The Shadowed Throne

by Opifex the Singer

Sequel to White to Black. It is the 85th year of King Galbatorix's reign, and the country is peaceful. But the Forsworn are dying and Galbatorix fears he will soon be the last rider left. And all the while, a group of rebels plots his downfall...

10. Parting

Chapter Ten

Parting

Morzan was first to reach Gil'ead. Idün touched down on the dragon roost, and he got off her back and embraced her. Both of them were trembling.

'Godsdamn it, godsdamn it, godsdamn it,' Morzan kept muttering. His mind was radiating anger. 'Gods, Idün, I'm so sorry, I thought I'd…'

'We failed,' Idün whispered. 'We failed them. Morzan, I thought… I thought they were going to kill me. I thought…'

Morzan held onto her. 'It's all right, Idün. It's all right. I'm here. I've got you.'

Idün nuzzled his back, her huge snout bruising him. 'Stay with me for a while, Morzan. I need it.'

'I will. For as long as you need me.'

Idün sighed and raised her head. 'Shruikan is coming.'

She and Morzan stood side-by-side and watched the black dragon approach. He landed heavily, his claws digging huge grooves in the stone. His teeth were bared and his tail lashed violently, the spikes striking chips off the outer wall of the roost as a continual, vibrating growl rumbled in his chest.

Galbatorix slid off his back, his boots thudding on the stone as he landed. He was breathing heavily, and there was a strange look in his eyes that Morzan recognised from long ago – a fixed, slightly glazed look. It was not the look of a man, but of a savage creature ready to attack, and it matched Shruikan's own expression perfectly. Morzan kept a careful distance from him and watched him stand still by Shruikan's foreleg, fists clenched, baring his teeth like a wolf. He looked as if he were going to have some sort of violent outburst.

When the trapdoor leading to the castle opened, he turned around in the blink of an eye, shoulders hunching, one hand reaching for his sword. But it was only Lord Theremin, the temporary governor.

'Sire,' he said, bowing low. 'And my Lord Morzan. I am pleased to see you back.'

Galbatorix stared blankly at him for a few moments, and then blinked and let go of White Violence's hilt. 'Lord Theremin,' he said.

'Welcome back to Gil'ead, Sire. The evening meal is being prepared for you as we speak. Also, an urgent message has arrived from Urû'baen.'

The awareness came back into Galbatorix's face, as if he had just woken up. 'What message is this?'

'It arrived an hour or so after you left, Sire. I have it here.' Lord Theremin held out a scroll of paper.

Galbatorix took it and turned to Morzan. 'Shall we go below and have something to eat?'

Morzan hesitated, and then shook his head. 'Sire… if it's all the same to you, I'd prefer to stay with Idün for a while.'

'I understand. Lord Theremin… have the servants bring our food up here, if you please.'

'At once, Sire.' Theremin left.

Once he had gone, Galbatorix slumped down on the low wall that edged the roost, his head in his hands, and stared expressionlessly at the stonework. Morzan watched him for a few moments, and then resumed checking Idün for any unhealed wounds. 'Those sons of bitches,' he muttered at last, trying not to let his true shock show. 'We were on a mission of peace!'

'I've had diplomatic visits that went better,' Galbatorix mumbled.

'Are you all right, sir?' said Morzan.

Galbatorix looked up. 'Well enough, Morzan. And you?'

'I was scared out of my mind,' Morzan said honestly. 'I really thought they were gonna kill us.'

'No. That wasn't their intention. I don't think that was even real poison on those arrows. Islanzadí wanted to humiliate us. She wanted to…' his expression twisted. 'She wanted to see me beg.'

'She's a fool,' said Morzan. 'What does she think's gonna happen now? Does she reckon we're just going to forget about it?'

'I think she's intelligent enough to guess what our response will probably be,' said Galbatorix. 'But she may be counting on her ability to read me. I think she could well believe that I won't have the courage to declare war on her.'

Morzan shook his head. 'She couldn't possibly. Not after what she did.'

'I'm not so sure,' said Galbatorix. 'When it comes to the elves, the most important thing to remember about them is their arrogance. It dictates everything they do, and so does their cowardice. They didn't do a damn thing to help Vrael until it was completely obvious that we had a real chance of winning, and then when we beat them they went to hide in their little forest and didn't think we'd even consider coming after them. They haven't changed. That's what Arthryn taught me.'

'Arthryn, sir?'

