A:N - Apologies for the long wait. This was a tough chapter to write, and, as you can see, a very long one as well.
Chapter Fifteen – Riot in Urû'baen
"This is the most insane and ludicrous idea I have ever had the misfortune to hear," Brom grumbled angrily. He sat on a small rock, beside Harry on the ground, eyeing a pacing Eragon with annoyance. Murtagh lay on his bedroll, staring at the stars, but listening with intent. Saphira appeared to be sleeping, but they all knew better.
"What's so ludicrous about it?" Eragon asked, rushing his speech. "This woman 'Arya' must be important, or Durza would hardly be torturing her. We can't just let her die!"
"Eragon, you have to calm down," Harry said calmly, holding his hand up in reassurance, as Brom spluttered in annoyance at his idiotic question. "Take a deep breath, and tell us again."
Eragon ceased in his movements and sighed, knowing he needed to convince them properly, before nodding. "Okay," he began slowly. "I dreamt about her, Arya, being tortured by Durza in Gil'ead-"
"That's not what you said," Brom interrupted sharply. "You told us a mysterious voice spoke to you and told you both her name and her location after the vision occurred. Correct?"
"Yes!" Eragon exclaimed. "So what? We all know what happened the last time Harry was contacted by an entity in his mind. It may have saved his memory completely."
"That was different," Harry pointed out. Eragon had woken them all up in a flutter of excitement only minutes ago, and had relayed his story until he was out of breath. Brom was sceptical, and, Harry was unwilling to believe what he said, for one good reason. "When Fírnen contacted me I was wide awake, and my defences were activated. What you're describing to me sounds awfully similar to something I experienced a few years ago… something that resulted in the death of my only surviving family member," he finished quietly.
"Tell me what happened, if you will," Brom said gently.
Harry looked down for a moment, thinking of Sirius and his horrid mistake. It had been almost two and a half years ago, but it still brought him to the verge of tears, although it never quite broke him down entirely. "My connection with Voldemort was very powerful back then. I could feel his emotions, and they influenced me to an extent. Eventually he realised the possibility of using such an idea against me – that is, I could see what was happening inside his head – and I started to have… flashes. Visions, if you want.
"Some of them occurred in my dreams, and one even helped to save the life of a man I knew, but… he inevitably used it against me. I had a dream, where my godfather was being tortured before my eyes, and thought it was real. Voldemort made me believe it was a true vision, but it was merely false and implanted. I didn't know that, so I ran to try and 'save' him. It was a trap, and we all would have been killed if our allies hadn't shown up."
Harry sighed, thinking about that horrible night once again. The elevator, the endless rooms in the Department of Mysteries, the prophecy… the veil. It was as vivid as the memory of Durza blasting his eye into a dimension of uselessness, but that was expected.
"Sirius – my godfather – was one of the reinforcements. There was a battle, and he was killed," Harry finished weakly. He wanted to make it sound like Sirius had died a hero's death, but couldn't think of how to do so. He definitely had, in Harry's mind, and he deserved all the accolades and titles associated with any modern hero, not that Sirius would ever have agreed to receive such trivial snippets of fame.
Around them, the first rays of early sunlight began to flicker into existence, and the wind started to pick up ever so slightly around the same moment. Trees and grass waved to and fro, refreshing all with a calming breeze and a gentle touch of nature.
Brom shook his head. "I'm sorry to hear that, truly. But it doesn't change our situation. We head south east," he announced, extinguishing his pipe and standing up.
Eragon sighed, and rubbed the stubble on his face in aggravation. Harry absent-mindedly imitated him, noticing properly for the first time his newly-grown beard. It wasn't as impressive as Brom's, of course, but it was still much more prominent than it had been a year ago. He must have looked much older than eighteen to all other people.
"Brom, this voice also told me the king would be leaving Urû'baen shortly, and that Harry 'knows what must be done'. I think we all remember our conversation before Durza found us…" Eragon trailed off as Brom stiffened and turned once more to glare at him.
Harry also blinked in consideration, looking and feeling more thoughtful. If the king was leaving the city would be breach-able, as would the fortress itself. It was sure to be guarded by a plethora of deadly magical traps and the brunt of Galbatorix's elite guards, but a powerful disillusionment charm and the nature of such an unexpected move would ensure the element of surprise was on their side. It was a better time than any to make a pass at the eggs. If Eragon's source was reliable, of course.
"There is no chance I'm letting you attempt something like that," Brom stated flatly, in a tone that booked no argument. "Your proposal to ride to Gil'ead is crazy enough, but this conversation is beginning to make me think you want to get yourself killed."
Harry cleared his throat and they both looked at him. He needed to choose his words carefully here. "The problem is that we don't need your permission to go anywhere. When we left Carvahall we had an agreement to work together, and to accept your tutorage. That doesn't mean we have to follow your orders."
Rather than get angry, Brom decided to remain calm. "So you'll just decide which to follow and which to disregard, is that it? This isn't about me controlling either of you, it's about your survival!"
Harry winced as he half-shouted the last four words directly towards him. He knew what they were proposing was riskier than anything so far, but recent events began to make him view the world differently. Durza had a fraction of the king's power, and he had overwhelmed Harry with the utmost ease. They needed an advantage, and this was it. Harry wouldn't let Brom stop him; he simply couldn't afford to be stopped at this point. He was turning into more of an activist than ever before, and that was saying something. It couldn't be understated, however: the fate of the world rested in their hands.
"Brom, we'll never have another opportunity like this," Harry implored quietly. "I've been working on a plan since our talk back in Teirm. I know how to use my own knowledge to help. All I need is the layout and an escape route."
Brom scoffed and shook his head, laughing without humour. "You need a hell of a lot more than that, boy. You need a bloody death wish while you're at it. Yes, the king will leave the fortress and fly to… wherever he's going. Let's take that under assumption, since we can't trust anything Eragon saw in his dreams. You said that yourself. Why are you changing your mind so quickly?"
"I'm not," Harry admitted, scratching his head and smiling sheepishly, causing Brom to roll his eyes. "Is there a way we can check if Eragon's dream was real or not? That'll prove if the voice can be trusted, or if it was simply… well, a dream."
Against his better judgement, Brom reluctantly nodded. "Yes, there might be a way. There is a magical ability known as 'scrying', which allows a magician to view people or locations he has seen before. Essentially, it's a way of viewing another part of the land entirely."
"So we could just look at Gil'ead?" Harry asked simply.
Brom shook his head. "No, that wouldn't work because Eragon has never seen Gil'ead from the outside before. Scrying requires that the object in-question has been seen before by the caster, as you can't begin to guess what something or someone truly looks like. If you were to scry Durza, for example, you would see him as clear as day, but not the background if he is standing somewhere you have never visited. Likewise, you wouldn't be able to see the king at all, because neither of you have ever done so in real life. Does that make sense?"
Eragon nodded. "So, if the woman and jail cell appear when I attempt to scry them, it'll prove they're real because I've seen them before. Otherwise, it was just a dream."
"Precisely," Brom nodded. "And keep in mind that no magician has ever had visions in their dreams before, as far as I am aware. It is unheard-of and practically impossible."
"Well, that remains to be seen," Murtagh announced quietly, walking over and joining them for the first time. He didn't look tired at all, unlike Harry, who could probably have slept for a week if he was allowed. "I know what you want from me, and the answer is 'yes', provided the king is not there," he nodded at Harry, who returned the gesture gratefully.
"Really? You're willing to go back, just like that?" Brom asked with a raised eyebrow. "You have no qualms about returning to the place of your imprisonment and risking capture?"
Murtagh shook his head. "None at all. If I die trying to rescue dragon eggs, which I'm assuming is the only thing you'd even consider making this venture to obtain, then it'll be a worthy end to a man who wants to overthrow a tyrant. That's not to say I want to die, of course. I know the city very well, and the citadel itself. I grew up there, and the king didn't keep it as well-guarded as you might think. He preferred calm environments, although I don't doubt that will change in his absence. He'll also probably order the cessation of immigration whilst he's away, to ensure nothing like this is attempted."
"That's not an issue," Harry said calmly, shaking his head. "I have a better idea, and we can't spend days or even weeks riding there anyway. He could return before we arrive."
"Oh, what's this idea, then?" Brom asked with interest.
Harry held up his wand in reply and twirled it slightly, causing Brom to grimace.
"You shouldn't let magic solve all of your problems," he said sternly. "The first rule of magic is to know when not to use it, and to stick by those guidelines. You don't want to create a magical dependency, although I suppose that's prevalent in your land anyway, since you don't exhaust yourself when casting a spell."
"Some rely too heavily on magic, but I do consider this a necessary time," Harry explained, thinking momentarily of the Weasleys. "Anyway, my plan is to cast a disillusionment charm over the four of us, and then something known as a 'featherlight charm'. I'm kicking myself for not thinking of it before, but better late than never."
"Hypothetically, would this spell render us all… weightless?" Murtagh asked, raising his eyebrows in appreciation.
Harry nodded, grinning. "It would mean Saphira could fly all four of us at once, and the woman too, once we find her. If that's permissible to you, Saphira?" he asked calmly, looking at her.
She had been lying there in the early sunlight dozily, her eyes closed and her mind open to their conversation, although she hadn't yet joined in. Without opening them, she briefly nodded and they each felt a ripple of approval reach their conscious minds. She didn't approve of the unnecessary danger, but she did know what Harry was planning, although it was extremely doubtful Brom would consent.
Voicing her thoughts, he said: "we have to split up as well. Murtagh and I can travel to Urû'baen, and then Saphira can carry you two onwards to Gil'ead."
"Are you barking mad?" Brom asked, not even bothering to laugh sardonically, as Eragon's eyes widened a little in surprise. "Not only have I already agreed to not carry out this… plan, for want of a more accurate term, but why would I let us split up? More to the point, if we all fly there, what's to be done with the horses? Let them sit here and starve to death?"
Harry grimaced. "I have an idea about that, but you're not going to like it."
"I don't like any of this bloody idea…" Brom muttered, as Harry began to explain.
Galbatorix paced up and down the length of his throne room, feeling irritated. He had been considering the idea of the 'Horcrux' for a few hours now, but to no avail. Either Durza had forgotten to tell him something vital to the spell's manifestation, or he was simply missing a key component. He doubted it was the former, as Durza wouldn't have made such an obvious mistake. Then again, he had almost forgotten to tell him in the first place.
He stopped walking and grimaced, thinking about the Shade. Even with his newfound strength, he knew the Rider and his accomplices could defeat him in battle. It wouldn't be easy by any means, but it was definitely plausible. Durza was arrogant beforehand, but now he was even more pretentious than the king himself, although Galbatorix genuinely preferred to remain vigilant, as opposed to disdainful.
