Eragon was unsure of its size, for the walls lay hidden in shadows. A line of flameless lanterns mounted on iron poles ran straight out from either side of the entranceway, illuminating the patterned floor and little else, while a faint glow came from above through crystals set within the distant ceiling. The two rows of lanterns ended over five hundred feet away, near the base of a broad dais, upon which rested two thrones, on them sat two dark figures, on the center throne sat King Galbatorix with a bare white blade. On the other throne sat a woman with dark clothes with white hair that drops down to her shoulders with unnatural golden eyes staring at them. The golden eyes seem to pierce the soul and seem to be concealing a great anger in them.
Eragon swallowed and tightened his grip on Brisingr. He gave Saphira's jaw a quick rub with the edge of his shield, and she flicked out her tongue in response. Then, by unspoken consent, the four of them started forward.
The moment they were all in the throne room, the golden door swung shut behind them. Eragon had expected as much, but still the noise of it closing made him start. As the echoes faded to dusky silence within the high presence chamber, the figure upon the throne stirred, as if waking from sleep, and then a voice—a voice such as Eragon had never heard before a deep and rich and imbued with authority greater than that of Ajihad or Oromis or Hrothgar, a voice that made even the elves' seem harsh and discordant—rang forth from the far side of the throne room and it said, "Ah, I have been expecting you. Welcome to my abode. And welcome to you in particular, Eragon Shadeslayer, and to you, Saphira Brightscales. I have much desire to meet with you. But I am also glad to see you, Arya—daughter of Islanzadí, and Shadeslayer in your own right and you as well, Elva, she of the Shining Brow and of course, Glaedr, Umaroth, Valdr, and those others who travel with you unseen. I had long believed them to be dead, and I am most glad to learn otherwise. Though my Queen wishes you all dead. Welcome, all! We have much to talk about."
Afraid but determined, Eragon strode forward with Arya, Elva, and Saphira toward the dais where Galbatorix and Jeanne sat relaxed upon his throne.
It was a long walk, long enough that Eragon had time to consider several strategies, most of which he discarded as impractical. He knew that strength alone would not be enough to defeat the king; it would require cunning as well, and that was the one thing he felt he most lacked. Still, they had no choice now but to confront Galbatorix and the Varden could not get any info on Queen Jeanne, it was like she appeared out of nowhere. Their best guess was that she was a mere puppet for the king to help consolidate his rule, though they were still cautious.
As they approached the throne, Eragon continued to study the chamber around them. It was, he thought, a strange room for a king to receive guests in. Aside from the bright path that lay before them, most of the space was hidden within impenetrable gloom—even more so than the hall s of the dwarves beneath Tronjheim and Farthen Dûr—and the air contained a dry, musky scent that seemed familiar, even though he could not place it.
"Where is Shruikan?" he said in an undertone.
Saphira sniffed. I can smell him, but I do not hear him.
Elva frowned. "Nor can I feel him."
When they were thirty feet from the dais, they halted. Behind the throne hung thick black curtains made of velvety material, which stretched up toward the ceiling.
A shadow lay over Galbatorix, concealing his features. Then he leaned forward, into the light, and Eragon saw his face. It was long and lean, with a deep brow and a bladelike nose. His eyes were hard as stones, and they showed little white around the irises. His mouth was thin and wide with a slight downturn at the corners, and he had a close-cropped beard and mustache, which, like his clothes, were black as pitch. In age, he appeared to be in his fourth decade: still at the height of his strength, yet near the beginning of his decline. There were lines on his brow and on either side of his nose, and his tanned skin had a thin look to it as if he had eaten nothing but rabbit meat and turnips through the winter. His shoulders were broad and well built, and his waist was trim.
Upon his head was a crown of a reddish-gold set with all manner of jewels.
The crown appeared old—older even than the hall, and Eragon wondered if it had once belonged to King Palancar, many hundreds of years ago.
On Galbatorix's lap rested his sword. It was a Rider's sword, that much was obvious, but Eragon had never seen it before. The blade, hilt, and crossguard were stark white, while the gem within the pommel was as clear as a mountain spring. Altogether, there was something about the weapon that Eragon found unsettling. Its lack of color—
reminded him of a sun-bleached bone. It was the color of death, and it seemed far more dangerous than any shade of black, be it ever so dark.
