Chapter Four

Return and Revenge

Ravana awoke very shortly after Eragon's departure, feeling refreshed. He yawned widely and stretched his wings, feeling the muscles flex smoothly under the skin. Then the black dragon rose, sat back on his haunches like a dog, and absently scratched his lower jaw with his claws while looking at the sky. It was midday, but grey and cloudy. He was glad about that; he didn't like the sun much. He looked around at the remains of the Elvish scouting party, and remembered the previous day. He actually felt a little shocked at first, but then his previous feeling of satisfaction and triumph came back. He grinned, and strolled over to the nearest corpse. He sniffed it, wondering whether these things were good to eat. Well, there was only one way to find out. He tore off a piece and chewed it thoughtfully. It tasted good; sweet and light, totally different from horse. Time for breakfast, then.

Once he had satisfied his hunger and drunk from the river, he sighed and wondered if he should leave the valley today. After thinking it over awhile, he decided that he would. The valley had been a good home for growing up in, but now he was an adult it wouldn't be sufficient. Besides, it was dangerous. If the pale, two-legged intruders had found their way to it, there was no reason to assume that others wouldn't do the same. He would have to find somewhere better sheltered. Having made up his mind, Ravana folded his wings and began walking upstream at a leisurely pace. He wasn't exactly sure where he was going, but thought that he'd just follow the river until he saw something promising. There was no hurry, after all…

Back at the burnt patch by the overhang, Eragon the elf had returned. He'd run into a second scouting group sent in search of the first, and had brought them back to the spot where the bodies were.

'Be careful,' he whispered to the others when they got close to the spot. 'This black dragon killed twelve warriors in hardly any time. It never even took an injury from them.'

'We'll see it dead,' one of the others vowed.

'I will,' Eragon insisted. 'It's my fight,' he added stubbornly.

When they reached the very edge of the plants around the patch, they were unable to see any sign of a dragon. But Eragon confidently assumed it'd returned to its shelter at the bottom of the cliff.

They carefully explored the burnt patch, biting back cries when they found the dead scouts. They also found Ravana's claw-prints in the ashy ground. Eragon and two others approached the overhang, but found it unoccupied. They returned to the clearing, baffled.

'It's gone,' one elf said, though in a low voice. 'Why? Dragons stay in their territories.'

They turned automatically to Eragon, as if expecting him to have the answers. The young elf's face had darkened. It made him look most unlike himself. They saw he was trembling a little, and backed off, expecting some kind of explosion.

They got one. Eragon walked to the middle of the burnt patch, where the black dragon had lain, and screamed. Fists clenched, head up, mouth wide open, the sound he made was an unnatural howl, almost a roar.

After the scream, everything seemed very quiet. It was also very tense. The other elves didn't dare make a move, for fear that Eragon would lash out at them. He certainly looked like he was angry enough for it. They watched mutely as he examined the ground for tracks. He found them, and followed them, muttering feverishly under his breath all the while. He reached the end of the burnt patch and hence the end of the tracks, paused for a moment or two, then began to run upriver as fast as he could go.

The others tried to follow him, but he was driven by fury to a speed almost unnatural. He easily outpaced them, and though they shouted after him to slow down he vanished among the trees.

Meanwhile, Ravana obliviously carried on with his journey. Occasionally he would stop to drink, but aside from these brief stops he moved constantly, though slowly. The valley was much longer than he'd expected, but he didn't mind. He was feeling completative after so much exercise, and enjoyed the solitude and the peaceful rushing of the river. He wondered what had happened to his anger. When he concentrated on it he found it was still there, lurking just below the surface. But at the moment it was dominated by calmness.

The journey was uneventful, the background virtually unchanging. It felt timeless to Ravana, as if it lasted both forever and no time at all. During it, he felt he'd been walking forever. But when he reached the place where he stopped, he hardly remembered any of it at all. What had he thought about? He couldn't remember. It didn't matter, though. What mattered was… this.

The cliffside to his left was broken down. In its place was a slope of dirt and loose stones, etched with flowing lines where water had gone over it to the river. It felt familiar. Ravana examined it for a while, then hopped over the river with an easy thrust of his hind legs. He began to climb the slope, digging his claws in for a better grip when he felt it shifting under his weight. He reached the top, and found himself in another valley. This one was also flanked by cliffs, but instead of lush plants it was full of broken stone. Also, this one did not go on into the distance like the other one had. It was more of a canyon, flanked on three sides by high cliffs, and open only to the sky and to the slope he had just climbed. He stayed still, looking around, and realised that he knew this place. He felt himself shaking slightly. He began to scan the cliff-faces. If this really was the place…

When he saw the cave, his heart thumped painfully hard for several beats. His throat closed itself, and he swallowed hard to make it open again.