He ceased walking and sighed briefly, thinking about the upcoming battle. It was no concern of his. Either Durza would succeed, or he would fail and die. In any case, the Varden would know he meant business, and the Elves would worry about their own safety. He really ought to personally question the elven princess, but that could wait a little longer. None knew of her precarious position, whereas Tábor needed to be dealt with now. If he wasn't then the people would inevitably catch wind of what was happening. Soldiers would revolt over wages being lost due to a lack of funds from the capital, and the peasants would grow angry regarding the stoppage of trade.
Galbatorix scoffed lowly. Nobody could harm him, of that he was certain. The Eldunarí prevented even Vrael from besting him in combat, not to mention his own cunning. No, the problem wasn't his personal safety. It was his continuous desire for power. He was an ambitious man, and that showed itself in his ascension to the throne in the first place, not to mention the obvious desire to maintain that position. He didn't care about the welfare of the peasants themselves, but he did crave the loyalty and subjugation of the entire land.
His dream for the future was not to rule with an iron fist, but to form a nation of Dragon Riders and subjects who would rightfully revere them as Lords and Ladies, not the pathetic, unadventurous puppets of the old order. For that to occur, he needed the people to trust him, which was how his master-plan had been enacted. He had left the northern towns to crumble, and had sent out the message that the Varden were responsible. That it pained him to do so, but any crowns meant for their growth and development had been deterred, in order to help with the war effort.
Then, once the Varden, the elves and the dwarves were destroyed, he would swoop in on a white horse and announce the safety of the people, leading them to greater prosperity than ever seen before. They would cheer and salute him, and he would use the post-war time to form a bond of trust and 'friendship' with the everyday folk, letting them think he truly cared for them. That would have been the time for him to begin hatching the eggs, but the theft of one had now forced his hand. After it had been stolen he enlisted the help of the Ra'zac and had decided to create Durza, a feared and powerful servant.
He shook his head briefly to clear his thoughts. That dream was in the distant future now that the egg had been stolen. It had been many years ago, but the elves were crafty, and only recently had their convoy been discovered and ambushed, courtesy of the twins, traitors hidden in the Varden. When he was made aware of the egg's hatching… he had been filled with doubt. Using the Eldunarí as a blueprint, he had gently brushed the minds of the three unborn dragons years ago, and knew that only one was female, the one that had been stolen. He needed the Rider on his side, or the dragons could not breed and their race would be lost forever. His dream would be dead.
He growled. That could not happen. All of his work would be for nought. The only reason he wasn't flying southeast to join the battle immediately involved top secret projects and knowledge. If he could discern the true name of the Ancient Language – and he was close, oh-so close – then he would have no need to battle anybody. All enemies of his rightful rule would be swatted like flies, and he would have the Rider's allegiance in a heartbeat, whether voluntary or not.
Galbatorix smirked. The battle was nothing but a front and an attempt to cripple Ajihad's forces. Orrin was weak, which was why he would leave Surda until after the elves were dispatched. Damn their enchantments and wards. He could not scry their cities, and had now forgotten their locations through no fault of his own. It was quite intolerable that he should forget anything, not least something so important on the whim of very feeble magicians. Once he had the Word at his disposal, he would slaughter all who stood against him.
But for now, he remained in his personal fortress, ruling the kingdom, fighting a war, and diving into the secrets of the arcane arts. He has learned much, but not enough to satisfy a hungry mind. Now, it annoyed him that this rare piece of magic could elude and mystify his understanding, which soon became another reason he wanted the other boy, Harry, on his side. His magic was unheard-of, even to the king. It was a goldmine of power and knowledge that Galbatorix intended to exploit, by any means necessary.
At the thought of fighting a war, he began to pace again, arms held against his chest and lower face in an expression of deliberation. Almost nobody knew about the existence of the Eastern Empire, far across the desert and past the Beor Mountains. The people there were strong, having migrated from Alagaёsia as merchants and settlers many centuries ago. They had formed cities along the coastline there, and survived on a luxurious diet of mining gold and trading spices. Their trading partners were colonies across the sea, which absolutely nobody in Alagaёsia knew about, save Galbatorix. His ventures many decades ago had led him to that mysterious land, known collectively as Canderin.
The Canderins spoke the common tongue, being descendants of migrants, but were wary of strangers. They had flourished in their new home, free from Urgals and the Ra'zac, not to mention the strangling grasp of the Riders over their freedom, as Galbatorix saw it. Their prowess was quite substantial – almost a thousand years of solitude and liberty had helped them create a conquering army of over five hundred thousand, although that was only the soldiers available in Canderin itself. The others, countless legions, fought overseas against peoples Galbatorix had never met, and quite frankly, didn't care about. They didn't bother him or his rule, and he would return the favour until the new Rider Order was established, at which time he fully intended to 'expand', as it were.
They had never invaded Alagaёsia for one sole reason: they believed the Riders were still at the height of their power, and rightly feared defeat at their hands. Galbatorix had to admit that the Order itself had proved useful in maintaining that ruse, even after the demise of every member.
He was certain no Riders existed east of the Hadarac Desert, but their armies were obviously formidable. He could not defeat them in a war yet, which was why he had never attempted to. Of course, they were no match for him personally, but the land would be swamped and his kingdom would be destroyed. Instead, he formed a quiet alliance with the leader of their people, and they had decreed never to cross into each other's territory, which left Alagaёsia with the entire width of the desert sands. Maybe the elves knew of their existence, but he doubted that fact. Even after the desert, it was a long journey to reach Canderin, unless on dragon-back.
Suddenly, the king turned and walked down an ornate hallway lined with torches. He walked for several minutes, directing along the twists and turns of the palace simplistically. He would leave for Dras-Leona soon. This must be done beforehand. As he reached a handsome door lined with wards, it swung open at the feel of his magic and the wards deactivated. He walked inside, approaching the scrying pool slowly. It was a marble fount, several metres in diameter, and filled with clear water.
Galbatorix reached for his magic and waved a hand lazily, casting the verbal spell. For a moment all was dark, until the frame of a young man appeared on the surface. His skin was dark in colour, although not as brown as that of Ajihad. It was halfway between pale and quite dark, a native feature of Canderin. He wore robes of red and white silk, and smiled as the king appeared on his own reflective surface. Galbatorix returned the gesture, although it was more of a leer on his part.
"What can I do for you, my lord?" the young man asked, showing the golden-plated tooth that he sported. The king never understood why – such trivial designs looked horrific, in his opinion.
"Alder, I am not disturbing you, am I?" Galbatorix asked slowly and deliberately, sounding just a little sarcastic.
Alder shook his head, smiling widely. The king remembered with a barely-concealed sneer that this man was the 'king' of all Canderin, and yet he couldn't be older than five and twenty. His dark hair was quite ridiculous – it sat high and wide on his head, and was embroiled with many golden bangles and other pieces of jewellery.
"Good. I have a favour to ask of you, and I would give you much in return," Galbatorix announced lowly, eying the man with a neutral expression.
Alder's eyes widened ever-so-slightly in surprise. "You know we do not have dealings with your people, my king. We will not provide soldiers to help you squash those little insects you fight, and we will not sell you weapons of any kind. We dare not risk open war with the Dragon Riders."
Galbatorix's eyes flashed a little, and his fist tightened. "I assure you it is worth your while… my lord. I have recently discovered a new form of magic that no man has ever before seen in this land, not even the Riders themselves. It has its own secrets, and I am willing to share them. Otherwise I would never have contacted you in this manner."
Alder raised an eyebrow, licking his lips briefly. "What makes this magic different? Is it more powerful?"
"It is… powerful in its own way," he answered carefully. "Some elements exceed our own variety, whereas others fall short. Both could be put together to form an all-powerful combination. But it does have one distinct advantage over the Ancient Language."
"Oh?" Alder asked, raising an eyebrow.
"It requires no personal energy to cast a spell, but merely the correct words. In the endearment of a peasant: one could cast indefinitely without fail."
Alder's eyes widened, this time in appreciation. "I trust you to not lie to me, my friend, based on your arrangement with my forefathers. If you can provide evidence of this magic at work and agree to share the knowledge, we will provide you with whatever you need. An exception can be made for so… exotic a deal."
Galbatorix nodded, feeling satisfied. The magicians of Canderin were powerful, and he had no desire to become locked in a titanic power struggle with them, not that they could stop him. He couldn't attempt to manipulate this man by controlling his mind, or they would discover the act and invade. That wouldn't end well for any party involved. For that reason alone he kept the existence of the land a secret from even Durza, and would rely on bartering. He would never have bent low and asked for help under any other circumstances, but this could be swung as two allies helping one another instead, so it was permissible.
"I want a dozen of your finest magicians as soon as they can travel here, and I require one hundred thousand of your best swords," Galbatorix answered, watching his reaction carefully.
Alder nodded with hesitation. "The magicians can be dispatched immediately, but the soldiers will take a lot more time. Journeying through that hot wasteland and beyond requires many provisions, and you know how vast my own land is to boot. You can expect the spell-casters to arrive in ten days, as they move much faster than ordinary men and are self-sufficient. The army… well, it has to be mustered, armed and stocked with supplies. That, as well as the trek… six months, at the earliest."
Galbatorix shook his head. "You misunderstand me, my friend. I do not desire their presence here unless it becomes absolutely necessary. My own army will suffice in crushing the Varden. No, I have another task for them. One which is both equally dangerous and lucrative. They will need magicians, powerful ones, and any woodsmen skilled enough to guide them through a vast forest."
"Ah… so it's Du Weldenvarden," Alder said, nodding immediately in understanding. "I see why they will require magicians. The elves are powerful."
"This new form of magic is a threat to my sovereign rule," the king said quietly. "I cannot afford to let them align with the elves in full. Do not attack them directly. Scout their bases and cities out, but be wary of their enchantments. Lie low. Wait for them to move their army, and then cut them down from behind. It may take months, but be patient. With your men stalking the forest and mine attacking on all fronts, my enemies will have nowhere to hide. I also ask that you do not request to see these dozen magicians ever again."
"Why… what are you planning to do with them?" Alder asked hesitantly, feeling intimidated suddenly.
Galbatorix smirked, thinking of Durza and the Forsworn. They had been an irreplaceable force, but a dozen Shades at his disposal would work nicely. This boy Harry was quite unpredictable in his own strength, and he could take no chances on his own part. Durza said he could become more powerful than the Rider himself, and that had the king a little concerned. He needed to flush the boy out through brute force. And the stronger the magician, the stronger the Shade tended to be, although much also depended on the spirits conjured. Canderin's finest would be perfect for the roles. He may not know how to create a 'Horcrux', but he could still use death itself as a weapon.
"Do not concern yourself with that, my friend. But do not tell them that I plan to do anything," he ordered sharply. "Understand?"
Alder nodded slowly, and clasped his hands together, blowing dramatically. "Well, this is a truly exciting time. The nations across the sea are giving our forces much trouble, I'm afraid. More powerful spells will certainly aid us in our time of need, as we shall aid you in yours. What you ask will be done, my friend. I do say, however, that the army may still require several months to prepare, so six is quite optimistic."
