guard; she did not know what to expect. Obviously this child was more than he looked...
"Dreadlord Malerath, I withdraw my earlier comments. They were unfitting for one of nobility to speak. I feel that I should explain why I have demanded access to your mind, rather than simply expecting you to comply. The reason I wish to search your mind is not only to confirm that what you have told me is true, but to see for myself that there is not some treachery at work within you. If I find none, I will be able to plead the case of our Lady more convincingly before the Council, which is meeting tomorrow. As you can see, times are changing rapidly, and we must give the lords and ladies something that will enable them to trust you, at least partially. So, I will ask you again: Will you grant me access to your mind?" The young prince stood impassively, watching her face. He folded his arms, but did not approach her.
She considered her options. Her instinct told her to simply refuse the prince's demand and tell him to fly off home, but duty stepped in. For while she was a cruel and merciless leader, conditioned to love the thrill of the kill, she was a warrior, Naggarothi born, and she would follow her orders with a soldier's discipline. The Asur liked to dismiss the Druchii as an evil horde of un-disciplined fighters who held nothing sacred except self advancement and, while that was not wholly untrue, it was far from the full truth. Naggaroth held its martial traditions higher than any other 'civilisation' in the world. She had been given an order by her king and by a goddess who had shown kindness to her in a place where no kindness existed. She knew what she had to do, but she did not like it.
"Let me make one thing clear, princeling. You will see what I allow you to see, nothing more. Do not attempt to delve further than you are invited to do, or I will attack you back. The only things I will guard from you are private affairs that concern neither you nor any other. Approach, and I will allow you access to my mind," she said, her voice filled with the steely tones of command.
Imrik nodded his understanding and walked towards the dreadlord. "I will respect your wishes," he said. "Are you prepared?"
"Yes, you may enter." She braced herself, closed her eyes and waited.
The first contact she had with the prince's mind was so... alien it nearly forced her to withdraw into herself. He felt warm; it was the only way to describe it. His mind glowed with the hot flames of youth, pride and dragonblood. His mental probe was tentative, as if unsure, but then he carefully pushed himself into her mind and began to examine her thoughts. She was surprised at the gentleness he showed, yet she could sense that he was being overly careful not to antagonise her so that he could learn as much as he could about her.
"My hobbies include hunting, fighting and loving, is there anything else you wish to know?" she asked, mocking him. She could feel the hot flush tinted with disgust flow through the Caledorian's mind as he saw images that she was sure he would rather not have seen. She smirked and revelled in his discomfort. Just because she had allowed him into her mind didn't mean she wasn't going to have her own small revenge for the violation of her most solitary place. As he continued to investigate her memories, she couldn't help but absorb nuggets from information from him. She discovered his friendship with the Chracian princess, and the knowledge of the other world. This shocked her and confused her, but the princeling shielded her from further knowledge and pressed on into the memories of the Black Council. She could feel the dragon in his mind, watching her carefully in case she tried to take advantage of the prince's vulnerable position. She felt its mind brush against hers and was surprised again by the amount of intelligence the dragon showed.
"I was old when you were still unborn, hatchling," it spoke into her mind, its rough voice thundering through her like an avalanche. "We are just as wise, if not more so, as any elf."
She pulled her mind away from the dragon and tried to focus on what the young prince was seeing. He seemed to be spending an inordinate amount of time looking at one sequences of memories from her early childhood. She watched the experiences with indifference; she had no need for sentiment of the past. Eventually the prince moved away and withdrew his mind from hers. She opened her eyes and looked into the Asur's face.
"I have seen enough... you have done many terrible things to my people over your life, Malerath, but we are at war and in war people do awful things. The reason we are in alliance now is to end that war, and I find that you have no other motive to offering alliance with us than that which you have expressed... You are a fell warrior, but you are not without honour. I would fight beside you, but I do not trust you fully yet," he said, standing and turning away from her as he did so. She smirked.
