Song of the Chapter: Para Bellum - Europa Universalis IV

Not far into their flight Murtagh frowned at a sensation that always reminded him of a spider having its web plucked, a movement of something that could have been predator or prey. After having his true name stripped by the Song of Storms he had been forced to recast his older wards. After all, the spells had been dedicated to protecting his old self, and not the man he had been free to become. Apparently someone still knew him enough to try scrying him.

Murtagh hesitated. He knew Galbatorix's nauseating presence like the scar on his back and many of his Black Hands almost as much. This mind was not one he recognized.

After a moment he opened his mind to Saphira's. "Do you recognize this presence?"

Beneath him the she-dragon shuddered in surprise. Master Oromis? Immediately she angled down to land. If I'm even allowed to mention his name he and Glaedr must have finally come out of hiding.

He reeled at the memories the she-dragon associated with such names. Galbatorix's greatest boast was perhaps driving the powerful Order of Shur'tugal to extinction. Apparently at least one pair had escaped the massacre. No wonder Saphira had faced Thorn so competently on the Burning Plains. She must have had a true teacher after all. As a Rider Eragon could have learned his spells and swordplay from any experienced elf. Instructing a dragon was far more difficult.

"You mean to contact them then?"

Eragon taught me the spell but I've never had the chance to practice it. They'd never believe a dragon capable of scrying on her own and would not recognize my human face. Obviously Oromis wishes an audience with you, Murtagh.

Murtagh's first instinct, drilled into him by his master, was one of vehement denial. Then he remembered he was no one's slave. He served Midna of his own free will. No longer did he fear death for daring to reach out to the wrong person.

And Oromis was likely hundreds of miles away, unable to hurt him. Murtagh wondered if Thorn had willingly found his way to the rebellion. Their bond did not indicate he was feeling bound.

When Saphira landed Murtagh slid from her back and knelt into the sand. Still far out into the Hadarac there were no obvious water sources in sight. Instead he dug a small hole in the sand and with a spell made it water-tight. Then he carefully poured in a small amount of water from his flask. They had just refilled their supplies at Hadara's oasis. Saphira positioned herself behind him.

Murtagh could not envision someone he had never met, but Saphira's memories offered vivid depictions of an elf with gray eyes and long silver hair. Though elves were supposedly ageless Oromis carried himself with great prudence and sorrow. He did not need wrinkles to convey he had lived many times beyond a mortal lifespan.

The Oromis who shimmered into existence within his scrying pool was much like the one within Saphira's memories, albeit one that had eschewed the billowing white robes for more conservative light gray travel garments. Behind him loomed Glaedr's golden head. At first glance it looked as though even Shruikan might have met his match against such a massive elder. Saphira's fearful recollection of his missing leg suggested otherwise. Saphira's head cocked in bewilderment at the third figure in the water.

Oromis raised a finger to his lips in the traditional elven greeting but fell short when his gray eyes fell upon Saphira. His tranquil composure cracked with a sincere smile. "Atra esterni ono thelduin, Saphira. It lifts our hearts to see you alive and well."

The third figure rolled his red eyes. "Aye, what he said."

Murtagh's heart flew to his throat at such a brazen voice heard outside the confines his own mind. "Thorn?"

Thorn's lips quirked into a grin. "Hello, Murtagh. Glad to see you made it back in one piece."

Despite the intricate red armor the face above it looked far less intimidating. Saphira's other body had a Hylian's pointed ears and pale marks that traced their way down her visible skin. Aside from the tell-tale ruby red eyes Thorn's form was deceptively human, complete with rounded ears and hair a mundane shade of dark auburn. He looked younger than even Eragon and Saphira. At this point Eragon could have passed for a short man fully grown. Thorn clearly had some growing left in him. Stranger still was the similarities in such an unfamiliar face, as if Selena had borne a third son. Saphira did not bear such resemblance to her Rider.

