Chapter Eleven

Madness and Love

Galbatorix walked downhill, through a thicket of small birch trees, and found a spot where there was a small pool of still water. It was quiet and secluded, ringed by silver birch trees and chunks of loose stone. He sat down on a boulder overhanging the pool, and stared down at his reflection. He looked older. His face had become thin and lined, and his matted hair was greying. He had recovered from the madness, more or less, but he knew in his heart that he would never be the same again.

Maybe he was cursed. It would explain all the misfortunes in his life. His parents had died the day after he was born, executed for their crime of loving each other. His first love had betrayed him. He had been a rider, but his dragon had died. He had sought justice, but the riders had denied it to him. He had fought to make the world a better place, but only death had resulted. His only reward for all he had done and all he had sacrificed were a hundred years spent living in an isolation few could comprehend, while others plotted his downfall and sought endlessly to bring it about. Only one had stuck by him for all that time, and that was Shruikan. And later Murtagh too. But Shruikan was dead, and Murtagh had betrayed him – just another in the long line of people who had turned on him.

The only time when he had ever been truly happy was when he was with Skade. Five years they had had together, after their long separation. Five all too brief years of happiness. And now she too had been taken away forever, along with his home, his child and all his power. Even his sword, White Violence, had been lost.

So much lost. It was a cruel world that had kept him alive after all this, and had seen him here, mourning for Skade while the Empire he had built collapsed around him. And he had no will to fight. Time had finally caught up with him. If Eragon wanted the Empire so badly, then perhaps he may as well have it.

It was no wonder, really, that the boy hated him so much. How could he not? Brom and the Varden must have filled his head with horror stories about all the things that he, Galbatorix, had done. And there were so many things he had done that were crimes in the eyes of others. Destroying the riders, consorting with Shades, giving land to the hated urgals. Even making Skade his consort was probably considered unnatural by some, given than she had once been a dragon.

No, Galbatorix understood Eragon's hatred toward him. And though he couldn't forgive him for what he'd done, he simply had no interest in fighting against him any more. What was the point? It wouldn't bring back Skade, and nor would it bring back Shruikan or Vidar, or the child.

Galbatorix shuddered, fighting back tears. He had lost everything. Everything. So far he'd kept himself from truly confronting it, but now he was alone and there were no distractions he couldn't avoid it. Here there was only himself and his reflection, and the knowledge that Skade was gone forever.

With a violent motion, he took his dagger from his robe and pulled back his sleeve, resting the blade against the inside of his wrist. He pressed hard, drawing blood, his breathing ragged. All he had to do was drag the blade over his wrists and open the veins and it would all be over. A few minutes of pain, and then death.

He pulled the dagger up an inch, gritting his teeth, and then stopped. He wanted to die.

But he couldn't do it. In spite of everything he just couldn't bring himself to complete the cut. He let out a brief shout of frustration and slammed the dagger into the dirt beside the rock, where it stuck. Dabbing tenderly at his injured wrist, he glanced at the pool below him. His own face stared back through sunken eyes, and he snatched up a loose stone and hurled it into the water, shattering the image.

The pool and its reflection rippled crazily, and Galbatorix sat back and cried, burying his face in his hands so that his tears mingled with the blood on his wrist, his thin form shaking with sobs. They were the first tears he had really shed since coming out of his madness, and they lasted for a long time.

Much later, when he had calmed down a little, he sighed and looked into the pool once more. It had calmed by now, and the ragged, wild-eyed madman stared at him from its surface again. Without thinking, he held his hand out over the water and said; 'Draumr kópa.'

Immediately the water went dark, and his reflection vanished. He watched it, wondering who he should scry. For some reason the first person he thought of was Eragon. Where was the brat now? He concentrated on him, and an image appeared in the pool. It showed him Eragon, tossing and turning in a bed somewhere, his face contorted with agony. He could hear him shouting something, and realised it was Saphira, over and over again.

