This chapter was fully written yesterday, but I waited for the update counter to reset itself. As I've now started the busiest part of my work week the next chapter probably won't be so immediate.

Saemora repressed a keen when the death of yet another brother reverberated across the bond. Glaerith had been an unsurprising early casualty. He raged too hot and too hard, burning up before he could be more than a flash in the world. A true fire held back its full force to endure. Kialos was and always had been a spineless coward. Not even the fires of hell had burned away his weakness. Glaerith had at least been slain by a true Dragon Rider. Kialos had been felled by mere elves.

Andariel, however, had been of higher quality. In none of their three lives had he ever been the most cunning individual but he had been smart enough. What he had lacked in guile he had made up for in sheer, undying determination. Only the utter destruction of his heart of hearts could have forced Andariel back into hell.

Not that their depths could hold him long. When their sire had first clawed his way free the Undying had been right behind him.

They had all struggled hard for rebirth. Before they had become the Forsworn there had been numerous attempts to enter the world as true dragons. Those pitiful little flickers had died in the shell or not long after. The Mountain King had suffered most before he had latched onto Galbatorix. By then four his five had entered the world as elves, and the Herald had finally followed not long after.

Their sire had ignored every loss, hard and impassive as the mountains he raised from Urubaen's smoldering ruins.

The earth itself had seemed to scream as Vercingetorix bent it to its will. Like the Eldunarya, they had broken in the end, and flat plains birthed jagged peaks sired by a treasure trove of souls and the Mountain King's indomitable will.

Whatever humans clung to the capital's outskirts had either fled or perished beneath the heaving tons of earth. The tallest peak, one capable of housing Vercingetorix, pierced the clouds. The surrounding land was gouged with gaping valleys from where naked rock had been forced skyward.

Vercingetorix was fickle on many things. Within hours of christening himself Vergentorix he had chosen another name. At times he mourned the loss of his children. Other times he raged at their stupidity and hoped hellfire properly chastised them.

In raising mountains he had been painstakingly thorough. His chambers consumed most of the largest peak, with tunnels leading down into the heart so he could bask in his shining hoard. Smaller tunnels branched out. Saemora was still exploring their depths. So far she had discovered low, sheltered caves for raising hatchlings and cool interior chambers for storing excess food. There were caves for all ages, brooding pairs and restless yearlings and proven warriors.

Unlike the womb-of-the-world, now set in barren desert, the Mountain King had anticipated the needs of a growing clan. Water tumbled from falls and gushed up from the earth to fill new lakes. His bulk leveled out valleys so seedlings could properly take root and breathed his will upon them to encourage growth. In a year's turn a fledgling forest would have risen.

Vercingetorix had ordered the Herald away to help manage the furthest reaches of their new territory. Saemora he kept at his side.

Behold, dear daughter, the seat of our domain. What was the heart of humanity's realm shall become ours, once more and forever.

Of the sentient races only dwarves were truly native to Alagaesia. For centuries her kind had kept them confined to their subterranean holdfasts, before the elves had come. All of them, from humans to Urgals, were a plague to be cleansed from her father's world.

It is grand, king-father, she demurred. All it awaits is our blood.

Our blood alone, only our eggs laid in the world. One clan, one king, one race. As it should have been.

Vercingetorix's chambers had been hewn with another of his size in mind, colossal enough to hold them both for centuries more to come. There was but one star the Mountain King more eagerly awaited falling than Aiedail's.

Death can soon never hope to hold us. We can crawl up from the depths of the world and safely fall to earth to the eggs of our clan. Neither I or my brothers shall ever have to settle for any life less than our own blood. And you will be there to restore us to our old strength.

Everyone would be there but the one dragon that mattered. In her first life the Destroyer had taken no mate and mothered no children. In her second life her darling one had hatched for her. He was all she had ever wanted, but the spiteful curse of her dying kind had stripped him of his name and very sense of self. Despite all she had done to keep him grounded, he had still drifted away bit by bit. By the end his Elundari was too withered to either rise to the stars or join her in hellfire.

Her sire rumbled in satisfaction and shook the mountain with him. Always your mother's daughter. You have her vision.

History remembered that she-dragon as mother-to-monsters. She had laid clutches for centuries. Saemora had hatched late into her mother's life. She could remember her as little more than an extension of the mountain-lord, the silent face at his side that had given rise to their sprawling clan. What vision had the mother-to-monsters held beyond her mate's wishes?

Saemora held back that idle thought and locked it deep into the recesses of her mind. Her sire, blind to her senseless challenge to his version of the truth, beckoned Morzarok home. His Herald and his Destroyer were to accompany him in awakening their clan into the new world he had forged for them and help see if to completion.

Vercingetorix descended into the depths of his holdfast. Saemora dutifully followed.