"Good," Galbatorix said happily, nodding in appreciation. The time delay was annoying, but this would be worth the wait. "I only ask one more thing; if the Varden ever discover your existence, do not attack them. Lure them into a false sense of security, and deliver them to me personally."
After that, he ended the spell and left the room quietly, as a ghost. He quickly found some parchment and wrote an important missive, ordering the implementation of conscription amongst men aged between sixteen and forty five. Satisfied at the order, he signed it and imbued it with the royal stamp, before rolling the parchment up carefully and copying the order several times by hand. He left to go find the newly-promoted General Nyos, the man who was now in charge of the city's security, courtesy of the previous commander getting fatally stabbed in an ill-timed encounter with a lady of the night.
He smirked to himself as he did so. One hundred thousand elite warriors to cut at the elves from the rear, the rapid growth of his own forces through conscription, an ultra-powerful Shade and another dozen to arrive in quick order, plus the inevitable hatching of the eggs and his nearing discovery of how to create a Horcrux, not to mention the Name itself. No soldiers of Canderin would ever enter Alagaёsia under his watch, whether to help or to hinder the efforts of his own army, he swore to himself. He had absolutely no intention to honour his side of he bargain, either. Once he had the three new Riders under his command, the Horcrux and the Word, he would be unstoppable. A large chunk of their forces would be scattered in Du Weldenvarden, and then he would strike. They would bend the knee, or he would crush them into dust.
It was a matter of personal pride for Galbatorix to not trust any other man, although one may justly call it vanity. The Canderins could decide it was 'too nice to leave' and he simply couldn't have that. He would destroy them if ever they interfered with the land and how it was maintained.
However, even without their help in the war itself, he truly was invincible now…
Or so he arrogantly thought.
Nyos walked along the cobbled streets of the capital miserably, feeling both exhausted and irritated simultaneously, never a pleasant combination for a magician, especially if he happened to be a powerful general in the Empire's forces.
He grimaced at that thought. He truly despised the Empire. He had joined twenty years ago, at the tender age of sixteen. Or rather, had been forced to join. A group of soldiers had been conscripting youngsters to help battle a newly-discovered Urgal army, and he had been one of the joyous 'volunteers.' What they pounded into his head was the idea that his family would be murdered if ever he attempted to flee, and the skin would be flayed from his body until he died in a shower of blood and pain.
That particular image has stuck with me, he thought grimly, rubbing a bead of sweat off his forehead. The blasted armour he wore was terrible in the stifling heat, and several of his men had already passed out from heatstroke.
He had never wanted the promotion to general, but Durza had 'insisted' after his efforts in capturing the boy. That was something he would undo if possible. The lad had been stabbed, but who knew why? He could have been an innocent bystander in some terrible crime; otherwise, why would the assailant have fled?
No, he had cursed himself viciously for his part in helping the Shade. He had hoped Durza would have healed the boy, and maybe recruited him. What had happened… it defied all vestiges of humanity, and Nyos felt sickened at his role in the act occurring.
But still, the past was the past, and the future both excited and frightened him. The letter had arrived only yesterday. Mara and Thalen, his wife and son, were both safe at last. They had fled their home in Teirm after some horrific battle between the Shade and his quarry had taken place only recently. According to official reports and tradesmen's gossip, there was a mass exodus taking place in the small ocean city after the event. But he only cared about two of those people, and now they were safe. They had taken a ship south, to Feinster, from where they would travel southeast until they reached the safety of Aberon.
It was time for Nyos to join them. This charade had gone on for long enough. His parents had long since died of the pox, and they were all he had left. His increased status of general would make his absence much more noticeable, but it also granted him the authority to travel wherever he wanted. And with the king having left the city several hours ago, it was the perfect time to flee. He had been waiting many years for this chance, and he now intended to take it with grasping hands and a clear conscience.
Nyos had burned the most recent royal missive in disgust, although he doubted it would have an effect, save the slowing-down of Galbatorix's operation. Technically, with Durza in Gil'ead, he was now in charge of the city itself. He didn't take on the roles of an administrator, but merely waited for the cover of darkness before slipping away quickly. Durza's horrific act was the last straw, and that order for conscription only added insult to injury. It reminded him of his own enslavement years ago.
Hells, he would even consider joining the Varden, if he wasn't done with fighting. A simple and peaceful life as a blacksmith awaited him, his possible future before being conscripted. Thalen was now sixteen, so he could help with the work. He smiled at that happy image. Nyos didn't have much time to spend with his family, save the annual year's leave for all soldiers. The only reason he hadn't fled in one of those periods was that the Empire had deliberately taken half of each soldier's money until he returned, to deter such deserters.
A metallic gong sounded loudly from the centre of the city, signalling a changing of the guard, and he turned to a watchman nearby, removing his helmet.
"Tell your captain I'm retiring for the night, soldier. I'm not to be disturbed unless it's an emergency; is that clear?" he ordered.
The young soldier nodded hastily, and saluted as Nyos walked away. He looked over his shoulder with mild nervousness and headed for the small residence he temporarily lived in, the privilege of his newfound prestige. Nyos scoffed. They would probably burn it to the ground when he was discovered missing. He slowly opened the door and shut it behind him, casting the room into darkness.
"Brisingr", he muttered, illuminating the torches lining the walls one-by-one.
Moving with a purpose, he began to remove his armour for the last ever time and replace it with the attire of a typical traveller, including a hood and cloak to mask his facial appearance. He ensured his travelling gear was secure, including quite a few crowns he had cheekily stolen from the royal treasury only that day, and re-equipped his sword, placing the steel round-shield across his back.
The next step was to reach the stables and steal a horse. He could dress in his armour and 'commandeer' one of the steeds, but the less they knew about his escape the better. With any luck the city watch would think him murdered and disposed of in the city's sewer system, which was quite extensive. It had happened to the last commander, so why not him?
However, he froze as his hand rested on the door handle.
As a magician, he could feel he presence of others, but as a well-seasoned and slightly paranoid soldier, he always kept his reach expanded beyond the feel of any normal spell caster. He, unlike many of the king's magicians and possibly the king himself, had an ability to naturally detect distinct magical presences without having to probe any minds, something which had aided him greatly in magical combat. And one of those presences, non-human, was flying rapidly towards the city, accompanied by three others.
"Okay, Saphira, keep as high as you can," Eragon said calmly.
The magnificent sapphire dragon floated atop the clouds with grace, cutting through the air with her powerful wings. The four of them were practically weightless on her back, and Harry had also cast the charm on her, increasing her speed and manoeuvrability exponentially. The result was that she had reached the capital in only a few short hours, after they were certain the king had left.
They knew he had done so by chance alone. Brom had been examining Murtagh's memories of the fortress in an effort to learn more about the layout, when Harry had suggested Brom scry the memory. Such a thing was possible as Brom had now viewed the image himself, and thus it was now technically one of his own memories.
Brom, who had been convinced of the plan only by Harry's ingenuity regarding how he intended to disrupt the king's wards, had been impressed at the idea and done so quickly. Brom and Murtagh had frozen when the king appeared in their vision, giving a written order to some fancy general that Murtagh had obviously seen before, but couldn't place, before telling him he would be in charge until the king returned. Starting in the next hour. That had meant only one thing, and they were amazed at their luck.
In truth, Brom would never have agreed if Harry hadn't threatened to go alone with Eragon and Murtagh. He didn't fear the boy would do something rash, but was actually rather impressed at his courage after the events of Teirm and their discussion the very next night. The bravado had rubbed off on him a little. He doubted many of the plan's intricacies, but had to grudgingly admit Harry was right – they would never again have another opportunity like this. And since Eragon was not staying in the capital, it was worth the risk.
On the impulse of security, Harry had cast the planned supersensory charm on his eye before take-off and had tested it out by having Murtagh swing just beside his right cheek from behind. He hadn't seen the halted blow, but had felt it even quicker than he would have noticed it with a functioning eye. He was also aware of Brom and Eragon's magical auras due to the highly-powered sensor element, and could detect when magic was cast nearby. It was satisfactory, although he doubted it would ever be the same as proper vision.
Harry knew this plan was beyond dangerous, but he simply didn't care anymore. He was feeling reckless, and although that would eventually dissipate, he intended to put it into action as long as the feeling remained. He was a Gryffindor, and would most certainly display such bravery with relative normalcy, not to mention the tendency to act without thinking. But in this occasion he had actually thought quite a lot.
He and Murtagh would sneak past the guards with stealth, if they could, and with stunning spells and fists, if they could not. From there Murtagh would lead him to the throne room, and Harry would work on disabling the wards set along the corridor leading to Galbatorix's treasure room. He would probably need a lot of time to break through the highly advanced defences, but was confident such a thing was possible. Dispelling wards required concentration and intelligence, but not necessarily strength. If there were any gaps or mistakes between the enchantments, he could rip them apart with relative ease. Professor Flitwick had been a true master of wards, and had taught his sixth year students advanced shielding and dispelling in preparation for the inevitable second war. The type of magic was different, but the principle was identical. Harry had simply never had to use the skills until now, unless one counted the wards cast on the tent over a year ago.
Brom had been adamant that he help with this process, but Harry had argued him down, stating that, if anything went wrong, he needed to stay with Eragon in order to continue his training. And since Murtagh alone knew the layout of the castle, the two of them had to travel to Gil'ead to rescue the elf. Brom had finally relented and told them she was the courier of Saphira's egg, as well as an elven princess.
Harry and Eragon would hear no more complaints after that, and thankfully Brom did not deign to offer any. Since the king had left Urû'baen together with Shruikan, the worst they would encounter were diligent magicians and 'booby traps', as Harry had called them. Eragon pointed out the trip to Gil'ead would actually be more dangerous if the Shade was there, but Harry had another idea regarding that eventuality.
"If he is still there, just stay out of sight. He'll see right through the disillusionment charms." He grinned. "But, I get the feeling the king has alarms placed around these wards, and they'll start to sound once the magic is tripped. After every ward has been deactivated, I guarantee the king will start to fly back in a panic and he'll send the Shade ahead of himself. Durza seems to be able to move around at great speed, somehow."
"That… sounds rather disheartening," Murtagh stated flatly.
"It does," Harry had admitted, "but I might need a couple of hours to disable the wards. If I time it correctly, hopefully they'll be removed just as Brom and Eragon reach Gil'ead. Then, the Shade will rush here, and they'll be clear to free the elf."
"It sounds awfully risky," Brom had warned. "There's only a very slim chance your timing will be that exact, and even if it is, you have no way of predicting how fast the Shade can travel to your location. He could be on top of you in minutes."