Galbatorix sighed. In spite of himself he felt sorry for the boy. He made him think of another boy, black-haired, who hurled himself at a stone wall again and again, screaming a different name, punching the solid stone and laughing when his fingers broke.

Galbatorix's fingers twinged, and he banished the image. But there was more he wanted to scry. He wanted to know what was going on in Alagaësia.

His mind turned toward the three men who had accompanied him to Dras-Leona. Carnoc, Ulfrid and Leonol. They had all been so loyal, and protected him. He had been extraordinarily lucky that he had been recognised by people who weren't his enemies. If they had been Varden sympathisers, they would have undoubtedly killed him or, worse, handed him over to Eragon. But instead he had been found by three men – brave and honest in spite of their simple background – who had given up their old lives in order to serve him. And he had repaid them poorly, running away and abandoning them to… to whatever fate had befallen them since then.

The least he could do was find out what that was, and so he concentrated on them, willing the pool to show him where they were.

Sure enough, the black surface of the water formed a new image. It showed him all three men – by good fortune they were in the same place. Which was sitting at a table, with a number of other figures, these all shadowed and anonymous. It was only possible to scry someone you had seen before. Galbatorix listened closely, and heard Carnoc's voice.

Listen to me, it said. We can't. I don't care what you say, we just can't. We're going to keep on holding out here, for as long as it takes.

The voice paused for a time as one of the shadowed figures spoke, but his or her words were inaudible to Galbatorix.

No, Carnoc replied. He's alive, and he's coming back. I saw him with my own eyes. We must stay loyal to him.

Carnoc's right, said Ulfrid's voice. The King is alive. You all saw him. He attacked the Brat's army for us, gave us a chance. And the ghost dragon saved him from them for a reason. He'll only come back if people keep faith in him.

Another pause, and then Carnoc spoke again. It's true, he said. I tell you, it's true. And even if it's not true, we must keep faith in something. The Brat can't be trusted. He's the madman here, not King Galbatorix.

There was another silence.

The brat had no right to do what he did, said a third voice. This one was Leonol's. Who kept Alagaësia safe and stable for a hundred years? Not him, that's for damn sure. D'you really want some beardless boy ruling us? One who led the Varden so poorly that they were wiped out and the leaders sent to the mines? I sure as hell don't.

We fight on, said Carnoc's voice. Until the King returns. And when he does return, he'll lead us to victory. As for me, I'd rather die than give in, and it should be the same for the rest of you damn cowards.

Galbatorix let the image fade. He could hardly believe what he'd just seen and heard, but see and hear it he had. They were waiting for him. In Dras-Leona. His three companions. They were all there, holding out, refusing to surrender, waiting for him to come back and lead them, believing in him. They had remained loyal. Lifrasir had been right – he was needed. And if he backed out now, it would mean leaving them all to die. Eragon wouldn't spare them.

Galbatorix stared at the blank, black water, stuck in indecision. Perhaps there was more he should see. He concentrated on Murtagh. The pool showed him an image of him, sitting somewhere with Thorn beside him. They were talking, and he heard Thorn say; We should get out of here. Run away.

We could join the rebels, Murtagh's voice said.

We aren't tools to be passed from hand to hand, said Thorn. We can't spend the rest of our lives endlessly changing sides. I say we leave. I've had enough of working for other people all the time. Why not make our own decisions, Murtagh?

Quiet, said Murtagh. Someone could be listening

'And someone is,' Galbatorix muttered. 'I'm sorry I doubted you, Murtagh.' He watched the two of them as they spoke on, presumably using their mental link now, his face suffused with rage. 'Dammit, boy, I released you from your oath because I trusted you,' he said, as if Murtagh could hear him. 'And this is how you repay me? And now you're thinking of betraying the Brat as well. Not that I'd blame you for that.'

He banished the image. But his anger brought new strength to him. He knew why he had scryed all those different people. It wasn't just curiosity about them and what they were doing. It was because he was avoiding thinking about the one person he truly wanted to scry. Skade. Lifrasir had said she might still be alive, but he had ignored the possibility, and he had avoided scrying her because, if he did, it would wipe away all uncertainty. If he scryed her and saw nothing but the void of death, it would confirm that she was, indeed dead. And he wasn't sure if he could withstand a blow like that.