"You are wise to do so, little prince, for none of you Caledorians have earned my loyalty. For now, I fight with you because I am ordered to, but if those orders change, I will feel no residual loyalty to you or your kin," she said, her voice laced with amusement. Imrik paused in his stride and turned to face her.
"You Druchii respect strength, correct?" he asked. Malerath nodded, not seeing what the young prince was getting at. "Then duel me before the Council tomorrow, in front of all the lords and ladies of Caledor and your own warriors, and I will earn your loyalty." His voice was high and firm, his eyes set and determined. Malerath almost laughed at the gravitas the Caledorian had conjured, but grinned instead.
"If you can beat me Caledorian, I'll swear any oath of allegiance you wish, and will hold you as my better in combat. But what do I get if I win?" she asked, her tone dangerous and playful.
"You will get nothing, because you will not win. This gesture is to prove your loyalty and the sincerity of our Lady's plan to the lords and ladies of Caledor so that they vote in our favour. If not, the End Times will drown the whole of the elven race in blood and your spoils will matter little. So, will you accept my challenge?"
The arrogance of the Caledorian almost made her decline, but there was something beyond pride in his tone that made her hesitate. She wanted to test him, to rise to the challenge he had lain at her feet. Just as the chimeras would rear and snarl around a fresh kill, she too felt the need to fight with this boy. She stood, a savage grin on her face. "Very well youngling, you will have your duel. First blood?"
"No, until a yield is accepted. I do not trust the weaponry of any Druchii not to be laced with subtle poisons. I will see you tomorrow, Dreadlord. Rest well and don't fall," said Imrik as he turned and mounted his dragon once more before the two of them flew back down to the city. Malerath walked to the edge of her cell and looked down after the young prince.
"An opponent worth fighting..." she thought as she watched the dragon circle the city.
"Indeed. He has a great part to play in the coming events, as do you Malerath. There is a reason you are my chosen champion among the Druchii. Ever I have been the least of your gods, yet it was always me that held the real power amongst the heavens. Play your part, Malerath, and in time, you will find the peace your soul needs so desperately," Lileath's voice echoed in Malerath's head.
"Peace is for the weak. I am Naggarothi born, a warrior of the highest order. I have not spent eight hundred years perfecting the art of murder and bloodshed to simply lay down my sword. No, I will not find peace, not unless my nature itself it changed," replied the dreadlord coldly. She sensed Lileath's amusement and scowled.
"Be careful what you say, Malerath, for many things may yet come to pass that all but me would have deemed impossible. Farewell." And with that, the goddess departed.
As Imrik took his seat in the council chamber, he could feel the anxiety building in his body. His arms tingled and his fingers twitched. He hadn't eaten, his appetite consumed by his preparations for the coming debate. Malerath and her guards had been brought down from the cells and now waited under armed escort outside the chamber for Imrik's call. All was in place, now all he and Gwihir could do was hope and pray. The outcome of today would decide the fate of Ulthuan.
Looking around the vast cave, Imrik could see the faces of many of the greatest warriors and rulers in Caledor. Some had come alone, others had brought retainers and family with them. The lounged and talked with one another, telling stories and exchanging news from the different areas of the kingdom. Not one of them was without a weapon, for since the last meeting of the Council, the lords and ladies went out of their way to show that they had been stepping up their military commitment to the defence of their kingdom. Prince Fundir, the hot-headed leader of House Dolarith, had even arrived wearing full battle armour and with an escort of his finest knights. The atmosphere was charged and thick, like the air in a thunderstorm. Imrik's mind flashed back to the night in Ellesméra as he and Gwihir had watched one such storm roll into the elven city and the sense of foreboding returned. He fingered his sword and looked to the rafters.
There were his greatest allies. The dragons who had come to hear the Council would not stand for the insult done to them by Galbatorix. If Imrik could sway them to his side with the dual motivation of the wrongs of the human king and the return of the eggs, then he could have a chance of bringing the more confrontational rulers to his side. He needed as many friends as he could get.
"Noble friends, rulers and warriors of Caledor, great lord and ladies, welcome!" The Dragonlord entered the room and swept his hands outwards in a gesture of friendship. The assembled lords and ladies looked up and ceased their conversations. A respectful hush descended on the chamber. The crown prince stepped up to a carved stone lectern and looked out around the cave.
