Chapter Twenty-Nine

Tyrant

'Sire? Sire?'

No response.

Lord Walden leaned forward over the table and tried again. 'Sire? Can you hear me?'

Galbatorix didn't look up. He was sitting at the head of the table, in the large carved chair that had been made just for him. There was a plate of food in front of him, but he wasn't touching it. His forehead was resting on his hand and he was staring at the tabletop with a faraway expression. It had been a week since Morzan's funeral, and he had taken to doing this a lot recently.

Walden sighed. He hated doing this, but it was all he could think of. 'Sire?' he said yet again, raising his voice.

Galbatorix glanced up. 'What?' he said irritably.

Walden sat back. 'I'm sorry, Sire, I just wanted-,'

Galbatorix appeared to rouse himself. He removed his elbow from the table and started to eat rather half-heartedly, not saying anything.

'Sire,' Walden ventured. 'I'm sorry, but wanted to ask you if perhaps today you could make a brief appearance outside the castle.'

'What's the hurry?' said Galbatorix, without looking up.

'Sire, it's time they saw proof that you're alive,' said Walden. 'The people refuse to believe it, and they're starting to become restless I'm afraid that they may decide to do something dangerous.'

Galbatorix took a large mouthful of wine. 'Why bother?' he sneered, dabbing his mouth clean. 'I might as well let them enjoy the notion that the Mad King is dead for a little while longer. I'm not completely heartless, you know.'

'Sire, this is serious,' said Walden. 'This is not just idle talk. Seven city guards have been assaulted this week alone, and three of them were killed. The people are becoming openly rebellious. We can't find any obvious ringleaders, but we are beginning to be afraid that at this rate they could decide to try and storm the castle.'

'Do you really think they're that stupid, Walden?' said Galbatorix.

'Yes, Sire, I do,' Walden answered baldly.

There was a brief silence, and then Galbatorix suddenly let out a short laugh. 'Hah! Well, I admire your honesty there, Walden. Yes, I suppose you're right. Far fewer numbers have done far more reckless things. I knew of one man who was so recklessly bent on destroying his enemies that he tried to conquer a city on his own with his hands shackled together.'

Walden blinked. 'Dear gods, Sire, he must have been mad.'

'So people said,' said Galbatorix. 'But they changed their tune after he succeeded.'

'You mean he actually won, Sire?'

'Well yes,' said Galbatorix. 'He was me.' The hint of a smile showed in his eyes, but it quickly faded and he pushed his food away, virtually untouched, and stood up. 'Well, I'll be in my office. Don't hesitate to come and see me if anything comes up.'

Walden stood too. 'Sire, don't you think you should eat a little more?'

'I'm not hungry.' Galbatorix walked out of the room. Though he was still as eerily silent as always he had lost his old grace and now he moved slowly – almost shuffling. Walden, watching him, suddenly remembered how old he was. It was easy to forget. Or it had been once. He briefly considered going after him, but quickly decided against it and resignedly sat back down to finish his own meal. A week since Morzan's funeral, and even though the King had apparently recovered from his brush with death Walden – and everyone else in the castle – knew he wasn't himself. Never talkative, he had now become silent almost to the point of being entirely mute. He moved slowly and still retained an unpleasant wheeze, but refused point-blank to let the healers examine him. Walden had known him for most of his life and had become used to his secrecy and his stubborn insistence on remaining as independent as possible, but this went beyond that, and Walden was worried.

Galbatorix reached the door to his office, unlocked it and went inside. Once there, he locked the door behind him, half-staggered to the desk and slumped into the chair, his head and shoulders resting on the desktop in front of him. He stayed there for at least a minute, gasping for breath, then pulled himself up right and began to cough. He coughed for a long time, his face twisting with pain. The coughing brought up flecks of mucus, and he dragged a piece of cloth out of his pocket and dabbed it away from his mouth. He managed to force himself to stop coughing with a strong effort of will, squeezing the piece of cloth in his grip until it had become a hard-packed wad. Once he had caught his breath again he loosened his grip and the cloth fell out onto the desk. There were specks of blood on it. He hastily snatched it up and stowed it away in his pocket, and then fumbled inside his robe. The crown was in there, in the hidden pocket where he usually kept it, but he shoved it aside and reached into the bottom of the pocket. His fingers closed around a small glass phial, and he pulled it out. He pulled the cork out with his teeth and then downed the contents in one swallow. In an instant, as the liquid poured down his throat, a vision suddenly flashed into his mind. He saw Morzan, sitting at the table in the dining hall at the very spot where Walden had been, throwing back his head to swallow a large cup of wine in one go.