"It's a risk, but we don't intend to stick around after grabbing the eggs," Harry replied, nodding. "Mark out a spot along the Ramr River on the map and we can meet there in a day or two. The featherlight charms should last until then, but if they don't I'm sure Saphira will be able to carry you two and the elf safely enough. And don't worry, the horses will be safe," he added, holding up a reassuring hand as Brom opened his mouth to undoubtedly inquire of the animals again.
Now they flew over the top of the dreaded capital, and Brom had to admit the boy's plan was rather ingenious. He had the fine makings of a potential commander in the future if he could maintain discipline among the ranks. His strategic mind was admirable and his proficiency in combat was evident for all to see. Brom still considered the whole venture a very risky business, but it was nevertheless warranted in so dire a situation. They needed the eggs on their side, and Arya simply couldn't be allowed to die. The effect on the Varden-elven relationship would be disastrous, possibly escalating to the point of civil war.
Harry breathed lightly as the cold air lashed at him through the warmth of his travelling cloak. He could see the vapour from his mouth appear in a fine mist and disappear rapidly as Saphira sailed forwards. The four of them sitting on her back had been unusual at first, until Harry replicated the saddle that Eragon used thrice and attached them together so that no one would fall off to an untimely death. Saphira, for her part, found it odd that the humans weighed virtually nothing, and she ghosted through the night as a dazzling spectre, invisible to all. It was quite unnerving to be sitting on top when she was practically hidden from sight, but they clung on tightly and tried not to think about that. Or look down.
"Okay," Harry said mentally, looking through the clouds below. Years on a broom had easily quelled his fear of heights, although that had never really existed, in fairness. He loved the open sky and the feeling of freedom. "Bring us down gently. They can't see you, but they'll hear your wings if we're not careful."
Saphira responded with a low growl of acknowledgement and began to turn downwards in a corkscrew motion, silently and slowly gliding towards the ground. No one even glanced twice in their direction as she cleared the clouds obscuring them from below, the night and disillusionment charms combining to create a near state of invisibility.
"Head for the centre of the city. You'll know the castle when you see it," Murtagh said mentally.
Eragon held on tightly as Saphira flew towards the centre of the Empire itself. He felt quite nervous. This was the king's territory, and he had a price on Eragon's capture. If they were captured the freedom fighters would be finished, whether human, elvish or dwarven. The king may be gone, but there were surely some nasty traps laying in wait. He was just glad that his source had proved accurate through their scrying of Arya and the king himself. It meant he wasn't going crazy, but it did mean something strange was afoot. Who or what had contacted him?
I can ponder this later, he thought stubbornly. There are more pressing matters at hand.
The walls of the massive city were at least three hundred feet in height, and lined with an assortment of war machines, catapults and ballista, undoubtedly the culmination of ever-increasing fear of attack on the part of the Varden, not to mention Galbatorix's desire to protect the eggs he had hidden. The city itself was filled with buildings hastily erected in the guise of Empirical design, but there were also a few rarities present. Half a dozen large towers were clearly of a different make, and appeared to be much older than the bulk of the capital. They had been formed from a peculiar green stone that Harry could not place, but they looked far more graceful than any building of human architecture.
"Elven design," Brom replied to his query. "This entire city was made by the elves many centuries ago, and was known as Ilirea in the Ancient Language. After the king defeated the Riders he claimed the city and began to reshape its structure, including the name. Now shut up and focus on the task at hand."
Harry grimaced and did as he was told, continuing to examine the city before him. Uncountable farms and estates littered the countryside surrounding the high walls, but exact details escaped him in the encompassing blackness of the night. One other thing he was able to see, however, was the castle in which Murtagh had grown up. It was absolutely breathtaking; it far exceeded the height of the city, which was an amazing endeavour in itself. But even more impressive were the numerous parapets and spires which adorned the citadel itself, placing the thought firmly in Harry's mind that this castle far exceeded Hogwarts in its size. They almost touched the massive overhang of rock that loomed over the city from the hills nearby.
He could be wrong, of course. The darkness and nervousness that he felt combined could be playing tricks on his eyes, but the bulk of the citadel was truly intimidating. He would be breaking into it in mere minutes, a suicidal venture in the eyes of many. True, the king and his dragon were absent, as was Durza, but the soldiers sure to be on-patrol would pose a gaping problem alone. And the traps…
As Saphira flew lightly over the top of the walls, many stationed archers looked up in surprise, feeling the air swishing over them, but thankfully were unable to see her, courtesy of the disillusionment charm. Harry watched the twisting streets and numerous buildings carefully, keeping… well… an eye on the companies of soldiers in particular. They buzzed to and fro, although only a skeletal amount patrolled currently. The walls were the city's first line of defence, so any squads to be seen were only meant to discourage flouters of the enforced curfew. He could spot no more than a couple of hundred on-duty.
"That looks like a good spot," Brom told Saphira gently, pointing towards a deserted marketplace.
Before she landed, Harry searched for hidden signs of human life, but was unable to find anything. With a slight grunt, he lowered himself from Saphira and jumped to the ground when she was only a few feet in the air. He felt stiff and uncomfortable; the featherlight charm had decreased his weight dramatically, but not altered his bodily functions.
With a barely noticeable thud, Murtagh joined him on the ground. He looked around and sighed lowly.
"Just when I thought I was rid of this miserable place forever…"
"Be safe," Harry mentally told the trio above him, ignoring Murtagh's comment. He patted Saphira's leg hesitantly, hoping this wasn't a huge mistake. Any outsider would certainly view it as such.
"And you," Eragon nodded. "Take care of those horses!"
"I will," Harry grinned, knowing that Brom still didn't approve of what he had done.
Brom grumbled slightly and told Saphira to take off. Harry watched them flying north for a few moments. The darkness and charm soon made them invisible to his naked eye, and before long they were also out of range in terms of mind-reading, such was Saphira's increased speed. Grimacing, Harry turned to find Murtagh also looking up.
"Are you ready?" he asked quietly.
Murtagh turned his gaze to Harry and nodded. "As much as I ever will be."
"Good," Harry said, half-whispering. He silently drew Nϋrfan and cast a silencing charm over the quiver of arrows on his back, as well as Aiedail at his hip, before repeating the motion for Murtagh's sword. The effect would allow them to move silently, but if he wanted to fire an arrow it would also make no noise… until the target screamed, of course. But that would be a last resort. Stunners would be much more efficient.
Murtagh led him through the city quietly, having slightly opened his mind for communication. It was a skill he would have kept hidden, but he wanted to trust this group and desired their trust in return. This would certainly go someway to helping solidify that feeling in all of their minds.
If they succeeded.
They avoided the main contingent of soldiers present in the city with relative ease. Being almost invisible did tend to help on that account. The only time in which they were given cause for alarm was when passing a string of inns, all of which were shut for the night. A group of guards had rounded the corner and shouted:
"You there! Halt!"
They had frozen, hands going instinctively to their weapons, until the soldiers suddenly ran past them. Harry looked around and saw that they were chasing a disgruntled man, probably a thief. He had breathed a sigh of relief and Murtagh rubbed his brow.
"That could have been worse," he said with attempted humour.
Murtagh grimaced. "Try telling me that again when my heart slows a little. I thought for sure they had seen us."
"Maybe we should keep off the main roads from now on," Harry suggested, but Murtagh only clicked his tongue.
"What for? It's right around this bend," he said, indicating the street that lay in front of them. It looped around to the left, through a group of what Harry now noticed were armouries and barracks. He hadn't realised they were so close, even though the citadel hung in the sky right before him. It was so large it seemed to play tricks on his sense of perception.
The majority of the soldiers were sure to be resting, but on high alert at the same time. Unless their commander was completely inept, they would surely come running as soon as the alarm was sounded. They simply could not afford to be seen. Even with Harry's magic they would never make it out alive.
Harry was on-edge as they crossed even this relatively small section of the city. The stealth they were employing was more extensive than anything the city watchmen would ever have seen, but a part of him was worried that somebody had simply planted those visions in Eragon's mind. He had wrestled with that notion since Saphira had taken off, but had finally relented and convinced himself that the memory wouldn't have been… 'scry-able' if that were the case.
Unless the king hasn't really left, and has planned this whole venture as a trap. It does seem too easy, even with the charms enabled.
He pushed that morbid thought aside and felt his eyes widen as they walked silently down the cobbled street. The sign of an inn creaked overhead, but he ignored it. What he saw would capture his attention in most situations. The gates to the citadel, although locked, were astoundingly massive. Harry was positive that three of Saphira could easily walk through side-by-side, and he swallowed as he figured out why they were so large.
Murtagh nodded, smiling grimly. "Yes… any smaller and Shruikan would not be able to fit. Daunting, isn't it?"
"Terrifying, more like," Harry whispered, unable to draw his eyes from the cavernous point of entry. Perhaps he should have planned even more rigorously. The building was more secure-looking than Hogwarts. How the hell were they going to get in there?
"Guard's entrance," Murtagh said mentally in response to his unasked query. "It'll be tough, but it's the only option. And we should only speak like this from now on."
Murtagh hunkered down and motioned for Harry to do the same. Quickly and quietly, they crept forward, stopping only to hide behind the wall of an inn as a squad of guards passed them by. There were a dozen watchmen atop the gate's stone frame, but they couldn't see anything at such a height with the charms in place. When they reached the formidable shadow of the gates, Murtagh deviated and led Harry around to the right. They walked in a curve for what seemed a good five minutes before reaching a smaller door connected to the inner wall of the citadel.
It was barricaded and reinforced heavily with steel in case of any assault, but was relatively small in order to bottleneck any opposing force. Harry also noted the positioning of a barracks to his rear. If anyone attempted to storm this door, they would surely be caught in a deadly crossfire of arrows from above and behind. It was both very intelligent and intrinsically strategic.
"Do you plan to just bang on the door and let them come running?" Harry asked jokingly.
Murtagh half-chuckled and half-scoffed. "They wouldn't. They would investigate from above and then do nothing when they can't see us."
"You're absolutely right," Harry replied casually. "Are there people in those buildings?"
Murtagh looked towards the area he pointed. It was a series of armouries for the local collective of soldiers, probably guarded but unlikely to house anybody on a permanent basis. He noticed the many murder holes and spikes along the rooftop, and couldn't understand what Harry had planned. Surely he didn't intend to jump over the citadel walls?
"Perhaps a soldier or two, but I don't see what-"
His words were lost as Harry drew his wand. He eyed it carefully and looked towards the armoury yet again. He had a distinct impression this wouldn't end well.
Harry glanced at him. "We should probably flatten ourselves against the walls. There's going to be a lot of running in a moment."
"What about the alarm?" Murtagh quickly asked, sounding worried.
"It'll be a distraction so we can sneak in."
Before trying anything, Harry cast a revealing charm on the armoury, and was pleased there was no one inside. He wasn't afraid to kill if necessary anymore, but it still rather disgusted him, and this would be a horrible way to die for anyone.