'My grandmother. She told me that the southern elves hate humans because they consider us to be weak and corruptible, and because we're mortal. But the dark elves envied us because we have the ability to change. Elves don't change. They can't. It's completely alien to them. And that means that they expect everyone else to be the same. The idea that time could change us won't even enter their heads.'

'Yeah… you're right, sir. Just as always. We wanted to move on, din't we? But they couldn't understand that.'

'Well, how could they forget? I never forgot what happened to my own people, and I never will. No… elves never put aside old grudges, and they never change their ways. They proved that today. They had the arrogance to do what they did to us and think it would be enough to frighten us away. Well I'll show them that Galbatorix Taranisäii knows how to learn from his mistakes.'

The trapdoor opened, and the two riders watched incuriously as a group of servants emerged onto the dragon roost, carefully balancing several trays of food. Others brought a pair of chairs and a small, low table that only just fitted through the opening. They set up the chairs and table and laid out the food and a flagon of wine in an astonishingly short time, and retreated.

Galbatorix took a seat, and poured some wine for the pair of them. Morzan took his and drank deeply. 'I'm sorry, sir. For what happened. I should have done something, but I just panicked…'

'So did I, Morzan. And I am not going to forget it. Attacking Idün and Shruikan like that, and watching us suffer… it was the ultimate cowardice and cruelty. And Islanzadí knows that. She knows our dragons make us vulnerable, and she attacked us where it would hurt most. She taunted me. She had the gall to…' he broke off and shook his head, containing his fury.

'So what are we going to do, sir?' said Morzan. 'Are we going to attack them?'

'I don't know, Morzan. I'm not sure yet.'

'We should,' said Morzan. 'I'm telling you, sir; as long as they exist they'll keep on making trouble for us. They won't just settle down and negotiate. They've been helping those damned rebels. No doubt about that. I mean… Islanzadí attacked us after you pretty much accused her of it. She must've realised the game was up.'

'Oh yes. There's no doubt about that. I suspected it immediately from the way she reacted to my news about Tuomas' death. She confirmed it by what she did after I accused her.'

'Unless she just thought you wouldn't believe her,' said Morzan. 'It's fair to assume that, I reckon.'

'I think she would have tried harder to convince me she was innocent, if that was the case. No… my questions were hitting too close to home. She lost her nerve. As for what we're going to do… well, we can't do nothing. That would be disastrous. But declaring war would be a big step, and a far riskier one than I'd like. The elves will be expecting it, and even if we did rally the urgals again, there would be no guarantee of victory. We can't afford to be hasty.'

Morzan looked thoughtful. 'What about Islanzadí? I mean… if something were to happen to her, it would put paid to the elves for quite a while, I reckon. They haven't had to choose a new ruler in more than a century. And whoever they chose might not want to help the rebels any more.'

'Hmm. That's a good idea. You could well be right. But whatever we decide will have extremely important consequences, so we must think it over very thoroughly. I will contact Vander, and the three of us will meet here to discuss what strategy to take. Vander is a very good tactician, and he could have some valuable advice.'

'Good idea, sir.' Morzan helped himself to some cheese. 'Oh yeah… what's that message from Urû'baen?'

'Oh! I almost forgot about it…' Galbatorix took the scroll from his pocket and unfurled it. 'It says… this is a bit odd. It says they need me back in Urû'baen as soon as possible, because a delegation from Surda is due to arrive there by the end of the week.'

'Surdans?' said Morzan. 'What could they want?'

'I don't know. Probably just a courtesy visit. Damn! I'm sorry, Morzan – looks like I'm going to have to rush off again. Busy, busy, busy…'

'It's all right, sir. I'll come with you.'

Galbatorix sighed. 'I'm sorry, Morzan, but no. I need you to stay here. Someone has to keep an eye on Du Weldenvarden.'

Morzan mumbled something and swallowed half a cup of wine in one mouthful. 'It ain't fair.'

'Life isn't fair, Morzan. Especially when you're trying to run an Empire. But don't worry, we'll see each other again soon enough. The instant Vander gets to Urû'baen, I'll be back. All right?'

'Right, sir,' said Morzan. He scowled. 'What in the world could those Surdans want that's so damned important?'

Galbatorix did not want to go back to Urû'baen. It wasn't just the thought of being forced to exchange tedious pleasantries with another group of diplomats, or the fact that he would have to abandon Morzan yet again, when they had only just begun to repair their friendship. Somehow, he could not help but feel as if returning to Urû'baen would mean losing his freedom. Adventuring with Morzan –he couldn't help but think of it that way – had been a return to an old life he had long since left behind, and until now he had never fully realised just how much he had missed it.