"Forgive his impatience, Murtagh Morzansson," Oromis said with the diplomatic air of one at the end of his rope. "I requested he appear in his... more conventional form for clarity's sake."

"And either sit as a silent statue or let you into my mind to speak for me? When the seven hells freeze over."

Murtagh's lips twitched in a barely repressed smirk. Thorn had always been forced to censure his own thoughts so he never spoke such 'impudence' to Galbatorix. Now his foul language feared no reprisal. Thorn's flippant remark nearly eased the sting the elf's inadvertent insult had caused.

"Freedom suits you, Thorn." He looked the elder Rider in the eye. "We are well met, Oromis Thrandurin, but that is a name I no longer have need to answer to. Since my liberation I have been knighted by the Twilight Princess as Sir Murtagh Veles, Knight of Eluryh." His heart soared at his first formal introduction as such. "I vowed to protect all that is good in this world and bring misery only upon the wicked. It would do my princess grave dishonor to not acknowledge she has chosen me as her champion."

Thorn barked a laugh. "No shit, an actual princess? Is she pretty?"

Murtagh paused. Despite the one-eyed stare of her horrid helmet he could not find Midna's cursed form hideous. He almost could have called it cute, had he not known Midna would not have reacted well to such honesty. Midna considered her imp body only a symbol of her failure against Zant and all the wrong he had done her and her people.

"She's smart as a whip," he said at last, "and with a tongue just as quick."

"Sounds about right. Is she the one to thank for our freedom?" Thorn gestured to his new form. "And this unexpected gift?"

The air behind him grew warm as Saphira transformed. "Actually, that would be my Rider. Mor'ranr lifa unin hjarta onr, ebrithilar. Please forgive our absence. Eragon and I have been quite occupied in the faraway kingdom called Hyrule."

"Un du evarinya ono varda, Saphira-elda. Much has happened in your absence. Galbatorix has leashed a spirit that terrorizes the heart of his kingdom and devours any who stray close. He has risen an army of the dead. A strange darkness has fallen over the Hadarac that swallows the light and spews only foul monsters." Oromis gravely searched her face. "Where is Eragon Shadeslayer? We must face this threat with all the strength we can muster."

Murtagh's fists clenched. Of course their homeland also cried for Eragon as their savior.

"He's not coming," he ground out. He took a deep breath and continued. "My brother's destiny lies in the east. Galbatorix has a counterpart in the usurper Zant. His is the power Saphira and I just cast down in the Hadarac. We do not need his help for Galbatorix."

Oromis was not convinced. "I have just recently discovered Galbatorix is also raising an army of Dragon Riders for his cause. Zant is the lesser threat."

"No, he is not. Galbatorix and Zant serve the same higher power."

"I fucking knew it," Thorn muttered.

Oromis shared an unreadable look with his dragon. "What do you know of such a higher power?"

"Ganondorf is best described a physical god," Saphira said softly. "Not even the gods themselves could seal him away. Only Eragon stands a chance at defeating him."

"And he cannot be killed until his followers are," Murtagh said resolutely. "We must storm the Empire's borders and end Galbatorix for good."

"Murtagh, it was literally a fucking miracle I got out alive because of this body." Thorn shook his head. "Unless you have another miracle up your sleeve no enemy of Galbatorix's is getting past his spirit."

Murtagh's hand strayed to the pouch on his belt. The Ocarina of Time was deceptively light. "Galbatorix bound the spirit through its true name. There is still magic in the world even older. It freed us by erasing our true names entirely and got you past the spirit once. It can do so again."

Oromis appraised him and was silent. Murtagh wondered what he discussed with Glaedr. At last he spoke. "We have much to discuss with each other. The Varden and Surdan forces have largely joined at Cithri in the hopes they will one day soon be able to march north. Nar Gharzhvog and a large contingent of Urgals remain with them. We shall join with their leaders and plan a course with this new information. Perhaps the time for a proper campaign has finally come."

