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Chapter 50

Darkness swallowed him whole, and then Eragon rolled across solid, barren soil. His breath formed a thick fog over his face. Stars blinked down at him with dazzling brilliance, and there was peace and quiet. Then the crying and murmuring began, and he turned his head. People were everywhere. Knights in armor, civilians in nightwear, man, woman, and child. They covered their faces and wept, fell to their knees and screamed.

Reality settled over Eragon. He lay sprawled on the ground without moving, without thinking, and only stared at the vacant skies. Murtagh was gone.

A crash shook the earth. Thorn roared and Saphira echoed him, and her concern flooded into Eragon like a tidal wave. He flew upright.

Dead earth spread in every direction for as far as the eye could see save an icy mountain that towered into the heavens. Mount Arngor was painfully barren, and all of the vibrant forests upon it were nothing more than knotted lumps of frozen branches.

Apart from the people, for everyone had fled from him, Thorn spread his wings and jumped off the ground with a wild roar. Saphira tackled him with her full weight and crashed upon the ground with him. They wrestled and fought, and Thorn tore at her in a terrible rage, his eyes ablaze and fire spewing from his mouth every time he made a sound. He jumped again, and despite the harm he had caused her, Saphira fell on him and brought him down.

Familiar. It was so similar to when Oromis had died. Eragon rose, but it was all he could do.

Thorn unleashed a cry and writhed under Saphira's weight, spitting fire, digging his claws in the earth. It was agonizing, and Eragon could not move. A deep roar bellowed across the sky and sent people to their knees. Thorn slipped away from Saphira and got about ten feet off the ground, and then suddenly Fírnen hit him, too. Combining their strength, Saphira and Fírnen were able to pin Thorn down. Nevertheless he dug into the ground with all of his claws, rained fire upon the earth, and wailed.

Arya was near them and speaking, singing over them. It did not help.

Staggering, Eragon went to the dragons, sidestepping one of Thorn's wings as it slapped the ground. Around he went to Thorn's head, and a burst of flames forced him back. Thorn's eyes shot in every direction and focused on nothing. Wild, lost. Eragon stumbled back as the dragon snapped his fangs at the air and wailed into the night.

Little one, be careful, said Saphira, and her mental voice shook.

A tear finally rolled down Eragon's cheek like a drop of ice, and shivers ran through him. Gritting his teeth, he stepped to Thorn and tried to catch his snout, tried to hold his jaw. Thorn thrashed and hit him hard in the chest, but Eragon caught him with both arms.

"I know!" Eragon shouted, and he held on with all of his strength. Thorn jerked his head, and Eragon moved with him. His voice cracking, he said, "Thorn, I know." More tears fell now and he did not resist them. He touched Thorn with his mind. "I know."

Thorn's ruby eyes shifted back into focus and his pupils shrank. All around he looked until he found Eragon as if for the first time. He groaned from deep in his throat and at last rested his head upon the ground. His entire body and both his wings sank with him, and Saphira and Fírnen crawled off but waited on either side of him.

Eragon ran his hand along Thorn's jaw and then pressed his forehead to the dragon's snout. His tears fell and ran down crimson scales. Thorn reached into Eragon's mind, and a flood of thoughts and feelings came with it. Eragon choked for air.

When the barrier rose—when Murtagh created the barrier—Thorn's connection with Murtagh was severed. It was not separation created by distance. It was sudden and complete.

Eragon pressed his head against Thorn and wept freely. With a sob, he said, "I know."

There they remained until the first light of dawn. When at last Eragon released Thorn and stepped back, all of his tears had dried.

"Eragon," said Arya, and she crept across the frozen ground without a sound. Her thin eyebrows were pinched together and her lips were straight and tight. Heartache shone through her eyes for him.

He shook his head. "Murtagh might still be alive." When she tipped her head and released the faintest exhale, he spoke again with more boldness. "Morzan wanted to enslave him, not kill him. And the magic that separated me and Saphira cut our bond at its deepest level. Murtagh and Thorn may be no different."

Arya shifted and folded her arms across her abdomen, and a strange light passed across her emerald eyes. "Murtagh created the barrier around Ilirea?"