He approached the cave with slow steps, feeling the blood whistling in his ears. This was fear unlike any he'd ever felt before. Not a fear of death or injury, but a deep fear that came from within his young soul and made him weak and shivery. Some part of him, some much younger Ravana had awoken and was crying out for comfort. But there was nobody to comfort that young dragon, no parents to keep him safe and tell him all was well. A plaintive sound escaped from the adult Ravana's throat, almost a whimper, if any sound such a huge animal makes could be termed as such.

When he got to the base of the cliff, he stopped in his tracks. His head went up, snout first, and his nostrils flared. He could smell something, and it was the most unwelcome scent of other dragons. A fresh scent. Someone was in the cave.

At once, his fear gave way to anger. This was his cave. No other dragon should be in there. No dragon.

Ravana's eyes turned into slits, two golden razors set into his dark face. A rumbling growl was born deep in his chest. He strode to the cliff, and began to climb, his talons scoring deep grooves in the hard stone. When he reached the cave entrance, he poked his head in, confident he would be invisible. His eyes easily pierced the darkness, and he saw the dragon who had dared to usurp his rightful home. It was a female, blue-scaled like the one who had scarred his face. She was curled up, sleeping peacefully on a nest of broken branches and grass. There was no-one else in the cave with her.

Somehow the sight of her, resting so comfortably in the place he considered his, only increased Ravana's rage. He slithered up into the cave, his scales rustling on the stone, and stood over her like death incarnate.

The alien smell of the black dragon awoke the blue female. She looked up fearfully, and saw him there, glaring at her with murder in his eyes. The blue dragon was no coward, but she screamed just the same.

'My cave!' Ravana hissed, his words clumsy and ill-formed.

The female stood up hastily. 'If you want it, it's yours,' she said. 'You can have it. Just don't-,'

Ravana didn't understand her. To him, all language beyond a few words was just noise. What he saw was the thieving blue dragon standing and facing him, refusing to flee, mouthing gibberish all the while. He could smell her female scent, the only female he had ever been close to who was not his mother. It filled his nostrils and flooded his head with unfamiliar and confusing feelings. He didn't know what they were, but he didn't like them. His loins felt hot and energised, and his heart pounded sickeningly. He wanted to kill her.

The blue dragon tried to head for the entrance, but he stood in her way and she was too afraid to go any closer to him. So she stood stupidly, staring at his terrible face, wanting nothing but to be away from him.

'Please,' she said. 'Let me go. I won't tell anyone I saw you. I promise.'

He just stared at her, his expression unchanging.

The silence drew itself out like a sword from a sheath, until the air stank of fear and dragonish sweat. In the end the female couldn't stand it any longer. She made a mad rush for the entrance. But Ravana lashed out at her, catching her in the neck and knocking her backward. She fell, choking on blood. While she was helpless, Ravana attacked her. Bowling her over onto her side, he thrust his jaws deep into her belly and bit down. His fangs drove through her scales and into the soft flesh beneath, and she screamed and wrapped her claws around his neck, twisting and tearing. Ravana screeched and pulled back, trying to get free. But the female's grip was unbreakable. She tightened her claws on him, seeking to open his jugular and kill him. Ravana snarled from both pain and anger. He sank his teeth deeper into the female's belly, and wrenched his head sideways, ripping through the thin wall of muscle. Her intestines flopped out over his neck, glistening and horrible in the dull light from the entrance. The female let out a ghastly howl and bit at his shoulders, but her injury had weakened her. Her grasp on his neck slackened, and he tried again to get away. But still he could not escape. The female found some desperate strength from her pain, and curled her talons into his skin, so that if he pulled it would only hurt him more. But Ravana wasn't beaten yet. He thrust his snout into her belly wound, tearing at her organs as if she were a kill and he was seeking out the tenderest parts to eat. Working his way up her body, his jaws found her heart and crushed it. The female sighed and collapsed, her claws slipping out of his neck. He thrust them away from him with gratitude, dabbing tenderly at the injuries with his claws. They were deep and serious, but not fatal. Satisfied of this fact, he turned his attention to the dead female. She lay still, oozing blood and foul organ fluids, fully disemboweled by his jaws. He felt a hot, sharp triumph burning behind his eyes at the sight of it. Now that he had killed both pale creatures and a dragon, he had had his revenge on both. He was no longer helpless. He had won his battles and made his kills, and proven his strength and courage in the face of danger.

He had no interest in keeping the dead female for food; something in him rebelled against the idea of eating another dragon. He put his claws to her back and pushed at her. She was heavy, but with patience and effort he moved her toward the entrance, leaving a wide stain on the floor in the process. Reaching the entrance, he thrust her off the edge and watched her smack wetly onto the rocks below.

