Chapter Two

Blood for an Empire

Shruikan flew steadily, his white wings held out stiffly from his sides to catch the wind. Thorn flew a short distance behind the black dragon, Murtagh dozing on his back. The two dragons had flown for an entire day out of Urû'baen, stopped for the night at the city of Furnost, and resumed their journey first thing in the morning. Now the Beor Mountains were coming into view, and Galbatorix estimated that they would reach them that evening, or perhaps on the following morning. After that it would be a short journey to Orthíad. Orthíad was an old dwarvish city carved into a mountain. He'd been there a few times, and remembered that it was an eerie place, with many hiding places in it. The war that destroyed the old riders had been fought in many places, and that had included Orthíad. Mostly Galbatorix's allies, the Forsworn, had fought on his behalf there, but he'd gone there personally at one point to deal with a particularly tough enemy who'd gone to hide there. It hadn't been an easy fight. Orthíad was a good place for the brat and his rebels to lie low. The approach would be difficult. There were plenty of places for lookouts to hide, so approaching unseen would be nigh-on impossible.

However, Galbatorix had ways of dealing with that.

Just as the sun was starting to dip below the horizon, they reached the mountains. 'You know what to do,' he told Shruikan.

Shruikan knew. He glanced upward. There were a few pale clouds threading overhead. More than enough. The black dragon reached out with his mind. First he alerted Thorn to what he was doing, and then he set to work.

The clouds began to grow. And grow. They spread across the sky, melding into each other like patches in a quilt. The light dimmed and became dark blue-grey. Thunder rumbled, and white lightning snaked across the sky. The wind picked up. Thorn, his eyes wide with fear, took shelter by Shruikan's side, flying as close to the other dragon as he dared. No dragon likes to fly in a storm. It is one of the few things that can make them panic. Shruikan focused his powers, and sent the storm on ahead of them into the mountains. Galbatorix could feel the black dragon's dark satisfaction at this. Any dragon hiding up ahead would be too frightened to take to the air… hence, no chance of getting back to Orthíad to alert Eragon to their presence. This was Shruikan's secret weapon, and it had been an important factor in winning them the war. Now it would help them take Eragon by surprise… if he was in Orthíad at all. Galbatorix considered that unlikely. In all probability the boy knew that Dreyri would have come straight to him with the news, and would have moved on. Still, no sense in taking pointless risks.

They entered the mountains without incident, with Shruikan's storm going ahead of them, sending powerful winds and bolts of lightning into valleys and canyons. Anyone hiding there would be in trouble. But, so far, they saw no-one. The only living creatures in evidence were a few mountain goats. Nevertheless, they kept on toward Orthíad. Murtagh was first to spot the crumbling remains of the two watch-towers carved into the twin peaks they passed between. He pointed them out to Galbatorix, who nodded. They were now in Orthíad. After a short flight through the deep gorge beyond the towers, they found themselves flying through a city. On all sides the rock was honeycombed with doors and windows – all now reduced to just empty holes where wooden shutters and doors had rotted away. The wind howled and whistled around them like angry ghosts. A desolate place. A dead place. But it had an uncomfortable feeling of… waiting. For something.

Shruikan and Thorn flew on toward the centre of Orthíad, on the lookout for any sign of movement. They reached the centre without seeing any, and landed on the roof of the large mountain-palace which stood there. Once a great dwarf queen had ruled there, but though her time was long gone the seat of her power still maintained some of its grandeur. Once Shruikan had landed, Galbatorix pointed to a spot lower down, where a chunk of an ornamented lintel had been broken off and the stone was marred by a row of deep gashes. 'Remember when that happened?' he asked mentally.

'Oh yes,' said Shruikan. 'My talons have grown a lot since then, haven't they?'

He dug them into the stone beneath him, making a series of cuts that were deep and wide enough for Galbatorix to fit both his hands in.

'Very impressive, master,' Thorn's mental voice intruded. 'But what about the task we're supposed to be carrying out right now?'

'No need for sarcasm, Thorn,' said Shruikan. He raised his head and sniffed. 'Can you see anything?' he asked, appealing to all three of his companions.

'Nothing,' said Murtagh.

'Nothing,' said Thorn. 'Can't see anything, can't smell anything… then again, with this wind…'

'What do you think, Galbatorix?' asked Shruikan.

Galbatorix scrutinised their surroundings. 'Nothing,' he echoed. 'If there's anyone here, they're lying low.'

'Most likely they've moved on,' said Shruikan.

'Yes,' said Galbatorix. He sighed. 'I didn't really expect them to linger. We'll search the buildings and see if we can find anything. Afterwards we'll make a search of the mountains nearby. Shruikan, keep the storm going. If we catch them, I want to catch them while they're grounded.'

'As you wish,' said Shruikan.

Thunder rumbled. And then light returned to the dead city. Bright, golden sunlight. It shone through a hole that had appeared in the clouds, and blinded all four of them. While they were still blinking, it got brighter. The thunder died away, and the wind dropped. The clouds parted inexorably, showing blue sky beyond. The storm was clearing.

'Shruikan!' Galbatorix shouted mentally. 'What are you doing?'

'It's not me!' said Shruikan. 'I'm… trying, but-,'

There was a groan from Thorn. The red dragon shook his head dazedly, as if trying to shake off a fly. Then he slumped down onto his haunches, his sides heaving.

'Thorn, what's wrong?' said Galbatorix.

Thorn said nothing. His eyes had gone glazed. On his back, Murtagh drew his sword. 'Something's coming,' he said. 'I can… it's in my head. Thorn?'