The phial dropped out of Galbatorix's hand and smashed on the floor. He put his hands over his face and slammed his elbows down on the table. He stayed like that for what seemed like a long time, rigid and silent, but he couldn't keep it up like that forever. After a while he started to move very slightly, his shoulders heaving up and down in time with his fast, ragged breaths. Breaths that began to catch in his throat. He started to sob; soft, half-strangled sobs that would have been barely audible to anyone else in the room.

Galbatorix abruptly straightened up, wrenching his hands away from his face, and hit himself in the chest as hard as he could. He followed the first blow up with others, snarling under his breath. 'Stop it! Stop it! Idiot! You gods – damned – weak! Stop it! Stop – it!'

There was a strange, hot, tearing sensation, and then pain blossomed over his right shoulder – horrible, sickening, burning pain. He let out a stifled cry and clutched at it, gasping in shock before he very gently relaxed. He felt a coldness on his face, and two tears slowly trickled down his cheeks and soaked into his beard. 'Morzan, I'm sorry,' he whispered. 'I'm s…' but his voice ran out, along with most of his strength. He undid the fastenings on his robe and pulled it open, glancing quickly at the locked door as he did so. But he knew no-one would bother him. It was law, now, that he be left alone.

He fumbled with the bandages wrapped around his chest. It was easy enough to find the spot; he could feel the wetness on the patch over his shoulder, where the pain still throbbed. He pulled the bandage away, and there it was, as he'd expected. The very first sore to open on his body, three long years ago. The scar had split open again, and already yellow, foul-smelling pus was starting to ooze out onto the skin. He had healed it so many times, just like the others, but every time they opened again within a few days. Now that this one had opened the others would too, very soon.

Galbatorix paused to gather the strength that the potion had given him, and then breathed in deeply. 'Waíse heill,' he rasped.

Black energy glowed around the sore, and he jerked slightly all over as he felt it instantly take a toll on his already feeble reserves. But it was enough. The sore vanished once more, becoming an ugly, raised red scar, and he pulled the bandage back into place and then began to do what he had done a hundred times in the past, uncovering the deep pits in his skin, all over his arms and chest, where the sores were beginning to return. He healed them one by one and then did up his robe once again, his fingers clumsy with the fastenings. His face was slick with cold sweat, and all his skin twitched as if he had just run a mile. The pain in his lungs became worse, and he started to gasp for air.

He dragged a second bottle of the green potion from his pocket and downed it. The energy from that was enough to heal his lungs again, and he huddled down in his chair and promptly went to sleep.

He woke up again a little while later, feeling exhausted but at least able to breathe again, though his head hurt horribly. Moving jerkily, he dragged the heap of paperwork on the desk toward him and started to work on the Imperial accounts. Concentrating on that helped him keep his mind occupied. But not as much as he wanted it to.

Life had not changed much since his time in retreat. But now it was harder. He couldn't let himself be ill now, and he couldn't hide. All his energy now went toward hiding the plague from everyone around him. The first crate of potions had arrived not long after he had put the order out; supposedly the two hundred phials inside would be enough for several months. But he had already used more than fifteen of them. He had no choice. Without it magic was impossible to perform without making himself faint – with it he could manage a few small spells before his energy ran out and left him barely able to walk. The potion was human, not elvish, and it could not cure him. All it could do was lend him a little energy for a brief period. It couldn't purge the disease from his body, or stop it from constantly sapping his internal store of magic. That was how it worked, he knew. That was how it could kill even elves and riders. Supposedly it had begun as a dragon's disease, but had been transferred into riders via the link that joined their life-forces to those of their dragons. From there the disease had changed itself, feeding on their magic so that it could pass from human to human, and to elves. It was not an ordinary disease. It was a magical disease, and magic could not cure it any more than a wart could heal another wart. Not even the power that the spell of true immortality had woven into Galbatorix's flesh was enough to save him. It could stop it from killing him outright, but that was all it could do.

