Chapter Twenty-One

The End of All Hope

When Galbatorix woke up the next morning, he knew straight away that something had happened.

He pulled on his boots and crawled out of his shelter. A new layer of snow had fallen during the night, and he had to dig his way through a small snowdrift to get into the open air. The entire forest had turned pure white, and the sky overhead was grey. And the air was full of a terrible wailing and moaning.

Galbatorix looked around, wondering nervously what was going on. 'Laela? Where are you?'

No reply. But a few moments later the white dragon appeared, walking toward his shelter, her head low. She nudged him affectionately, but he could feel her unhappiness.

'Laela, what's going on?'

Laela cast a sorrowful glance at him. 'Hyrenna is dead.'

'Oh no. How?'

'Died in her sleep,' said Laela. 'The cold weather was too much for her. The dark elves are mourning for her – now she's dead, her whole race is gone forever.'

Galbatorix sighed unhappily. 'We should probably go and see Saethryn.'

'Yes, we should,' said Laela. 'Today is a day of mourning; there'll be funeral rites said over Hyrenna's body and some rituals and things.'

Galbatorix nodded and retreated back into his shelter. There he put on the thickest and warmest of the robes he'd been given, along with a pair of dark elvish boots, binding his calves with strips of deer-hide. He strapped White Violence to his back in its sheath, pulled on the fingerless leather gloves he'd worn in Dras-Leona, and returned to Laela's side. The white dragon wordlessly showed him the way to the spot where Hyrenna's body lay, curled up at the base of a tree. The old dragon was still and cold, nearly frozen. Icicles hung from her still-folded wings, and she was half-buried in snow, her old face locked into the last expression it had worn – one of deep sorrow and weariness, rather than peace.

Dark elves had gathered around it, their heads bowed, murmuring strange chants and prayers in their own language, which Galbatorix had only a rudimentary understanding of. Saethryn was there, with Arthryn by her side, and he went to join them. They moved aside silently so that he could stand between them, which he did, saying nothing. Laela went to Hyrenna's body and touched the lifeless face with her paws, her head bowed. Then she lifted her head and bellowed.

It was neither a roar nor a wail, but a deep, booming howl that rose into the sky, like the voice of a giant wolf. It was a sound that Galbatorix had never before heard a dragon make, and it sent a powerful rush of feeling down his spine, like a shiver but a thousand times stronger. The dark elves joined their voices with Laela's, and the sound filled the valley and echoed into the sky. If grief had a voice, this was it.

Afterwards the funeral rites began. No-one said a word. The dark elves, never talkative, had lapsed into an impenetrable silence. They barely looked at each other. Galbatorix had more than enough sense not to try and disturb it, and did not even talk to Laela. Instead he stayed by her side and witnessed the rites – signs were drawn in the snow and strange objects, made from twigs bound together with leather thongs, were placed around the body. The dark elves sang; high, keening, wordless songs that were full of unutterable grief and bitterness. Grief not just for Hyrenna and her dead race, but for a hundred races dead and gone. Afterwards the dark elves joined together and melded their magic together, casting a spell which engulfed Hyrenna's body in black flame. It burnt high into the air, dark and shimmering, and Galbatorix thought he could see visions in it – visions of a great grassland, rippling and sighing in the wind, while small brown dragons soared overhead, watching their youngsters gambolling among the tussocks, chirping and tussling with each other. A thousand suns rose and fell, a mighty brown river flowed silently and powerfully over the land while the warm winds blew and brought the mingled scents of grass-seeds and rich earth and the breath of wild horses. A way of life, gone forever.

The fire rose higher and the visions disappeared. When it died down, all that remained of Hyrenna's body was a heap of black ashes. The dark elves gathered it up, packing it into a dozen earthenware jars which were distributed among the mourners. Galbatorix was given one, and held onto it uncertainly. The dark elves formed into a line and walked away from the clearing in a silent procession, Arthryn at their head. Galbatorix followed.

The line of elves followed the stream to the sacred pool, and there they cast the ashes into the water. As Galbatorix emptied his own urn, the wind caught the ashes and carried them up into the sky, swirling and spiralling like a flock of birds. He watched it and imagined that he could see Hyrenna's spirit taking flight for the last time, away into the land of the dead.