"I would like to call this Council to order and set before us the matter which has caused me to summon you all together once more. This business is of the utmost importance and of the greatest secrecy. The very future of Ulthuan, nay, the world, hangs in the balance, as I will shortly explain. Firstly, however, I would like to introduce you all to my cousin, Imrik the Younger, who is taking the seat of the Gwindorians in place of his father." Imrik stood and bowed to the assembled nobility. The Dragonlord continued.
"Until recently, Imrik was lost to us, and we mourned him as dead. He is returned to us now, and he brings with him some momentous news which will, in time, be shared with you all. But I will return to that later. Presently, I will explain the reason for calling this Council." At this, the crown prince leaned forwards over the lectern and raised his eyes to meet everyone's expectant gaze. "Princes and Princesses, elves and dragons of noble Caledor, I have the grim duty of informing you that the End Times have come. The Rhana Dandra is upon us and Caledor has been given a choice to make which will decide the fate of all elves."
Imrik watched the ripple of energy pass through the crowd. In the rafters, dragons stirred and some even growled. His cousin held his hands up and silence once more descended.
"I know this because it was told to me by our king, by Finubar himself, before I returned from court. It has since been confirmed to me by Caledor Dragontamer in a dream I had last night, where Lileath guided me into the Vortex and allowed me to speak to my grandsire. He bore grim tidings for all the elven kingdoms, but most importantly for us. As we know, the Everchild has been kidnapped, and Prince Tyrion, along with many other warriors, has set out to rescue her. He has failed. Children of Ulthuan, Nagash has returned to the world and has ripped the Wind of Death from its confinement inside the Vortex."
Immediately the room erupted in a chorus of disbelief. Lords and ladies turned to each other in horror as they processed the news. Imrik watched the proceedings warily, looking for where the opposition would arise strongest. Suddenly, someone stood up and their voice rose above the rest.
"Impossible! Nagash was destroyed by the rat-men centuries ago!" called out Princess Lathriel, standing in her seat. She was dressed in a flowing robe of silver and blue, her platinum hair braided down her back. Her eyes were lit with disbelief and her retainers sat around her with similar looks of shock on their faces.
"It is true," said Minaithnir, speaking over the babble of voices. The elves hushed to hear the dragon speak. "The Dragontamer would not lie, nor could one of your goddesses be wrong about such an event. Nagash has risen and the elves must be ready to act. The Dark Powers will not let this challenge go unheard. The End Times have come."
"So what is your proposal, Dragonlord?" asked Lady Drakestone, the tattoos on her face giving her a primordial appearance in the flickering light of the fire.
"Caledor gave me a message, a plan of action that he feels we must follow to avoid the destruction of all that we hold dear. This plan has been mirrored by Finubar and by Lileath, who have also communicated with my young cousin. The course they wish us to follow is not an easy one, nor is it palatable for any of us here, yet if we wish to survive the coming storm, we must bend to the will of the goddess," said the Dragonlord, his head down. He had the full attention of everyone in the cavern.
"Lileath would have us ally with Malekith and the Druchii."
Dead silence followed this statement. None moved, nor dared to speak. Then, like the sound of a great wave crashing on the shore, the room exploded with outrage. Insults were hurled and many had their hands upon sword hilts. The noise grew and grew as more lords and ladies joined the shouting match that was developing in the centre of the room. The Dragonlord cast a sidelong look to Imrik and he took the meaning straight off. He stood as Gwihir roared his displeasure, silencing everyone in the cavern for a moment.
"Noble friends, we understand your just outrage at such a suggestion and you must believe me when I say that we are not at all pleased about this new turn of events. We all have reason to hate and distrust the Druchii. They are a plague upon our shores, a menace of ancient woe, but they are also the only chance we have left in this world. Finubar is dying, he has said this much to both my cousin and me. When he passes, we all know who is going to step into the void. Tyrion is Aenarion reborn, and although that makes him a fell warrior and a mighty commander of elves, he shares the same weakness that his forefather had. The mark of Khaine hangs heavy on his brow. Remember that not even Malekith would draw the Widowmaker from its place on the Blighted Isle. Can you honestly tell me that, if driven by the same grief, you think Tyrion would turn away from the blade?"