Galbatorix didn't believe that a cure would ever be found. After all, who but the elves or someone who knew their arts could possibly cure a disease that ordinary people had no comprehension of? The old riders and their knowledge were gone, and the elves would never return. It was all gone now. Finished. Forever.

The tip of the quill split, and ink sprayed over the parchment. Galbatorix stared blankly at it, as if mesmerised, unmoving and expressionless. He knew he would never recover. His old strength was gone forever. He would never be able to lift his sword again, and one day people would know it, one day…

Galbatorix sighed and discarded the ruined parchment. He selected a clean one and started again. So many numbers and needed adding up, so many things to attend to. He'd had to delegate many of the tasks he had once insisted on doing himself, and now he communicated with the city governors in writing rather than going to visit them himself. He had a suspicion that some of them would eventually realise that they were no longer being monitored as closely as they had once been, but there wasn't much he could do about it. But he had commanded them to keep him constantly informed of everything that happened in their provinces, no matter how inconsequential they thought it was. And there were so many other things, too, like the matter of the Imperial army, and Durza, who still hadn't sent a message…

Shruikan's presence suddenly appeared in his mind. 'Galbatorix?'

Galbatorix ignored him and picked up another piece of paper.

'Galbatorix, don't you dare do that,' Shruikan snapped.

'What?' Galbatorix said irritably. 'I'm busy.'

'I think something bad is happening,' said Shruikan.

'It's already happened. Leave me alone.'

'Don't you know what's going on in the city?' Shruikan demanded.

'Yes, Walden told me. What of it?'

'Then why aren't you doing anything about it?'

'Who cares about it?' said Galbatorix. 'I'm not going to waste any of my time with that lot. I've spent enough time out there making an idiot out of myself.'

'Galbatorix Taranisäii!' Shruikan roared. 'Stop sulking and get up here this instant, understood? This is serious!'

Galbatorix sighed. 'Let the city guard deal with it. I'm too tired.'

Shruikan didn't reply. Instead he sent him an image. It was of the castle and the city as seen from the top of the dragon roost. Shruikan was looking at the space directly in front of the castle gates. There were people there. A lot of people. And more were coming to join them. Many of them were holding weapons. Sound came with the image. Shouts. Jeering. Ugly, violent sounds.

Galbatorix stood up sharply. 'What in the gods' names-?'

'Go down there, NOW!' Shruikan shouted. 'Don't stop to make excuses, GO! They have to know you're alive, you have to show them you're their master, before-,'

Galbatorix ran to the door, staggering a little. He nearly fell over when it refused to open, and unlocked it as fast as he could, swearing feverishly. A pair of guards had stationed themselves outside in the corridor, and looked a little shocked when he came rushing out.

Galbatorix pointed at them. 'You and you, come with me. Fast.'

They fell in behind him at once as he hurried down the corridor, robe swirling. He ignored his tiredness, ignored the grey haze filling his mind, and went as fast as he could go. His office was on the second level of the castle, not too far from the huge entrance hall. There he found a scene of chaos. At least fifty people were there – servants, guards and nobles, all talking at once. Walden was there too, trying desperately to bring some sort of order but without much success. The front doors of the castle were shut and barricaded, and the shouts of the rioters could be heard from the other side. So could the thumps and the screams. They were trying to break in.

Galbatorix descended the stairs, and as people looked up and saw him they fell silent one by one and turned to face him. He could see them through the tired haze over his eyes. They were all watching him. Waiting for him to do something. They needed him.

Walden came to meet him as he reached the bottom of the stairs. 'Sire, you really shouldn't-,'

'What's going on here, Lord Walden?' Galbatorix demanded.

'It's the Varden, Sire,' said Walden. 'We're certain of it. They must have been waiting for this, Sire. Now they think you're dead they've decided to make their move. Someone must have given out a message. Told the people it was time. They're trying to get into the castle, Sire. The city guard are trying to stop them, but they're outnumbered…'

'And why wasn't I told about this?' said Galbatorix.

'Well… there was a great deal of unrest, Sire, but we didn't know this was going to happen, and…'

'But when it did happen, why didn't someone inform me?' said Galbatorix. 'I should have been told immediately. Are you trying to keep me in the dark deliberately, Lord Walden?'

'You're still weak, Sire,' said Walden. 'We didn't want to give you any undue stress, and in any case-,'

Galbatorix came closer, dark and terrible and silent amid the screams of the rebels. 'I am not weak, Walden,' he said softly, almost whispering. 'I am your King.' He looked up, toward the door. 'And I am theirs,' he added. 'Now get out of my way.'