When the last of the ashes had been poured into the pool, turning its surface pitch black, Arthryn took her staff in both hands and intoned; 'May the gods receive the soul of Hyrenna Suneyes of the Plains, last of her race. May she look down from the stars and may her wisdom embrace us. This we ask in the names of the lost gods, by the sacred light of the moon. From this day forth we shall speak of her only in friendship, and let her misdeeds and mistakes be forgotten. Now let us speak her name.'

The dark elves bowed their heads and said, simply, 'Hyrenna.'

Galbatorix murmured the name along with them, his heart heavy, and joined the dark elves as they walked back the way they had come, away from the darkened waters of the pool. At the edge of the thicket that surrounded it he rejoined Laela, and the pair of them went with the tribe to Saethryn's fire. As soon as they were there, it was as if a spell had been broken. The reverent silence that had accompanied the rituals for Hyrenna disappeared, and the dark elves began to speak once more. They talked about the old dragon, telling stories about her as they cast the spell to make the fire grow and then set about preparing a feast. Galbatorix let himself be swept along in the activity, and afterwards he joined them as they sat around the fire and ate. There was a certain good cheer now overlaying the general solemnity, as if, having said goodbye to Hyrenna, they were now able to celebrate her life.

Galbatorix and Laela sat with Saethryn and Arthryn and ate roasted deer, and the feast went on through the afternoon and into the night. Then, as the moon rose, Saethryn called for silence.

'Let the telling of tales begin,' she said.

There was stillness for a few moments, and then Arthryn looked at Galbatorix and said; 'Perhaps you should be first, Sire. It is traditional that we each tell a story for the others to hear. It may be anything, but it must be true.'

Galbatorix hesitated, then nodded. 'All right. I've got one.'

He stood up so that everyone could hear him, and began. He told the story of his fight with the Ra'zac, and to his surprise he found himself enjoying it. After a while, seeing that his audience was looking engaged, he started to wave his hands about to emphasise certain points, and then, when he described the fight, he drew White Violence and made some mock swings with it, pretending to fight a Ra'zac who wasn't there. The dark elves liked this, and one or two of them went as far as to shout encouragement. He grinned, but restrained himself and sheathed the sword before going on to recount his conversation with the defeated creature, and how he had been moved to spare its life.

The dark elves murmured together when they heard this part, and he saw them nodding approvingly. He finished the story by describing how he had found the diamond, and when he had finished and sat down he glanced at Arthryn and saw her smile on him like a proud grandmother – which, after all, was what she was.

'A fine tale, Sire,' she said. Seeing him wince, she smiled and added, 'I meant to say, a fine tale, Galbatorix.'

Several people laughed, and then it was Laela's turn to speak. The white dragon looked embarrassed and tried to back out of it. 'I don't have anything to tell,' she said lamely.

'Come on, Laela, don't be shy,' said Galbatorix. 'I'm sure you can think of something.'

She glanced at him, and seemed to become a little more confident. 'All right then,' she said.

She glanced around at the listeners, and began. 'Once,' she said. 'Once, in the city of Ellesméra, there was a dragon's egg kept in a box with a dozen others. The hatchling inside the egg had been there for nearly twenty years, reaching out with her mind all the while in search of a second mind that appealed to her. But none of the minds she touched were right for her. Still she waited, dreaming inside her egg, always searching. And then one day she sensed new minds near her. One by one they came close enough for her to touch, and one by one she rejected them. And then at last a mind came within her reach that was different. This mind was dark and strong, very strong. So strong that it would have frightened many, but it made the dragon feel safe. She touched that mind, feeling it, tasting it, and the more she felt that mind the more she liked it. It was as if she had found something she had lost after missing it for years, and it made her happy. So she hatched, and found the owner of the mind she had touched, and bonded herself to him. That one was a human boy, with hair as black as night and a pair of eyes that glittered like dark diamonds. So strange compared to the others, so different from them all. He did not belong where he was, or with the people around him. He was so alone. And there was a darkness about him, as if he were a shadow come to life, a darkness that made others uneasy. But every moment she was with him the dragon felt safe and happy, and complete. And the more she came to know him, the more she understood him, the more she loved him. She found what lay inside him, and knew that it was something more precious than any treasure in the world – something only a few people would ever see, and even fewer understand. From that day forth the boy and the dragon were one heart, one soul, one mind. Their lives were one. Always. And the dragon vowed that she would stay by him always, fly with him, fight by his side, share everything that life gave her, and, if need be, die for him. Because, come what may, she would stay by him.' Laela's voice had remained low and steady until this point, but now it became louder and more passionate, and she looked directly at Arthryn and said; 'Even beyond death itself.'