Galbatorix examined them each in turn with his sharp, unblinking gaze.
"So, you have come to kill me," he said. "Well then, shall we begin?" He lifted his sword and spread his arms to either side in a welcoming gesture.
Eragon widened his stance and raised his sword and shield. The king's invitation unsettled him. He is playing with us.
Still keeping hold of the Dauthdaert, Elva stepped forward and began to speak.
However, no sound came from her mouth, and she looked at Eragon with an expression of alarm.
Eragon tried to touch her mind with his own, but he could feel nothing of her thoughts; it was as if she were no longer in the room with them. The Queen looked at Elva with amusement in her eyes and a small sadistic smile.
Galbatorix laughed, then returned his sword to his lap and leaned back in his throne. "Did you genuinely believe that I was ignorant of your ability, child?
Did you really think you could render me helpless with such a petty, transparent trick? Oh, I have no doubt your words could harm me, but only if I can hear them." His bloodless lips curved in a cruel, humorless smile.
"Such folly. This is the extent of your plan? A girl who cannot speak unless I grant her leave, a spear more suited for hanging on a wall than carrying into battle, and a col collection of Eldunarí half out of their minds with age? Tut-tut. I had thought better of you, Arya. And you, Glaedr, but then I suppose your emotions have clouded your reason since I used Murtagh to slay Oromis."
To Eragon, Saphira, and Arya, Glaedr said, Kill him. The golden dragon felt perfectly calm, but his very serenity betrayed a wave of anger that surpassed all other emotions.
Eragon exchanged a quick glance with Arya and Saphira, and then the three of them started toward the dais, even as Glaedr, Umaroth, and the other Eldunarí attacked Galbatorix's mind. The Queen shifted in her seat like she was about to rise from it in defense of Galbatorix, however, the King shouted a Word. The Word reverberated within Eragon's mind, and every part of his being seemed to thrum in response as if he were an instrument upon which a bard had struck a chord. Despite the intensity of his response, Eragon was unable to remember the Word; it faded from his mind, leaving behind only the knowledge of its existence and how it had affected him.
Galbatorix uttered other words after the first, but none seemed to have the same power, and Eragon was too dazed to understand their meaning. As the last phrase left the king's lips, a force gripped Eragon, stopping him in mid-stride. The jolt shook a yelp of surprise from him. He tried to move, but his body might as well have been encased in stone. Al he could do was breathe, look, and as he had already discovered, speak.
He did not understand; his wards should have protected him from the king's magic. That they did not leave him feeling as if he were teetering on the edge of a vast abyss.
Next to him, Saphira, Arya, and Elva appeared likewise immobilized.
Enraged by how easily the king had caught them, Eragon joined his mind with the Eldunarí as they battered at Galbatorix's consciousness. He felt a vast number of minds opposing them—dragons all, who crooned and babbled and shrieked in a mad, disjointed chorus that contained such pain and sorrow, Eragon wanted to pull himself away lest they drag him down into their insanity. They were strong too as if most of them had been Glaedr's size or larger.
The opposing dragons made it impossible to attack Galbatorix directly.
Every time Eragon thought he felt the touch of the king's thoughts, one of the enslaved dragons would throw itself at Eragon's mind and—gibbering all the while—force him to retreat. Fighting the dragons was difficult on account of their wild and incoherent thoughts; subduing any one of them was like trying to hold down a rabid wolf. And there were so many of them, far more than the Riders had hidden in the Vault of Souls.
Before either side could gain the advantage, Jeanne spoke up "Come out, my dears, and meet our guests."
A boy and a girl appeared from behind the throne and came to stand by the king's right hand. The girl looked about six, the boy perhaps eight or nine. They shared a close resemblance, and Eragon guessed they were siblings. Both were dressed in their night clothes. The girl clung to the boy's arm and half hid behind him, while the boy appeared frightened but determined. Even as he struggled against Galbatorix's Eldunarí, Eragon could feel the minds of the children—could feel their terror and confusion—and he knew they were real.
"Do you see these children?" Queen Jeanne spoke with a malicious voice. "I do happen to believe that children are every bit as cruel and vindictive as adults. If you do not cease your attack on him, I will kill them" She pulled out a black sword.