He said as much to Shruikan, as the pair of them flew away from Gil'ead and Morzan, his small figure slowly diminishing as the distance grew between them, watching them from the top of the dragon roost.

'I wasn't cut out for this kind of life, Shruikan. I feel so bored and listless indoors. Do you know, I think I actually need some danger in my life.'

'You're an idiot,' said Shruikan.

'Probably, but don't you think it makes sense? I only ever really feel alive when I'm at risk of… well, not being alive.'

'Well, thank the sea and the sky there are rebels out there trying to kill you,' Shruikan said sourly. 'You should be grateful to them instead of trying to catch them.'

'Very amusing. But I'll tell you this, Shruikan, and I mean it – if it came to a choice between hunting rebels through the countryside and sitting in Urû'baen with a lot of diplomats, I know what I'd pick every time.'

'And what if it was a choice between that and being hit over the head and thrown in the canal again?'

'Well… all right, in that case I'd go with the diplomats. But I'd have a good long think about it first.'

When Galbatorix arrived back at Urû'baen, he found the city still running smoothly. The people in the streets below watched Shruikan fly overhead, and he heard some of them shout – though whether they were sounds of excitement, fear or hostility he couldn't tell. Once Shruikan had landed and Galbatorix had removed his saddle and the small bag of clothes he'd taken with him, it was time to go into the castle and meet up with Lord Walden. The old man greeted him politely, saying; 'It's excellent to see you back, Sire. We were a little worried about you – there were rumours that something had befallen you in Dras-Leona.'

'Thankyou, Lord Walden. Do you have anything important to tell me?'

'Little enough, Sire. We have conducted an extensive search of the city for any signs of Varden spies, and have made a number of arrests. There are five suspected Varden members in the dungeon for you to deal with when you see fit, Sire.'

'Excellent. And the Surdans?'

'They are within a day of here, Sire. We expect them to arrive by noon tomorrow.'

'Is there any word on why they have chosen to come?'

Lord Walden looked a little embarrassed. 'Unfortunately… I cannot give you a clear answer to that question as I would like to, Sire. There appears to be some confusion over the matter – I have made enquiries, but…'

'Never mind. No doubt they'll tell us when they get here. I'm assuming you've prepared a reception for them?'

'Yes, Sire. The finest bedrooms are being made ready, and the kitchens have been instructed to prepare a feast to welcome them.'

'Good. I will go to my chamber now and rest for a while. Later, I will visit the prisoners.'

'Yes, Sire.'

Galbatorix returned to his bedchamber, carrying his luggage in one hand in spite of the servants trying to relieve him of it. He climbed up the stairs and opened the door with magic, and was oddly relieved to see the room hadn't changed. Everything was just as he'd left it. He locked the door behind him and dumped his bag on the floor, then took White Violence from its sheath and reluctantly put it back into its holder over the desk. He stuffed the sheath back into the cupboard, took off his robe and boots, and slumped gratefully into his hammock.

He dozed for an hour or so, and woke up feeling refreshed. But his mood quickly darkened when he remembered the people in the dungeon. It was time to go and have a look at them and find out if they were actually worth anything. He put on a fresh pair of trousers and selected another robe – a plain woollen one this time, and a new pair of boots. The old pair were cracked and grubby thanks to his adventure in the canal, and he made a mental note to replace them as he gave his hair a quick comb, tucked a dagger into his robe and left the room.

The dungeons were built underground, and like the catacombs had once been part of Ilirea. Galbatorix rarely entered them except to visit prisoners he considered important enough to warrant his personal attention. He would interrogate these himself. Not something he enjoyed, but he knew he had a gift for it. It was one of his less pleasant abilities.

The guards posted down there were quick to let him in, and he strolled along the row of cells, following the one deputed to show him the suspected rebels. The dungeons were well-lit and clean, and the cells themselves sparse but not horrendously uncomfortable. Each prisoner was supplied with blankets and plenty of food, and the more privileged ones could request things like quills and paper, or books. Prisoners rarely stayed there for long, and the dungeons were reserved only for the more important ones. Petty thieves and other common criminals went to the much larger prison out in the city. The dungeons were occupied by political prisoners – those guilty of crimes like sedition, insurrection, treason or terrorism. They would stay locked up until they had been interrogated and publicly trialled – something Galbatorix insisted on presiding over himself – before being executed or released. If these new prisoners proved to be members of the Varden, they would die for it. But not until they had told Galbatorix everything they knew. Whether they wanted to or not.

