So this chapter goes out to one of my readers, an anonymous one who posted a review on the 25th, requesting that I give a bit more description to what the Spells are, what they can do, and what they're general history is. And it just so happens that I can fit that in with the natural flow of the story; so, here ya go.

funnelwebs: :) Good to hear. There'll be another time jump between the second and the third. For spoiler reasons I can't answer any of your other questions, but I suspect you already knew that. :) As for my writing speed, the story is a bit more of a priority since I can get college credits for it, but I still have a personal life that trumps the writing of this story everyday of the week. So, I will promise that I will continue it; but I can not make any such promise on the update speed. Does that sound like an agreeable compromise?

Owltalon: Yeah, I know, it sucks. But, it was a chapter that had to happen, for numerous reasons which should become readily apparent, barring any unfortunate mishaps in regards to someone finding a hole in the plot.

Spaarx: I know. I've been dreading that chapter's coming since the middle of the last book. As for the Echothain and Rathon and what not, no comment. That's going to throw an M-80 on the rest of the story if I comment on that now. :) Have faith, though, as I understand how irritating hearing the same old, "I'll get around to it," excuse must get. As I'll say in the next review response, what kind of suspense would have been produced if Oromis explained everything about the Eldunari to Eragon the first time Eragon asked?

Dracones: Ok, so I will take it from the top. Yes, it was focused primarily, or exclusively, on Rathon, if for no other reason than it was in his point of view I planned the chapter, and there was no other way I felt I could fluidly work in any other POV. I did fix the dragon comment in this chapter, however, as that is an admittedly obvious blunder. And as for Brom's reaction to the changing of Light and Rathon's mass killing, it'll all be addressed. What kind of story would Eldest be if Oromis told Eragon everything about the Eldunari the second the question perked in Eragon's mind? Gotta have suspense.

Rathon's eyes slowly opened. He lay in his bed, listening to the rain outside pour down onto Vroengard. He felt nothing, not an emotion or a thought.

I am a murderer of thousands, he thought. I took the lives of thousands as carelessly as I would swipe a fly. That was not what truly made him feel so hollow. Katelyn was gone, and that resonated within him like a gong. It occurred to him that this was what Eragon had hoped to prepare them for during their first five years of rule. He shoved the thought away, not wanting to give credence to it.

A gentle rapping came from the door. He lay, with his eyes on the ceiling, for a solid minute, refusing to answer it. I am the King of Man. I can have an hour of peace if I desire it.

Then a soft voice came from the door. It was quiet, burdened by sorrow. "Rathon. I know you're in here." A long pause followed. "I can smell you." His eyes drifted to the door and with the faint behest of his will he unlock the door and it opened.

Nayter stood in the entryway, her eyes downcast. She wore a dress of the darkest black. He could feel, practically taste, the sadness coming from her. He looked lower, for he saw something moving, and was surprised to see her tail flowing out from the bottom of her dress. Though she could never hide her wolf born ears or tail like her mother could, she went out of her way to hide them through mundane means. He was about to comment on it, when Zodion's words returned to him, and he held his tongue.

He sat up and held out a hand. "Won't you join me?" Her eyes lifted, but she refused to meet his gaze.

"I…wished only to check on you."

"And I wish for a companion. Cannot we serve both our purposes?"

She dipped her head and ascended to sit beside him. Together, they looked out at the raging sea. Four days had passed since Vroengard had been besieged, yet pieces of the boats of the Black Chamber still floated upon the surface of the waves. Rathon tried not to think of what he had brought about, for he feared it would consume him. He had never taken a life. Then, in less than a day, he had the blood of thousands on his hands. And it spread further than Vroengard.

A day after the battle, word had come by message of rider that through all three of the kingdoms, members of the Black Chamber had fallen to death in mid-fight. The rough estimate of the deaths of that nature tipped to thirty thousand. And all of them named him their killer.

"What should I do?"Rathon looked over at Nayter. She sat with her les up to her chest, wrapping her arms around them. Genuine fear bedeviled her eyes.

"You are next in line to take the throne of the Dwarfs."

"I can't do that," she said. "I don't know…I can't even…how would I…" She put her face in her hands.

"The Spells wax and wane like the moon. The newer the host, the newer the spell. Yours is the base of all magic, the foundation that provides the world of magic with stability. If BloodFire does not have a Master, who knows what will happen?"

"Why does it have to be me?" she asked, despair in her voice. "Why is this lot appointed to my hand? I did not ask for it. I do not have the strength to bare it. I do not have the ability to perform as a queen. Always I have been in the background, and I would have it no other way."

Her form, a helpless young girl thrust into the place of power against her will was the night and day opposite of the side of her personality he had seen in battle; the one that craved war and death.