But he couldn't just leave it forever. He had to know sooner or later. And as his anger toward Murtagh brought him strength, he decided not to leave it any longer. He fixed his gaze on the blank pool, and concentrated on her. Skade. Skade Silverscales, daughter of the Night Dragon. Show her to me.

For a time their was nothing, but he concentrated harder. And then a point of light appeared in the water. It widened, and his heart leapt as the pool showed him an image. It was of Skade. The silver-haired elf was sitting somewhere, surrounded by the darkness of a place he didn't know. She was holding a bundle in her arms, and her hair was wet from the rain that was falling. But she didn't seem to notice it. She was sobbing inconsolably, all hunched and wan in the rain with her long, tangled hair falling around her face. But she was alive. Skade was alive. Galbatorix stared at her, drinking in the sight of her, and he felt his heart soaring, bringing back the youth and strength that he had lost.

'Skade,' he said, reaching toward her, wide-eyed.

But of course he couldn't reach her. She was miles away. But she was alive.

As he watched, someone came to Skade's side. It was a dragon, a silver dragon.

'Skirnir!' he exclaimed.

Skirnir laid his head by Skade, and she stirred and put a hand on his forehead.

I still can't believe I've lost him forever, her voice said, echoing over the water.

Be strong, Mother, Skirnir's voice replied. For him. And for my brother.

The bundle in Skade's arms moved slightly.

'My son,' Galbatorix murmured, smiling.

He watched the three of them for a long time, yearning to be beside them. He wanted nothing more at that moment than to be with Skade, to tell her that he was alive and to bring an end to her tears.

At long last he let the image fade away. He had made his decision. He stood up and left the clearing, pulling his dagger out of the ground and tucking it back inside his robe.

Eragon's return to the remains of Urû'baen, carried on Vervada's back, was not a happy one. Vervada landed at the top of one of the towers, where Murtagh and another rider, who had seen her coming, were waiting. The warped dragon landed, and Eragon toppled off her back, landing in a heap on the stones, and Murtagh and the other rider carried him indoors as fast as they could.

His injuries were easy enough to heal with magic, but his mind was a different story. He was deranged, utterly broken, unable to say anything but Saphira's name. Murtagh and his fellow rider were able to reach into his mind and calm him down somewhat, and Murtagh asked him what had happened.

'Saphira,' Eragon whispered, his eyes bulging like a rabbit's. 'She's dead. Saphira's dead. I felt her die. Oh gods, I felt her die. Saphira…' he shuddered once, all over, and tears trickled down his face.

Murtagh took charge. 'Stay with him, Mnenth,' he told the other rider, and hurried out of the room.

Eragon lay on the bed that had once been Galbatorix's, limp as a corpse, his chest moving up and down like a bellows with his frantic breaths. His hair clung to his forehead, dark with sweat. 'Saphira,' he whispered. 'Saphira…'

Mnenth, an elf, stayed by him and kept mind-contact with him, doing all he could to keep his master calm.

Eragon could feel the other rider's presence in his mind. Just. Vervada's mind had finally left his, and without her there there was just him and his agony. He saw nothing of the room. He saw only Saphira.

Murtagh returned. He had two other people with him. One was a gaunt, bearded man with the same eyes as Eragon. The other was a woman, dark-skinned and beautiful. They went straight to Eragon's side.

'Eragon!' the woman cried, taking his hand. 'Eragon, it's me. It's Nasuada. Can you hear me?'

'Silver eyes,' Eragon whispered. 'Silver eyes, black eyes. Staring at me. I can't… help me!' he screamed and began to convulse.

Mnenth held him down by force, helped by Murtagh, and the bearded man grasped Eragon's hand as well, his big fist engulfing both his and Nasuada's.