Imrik had split the room, and he could tell. Many were looking at him with doubt in their eyes, whereas others had outrage etched into their faces.
"What do you mean to say, youngling? That Tyrion is worse than Malekith? I have not fought for seven centuries, keeping the Druchii out of our lands, to simply invite them in with open arms! It's ridiculous!" said one lord, his hair swirling about him as he shook his head violently.
"Then perhaps you would wish to invite the khainites into your land, Sallaroth, for that is what you will have if Tyrion claims the phoenix crown. He will turn all of Ulthuan into a new Nagarythe!" answered Isorfindel, standing to Imrik's defence. Sallaroth glared at her.
"Tyrion has no need to draw the Widowmaker! Why would he do such a thing when we have driven the Druchii from our shores countless times without it? Your claims are alarmist, princess, and have no basis in fact," said Alcestia, one of the few arch mages from Caledor who had returned from the Tower of Hoeth for the council. She stood, her yellow robes swaying around her. "What we know is that Malekith has been invading Ulthaun for centuries, trying to take a throne that was denied to him by Asuryan. What right have we to question the gods?"
"The gods are the ones who have set these events in motion, Alcestia," said Elorfildur from his seat. A hush had descended upon the chamber as the lords listened to the debate playing out across the floor. "Lileath is the goddess of prophecy, she knows what is to come and has set in motion the plans by which she would see the elves survive. Teclis is Lileath's chosen one, and he has been heavily involved in her plans. This has been reported by Finubar through young Imrik and by Lileath herself through Caledor Dragontamer. If Tyrion's own twin brother favours Malekith over him, then he must have a strong reason to do so. You say that there is no basis for the worry over Tyrion drawing the Widowmaker, but you do not know what I do." The aging lord stood and swept his time-weary eyes around the chamber. "I saw what few did at the Battle of Finuval Plain. Morathi saved Tyrion from his death with a spell cast from afar. She watches him like a hawk; she has seen her husband reborn and she will not rest until she has him in her clutches. The Hag Queen may already have her talons in his mind. Tell me now, Alcestia, do you still trust Tyrion not to draw the Sword of Khaine?"
The Council was quiet for a moment, digesting what had been said. Imrik could feel the mood changing as outrage cooled and reason began to settle in. Many in the hall did not like Tyrion to begin with and so were coming on board with the Dragonlord's plan, although others still seemed to have serious doubts as to the nature of their proposed allies.
"Even if we were to take up arms with the Druchii, how will it bring us closer to surviving the Rhana Dandra? The rest of Ulthuan will turn on us and we will only succeed in creating another civil war while the Druchii take what they wish. It would weaken all of Ulthuan," said Lathriel.
"Not if others came to our aid. For many months now, we have been the defenders of Ulthuan. Many favours are owed to Caledor and her warriors. If we decide to go down this path, we must all exert our influence over the other nine kingdoms in order to draw as many troops to our banners as possible. With Teclis and Lileath on our side, we should be able to persuade a large number of the other nobles to join us," said Isorfindel.
"I myself have already secured the aid of House Tellatén and House Tiothen of Chrace, and have the tentative support of House Elvirion of Cothique, although I have yet to consult with the ruling prince and secure his aid fully. We must all come together now and form an alliance that will rescue our people from the jaws of Chaos. After all, are we dwarves? To cling to old grudges when the very future of our people is at stake?" Imrik knew he had struck a chord with the Caledorians. The War of the Beard had been a hard blow for the kingdom to bear, and the shame of the defeat of Caledor II still clung to many of the ancient houses. If they found out that Imrik's father was, in fact, offering a pact to the dwarves, things might turn ugly, but Imrik decided to keep that to himself for now.