'Sire-,'

'Now!' Galbatorix snapped. It wasn't a shout. He almost never shouted. But the word was sharp and sudden, like a whip.

Walden stood aside at once. Galbatorix walked past him and straight toward the doors. The crowd parted to let him through, bowing their heads to him as he passed and murmuring 'Sire'.

Galbatorix walked slowly, placing each step carefully. They couldn't see him falter. Not once. He had to look strong, he had to look confident…

He reached the door and stopped there, breathing heavily. Once he'd caught his breath again he glanced at the guards stationed in front of it. 'Open them,' he said.

'But Sire-!'

There was a thump from the other side of the doors, and then a deafening roar split the air. It went on for nearly a minute, loud enough to make the doors tremble slightly in their frame. There were screams as it died away, and thumps, and desperate scrabblings at the doors. Galbatorix could hear the sound of Shruikan's snarling and the sound of his claws and paws striking the ground and the walls on either side of the entrance.

'Open the doors!' he snapped again at the guards. 'Open them or I will have you thrown into prison. Do it!'

They didn't dare argue any further. Galbatorix stood by as they lifted away the huge wooden bars that held the doors shut and then pulled them open. They swung inward, and the first thing Galbatorix saw were the bodies of several people lying just outside where they had fallen. Shruikan was there, blocking half of the entrance with his huge bulk, his wings spread wide over his head, roaring at the fleeing crowd.

Galbatorix stepped out, carefully avoiding the corpses, and silently took his place at the black dragon's side. Shruikan abruptly brought his head around toward him, and nudged him gently with his snout. 'You're late.'

'Sorry. Shall we?'

Shruikan turned away and began to walk slowly down the steps, his talons leaving deep gouges in the masonry. Galbatorix walked beside him, holding onto the spike that jutted from the raised elbow of his foreleg, and the two of them passed under the archway and out into the city.

There were people still there. The streets leading away from the square were too narrow for them all to flee at once, and not all of them were trying to flee. Some of them, incredibly, were daring to hold their ground even in the face of Shruikan's huge bulk and man-sized talons. Galbatorix knew then that the situation had become far worse than he had realised. They weren't afraid of Shruikan any more. No. They were afraid of him. But if they thought he had lost his partner…

They couldn't see him properly. His black robe made him blend in with Shruikan's scales, and as he walked forward by his side he saw some of them starting to advance. Others were raising their fists, holding bricks and chunks of stone and preparing to throw them at the dragon. Someone must have rallied them. Someone must have told them that a dragon could be killed if it was attacked by many people at once. Someone…

Galbatorix reached into his robe, searching desperately for what he needed. Gentle relief flooded through him when he found it. Just one left.

He pulled out the vial and drank its contents. The instant the energy entered him, he put a hand to his throat. 'Gefa minn rơdd eiga mæla til hundrað.'

Magic channelled itself into his voice box, making it feel hot and energised. It used up most of the potion's power at once, but that didn't matter. He took the crown from inside his robe and put it on, and then stepped away from Shruikan and moved forward, so that they could all see him. He saw them falter when they laid eyes on him, saw them start to lower their weapons. They saw him now, and he could see their rage starting to give way to fear. And then he spoke.

'I am your King,' he intoned, and his voice came out a hundred times louder than usual, rushing out over the heads of the crowd and into the city, reaching every ear. He stepped forward, raising a hand to point accusingly at them. 'I am your King!' he said again, and he knew they could all hear it, every one of them. 'I am your master, I am your servant, I am your ruler, I am your protector, and I am alive.'

Dead silence, and a hundred terrified stares. Galbatorix stared back and saw them all, and images flashed through his mind. Tombs. Six tombs, all sealed. Orwyne, Ana, Tranah, Tuomas, Vander and Morzan. Six tombs, six names, six people, six deaths. Gil'ead, the Firepox in Gil'ead, the people he had tried to heal, and the murderous eyes of Brom and his accomplice before their knives came down and into his body, over and over again. And another day in another time, long long ago, on this very spot, when there were clouds in the sky and a bright sun just beyond and hundreds of people had come here and he had come out and stood on the steps of a different castle and spoken to them. All of it passed in a moment. Less than a moment. And that was when he lost control.