As he was thinking this, he looked back outside, to the raging seas. And unbidden, memories of the battle days before returned to him; feeling the life slip out of Katelyn. Arani's anguished roar. And then, his command. His soul was darkened with blood, but he was resolute to not feel guilt over it. Even though the fabric of his identity may be stained with blood, it was not innocent blood. It was the blood of his enemies and he was determined that a man should feel proud to wear it.

He stifled back, as Nayter curled herself up beside him. She was close to him, so close that her tail touched his leg, closer than she had ever been to him. In a shallow voice, empty of all emotions, she said, "Would you tell me a story?"

The request confused him for a moment. "Of what?" he asked.

"I care not. Hearing the sound of someone's voice over me has always soothed my mind. Tell me the story of the Three Spells. You of all people should know their history."

He did. He had read through the book of ShadowLight many times, as only he could decipher all the texts, and so he was well acquainted. And so he closed his eyes, conscience of how close Nayter was, and retold the story.

"Before the Dawn of Intellect, when naught but the Elves, the Dragons and the Dwarfs wandered from sea to sea, the Great Spells took shape. It is not clear how they did this. It could be that they were formed by some prehistoric magician with unnatural powers or be the result of a catastrophe, or that they are some byproduct of the God's design. Disregarding their origin, they proved themselves the strongest spells in existence. There were three: BloodFire, the Spell of Changing. LunarMist, the Spell of Seeing. And ShadowLight, the Spell of Knowing."

"BloodFire had the power of shaping magic, and through it, all magic is supported. Without this Spell, all others would fall behind it. LunarMist had the power of vision, seeing and understanding everything it looked upon. ShadowLight had the power over time, with the ability to reach forward or backwards to touch, and affect, anything it desired."

"Formed by the Spirits of the natural world, these three held domain over it. These three lived in perfect unity, holding the world and everything in it in balance. Then came the Humans and Urgals. And then the wars of the Dragons and Elves broke out. The world was being cast into darkness, being rent in two with anger and war. Before the moment of all ending, the three Spells came out of their magical hiding and bound themselves with three men. Kayalder, who was the Lord of Dragons in those days, was bound with ShadowLight. Echothain, brother of Kayalder, was bound with BloodFire. And Eragon, first born of the Riders, took on LunarMist."

"These men gained power over all, with the ability to command the Spells to do their will. But the Spells maintained their wild nature, refusing orders that contradicted their will. With Echothain's aid, Eragon tied the souls of Dragons and Elves together, to stop the war. Eragon was placed as the first Rider and after him came many more, so many that the ability to put an exact number on them has been lost to all historians." Rathon paused to clear his throat. He watched Nayter, expecting her tail to flick as it usually did, but it was as lifeless as stick.

"Those days were great. The world returned to balance. All lived in peace and prosperity. But the Spells are passive entities, like birds trapped in a cage, longing for the freedom of the open skies. As the days dragged on, their wills began to return to the open world, and to not being bound by the flesh. Their powers waned, until the three wielders became like common men. In haste to keep the order of the world in equilibrium, they released BloodFire, ShadowLight and LunarMist out of themselves and sent them out into the natural world again. They did so, grudgingly, for they had grown fond of their powers over all men. And so they set safeguards onto the Spells. Among them, was the last defense all three of them share, to cause those who look on them to feel desire for them in their hearts. They did this, so that the Spells would never be destroyed. And they bound their powers together, and made a pact with the Spells, an agreement that once a wielder always a wielder, so that they would be able to call on the Spells when need be."

Rathon opened his eyes, the light of the world seeming dull and lifeless to him. "And today," he said, in conclusion, "the three Great Spells remain in parts unknown, hidden away by their first masters." There was a long moment of silence, and Rathon began to suspect Nayter had fallen asleep, when she spoke.

"When was this story written?"

"Around a millennium ago. Why do you ask?"

She pushed herself up, faced him, and took Light into her hand. "Because, these Spells are anything but hidden."

They looked into each other's eyes. Rathon could feel Nayter through Light. Her identity, her soul, her essence, that which made Nayter herself. It quivered in sadness, but there was something precious about it. There was something that made him understand her more than anyone else and want to protect her. Then something flashed inside of her and she closed her eyes, pulling back, biting her lip and stiffening her tail. Rathon felt her soul darken, her heart hardening into something it was not. He suddenly felt as though he were in contact with a completely different being. He remembered her wolf side and thought, This is her. On impulse, he reached out and placed a hand on her shoulder, pushing energy into her and fighting the battle she fought in her mind; the battle of her two natures warring for supremacy. After a few minutes and when the bloody impulses of a wolf that flashed in her mind; to rip open the entrails of her enemies and fest on their bodies ceased her eyes slowly flickered open. He saw something new in them. A hurt feeling, an emotion of pain that he had seen something Nayter had never wanted him to see. Yet he saw it.

