Chapter Nine
Vengeance
'What d'you mean, "alive"?' Eragon was standing up, his sword in his hand, the wine he had been drinking spilt all over the table.
Eivah the elf cringed. 'It's him,' she said. 'I saw him with my own eyes.'
Eragon had gone red in the face. 'Tell me everything,' he demanded.
'It was three nights ago,' said Eivah. 'There were a lot of travellers in the city… they'd come to join with the Imperial army there. Pointless. No-one was there to lead them. He must have come to the city with them; he demolished one of the gates to get in. I got the report, but with all the people there… finding anyone was nearly impossible. And then, that night…'
'Well?' said Eragon.
'The Cathedral,' said Eivah. 'It was attacked. We don't know what happened. They were holding a secret ceremony there, and something went wrong. Half the Cathedral was destroyed.'
'What did the witnesses say?' said Eragon.
'There were no witnesses,' said Eivah. 'Everyone inside the Cathedral died. Including the priests. They were killed by magic. He must have done it, but I don't know why. But it started there. His path was easy to see; he destroyed everything in his way. Killed about fifty people, too, and broke down part of the outer wall.'
'Didn't the guards do anything?' said Eragon, sitting down on the table. This was too much to take in.
'They did,' said Eivah. 'They peppered his back with arrows. It didn't have any effect. He wanted to leave. And then-,' she paused. 'Then he ran into our army.'
Eragon swore. 'What happened then?'
Eivah sighed and shook her head. 'Exactly what you're imagining. He wiped out a quarter of our troops before he finally started to slow down. He was rescued by the wild dragon that got away before I could get there.'
'Which wild dragon?' said Eragon. 'The silver one?'
'No, the dark-blue one,' said Eivah. 'The one that killed Ardeth and Larn.'
Eragon fought to control himself. 'Well… if he did all of that, the Dras-Leonians must have given up by now,' he said hopefully.
'They didn't,' said Eivah. 'After he broke through the wall and attacked our army, others followed him. It was like a signal for them. Our army was… very few of them survived. The governor refused our offer, and now the city is in open war with us. They're repairing the wall and sending out messengers to find more support.'
Eragon couldn't stand up any longer. He screamed and whirled around, slamming his swordblade into the tabletop, so forcefully that the wood split. 'GODSDAMMIT!' he bellowed. Then, turning on Eivah, he said; 'Why didn't you kill them? Why the hell did you come running back here like this? I want that city removed from the face of Alagaësia! I want that governor's head!'
'I didn't want to do that,' said Eivah, backing away slightly. 'There are hundreds of people in there. If we massacred then, it would make us look-,'
'I don't care how it makes us look!' Eragon shouted. 'Go back there and take Ranech and Narth with you, and don't come back until Dras-Leona is gone!'
'But-,' Eivah began.
'NOW!' Eragon roared.
The elf was bright enough to take the hint. She left as fast as her dignity would allow her.
Left alone, Eragon picked up his chair from where he'd knocked it over, and slumped in it. He realised he was trembling.
The news that came over the next few days was little better. Murtagh came back with a message from Kullervo which declared open war on Eragon and his followers, who called themselves 'Letta-Baen', or 'end of sorrow'. On the same day he was told that the attempt to destroy Dras-Leona had failed. The Imperial army, under the leadership three men who claimed to have travelled with Galbatorix himself, had barricaded itself in and fought back fiercely against Eivah and her two companions. A number of wild dragons had been sent by Kullervo to help, and both Eivah and Narth had been killed. Ranech himself had barely survived to bring the report back. Of the original thirteen riders who had joined Eragon, only nine now remained, and many of those were only partly trained.