The white dragon and the seer exchanged some inscrutable looks, and then Laela returned to her spot and sat down, looking inexplicably exhausted. Galbatorix said nothing, but hugged her tightly, his face pressed into her scales. Laela growled softly and touched his back with her snout. The dark elves looked on without comment. They were not as unemotional as they had appeared at first, and treated displays of strong feeling with a silence that signified respect rather than contempt.

Next it was Arthryn's turn to tell a story. The old seer came forward, saying; 'I will tell the tale of the first prophecy I ever made. It was long ago, when I was a child. I had fallen from a rock and hurt my head, and after I had run home in tears my father comforted me and put a healing lotion on my forehead. I fell asleep in his arms, and dreamed a long and fantastic dream, unlike any I had dreamed before or have dreamed since. In this dream I saw the birth of the riders. I saw them rise to power, their enemies laid low, their might unchallenged and unsurpassed. And then I saw them fall from grace, their cities thrown down and destroyed, their people scattered by war and catastrophe. Then, from the darkness, three dragons rose. One was blue, one red, one black, and I knew that it was these three dragons who would create a new age for Alagaësia. Which dragon triumphed would determine what this new age would be. The blue dragon looked to the past, the red one to the present, the black one to the future. After this new age begins, there will be great change, many things will end, others will begin. A man will come to Alagaësia from over the sea who has no true home nor shape – born of dark king, born of dragon queen. The old races will fade and humans will rise. Their time is coming soon.'

Silence followed Arthryn's story; uneasy silence. No-one spoke.

'If I may tell the next story?' a voice intruded.

It was Faegareth. The shape-shifter had slid in among them unnoticed, and now sat with his dark elvish lover, his golden eyes glowing in the firelight.

'Of course you may, Thousand-Faces,' Saethryn said graciously.

Faegareth stood up. 'I will tell you the story of the black dragon,' he said.

There was a murmur of interest at this. Evidently the story was a popular one.

Faegareth paused, sighed, and began. 'A thousand years ago, before the riders had come into being, when the Southern elves and the dragons were at war, that is when the black dragon was born. I was living in the Spine at the time; I had no wish to be caught up in the middle of the war, and was disenchanted with humans at the time so I spent most of my time as either a dragon or a wolf. But from time to time I would visit the dark elvish settlement, to hear the news and spend some time with people I respected. At the time they were ruled by Saethryn's grandfather, Odynn Traeganni. From them I heard a rumour that something strange had happened, deep in the Spine, where the wild dragons had their territory. Hayagriva, one of the royal dragons – a six-horned dragon is called a royal dragon, you see, and is regarded as something of an elder – Hayagriva had been found dead in his territory, along with his mate, Surya. The cause of death was clear, but strange. Surya had been killed by another dragon; her chest was torn apart and there were talon marks on her. Hayagriva had also been injured by another dragon, but he had been killed by lightning. There had been a storm the night before, but no-one knew what had happened. Hayagriva was too respected by his fellow dragons to be attacked by one of them, and none of them would have dared to assault Surya while he was there. It was a mystery, and one that was creating a lot of anger and suspicion among the wild dragons. I was curious to know more, so I changed into wolf form and travelled to Hayagriva's territory. I saw his body myself, and Surya's as well, but by then there was no scent left to follow. A mystery. I puzzled over it for days. Rumour said it was a conspiracy, that some wild dragon had turned traitor and begun working for the elves. I went among the wild dragons in my dragon-shape, and talked to them, and it was from one of them that I learned something that had not been mentioned before. Surya had been about to lay eggs when she died. For some reason, when I heard that, a shiver went down my spine. My instincts told me there was more to it than there seemed. I returned to Hayagriva's territory and explored the cave that he and Surya had lived in. Nothing. No sign of an egg. But Surya's body had rotted, and the remains of her eggs should still have been inside her. There was nothing there. She had laid her eggs. But where were they? Had someone taken them? I began to explore the land around Hayagriva's territory, looking for places that someone could have entered by, or for any trace of eggs. It smelt wrong. No dragon would ever steal another dragon's egg. I suspected it was the work of elves. But I did not find any trace of them there. I came to a river, and I followed it, looking for prey. And that was when I found him.'

