Chapter Twenty-Six

Resistance

Walden stood up. 'May I see him?' he asked softly.

'Of course.'

The walk back to the infirmary felt very long. By now most of the servants had left for their own quarters, and the only people they met were the guards still patrolling the passage outside the infirmary. They let them through without saying a word.

As soon as Walden entered the infirmary, he heard something that unsettled him. It was faint, but unmistakeable, and he stopped in the corridor.

'What is that?'

'Lord Morzan's son,' said Grace. 'His wound is still hurting him.'

'Oh.'

When he entered the largest room, Walden could feel how the atmosphere had changed. There was a coldness in the air now, as if the room itself knew what had happened.

Grace's two fellow healers were there, sitting by the wall with their heads bowed, not saying a word. A single lamp was burning on the small table by the bed, its light thrown over what lay there.

Galbatorix was on his back, as before, his hands clasped on his chest. The rigid snarl had vanished from his face and he was lying still, mouth slightly open, his face relaxed into a kind of sad tiredness. There was no wheeze now, and no gurgle. Nothing but deathly silence.

Walden stood over him, silent and unmoving. There was no need to ask any questions.

'My Lord?'

Walden said nothing.

'My Lord,' Grace said again. 'Shall I… shall I remove the body, or would you prefer to keep it here so that…?'

Walden shook his head vaguely. 'It's too early. I need… I need to be alone for a while. I need to think.'

Grace nodded. 'Understood.' She beckoned to her two colleagues. 'We'll be in the next room when you need us, my Lord.'

Walden didn't turn to watch them go. He heard the door shut behind them, and sat down in the chair next to the bed, watching the still body of the King. The last of the riders, dead…

Walden sighed, a deep, exhausted sigh. 'Gods, Sire… what are we going to do now?'

No reply, of course. Only silence.

What now?

Walden knew, of course. Chaos. Anarchy. The nobles would all begin fighting amongst themselves, contesting for the throne, and, no matter who came out on top, civil war would be the result. If there were any other riders left in the country then one of them would have automatically taken control. But with them gone… with the old order now completely wiped out…

Walden looked up again. 'How are we going to survive without you, Sire?'

Murtagh's wailing was still coming through from the next room. As Lord Walden turned to look irritably at the door, he did not see what happened next. He didn't see the quick, convulsive twitch. He didn't see Galbatorix's mouth open wide to gasp in air, or see his eyes snap open. But he heard what followed.

A soft cough came from the figure on the bed, followed by others, loud and harsh. Lord Walden turned sharply, and froze in astonishment.

Galbatorix lurched into a sitting position, hands pressed into his chest, and coughed, harder and harder. Blood and mucus started to appear around his lips, and he turned and spat a mouthful of it over the side of the bed. More came, and he started to gasp for breath. The gurgling was still there, but as he coughed on, his back heaving, more of the fluid from his lungs was expelled. He slumped back onto the pillows, wheezing horribly.

Walden finally snapped out of his confusion. He shouted for the healers and they came running and stopped dead in the doorway when they saw what was going on. One of them screamed, but Grace, with more presence of mind, ran straight to Galbatorix, shouting at her colleague to come with her. The two of them took hold of the King's bony shoulders and lifted him into a sitting position, and Grace thumped him hard on the back, encouraging him to breathe. He coughed still harder, gagging on the breath in his lungs. Then he vomited. Grace gestured at the third healer to clean up the mess, and did her best to make Galbatorix comfortable. He lay still, groping weakly at the blankets. He was breathing much more strongly now, and coughing occasionally, but little by little that died down and he sighed and relaxed.

Grace picked up the bowl of water and dabbed at his forehead. 'Just relax, Sire,' she soothed. 'You're safe.'

Galbatorix was silent for a while, apparently dazed, but there was an alertness in his eyes. He mouthed silently, trying to speak, then broke off and coughed again.

'Don't try and speak, Sire,' said Grace. 'It's all right, you don't have to say anything. Rest now.'

Walden finally recovered himself and came closer. 'Sire! Dear gods, this is…'

Galbatorix's eyes turned toward him. He blinked and took in a deep breath. '…Walden? Is that… you…?'

Relief went rushing through Walden like water from a burst dam. 'Yes, Sire, it's Lord Walden. How do you feel?'

Galbatorix coughed again. 'Gods… I… feel horrible. Can I… have some water, please?'

The cup had to be put into his hand for him, and he drank the contents with some assistance. That seemed to make him feel a little better.