Harry took his position against the citadel wall, feeling the cold stone lightly brush against his neck. He pointed the wand towards the armoury nearby, ensuring his aim was correct as such a shot would be difficult enough with two eyes, let alone one. When he was confident, he took a deep breath and non-verbally cast the spell.
"Incendio maxima!"
With a roar much like that of a dragon itself, the interior of the armoury exploded in a wave of fire. The night was suddenly alight, the darkness cast aside by the rushing power of flames. They quickly began to devour the interior, and something inside must have been flammable, for there was what sounded like a miniature explosion, and tongues of fire whooshed through the rotted windows.
Murtagh let out a loud breath as several crates and boxes of weapons started to catch fire. On cue, a loud trumpet began to sound from the ramparts above their heads, and the air was suddenly full of panicked shouts. The doors to the barracks were instantly thrust open, and soldiers began to pile out, carrying pails of water present for such an emergency. Other quarters were also alerted, and the streets were suddenly packed with half-dressed guards shouting themselves hoarse and trying to put out the roaring inferno.
"Perfect. Just what we need," Harry said with determination.
"How does this help us? The door to the citadel is still locked! All you've succeeded in doing is possibly burning down the entire city!" Murtagh exclaimed, sounding panicked.
"The spell will exhaust itself before that happens. I put a certain amount of energy into the incantation," Harry explained. He quickly motioned with his mind for Murtagh to follow him, and the two of them rushed into the now-derelict barracks.
It was rather messy, not that they could be surprised. The smell of smoke reached their nostrils from the outside, and Harry knew they had to hurry. Murtagh relayed amusement at Harry's plan, and quickly donned the first set of imperial robes he came across. Even the Empire's commanders weren't cruel enough to make soldiers parade around at night in full armour, so they relented and let the men dress in hard leather instead, emblazoned with the king's insignia and crafted to resist any minor attacks.
Harry had to un-equip and re-equip his weapons to complete the task. Once both of them were dressed properly, he took their clothes and placed them into the small leather pouch he carried, magically crafted to carry objects much larger than its size. He then removed the disillusionment charm from the pair of them, and they quickly hurried outside.
With a nervous look to his right, he saw that the grass separating two of the armouries had caught fire, and the building in question soon joined its compatriot. Before long there were two towering infernos, and the panicking redoubled. Men were afraid to approach the roaring furnace, as water seemed to have little effect. It wasn't fiendfyre, but the flames were so hot it would take a lot to contain them. Harry was certainly grateful there were no houses nearby. No one even glanced in their direction. Soldiers were too busy screaming themselves hoarse at their underlings and furiously relaying orders.
With feigned confidence, they strode up to the door. Murtagh banged his fist several times on the steel frame, wincing slightly at the impact. The door didn't open, but a small flap did, and a pair of hard eyes stared out at them.
Harry stood up straighter. Time to use some of that Gryffindor bravado. "We need more men," he declared, sounding urgent. "The fire is proving impossible to contain!"
The guard's eyes hardened. "You know the rules, soldier. I can't open the door until you give me the code!"
Harry glanced hurriedly at Murtagh, who shrugged urgently.
"Oh, to hell with this," Harry muttered irritably. He pulled out his wand and rapidly whipped it into the face that he could see. "Imperio!"
The man's eyes suddenly became unfocused. Harry ordered him to open the door, which he did. He heard calls from inside.
"Biros, what the hell are you doing? They didn't give you the code!"
Harry strode into the room confidently and dispatched the two other soldiers present with stunning spells as they jumped to their feet from the table nearby. He stunned the guard at the door and quickly told Murtagh to lock it again, before 'obliviating' the unconscious soldiers.
"Cowards," Murtagh spat. "Too afraid to go out and help, most likely."
"Well, they helped us and that's all that matters," Harry declared. "Which way?"
"We go straight up," Murtagh declared, leading Harry quickly up the stone staircase. A few candles were all that provided the light up the height of the tower. "Once on the rampart we can find a way into the courtyard. I think the main doors to the castle will be opened with all the commotion."
"Or we could just jump down," Harry suggested simply, casting the disillusionment charm on them both once again.
Murtagh grinned. "I hoped you would suggest that."
Harry smirked and shook his head in false disbelief as they climbed for what seemed an eternity. The walls here were equally as massive as those surrounding the city itself, so they were running upwards for around three hundred feet. Even featherlight, it took quite a while. The sounds of panic and wafting smoke from the outside faded as they got higher, but then began to redouble once more as they reached an open door.
Walking outside, Harry marvelled at the sight before him. He could see the entire city from this position. It seemed the world below was dotted with thousands of irregular and square buildings, some with smoke emanating from their chimneys. And that was to say nothing of the smoulder detaching itself from the fire below. From his point of view several of the buildings were splashed with a mixture of orange and red, and a dark cloud of black ash stretched out in every direction, similar to a volcanic eruption.
He coughed when it reached them, but dispersed the fumes with a wave of his wand. Several archers were leaning over the edge of the walkway, transfixed by what they could see, and panicky as they viewed the progress of the fire, pointing out buildings in danger and arguing with each other about the safety of the housing districts. Murtagh tugged at his arm.
"Okay, are you ready?"
Despite himself, Harry grinned madly. "Quite. Let's go!"
With his heart pounding, he jumped over the wall along with Murtagh at his side. They plummeted for mere moments before the featherlight charms kicked-in, and then floated gracefully to the ground below. The courtyard was buzzing with activity. Soldiers were readying the catapults under orders from an estranged captain, undoubtedly thinking they were being attacked, and weapons were being handed out.
Several engineers were pointing at different areas on a local map of the city and arguing heatedly about how to evacuate people if necessary. The duo slipped away before the confrontation could turn violent. Murtagh was right in saying the doors were opened, although Harry wasn't sure if 'doors' was an accurate term. Perhaps 'caverns', so large were the impending points of entry.
They hastily moved to the entrance, thankful that no one could physically catch a glimpse of their movements. Harry froze as they reached the threshold, however. Several lines of pike-men stood blocking any entrance into the citadel, undoubtedly on the orders of that same furious captain.
"Oh, crap," Harry muttered mentally. He hadn't expected this. Thankfully, they had stopped running, so no one had seen them. One of the guards, however, started nervously.
"Did you see that?" he demanded loudly. "I swear I just saw someone!"
"What are you talking about, soldier?" the leader asked in an annoyed voice. "There's nothing there!"
Muttering broke out amongst the ranks and the commander, probably a sergeant or the equivalence of that rank, had to shout for quiet. Harry and Murtagh had shrunk to the shadows outside once again, to the side of the door, where they were blocked from view. That wouldn't help them gain entry, of course.
"Any bright ideas?" Murtagh questioned, sounding just a little sarcastic.
"Maybe…" Harry relayed, but the word then stuck a chord in his mind. Bright! "Lumos maxima!"
A dazzling burst of light erupted from the end of his wand and he quickly directed it into the vast entrance of the citadel, causing the soldiers to cry out in alarm and shield their eyes. Harry quickly removed the light from his wand and set it to float for only a moment. The pair hastily ran through the disgruntled lines of soldiers and began to sprint down the hallway. Harry was relieved they were both featherlight; any echo in a hall this massive could probably be heard halfway to Carvahall.
They stopped for breath after a few minutes, now out of earshot of the scuffling guards. Harry looked around uncertainly. He couldn't believe they had done it. They were actually in the citadel. Galbatorix's home. If all went well they would be out with the eggs before he even knew about it.
But then again, when did everything ever go to plan?
Nyos hurried through the streets of the capital city urgently. He had donned his armour again for this occasion. Someone was trying to sabotage the city, and he intended to help them if at all possible.
The magical signature had been a dragon, without doubt. The king and Durza had been muttering about dragons once, when he was brave enough to eavesdrop. They had spoken of 'the Rider' and his companions. Nyos had refused to believe it, but now he knew the truth. The Rider mentioned was in the city, somewhere. He had felt the dragon fly away again, but a very powerful magical presence remained. A presence that strong could only belong to either a Rider or a Shade, and Shades had an evil aura that made him shudder. This aura was not like that. It felt… serene.
Nyos had tracked the presence with his mind for a little while, and then felt it enter the citadel itself. Somehow. When the fire alarm had sounded, he had put two and two together. The Rider wanted something from the citadel, was clearly brave enough to break into the most secure building in the whole damned land to find it.
He was determined to find out why. There were two guard doors on either side of the locked gates, and he instantly headed for the one on the left – the western entrance. It was much closer, and he didn't know how far the fire had spread on the opposite side. He would relay the password, get in, help the Rider and then make his escape. If he could cripple the king in any way before departing, it would be through this act. He just knew it.
"Murtagh, we're lost again, aren't we?" Harry asked, sighing as he waved his lit wand in several directions. They stood in a large chamber, dimly lit and cold in feeling. It appeared to be decidedly bare, unusual for a room in the citadel as one would imagine it to be of at least some importance. In fact, all that could be seen was a long, polished oak table and six chairs, filling the room almost entirely.
"No, I recognise this place," Murtagh said ponderously, walking to the table and running a hand over the magnificently polished surface. "It's the king's war room. Nothing too special, except it's generally where he gathers his advisors and generals in times of crisis. I think he made it this bare as a method of intimidation."
"That's very interesting," Harry said hastily, "but where's the bloody throne room? You said it leads to the treasure room, so that's where we have to go!"
Murtagh held up his hands to calm Harry down, who scoffed in aggravation at the gesture. "Peace. It's not too far from here."
"You said that twenty minutes ago," Harry muttered, causing Murtagh to laugh.
"I guess 'not too far' is different when the building is so massive," he admitted.
They had a bit of luck in the next room. This one required an unlocking charm, and appeared to be… a bedroom. A large, purple bed occupied the centre of the room, and a cold fireplace was a fundamental part of the far wall. The entire room was well-insulated in comparison to the rest of the castle, as the temperature was very stuffy. It was filled with bookcases, which sported tomes of all sizes and colours. Thankfully, the common tongue was written as well as spoken, so Harry was able to understand the titles.
He briefly looked at a couple, but then realised he was distracting himself. "Is this… the king's quarters?" he asked incredulously.
Murtagh didn't answer immediately, but busied himself examining a map that was previously rolled up. "Oh, hells below…" he whispered. "Harry, you'd better take a look at this."
Harry practically ran across the room, and felt his blood freeze when he looked at the map. Unlike the one he had replicated earlier and placed in his leather pouch, this was filled out entirely. Generally, maps of Alagaёsia ended after the Beor Mountains and part of Du Weldenvarden, as well as the Hadarac. They were simply blank after those areas. But this one… he saw that the land was over twice as long as previously thought, and ended on an eastern coastline, jagged as it ran from top to bottom. The entire land was one massive island, it appeared.
But what had worried Murtagh was now apparently evident. The eastern coast was dotted with numerous towns and cities, and the entire land east of the desert had been labelled 'Canderin'. Underneath the handwritten name was a single note: 'troops to arrive north in six months'.