Faegareth paused, looking around at the expectant faces. The firelight flickered over his own face, and he resumed.

'The black dragon,' he said. 'I saw him. I was in wolf form, and I came across him at night. I had caught his scent and followed it out of curiosity; it was the wrong land for a dragon to have territory on. And the black dragon was there. A hatchling, only a few weeks old at most, still smaller than me. He was curled up there in the valley by the river, and I almost didn't see him at all. Black from nose to tail, unlike any dragon I had ever seen. Black claws, black wings… only his horns were white, and his eyes were gold. He saw me, and I saw him, and just for a few seconds we looked into each other's eyes. Then I left him without saying anything. I walked away out of that valley without a backward glance, and never returned, and to this day I still don't know why I did that. But I never forgot what I had seen. The black dragon had come. I did not tell anyone about it, but inside I knew. Surya had laid her egg. Only one egg. She had laid the black egg, and that was why she was dead, and her mate as well. The black dragon's storm had struck him down.'

Faegareth paused again here, and Galbatorix said; 'What do you mean by "his" storm, Faegareth? How can someone own a storm?'

The shapeshifter glanced briefly at him. 'The magic of the black dragon is not like the magic that you or I can use. No-one fully understands it – not me, not the elves, not the dragons. But the black dragon is more than just an ordinary dragon. From the day he was laid, there was a power that watched over him – the storm was that power. It is said that it gathers whenever he needs it, to protect him when his life is in danger. That is why other dragons fear and hate him, because they fear storms above all else, and he can control them. No dragon will fly in a storm, except for the black dragon.'

'Did you ever see him again?' Laela asked.

'No. But I heard of him. Everyone did. The black dragon may have been just a youngster when I saw him, but he grew up. Oh yes. He grew up to be more terrible than any wild dragon had ever been.' Faegareth said this with what sounded like a note of approval in his voice. 'He had no friends, no family, no home, no loyalty to anyone but himself. Dragons, elves, humans… he fought them all, and he killed them. But there was a prophecy. No-one knows who first told it, but it said that there would come a day when the union between an evil man and a black dragon would bring sorrow and destruction to Alagaësia. The black dragon must have heard this prophecy, because he left the Spine and went into the land of men. And that was where he found your ancestor, Galbatorix.'

'Taranis,' Galbatorix muttered.

Faegareth nodded. 'Yes, Taranis. By then he was a grown man, bonded to the only other black dragon in the world – Silarae was her name. I saw her as a hatchling in the dark elvish settlement. An intelligent and gentle creature – far too gentle for a dragon, in my opinion. However it was, Taranis was intelligent enough to take advantage of this second black dragon. He gave him a home in the hopes that he would fight for him, and perhaps mate with Silarae and father eggs that he could use to create more riders that would obey him. Taranis was corrupt and ambitious, but he was cunning. His scheme worked. The black dragon stayed with him and helped him and King Paelis to crush a human rebellion that was taking place at the time. And he did indeed become Silarae's mate. But in the end Taranis failed. The rebels were joined by the Southern elves, who were now led by Eragon, the new rider they had made. Eragon killed Taranis and Silarae, and King Paelis' army was crushed. But the black dragon escaped. To this day no-one knows what became of him, but it is said that he flew away over the sea that day, never to return.'

Faegareth's story ended there.

'Did he have a name?' Galbatorix asked.

'Yes. Ravana. Also known as the Night Dragon.'

Galbatorix paused. The name sounded oddly familiar, but he had no idea where he'd heard it before. He shrugged. It was probably unimportant.

Faegareth sat down again and the next person came forward to tell a story. Galbatorix sat and listened as tale after tale was told; some long, some short, some funny, some sad. Tales of ancient battles, the deeds of heroes, old prophecies, the makings of great artworks, love stories, even accounts of memorable hunting expeditions.

The night drew on, and by the time everyone had spoken it was nearly midnight. Barrels of wine had been brought out, and everyone drank heartily. Faegareth downed cup after cup, not quickly but steadily, delicately wiping his mouth after each swallow. After a while, not noticeably wobbling but definitely inebriated, he coolly told Galbatorix about his various sexual conquests over the years. He didn't sound like he was boasting, but talked as if he were describing a series of fine wines he had sampled. The list of his different partners was both long and varied, and Galbatorix listened to it with a kind of horrified fascination. And then, at last, a name came up that he recognised.