Walden mopped his forehead. 'We… we thought you were dead, Sire.'

Galbatorix coughed. 'Sorry.'

'Good gods, Sire, there's no need to…' Walden turned to Grace. 'You told me he was dead!'

'Well I thought he was!' said Grace. She was looking very flustered, and no wonder. 'I checked his pulse and couldn't find one, he didn't respond to a prick with a pin, he wasn't breathing as far as I could tell…'

Galbatorix groaned. 'Oh… no.'

'Is he going to be all right now?' said Walden.

Grace checked Galbatorix's pulse and temperature, and then listened to his breathing. He didn't like that much and made a feeble attempt to push her off him, but one of the other healers gently restrained him until she was finished.

Grace straightened up. 'Well… as far as I can tell, his lungs are nearly back to normal. Strong heartbeat, no temperature. I… he seems to be almost completely recovered.'

She had gone very pale, Walden noticed.

'But how is that possible? Can injured lungs heal themselves just like that?'

'I really… in my experience, my Lord… never.'

Galbatorix had been listening. 'Close… the door,' he said.

One of the healers hurried to obey.

Galbatorix tried to sit up, unsuccessfully. 'Help me.'

The three healers stacked pillows behind him and lifted him into a sitting position, and he sat back against them, pale and shaky, and still breathing raggedly, but apparently in full command of his senses. He looked down at himself, examining his still-bare chest and running his fingers over the clammy skin. He appeared to relax slightly, and then looked up, fixing Walden and the three healers with the penetrating stare he remembered so well.

'There's no… need to be alarmed,' he said. His voice was low and hoarse, but clear enough. 'I will be… fine. I just need… rest. Just for a few hours.'

'Take as much rest as you need, Sire,' said Walden. 'I can see to things until you've recovered.'

'Yes, yes, I know. I trust you… Walden.'

'Sire,' said Walden. 'I don't want to trouble you, but I must ask – what happened? Who hurt you?'

'Assassins,' said Galbatorix. 'Varden… assassins. Two of them. They got into my room. I don't know how. I woke up, and they were there. I thought I was dreaming. And then they stabbed me. Over and over. Everywhere.'

Walden shuddered. 'But you survived, Sire.'

'Morzan. He healed me with magic. He must have… seen them escaping. He went after them. North. They went… North.'

'To Gil'ead, Sire. We've… deduced that much.'

Galbatorix nodded. 'Good, good. Morzan will… catch them. He's my… strong right arm, after all. Has he… how long…?'

'Four days, Sire.'

'Four days… did he catch them?'

'Uh… I don't know, Sire.'

'Well…' Galbatorix tried to get up, but then slumped back and closed his eyes. 'I need… rest. When… Morzan sends word… tell me at once. Wake… wake me up if you have to.'

'I…I will, Sire.'

Galbatorix was already asleep by the time Lord Walden had left. He tried, briefly, to resist, but it was outside his control. Weakness tightened its stranglehold on him and he slid into something that was closer to a faint than to true sleep, though his conscious mind was screaming out for him to get up. He had seen Lord Walden's shocked face, and had wanted to try and put him at his ease, to reassure him that he was fine. He wanted to do the only thing he knew how to do; take command. But he couldn't.

He slept for hours, woke and slept again. The next time he woke up he had no idea of what day or time of day it was. One of the healers was there, and gave him water and some food. He managed to take it and keep it down, but when he tried to command her to summon Lord Walden the words refused to form and all he could do was lie still and try to breathe. His lungs were still agony, but the sores were showing no sign of returning yet, and as he lay there helplessly he started to wonder if maybe the disease was gone. Maybe the pain was from the assassins' blades. Maybe he was going to get better.

But if the sores came back… if anyone saw them… if anyone touched him then…

He could feel his heart pattering frantically, like a bird trapped in a cage. He tried to get up, straining with all his might, but his hands slid out from under him and his head kept falling onto the pillows.

Gentle hands pushed him back down. 'Rest, Sire. Just rest. Don't exert yourself.'

'I… want…'

'What do you want, Sire? Water? Here, drink. Slowly, Sire.'

A cup was pressed against his lips, and he drank. The water soothed him a little, and helped wet his dry mouth. He tried to speak again. 'Don't… don't t… I don't need…'

'What is it, Sire?'

'Lea… leave me,' he managed.