"You have a point, young one... The very existence of elvenkind hangs in the balance, and if the gods and Caledor Dragontamer say our fate is to join with the Druchii and become one people once more, then I think that even I can fight alongside them. I will not trust them, not their vile king, but I am willing to put my pride aside for the fate of all elves," said Sallaroth. His eyes were downcast, but he raised his chin in a gesture of defiance. Imrik exchanged glances with his cousin. Sallaroth was known for his arrogance, even hubris, and having him convert to their side so quickly after he had raised objections would be a boon to their cause.
A rumble sounded above them and one of the dragons shifted in order to speak. The great drake was larger than Gwihir for sure, but could not rival Minaithnir for size. "I will pledge myself to the cause. If the Druchii hold the key to the survival of the elves, they also hold the key to the survival of the dragons. The Dragontamer bound our fates tightly, and I am willing to believe his word."
After this, many other lords and ladies voiced their support for the plan, as did all the dragons. There were, however, a few elves who still looked unconvinced, mutinous even, although they had right to be. They were black and red robes, their heads shaven and tattooed with various runes. They glared up at Imrik with barely concealed disgust. These were the sons and daughters of House Hurivain, the guardians of the northern passes of Caledor. Their lands had been destroyed by Malekith during his last invasion, and their ruling prince and princess had been tortured and left to die upon the walls of their sacked city, along with five thousand innocent civilians. They wore black to symbolise their grief, and red as a reminder of the blood that was spilt that day.
"We will not stand with you on this, Dragonlord. Our people have suffered greater than any at the hands of the Witch King and his henchmen. He is a butcher and a traitor and I would rather die than see him on the Phoenix Throne. Nothing you can say will change that," said Celibraith, the current ruling prince of House Hurivain. His jaw was set and his brown eyes burned with passion and hatred. Imrik looked over at his cousin, then stood.
"Perhaps we cannot change your mind with speeches, but as the humans say, 'actions speak louder than words', so let us present you with some deeds that may sway even your hate-filled heart, Prince Celibraith," Imrik said, then nodded to a servant. The elf exited the chamber, and all eyes turned to watch the door that he had left by. A few seconds later, he emerged again, and held the door open. Malerath strode through it, armoured for battle with her helm under her arm. Her bodyguards walked behind her in plain robes of purple, each one carrying a crate. They assembled in ranks on the floor below the Caledorians, some of whom were already shouting insults and drawing their weapons again.
"It seems those promises of alliance will need affirming before we fight beside the Druchii," thought Imrik, exasperated. Gwihir agreed mentally.
Minaithnir bellowed his displeasure at the elves' reaction, and they sullenly returned to their seats, whispering between themselves. Many hands remained on sword hilts. When all was in place, Malerath stepped forwards.
"Greeting, mighty warriors and nobles of Caledor," she cried, her tone both celebratory and sarcastic at once. "I am Malerath Voidblade, Dreadlord of Naggarond, Member of the Black Council, the Void Walker and Herald of Malekith. I come to you in supplication from the goddess Lileath, and from my king, who bids me offer your lord my services, so that we may fight beside one another in the coming war. Malekith also sends a second gift…" At this, she turned and walked up and down the line of warriors, smiling up at the Asur above her. Some were leaning forwards, attempting to get a better view. Others looked from Malerath to Imrik and back again with suspicion in their eyes. "Open the crates!" cried Malerath. As one, her warriors drew back the lids of the crate and revealed the dragon eggs to the assembled Caledorians.
Silence, then a cacophony of shouting and swearing filled the chamber. The assembled Asur bellowed their shock, surprise and anger at the sight of the plunder of centuries. Many dragons added their voices to the din, relief warring with bloodlust at the reminder of betrayal of the egg thieving. In the end, Minaithnir and Imrik regained control and an uneasy quiet descended on the council chamber.
"These eggs are the plunder of generations of raiding and thieving in these mountains. Every egg taken over the past six thousand years has been returned, and there were many others brought from Naggaroth in our vessel. These are a gift to Caledor as a symbol of Malekith's good will, and of his desire to make accord with the Dragon Princes," spoke Malerath.