The dwarves had broken off contact with him and were ignoring all the messages he sent them, and the elves had begun squabbling amongst themselves over who would replace the assassinated Queen Islanzadí, and been virtually neutralised. Civil war was breaking out, and Eragon was running out of allies. The best option would have been to seek out people to try the remaining dragon eggs and hopefully find some new riders that way. There was only one problem with that idea – the eggs had disappeared. All those which Galbatorix had kept stored away – some fathered by Thorn, some by Shruikan – had gone. Someone had taken them, but none of the servants or guards who had been captured or changed sides since Urû'baen's fall had any useful information. None of them admitted to having seen the eggs or to know anything about what might have become of them, even though Eragon had one or two of them tortured.
Eragon had no choice. He would have to go into battle himself. And he would take Vervada with him. Her power could bring the enemy to their knees, he was quite confident of that. And it did not take him long to decide where to attack first.
The enemy had only one leader – a leader in absence. Galbatorix. Wherever he was, he was their inspiration. And if he died they would crumble, or so Eragon believed. After he received news that the wild dragons had destroyed two towns that had gone over to his side, he made up his mind.
'They have him,' he declared to the assembled members of Letta-Baen. 'He's alive, and they're hiding him. I'm going to the Spine. I'm going to find him and kill him. And Vervada is coming with me.'
They had failed. Valdyr and Lifrasir both knew it. For a time they hoped that Galbatorix would return to his senses, but on the third day after Lifrasir had rescued him it became apparent that he wasn't going to. He had lost his mind. They had saved him but lost him.
Physically he was a little better than they'd thought; Valdyr, as the smaller of the two, pulled the arrows out as best as he could using his teeth, and the injuries didn't bleed too much. They were less severe than they looked, and none had penetrated the ribcage. But he was undernourished and had several sword-cuts on his shoulders and chest, and there was a deep scar on the back of his head. And his right leg seemed to be hurting him.
Much of the time he seemed unaware that the two dragons were there. His eyes were distant and full of fear and bewilderment, and when he spoke his words were often too mumbled to understand. He never spoke directly to either of them, and when he looked at them he didn't show any sign of recognition. He didn't answer them when they spoke to him; he looked lost in a world of his own – a world that he did not like being trapped in, judging by his behaviour. Sometimes he would scream or cry, and at other times he would become inexplicably terrified and start lashing out at unseen enemies. More than once he tried to run away from the cave and had to be dragged back, struggling pitifully all the while. When he was calmer he would wander around, his lame leg dragging, sometimes talking to people who weren't there.
There was nothing Lifrasir or Valdyr could do but keep him safe and feed him as best they could; fortunately he would eat if there was food in front of him, and he recovered some of his physical strength, if not all of it. It was plain to his two guardians that he never would be as strong as he had once been, but if his mind did not recover then he wouldn't live long anyway.
One evening, a week after the incident at Dras-Leona, Galbatorix was sleeping while Valdyr watched over him. The young black dragon kept his head close to his adopted father, listening to his ragged breathing. After a while he began to talk in his sleep, which wasn't unusual now, though most of it was unintelligible. Valdyr, hearing it, sighed unhappily. Before the sound had died away, Galbatorix's breathing changed. Valdyr raised his head immediately, and saw him open his eyes. Galbatorix focused on the dragon's face, finally looking at him rather than through him. He smiled weakly and reached out a hand, touching Valdyr's snout. 'You're so kind to me,' he murmured sleepily.
'Father!' Valdyr exclaimed. 'Can you see me?'
Galbatorix blinked. 'I can see you,' he said, still sounding slightly mazed.
Valdyr glanced around. Lifrasir was out of the cave. He looked at Galbatorix again and said; 'How do you feel?'
'Tired,' said Galbatorix.
Valdyr paused. 'Can you tell me your name?'
Galbatorix appeared to consider the question, and then nodded happily. 'My name is Arren Cardockson,' he said. 'I was born in Teirm. I work at the leather-worker's stall. They say…' he yawned. 'They say I can sell anything to anyone. I'm the best in the marketplace. Arren Silvertongue, they call me.'
Valdyr was first bewildered, and then depressed. He hadn't recovered at all. Now he thought he was someone else. But at least he was talking.
'Who are you?' Galbatorix asked, taking the dragon by surprise.
