Chapter 37
Saphira flew well above the trees, speeding through the air with the swiftness of an arrow.
Nasuada, stuck between Eragon and Vanir, explained her conversation with Elva to the both of them.
Barzul followed behind them, fighting to keep up with Saphira. Without Nasuada on his back, it was possible, but he still had to strain himself to keep such a rapid pace.
Judging by the speed they were traveling, Uru'baen would be on the horizon in only a few hours.
Behind her, Vanir began shifting in his seat. "It's really hatching now," he called, loud enough to keep the wind from carrying his words away.
Nasuada looked over her shoulder, practically turning around in her seat.
Vanir clutched the bag, which was strapped around his stomach for the flight. "The shell is breaking apart, I can feel it."
She smiled, remembering when Barzul had hatched for her. How long ago it seemed.
Suddenly, the bag shook violently, and a scaly green head poked out of the opening. The little dragon was emerald, just the shade of its shell, with pale blue eyes and white spikes on the crown of her head. The eyes, so big and bright, glistened in the morning light as the dragon tried to escape its satchel.
Vanir smiled ear-to-ear, touching the hatchling's head with his palm.
Back in Dras Leona, hundreds of soldiers broke through the main gate, pouring in like a swarm of bees. The Varden fought hard, trying to resist their attack, but were slowly being pushed back.
Arya, connected consciously to all of her elven comrades, felt another three elves fall into the void of death. They were losing. Only twelve of her kin were still alive, and two out of those twelve were severely wounded.
She gazed out over the battlefield. The stench of death; the sound of metal swords and axes to armor; the screams of dying soldiers; it all made her feel sick.
This is suicide. She grimaced as another member of Du Vrangr Gata slipped from her consciousness, yielding to death. Soldiers of the Varden; proud, brave men who had done no one wrong, were being slaughtered mercilessly below.
I cannot let this continue, she thought desperately. We can surrender. Perhaps some lives will be spared…
A mighty horn rang out over the battlefield, drowning all other sounds.
Arya jerked her head around, searching for the source of the battle horn. Why did that horn sound so familiar?
Something massive was moving through the trees in the distance.
She squinted, trying to see through the leaves.
Suddenly, a multitude of abnormally short warriors burst from the thicket, charging the Empire's army with ferocity.
Arya let out a hoot, though it was uncharacteristic for her, and jumped into the air. "THE DWARVES! THE DWARVES ARE HERE!"
A cheer went up in the crowd of rebel soldiers. Their hope was renewed.
Having had the whole trip to discuss their plan, the party was quite prepared when they caught sight of Uru'baen.
Saphira and Barzul landed immediately, continuing to the city wall on foot, as not to be spotted in the air.
From the wall, the Riders were to make their way as inconspicuously as possible to the center of the city, where they would sneak into the castle via Elva's secret entrance. The dragons were to remain connected just in case the party was discovered, ready to rush in at any given moment.
No one in Uru'baen took a second glance at the small traveling group; there was nothing unusual about three strangers wearing hooded cloaks that concealed their faces. The dark city was not a place where such attire was thought poorly of.
No one took notice at all as the three strangers mysteriously loitered around the gigantic wall of Galbatorix's fortress until no one was watching and then used a spell to make the patrol guards fall asleep and move the stones so they could climb up.
Who was to know that the three hooded strangers were all Riders of the Varden, there to end years of conflict between the Empire and freedom?
Nasuada hurried across the clearing between Galbatorix's security wall and his castle, Eragon and Vanir close behind.
"That was too easy," Vanir whispered, still clutching his satchel tightly. Eragon and Nasuada hadn't been able to convince him to leave his dragon behind, where she would be much safer. The elf was far too protective of his dragon already to leave it alone.
"I told you," Nasuada said, rolling her eyes. "Elva removed the spells that Galbatorix has warning him of magic around his castle. Also, it helps that he sent ninety percent of his guard to Dras Leona."
He pursed his lips, gripping his sword tightly. "Still, it doesn't feel right."