"It appeared so," Eragon said, and he frowned. "Why?"

Turning, Arya searched each of the three dragons, and her expression softened as her eyes settled on Thorn. With a deep inhale, she said, "Then let us depart at once."

Thorn moaned again but rose, and his legs managed to hold his weight. Nevertheless, he could not speak. His mind was a jumbled mess of sorrow and rage. Eragon maintained their connection despite the ache in his chest that it caused. Saphira did not disagree with the arrangement.

"We go," said Eragon to Thorn, pressing his hand on the dragon's snout. "For Murtagh. If he is alive, I will find him."

Thorn did not speak, but from the depths of his soul he conveyed that he believed Eragon.

"I will gather provisions." Arya went to Fírnen without lingering, and she climbed into the saddle on his back. "I will be quick." Then she and her dragon departed as quickly as they had arrived, weaving through the sky towards Mount Arngor.

Eragon waited for them to be out of sight and then separated from Saphira and Thorn and meandered through the crowd. He did not get far before Brom caught his arm and pulled him aside. Brom's face was drawn and his lips pulled low. He had been near enough to listen in.

"If Murtagh is alive, I need to—" began Eragon in haste.

"I know," Brom said, and he squeezed Eragon's arm. "But you need to understand what you are walking into. Morzan is a formidable foe—and now with spirits, no less." Eragon could think of nothing to say. His father's grip lingered on his arm and anchored him with a strange sense of confidence. "Morzan has a weakness. A fatal flaw. Find it and exploit it."

Eragon opened his mouth to ask for elaboration, but then he stopped. He already had his answer, for Oromis had told him of Morzan's greatest flaw. "Morzan will overlook a single, crucial detail that will be his undoing."

"His strength now is vast, but you will certainly outwit him." Brom looked straight in Eragon's eyes as he clasped both of his arms tightly in his calloused hands. Then his father grabbed and held his face. "You must outwit him." Tears welled in Brom's eyes, and before any could fall, he engulfed Eragon in his arms. Barely above a whisper, he said, "Bring your brother back."

Eragon sank in Brom's arms, and all of the tension melted out of him. His heart slowed from the erratic pace it had kept since Ilirea. When at last they separated and Eragon stood straight, he managed a smile. "Thank you, Father."

Brom patted his back and then pressed him in a singular direction. Eragon took only a few steps and then halted. Selena was on the fringe of their large gathering. Her knees were drawn to her chest, her arms squeezing them, and she kept her face buried. She trembled but did not make a sound even as Eragon crouched beside her.

"Mother, I'm going," he murmured as he set a hand on her shoulder.

She raised her head. Her eyes were red and puffy, and before he could say another word, tears trickled down her cheeks. Everything Murtagh had feared was true. Eragon tugged on her hand, and his mother unraveled only long enough to wrap her arms around him instead. He held her close, and she wept on his shoulder.

Whether it was something she wanted to hear or not, Eragon said, "I will bring him home."

Selena shuddered in his arms. She spoke, and hostility tinged every word and made Eragon's hair stand on end. "Do not let him live." At first he thought her hatred was directed at Murtagh, and Eragon's stomach turned over. Then she pushed him back and held him at arm's length, and fury stirred in her eyes. "Do not let Morzan live."

Her hand touched his face, as if she did not believe he was really there, and then she turned away and curled over herself again, weeping into her arms. Eragon stood, and Brom took his place at her side.

Opposing Morzan was much the same as opposing Galbatorix. Eragon was small and insignificant compared to their foe. Yet for some reason he was not afraid. His time with the spirits was limited, but he could not bring himself to fear them, good or bad. Judging by what Murtagh had shown him, the spirits were slaves that, more than anything, wanted freedom and peace. Malice was not in their true nature. Even if Morzan controlled hundreds upon thousands of them, perhaps they could break free. Perhaps that was Morzan's overlooked detail.

Or perhaps Eragon was a fool. It did not matter now. Running a thumb across his palm, he pressed down on his gedwëy ignasia. He had sworn an oath to his brother that he intended to keep.

Youngling, boomed Glaedr's voice, and Eragon faced Mount Arngor. Before you depart, come. We would speak with you.