"It is true," said Minaithnir, rumbling from the lofty heights of the cave. The Dragonlord stood to speak alongside his dragon.
"The Druchii have played their cards, and they have given their assurance. So, we return to the case, House Hurivain, of our alliance with the Dark Elves. What say you now, with this new evidence of our cousins' faith? Will you join us, to rescue Elvendom from the tyranny of Khaine, or hold to the past and drown in your bitter blood vengeance?"
Prince Celibraith was quiet for a long moment, staring between the eggs and the Druchii with a guarded expression. The other nobles watched him carefully, looking for a sign of his decision. If he held to his course, many of the more easily influenced families may swing to his side, along with those who had an unhealthy obsession with intrigues. If he turned to their side and joined them, then all of Caledor would be united in the face of the End Times and the Witch King would have his allies.
Celibraith seemed to gather himself, looked around at his family and took a deep breath. Turning back to the Council, he steeled himself and looked around the room. "My family cannot join with you in this action, Dragonlord. The Druchii have harmed us too much for us to fight with them against our own kin. Our wounds go too deep and our memories are long. Yet I will not fight against you, nor raise my banners for Tyrion, for he has failed my family in his defence of Ulthuan. I will hold myself and my family neutral, we will fight for none save ourselves."
Outrage followed this statement, although Imrik could see a few other lords nodding appreciatively of neutrality. This worried him, for if they could be swayed that easily back to the side of inaction then Ulthuan would fall. He had to act and ensure that it was only House Hurivain who remained apart. He understood their reasoning, and sympathised with it, but he would not allow that feeling to destroy Caledor.
"Are the sons and daughters of Caledor so quick to forget their oaths of loyalty? Does one speech sway you from a cause you had stood behind mere moments ago? What are you, humans?" he challenged. He heard chuckles around the room and shouts of agreement, and was heartened. He stared at the lords and ladies who had turned against him, outrage written on their faces.
"You dare accuse us of disloyalty, Prince Imrik? There has been no order from the Dragonlord, is it treachery to express our opinions?" asked Celibraith
"No, Prince Celibraith, it is treachery to turn from the harder path when it is the right one. Your family have been wounded greatly in the past, and were I to lead Caledor, I would not ask you to betray your kin and the oaths you have made on the graves of your ancestors. But those who look to you as an idol, who wish to stand apart and become neutral, I name you cowards, for you have no interest in such an action save to preserve your wealth and pride. Your arrogance is insufferable and your disloyalty shameful," said Imrik, his voice full of righteous anger. Gwihir roared his praise and many of the other dragons added their voice to the chorus, along with more than half the hall. Insults were traded across the chamber and the tension rose in the room. Imrik could see the smirk on Malerath's face as she surveyed the carnage her appearance had caused. He looked up at his cousin and saw that he had realised that he needed to intervene.
"SILENCE," bellowed the Dragonlord as he stood. The voices of the elves fell quiet, for none would dare the wrath of their crown prince. The Dragonlord took a moment to compose himself, then spoke. "I will not allow this council to descend into barbarism. Prince Celibraith has made his family's position clear, and I respect their right to raise issues they have with matters before this Council. Their reasoning for remaining neutral is, of course, a valid one. None have suffered worse from the Druchii than your family, Prince Celibraith, and we thank you for your continued service to Caledor and her defence. However, unless those lords, who would see your legitimate cause as a means of escape, can justify to me why I should not call this matter to a close and declare alliance with Naggaroth, then I will do just that. So, nobles of Caledor, what do we say now?"
There was quiet in the chamber as the elves looked around at each other, waiting to see if any would dare to oppose Imrik. None did. The Dragonlord grimaced, then said, "So, we will ally with Naggaroth and when the war comes, we will fight with the Witch King. Let all of you mark this declaration: None are to leave Caledor without my express permission. Muster your armies, prepare your fortresses for war. The End Times approach, and Caledor will meet them with spear and sword flashing. Now, we move to a smaller matter... Imrik." The Dragonlord stepped aside and beckoned for Imrik to take the dais. Imrik stood, took a breath, and walked to stand behind the lectern.