Murtagh's mind strayed back to the last time he had willingly sought out the Varden. For his name and ancestry they'd imprisoned him. He had tried proving his loyalty in the same raid that had killed their leader Ajihad. Six months after his capture he showed himself on the Burning Plains, killed King Hrothgar, and nearly captured the rebellion's last hope at victory.

Thorn's eyes met his. "Hey, it's this or fuck off to a faraway land."

He smiled wryly. "Not even that. Ganondorf is Power incarnate. Hyrule and Alagaesia are but the first of his conquests. After them no world is safe."

"Then let us first aim to stop the evil that has taken root in our homeland." Oromis inclined his head. "May we see each other soon, Saphira-elda. Sir Murtagh."

Murtagh nodded back. "Oromis Thrandurin."

He released the scrying spell and leaned back with a sigh. As an afterthought he scooped the water back into his flask before returning the sand to its normal state. Hadara had not protested when they had taken water from her spring. In the desert it was a gift not squandered.

"I stand by my promise from earlier," Saphira said. "No one is locking your or Thorn away on my watch."

"I trust you." After a moment, he couldn't help but add, "And I intend to do so much more than merely get us past the spirit. No one deserves to be prisoner to Galbatorix."

She resumed her true form, scales like sapphires in the desert sun. I wouldn't have expected anything less. You're a knight, after all, and Eragon's older brother. Courage and recklessness are family traits.

Murtagh couldn't debate her on that.


Cithri was on its own was an impressive city. It was made even more so by the sea of tents that encircled it. From banners and colorful pavilions Murtagh spotted Varden soldiers, Surdans, elves, dwarves, Urgals and even ex-Imperials. Though some troops were distributed along the borders to guard against the undead gathered here were the majority of rebel forces. Ostensibly they waited for a march to Urubaen even though a stalemate had settled over the war. Today he hoped to help break it.

Glaedr's golden girth glittered in the sun. Murtagh scanned the tents and the skies for a smaller shape of ruby red.

He's probably waiting for you inside camp, Saphira soothed. Master Oromis probably recommended against Thorn flying straight up to meet you considering your history here.

Murtagh bit back his bitterness but some must have still leaked across their link. She thankfully ignored it.

Beneath them the crowds broke into cheers. Surely they must have been informed he was not Eragon, but still the rebellion celebrated the dragon who was perhaps an even greater symbol of their hopes and dreams. Whatever ill feelings the Varden harbored for his part in the Battle of the Burning Plains was overshadowed by a far greater threat.

Saphira braced to land as guards cleared an opening before Glaedr. Murtagh searched the ranks for familiar faces. The only members of signifigance were Oromis and his dragon. And a figure in scarlet armor he had last seen in a scrying pool.

He dismounted as soon as Saphira touched the ground. Oromis greeted them with a curt nod. His gaze lingered upon Murtagh before it finally flickered away from his face. "Please forgive such an unceremonious welcome. There is no time to waste on pageantry when we have a war to plan."

"Or letting them catch their fucking breath," Thorn muttered.

Murtagh had cleaned away the sand and sweat from the Hadarac during their last brief respite before Cithri but his tunic and breeches were still simple traveler's clothes. Oromis's conservative garments were still made with an elf's beautiful craftsmanship. A lord would have killed for armor like Thorn's, that both allowed mobility and displayed intricate design. Zar'roc was Murtagh's only finery. Even if he had the time to change he had nothing more formal to wear.

Such clothing hardly befitted a knight but his princess wielded regal grace even in shadows and an oversized helm. Eragon could look noble in a green tunic and ridiculous hat. Murtagh felt no shame for his appearance.

Saphira shifted shape, completely at ease in a blue tunic and dark breeches even more travelworn than his own. She blithely ignored the whispers that erupted around her. "Then let us be on our way, Master Oromis."