She noticed he was holding his sword with his right hand—the same hand with the gedwey ignasia. "I thought you were supposed to touch a hatchling with your left hand so you can use magic with your left while fighting with your right."
The elf scowled. "Well, that's the last thing I was thinking about while on Saphira. And besides, I can fight with either one of my hands."
"Oh, that's great for you," she scoffed.
"Can we stop arguing?" Eragon asked. "We're kind of in the open, and anyone can come by any moment."
Nasuada turned around, scanning the wall. "I think I recognize that servant's entrance… the tunnel isn't far from there." She strode over to the door and looked past it to a notch in the castle wall, no doubt where a small garden used to be.
Recognizing the surroundings, she walked to the notch and grinned. There, close to the ground and amongst dried up shrubberies, was the secret entrance Elva had made. "Come here, guys."
Eragon and Vanir came up behind her and examined the opening.
"'Looks like the rock has been moved away using magic, alright," Eragon said.
"There's no way to tell for sure," Vanir said, "I mean, how can you tell with your one eye?"
"My one eye, huh?" Eragon scowled, which just made his scar more gruesome.
"Yes. The opening could have been made by anyone, though it was likely formed by magic, for such a project would take many years without it…"
"Boys!" Nasuada exclaimed. "Are we going or not? You've followed me this far; you can't back out now."
They grudgingly followed her into the hole, each wondering silently if it was a trap.
She led them through the tunnels, lighting the way with magic. Whenever her memory failed her, Barzul was able to bring the proper information to the surface of her mind. They turned so many times she could hardly keep track of direction. In only a few moments, she lost her sense of which way was north. Scarcely did the thought 'Can I find my way out of here?' cross her mind; and when it did, she pushed it away, knowing there was no room for doubt. It was too late to turn back.
Eragon followed Nasuada silently, going over Solembum's words in his head. They haunted his every step, making it harder and harder to keep going. But he had to. There was no other choice.
He hid his thoughts even from Saphira, not wanting her to interfere—which she undoubtedly would do if she knew.
Instead of lingering on such thoughts, he concentrated wholly on Nasuada's figure in front of him.
She glanced back to make sure they were following, giving a brief, nervous smile.
How beautiful she was, right at that moment. Eragon wondered if he would ever get a chance to tell her how pretty she was.
Nasuada stopped abruptly, signaling a halt. They were at a sharp curve in the tunnel, and she carefully peered around the corner. "We're here," she whispered, straightening.
He and Vanir followed her around the corner and into a circular room. The walls were smooth with strange engravings etched into the stone. Illustrations of death and sorcery littered the walls. At the room's center was a boulder the size of a horse. Nothing about it was unnatural—it looked like an ordinary rock.
"That's it?" he asked, stepping forward.
"Yes, it is," said an unfamiliar voice from beside him.
Eragon whirled around, drawing Oromis's sword.
"and you can't use it," Galbatorix finished, drawing a sword of his own.
Nasuada and Vanir were at Eragon's side in a second, both prepared to fight.
"How did you know?" Eragon asked.
"I was scrying Murtagh when you killed him," the King replied, chuckling. "It wasn't difficult to scry the land as you approached Uru'baen, though I'm surprised you were bold enough to do so."
Eragon looked at Nasuada, then Vanir. Why wasn't Galbatorix attacking?
"I answered your question; you answer mine: how on earth did you find out my secret, that the rock of Kuthian is my source of power? I'd certainly like to know who told you so I can kill them. I destroyed all who were familiar with the tale."
Nasuada beat Eragon in answering. "A mutual friend informed us. Someone you had murdered."
The King's eye twitched. "Who?"
"Elva."
"That's impossible. I told her nothing." He didn't look very re-assured.
"You know Elva was not restricted in the same ways most magic users are. She had a way of knowing things."