"Holy crap," Harry whispered, exchanging a glance with Murtagh. "Have you ever heard of this place before now?"
Murtagh shook his head. "No one has. He must have kept it secret."
"So you have no idea how big their army is? Because if they're allied with Galbatorix…" he trailed off, leaving the threat unspoken.
Murtagh shook his head again, quickly. "I've seen enough. Let's get those eggs… now. Can you copy this?"
Harry nodded, having planned to. They couldn't take the original or the king would notice it was missing. He quickly scanned the map and copied its blueprints, before summoning a large piece of parchment and relaying the details. The outline drew itself, before various other details were filled-in. A long mountain range occupied the area east of Du Weldenvarden, and the Beors ran the entire length to the eastern shores.
When it was finished, he rolled it up and placed it in the leather pouch carefully, ensuring not to damage it. "Don't even mention this until we find Brom and Eragon," he said sharply. "You never know who could be listening."
"I know," Murtagh agreed. "Come on, let's get out of here. This room sends a shiver down my spine."
Harry moved to follow him, but hesitated as a large purple book caught his eye. For some reason, he felt… drawn towards it, as though it emitted a peculiar magical energy. Without thinking, he grabbed it from the shelf. The name was Ancient, translated into the common tongue rather than written in symbols.
"Pyrath Vardϋrer…" he muttered thoughtfully.
"Can you copy it?"
"Ehh… yes, but it'll take a lot longer than the map. I would have to go page-by-page."
"Then forget it. We can't afford to waste anymore time," Murtagh declared.
Harry nodded hesitantly and reluctantly set the book back on its shelf. He would have to ask Brom about the Ancient inscription later.
"I guess it's a good thing we were lost after all," Murtagh said quietly, peeking around the corner of a hallway before stepping out from behind the corner.
Harry rolled his eyes. "Just… try not to get lost again, okay?"
Murtagh turned to him and smirked. "No problem, the throne room is directly ahead."
How does he do that?! Harry asked himself, shaking his head in annoyance. An alarm bell rang internally in his mind as Murtagh went to take a first step into the hallway, and he threw his arm in front of the young man's chest, in an effort to stop him walking out.
"Traps," Harry said quietly, and Murtagh stood stationary. "We can't afford to set any of these off, in case alarms are built-in to each individually. I have to disable them as we go along. Just give me a minute here, yeah?"
Murtagh nodded and stood at the corner of a wall nearby, underneath an extinguished torch. He closed his eyes and leaned against the framework, ears strained for anyone following them. They had turned right after exiting the king's quarters, and were now invisible from the direction they had come, although the charms were still in place anyway. He kicked himself for not remembering the king's defences.
Harry carefully traced the air with his wand, slowly examining the magical patterns and fluctuations in temperature and air density. Such things helped to find where exactly the wards were concealed, and how they could be overcome. Any regular magician would have walked straight into the deadly devices, but as a wizard Harry had a distinct advantage in that he could feel magic when one tried to hide it. He could remember Dumbledore being able to discover magical traces in the cave that he could not. Harry had now developed that ability to a great extent.
He found that there was a wide assortment of different traps, such as those immobilising spells and those designed to make magic useless. All were designed to maim and capture, rather than kill. The opposite would likely hold true when they reached the treasure room, but for now things were more moderate than previously expected. He was glad the sounds of panicking had long since subsided due to the thick walls of the citadel, not to mention how deeply they had delved into its belly. The noise would have put him off all forms of concentration.
Harry 'hmmed' in admiration at the quality of the spell-work involved. It wasn't a shock, considering the king's abilities and the time he had spent implementing these wards. It was breakable, however, as was any form of magic. He could only hope it wasn't through sheer force that the feat could be accomplished.
Murtagh opened his eyes and watched Harry work with interest. Regardless of how powerful Galbatorix had become, Harry was the advantage they would always have over the deranged monarch. Maybe he knew a spell or two that could dismantle the king's defences, and leave him open to attack. He certainly hoped so, although he wouldn't purposefully get his hopes up. All of them had to be prepared to die for their cause, but Harry may not agree with that line of thought. Murtagh believed the system was more important than the individual, but that wasn't to say everybody else also did so.
Harry worked on the spells before him for several minutes, casting detection charms and spells that would enable him to be alerted if he inadvertently activated one of the alarms. It wouldn't do to have the king send Durza back to the castle and be caught with their trousers around their ankles.
Pushing that incredibly disturbing thought away as fast as humanly possible, Harry had to admit Galbatorix was a true master at this game. Any unseasoned magician or wizard could stand here for years and not break through the overlapping fields of arcane energy. Thankfully, Harry was no unseasoned magician, and could use that very fact to his advantage – overlap. If the enchantments were colliding with each other then it pointed to one overbearing fact… they were all naturally separate. This also accounted for the varying natures of each spell, something he berated himself for not picking up on sooner.
In general terms, the more fragmented the wards, the easier they were to break. This was due to the differing natures of each magical segment. If they were all unified, the king could have poured his energy into the magical field and it would be completely indestructible due to his incredible strength. As it stood, however, numerous different enchantments meant that there might be gaps present between each one, regardless of how miniscule they were.
Working towards that, he eventually found one, a slight glitch in the field, as it was. He smirked to himself as he did so. A house fly wouldn't be able to fit through the crack, but it was more than enough. Using his wand carefully, he pointed it directly at where he could sense the gap, and began to channel the energy gently. It wasn't a spell, but rather a quintessence of how the wand was so much more than a simple tool. He could use it to reinforce or absorb energy, with the reinforcement generally relying on how long it would take for the caster to become exhausted, but the absorption side potentially limitless.
Murtagh watched as what appeared to be flickers of lightning cascaded amongst the hallway, raising his eyebrows in awe. He heard a slight whooshing sound, and it seemed as though the tip of Harry's wand was glowing white hot. It took about ten minutes, but eventually the sound ceased and he lowered the wand slowly.
"What is it?" Murtagh asked curiously.
Harry looked at him, before grinning widely. "The king is good, but I was better on this occasion. My wand is packed with energy now. I can tap into it at anytime when using the Ancient Language."
"How does that even work?" Murtagh asked in confusion.
"It's simple, really," Harry shrugged. "Magicians grow stronger overtime, which is how the king has gotten so powerful over the last century. This means there are limits to the amount of energy that can be stored in their body before… well, death. I guessed, however, that a powerful magical object may be able to store some of this energy, which is exactly what my wand is now doing."
"So… all of the energy from those traps is contained," he nodded at Harry's hand, "inside your wand? Is there a limit it can hold?" he continued when Harry nodded.
"I'm not sure, but I guess we'll find out. If there is I'll simply use the energy already stored to make room," Harry replied, taking a deep breath as he stepped into the hallway. He released that breath in relief as nothing happened. Murtagh hesitantly followed, soon finding more confidence as it became clear the traps were disabled.
"It seems like a waste," he admitted ruefully.
"Not if it helps us rescue the eggs," Harry added.
Murtagh made a face of acknowledgement and began to lead him down the hallway slowly. Each step reverberated in Harry's mind, but not in reality. At the end of the stone and marble passageway lay a large, golden pair of doors. They were really quite beautiful, but in a haunting way. A large oak tree had been carved into the design, but Harry forced himself to ignore the aesthetics.
The doors had been magically protected, but the wards were now gone. A simple alohomora charm and it unlocked with a very loud click in the dead hallway. Harry gave one of the doors a push with his wand and it swung open, creaking loudly.
They both grimaced, hearts pounding. Murtagh's hand gripped the hilt of his sword, and Harry tightened the hold on his wand. Together, they nodded at each other and slowly walked inside.
There were no horror clichés awaiting them past the threshold. The door did not slam shut behind them, and candles did not spring into life around the room. Instead, the throne room was completely deserted, and bathed in darkness. Harry cast a lumos charm and threw it into brightness without mercy. He flinched and almost cast defensive spells at the sight before him.
The entire wall opposite had been massacred with what almost seemed to be graffiti, of a huge black dragon devouring men alive and breathing an ominous bed of fire. It had obviously been created magically in an effort to scare people whilst the king was away, so Harry threw it back in the caster's face by simply laughing.
"This is almost… childish," he said hesitantly. "Surely the king would be absolutely ruthless in his defences?"
"He is," Murtagh replied, looking disgusted at remembering something. "When I was growing up in the citadel he used to test the enchantments on unwilling victims. I've seen more than enough grisly deaths in this building to know not to underestimate him."
"I don't," Harry reassured. "But if you're right… how was I able to find a way through so easily?"
"You're obviously just very talented," Murtagh smirked, although he genuinely meant it.
Harry almost told him jokingly to jog on, but knew that the saying would be wasted and didn't bother. "Okay, let's keep moving. Murtagh?"
Murtagh didn't respond. Harry looked around, and gasped. A soldier stood before them, dressed as if for battle. The king had obviously left a guardian to protect the eggs, possibly magically enhanced. Before he could react, the man through up his hands in a gesture of defeat.
"I mean you no harm! Here," he said, throwing his sword across the floor. It landed at Harry's feet.
Harry eyed the man suspiciously. "Who are you, and how did you find us?" As the soldier opened his mouth to explain, Harry quickly cast a revealing charm on the hallway outside, but found no visible signs of life. He turned to the soldier, trying to sound casual.
"You were saying…?"
"Nyos," the man said slowly, lowering his hands. "My name is Nyos, and I'm here to help you."
"Well, I thank you for the kind offer, Nyos, but we don't trust the king's men," Harry said, raising his wand to stun the man.
"Wait!" Murtagh exclaimed, holding his palm up. He hurried to examine the soldier, who peered at him curiously. Harry was alarmed that he could see through the disillusionment charms so easily. Didn't they work on any magicians? On that impression, he decided to temporarily disable them, seeing as they were useless. And why hadn't his supersensory charm worked? It clearly needed to be fine-tuned, he thought with aggravation.
"What?" Harry asked stubbornly after casting the magic.
"I recognise him," Murtagh declared. "He's the one Brom and I observed when scrying the memory. The general Galbatorix left in charge."
Harry frowned. It didn't make sense for a soldier so high in the rankings to offer himself up as bait. He would be too full of self-importance to even consider any form of sacrifice. Perhaps the king had gifted him with magical strengths and abilities.
"Ah, scrying…" Nyos said thoughtfully, removing his helm. They observed a weather-beaten face, probably around forty years of age, with short-cropped hair, black in colour. He was certainly muscular and intimidating, but bore a friendly smile. Harry refused to let it take him off-guard.
"Yes, scrying. What of it?" he asked sharply, not lowering his wand for an instant.
"I was wondering how you discovered the king had gone… Rider," he said triumphantly, waving an arm and causing the door to swing shut.
"That wasn't a wise move," Murtagh threatened, drawing his sword.
Nyos chuckled. "Are you really going to cut me into little pieces after I've basically put myself at your mercy? I would expect that from those bastards in the Empire, not from you."