'Angela of the werecats. Now she was irritating.'

Galbatorix blinked. 'Angela? You mean… was she a werecat?'

'No, no. Raised by werecats, but definitely human. Quite pretty in a human kind of way. Brown curly hair, freckles, green eyes. The werecats found her as an abandoned child and raised her themselves, and that was how I met her. She was curious to know more about me, so we talked, and after a few days it became, uh, shall we say, somewhat evident that she was interested in giving me the gift that can only be given once. So we enjoyed a night or two together under the stars, but when I told her it was time for me to move on she was unhappy about it. The poor girl was convinced that she was in love with me, and simply wouldn't be dissuaded. When I left she tried to follow me, but I shook her off easily enough. To be honest, I was more than happy to be rid of her. She would not stop talking.' The shapeshifter helped himself to another cup of wine, showing no sign of embarrassment.

'That's heartless,' Galbatorix protested.

Faegareth glanced up at him over his cup, a little unsteadily. 'Oh, and I suppose you've never abandoned someone who loved you?'

Galbatorix thought of Flell, and had an unpleasant twinge of guilt as he wondered what had become of her. But he felt better when Fynadd caught his eye and smiled at him.

And then, quite suddenly, a new sound rose over the hubbub of voices. It came swiftly and suddenly, and with a violence that made Galbatorix's heart leap into his mouth.

It was a deafening, bone-juddering crash, coming from somewhere in the wood around them, and it made the ground shake beneath them. Galbatorix leapt to his feet, along with everyone else, and seconds later –

The world exploded. The air turned blinding white, and the ground was ripped away from under Galbatorix's feet. Seconds later there was a sound that slammed into his head, so loud it rattled his teeth and filled his head with red light. Something hit him, hard, and pain blossomed in his midsection, and then everything went dark.

He came to a few seconds later, and the first thing he heard was moaning and screaming. He opened his eyes, and found himself lying on his side at the base of a tree, his left arm twisted beneath him. His stomach was agonisingly painful, and he couldn't breathe properly. He made an attempt to get up, cringing as more pain exploded in his joints, but too fearful to let himself lie still. After a couple of attempts he stood up, automatically checking for injuries. Aside from some bad bruising, he was fine. But the world around him was not.

The clearing where Saethryn's fire had burnt was now at the centre of a blackened crater in the ground. Shards of broken wood and pottery were scattered everywhere, and among them were… bodies. Laela was off to one side, lying on her belly, but he could see her stirring. He ran to her.

Laela raised her head, shuddering. 'Oh great gods in the sky, what happened? Galbatorix? Are you all right?'

'Laela! Are you hurt?'

'I think I'm fine…'

There were shards of wood embedded in her neck and flanks, and her wings were torn. Galbatorix pulled the shards out, hastily speaking the healing spell over her injuries. Laela pulled herself to her claws, and her could hear her harsh, frightened breathing.

There was no time to compare notes. Galbatorix ran to check the bodies lying in the crater. The dark elves who had been sitting around the fire had been flung in all directions by the explosion, some ending up against the trunks of trees as he had. Several trees had been flattened by the sheer violence of the attack, and small fires were burning here and there.

Galbatorix could see several of the others getting up, groaning and crying in pain, calling out for friends and relatives. Heart pounding, he hurried to the side of each of the prone bodies still on the ground, searching for survivors. Some were still alive, and he healed them as fast as he could. Others were already dead. Those who had been at the centre of the explosion had been simply blown apart. He saw the pieces that remained, and retched. He found Ystwelyn and his daughter Fynadd dead, along with all of the dark elvish nobles and two of Arthryn's acolytes, but of Arthryn herself there was no sign. Nor could he find Saethryn.

'Here,' Laela said in a low voice. 'She's here.'

The Queen of the dark elves lay at the roots of an old oak where she had fallen. Other elves were already gathering around her. Galbatorix ran to her, crouching by her side, but he saw straight away that there was nothing he could do for her. A piece of broken pottery had been driven right through her body, and her face was burned almost beyond recognition.

Galbatorix touched her hand. 'Queen Saethryn… can you hear me?'