He grimaced. "Well, she's been taken care of. Now, I am glad you all have shown up; all of the surviving Riders in one room." He breathed deeply. "Now, I realize you intend to feed off the same source of energy as I, but I'm afraid you cannot do that. Only I, in all my omnipotence, can control the rock. Luckily for you, I am willing to lend you some of it if you surrender..."
"You can't," Eragon blurted, "not unless you know our true names."
Galbatorix, looking surprised and infuriated by Eragon's words, shook with anger. "I see you've done your homework, Shadeslayer, but that doesn't improve your situation. I am the Kuthian Master, and only I can control the rock of Kuthian. With an elf present, I'm sure I will find your true names soon enough."
Eragon decided not to contradict him even though he knew there could be two Kuthian Masters at once. "Well, just to save your breath, Galbatorix: no, we won't join you. We don't want any of the power from the rock, and we're not interested in telling you our true names."
"What if we choose to kill those closest to you?" a female voice said.
Goroth appeared next to Vanir and held her sword up to the satchel in which he was carrying his dragon hatchling.
Vanir froze, eyes darting towards Eragon and then back. In a flash, he had brough his sword around and pushed Goroth's blade away from his bag. The Shade launched a furious attack at Vanir, and just like that, they were all fighting.
Eragon thrust his sword for Galbatorix, moving with speed.
The King struggled to block every blow, knowing he was fully outmatched when it came to swordsmanship.
Nasuada moved in next to Eragon, putting in a blow or two when it was safe.
Eragon dodged a swing of Galbatorix's sword and went for the Rider's chest, only to be blocked. His next try for the worthy opponent's heart just nicked the King's left arm.
Infuriated, Galbatorix shouted, "JIERDA!"
Eragon felt himself fly back through the air with such force his body did not stop until it hit the opposite wall. He reached for magic, preparing to launch a spell for the King, but Nasuada reached his mind first. Don't do it, Eragon. Go to the vault. I can hold him off for a few minutes.
He couldn't move his body, but if he could, he would have leapt to Nasuada's aid. She can't handle Galbatorix. What is she thinking?
Across the room, Vanir and Goroth were eyeball deep in a swordfight like no one had ever seen. Each was wholly concentrated on breaking through the other's defenses. Neither seemed to slow in the least.
Nasuada backed away from Galbatorix, knowing what she had to do. Her mental defenses were first class, she knew that much. She had been trained to block her mind since the cradle. At Helgrind, Murtagh had broken through Eragon's mind, not hers. Mental barriers were her strong point. Blocking another of the King's blows, she prodded his mind boldly and then retreated, putting up all of her defenses.
He paused, appearing mildly amused. "I know you're a girl, but I didn't think you were that stupid. Mental attack is my preferred method of killing. I'm not going to kill you though; you'll give in quite easily after your friends are dead." With that, he pressed against her mind, testing her barriers.
Nasuada was overwhelmed with the power he demonstrated. She bit her lip, calling for Barzul's assistance. He quickly helped reinforce her defenses, but wasn't able to do much. He and Saphira were concentrated on flying towards the castle, preparing to fight Shruikan.
Eragon, across the room, realized what Saphira and Barzul were up to. No! he called. You cannot help us because we're underground. There is no need to fight Shruikan.
Saphira acknowledged his comment, saying, If we harm Shruikan, we harm Galbatorix. It's the only way we can help.
Yes, but if he harms you, he harms me. And what about Barzul? You're letting him go up against the most powerful dragon alive?
It was his idea; I couldn't leave him behind. And besides, I'm going to withdraw from your mind so you won't feel it if I'm injured. We'll be completely separated.
No, Saphira! He said, but she was already withdrawing from his consciousness.
Go to the vault, she said, her voice fading away.
Eragon shifted on the stone floor, pulling himself to a standing position. Instantly, all the blood rushed to his head and his vision began darkening. He wavered, leaning against the wall for support. I must speak my name at the rock and open the vault of souls—I must sell my soul.
He staggered to the rock, putting his hands on it. Then, he spoke in the ancient language. "I am Yawe Edoc'sil. I offer you my soul."