She watches the group as they ceased their assault on his mind. Beside her, Galbatorix smiled. "There, that is better. Now we may speak like civilized beings, without worrying about who is trying to kill whom." He patted the boy on the head and then pointed toward the steps of the dais. "Sit."
Without arguing, the two children settled on the lowest step, as far from the king as they could get. Then Galbatorix motioned and said, "Kausta," and Eragon slid forward until he was standing at the base of the dais, as did Arya, Elva, and Saphira.
Eragon continued to be bewildered that their wards were not protecting them. He thought of the Word—whatever it might have been—and a horrible suspicion began to take root within him. Hopelessness quickly followed. For all their plans, for all their talking and worrying and suffering, for all their sacrifices, Galbatorix captured them as easily as he might a litter of kittens. And if Eragon's suspicions were true, the king was even more formidable than they had suspected.
Still, they were not entirely helpless. Their minds were, for the moment, their own. And so far, as he could tell, they could still use magic … one way or another.
Galbatorix's gaze settled upon Eragon. "So, you are the one who has given me so much trouble, Eragon, son of Morzan.… You and I should have met long ago.
As Galbatorix started talking to them, Jeanne started mentally talking to the additional servants that she had summoned with the grail, placed under madness enhancement, and started to send them into the city to help drive out the Varden. Soon she sensed them entering combat.
A dull boom sounded from behind her. Galbatorix said. "Ah, good. Murtagh and Thorn shall be joining us shortly, and then we can begin properly." Another sound filled the chamber, then a great gusting noise that seemed to come from several directions at once. Galbatorix glanced over his shoulder and said, "It was inconsiderate of you to attack so early in the morning. I was already awake—I rise well before dawn—but you woke Shruikan. He gets irritated when he is tired, and when he is irritated, he tends to eat people. My guards learned long ago not to disturb him when he was resting. You would have done well to follow their example. Though, he is very fond of my dear Jeanne who understands him extremely well."
As Galbatorix spoke, the curtains behind his throne shifted and rose toward the ceiling.
With a sense of shock, Eragon realized that they were actually Shruikan's wings.
The black dragon lay curled on the floor with his head close to the throne, the bulk of his massive body forming a wall too steep and too high for any to climb without magic. His scales had not the radiance of Saphira's or Thorn's but sparkled with a dark, liquid brilliance. Their inky color made them almost opaque, which gave them an appearance of strength and solidity that Eragon had not seen in a dragon's scales before; it was as if Shruikan were plated with stone or metal.
The dragon was enormous. Eragon at first had difficulty understanding that the entire shape before them was a single creature. He saw part of Shruikan's corded neck and thought he was seeing the main part of the dragon's body; he saw the side of one of Shruikan's hind feet and mistook it for a shin. A fold of a wing was an entire wing in his mind. Only when he looked up and found the spikes atop the dragon's spine did Eragon grasp the full extent of Shruikan's size.
Beside him, Saphira growled, and the scales along her back rippled and lifted like hackles.
In response, jets of fire appeared in the yawning pits of Shruikan's nostrils, and then he growled as well, drowning out Saphira. On the dais, the two children squeaked and curled into balls, tucking their heads between their knees.
"Peace, Shruikan," said Galbatorix, and the dragon grew silent. His eyelid descended, but it did not close completely; the dragon continued to watch them through a gap a few inches wide as if waiting for the right moment to pounce.
"He does not like you," said Galbatorix. "But then, he does not like anyone unless you are Jeanne … do you now, Shruikan?" The dragon snorted, and the smell of smoke-tinged the air.
Hopelessness again overwhelmed Eragon. Shruikan could kill Saphira with a bat of his paw. And as large as the chamber was, it was still too small for Saphira to evade the great black dragon for long.
His hopelessness turned to frustrated rage, and he wrenched at his invisible bonds. "How is it you can do this?" he shouted, straining every muscle in his body.
"I would like to know that as well," said Arya.
Galbatorix's eyes seemed to gleam beneath the dark eaves of his brow.
"Can you not guess, elfling?"
"I would prefer an answer to a guess," she replied.
"Very well. But first, you must do something so that you may know that what I say is indeed the truth. You must try to cast a spell, both of you, and then I shall tell you." When neither Eragon nor Arya made to speak, the king gestured with his hand. "Go on; I promise that I will not punish you for it.