'Oh,' said Valdyr. 'I'm Valdyr, son of Saphira and Skirnir.'
'Are you a dragon?' said Galbatorix. 'I've never seen a dragon except in pictures.'
'Yes, I'm a dragon,' said Valdyr, despairing.
'Hmm… you're smaller than I expected,' said Galbatorix.
'I'm only young,' said Valdyr. 'Shruikan was much bigger.'
'Shruikan…' Galbatorix repeated, fear darting briefly through his expression before it became placid again. 'That's an odd name. So's Valdyr.'
'It means wolf,' said Valdyr.
'…wolf?' said Galbatorix. 'Wolf. A good name. Thankyou, Wolf.' His voice trailed off, and his eyes closed again.
When Lifrasir returned, Valdyr told her about this. 'It's hopeless,' he said. 'Now he thinks he's a leather-worker called Arren Silvertongue.'
Lifrasir's eyes widened. 'He called himself that?'
'Yes, when I asked him his name,' said Valdyr. 'He talked clearly enough, but he was completely deluded. This is awful.'
'No it's not,' said Lifrasir, moving over to where Galbatorix lay asleep and looking down at him. 'It could be a good sign. You see, Arren is his name. Or it used to be. He was an orphan in Teirm, and his foster-parents called him Arren. He started out working at the leather-worker's stall. Actually, he once told me he still knew how to make a good pair of boots in one evening.'
'So he's… gone back to thinking he's a boy?' said Valdyr.
'Maybe,' said Lifrasir. 'But if he can speak and see us… maybe it means he's getting better.'
Valdyr brightened up. 'So if we wait long enough, he could go back to normal in the end.'
'Perhaps,' said Lifrasir. 'But I doubt it'll be that easy. He'll still have to let himself remember what happened to Shruikan, and when that happens it might kill him.'
'How?' said Valdyr, cocking his head sideways like a parrot. 'I still don't understand that. How can knowing someone you cared about died kill you? Do you mean he might kill himself?'
'It's not as simple as that,' said Lifrasir. 'I don't fully understand it, but I've had it explained to me. A dragon and his rider are linked, you see. Not just in the mind. They're almost like one soul in two bodies. So when one of them dies the other feels it happen. It's as close as anyone can come to dying without actually doing it. Half the time both of them do die, but when one survives they're never quite whole again. The pain of it can… well, you've seen what it can do.'
Valdyr watched the sleeping Galbatorix with pity in his one remaining eye. 'I suppose all we can do is keep looking after him. For as long as it takes.'
'Unfortunately, we may not have that long,' said Lifrasir. 'I have news.'
'What?' said Valdyr.
'Kullervo has declared war on the usurper,' said Lifrasir. 'Soon he'll attack Urû'baen itself.'
'Good,' said Valdyr. 'I'll go with him if I can. I want to see Hrafn and Myrkyr avenged.'
'It's good in a way, I suppose,' said Lifrasir, with rather less enthusiasm. 'But it means that the Spine won't be safe for much longer. Eragon might be a fool, but he's not completely stupid. He'll attack here sooner or later. He's always believed in taking the offensive wherever he can.'
'So?' said Valdyr, contemptuously flicking his wings. 'He won't last long against us.'
'He's a rider,' Lifrasir reminded him. 'So are his followers. They don't die easily.'
'You killed two of them!' said Valdyr.
'That was mostly luck,' said Lifrasir. 'And most of the dragons here aren't as big as I am or have the same grasp of magic. The riders know the ancient language. They'll bring destruction to the dragons. Kullervo took a big risk by doing what he did.'
Valdyr growled. 'He should have done it earlier,' he said. 'When he could have helped us save Urû'baen. There's nothing he can do now to help Father. The damage is already done. And Hrafn and Myrkyr are still dead.'
'True,' said Lifrasir sadly. 'I don't know why he delayed so long or what changed his mind. But we have to be on the lookout, and make plans. We can't be caught unprepared. If they find out that Father is here, they'll tear the mountains apart to get at him. You know what they're like.'
