Disclaimer: I do not own Inheritance, or its characters thereof. But I do own Ildruën and the others.
All my life, I've read and dreamed about a time when I could break free of my solitary existence. I wanted to see seas and ships and mountains and my, even the Grand Master himself if I could! But that was only in my wildest dreams . . . fleeting emotions and longings I knew I couldn't fulfill. I never expected it to be so. Well, years later, it wasn't until a handsome youth and an old woman showed up on my doorstep, did I know that my life had changed.
—From the diary of Fóedin Ashersson, later added to the Domia abr Wyrda (Dominance of Fate)
"Come in," Nadara said.
Ildruën took a deep breath and opened the door into Queen's study. His sore knuckles brushed against the door, and he grimaced.
Queen Nadara was sitting by her desk, a clutter of scrolls and books stacked round like miniature towers. She raised her head, and brushed a loose strand of hair away from her face. "You look tired."
Ildruën shrugged, and seated himself at the chair across from her. "You needed me for something, your Majesty?"
"Ah, yes," Holding out a hand to steady the pile of books to her left, she very slowly and very carefully pulled a parchment from the bottom of the stack. When she had, the tower wobbled, and tilted gradually to the side. One of the books, the one at the very top, leaned off to far and tumbled to the ground. Nadara jerked out a hand to catch it, but Ildruën was faster. He caught it swiftly, nearly tipping off his chair in the process, and handed the book back to the Queen with a flourish.
Nadara thanked him before handing Ildruën the parchment. With a closer inspection, Ildruën found that it was a thin letter with the Empire's insignia imprinted on the wax. On the front was scribbled over with an address and house description.
"Information of the Ra'zac," Nadara began, "has become indistinctive and embellished over the years with their absence. However, I know that there is only one person in Ilirea who knows them for what they were and are, and conveniently, he works for me as a scholar. His name is Fóedin Ashersson."
"So you want me to give this to him," Ildruën said, looking up from the letter.
"And also collect information about the Ra'zac. I would've looked to the elves or dwarves, for they are older than our kind, but Fóedin is one of the only humans in the Empire that contains data from before the humans arrived in Alagäesia. The humans then had written things—many things about the Ra'zac that have faded into mere legend. We were the Ra'zac's prey since the beginning of time, and we know them best because of it."
Despite Ildruën's excitement and curiosity, he wasn't thick enough to not consider the importance of this information that she gave. "Should we be speaking of such things?" Ildruën said apprehensively, glancing at the nearby windows. ". . . Anyone could be listening at this moment."
"I've already had my magicians ward this room from eavesdroppers." Nadara said. "We are safe here."
"But why me?" He asked. "Why are you entrusting this with a near-stranger? And especially one who is targeted by the Ra'zac."
"Do you trust me?" The queen said abruptly. She said it almost like a test to Ildruën's ears, and a second lapsed before he nodded, in order to not to cause offense. She tilted back her head. "Trust is a strange thing . . . at times you can give it away so carelessly, and for others it could be the most difficult thing one could give. Although I've known you for a short time, I know that you have a good heart, Ildruën, and you wouldn't betray me as easily. Let's face the truth, you're more trustworthy than half the lot around here, aren't you?"
Humbled, Ildruën bowed at his waist. "You honor me, your Majesty."
"No, not honor.
"Never honor."
Ildruën sprinted down the steps leading to the castle courtyard, were servants and soldiers were going off in their own priorities. As he stopped outside to rest, he noticed Ardisia walking towards him, each hand holding a brindle and leading two horses behind her. One of them was his mare, Latúrah, and a grey stallion that he didn't recognize. Ardisia grinned and handed him his horse's leash. "Didn't think you'll go with me, eh? With a city as large as this, it'll be difficult to not get lost within its depths."
"Then I thank you for giving me your time." As they saddled their horses, Ildruën studied Ardisia's charger.
The steed had dappled markings on its legs, with a coal-black tail and mane. Its dark eyes gleamed mysteriously in the light, and it was then that Ildruën noticed the odd-shaped birthmark on its left side, the side facing Ildruën. It seemed to be an animal of some sort . . . he could make out the legs . . . and the weird-shaped head . . . what did it remind him of?
"Is that . . . a toad?" Ildruën inquired.
"Oh, his birthmark? Don't be silly, Ildruën—it's a frog. Frogs are much nicer—and they don't involve evil witches, now do they, Heget?*" Her horse bobbed his head, as though understanding what they said. Ardisia patted his neck. "Now, onward and all that!"
Ildruën shook his head, but followed Ardisia as they galloped out of the castle and into the city.
For the next half hour or so, Ildruën and Ardisia used their horses to dash towards their destination, using the less populated streets in order to avoid traffic. Ildruën could hear the sounds of people and animals throughout the city, doing their business, selling their wares, and talking with friends. It merged with the reiterating clatter of the horses' hooves over the cobblestone paths that were frequent throughout Ilirea.
The smell of baked bread wafted out of a nearby house window, and Ildruën's stomach growled. Last night's events had knocked the appetite out of him, forgoing dinner and breakfast. But even now, if Ildruën had eaten anything, he knew that his gut wouldn't have been able to stomach it.