Coming, Eragon replied with a nod. Again he glanced at his parents. Brom met his gaze and built up Eragon's confidence with the strength in his eyes. Eragon smiled. "I will return."

"I know." Brom tipped his head and then embraced Selena.

Eragon turned away with full confidence that it would not be the last time he saw them, and then he and Saphira took to the sky. In the increasing light, the people of Ilirea began their trek towards Mount Arngor and the stronghold set upon it. It was not a suitable home for so many people, but it would provide warmth and shelter from the elements.

When they reached the stronghold, Saphira landed in the courtyard beside Fírnen. Eragon went straight to the Hall of Colors. A rainbow of lights blinked at him in the hall and painted the walls in vibrant shades. Several dozen consciousnesses touched his with vitality and ample warmth.

We shall not go with you, for where you go we cannot follow, said Umaroth, his white Eldunarí glowing on a pedestal in the center of the room. It burned brighter than most. Yet allow us to aid you in this: your enemy truly believes the youngling is hated and forgotten.

Eragon frowned. "Then he does not expect me to come?" At this he shook his head. "Surely he must. If not for Murtagh then only to stop Morzan. Either way, he knows we will fight." When none of the Eldunarí responded, Eragon rubbed his arm and stared at the stone floor. A few shards of broken stone lingered from their previous battles. "When the barrier falls, if I perish, he will come for you. What can I do for you?"

Warmth washed over him from the Eldunarí and made his stomach flutter. It was strong and unrestrained, and despite the circumstances, he smiled because of it.

The youngling has already protected us, Umaroth told him. Together with our strength, his protection will only fail if magic itself ceases to exist—and we along with it.

"He knew Morzan would come for you." Eragon's shoulders sank.

It is why he refused our aid. Umaroth touched Eragon's mind again in kindness, and in doing so he lifted his head.

Youngling, called out Glaedr. His gold Eldunarí shone at the forefront of many others on the pedestal, and Eragon stepped around the room and stood before him. I cannot aid you in this fight, but allow me to join you.

"Why?" Again Eragon frowned, and he tipped his head. "If Morzan wants you, then—"

Because it is right, Glaedr said with haste. Once again my strength is yours. Let us protect Alagaësia together.

Arguing with a dragon was a futile endeavor, so Eragon lifted Glaedr's Eldunarí in both hands and brought it close. Light swirled within it like a tiny, blazing sun. Raw power and warmth seeped through it, and Eragon's palms tingled.

"Thank you," he said, and then he turned to leave. Pausing in the doorway, he glanced back at the Eldunarí who always kept watch on the land and its people. He had to force out his next words. "Can you tell me… is Murtagh alive?"

Silence answered him until he trembled and bowed his head.

Glaedr finally said, He fell out of our reach.

It was not the answer he wanted, but it was better than them saying Murtagh had surely died. Nevertheless, Eragon's head sank again, and he could not muster the strength to lift it. He left the Hall of Colors without another word.

A tiny spark of hope was all he had left.

Eragon returned to Saphira and packed Glaedr's Eldunarí in her saddlebag. Arya came along shortly after with meager provisions, for food was hard to come by in a world where life was fading, and then they set off for the plain.

A once vibrant green landscape had been replaced by dry, cracked soil, and wind covered the land in a dirty haze. Most of the people from Ilirea had set off for Mount Arngor save a large group of knights, but Eragon did not concern himself with them. It would take weeks for them to reach Ilirea on foot and not much better on horseback. Chills shook Eragon, and he and Arya took turns casting magic for warmth.

Thorn joined them and flew at the rear. Not once did he speak.

Their long flight took them across the desert, now a rolling sea of snow. Gray clouds frequently covered the sky, but on the rare occasion the sun peeked through, the entire world was blinding. Despite the sunlight, the air chilled to the bone. It was so cold in the desert that, without magic, death would have claimed them in a matter of minutes. Their high altitude did not help, nor did the gusting winds.

Then at last the heaps of snow diminished, and on the horizon lay Ilirea. Rather, it was what Ilirea had become.