'Calm down,' he said. 'It's Roran, Eragon. I'm here. We're both here for you.'

At the sound of his voice, Eragon relaxed a little. He became still again, breathing rapidly.

'I'll leave you,' said Murtagh. 'Roran, Nasuada, stay with him. Whatever you do, don't leave him. He needs you to be there. If you leave him alone, even for a few hours, he might never recover.'

'What good can we do?' Roran asked, not taking his hand away.

'You love him,' Murtagh said simply. 'He needs love. Without it, he could turn violent, lose control of his magic. Time might heal him, but only with your help.'

'How do you know that?' said Nasuada.

Murtagh smiled wanly. 'Galbatorix… told me,' he said.

For the next few weeks, Eragon stayed trapped in his madness. He raved and screamed, his eyes burning with fever, sometimes trying to escape just as Galbatorix had done, shouting that Saphira was lost and that he had do go to her, save her.

When he was calm he cried most of the time, his ashen face now robbed of its good looks. Nasuada and Roran stayed loyally by him all the while, just as they had promised they would, and they cared for him as best they could, feeding him and keeping him clean, and talking to him. Giving him their love.

Until at last there came a day when Eragon slept, and woke up to see a face looking down at him. It was Nasuada's. She had aged since he last saw her, but she was just as he remembered.

'Nasuada,' he rasped.

'Eragon?' said Nasuada, touching his forehead. 'Can you see me?'

'Yes,' said Eragon, reaching up and taking her hand. 'I see… you. How did you get here?'

'Murtagh brought us back from the mines,' said Nasuada. 'It's been so long, Eragon. How do you feel?'

Eragon closed his eyes. 'I'm glad you're here, Nasuada,' he murmured.

'Roran is here too,' said Nasuada.

'Was it hard, in the mines?' Eragon asked, keeping his eyes closed.

'Yes,' said Nasuada. 'They flogged us when we tried to escape. The work was hard. But we survived. We knew you would set us free one day, Eragon.'

'I did,' said Eragon, opening his eyes. 'I did, didn't I? I set everyone free, didn't I? Just like I swore I would. I kept… my oath. I did my best, Nasuada.'

'I know you did,' said Nasuada, holding his hand. 'You always did your best, Eragon. And we thank you for it. I thank you for it. A hundred times, Shadeslayer. A hundred times.'

Eragon smiled faintly. 'I'm glad you're here, Nasuada,' he said.

'Let me help you up,' said Nasuada. She put her arms around his torso and lifted him. He weighed surprisingly little. He clung to her weakly, feeling her warmth, and the two of them were caught up in an awkward embrace.

'Don't let go, Nasuada,' said Eragon.

'I won't,' she promised.

'Nasuada,' Eragon said again, looking into her eyes.

'Yes?'

But that was all he said. He held onto her, feeling her heart beating against his. He had been lost, but now he knew where he was. He was with her. Nasuada.

And then, suddenly, he was kissing her. His lips found hers, just for a brief moment, and he felt her start. But her hesitation only lasted a moment. She kissed him back. And for a time there was only them, together. And as Eragon had said her name, Nasuada embraced him, kissing him again, and murmured; 'Eragon.'

Valdyr and Lifrasir were both dozing by the time Galbatorix came back. But they were still edgy, and woke up with a start when they heard him coming.

'Oh, it's you,' said Lifrasir, seeing his familiar shape limping toward them.

'Yes, it's just me,' Galbatorix answered cheerfully. Without waiting for them to prompt him, he said; 'She's alive. You two, she's alive! Skade's alive! I saw her! Her and Skirnir are alive, and the child too.'

'You scryed them?' said Valdyr, starting upright with a delighted expression.

'Yes,' said Galbatorix. 'I don't know where they are, but they're alive, and that's good enough for me.'

'I know where they are,' said Lifrasir. 'They're in the Night Dragon's country. They're with Ravana. That was where Skirnir was planning to take her, and if they got away from the Brat that's where they'll have gone. And Ravana will never let anything happen to her.'