Valdyr did, all too well.
During the next few days they saw more changes in Galbatorix' condition. He was talking to them now and was relatively coherent most of the time, although he acted sleepy and bewildered and didn't seem to be aware of where he was – or, at least, he never asked where he was or how he had come to be there. He accepted the presence of Lifrasir and Valdyr with the same placidity, and was fondest of Valdyr, who he called 'Wolf' and preferred to sleep near. He took a black dragon scale from his pocket one day and proudly told them that it was his lucky charm, but in spite of all this childishness there were no more panic attacks and only occasional signs of fear, which Lifrasir and Valdyr took as a promising development.
He also seemed more aware of the need to look after himself, and began gathering firewood every evening in order to build a fire, which Valdyr lit for him. He also went foraging for fruit and edible roots to supplement his diet, and even attempted to comb his hair with his fingers. And then, not long after they received word that Kullervo himself had left the Spine with the intention of attacking Urû'baen, he did something stranger still.
Valdyr and Lifrasir woke up one morning to find that he was gone. He wasn't in the cave, or in the forested area just outside it, and once they had discovered this the two dragons began to panic. They argued, and Valdyr prepared to set out to look for him when he returned just as quietly as he had come. He was carrying a long, straight branch which he'd obviously just torn off a tree, and had a determined look on his face. Valdyr and Lifrasir, both massively relieved, stood still and watched him, curious to see what he was going to do next.
He lugged the branch over to the back of the cave, where the coals of the previous day's fire were still smouldering. There he sat down on the rock which he preferred to use as a seat, took the dagger from his belt and began to strip the bark off the branch with it. He worked methodically, frowning in concentration, and once the branch had no bark or twigs left on it he trimmed the ragged end and then began carving slivers of wood off it, occasionally pausing to sight down it and check its straightness. This took some time, and once he was satisfied he added more fuel to the fire, blowing on it until it was burning again. Once this was done, he held the thin end of the branch in the flames, turning it slowly so that the heat dried and hardened it. Then he pulled it out and began to whittle away at the slightly blackened tip, sharpening it.
He spent several hours carving and treating the branch, and when Lifrasir eventually asked him what he was doing he said; 'I'm making a weapon.'
'What for?' Valdyr asked.
'To fight,' Galbatorix answered simply, and that was all they could get out of him.
They left him to his work, since he seemed happy enough doing it, and Lifrasir went off to hunt. While she was gone, Valdyr settled down next to Galbatorix and watched him practising with his crude spear. 'It's got a good balance, hasn't it, Wolf?' he said, and his look and voice were so rational that for a while Valdyr could almost believe that he was back to normal again.
'It's a good spear,' the dragon said, hiding his despair.
'My sword was better,' Galbatorix remarked, balancing with the spear in his hand as if to throw it.
Valdyr tensed. 'What sword?'
Galbatorix paused, and shrugged. 'I don't know.'
'Oh,' said Valdyr, his hope fading again.
Galbatorix looked at him, lowering the spear. Then he came closer and touched the scarred side of Valdyr's face. 'What happened to you?' he asked. 'Who did this?'
'It was my own mother,' said Valdyr.
'But why would she do that?' said Galbatorix. 'Does she hate you?'
'She hated me ever since I was born,' said Valdyr.
'Why?' said Galbatorix again. 'Did you do something?'
'No,' said Valdyr. 'I'm black. People hate black dragons.'
Galbatorix sighed. 'People hate me, too,' he said.
'What was that?' said Valdyr sharply.
'I said people hate me,' said Galbatorix, going back to his place by the fire and sitting down. 'They always try to kill me. But I'm not going to let them. I'm going to fight back.'
Valdyr stood up. 'Fight back against who?' he asked, watching the dark, hunched man intently.
Galbatorix looked toward the entrance. 'They're coming,' he said simply.
'Who is?' said Valdyr.