A shell of light wrapped around the entirety of the city like a glowing crystal, and weaved through it were thick webs of churning black. Darkness oozed down the sides of the barrier and crept across the ground like a growing puddle. It melted everything that it touched and sloshed like water, but its sound suddenly died as if lost in a void.

Then Thorn sailed over their heads in a flash of red and shot straight for the barrier without reservation.

Eragon's heart dropped into his stomach. Thorn, stop!

At his unconscious urging, Saphira tucked her head down and propelled herself forward in a burst of speed. Arya and Fírnen were not far behind.

Thorn did not heed his call, did not hesitate, and crashed into the barrier with his full weight. Black lightning snapped across the shell and surrounded him, shattering his scales and tearing his flesh. The dragon snarled and clawed his way up the dark wall until he stood over the top of it. Darkness curled around him like enormous ocean waves. Thorn did not relent. He dug into the barrier with his front claws, ripping apart the darkness, and then he snapped down on it with his fangs and tried to wrench it apart.

All the while, the darkness grew stronger. Thorn's blood spilled over the crystal shell and vanished in swirls of black.

Thorn! screamed Eragon. We will find another way! Stop before it kills you!

Saphira whirled over him and caught him with her paws, yanking him off of the barrier. Black lightning shot out from it and burned her wings, forcing her back, and then she swept around and dove in from another direction. Striking Thorn with her full weight, they toppled together through the air and towards the ground.

Thorn unleashed a scream that twisted Eragon's heart in his chest and brought tears to his eyes. As they tumbled, the crimson dragon reached for the wall, roaring, and his claws dug in deep until they shattered. Saphira rolled in the air and caught him in all four paws, spreading her wings to slow his fall. Together they hit the ground with a solid thump, and Thorn turned immediately and struck the barrier with his tail. The darkness grew stronger, and blood splattered in the snow.

Stop! Eragon leapt from Saphira's back and hit the ground running. He ducked under Thorn's tail and grabbed the dragon's head. Thorn! It isn't working, and you will break Murtagh's heart if you die!

His words did not reach him. Thorn dug under the shell of light and dark, flicking away snow and rock, and only found another puddle of darkness that ate at him. Saphira bit Thorn's hind leg and dragged him backwards through the snow. Thorn lashed her with his tail and broke her grip and jumped at the glowing wall with fangs and broken claws bared.

Thorn! cried Eragon.

Words were useless. Instead he sent a mental barrage of Murtagh's memories into Thorn, things the dragon already knew but needed to remember. Murtagh's submission to Galbatorix for Thorn, his desire to protect him above all else, how Thorn was one of the few that Murtagh would ever trust… all of this because of Murtagh's deep love for Thorn. If Thorn perished and Murtagh was alive, it would destroy him.

Thorn struck the wall and dug in his fangs until several of his teeth cracked, and then he stopped. Vines of darkness slithered over him like snakes and coated his body in black. Then, he slid to the ground and stepped back, and everything fell away from him. Eragon ran to his head at once and held his snout in both hands, and Thorn blinked at him with a cloudy and unfocused eye. Blood ran between his scales and spilled around him in the snow.

We will find a way, Eragon told him in a soft tone. But you need to be here when he comes out.

Thorn shot a burst of fire at the barrier that fizzled out immediately, and then he rested his head. Eragon scratched the fleshy area just behind his jaw and then touched his forehead to Thorn's snout. With Glaedr's strength, he healed Thorn's wounds and restored the damage done. Saphira trudged through the snow and then flopped down behind Thorn, catching his tail between her teeth. She did not bite hard, and he did not seem bothered. There they sat.

Fírnen came around the barrier and glided over their heads. Then he wheeled around and went back the other way.

Eragon, come, said Arya.

Thorn's head popped up, and then so too did Saphira's. Eragon had barely returned to the saddle before both Saphira and Thorn took to the air and circled Ilirea. Fírnen was on the ground on the northwestern edge of the city. He and Arya were not alone.

Elva and the werecat Solembum were standing far from the barrier, watching and waiting. Elva's face was tight and her eyes were narrow, and her hands were clasped into fists over the front of her long cloak. Solembum's eyes flashed a wide spectrum of colors, his tail twitching in the air behind him. If only a little, his shaggy black fur stood on end.