The guard unlocked the first of the cells. 'This one shouldn't be too much of a problem, Sire.'

Galbatorix conjured up a magical light, and entered. The cell's occupant was a woman. More a girl, really – no more than seventeen years old. She was huddled in the corner, and looked up in mute terror as he entered.

Galbatorix pointed at her. 'Get up,' he commanded.

The girl obeyed. She was pale and trembling.

'Sit,' said Galbatorix, indicating the bench attached to the wall.

She did so, choosing to sit at the end as far away from him as possible. He moved to stand in front of her, out of arm's reach, and silently looked her up and down. The girl was skinny and pale, though whether this was a result of prison rations or not he couldn't tell. She had brown hair and hazel eyes, and was simply clad. No-one in particular. Probably middle-class – the daughter of a tradesman or a craftsman.

'Your name,' said Galbatorix.

'Katran, Sire,' the girl almost whispered.

'Where are you from, Katran?' Galbatorix kept his voice toneless, delivering each question as a flat command.

'The North Quarter, Sire,' said the girl.

That was where most of the city's craftspeople lived. 'I see. Why were you arrested, Katran?'

'I was-,' Katran gulped and shuddered, obviously on the verge of tears. 'The city guard came to search my father's workshop, Sire. I tried to… I told them to leave, and one of them hit me, Sire. I was stupid, I panicked, I tried to hit them back, and they arrested me. Please, Sire, I don't… I never… I…' she started to sob softly.

Galbatorix sighed. 'Calm down, Katran,' he said softly. 'I'm not going to hurt you, I promise. Just tell me what I want to know, and you'll be set free.'

Katran controlled herself, just barely. 'Y-yes, S-sire, I'll d… do what ever you want, Sire.'

'Good. Now tell me; why did you ask the guards to leave?'

'They were breaking things, Sire,' said Katran. 'I was frightened. I swear I didn't mean to…'

'I see. So you had nothing to hide?'

'No, Sire, I swear. We don't know anything about… rebels or anything, we just wanted… I just want to go home, Sire. Please, I want to go home.'

'Are you sure you have nothing to tell me, Katran?' said Galbatorix, moving a little closer. 'Are you completely sure? Just tell me. These rebels are dangerous, Katran. They are murderers. They want to disrupt the peace, and they will kill people to do it. They must be stopped, before they do something to hurt people like yourself and your family. When I catch up with them, they will suffer for their crimes. And anyone who helps me to bring them to justice will be rewarded.'

'Y-yes, Sire, I understand.'

'Good. I will leave you to think about it. Tomorrow I will come back and we will talk again. Until then, think carefully and decide if there is anything you can do to help me.'

'I will, Sire.'

Galbatorix nodded and left the cell. He very much doubted she would say anything different tomorrow, and he hid his irritation with some effort. If the rest of the prisoners turned out to be terrified civilians taken into custody for annoying the city guard, then their captain would very quickly find himself unemployed.

His guide paused before opening the next cell. 'I should probably call someone to help me with this one, Sire.'

'Go ahead.'

The guard nodded and called another man over to join him. They unlocked the door, drew their swords and entered. A brief scuffle ensued, and when Galbatorix entered he found the prisoner sitting on the bench between the two guards, his arms pinned.

This one was not a terrified girl, but a heavily-built bald man wearing a leather jerkin, who strained desperately to break free of the guards when Galbatorix came in, his eyes wide and fixed on his face.

Galbatorix kept a sensible distance from him. 'Your name,' he said.

'Edwin,' the man spat.

'And you are from?'

The man didn't reply.

'He was arrested in the Southern Quarter, Sire,' one of the guards put in. 'He owns a butcher shop there.'

'And why were you arrested, Edwin?' said Galbatorix.

Edwin said nothing. He was baring his teeth, and his wide eyes had a look of both terror and rage in them, as if he both wanted to fight and run away. A dangerous man.

'He attacked the city guard when they tried to search his cellar, Sire,' said the guard holding his right arm. 'He nearly killed one of them.'

'I see. And did you find anything in this cellar, by any chance?'

'Nothing, Sire. But we have our suspicions that it may have been used as a meeting-place for rebels.'

'That's a lie!' Edwin roared. He groaned as one of the guards thumped him in the stomach.