'YOU!' he screamed, coming forward to confront them, his once-calm face suddenly twisted and distorted with deep, animal hatred. 'YOU SCUM! Traitors! You traitors! You dare to do this? You dare to come here and do this? You think I'm dead and you're happy? I die and you come to tear my Empire apart? You think you can do that?'

From out of nowhere a rock, thrown by someone in the crowd, hurtled across the gap and hit him square in the forehead. Galbatorix's yell echoed up into the sky and he staggered, blood trickling down his face. Instantly Shruikan charged forward, bellowing, scattering the crowd. But he did not kill any of them, and they returned as he came back to Galbatorix's side, snarling.

Galbatorix put a hand to his forehead and looked blankly at the blood on his fingers. But they were still there, not fleeing.

'You chose me!' he shouted, standing still in the middle of the square now and turning to look around at them all. 'You chose me!' and, as he said it, no-one saw anything beyond the King they hated, shouting and enraged. No-one saw that he was swaying gently where he stood. No-one saw him put a foot out to stop himself from falling. No-one saw the tears on his face, or heard the bewilderment behind the anger in his voice.

And that was when, at last, a man stepped forward from the crowd. 'Tyrant!' he yelled, raising a piece of wood over his head. 'Traitor! Murderer!'

Galbatorix lifted his right hand in the blink of an eye. 'Brisingr!'

A ball of black fire shot from his palm and hit the man square in the chest. It exploded on impact, consuming him. His screams rent the air, high and tortured and horrible, and through it all Galbatorix shouted.

'You cannot kill me! You cannot overthrow me! You cannot betray me! I – AM – YOUR – KING!'

The man's body hit the ground, charred beyond recognition, and the last of the mob's courage finally left. They turned and fled away back into the city, panic-stricken, and behind Galbatorix the city guard regrouped and went in pursuit.

Shruikan came to his rider's side, growling softly. Galbatorix turned and half-collapsed against the dragon's foreleg. He was gasping for breath, and blood was soaking into his hair.

Several guards came to him at once. 'Sire! Sire, are you all right – you're hurt-,'

'Don't touch me!' Galbatorix snapped. 'You've been warned about that. Go after those sons of whores. Arrest anyone who fights back.'

'Yes, Sire.'

'But-,' Galbatorix turned as they started to leave.

'Yes, Sire? What is it?'

Galbatorix put a hand to his forehead. 'If you… don't take any of them to prison. Take them to the gallows immediately, and hang them. All of them. I want them to know what happens to people who betray me. No matter who they are.'

'Yes, Sire.'

The guards ran off after the people – now a mob no longer – and Shruikan did not wait any longer. He wrapped his talons around Galbatorix and flew away, back up to the castle. He landed on the dragon roost, which was now almost completely repaired, and gently laid him down on the stone. Galbatorix managed to sit up. 'Shruikan, I…'

Shruikan nudged him. 'Quickly – the potion. You've got to drink some, fast.'

Galbatorix rummaged in his pockets and came up with one last vial. He drank the potion and then sighed deeply. 'I've… gods… I've… overdone it. I don't… think I can walk just now.'

'You don't have to,' said Shruikan. 'You've done enough. Rest now. They can do what has to be done now.'

'Shruikan, did I do the right thing?' said Galbatorix. 'I killed that man. I didn't mean to, but… I thought… he was attacking me, so I killed him.'

'I know,' said Shruikan. 'It was a warrior's response. And a dragon's. You are more dragon than human sometimes. Wild dragon. You've always fought like that. And…' he started to growl. 'There is no choice any more, Galbatorix. They must fear you. If they think they can challenge you and not be punished for it, they will… they will try something like this again. There must be a response. There must be punishment.'

'Yes, Shruikan. You're right. I've…' Galbatorix calmed down as he spoke. From up here he could see the city. See the struggle taking place in the streets. His eyes narrowed, and he started to bare his teeth in a hateful snarl. 'I've done everything for them. Everything they needed, I gave them. And they murdered the others, one by one. Left me all alone. And then they thought they could take the Empire away from me. If they want me to be a tyrant, well then a tyrant is what I'll be. I'll put this rebellion down. I'll do whatever it takes. Anyone who joins them dies. No more leniency. No more weakness. I'll kill them all. Every last one.'