Murtagh exchanged a quick glance with Harry, both evidently confused. "What madness are you speaking? You're trusted by the king himself!"
"Listen, I don't have time for this," Nyos said calmly, dropping a backpack he was carrying on the floor with a grunt. Harry heard the distinctive clinking of gold from the inside. "I have five thousand crowns inside here, enough to buy my way to Aberon and open my own blacksmith's shop. I intended to come here and help you before leaving, but if you don't want my help then you can go to hell."
Harry was unnerved at how cheerfully he was saying everything. And what's more, he thought Harry was a Rider? Where had that come from? Harry fully hoped Angela's prophecy was accurate, but he wasn't recovering these eggs out of sheer greed. He would accept the position gratefully if it was gifted to him, but wouldn't throw a wobbly if it was not.
"You're… a deserter?" Harry asked uncertainly.
"I am," Nyos nodded. "Feel free to inspect my mind to confirm all the details you wish. I don't have time to give you my entire history, but I will if we make it out of here alive."
"Meaning what, exactly?" Murtagh asked sceptically.
"Meaning that you caused a shit-storm to kick itself off when you blasted your way into the palace the way you did. They're combing the buildings for you two, and then they'll come here," Nyos warned.
Harry swore in alarm. He quickly inspected Nyos' mind and found that he spoke the truth in everything he had said. He was indeed escaping from the Empire, which he had been forced to join as a boy, and genuinely desired to aid them before doing so. He was also clearly a magician, more powerful than average, and found it amusing they had all chosen this night to enact their plans. It would surely irk the king to no end.
"Okay, he's telling the truth," Harry said quickly. "But keep an eye on him. Wait, where the hell is this hallway?!"
Murtagh directed him to another set of doors, which were almost lost in the darkness as their colour was also black. Harry quickly unlocked them and blew them open with a small wave of energy. He groaned as he encountered the wards mining this passageway.
"This is going to be a lot tougher than the one outside," he declared over his shoulder. "Make sure those bloody doors are locked!"
Nyos locked them using magic and watched the young man's progress carefully. He was beginning to have doubts about whether or not he was the Rider. He had seemed confused at Nyos' declaration, which is exactly what he had intended. He also bore a peculiar magical stick and seemed to operate under a completely different school of magic, which interested the older magician to no end. The guards had smouldered the fire as he reached the palace, but wouldn't come for the throne room unless as a last resort. Even with the king gone, they feared this room. Everyone knew the stories of Galbatorix's fearsome dragon eating people when he felt disturbed by their presence.
"So… why Aberon?" the other youth asked him, peering curiously. He hadn't sheathed his weapon, either.
Nyos smiled, trying to appear as friendly as possible. "I have family sailing there from Teirm. They're some of the refugees leaving the city. It's past time I left to be with them, and when will ever be a better time?"
"Refugees?" Harry asked, looking over his shoulder. "You mean people are fleeing the city?"
"In droves. They say some type of fearsome magic battle took place there recently, and fear it will happen again. Do you know anything of it?" he asked, raising his eyebrows.
"The intimate details," Harry muttered. "I was one of the two people involved. Although I don't know if my opponent is a 'person'…"
That turned the wheels in Nyos' mind relatively easily. "Durza? Was his name Durza?"
"I'll tell you all about it when we get out of here alive," Harry said firmly, causing him to chuckle.
"Since Harry is busy, do you mind telling me how you found us?" Murtagh asked suspiciously.
Nyos sat on the bottom step of the throne itself. He fully intended to blow it up before leaving, if he got the chance. "Unlike most magicians, I can automatically detect magical signatures inside a certain area. I felt three very powerful presences accompanying what I believe to be a dragon, and then tracked you to here."
"Just like that?" Murtagh asked simply.
"Just like that," Nyos smirked. "Honestly, though, you don't know how good it feels to be helping you two steal… whatever it is you're stealing. I've had to act like I'm afraid around that red-haired monster for too long. If I didn't he would have gutted me. It's time for a little payback against him and that oath-breaker king."
They were interrupted by a sudden banging on the throne room doors. Murtagh stiffened and adapted a fighting posture. He went to call for Harry, but Nyos shook his head.
"They were a lot faster than I thought they would be… but listen, I still have my authority in the army, so leave this to me. Your friend needs time to break through. Oh, and could you please give me my sword back?"
Harry shut his eyes and magically drowned out their conversation before the knocking commenced. He probed the area for the tenth time, searching for any faults in the magical auras detectable. Unfortunately, nothing existed quite like the gap he had found earlier. The king had obviously taken more care placing these wards, as they protected the future of the land itself. He was resolved to widening the search, and began to scan for any potential opening, be it only a nanometre in diameter. Even that proved almost impossible, but after a long time of arduous searching, he found one. Only one. It was barely even in existence. A grain of sand against the infinite flowing of the universe itself. A drop of water in a vast ocean.
It was all he had to work with. Taking a series of deep breaths, he began to draw on his focus and use vast amounts of concentration. He slowly and delicately prodded and swished at the gap, widening it fractionally every few minutes. It must have taken close to half an hour, but he finally made it large enough to work with. This was much more tricky and complex than the magical field he had previously encountered. He had to destabilise the energy in certain sections or risk the entire field collapsing and the alarm activating.
When he was confident it was possible, he started to extrapolate the king's own reserves of power once more, feeling as though his wand may burst from the satiating flow of energy entering its core. He didn't like putting it at risk, but it almost seemed to love the power it was gaining, and he hoped it could make his ordinary Latin spells even stronger.
When, at long last, he drained the entire aura, sweat was pouring off of his face. Nevertheless, he beamed in delight and turned to his two companions.
"I did- oh, bugger…"
Perhaps next time he would choose not to dispel quite as much sound as he had done. A dozen quartets of soldiers stood there, looking at him with intensity. Some seemed to be amused, and others haughty.
He spread his arms and let them flap against his sides in annoyance. "What happened to 'lock the doors'?" he demanded.
Nyos shrugged. "They knocked politely, so I let them in."
Harry buried his face in his hands. To have come all this way, for nothing. He had been so sure they would have a chance, and now the king would get his hands on both of them. They would be made to swear fealty in the Ancient Language, and probably turned into depraved henchmen. Then he snorted internally. What was he saying? With the power he had extracted from the wards he could probably turn them inside-out with a single thought!
"Don't do anything rash," Nyos said calmly, and Harry looked up, noticing that both he and Murtagh were armed, unharmed and completely calm. "They've been here for quite a while, but you were too engrossed to notice. I've convinced them to hear us out."
"You've… what?" Harry asked in confusion.
"All of us have families to protect," a large, burly soldier grunted. "We'll join the strongest side, no matter who that is."
"And some of us hate that bastard king more than the Varden," another added from near the front. "We only serve the system, not the man."
"Murtagh, what did you tell them?" Harry asked, not sure if he really wanted to know the answer.
"That the weapon for swinging the war against the king's favour lies in that room," he said, pointing down the hallway. "That if they let us go we can defeat Galbatorix and free their families."
"Well… I told them that," Nyos stated, shrugging at Murtagh's scowl.
Harry was too tired to even contemplate fear. He just said the first thing that came to his head. "Don't be stupid, any of you. The king is clearly evil and must be killed to help free the land. These are dark times, so will you let yourselves fall into that darkness? Or will you rise up and help spread the light across Alagaёsia? You don't fight for the highest bidder, but for your own morals and for what is right!
"If you really believe capturing – or even killing – the three of us will help to make this a better time, then feel free to try," he said threateningly. "But if you're smart enough to understand that, although they are flawed, the Varden have the right ideas, then you will help us."
"Is that why you're here?" the large soldier grunted. "Orders from the Varden?"
"No," Harry shook his head. "But we intend to join them. If any of you have a heart and truly care about your families, you'll take them and leave!" he shouted. "This is the opportunity, and you will never have it again! The king is gone, and now is your chance to run! Take it!"
They looked around at one another uncertainly. An intimidating officer, the same one they had seen in the courtyard, sneered in derision.
"The Varden are a pack of savages and outlaws. They are the ones who destroy the land, not the king! He only wishes to serve the interests of the people!"
"Maybe you should go and take a cold bath," Murtagh spat at him, causing much laughing amongst the ranks. "I've seen Urgal attacks up and down the Empire, and my friend here witnessed the massacre at Yazuac! The king allows these assaults to go unpunished because he doesn't care about any of you!"
"It's true," Harry added. "I was there, and I saw the bodies of children. Those are on the king, and him alone." Well, that wasn't strictly true. Harry also placed much of the blame on the Urgals responsible for the horrific scene, but he wasn't about to admit that when their lives depended on this little conversation.
"You fine men still consider me your commanding officer, yes?" Nyos asked in a powerful voice, drawing all eyes to him. He walked to the centre of the room, impressively separating any in his path. He wasn't even that big compared to many of them, merely daunting in character and personality.
There were murmurs of consent and some emphatic nodding from the men who respected him most. He had served with them as a captain, and they trusted his judgment. Some would disagree, of course, but he had to try.
"Well, as that officer still, I'm telling you that the king is pure evil. Many of you – like myself – were forced to join through conscription… I received an order from the hand of the king himself this very day, demanding the forced enlistment of one hundred thousand men and boys! What do you say to that?!"
Harry choked as he heard those words. One hundred thousand?! If that was true, the map they had found was now even direr. Judging from the look on Murtagh's face, akin to someone who had just swallowed a mouthful of dirt, he agreed. The soldiers were also outraged, aside from the captain, who merely looked unabashed.
"It's an honour and a privilege to fight for the king! They should be grateful! Someone has to keep those lower class rats and thieves in order! Why shouldn't it be us? Why should we not-"
He never got the next word out, as Nyos chose that moment to relieve his shoulders of their head, staining his sword red. Some of the soldiers took a step back, whereas others appeared… heartened.
"What?" Nyos asked nonchalantly as they stared at him. "I never liked him. The choice is yours, gentlemen. I'm leaving this city, tonight, and never returning. Regardless of who you support, if you really want to stay and risk the king's wrath when he returns, you can be my guests."
"To hell with this!" the larger soldier growled angrily, pointing at the now headless captain. "That murderer killed my wife and threatened my children unless I joined! I'm gone, but I'm not leaving empty-handed. To the treasury, lads!"
With a collective roar of approval, most of the guards threw down their helmets and followed the soldier out of the room. Their insulting chants against the king and the Empire could be heard for minutes afterwards, and Harry assumed they would probably rouse half the city before the night was done.
"Now that I don't agree with," Murtagh winced. "They could really harm trade and less-off cities if they steal too much."
"Too late," Nyos said quickly, turning away from the door. One soldier, his second-in-command, remained behind. "Der, to what do we owe the pleasure?"
"I just wanted to say, sir, that I've always respected you. I respect your decision, and I'm delighted you've made it… but, why do I get the feeling you're not coming with us?" the younger man asked.