'Yes, Sire. I'll be back to check on you soon, Sire. If there's anything you need…'

He nodded, once, and she left, closing the door behind him. Once she had gone, he made another attempt to get up. But it was as if his body was made out of lead. He couldn't lift it off the bed. His limbs were slow and clumsy, and dull pain throbbed in his chest and joints. He felt as if he had aged a thousand years all at once.

He gave up eventually, and lay still, listening to his own low, laboured breaths. Once he had rested, forcing himself to stay awake, he reached out with his mind, searching for Shruikan. The black dragon was there, and responded to his mind immediately.

'Galbatorix! I haven't sensed you in days – how are you?'

Galbatorix managed to lift a hand, and rubbed his eyes. 'I've been better. Shruikan, what's going on? Is Morzan back yet?'

'No. He and Idün went back to Gil'ead. Where are you?'

'In the infirmary. They're looking after me. Shruikan, they know about it. About the spell.'

'Why? You didn't tell them, did you?'

'No. I… died. And then came back. They were there when it happened. They don't understand what's going on, I haven't told them. They think they were mistaken. But they're frightened. I know they are. They know I… I could hear them talking, before. When I was first brought in. I couldn't speak, but I was awake. Those… the people who attacked me. They stabbed me in the lungs.'

Shruikan already knew what that meant. 'They're right to be afraid. If they saw you recover from that…'

'Well… people already believe I can't be killed. Now it's not just a legend. Shruikan, listen, I've got to get out of here. If the disease comes back and they see it – if someone catches it from me…'

'Are you sure it's coming back?'

'Shruikan, you know it'll come back. Sooner or later the sores will start reopening. They've done it so many times before. Magic can't cure it. Not mine, not Morzan's, not anyone's.'

'Perhaps it would be better if they did know about it,' Shruikan said gently. 'Galbatorix, you know you can't keep trying to look after yourself. Shutting yourself away like that nearly destroyed you. You need people to help you.'

'No! They – can't – know! Shruikan, for the love of gods, what would people do if they knew their King had the plague? If they knew he was too weak to fight? The rebels are still out there, if they find out how much I've… I can't die, but I can still be overthrown. They could raise an army – join forces with the elves, or the dwarves. Imagine what would happen if they overran the castle. I'd be… they can't kill me, but they can kill you. And me… they'll cut my head off. I can't survive that. Or they'd burn me, or just throw me in a dungeon and leave me there forever. There's a million things they could do to me. And the Empire would be lost.'

'But if you only told a few people…'

'Which people, Shruikan? Those rebels didn't get into the castle on their own. Someone was helping them from inside. They have spies in here. It could be anyone. Even one of the nobles. Even one of my officials. I can't trust anyone.'

'Yes… I understand, Galbatorix. Calm down. You're still the King. If you order them to leave you alone…'

'I can't speak properly. Shruikan, I need some of your strength. I can't get up under my own power.'

'Then I'll help you. But… be careful.'

There was silence for a time, and then Galbatorix felt something travel over their link that was not a word or an emotion. It was an energy. The strength of a dragon flowed into his body. He felt his skin turn burning hot, and his face twitched briefly, the eyes flashing gold.

As the feeling receded, he felt the weakness go with it. He sat up carefully, and slid out of bed. His bare feet hit the stone floor, and he shivered slightly and then let his weight onto them. The room lurched around him and he grabbed the head of the bed to steady himself. The wood felt good and solid under his fingers, and he sighed. There was still a catch in his breath, and he coughed again, wincing at the pain.

No time to lose. He scanned the room and eventually spotted his robe, draped over the back of a chair. He lurched over to it and picked it up. Someone had cleaned it and darned the holes left by the daggers. He smiled to himself and put it on. The cloth felt warm and comforting against his skin. He did up the fastenings, his fingers still clumsy, and then looked for his boots. They were nowhere to be seen, and he shrugged and made for the door.

He opened it carefully and peered through. There was no-one in sight. Good.

Moving slowly, running on borrowed strength, he began the journey down the corridor. There were guards at the end; he could see them dimly by the light of the single lamp hanging from the roof. Well, that shouldn't be a problem. He could just order them to leave. If he could make his voice work.

He stopped, leaning against the wall, and tried to say something, but the best he could manage was a low, hoarse whisper. It would do. He straightened up and made determinedly for the end of the corridor.

As he neared it, he heard the sound of voices. Someone was coming. He froze and then flattened himself against the wall. He heard the guards move aside with a soft clank of armour, and hastily ducked through the nearest doorway to hide. The room beyond turned out to be another private ward, much smaller than his own. Galbatorix hid himself in a shadow by the door and waited for the footsteps to pass. There was a sound from the bed, and he tensed immediately, but when he looked more closely he realised that it was only a child.