Now try... I insist."
Arya went first. "Thrautha," she said, her voice hard and low. She was, Eragon guessed, trying to send the Dauthdaert flying toward Galbatorix.
The weapon, however, remained fixed to her hand.
Then Eragon spoke: "Brisingr!" He thought that his bond with his sword would allow him to use magic where Arya could not, but to his disappointment, the blade remained as it was, glittering dimly in the dull light of the lanterns.
Galbatorix's gaze grew more intense. "The answer must be obvious to you now, elfling. It has taken me most of the past century, but finally, I have found what I was searching for: a means of governing the spellcasters of Alagaësia. The search was not easy; most men would have given up in frustration or if they had the required patience, fear. But not I. I persisted.
And through my study, I discovered what I had for so long desired: a tablet written in another land and another age, by hands that were neither elf nor dwarf nor human nor Urgal. And upon that tablet, there was scribed a certain Word—a name that magicians throughout the ages have hunted for with nothing but bitter disappointment as their reward." Galbatorix lifted a finger. "The name of all names. The name of the ancient language."
Eragon bit back a curse. He had been right. That is what the Ra'zac was trying to tell me, he thought, remembering what one of the insect-like monsters had said to him in Helgrind: "He has almost found the name.…
The true name!"
As disheartening as Galbatorix's revelation was, Eragon clung to the knowledge that the name could not stop him or Arya—or Saphira for that matter—from using magic without the ancient language. Not that it would do much good. The king's wards were sure to protect him and Shruikan from any spells they might cast. Still, if the king did not know that it was possible to use magic without the ancient language, or even if he did but he believed that they did not, then they might be able to surprise him and distract him for a moment, although Eragon was not sure how that might help.
Galbatorix continued: "With this Word, I can reshape spells as easily as another magician might command the elements. Al spells shall be subject to me, but I am subject to none, except for those of my choosing."
He does not know, Eragon thought, a spark of determination kindling in his heart.
"I shall use the name or names to bring every magician in Alagaësia to heel, and no one shall cast a spell but with my blessing, not even the elves.
At this very moment, the magicians of your army are discovering the truth of this. Once they venture a certain distance into Urû'baen, past the front gate, their spell s cease to work as they should. Some of their enchantments fail outright, while others twist and end up affecting your troops instead of mine." Galbatorix tilted his head, and his gaze grew distant as if he were listening to someone whispering in his ear. "It has caused much confusion among their ranks."
Eragon fought the urge to spit at the king. "It doesn't matter," he growled.
"We'll still find a way to stop you."
Galbatorix seemed amused at him. "Is that so. How? And why? Think about what you are saying. You would stop the first opportunity that Alagaësia has had for true peace to sate your sense of vengeance? Would you allow magicians everywhere to continue to have their way, regardless of the harm they cause others? That seems far worse than anything I have done. But this is idle speculation. The finest warriors of the Riders could not defeat me, and you are far from their equal. You never had any hope of overthrowing me. None of you did."
"I killed Durza, and I killed the Ra'zac," said Eragon. "Why not you?"
"I am not as weak as those who serve me. You could not even trounce Murtagh, and he is but a shadow of a shadow. Your father, Morzan, was far more powerful than either of you, or even he could not withstand my might. Besides," said Galbatorix as a cruel expression settled on his face,
"You are mistaken if you think you destroyed the Ra'zac. The eggs in Dras-Leona were not the only ones I took from the Lethrblaka. I have others, hidden elsewhere. Soon they shall hatch, and soon the Ra'zac shall once more roam the earth to do my bidding. As for Durza, Shades are easy to make, and they are often more trouble than they are worth. So, you see, you have won nothing, boy—nothing but false victories."
Eragon hated Galbatorix's smugness. He wanted to rage at the king and curse him with every oath he knew, but for the sake of the children's safety, he held his tongue.
Do you have any ideas? he asked Saphira, Arya, and Glaedr.
No, said Saphira. The others remained silent.
Umaroth?
Only that we should attack while we still can.
A minute passed wherein no one spoke. Galbatorix leaned on one elbow and rested his chin on his fist while he continued to watch them. By his feet, the boy and the girl cried softly. Above, Shruikan's eye remained fixed on Eragon and those with him, like a great ice-blue lantern.