"I sense my own path lies elsewhere at the moment, Derrin. But I will make my way to Surda as soon as possible, and I trust you to do the same in a safe manner," Nyos smiled.
Derrin nodded and saluted. "Yes, sir. I'll see you in Surda, and the first round of ale will be on me!"
After clasping arms in a soldier's embrace, Derrin left the room. Murtagh turned to Harry.
"Nyos says he wants to come with us until we deliver the eggs, and then he'll make his own way to Aberon."
"You told him about the eggs?" Harry asked, surprised.
"He worked it out."
"Trust me, lads, I'm smarter than I look. The land depends on magic, and dragon eggs are the only reason anybody would try something as suicidal as you have tonight. You have my blade so long as it can be used efficiently," he nodded respectfully.
Harry returned the gesture. "Thank you. If Murtagh agrees, I'm sure we would be delighted to have your assistance."
"Of course I agree."
Harry scoffed and turned away, thinking about how unusual this night had been. It was about to get turned up another gear, as well. He was only appreciative that Nyos had managed to convince the soldiers to desert, so now they would not have to unwillingly reveal the eggs. The man was obviously a gifted speaker, and he seemed supremely unconcerned about cutting down his enemies. He would be a very powerful ally.
Without another word, the trio entered the mysterious hallway leading to the treasure room. Both magicians could literally feel the magical energy shimmering around their bodies, and knew immediately that this was the right place. The door this time had neither lock nor handle, but Harry was through playing around. With a sweep of his wand, he blew it into a thousand pieces and stepped inside, through the cloud of dust that had been kicked up. As he did so, his heart seemed to play at a regular drum beat – two thuds every second.
The traps present in the room had been disabled concurrently with those outside, so it was safe to walk unashamedly across the cold, smooth floor. Harry's heart almost stopped as his eye was drawn to a pair of marble pedestals at the far end. They supported the weight of two large spherical objects, one the colour of rubies and the other that of emeralds. They seemed to glisten and shine with the light from his wand, and he felt the breath catch in his windpipe.
He quickly summoned them gently and held out a hand, seeing it shake in trepidation and almost pious solicitude. His fingertips gently brushed the emerald orb, and it seemed to pulsate with magical energy in response. To his left Murtagh slowly approached the red egg, and removed it from the air with both hands cupping the surface. His eyes were wide in amazement, and Harry could have sworn he saw a tear or two glistening when he looked around.
With reluctance, he placed the egg in his leather pouch, drawing an amazed splutter from the defecting general, who had watched the proceedings believing it must be a dream.
Hope, Nyos thought. That's what this is. The seed of hope has been sewn and we may yet have a chance to defeat the king.
Harry waited patiently for Murtagh to hand over the red egg, and he placed it beside its green sibling, delicately sealed the pouch once more with magic and attached it to his belt, beside Aiedail. He turned to look at Nyos, who wore a grin so large it was almost unnatural.
For his own part, Harry hadn't smiled so brightly since settling in at Carvahall, and this was the first time he had seen true happiness etched on Murtagh's countenance. It was going to be a glorious day when they found Brom and Eragon.
"I think it's time to go," Murtagh announced at last. "There's no point standing here like happy fools."
Harry laughed heartily, something which surprised even him. He felt lighter and more animated than in many a month, and the feeling was simply magnificent. As they reached the throne room, he realised that Nyos was planning something through his look alone.
"I promised myself I would blow up that throne chair before leaving," he said distastefully. "And I intend to keep that promise."
"I have a better idea," Harry said quickly. "But give me a moment. I want to grab a book I found earlier."
Murtagh watched him go and chuckled. Well, the guards were probably rioting outside anyway, so one little book would hardly make a difference now. He was shocked however, as Harry came sprinting into the room moments later and had to slam the golden doors in the face of a raging fire.
"What's going on?" Murtagh demanded.
To his disbelief, Harry grinned. "I thought all the purple in his room was a little too much. His dragon is black and his soul is black, so let's give him a bedroom to match, huh?"
"You set it on fire?!"
Harry nodded as though it were obvious. "Of course I did! Now, if you'll excuse me."
He stored the mysterious book and then, in a rapid motion, whipped out his wand once more and cast an explosive charm at the throne, blowing it to smithereens. In quick succession, he succeeded in blasting a massive hole in the wall nearby, which ran parallel with the corridor containing the king's quarters to the citadel entrance.
"Okay, let's go!" he shouted, as the structure began to rumble a little.
Nyos laughed uproariously and ran through the opening ahead of the two younger men, pausing only to light the tapestries in the throne room on fire. Harry joined him, only he also cast another expulso charm, this time on the far wall, near to the treasure room. Clouds of dust and piles of rubble began to fall from the ceiling as the building became more structurally unsound. Harry was careful to ensure they were never in danger, casting spells only behind them as they ran. He destroyed the king's war room in glee, and watched as Nyos split the entire citadel in two, causing the walls to begin falling apart.
Murtagh was in disbelief at their wanton regard for destruction. Harry was finally showing some of his hatred for the king, and he probably felt this was a form of revenge for losing his eye. Nyos was just insane in his own comical way, and took a sense of personal pride to the fires and explosions.
As they reached the packed courtyard of soldiers, men began to cheer them. Far more than had been there in the throne room. Harry jumped as a deafening creaking noise obscured all other sounds, and looked back to see the entire citadel collapse into heaps of rubble. A massive cloud of dust was sent up, and Harry cast a powerful shield charm around the courtyard to prevent them getting hit by falling rocks.
After a few minutes, ruins were all that remained. Many cheered and applauded the collapse of the once feared structure, including civilians who had recently appeared.
"Commander, we came across many groups of Empire supporters who opposed us," Derrin said, stepping forward. "We dispatched them with the help of the common folk. Everyone here is anxious to be free of the king, although thousands of his loyal soldiers are escaping."
"Let them flee!" Nyos roared over the din of the crowd, and they screamed in approval, banging weapons against shields and carrying sacks of what Harry knew to be gold, as well as countless valuables from the castle. "Okay, boys and girls, help the people safely abandon the city, and then trash it! Burn it all!"
Harry watched in amazement as thousands of former soldiers began to move throughout the city, evacuating the people safely (to his pleasant surprise) and then burning down every building in sight. His own fire was now trivial in comparison to this. The night was basking in orange glow, and he tore down the walls with magic so people could leave without having to open the monstrous gates. Surda would certainly have more members for its army before the week was over.
Harry and his new companions calmly strode out of the courtyard and into the main area of the city, although it wouldn't be a city for much longer at this rate. Rather than walk to any of the main gates, they headed towards the northern wall, the one closest to the Ramr River. Harry destroyed a segment of the towering stone structure, and they calmly walked over the rubble onto the other side. It was time to head for the area where they would meet the others. Around them, farmers were gathering their supplies and freshly sewn harvests, before setting their crops alight. With their families on horses and carts, they began to head south, joining a massive line of emigrants, which was ever-expanding.
Casually, Harry removed three toy wooden horses from his leather pouch and waved his wand, transfiguring the animals back to normal. They whinnied in confusion and relief, but he calmed them with the power of his mind. Godric was relieved to see him, as was Tornac towards Murtagh. Snowfire was less certain about Nyos, but that was to say nothing about the expression on Nyos' face. Harry thought his bottom jaw may actually hit the ground, and handed him the reins, smirking.
The three spurred the creatures forward, heading for the water as the fire roared behind.
The power now stored in Harry's wand was amazing. In fact, he was certain he could now defeat Durza single-handedly if it came down to an individual battle. What he didn't know was that Durza could track his movements from afar. And at that exact moment the Shade chose to remove himself from his very long (annoyingly ineffective once more) torture session with the elven princess, and he felt the boy's presence in…
Durza choked. No, it couldn't be… eyes wide in horror; he rushed to contact the king, although he need not have bothered. Galbatorix felt the alarms go off around his traps with the destruction of the citadel, although he had no idea what was happening. Only that somebody was trying to break into his own domain.
"Durza! What is going on?!" he shouted inside the Shade's head, who felt agonised by the force of his yelling.
"My lord, I- I have no idea!"
"Well find out, you useless little piece of regurgitated filth! My alarms have been tripped! Someone is trying to steal the eggs!" he screamed in fury.
Durza froze in horror. The king would kill him for this. The boy had obviously been successful in his attempt, as the presence was moving away from Urû'baen. He swallowed, terrified, before starting to relay his message. Before he could even begin to speak, however, he was shot from behind. He recoiled as the arrow struck his shoulder, and growled in anger.
He tried to turn around and face his attacker, but a second arrow pierced his skull, directly in the temple. With a spurt of blood and a howl of pain he vanished, leaving a triumphant Eragon grinning at where he had stood.
"A very good shot," Brom nodded impatiently, before moving to the elf's side. They had broken in with no trouble thanks to Harry's charms, and had not encountered the Shade until now. Only mismatched patrols. Brom rested a hand on her forehead. "Arya, can you hear me?" he asked gently.
When she didn't reply or attempt to stir, he picked her up and threw her carefully over his shoulder, handing the sword and bow he had found to Eragon. He was a little annoyed at having missed the Shade's heart, but at least the boy had vanquished him for a little while. He made a mental note to practice more with the bow, and led Eragpn out of the room, half-running as Arya was distinctly visible above him.
As predetermined, Saphira awaited them on the roof, having first dispatched the archers stationed there. Brom carefully tied Arya to her underside and mounted the dragon behind Eragon.
"This has gone better than I would have dared to hope," she admitted.
"Maybe," Eragon replied in a measured tone. "But let's find out how Harry and Murtagh have fared before we jump to conclusions."
"Is the elf injured?"
"We don't know. She won't awaken," Eragon said with worry.
"Then let us tarry no longer in this place," Saphira declared. With a flap of her wings, she rose into the air faster than normal, and launched herself in the direction Brom had indicated. No one ever even caught a glimpse of the unusual group as they flew away from Gil'ead.
It was a true night to remember for the forces of good, but if history were to remember anything of note, it would be Galbatorix's unquenchable anger and thirst for vengeance. He killed Tábor in a rage as Durza fell silent, and mounted his black dragon, Shruikan, intending to arrive at his fortress and kill everyone in sight. He had used magic to fly to Dras-Leona as rapidly as possible, but now he would use his magic to make his enemies suffer.
What he didn't know was that, in the night air, two dragon embryos were stirring for the first time. They felt their Riders, and would soon burst into life and join them in the world.
A:N - And so the pendulum of fate has swung in favour of our protagonists for the first time. I wonder how long that will last... Have no fear, I will not ruin this story with the creation of a new land. It exists only to serve as a potential sequel to the story... apart from the planned Shades and army, of course. I like to think it actually exists (hidden) in the canon series, and who knows? Paolini even said he may write sequels to the story, so it could be an accurate assumption.