Despite the darkness the cavern shimmered with countless captive souls, a trove that rivaled the night sky. Her sire forgot her existence in favor of picking over his collection. He hovered over Eldunarya almost like a brooding mother, murmuring their names and prodding at minds that shied away from his touch or were too broken to respond.

When Morzarok finally skulked in the Mountain King did even look up from his basking. For a heartbeat Saemora feared they would have to wait for him to count them all.

Vercingetorix seamlessly shifted his recitation of names into a deep thrum, the same used to coax offspring from the egg. Saemora added her voice to his. The Eldunarya screamed as her sire forced his power upon them, and louder still when the Herald amplified the call far and wide with his roar.

From across the continent their brothers and sisters answered.

You should have struck him down where he stood. Tear out his throat with your teeth. Ripped his Eldunari from his chest and smash it beneath your...

Eragon heaved a weary sigh and raised his mental shields higher. Eridor's impotent raging continued unabated but no longer made his head ring.

Eridor had every right to his hatred but his time as King was over. Judgement against Jarshan was no longer his to pass.

Eragon and Eridor were not one in the same. That had been made clear to him over and over again since that alien voice had first resounded in his mind and soul. Neither was Saphira Safiri. Jarshan had not killed Eragon any more than he had Saphira. Distanced from his prior life's all-consuming hatred, Eragon was resolved to keep himself neutral. Feuds and grudges had once nearly resulted in the complete annihilation of their race at the time they had most needed to band together. He could not risk sinking back into the same self-destruction.

His treacherous mind dredged up memories of Roran's haunted eyes, Katrina's radiant joy and the gentle hand on the slight curve of her belly. Jarshan had made it very clear he and Serdar had both been under oath. Eragon could no more blame him for the crime than Murtagh for Hrothgar's murder.

Ancestors knew the Varden bayed for justice. Yet the sentence was not Nasuada's to pass. As a wild dragon Jarshan fell under purview of his King. He was as much Eragon's responsibility as Elva or Eridor's boisterous twins.

So long as the mountain-lord lived, than Jarshan's sentence was best served in helping to end him. If that meant living on the outskirts of camp and living in the same near isolation Eragon had during the first days of his transformation, then so be it.

Saphira briefly flew close enough to brush her wingtip against his. Her utter trust was a balm against the furious beast imprisoned in his head. You're making the right decision, Eragon. There are too few dragons left to worry about past sins now. And if he thinks to make more in the present, then he won't live long enough to realize them.

Caradoc and Trinnean are not to be left alone in his presence and to not be near him at all whenever possible, he said stonily. Those rambunctious hatchlings had grown into rebellious adolescents. They might not always heed their sire but they would damn well heed their King, even if he had to hold them down and wrest their vows from them both.

Elva growled in agreement. In the sunset her violet scales shimmered. She dogged Jarshan's every wing-beat, ready to swoop down and dig into his throat the moment he thought of changing course. Those little mischief-making bastards have to go through me first, and I'm not so easily pushed around anymore.

Eragon's response died with an agonized shriek. Aiedail's Call had touched the depths of his heart of hearts. This perversion gouged its way even deeper, jarring his bones and sinking its talons into the deepest reaches of his brain.

Somehow he mustered up concentration to direct his rage into Wrath. The foulness dissipated in wake of his searing flames. Eragon snapped open his wings and righted himself before he toppled to earth. Dimly he realized his talons were wet with his own blood. Saphira and Elva also recovered. Their heads bled from where they had clawed at the voice worming its way into their brains.

Blinking against the blood seeping into his vision, Eragon saw Angela sway and fall. Too far to act, he roared in horror. Elva dove after the witch.

Jarshan caught her first. Clutching her to his chest, he angled his body so his back took the brunt of impact.

Eragon and his clan swooped after them. A direct fall could have proven deadly to a human. To a dragon...

Angela winced and slid out of Jarshan's claws. Briefly kneeling down to retch, she quickly snapped up to her full height and rounded the dragon's form to bop him squarely on the snout.

"Idiot!" she scolded. "You nearly went and made all of my hard work useless. What's the point in healing if your stone-headed patient goes and gets himself killed hours later?"

Baring his teeth against the pain, Jarshan snorted in her face. The witch yelped indignantly at the spray of mucus. You save my life, I return the favor. You don't exactly have wings in that puny little body.

"Stars help me if you got yourself paralyzed," she raved. "Do you have any idea how much a pain spinal cords are to heal?"

Jarshan weathered the witch's ranting with a sullen growl as he dutifully shifted himself for her to inspect the damage. The other three dragons watched in bemusement. When the stone-scaled dragon finally climbed back to his paws and ruffled his wings back into alignment Eragon released a breath he didn't realize he'd been holding.

The mountain-lord, he snarled. Of course it had been. What did he do?