Then they heard the doors to the chamber open and close, and the sound of approaching footsteps—the footsteps of both a man and a dragon.
Queen Jeanne gave a hostile look toward Murtagh before she turned her attention back to them.
"That rude and ungrateful brat, after all that we had given him, he persists to resist us. I wonder if he is going to try again at the pivotal moment. She felt one of the servants contacted her and she answered.
"Should we try to capture an important leader?" Servant Archer questioned.
"Target the rulers and the leaders and magicians. If it is too much effort to capture them, kill them. The others I do not care about." Jeanne Alter responded.
"Very well, I will continue my hunt," Archer said.
She turned back to the king's conversation with Eragon.
It does matter," said Eragon.
"I will remind you of that when you are sworn to me. However, …"
Galbatorix tapped the pommel of his sword. "Since you wish so badly to fight, I will grant your request." The flare of hope that Eragon felt vanished when Galbatorix added, "But not with me. With Murtagh."
At those words, Murtagh flashed an angry look at Eragon.
The king stroked his beard. "I would like to know, finally, which of you is the better warrior. You will fight as you are, without magic or Eldunarí, until one of you is unable to continue. You may not kill each other—that I forbid—but short of death, I will allow most anything. It will be entertaining, I think, to watch brother fight brother."
"No," said Eragon. "Not brothers. Half-brothers. Brom was my father, not Morzan."
Jeanne lifted her eyebrow in surprise. Galbatorix appeared surprised. Then one corner of his mouth twisted upward. "Of course. I should have seen it; the truth is in your face for any who knows what to look for. This duel will be even more fitting, then. The son of Brom pitted against the son of Morzan. Fate indeed has a sense of humor."
Murtagh also reacted with surprise. He controlled his face too well for Eragon to determine whether the information pleased or upset him, but Eragon knew that it had thrown him off balance. That had been his plan. If Murtagh was distracted, it would be that much easier for Eragon to defeat him. And he did intend to defeat him, regardless of the blood they shared.
"Letta," said Galbatorix with a slight motion of his hand.
Eragon staggered as the spell holding him vanished.
Then the king said, "Gánga aptr," and Arya, Elva, and Saphira slid backward, leaving a wide space between them and the dais. The king muttered a few other words, and most of the lanterns in the chamber dimmed so that the area in front of the throne was the brightest spot in the room.
"Come now," said Galbatorix to Murtagh. "Join Eragon and let us see which of you is the more skilled."
Scowling, Murtagh walked to a spot several yards from where Eragon stood. He drew Zar'roc—the blade of the crimson sword looked as if it
were already coated in blood—then lifted his shield and settled into a crouch.
After glancing at Saphira and Arya, Eragon did the same.
"Now fight!" cried Galbatorix, and clapped his hands.
Sweating, Eragon began to move toward Murtagh, even as Murtagh moved toward him.
As the pair fought each other, Queen Jeanne was initially amused as they fought each other, however, she felt like something was off about the fight. She just could not put her finger on it. She watched as Eragon disarmed Murtagh and Galbatorix talked, then suddenly Murtagh shouted a Word, and recoiled slightly and felt some of her wards break. She spotted the elf girl moving towards them and she at once summoned her armor and rushed towards her.
Arya was watching the proceedings with worry and trying to figure out what she could do when Murtagh shouted. She felt Galbatorix spell breaking on her and Arya at once charged the throne with Dauthdaert in hand she raised it in a blocking motion to her right when her instinct warned her, and she instantly got knocked backward from a blow from the Queen.
"I did not even see her move and she is incredibly strong. I feel like even if she did not have any enhancements to her. She would match an elf." Arya thought to herself. She sees Jeanne smile cruelly at her before charging again. Arya was left on the defense while she rained down blows on her.
As Jeanne slammed down blows on her. Eragon continued to head to the throne until Galbatorix spoke the name of the ancient language, along with the word Letta. Invisible bonds seized hold of Eragon's limbs, and throughout the chamber, silence fell as the king's magic restrained everyone, except Jeanne whose body seemed to glow briefly and threw off the king's magic, but she backed off Arya.