Murtagh and Thorn fell slightly behind the others as they wound through a maze of tents. A proud smirk quirked beneath the younger man's snarling helm. Did you know I'm now the world's one and only dragon knight?

Oh, aye? What did you do to earn the title?

Burned my way through hundreds of undead. The elven army was so incompetent I practically had to defend the border towns. How was your time in Hyrule?

Murtagh wondered where to start. I made peace with my little brother... and met my great-grandparents. Our mother traces her father's ancestry back to Hyrule.

Huh. Confusion echoed across their link as Thorn dredged up his knowledge on human lifespans. They must be fucking ancient.

He shuddered as he remembered Malon Lon-Lon's icy touch. Thorn, they were ghosts. Except for my great-grandfather the one time we traveled back in time and we glimpsed his past self.

Thorn sensed no duplicity or joking in their shared minds. His burst of skepticism quickly gave way to bemusement. No shit. We have a lot to fucking talk about later. You're sharing my tent, because fuck sleeping outside with Glaedr and the gaping masses when I don't have to.

As they neared the royal pavilion Murtagh donned his mask of careful neutrality. He had perfected it in Urubaen as Galbatorix could be enraged by any show of emotion depending on whatever state his madness currently dwelt in. Thorn had obviously proved himself to the rebellion in risking his life so many times for ordinary humans against Galbatorix's undead armies. Evidence of Murtagh's heroic deeds were practically a world away. He had only his memories and Saphira's testimony to support his claims. It was unwise to risk antagonizing the war council at such a critical juncture.

A heated argument abruptly cut off as they entered, even Glaedr squeezing his head between the flaps. Murtagh tactfully pretended to not have heard 'Morzansson' thrown out like a curse. A sea of faces stared back. He recognized some as Du Vrangr Gata leaders or Elders from the Varden's council. Dark-eyed Surdan generals appraised him with unreadable expressions. Dwarves glared at him in open contempt and Urgals watched in idle interest. Elves were carefully neutral and a little werecat snickered at the tension.

Nasuada stood next to King Orrin. For a moment their eyes met. Murtagh swiftly averted his gaze.

A herald hailed the new arrivals as Oromis Thrandurin, his dragon Glaedr Gullskular, Saphira Bjartskular, and Thorn the Dragon Knight. Whispers broke out when he was last introduced as Sir Murtagh Veles, Knight of Eluryh. Murtagh stood defiantly tall at their skepticism. Midna had dubbed him worthy of such honor. Both the shadows and a guardian spirit had recognized his authority on her behalf. He had nothing more to prove.

"What mockery is this?" a dwarf hissed. "Morzansson is a king-killer! And how are to even believe the creature at his side is truly the Shadeslayer's dragon and not a treacherous shape-shifter?"

"I am Saphira Bjartskular, dragon of Eragon Shadeslayer, whatever my shape may be," she smoothly replied in the ancient language. "Though we were torn from this land unwittingly we have never forgotten it. Always we have fought with our home in mind. Murtagh Veles served Galbatorix as an unwilling slave. He and Thorn have been freed from their bonds and proved themselves many times over."

"What she said," Thorn growled. "No oath kept me at the borders burning undead. I could have fucked off to a faraway land, but I didn't. Murtagh didn't have to return here, but he did. Now close your fucking mouth and listen."

"We also served Galbatorix against our will," rumbled a Kull. "We have bled and died alongside you in defending this land against him. Would you cast us down as well?"

"As long as they've denounced Galbatorix and fight alongside us, what does their past behavior matter?" challenged a Surdan general. "We need all the strength we can muster. With three Riders and dragons we'd have the obvious advantage. Why has the Shadeslayer not returned with you?"

"I believe I explained that quite clearly to the war council," Oromis said mildly.

"Lies!" spat Falberd. "No power in this world compares to Galbatorix's!"

"If you all open your minds I can share some of our memories of Hyrule," Saphira interjected softly, "so that you may all see why Eragon temporarily chose to remain behind."