'Well, then, we must go to her!' said Valdyr, already spreading his wings.

'No,' said Galbatorix.

'What?' said Valdyr. 'What d'you mean? You can't possibly not want to-,'

'I want to,' said Galbatorix. 'More than anything else in the world. But I can't. Skade's safe, I know that now, and I can go to her eventually. But not now.'

'Why not?' said Lifrasir.

'Well, there's still work for me to do here, isn't there?' said Galbatorix. 'There's a war to fight, and I'm damned if I'm going to let the Brat win it. After all the work I put into keeping the Empire strong? Forget it.'

At that, Valdyr threw his head back and roared. He spat a great sheet of silver fire into the air, and both Galbatorix and Lifrasir cringed. Then the black dragon started to laugh. Bouncing on his claws like a youngster, he practically danced over to Galbatorix, and began to run around him, laughing, holding his wings up like banners. 'I knew it!' he cried. 'I knew it! I knew you wouldn't give up on us!'

'Of course not!' said Galbatorix, laughing as well. 'There's life in this old man yet. And I know what we should do.'

'You do?' said Lifrasir.

'Oh yes!' said Galbatorix, watching Valdyr's antics and resisting the urge to dance along with him. 'Haven't you heard, Lifrasir? I always know what to do.'

Over the next few weeks after coming out of his madness, Eragon's recovery was steady. Physically he was more or less fine, although the sword-cuts which Rangda had inflicted on him had been left too long before they were healed with magic and left scars behind. Eragon, who had always had a streak of vanity, wasn't at all happy about them, but accepted that they couldn't be removed. Sane he might be, more or less, but he was utterly miserable and often sank into a semi-comatose state where he would curl up, staring blankly at nothing, and rock gently back and forth, his shoulders trembling all the while. When he was like this only Nasuada could get through to him, and he was pathetically grateful for her presence, becoming agitated if she left his side for a moment. Although no-one in Urû'baen at the time could have known about it, the situation was eerily similar to one that had taken place a century earlier… when a silver elf and a young human, both lost and persecuted, had found comfort in each other and so formed a bond that would last for the rest of their lives. So it was for Eragon and Nasuada now. Having lost Saphira, Eragon turned to Nasuada for love and stability and she, who had secretly admired him for a long time, was more than happy to give it. Whether their loving bond would last was impossible to tell at this point, but none doubted that it was Nasuada who saved Eragon from falling back into his madness forever, or from killing himself. She brought him back from the edge, and it was to her that Eragon told the tale of what had happened to him.

'It was him,' he said. 'Galbatorix. He killed… he killed Saphira. It hurt so much… the tearing in my chest, it…' he paused, and shuddered, and Nasuada held his hand until he recovered. 'Then he tried to kill me,' he resumed. 'While I was helpless. He hit me, cut me with a sword, wanted to torture me before he killed me. Vervada, she saved me. Saved me from him. I remember him yelling. While she carried me away. Shouting after me. He said…' Eragon closed his eyes. 'He said "now you know, brat. Now you know…" Oh, gods, I can still hear him shouting it. He wanted me to know what it's like, and he killed Saphira, now I know…' his voice broke, and he started to cry.

Nasuada held him. 'We'll kill him,' she said. 'We'll make him pay, Eragon. I swear it. He'll pay for what he did to you.'

'He wanted to teach me,' Eragon sobbed. 'Show me what it's like. What it was like for him. He was so thin, Nasuada. And his leg was all scarred, his clothes were torn… what did I do to him? I took everything away from him. And it still wasn't enough. Oh, Saphira, what have I done?'

'Don't give up, Eragon,' said Nasuada. 'He must die. We'll see him dead, Eragon. You and I, we'll see him die for what he did. And then Alagaësia will be safe and our work will be done. You'll see.'

'Yes,' Eragon murmured, relaxing. 'We'll do it, Nasuada. You and I. Together.'

He was silent for a time, and then he added; 'I love you, Nasuada. I have for a long time. I just never… realised it until I woke up and saw you.'