Galbatorix didn't answer. He stood up and limped out of the cave, spear in hand. Valdyr followed him, taking his place beside him just beyond the entrance, and the two of them stood there in silence while Galbatorix stared up at the sky with an intent expression. Valdyr followed his gaze, wondering just what it was he was looking for.
Then his heart turned to ice. He had seen something. He had seen something he had hoped never to see again. A patch of sky, blue among blue… a patch of sky in the shape of a dragon. A female dragon, flying straight toward the cave. His mother, Saphira. And, flying close behind her, was another, smaller dragon – a dragon with silver scales, a dragon who was twisted and ogreish and foul, her wings ragged and diseased-looking.
Eragon had found them.
Galbatorix hadn't moved. He stayed watching Saphira's approach, still holding his spear. Valdyr spread his wings. 'Climb on my back,' he said. 'Now. We have to get out of here, Arren.'
But Galbatorix shook his head. 'I'm not running,' he said. 'I don't run. I fight.' His grip tightened on the spear.
Valdyr wasted no more time. He made a grab for him with his claws. Galbatorix dodged, and smacked him on the neck with the shaft of the spear. 'No!' he snapped, his voice taking on that commanding tone that Valdyr remembered so well. 'Leave me alone, Wolf. I'll deal with them.'
Valdyr opened his mouth to protest, but it was already too late. An arrow hissed down from the sky and embedded itself in his shoulder. He yelped in pain, but moved to stand in front of Galbatorix, protecting him with his wings.
Saphira swooped in low, eerily silent, and slammed her claws into her son's head. Valdyr toppled forward, stunned, and the blue dragon circled round and came in for another attack. On her back, Eragon could see the dark figure of his enemy, and he notched another arrow onto his bow, screaming his hatred.
Below, Galbatorix climbed onto Valdyr's back, standing there with his spear raised. His face was utterly calm. Eragon loosed his arrow, but Galbatorix dodged it with scarcely a pause. 'Get him!' Eragon yelled.
Saphira dived. Below her Valdyr stirred and moaned, lifting his head. He was in time to see the snarling shape of his mother bearing down upon him and the man he was bound to protect.
'Mother!' he screamed.
Too late. Saphira slammed into Galbatorix, the force of her dive carrying her right over Valdyr and into the stone wall behind him.
A howl of agony split the air, followed by a horrible crunch.
Valdyr, struggling upright, turned, a single thought screaming in his mind. He had failed.
He saw Saphira lying at the base of the cliff by the cave entrance, head-down, her legs uppermost. Standing over her was Galbatorix, unharmed, holding the broken spear in his hands. The other half was in Saphira.
Eragon had been thrown free by the landing. He lay a short distance away, spreadeagled, his wide-open eyes fixed on the sky. He was alive.
Galbatorix stood where he was, looking down at Saphira. The blue dragon was breathing, but the sound gurgled in her chest. She was dying. Galbatorix watched her, and for a moment his black eyes showed a hint of sorrow. Even compassion. But then his expression hardened and he thrust the broken spear into the blue dragon's body, snuffing out her life.
Nearby on the ground, Eragon screamed and began to writhe in pain, one hand slammed into his chest. 'Saphira!' he howled.
Galbatorix looked around at him, then jumped down from Saphira's body and advanced on the boy, taking his dagger from his belt. But before he reached him, Vervada finally acted. The monstrous dragon landed by Eragon so that he was between her forelegs, and snapped her jagged teeth at Galbatorix, missing him by inches. He slashed at her face with his dagger, leaving a cut across her snout, but she swung her head sideways at him, knocking him down, then flew away, carrying Eragon with her.
Galbatorix jumped upright and ran to the edge of the clearing by the cave, shouting after them; 'Now you know, brat, now you know! Now you know!'
And then it was all over, as suddenly as it had began. Valdyr ignored the triumphant Galbatorix, and went instead to Saphira. The blue dragon was dead. Valdyr touched her still face with his claws, and laid his head over hers. 'Mother,' he whispered, and, in spite of all she had done to him, he cried for her.