"Sons and daughters of Caledor, dragons of the mountains, I stand before you with news that you all must hear and a tale that must be told. When I disappeared a few months ago, I was not slain, as many assumed I was, but taken from this world and cast into another by the hand of a daemon. However, by killing the fiend during his ritual, I believe I disrupted its magics and hurled myself into a world that neither god nor elf had seen before. This world was called Alagaësia, and within it, I had a strange adventure. I awoke to find myself within a great valley, surrounded on all sides by mountains that brushed the heavens. I knew then that this world was strange and new, for it felt different to anything I have ever experienced. It felt clean, free of taint and pure. Nobles of Caledor, this world is without the influence of Chaos." Imrik paused to let the full implications of this sink in. Muttering and whispering broke out across the hall. Above, he could hear the dragons stirring. Malerath's elves too were looking up at him with expressions of confusion and wonder.
Imrik continued, "This world is home to many races, some familiar, others strange. Elves there are, more akin to our woodland brethren than to us, and dwarves, who are far more tolerable than the variety found within the mountains across the ocean. Humans and dragons also populate the landscape, but this is where the races differ from our own. There is a race of war-like creatures known as urgals, who grow great horns from their heads and have thick grey hide. There is also a race known as the were-cats, who appear to be human children for a moment, but can morph into cats in the next. All of these races I have met upon my travels in Alagaësia, fighting beside the humans and dwarves against an army of urgals under a hollow mountain, training alongside the elves in their forest cities and conversing with were-cats where they have crossed my path.
"There is a reason I bring this knowledge to your attention, for while this world is far more peaceful than our own, it is soon to experience a war that has not been seen there for a hundred years. To provide context for this, I shall explain the history of the country. All the histories hold to the same tale. The dwarves came first to Alagaësia, for it is their ancestral land, and they came into conflict throughout history with the dragons who also called the country their home. Then the elves arrived, but they were little more than humans who were possessed of extreme strength. Their culture was barbaric, and they hunted the dragons as a human may hunt a wild beast. This brought war upon elf and dragon, and the two peoples tore each other to pieces, until a young elf named Eragon raised a dragon as his friend and brought peace to both races. Together, they formed the Riders, and bound the elves and dragons together with ancient and powerful magic so that war could never come between them again. The link between dragon and Rider goes deeper than anything I have experienced prior to receiving it. Gwihir and I formed this link upon our arrival in Alagaësia, and now we are one being, our hearts and minds bound together. For me, there is no greater honour than to be bound to a dragon in this way, for I have not only gained a new respect for our ancient allies, but a closer friend I will never know." At this, Imrik put his hand on his heart and looked up to the rafters where Gwihir rumbled his agreement. The other princes and princesses who rode dragons looked on with a mix of awe and envy. Imrik swiftly resumed his tale.
"The humans arrived in Alagaësia and, typical to their uncultured and barbaric race, struck out at the elves with fury and fear. Three times they were defeated by the dragon Riders and finally their king was deposed and his nobles came seeking peace. They too were added to the pact between elf and dragon, and humans became Riders, with the intent that the races of Alagaësia would never come to blows again. For decades, the Riders ruled supreme, surpassing all authority, for they were the peace-keepers and would not be bound to any one race. A golden age emerged, and in their prosperity, they grew blind to the threat that grew within them. A young human Rider by the name of Galbatorix went mad after the death of his dragon and, with the help of another Rider named Morzan, he stole a hatchling, killed its Rider and forced it to serve him with black sorcery. With thirteen other Riders at his side, he declared war upon the Riders and destroyed them. They were lax and slow to respond, and many fell before the truly understood the danger that Galbatorix and his Foresworn truly posed. They destroyed the Riders' fortress island of Vroengard and killed the king of the elves. Death descended on Alagaësia, yet still some resisted, for the spirit of justice still lived on. One by one, the Foresworn fell, even as the Riders and the kingdoms of men collapsed under the might of Galbatorix. Now, the Mad King broods as emperor over an empire of terror, seemingly the only Rider left alive for a hundred years." Again Imrik paused for breath and allowed his words to be discussed. Many elves had outrage written on their faces, which Imrik assumed was good for him. Looking at Malerath, he remembered the duel that he would soon be fighting, and tried to ignore the inquisitive looks she was giving him. She was enjoying learning as much of this knowledge as she could, and Imrik was sure she would report it back to the Witch King given half a chance. That was not something Imrik was going to allow.