No. Not just a child. It was Murtagh.

Galbatorix glanced toward the door, and then moved closer. Murtagh was lying on his side, with his back toward him. His tunic had been removed, but his torso was heavily bandaged, covering the terrible wound. He was moaning in his sleep, one tiny hand twitching slightly.

Galbatorix stood by the bed, watching him, and sighed. At least Murtagh was all right.

He remembered Morzan's last words to him, before he had left.

'I'll look after you,' he whispered. 'I promise. I swear I'll keep you safe.'

He reached out to touch him, but then withdrew, his expression twisting suddenly into a look that was somewhere between pain and a terrible hatred.

Murtagh stirred, and Galbatorix turned abruptly away. In the corridor outside, he could hear the shouts.

'Sire! Sire!'

He sighed and limped slowly toward the door. Behind him, Murtagh woke up and started to cry. He could hear running footsteps from outside, and knew they had discovered that he was missing and begun searching for him.

Very briefly, he considered hiding. No. Not now. Not any more.

He could feel the energy borrowed from Shruikan starting to run out even as he made those few steps, and knew he wouldn't get far. His own strength was almost gone.

He reached the door and grabbed hold of the frame to hold himself up. There were several people in the corridor, turning toward him, and he waited resignedly as they came to him, all relief and concern.

'Sire! There you are!'

Galbatorix pressed one hand into his chest, and breathed deeply. 'I'm fine,' he rasped.

Walden was there, and gestured to two of the servants with him. They came forward and helped to support Galbatorix, holding him by the shoulders. He leant on them, trying to catch his breath. He'd overexerted himself, he realised; his lungs refused to expand properly, and his breath came in gasps.

'Get him back to bed,' Walden commanded the servants.

'No,' Galbatorix half-whispered as they half-carried him back toward his own ward. 'No, I don't-,'

'It's all right, Sire,' said Walden. 'You need rest, to get your strength back.'

Galbatorix tried to resist, but it was hopeless. Helpless anger started to rise inside him. They were forcing him to go where he didn't want to. They weren't listening to him.

With a sudden burst of strength, he grabbed hold of Walden's arm as they passed him.

Walden didn't try and pull away. 'What is it, Sire? What do you want me to do?'

The servants had come to a halt, but Galbatorix tried desperately to find his voice again, fearful that they would take him away before he'd managed it.

He coughed and groaned, but tried again, and Walden leaned in close to listen.

'I w-,' Galbatorix coughed again. 'I w… I want to go back… to my room. You – will – take me… back, understand?'

Walden straightened up. 'Your bedroom has not yet been repaired, Sire. But if you want to leave the infirmary, we can move you to the master bedroom.'

Galbatorix nodded vaguely.

Walden summoned another servant. 'You – go and get a stretcher.'

Galbatorix glared at him. 'I don't need…' he pulled away from the servants and tried to walk off out of the infirmary, which proved to be a mistake. The corridor lurched around him and he staggered sideways and hit the wall. He tried to recover himself, but he couldn't tell which way he was supposed to go. Everything was turning grey.

Someone grabbed his arm. He shrugged them off and set off in a random direction, but then his legs folded and he pitched forward, hitting the ground with a painful thump.

Galbatorix struggled to get up, mouthing dark elvish curses, but it was already too late. He was already surrounded by people, taking control of him again. They turned him over onto his back and made him lie still, telling him to relax, telling him he was all right. He tried to push them away, but they held his arms down until he finally gave up. A short time later they lifted him onto a stretcher and carried him away.

His escape attempt cost him dear. He spent the next few days in the master bedroom, unable to do anything but stay in bed. He slept most of the time, and rarely stayed awake long enough to do more than take a few mouthfuls of food and drink. Lord Walden and some of the other nobles and officials came to visit him every now and then; he would wake up and find them there, watching over him. But his lungs and throat still hurt and he couldn't speak to them.

He lost all sense of time, and much of his sense of space as well. Whenever he woke up he would take in his surroundings, trying to remember where he was and how he had come to be there, and how long ago. Every time he remembered, he forgot it again. But he could feel himself slowly getting stronger. Eventually he was able to sit up and eat properly, and breathing became easier and less painful.

At last the day came when he woke up and found his head fully clear for the first time since the attack. He managed to sit up without help, and found a cup of water next to the bed. He drank the contents and, revived, checked his chest. No sores. He was still safe.