Galbatorix stood over him, looking directly at him with the full force of the stare he knew frightened people. 'Listen to me, Edwin,' he said. 'And listen closely. Stop struggling, or I will have to have you chained. You have no option but to give me the information I want from you. But you are free to choose whether you want to give it to me the easy way, or the hard way. And let me assure you… the hard way is not a way any sane man should wish to go. If you tell me what you know, you will be rewarded for your co-operation. But if I have to extract the knowledge from you, you will suffer the full penalty for any crimes you have committed. Do I make myself clear?'

Edwin had stilled. He seemed to be thinking. 'I ain't done nothin',' he said at last.

'That's for me to decide. You're already in trouble for assaulting the city guard, and obstructing the law is a serious crime. If I were you, I wouldn't want to add anything else to that list. Now tell me – what were you trying to hide?'

'I didn't want them guards poking around my house,' said Edwin. 'They ain't got no right. It's harassment. I won't stand for it.'

'They were doing their duty. And as a citizen of the Empire, your own duty is to help them keep the peace. Who was using that cellar?'

'No-one. Just a friend.'

'His name?'

Edwin sighed. 'Jayse. Jayse… Baenborn. He wanted to use my cellar to store some things in.'

'What things would these be, Edwin?'

'I dunno. I didn't ask. Just stuff.'

'But he used the cellar for other things as well, didn't he?'

Silence.

'Nothing much. Nothing suspicious,' Galbatorix went on. 'Just a little get-together with a few friends. And you weren't going to complain, because he was your friend, and he paid you extra for your discretion. It wasn't anything wrong. Just a favour for a friend.'

'It was, Sire,' said Edwin. 'He only did it once that I know of. When I was away.'

'But you weren't sure, were you, Edwin? You had your suspicions. Especially since you knew about some of Jayse's new friends. The things they'd been saying and doing. Dangerous things. So you were frightened when the guards came. You didn't know what you'd been caught up in, but you didn't like it. So you panicked.'

Edwin stared at him for a few moments, and then sagged gently on the bench. 'Yes. Yes that's it. I didn't…'

Galbatorix resisted the temptation to smirk. 'There, that wasn't so hard, now was it? Can you tell me anything more about this friend of yours, Edwin? Where he lives? Do you know the names of any of his friends?'

'He lives in the Northern Quarter, Sire. He's a carpenter. But I haven't seen him in months, Sire. He vanished right after he used my cellar. Left all his things behind.'

'What do you know about his friends?'

'Nothing, really, Sire. Didn't get any of their names. Except…'

'Yes?'

'I remember him mentioning someone called "Jeod". I think that was it. Just once. Said he was a friend.'

'Is that all?'

'Yes, Sire.'

'Thankyou, Edwin. I will visit you again tomorrow, but if you have nothing more to tell me you will be released.'

'Yes, Sire. Thankyou, Sire.'

Galbatorix left the cell. Well, it wasn't much, but it was a lead. He hoped the remaining prisoners would be more helpful.

They weren't. There were three more prisoners in the dungeons, and of those one had been arrested for refusing to let the guard search his home – because he had been using it to store smuggled goods – the second had attempted to bribe them into leaving him alone, and the third had been taken into custody for making clearly ridiculous claims about setting fire to the castle. Galbatorix interrogated each of them, and they were surly and frightened, but co-operative enough. Once he was satisfied that none of them had any knowledge of or association with the Varden, he gave orders for them to be transferred to the regular prison and dealt with according to their individual crimes; the extortionist and the smuggler would be fined, and the third man would be released with a warning. As for Katran, Galbatorix relented and had her released. The poor girl was terrified, and keeping her locked up when she had obviously done nothing wrong was simply cruel and excessive. As for Edwin, he would stay a while longer, until Galbatorix was certain he had revealed everything he knew. In the meantime, he returned to the castle and ordered the captain of the city guard to put out a warrant for Jayse Baenborn. If they were lucky, he would be caught eventually. As it was, the search had almost certainly scared the Varden cell into laying low or possibly leaving the city altogether. If he kept the populace on high alert, they would find it very hard to resume their activities. Sooner or later, they would slip up. And the moment he had one of them in his custody, it would go very hard with them.

Once he had dealt with all this, Galbatorix paused briefly for a small dinner and then retreated to his room again, where he wrote a letter to Vander commanding him to come to Urû'baen immediately. Once he had sent the messenger bird on its way, he went to bed. He was in no mood for another excursion into the city, and, besides, he had to be alert the next day when the Surdans arrived. As he drifted off to sleep, he wondered yet again what they wanted. He hoped they would have something good to tell him. He wasn't sure how many more disasters he could cope with.