Every member present had enough training in the mental arts to protect their mind from probing spies. With some grumblings they did so. Murtagh did so too, carefully ensuring his mind touched only Saphira and Thorn's. He wanted to experience Saphira's interpretation of events.

Saphira began with a borrowed memory. Crowds of screaming innocents fell before Zant, their screams distorting into shrieks as they transformed into shadow beasts. Murtagh's heart clenched as he realized the memory must have been Midna's. Then the vision shifted to a beautiful throne room and an army's futile last stand. A beautiful princess had no choice but to drop her sword or else condemn her soldiers to death. Only then did Saphira show the personal memory of standing powerlessly before Zant as he raised a long-dead dragon and its ancient fury.

Lastly, Saphira showed Ganondorf, face curled into a feral grin as he heaved a sword from his own gut and spat in the face of death. His final vows of vengeance still echoed in Murtagh's ears as the memory faded away.

"No soul can be in two places at once," Saphira said, "but a Rider and his dragon are nearly the same soul in two bodies. Eragon's soul bleeds for this land, but the evil festering in Hyrule threatens to consume all of creation. The same corruption infects Galbatorix. Both sources must be eradicated if we are to ever know peace."

"I was knighted by Princess Midna, the rightful ruler Zant usurped, and charged with eradicating the last of his evil in this world," Murtagh declared. "The darkness that fell over the Hadarac Desert was Zant's. Already Saphira and I have liberated it. No longer will you need to fear raids from shadow beasts. All that remains is Galbatorix."

"And the spirit that will not let anyone close enough to kill it," an elf groused.

"Legend says the spirit of Helgrind once protected not only Dras-Leona, but the entire heart of the Broddring Kingdom. For centuries it was a benevolent guardian," Orrin argued. "Galbatorix must have chained it somehow."

"With the ancient language." Murtagh smiled wanly. "He serves as willingly as Thorn and I did."

Trianna sneered. "There is no magic strong enough to subvert the power of a true name. The only chance you have is to change the spirit's very nature. And it will never allow you close enough to convince it."

"Eragon did not free us by changing our true names. He did away with them entirely." Murtagh raised his voice against vehement denials. "Magic existed long before the Grey Folk chained it to a spoken language. To this day there remains realms where they never stepped foot and their power holds no sway. There also survives magic far older, magic that can wash away even a true name."

A woman with head of unruly brown curls chuckled mirthfully. "Oh, is he right about that."

Nasuada looked him in the eye. "If you unleash the spirit is it strong enough to defeat its master?"

"No," Murtagh admitted. "Galbatorix chose to bind a spirit to his will. Zant chose to steal their power for himself. They both serve Power incarnate. Freeing the spirit does not give him the power needed to face Galbatorix or to obliterate his armies when no other spriit could." His gaze swept over the war council. "But it opens the way forward and gives us a fighting chance."

"Our forces in the Spine are ready," Oromis said. "And Arya Svit-kona has raised another force in the north. She awaits at Du Weldenvarden's borders for such an opening."

"We still face an army only blessed weapons can destroy," argued a Surdan. "And every soldier they kill is another for their ranks. With Sur's protection we can repel them indefinitely."

An Urgal pounded his fist against the wooden table. Murtagh was surprised it didn't outright buckle under a such blow. He wondered how many times the magicians had repaired that table before the Urgals had learned to exert only enough force for emphasis. "I tire of this stalemate! My Kulls can cleave a path straight through to Urubaen!"

"Aye," agreed a dwarf. "My children shan't grow up in a world where the dead walk. The gods cannot abide such wicked perversion of the natural order."

The clamoring voices swiftly united into a tide that drowned out the dwindled opposition. Murtagh and Saphira exchanged a determined glance. The way for war was opened.

'Gulskular' means 'Goldscales/Goldenscales' in the ancient language. 'Gul' is just Old Norse for gold as Paolini mostly ripped his language from that.