Saethryn stirred slightly. Her other hand twitched and moved toward him, pushing something into his hand. It was her crown, miraculously untouched. Galbatorix took it, and she curled her hand around his as if to confirm that she wanted him to have it.

'Now you are our King,' one of the dark elves murmured.

Galbatorix looked up at the sky, and an awful certainty hardened inside him. 'I know what that was,' he said. 'That was a firebomb. That was a weapon of the riders.' He stood up, looking at the dozen or so elves who remained living. 'We're under attack,' he said, his voice deep and commanding in a way it had never been before. 'The riders have found us. Find somewhere to shelter! Now!'

They did not hesitate for a second. They ran away through the trees, back toward their homes, melting into the shadows just as they had done the first time he met them. A second explosion came from somewhere in the trees, and Galbatorix shuddered.

'What are we going to do?' he breathed.

Laela pressed herself against him, staring up into the sky. Seconds later there was a rush of air, and a great red dragon flew overhead. A dragon clad in battle armour.

Galbatorix drew White Violence, mouthing dark elvish curses. 'Mae dy fam yn llyfu cociau mul, gods damn them all, I will not let this happen! Come on! We're going to fight those scum in the air.'

'Too late!' the voice split the air. Galbatorix looked around sharply and saw Arthryn coming toward him. She was limping, but appeared to be uninjured.

Galbatorix ran to her. 'Arthryn! Oh, thank gods you're all right!'

Arthryn looked down at Saethryn. The dark elvish Queen was dead, but the old seer showed no sign of any emotion. 'It's over,' she said. 'There is nothing you can do, Sire. This is the night I have seen coming for a long time. The dark elves are doomed. Come with me, now, as fast as you can.'

'But I-,'

'NOW!' Arthryn shouted the word and ran away through the forest, gesturing frantically at him to follow. 'Come, now! To the sacred pool!'

Galbatorix ran after her, and Laela followed, her paws thudding on the earth. There was no time for stealth or secrecy. They simply ran, the trees flicking past, and as they ran they saw that terror had come to the valley. Other firebombs had hit the ground among the elvish shelters, reducing them to matchwood. The bodies of dark elves were scattered among the shattered and burning trees, and overhead they could see a second dragon, this one gold, breathing fire to set the forest alight. Galbatorix raged internally as he ran, aching to fly up there with Laela and defend his people, but still compelled to obey Arthryn. He trusted and respected her too much to go against her now.

As they neared the sacred pool, they heard a roar from overhead. The red dragon had spotted them, and now bore down on them, mouth open to spit flame. Arthryn screamed and covered her head with her arms. Galbatorix halted, rushing to Laela's side to climb onto her back. But before he had done so there was a second roar, and from out of nowhere a second dragon appeared. It shot up from among the trees and hit the red dragon head-on, and as Galbatorix watched in astonishment the two dragons grappled with each other, roaring and snarling.

The second dragon was black, and for a wild second he thought it was Ravana. But then he saw that its belly was bronze.

'Where did it come from?' he exclaimed.

Laela looked on as the dark dragon tore at its opponent's chest, roaring and screaming like no other dragon either of them had ever heard. 'I don't know, but…'

And then it hit him. 'Faegareth! It's Faegareth!'

Arthryn was standing by a tree not far away, gesticulating at them. 'Come on!' she yelled.

Galbatorix pulled himself together and ran after her once again. They reached the thicket around the sacred pool, which was still intact, and Arthryn ran straight through it. Galbatorix followed, and this time Laela plunged after him, shouldering aside the undergrowth as if it were nothing.

By the shore of the sacred pool it was surprisingly peaceful. Here, for some reason, the sound of the battle did not penetrate. The acolytes who still survived were waiting there, and bowed their heads in relief when Arthryn joined them, with Galbatorix by her side.

'Here,' she said to him. 'Wait here.'

Galbatorix exploded. 'Wait here? Are you mad? Wait here while they kill you all?'

Arthryn looked at the ground. 'Yes,' she half-whispered.

Galbatorix slammed White Violence into the ground, point-first. 'Forget it!' he raged, forgetting his respect for her and pointing accusingly at her face. 'If you think I'm going to wait here like a coward and just let this happen, you're mad. Laela, come here.'

Laela joined him at once. Galbatorix picked up White Violence and reached up for her shoulder, saying; 'We're going to fight, Laela.'