He looked around. There was no-one in the room, but sunlight was coming in through the window.

Just as he was beginning to wonder if he should try and get out of bed, the door opened and one of the three healers came in.

She looked pleased when she saw him. 'Good morning, Sire. How do you feel?'

Galbatorix coughed carefully. 'Fine, thankyou.' Relief flooded through him. At last his voice was back.

The healer felt his forehead. 'You look much better, Sire. Your temperature is down. May I listen to your lungs, Sire?'

Galbatorix shrugged. 'If you want to.'

She did so. 'They sound much better now. Would you like something to eat, Sire?'

Galbatorix coughed again. His throat still hurt horribly. 'No. Go and get…' he saw the chest from his room, resting in a corner, and nodded toward it. 'Open it. There are bottles of potion inside. Bring me some.'

The healer obeyed at once, bringing over three small glass phials containing a green potion. 'Are these the ones, Sire?'

'Yes.' Galbatorix took one. It took several tries to pull the cork out, but once it had come he downed the contents in one swallow.

The instant it had gone down his throat, a miraculous energy rushed into his body. The colour came back into his face, and strength returned to his limbs. He took the remaining two vials and emptied them as well, and by the time he was done he felt a hundred times better. His mind cleared, and his drowsiness and weakness were gone. The aches and pains were still there, but he knew that he had the energy now to do what he needed to do.

He put his right hand to his throat. 'Waíse heill!'

Black energy glowed around his fingers and vanished through his skin, and the pain faltered, faded, and then disappeared altogether. Once that was done he cast the healing spell on his chest, letting the magic sink deep into his body, to where the pain still lingered.

It took some time. The spell quickly began to drain away the potion's energy, and he could feel his new strength starting to leave him. But he kept on concentrating and did not stop until all the pain had gone and his hand slumped back to his side. He lay still, breathing deeply. Nothing. No more pain, no more wheeze. His limbs were trembling slightly, but he was healed.

'Oh… thank gods,' he mumbled. 'That's better.'

The healer had watched him, not daring to interfere, and now she quietly removed the empty bottles. 'I didn't know we had any of that in the castle, Sire. I really am very sorry; if I had known I would have brought it to you immediately.'

Galbatorix waved her into silence. 'You're not to blame. Thankyou for taking care of me; you did an excellent job. Now, could you please go and fetch Lord Walden if he's available? Don't worry, I'm more than strong enough to see him now.'

'Yes, Sire. At once.'

Once the healer had left, Galbatorix paused to gather his remaining strength and then slid out of bed. It was much easier now; the floor didn't lurch underneath him and his legs were steady enough. He took a few tentative steps away from the bed, and found that it wasn't too hard. Good. If he didn't exert himself too much for a few days he would be more or less back to his full strength by the end of it.

He smiled a small, triumphant smile and went to the cupboard. Sure enough, someone had salvaged his clothes from his old room and hung them up inside. He selected one of his warmest robes and put it on, along with a new pair of trousers. And… he groaned quietly in embarrassment when he saw that someone had also collected up the boots he'd made during his retreat and had neatly lined them up in the bottom of the wardrobe.

He put a pair of them on anyway. They were quite a good fit, and he felt ridiculously proud of the fact. He hadn't lost his touch.

Fully clad and feeling much more like himself, he crossed to the dressing table and inspected himself in the mirror.

That took away some of his fragile good cheer.

Galbatorix prodded at his face, trying to convince himself that it was actually his. The one he could see in the mirror looked awful. It was fleshlessly thin, the eyes sunken and red-rimmed and the beard hopelessly overgrown. And his hair was an unspeakable mess.

'Oh great gods in a tree…'

He fumbled for a comb and started to drag it through his hair, not caring when the tangles caught in the teeth and made his scalp hurt. He wrenched them out and threw them away, then attacked what was left with a kind of mad fervour and swearing under his breath. He was much too weak to risk using a spell on it, but he still felt half-inclined to try.

When he was partway into bringing some kind of order out of the chaos, there was a knock at the door and Lord Walden came in.

Galbatorix got up to meet him, still holding the comb in one hand. 'Ah, Lord Walden. Good morning… I think.'

Walden was looking tired and harrassed, and a little shocked. 'Sire! I'm so glad to see you well again.'

'So am I, Lord Walden. I should be back to normal in a week at most. Now…' Galbatorix looked around and spotted another chair. He gestured at it. 'Please, sit down. There are a few things I want to discuss with you.'