As they rounded a corner, they stopped at a large, wealthy house that was an arms breath away from the other large, expensive households that dotted this rich side of the city. Ildruën had to throw back his head to see the roof of the mansion, which ran at least fifty feet into the air.
They picketed their horses by the railing beside the entrance, before walking up the steps the front door. Lifting a wrinkled fist, Ardisia rapped her knuckles sharply against the wood.
A moment passed, before Ardisia snorted and knocked louder. "Blasted man," she muttered. "What is Fóedin doing?"
Ildruën shifted uncomfortably. He noticed that the rich men and women passing by kept glancing at them suspiciously, tightening their hold on their purses. Ildruën lifted a hand and waved, feeling foolish. "Maybe he's not home," he suggested.
"Nonsense. I know Fóedin too well; he'd never leave his precious books for long. But before you meet him, be aware that Fóedin is a fanatic when it comes to the Great War,* so don't get him started. Fóedin!"
"Coming, coming!" was the muffled reply. There came a sound of rapid footsteps, like rain hitting a metal roof, then the very distinct sound of a table crashing to the ground. Ildruën winced as the door was abruptly opened.
In stood a tall man, at his late twenties in the most, with a long, arrow-thin face accompanied by pale eyes and short brows. A cap of wispy blond hair concealed his head. His mouth was wiry, and at the moment, round with astonishment as he stared at the newcomers. "Ardisia!" he said. "What a pleasant surprise! I hadn't thought—"
"We're not here for pleasantries, Fóedin." she said. Her voice dropped to a whisper. "We're on official business . . . for the queen."
Fóedin darted his eyes toward Ildruën, before returning to Ardisia. He hesitated, before smiling uncertainly. "Well—come in then! Don't want to be out here in the cold!" He widened the door and ushered them in, placing their cloaks on the peg that stood beside the door.
Ildruën found himself in a spacious hallway that branched off to other parts of the house. Dangling from the walls were pictures of ferocious and, usually very bloody, scenes of battle. He noticed that some of the paintings held elves, others humans, dwarves, Urgals, and even Werecats, but the majority held a fiery blue dragon bathed in its own flames. As they dove deeper into the hall, Ildruën was aware that there was another dragon in the paintings—a dragon that was a red as rubies dipped in blood. Ildruën was so absorbed in the images that he was nearly left behind by the others. He caught up with them just in time as Fóedin opened a door at the middle of the corridor.
It opened to a study that was roughly square in shape. Books enclosed three of the walls, and in the middle was desk covered with paper and ringed with chairs. Fóedin plopped down in the chair behind the desk, beaming at them all. "Sorry for the wait, but my butler had his day off today, and I was busy with all of . . . this." He spread his hands. "So, what's the news?"
Ardisia gestured at Ildruën, who reached into his pocket and extracted the letter. Fóedin gingerly unsealed the message, and read it, a frown forming at his brows as his eyes skimmed the paper. With a sigh, he rubbed his temple. "I had hoped this day would never come . . . alas, the gift of knowledge is a dangerous thing, even for a poor soul such as me to bear it. I take it, then, that you're Ildruën Dauthirsson, of Dras-Leona?"
"Yes,"
"I had heard rumors . . ." His expression became thoughtful. "You have such an interesting name, Ildruën; an elf one, at that. After four decades, why humans began to take names from another races, I never know." He shook his head. "I don't know what my parents were thinking, either. After all, do I look like a dwarf to you?" Folding the letter into a small rectangle, he hid it underneath his nest of papers. Fóedin leaned forward, eyes bright. "Can you describe to me what the Ra'zac and Lethrblaka looked like?"
When Ildruën was done recounting it, Fóedin was nearly jumping with joy. "Really? Did you get a sample of their blood? What color did their eyes leak?"
"Fóedin!" Ardisia barked.
He sat back, chastised. "Sorry,"
She sniffed. "You were always the scholar."
He coughed and looked away. "That's beside the point. So, the Ra'zac said Shadeslayer . . . hmm, fascinating . . . ." He shared a look with Ardisia. "Anyway, if it was anyone but the Queen that was demanding this, I would refuse with penalty of my life. The knowledge I have . . . it is too great to leak for outsiders to hear. You must swear to me, in the ancient language that you'll tell no one about what I've said and will show you today but the her Majesty."
Ardisia said something in the ancient language, and then both of them had to coach Ildruën through the process. A weight seemed to land on Ildruën's shoulders when those words escaped his lips.
"Now, then!" Fóedin clapped his hands. "Come with me to the cellar. There are things there that I believe you'll find interesting." He extracted a half-melted candle from his desk, and with it lit, led the group towards the door that rested at the very end of the hall.
Placing a finger to his lips, Fóedin drew out a small rustic key, and unlocked the door. It swung open eerily on its hinges.
Fóedin's candle could only provide so much light. The steps of the top of the stairs faded into the darkness. Here, shadows pervaded, until it was but an inky night at the bottom of the stairwell. Somewhere, a mouse squeaked.