'No!' Arthryn cried. 'No, you must not do this, Sire. Please!'

'Don't – call me SIRE!' Galbatorix bellowed, starting toward her, almost violently.

Laela reached into his mind. 'Stop it!' she snapped. 'Calm down! What do you think you're doing?'

'Doing?' Galbatorix said aloud. 'I'm protecting my people is what I'm doing. Arthryn… for the gods' sakes, let me go.'

'Go and do what?' Arthryn demanded, suddenly angry. 'There is nothing you can do for us, Galbatorix, nothing. The dark elves are doomed. Tonight is the night that our race comes to an end. If you go out there and fight alone, you will die.'

'Then I'll die for something worth dying for,' said Galbatorix, going to Laela and attempting to climb onto her shoulders. But she wouldn't let him. 'Laela, stop it!' he snarled.

'Galbatorix, no. Stop. Listen to Arthryn.'

'There's no time, godsdammit, Laela, what's wrong with you?'

'Die for what?' Arthryn cut in. 'For a race whose time is ended? No. The time will come for us to be avenged, but it is not now. You must wait here. Hide. When it is safe for you, go. Make your escape. You must live.'

Galbatorix looked at her, his anger turning into a terrible sense of helplessness. 'But you'll die.'

Arthryn smiled sadly. 'We are ready to die. After living so long as outcasts, we have little will to live. At least let us die in the knowledge that you will live on to carry our legacy and be our last mark upon the world.'

As she spoke, the acolytes around the pool looked up at the moon, murmuring a last few prayers. Then, moving as one, they cast themselves into the pool where they drowned.

Galbatorix watched them in horror. 'No! Stop!'

'Let them go,' said Arthryn. 'We have embraced our destinies. Some day you will be ready to do the same.'

Galbatorix took her hands in his. 'But if you die, I'll have nothing. I'll be alone. Please, Arthryn, don't do it. Don't let this happen. I don't want to be alone.'

She looked up at him with infinite compassion. 'My dearest child,' she breathed. 'If there were anything I could do to change the future I have seen ahead of you, then I would do it. But there is nothing that can save either of us. Only remember us, and honour us, and live. Always live.'

There was a crash from the trees beyond the sacred pool. Galbatorix turned sharply, as fire came rushing through the trees, gold and red, destroying all that lay before it. And through it two dragons came charging, one red, one gold, their riders running ahead of them.

'GO!' Arthryn screamed. 'Go, now!'

This time Galbatorix did not hesitate. He ran to Laela and climbed onto her back as fast as he could, and she helped him settle between her shoulders, then turned and ran a few paces, her wings opening before she hurled herself into the air. Galbatorix held on tightly, looking back. He was in time to catch one last glimpse of Arthryn as the dragons bore down on her. The old seer was perfectly calm, and made no attempt to escape. He saw her pull a dagger from her robe and, before the first of the riders reached her, she plunged it into her own heart.

Galbatorix let out a howl of anguish. 'Arthryn!'

Too late. Laela flew up and away from the burning valley as fast as she could go, and the other two dragons came in pursuit. The red one caught up with her in midair, and Galbatorix wrapped his arms around her neck and held on for dear life, unable to raise a hand to cast magic at their attacker. For a few heart-stopping seconds Laela and the red dragon fought with each other in midair, slashing and snarling. The red dragon was without his rider, but he was bigger and heavier than Laela. Galbatorix screamed as he felt the beast's claws tear into Laela's hind legs. Blood rained down from the white dragon's body, and for a moment it seemed she was going to be dragged back down into the valley. But then the red dragon withdrew, snarling and turning to face a new foe – Faegareth. The shapeshifter, lithe and powerful in his dragon form, smashed into the red dragon, bearing him straight downward. The gold dragon flew to help her comrade, and Laela made her escape, flying out of the valley and away.

She went South, heading back over the Icelands, driven by mad instinct rather than reason. South was the way back to the Spine. South was home. Galbatorix, barely managing to hold onto her as the wind ripped at him, looked back and saw the valley in flames. Tears leaked from under his eyelids, only to be whipped away in the icy gale.

And Laela flew. She flew as she had never flown before, all her intelligence lost in a maelstrom of an animal instinct that screamed for survival. It got into Galbatorix as well, and he found himself unable to speak or to think, or to feel anything but terror.