'I love you too,' said Nasuada. 'I wanted to… I would have said something, but you were so obsessed with Arya that…'

'I was fooling myself,' said Eragon. 'I never loved her. I only thought I did. And that's… that's over now, isn't it?'

'Many things are,' said Nasuada. 'Including Galbatorix's reign of terror. And you made it happen, Eragon. Never forget that. It was you who ended it.'

Eragon smiled weakly. 'I did, didn't I?' he said. 'I… I just never knew it would be so hard.'

'Neither did I,' said Nasuada. 'But we're older now, and wiser.'

'We are,' said Eragon.

Later, when Eragon felt strong enough, Nasuada helped him out of his room and up onto the tower where Vervada had spent her time since bringing him back. The warped dragon was crouched on the tower-top, unblinking as always, looking not so much as if she were resting as… waiting.

'She never sleeps,' Eragon told Nasuada. 'Or I've never seen her sleep.' He walked unsteadily toward Vervada, and touched her on the head. Nasuada hung back nervously, but he gestured to her to come closer and she reluctantly did so.

'Don't be afraid of her,' said Eragon. 'She won't hurt you. She's as gentle as her mother was. Aren't you, Vervada?'

Vervada shifted slightly and let out a low hiss. Nasuada patted her on the forehead. 'She's grown a lot, hasn't she?'

'She certainly has,' said Eragon. 'She never speaks, but she's one of my most loyal friends. She saved my life. And you've been waiting here for me all this time, haven't you?' he added.

Vervada turned her head and looked directly at him and Nasuada. Nasuada flinched when she saw those black pits staring at her. Vervada watched them both a moment longer, and then thrust her snout toward Eragon, holding it up level with his chest. Without thinking, he touched her, resting his right hand – the one with the silver gedwëy ignaesia on the palm – to her snout. The instant they made contact, he cried out and fell backward, clutching at his hand as if it were on fire.

'Eragon!' Nasuada cried, immediately helping him up.

Eragon stood, staring at his hand. 'That…' he said. 'That felt like…' He glanced up, and his mouth fell open. 'My gods…'

Nasuada turned, and astonishment grabbed her by the throat.

It was Vervada. The warped dragon had spread her wings and was shaking her head vigorously. Then she became still, and did something that she had never done before. She blinked. And when her eyes opened, they were… eyes. Two bright, sky-blue eyes, just like her mother's. The black veins on her wings and body faded away, leaving bright silver scales and pale blue wing membranes behind. From the twisted monster she had been, she became… beautiful. Her spiralled horns straightened, her jagged teeth became white and neat, her ragged wings smoothed, and her hunched back took on the elegant arched shape that had been Saphira's.

The transformation was over in a minute or so, and when it was done Vervada stretched her new wings wide and flicked her tail, then reached out to touch Eragon. He put his hand on her snout once more. 'Vervada…'

Then Vervada said; 'Eragon.'

'Vervada!' said Eragon. 'You… you spoke!'

'So I did,' said Vervada, bowing her head.

'But how?' said Eragon. 'What just happened? My hand, it-,'

'I have chosen you,' said Vervada. Her voice was light and musical, just like Saphira's had been. 'You are now my rider, Eragon. I shall carry you just as my mother did. And I thank you, from the very depths of my soul. You have healed me, Eragon. Your purity has cured my curse. I am whole now. Both of us are whole.'

Eragon's eyes were full of wonder. 'Vervada,' he said. 'Oh, Vervada. Thankyou. A hundred times, thankyou.'

'There shall be no more pain now,' said Vervada. 'That time has ended. You are the rightful King here now, and lord of the new generation of riders. I shall stay by your side as I always have done, and together we will bring peace and justice to Alagaësia.'

'Yes,' said Eragon. 'Yes, we shall.' He put his arms around Vervada's neck and hugged her, and she growled softly.

'We shall find him together, Shadeslayer,' she said. 'And we shall kill him together, and my mother shall be avenged.'