"Call his errant children home, I imagine," Angela said absently. She clambered up Jarshan's back like a squirrel. "In the end his clan was absolutely massive. And they did not die easily. Most have plotted vengeance against their bastard brother and his descendants for centuries."

Saphira showed teeth in the way she did when on her last nerve. How many children, exactly?

Angela shrugged. "A whole damn clan's worth? He and his mate bred like rabbits, then their children and grandchildren did, and so on."

Elva snarled at her. You couldn't take it upon yourself to warn us sooner!

It doesn't matter all that much, Jarshan said snidely. Humanity nearly drove dragons into extinction with the aid of a few Forsworn, and the elves nearly managed it all on their own during the Dragon War. Surely together they can manage one more time?

Eragon took a deep breath and reached for calm. He opened his mind to them all and-

Elva rounded on him instead, fangs bared. Did you know about this?

Eragon strained his mind back to his shattered recollections of the King's Trial. He remembered glimpsing stars above and below. But he had thought...

Of course you didn't! Elva snapped at his hesitation. You restored my true form but locked yourself in a human shape! What did you accomplish beside pacify some worthless human soldiers and nearly get your mate killed?

Are you challenging your King?

For a moment Eragon thought he had bit the words out himself. Then he recognized the voice as Eridor's. Elva balked. I...

If you do not agree with your King, then challenge him for his crown, Eridor said sharply. If you don't have the spine, then bare your neck and get back into line... unless you'd rather be an outcast?

Elva gaped, wings and tail slack. She shivered with hesitation. Then she flashed her throat at Eragon and frantically flew west toward camp as if the mountain-lord were on her heels.

Jarshan cocked his head. His eyes searched Eragon's as if his brother lurked in them. Were you not just challenging your King about his sentence of me?

Just because I was ranting at his stupidity doesn't mean I want to undermine his authority, Eridor said sardonically. Besides, it's not like we both know what your ultimate sentence shall be in the end. His brother flinched back. For the time being, you have a debt to repay.

Gray eyes flicked in the direction of Elva's departure. She might be your last, brother. I'm uncertain if... Mavalis survived Urubaen's destruction.

So am I, Eridor admitted. But those who would have been his nestmates live on. In death Safiri managed to defend our sons a final time, for her corpse shielded Trinnean and Caradoc from your greedy gaze.

Jarshan said nothing. All of them silently turned to Angela.

The witch shrugged. "You were all stars too at one point. Just because my memory's a little sharper than most doesn't mean it's flawless. Why don't you tell me for once?"

The night sky flared every color of the rainbow as his children and grandchildren announced their arrivals one by one. They came south from the elvan forests, west from the dwarven strongholds, and south and east from human and Urgal towns and villages. Perhaps a few had sought the primitive comforts of even lesser creatures.

The Mountain King coiled around the tallest peak, high as it could him, and watched his clan land one by one. The strongest jostled for the positions closest to him. His Herald and his Destroyer occupied places of honor at his paws. The weakest contented themselves at the base or else were forced to the ground. When he saw the true fights break out he growled once. Even his lowest tone rumbled the air like thunder. Every one of his greatest warriors stilled like scolded hatchlings.

Come now, he chided. This is our first time together in centuries. Some of you have never met the others. Tonight, on the brink of our dawn, there shall be no bloodshed.

Vercingetorix idly tried to wonder when his clan at last been this big. Its numbers had waxed and waned over the centuries, mothers churning out eggs and children slaughtering each other and rival clans in an endless cycle. Perhaps it had never been this large in life and only rebirth offered them the chance of reunion.

Gazing down at his countless progeny, Vercingetorix expected to feel pride, for his vision was so close to culmination. All he needed was the little King. He searched himself for the slightest emotion and found... nothing. He felt nothing. When he had truly been content, beyond the brief pangs of satisfaction when a part of his plan fell into place?

The Mountain King flicked his gaze skyward. Instinctively he found the bastard first, shining brightest of them all. Almost certainly before the pretender had come along and gradually whittled away at his pride and power.

(that is a lie)

The false King and his little army shall come to us. They expect to find us lurking in the ruins of a human city like rats.The Mountain King unfurled his wings. The moonlight cast his shadow far and wide. Behold the land I have made for you! For you I have raised mountains! From them we shall look down and laugh at those who gaze up at his in dismay and disbelief. We shall rain fire and blood down upon them! I will kill their false King and claim this world as mine. Together we shall raze all rot from this land and restore it to when we ruled supreme!

He craned his gaze upward to bellow his defiance at the heavens. His clan eagerly joined their war cries to his.

Vercingetorix searched the stars. He did not know which one was her (my Jarnunvosk) but knew she watched all the same.

One of my biggest inspirations for Vercingetorix's character was King Haggard from The Last Unicorn. The other was Darcia from Wolf's Rain.