Satisfied, he retreated into his new den. There were some bones scattered about, but that was about it. He investigated the female's nest. It was odd that she'd gone to the trouble of building a heap of wood and grass like this. A hard stone surface had always been perfectly comfortable for him to rest on. Maybe female were different. Maybe dragons who weren't black were different.

Well, it'd didn't matter. He didn't need the nest. He scattered it about with his claws, clearing the space. It was the best spot in the cave for sleeping, and he was damned if he was going to lie on a heap of wood like the pathetic female had. He lifted a large branch aside. Underneath was something weird. He'd never seen its like before. The thing was like a rock; big and round, and smooth. But it was the most extraordinary colour: golden yellow like sunlight, chased with white veins. He tapped it with his claws. It felt hard and cold, and so polished that it was hard to grip. Ravana regarded the thing for a while, then decided he had no use for it. He took it to the cave entrance, and contemptuously hurled it away. He saw it land on the rocks, bounce, and finally settle. It was very conspicuous amongst the greyness around it, like a spot of sunlight in a darkened room. Ravana turned away disinterestedly. And that meant he didn't see Eragon's arrival.

Eragon had followed the river for some time, so angry that he hadn't even considered getting tired, let alone stopping to rest. Now and then he'd found signs that the black dragon had passed that way; crushed plants, scuffed soil, some clawmarks on the riverbank. He followed it, blinded by his emotions and his lust for revenge.

When he reached the place where the rockslide sloped into the river, he found the gouges on the riverbank and knew that the dragon had jumped to the other side. He swam the river without hesitation, found the marks in the rocky slope, and climbed it. What had been an easy few thrusts for Ravana was a laborious struggle to Eragon; the rocks were sharp and cut his hands, and they constantly slid away beneath him when he tried to grab hold and pull himself up. Several times he nearly ended up falling back to the bottom, but he kept on doggedly, and eventually he reached the top. On finding himself in the canyon, his first thought was that the trail had gone cold. There was no sign of the black dragon anywhere, and with a sinking heart he realised that it had probably taken to the air and vanished. If that was true, then it had all been for nothing. He screamed and swore, his voice echoing off the cliffs. It didn't make him feel even slightly better.

Gloomily he wandered into the canyon, hand on sword-hilt. Perhaps there was some sign left behind.

He saw the body of the blue female at the base of a cliff, and hurried toward it. Soon he stood by it, examining it with disgust. He wasn't even slightly sorry to see a dead dragon; from his point of view the only good dragon was a dead one now. But he pondered on what had killed it. There wasn't much he knew of that could so savagely rip a dragon to death. Had it been another dragon? Had it been… the black dragon? He looked upward, and finally saw the cave, high up on the cliff face. The blue dragon must have fallen from there, probably thrown out by her killer.

Despair settled over Eragon, blacker even than the black dragon's hide. He had no way of climbing that high. If the black dragon was up there it was truly inaccessible. He was defeated, and his journey had been for nothing. Now he was all alone somewhere in the nameless mountains, with nothing but a weak sword and a weaker purpose.

As if in answer to his thoughts, Ravana chose that moment to appear in the cave entrance. He looked down expressionlessly at Eragon, who stared furiously back.

'Curse you!' the elf screamed.

Ravana only blinked, very lizard-like and calm.

Eragon lost control of himself. He drew his sword and dashed it against the impassive face of the cliff, bellowing curses and hatred. The sword-blade shattered, and he threw down the useless hilt and beat his fists on the cliff instead. All the while Ravana watched, with little feeling but mild curiosity. He wasn't interested in fighting this creature. It was too tiny to be of any danger. Besides, it looked rather comical down there, pathetically trying to get at him. The black dragon chuckled darkly at the idea of one of that creature's kind even dreaming of fighting him. It could never be anything more than simply ridiculous.

He watched, much amused, until the creature finally gave up and turned away.

Eragon trudged away from the cliff, not caring any more if the black dragon decided to come down and kill him. Resentment smouldered inside him, dull and painful. He was a failure, and a fool. He had been wrong to think that he could ever be a hero and avenge his brothers. Nobody would ever remember him except as an idiot who thought he could do more than he was able.

Wandering vaguely back over the stones, his eye was caught by something bright and shining. He looked around. It was a large round stone, beautifully golden-yellow in colour. Eragon went to look more closely at it, picking it up. It was heavy, and very hard and smooth to the touch. He had no idea what it was, but he was captivated by its beauty. Elves love beautiful things. Eragon shrugged and stowed the rock away in his shirt. Then he turned and wearily walked away from the canyon, as Ravana watched from above, his golden eyes shining in the sun.