"However," he said, calling attention back to him, "a new Rider had arisen. His name is Eragon, a human of sixteen summers, and his dragon is Saphira. They have come as the saviours of Alagaësia, and I fought beside them against the urgals under the mountain the dwarves call Farthen Dûr. He has the support of the Varden, the human resistance fighters, and of the dwarven clans and the elven queen. He is receiving training at the hands of the last elven Rider, who was hidden from Galbatorix so that he might live to pass on his knowledge to Eragon. So, as Alagaësia descends into a war for freedom, I have been drawn into the conflict and placed myself against Galbatorix with all of my strength."
"Why did you do that, young Imrik? We have enough wars to fight without upstart princes like you causing more for us!" said Sallaroth, rising to face Imrik once more.
"Are you saying you would stand by in my situation, and watch as the last hope for justice and peace in a world ruled by tyranny and cruelty is snuffed out? Galbatorix murdered dragons and elves by the droves, can you dare call yourself a prince of Caledor if you are not enraged by his actions? Do you not find his enslavement of the kin of our most ancient allies disgusting and insulting? The egg-breaker must die, and I will be cursed and damned if I am to let others settled the ledger without the aid of Caledorian steel," snarled Imrik. There was a thunder of roars as the dragons bellowed their agreement.
"Let the human be torn to bloody scraps! Our kin shall be avenged!" said Minaithnir, and another roar followed this.
"Would the elves stand by if it were elflings he had murdered and forced into slavery? I think not! The blood of Caledor had truly run thin if none of you will rise to meet this human and show him the error of his arrogance. He must be humbled and humiliated with fire and claw!" The dragon that spoke was another of the ancients, a star dragon whose wings would fill a valley. She spoke with a vehemence that stunned even Imrik, but he was glad to have the giant on his side. Her words had had great effect on the elves. Many looked down shame-faced, whereas others were crying out oaths of vengeance and looking up at Imrik expectantly. He raised his hands for quiet, then began to speak again.
"It is not just vengeance that drives me to fight in the new world, but the hope of a better future for our people, one where we should not be battling for survival with each passing year, a world without Chaos were elves can prosper and regain their souls. Is that not a world worth fighting for? A world where your children may yet know the meaning of peace... My plan is to lead an expedition into Alagaësia, fight beside the local elves, dwarves and men, and put a lance through the black heart of the Mad King. I will establish a kingdom for the elves that will last for all time, an eternal realm where our people will be made whole once more. I ask you now, lord and ladies of Caledor; will you fight at my side?"
"Caledor!" cried a voice. Imrik looked around and saw Prince Galorfing on his feet, sword in the air. "Caledor!" he cried again and thrust his sword higher into the air.
"Caledor!" Isorfindel and Elorfildur rose to their feet, weapons drawn.
"Caledor!" A roar from the dragons echoed this chorus as more elves stood, spears, swords, axes and halberds raised in salute.
"Caledor!" More elves rose, the dragons stomped and roared and the chamber reverberated to the sound of war.
"CALEDOR!"
Imrik had his army.
A/N: Hey all, thanks again for reading this chapter and for putting up with long update intervals, your dedication is inspiring and is what keeps me going. Please remember to review, I love to read your feedback and take your comments on board. I'm sorry this chapter has been so long and narrative, but I can't write battles every time... With the End Times escalating due to the release of Thanquol and Archaeon, my writing is becoming more and more interesting, and I hope you'll continue to follow me on this journey.
Caledor out!