Rage and frustration boiled within Eragon. They had been so close to striking at the king, and still, they were helpless before his spells. "Get him!"
he shouted, both with his mind and his tongue. They had already tried to attack Galbatorix and Shruikan; the king would kill the two children if they continued. The only path left to Eragon and those with him—the only hope of victory that yet remained—was to break past Galbatorix's mental barriers and seize control of his thoughts.
Along with Saphira and Arya and the Eldunarí they had brought with them, Eragon stabbed outward with his consciousness toward the king, pouring all his hate, anger, and pain into the single, burning ray that he drove into the center of Galbatorix's being.
As the mental battle was being waged, Jeanne took notice of the elf participating in the battle and with the squelch of flesh, she drove her sword through the chest of Arya. She heard the sound of shock and anger with some grief coming from the Riders, the children, and the purple dragon called Saphira. She only had eyes for the elf and watched as the life drained from her eyes and she wrenched her sword from the elf and in a deliberately vicious way spattered the blood onto the boy dragon rider. She pried the Dauthdaert from the elf's grip. She sensed Archer trying to communicate with her through her mind and she answered.
"Your majesty I have come to inform you that despite Assassin and Berserker's death. We are starting to push them out of the city, and I with Caster's aid have captured the elf queen and the man believed to be the cousin of the dragon rider." Archer reported.
"Very good, crush them utterly. We-" Jeanne was suddenly cut herself off as she notices Galbatorix recoiling back from Eragon in pain with hand on his head. She at once rushed over to him. Elva tried to say something to her, but she backhanded the kid out of the way.
"What have they done?!" Jeanne Alter said. She then gazed at the boy and felt the fires of her Avenger form grow into an almost uncontrollable rage.
Eragon after performing the spell got to his feet determined to end the King and Queen, saw the queen rush over to the king. He suddenly stopped as he felt an aura of bloodlust and rage come over the Queen and her golden eyes snapped to his. He knew he will not be able to kill the king while the Queen was there. He charged her hoping to overwhelm her before turning to strike down the king. Saphira and Thorn charged Shurikan. As soon as his sword connects with her sword. He soon realized it was not just that Arya was taken by surprise by her, each of her strikes was incredibly fast and powerful. It was taking all his effort to defend himself. He felt cuts open on his arms.
He kicked her away and jumped away trying to gain some space to recover some energy. She tossed away the Dauthdaert and pointed at him with her sword. She opened her mouth and he felt magical energy surge toward her.
"This is the howl of Soul filled with hatred! La Grondement Du Haine!" Jeanne chanted.
Eragon's eyes widened as the floor around her erupted into flames and the flames rushed towards him. He had no time to react. His sweat and tears instantly dried up. He felt his flesh begin to burn and start to cook, the metal on him started to stick to his skin and his clothes burned. He let loose a scream. He dropped his sword and started to fall onto his back in hopes of somehow putting out the fire, then three stakes rose out of the ground and impaled him through the small of his back, the hot stakes burned his insides before going through his body. He felt his life drain away and he apologized to everyone.
"I am sorry, Saphira, Arya, Umaroth, Brom. I failed you." He felt his consciousness leave his body and he heard Saphira cry out in anguish. Then he felt nothing.
Galbatorix his mind, freed from the spell at once, suppressed everyone by saying the Word and chanting Letta. Saphira, who was heading back toward Eragon, managed to temporarily break through the spell and tried to rip off Jeanne's head. She barely managed to get out of the way. Galbatorix soon stopped Saphira.
Galbatorix looked upon Eragon's corpse with disappointment and anger.
"Such wasted potential," Galbatorix said.
The Throne room was wrecked and burning. The corpses of three people in there. The elf, the rider, and the girl named Elva whose neck got broken.
"I will stay here. You go take command of the army and finish off the army." I will take care of things here." Galbatorix said.
"Of course," Jeanne said before she headed out of the room.
Galbatorix turns his attention to the remaining eldurnari and the grieving dragon.
Jeanne Alter walked through the halls of the palace to the front door and onto the streets of the city preparing to slaughter anyone in her path.
Two days later
Jeanne Alter was flying over the Capital of Surda after she razed it to the ground with her new dragon. Soon the dwarves and the rest of the elves will tremble at her might. Her dragon quite understandably hated her initially, but Galbatorix and persisting gift from Gilles De Rais called Dragon Witch(A) made sure she kept firm control over it, mentally and spiritually.