"That isn't me," she whispered. "I am not those things." Despite her words, he heard in her voice a fear like no other that she believed that he thought those things about her.

"I know," he said. "They were not your fault, but that of your mother's."

A knocking came from the door. Rathon extended his arm and the door slid open. Brom stood in the entryway, Rylar by his side. At first he was annoyed, not wanting to deal with or be around Rylar, until he saw his brother's stern expression and that Rylar's hands were bound.

"Brother," he said, sitting up. Brom walked into the room. He held out a hand and the necklace that was BloodFire trickled out of his hand. "Where did you find it?" Rathon asked, surprised. After Katelyn had died, and during the mournful roars of her dragon and the death birds falling from the skies, they had searched her body but found no trace of BloodFire.

Brom shoved Rylar forward. "She had it! I came into my room this morning and there it was, hanging from her neck!" Rylar staggered forward under the weight of his arm, falling face first into one of the many couches arrayed below Rathon's sleeping area. As she forced herself up, awkwardly because of her bonds, Brom said, "And I much desire to know how she came into possession of it."

Rathon drew his sword and went down beside his brother. As Rylar sat fully up Rathon leveled the blade at her neck. "Aye. I would like to know that myself." He stood; ready to call of Light at a moment's notice.

Rylar looked between the two of them, eyes darting back and forth as a rat trapped in a corner. Then she smiled a gorgeous smile, shuffling her chest so that her dress fell loose around her bosom, and said in a husky voice, "Boys, please. I promise you, there is enough of me to satisfy the lust of both of you."

A spark of rage lit Brom's eyes and struck out, punching her square in the jaw. Rylar squeaked, as though she had never expected that tactic would fail. "Your banter does not amuse me. How did you come into possession of BloodFire, yet failed to alert me or Rathon, or anyone for that matter, of Katelyn's plight?"

Rylar picked herself up and looked at Brom with astonishment. Genuine hurt filled her eyes. Her eyes darkened and she turned away. "It was not on Katelyn when I found it. It was lying, unguarded, I might add, on the gravel road to the entrance of the palace. I thought to pick it up, so that it would not fall into the hands of that man leading the attacking army." Her next sentence sounded as though it came from a jealous, scorned teenage girl. "Forgive me that your all precious love saw fit to be foolish with a mighty weapon."

Rathon ran everything she said through his mind, checking it for any flaw. The armies of Vroengard had withdrawn to their houses, what ones remained unburned, or into the palace, to mourn the lives of those lost. It was entirely possible that they all had missed BloodFire, a discrete necklace in a mountain of bodies, lying on the ground somewhere. Any man would turn his eye away from such carnage.

Before Rathon or Brom could reply, Nayter said, "She lies." They looked up at her as she descended the steps to them. Her wolf ears tipped out of her hair. "She did not find it there."

Brom licked his lips. Rathon thought he was going to accost her, but instead he said, "How do you know?"

Nayter approached them and laid three fingers on Rylar's chest, just over her heart. "The heart, regardless the quality of the person, desires to do good. It rejects murder, stealing, cheating, and lying. Detests the very concept. So when we do those things, our heart beat rises sharply. This isn't due to a morality conflict. Because above the desire to do good, the heart desires not to be caught in doing what it knows is wrong. So it pumps more blood to the body; dilating your pupils so that you have a wider range of vision, secreting adrenaline to help you run away as fast as you can without tiring, making you sweat so that you can more easily escape the grip of a person. Depending on the level of the reaction, it is easy to deduce what crime of the heart that person is guilty of. And what she just said made her heart thump like the dwarf drums. She is lying. There is no question."

Brom's eyes locked with Rylar's. "She is the daughter of a man wiser than a king and I trust her word. So let us hear the true story."

Rylar looked down at the ground for a moment, and then leapt up, tearing her bonds apart, shrieking at the top of her lungs. Rathon said, "Light!" Nayter's eyes darkened into a ruby red and she bared her fangs. Brom lifted a hand to strike her down. From the ring on Rathon's hand, Light spewed forth, enveloping everything in the room. It made a wall harder than any prison on the door and the window. As the last shred of darkness faded from the room Rylar dropped to her knees, terror in her eyes.

"You must help me. He watches my every step. He possess my body when I don't do as he wishes. You must save me!"

Short chapter for two reasons: One, all I need from it was to establish the above cliffhanger, and two it's primary purpose was to explain the stuff I did a rather poor job of earlier.