Walden fetched it and brought it over. 'Are you sure you feel well enough, Sire?'

Galbatorix sat down and stuffed the comb into his pocket. 'Yes. I had-,' he waved a hand vaguely in the direction of the still-open chest. 'I had a few bottles of strengthening potion in there and got the healer to bring me some. I've healed the last of my injuries; all I need to do now is avoid too much stress for a while. Now…'

Lord Walden had sat down too. 'As you wish, Sire.'

'Now,' Galbatorix said again. 'How long was I unwell?'

'Uh… more than a week, Sire.'

Galbatorix muttered a dark elvish swearword under his breath. 'I see. And have you had any luck in catching the people who assaulted me?'

'I… well, we deduced that they must have entered and escaped the castle via the catacombs, Sire. We explored them and discovered a secret passage leading out of the city. They fled toward Gil'ead, that much is certain. We have had reports from there – they fled into Du Weldenvarden and were not caught.'

Galbatorix sighed. 'They're well-organised, I'll give them that. And if they went to Du Weldenvarden then elvish involvement is certain. I'm sure Morzan did his best. So you haven't made any arrests?'

'No, Sire.'

'No positive leads?'

'Other than what I've already shared with you, Sire… no, Sire.'

'Well they can't hide from me forever,' said Galbatorix. 'As soon as I've rested a little, I'll take charge of it again. Has Morzan returned to Urû'baen yet?'

'Uh… no, Sire, not yet.'

'Send him to see me the moment he does. I'm sure we can work together and come up with a good stategy. A few…' Galbatorix stopped suddenly. There was a look on Lord Walden's face… a momentary flicker that made him hesitate. He stared at him, feeling an unpleasant anticipation in the pit of his stomach. 'There's something you haven't told me yet,' he said. '…isn't there?'

'Sire, I really think you should-,'

'I really think,' Galbatorix said icily, 'That you should stop hiding information from me and tell me what I need to know. Has something happened?'

'It can wait, Sire. Until you're stronger. It's just that-,'

Galbatorix's stare was nothing short of ghastly. 'You will tell me everything. Now.'

The last of Walden's resistance faded. 'Well… Sire… the news is bad.'

Galbatorix's tension increased. 'How so? Is it about the Varden?'

'Yes, Sire. You see… well the Varden has been growing, Sire.'

'By how much?'

'Well… as far as I know, Sire, many people have begun leaving cities and villages and gone to join the Varden. They've formed some kind of stronghold, that much is certain, and they're recruiting new members from the population at large. Information so far is sketchy, but the elves are most definitely helping them and… well we think the dwarves may have sided with them as well.'

If Galbatorix was shocked, it didn't show on his face. 'You're certain of this?'

'Yes, Sire, absolutely. We have informers who have been feeding us this information.'

'Then why…' Galbatorix spoke slowly and deliberately, and though his voice was level there was pure rage behind every word, 'Then why in the gods' names haven't you been doing anything to stop them?'

'We've been trying, Sire, but there are problems with communication between the cities and without the… the country has become too accustomed to peace, Sire,' Lord Walden said simply. 'It isn't prepared for something of this magnitude.'

Galbatorix sighed. 'Why now? I don't understand. Why so suddenly?'

'Word got out that you were dead, Sire,' said Walden. 'We don't know how. But that is why we're certain the Varden was behind the assassination attempt, Sire. They must have believed that they had succeeded and that with you gone the time was now right to begin trying to take over the country.'

Galbatorix closed his eyes for a moment. 'Fine,' he said softly, looking up. 'If that's how they repay me, then so be it. They'll find out what happens to traitors soon enough. Is that all you have to tell me, Lord Walden?'

Walden hesitated. 'Y-es, Sire.'

'Well thank gods for small mercies. You can go now. I have to clean myself up and then I should probably sleep a little. But we can meet again later in the dining hall and start making plans.'

'Yes, Sire.' Lord Walden started to stand up, unable to completely hide his relief.

'Just one more thing,' said Galbatorix.

'Yes, Sire?' Walden sat down again, his air resigned.

'Where is Morzan? I seem to remember being told he was coming back to Urû'baen. He should have arrived by now – what's happened to him?'

'Sire, I…' Lord Walden paused. He tried to look away, but something dragged his gaze back to Galbatorix's face. The moment he saw the look there, he knew there was nothing he could do to hide it any longer. 'Sire,' he said softly. 'There's… there's something I have to tell you.'