Fóedin strode forward, but stopped at mid-step, back stiffening. Ildruën nearly walked into him, and was able to stop himself in time. He frowned, and looked over Fóedin's shoulder. "What happened? Why have you stopped?"
Fóedin gulped and backed away, lifting a finger. "Because of that."
Seeing it, Ildruën made a face. Dangling by a single thread, a round and enormously fat spider hanged in front of them. It was about the size of an eyeball, black and red in coloration, large fangs clicking as it studied them. Its hairy legs flailed into empty air as it felt for a handhold.
Ildruën stepped forward, but hesitated. He had intended to knock the spider aside, but it was so . . . repulsive. It was close enough for him to see the individual hairs on its legs and abdomen, and the eyes, they kept . . .
Should he squish it? Should he elude it?
"Oh, you ninnies!" Ardisia huffed and strode past Ildruën. "We could be here all day if you hadn't done this!" She flattened the spider with a sickening squish! Ildruën and Fóedin winced when they noticed that there was a leg was poking out of Ardisia's fingers. It was still twitching.
Ardisia caught them staring at her. "What?"
"Nothing," Ildruën mumbled.
Fóedin, blowing away the lifeless spider thread, lifted one foot and tested his weight on the first step. The wood panel creaked and groaned underneath his weight, but held. With those slow steps, he led them down to the cellar. They found nothing there that was worth noting. (A brick wall, a window or two and a few empty boxes in the corner, the likes.) Fóedin placed the candle beside him before he knelt on the earthen ground, his palms against the floor. Closing his eyes, he muttered, "Deloi mor'amr."*
The dirt bubbled, and melted away, lifting an object from the ground. It was a book, bound with red leather, with golden words inscribed against the spine. The candle light wavered and flickered over the glossy cover, making the runes on its side seem to shine with an inner light.
Ardisia crouched and squinted in the dim light. "Domia abr Wyrda. The Dominance of Fate."
"Aye." Fóedin tapped the book with a fingernail. "This copy—this exclusive copy—is only found only in the elven city of Ellesméra, the Riders' stronghold, and with a certain member of an association called Heslant the monk."
"You?" Ildruën said, incredulous.
Fóedin smiled sheepishly. "Aye. My family has been with them for nearly two hundred years, when my ancestor, Jeod Longshanks, joined their ranks." With a casual flick of his wrist, he opened the book to a seemingly random page. "But this one is special. It holds all the information from before Alagäesia was even settled by mortal men. But I believe that we should start at the beginning, before this ever happened.
"Many years ago, before magic was bonded to the ancient language, and when elves were still young, there was a race of people called the Grey Folk. You must've heard of them—they're recounted in nursery rhymes and old legends, but never focused on. They were merely legends of legends, shadows within shadows. But one thing's for certain; they were the ones that tamed magic in the first place, at least to a degree.
"Well, at the time, living at the farthest corner of the earth, there lived a group of savage, evil humans, those that feasted on human flesh not for honor and respect, but of pleasure of ripping their kith's flesh from bone and drinking the sap of their veins. They were called the Cazar within their own people. The Cazar were so contorted in actions and beliefs, that they did not seem human anymore. Their own kind, dwarves, and even the elves, were wary of such people. Only the dragons and Grey Folk didn't fear such beings, and repeatedly hunted and destroyed them when they could.
"In rage, the Cazar banded together and attacked and killed a Grey Folk elder. Thus, in punishment, the Grey Folk cursed the Cazar, changing them into monsters that would forevermore be hated and feared by the races of the land. They changed their appearance to match those of their personality, and their habits as well. Why do you think the Ra'zac cannot be felt for with minds or magic? It's because they lack the right minds to begin with. But, like everything else, magic can be unpredictable. The spell the Grey Folk cast was more than they had bargained for." Fóedin's voice had softened, so that Ildruën and Ardisia had to lean forward to hear. "They gave them the essence of Death."
"Death?" Ildruën blinked in surprise. "What do you mean? How, though?"
Fóedin shrugged. "Who knows? All we know is that death literally followed them wherever they went. But not just death of person; death of a land. They factually drained the energy from the earth they walk, and if left alive for too long, they will eventually turn the earth barren."
"That's not possible!" Ildruën exclaimed. Even Ardisia appeared startled. "They can't kill the land."
"Have you ever wondered why King Palancar left his kingdom to begin with?" Fóedin sighed. "The Leader of the Riders of Old had hunted the Ra'zac for this exact reason. He needn't tell his ranks that they might make the land unfertile. A dangerous, powerful, and unseen monster was enough reason for the riders to eradicate, correct? That was all the information they needed."
A horrible feeling crept up Ildruën's spine. The revelation made him shiver. "So, if we don't destroy the Ra'zac and Lethrblaka in time . . ."
Fóedin nodded. "Then Alagäesia will die."
Chapter Notes:
*—Heget: (Also known as Heqet, Heqat, Hekit, Heket, and Hegit) The Egyptian Frog-Goddess of fertility.
**—The Great War: what the future Alagäesians refer as the war with Galbatorix.
***— Earth open