When dawn came they were still in the air, and neither one even thought of stopping. As the dawn light fell over her face, Laela finally found her voice again. 'Where do we go? Where do we go? Where do we go?' she said it over and over again, her voice high and panicky, her flight becoming erratic.

Galbatorix, hanging onto her with his face pressed into her scales, couldn't find a reply. All he could see was Arthryn's face, so calm, looking at him with that unbearable pity in her eyes. If there was anything I could do to change the future I have seen ahead of you…

'Nothing, nothing, nothing,' he muttered, saying it over and over in a fevered voice.

Laela screamed.

Galbatorix felt pain stab into his shoulder, and started upright in bewilderment, nearly falling from her back. There was blood on his hand, and he looked at it blankly. Then pain hit him again, this time in the back, and then again in the neck. Laela bucked wildly in the air, her mind radiating terror, and then something shot past Galbatorix's face.

It was an arrow.

And, as he looked down at Laela's shoulder, he saw another arrow jutting from her shoulder. There was a roar from above and behind him, and before he knew what was happening, it was already over.

A red dragon shot down on them from above, his claws spread wide, mouth open in a savage bellow. He took hold of Laela's wing, tearing into the thin membrane and breaking the bone, and Galbatorix felt the pain crackle through him. He raised his hand to send magic at his enemy, but the red dragon's rider was ready for him. She screamed out a word, and a ball of red flame hit him in the arm and shoulder, burning him.

The red dragon let go of Laela's wing, and she tried to fly, but the wing snapped uselessly at the air, trailing blood and torn skin and muscle. Her scream sounded in Galbatorix's head, and the pair of them fell from the sky, down and down, the snowy ground rushing up to meet them, their mental voices melding into one sound, one scream.

They hit the ground with a thud that shook the earth, so hard that Galbatorix felt nothing at all. He was flung violently from Laela's back and crashed into a snowdrift.

For what felt like an eternity there was nothing but whiteness, and cold.

Pain recalled him to his senses. It was a pain unlike anything he had felt before. His chest, his back, his phantom wings… every part of him was agony. His vision was edged with grey, a strange rushing, whistling noise filled his ears. He didn't know which way was up or down, or where the ground was.

But some strength he could not understand made him get up, though a strange numbness and confusion had filled him and he barely noticed that he had done it. One moment there was agony and confusion, the next he was staggering through the snow to where Laela was, nearly lost amid the whiteness. Her legs were crumpled underneath her, and the arrows peppered her hide, blood oozing around the fine white shafts and staining the swan-feather fletching.

Galbatorix went straight to her head, falling to his knees by it. 'Laela,' he said. 'Laela. For the gods' sakes, Laela, wake up!'

Her eyes opened slowly, and he sobbed with relief. 'Oh, Laela… I thought you were dead. Are you all right?'

Laela's once-bright silver eyes were dim, but he heard her voice in his head. 'Galbatorix. Galbatorix, I'm sor- sorry, so… sorry. I can't…'

'Get up,' he whispered. 'Come on, Laela, get up, please, get up, please-,'

'I'm sorry,' she said. 'I have to go.'

He could feel her pain slowly fading away, but in its place came not strength but coldness and lassitude, and he knew what it meant. He tried to heal her, but his magic was not enough. Her injuries were simply too bad to be healed.

Helpless, tears streaming down his face, he put his arms around her head, hugging her as if he would never let her go. 'I don't want you to die!' he sobbed.

Laela looked into his eyes. 'Don't be afraid,' she said gently.

Her eyes closed slowly.

And then, then, then it happened.

The feeling hit him full in the chest, so hard that it flung him backward onto the snow, and with it came pain. But this was not the pain of an injury. As he lay there, gasping, he felt something that only a rider could ever feel. He felt part of himself die.

Galbatorix screamed. The pain was in him, outside him, all around him, destroying him, all of him, everything he had been, everything he was, everything he knew, making him nothing but an animal that thrashed in the snow and screamed. He screamed as he had never screamed before in his life, as no creature should ever be made to scream, a scream that shredded his voice, which broke and ceased to sound even remotely human, and still he screamed. The world around him fell into a million pieces, and darkness took him into it and made him its own.

Then there was no more pain, and he was in the blackness, falling and falling. As he fell he cried out her name. Laela!

But there was no reply. She was dead.