Standing next to the barrier, barely avoiding a puddle of dark matter on the ground, was Angela. She set her hands on her hips and then angled her body towards Eragon. Huffing through her nose, she brought her hand to her face and tapped a finger over her cheek. "What a mess."

"Do you have any idea how to get through it?" Eragon asked, and first he cast his gaze upon Angela and then Solembum.

"Flesh destroys flesh and spirit destroys spirit," murmured Angela, and she poked at the barrier with one finger. It zapped her with black lightning, and she withdrew her hand and shook smoke off her fingertip. "It is not an easy thing to undo the work of a fleshly spirit."

Eragon's shoulders fell. "What?"

Beside him, Arya shifted and crossed her arms over her abdomen, and her brow furrowed and darkened her eyes.

"Only something of flesh and spirit can undo this magic," said Angela. With a snort and a frown, she added, "Leave it to your brother to make things so difficult." Then she turned away and faced the shell of magic around Ilirea. "Troublemakers, the both of you."

Angela tugged aside her thick cloak and drew her sword Albitr, or Tinkledeath, from its scabbard. The sword was like the most finely polished crystal, like perfect glass, and had a white sheen beside the magic barrier. The faintest gasp escaped Eragon's lips. Though this sword was finer and clearer, it was reminiscent of the blade given to Orik by Gûntera. Angela weaved the blade in the air and then jabbed it straight into the barrier—and it slipped straight in up to the guard.

The wall of magic surged at the sword's point of entry, and darkness rushed from every corner of it to fill the void. Angela growled and held the sword with both hands as black lightning swirled around her and singed her hair and cloak. A few threads slapped her cheek and left bright red and puckered burns.

"Angela!" Eragon ran ahead to draw her back, but she took a step forward and pushed the blade upwards. A crack lingered as she moved the sword, but darkness swirled over it as if to close it.

"Powerful," she breathed, and she kept pushing the crystal sword through the wall.

Blood dripped off her hands and speckled the snow beneath her. The crack in the wall grew, but so too did the lightning and darkness swirling around it. Angela bit back a cry as black webs reached from the sword to her hands before crawling up her arms. She turned the sword and cut towards the ground. It was an insignificant hole that only seemed to make the rest of the magic stronger.

A powerful jolt of black energy nearly took the sword from her hand. Even so, she sank with it, cutting the wall little by little. Black swirled over her shoulders and surrounded her neck. Yet her eyes remained focused, fierce, and she gritted her teeth.

"Angela!" Eragon reached to pull her back, grabbing her shoulders.

Saphira, Thorn, and Fírnen spewed fire at the barrier and chased the darkness away. Angela kept pushing until a slit was cut through the wall about half Eragon's height, and then she lost her strength as darkness crawled across her face. A strangled breath left her throat. Still, she stood in place with her sword piercing the darkness.

It would never be enough. Tinkledeath was not enough. Orik's weapon would not be enough. Save a few weapons, all of the amethyst stones that might prove useful against this magic were sealed within Ilirea or far away in Surda. Too far, and it would take too long.

The edges of the crack rippled and then reached for each other to seal again. From the top down, the hole began to close. Thorn roared and kept pouring flames upon the wall, and again Saphira and Fírnen joined him. Darkness turned but did not break.

Eragon stepped away from Angela as the shadows moved over her, suffocating her. Her hand shook, and the rip in the wall wavered. It might be big enough if it gave just a little.

Saphira, he said only to her. She closed her maw and backed away from the barrier abruptly. It was strange that his heart was not even beating fast. Even so, she whipped her head in his direction. He said, I'm sorry.

Saphira roared and lunged across the ground. Arya must have realized it, too. She reached out, but Eragon was already moving. He dashed towards the barrier, building just enough speed, and then he lunged out of the snow and hit the crack in the wall with his shoulder. It gave. He turned as he slipped through and kicked Angela hard in the gut. She did not make a sound as she fell away from the darkness, as Tinkledeath dropped out of the hole.

In fact, as the barrier closed in around Eragon, it looked as though Angela even smiled.