Thorn remained silent. Shruikan nosed at him, but the younger dragon didn't move. Galbatorix looked around quickly. Still, there was no sign of anyone. But the storm was gone. 'Murtagh!' he shouted out loud.

Murtagh's eyes suddenly widened. 'She's coming,' he said. 'You must get out of here, my lord. I can't…' his voice died away. The look of fear on his face suddenly settled into one of blankness and placidity, and he lowered his sword.

'Murtagh?' said Galbatorix. 'Murtagh, can you hear me?'

There was no response. Shruikan gave up his attempts to wake Thorn from his trance, and turned to stare at the empty houses below them. 'Something bad is happening,' he growled aloud. 'The storm won't obey me.'

The black dragon took to the air, the sunlight shining on his white wings. Sitting apprehensively on his back, all alert for some sign of movement, Galbatorix saw it.

Or, rather her.

She flew up from the depths of the city's lower levels, and the air seemed to grow a little colder when she did. She was a dragon. Much larger than she'd been last time he'd seen her. Her scales were silver, but traced by a sickly web of vile black veins, as were her oversized, ragged wings. Her whole body was warped and twisted out of true, all jutting bones and grotesque angles. And her eyes were two black, dead pits in her face. Vervada.

'Vervada,' said Galbatorix. 'Shruikan, get us out of here. Now.'

Shruikan didn't move. He stayed where he was, beating his wings occasionally to stay aloft but doing nothing else. Galbatorix could feel the black dragon's distress, and he knew all too well what was happening.

Vervada hovered in front of them, her face blank and empty of expression. He felt her mind touch his, and fended her off automatically, but her voice still sounded in his head. 'I cannot control you,' it said. 'But you are in my way. And now you will die.'

Galbatorix moved fast. He held out his hand, palm-first, and shot a ball of black energy across the gap. Vervada spat silver flames, and they hit the oncoming magic and deflected it. Galbatorix swore and struck again, faster this time. But his magic had no effect on the monster. He wasn't put off yet, however. He unhooked his bow from its holder on Shruikan's saddle, and fired an arrow, aiming for Vervada's heart. It hit her, lodging itself between two scales, and black blood oozed from around it. Vervada hissed and snapped her teeth at the empty air, and Galbatorix's bow shattered, driving hundreds of wooden shards into his hands. He gasped at the sudden pain, but reached for his sword, ignoring the blood running down his fingers. His grip on the hilt was slippery, and he had trouble pulling it out of the sheath. And before he'd managed to do that he heard a blasting of air, and they rose into view.

Riders. Thirteen of them. The dragons were of all different sizes, and at their head was a blue female. Saphira. And on her back was a young man who looked more elf than human, whose pale, handsome face wore an expression of terrible hatred. Eragon. Galbatorix acted quickly. He pulled a dagger from inside his robe, and threw it as hard and fast as he could at Eragon's face. Eragon threw up a magical shield, and the dagger bounced off it and fell into the canyon below. Galbatorix gritted his teeth and sent his most powerful magic toward the other rider, one blast after another, as fast as he could… which was very fast. But Eragon blocked him every time, simultaneously shouting some command to his fellows. They struck as one.

They didn't kill him. The magical blast washed over him and passed straight through his brain, cutting off his access to his powers and trapping inside his own head. It was a simple enough spell to cast on someone, but the backwash of so much magic sent a blast of pain rifling straight through him, as if his nerves were on fire. When he opened his eyes again, his blurred vision showed him Eragon.

'Not so clever, are we?' the young man sneered. 'This is the second time I've got the better of you. And this time I'm not going to leave you alive. My friends and I are ready to destroy the Empire. But you won't live to see our triumph.'

Galbatorix coughed, and tasted blood in his mouth. He struggled to draw his sword, but his arms had gone numb and weak. And besides, what chance did he have to fight against so many, especially when Shruikan was out of commission?

Eragon unslung a bow from his shoulder, and notched an arrow onto the string. As he did so, Galbatorix saw something move just over his shoulder. He glanced back at it, and saw Thorn coming toward them. For a moment, hope rose inside him. But the red dragon flew to Eragon, taking his place by Saphira's side.

'Now we're complete,' said Eragon. 'Fourteen of us. Thirteen riders under one leader.' He looked over at Murtagh, who nodded to him. 'Glad to join you, Eragon,' he said.

'Thirteen Forsworn to destroy the riders,' said Eragon. 'And now, thirteen warriors to bring them back. Is that not beautiful, traitor?'

'Murtagh!' Galbatorix shouted. 'How could you do this to me? I trusted you!'

Murtagh looked at him, stone-faced. 'That's because you're a fool,' he said. 'And now it all comes full circle… the betrayer has been betrayed.'

Eragon nodded approvingly. 'Full circle,' he agreed. He raised his bow. 'That creature that you fornicated with is dead,' he added. 'We sent assassins into Urû'baen for her. The monstrous child you spawned died with her. I wanted you to know that before you died.'

He loosed the arrow. It hit Galbatorix in the arm. A second arrow got him in the chest, piercing his breastplate. Galbatorix slumped in the saddle. The third arrow was aimed at Shruikan. It was well-aimed, and went straight through the black dragon's scales and into his heart.

Shruikan let out a horrible howl of pain, and Galbatorix too felt it tear into him. It was a pain far deeper than that caused by his injuries. It didn't just strike into his heart. It was in his mind as well. And in his soul. Shruikan's wings crumpled, and he plummeted from the sky. It was in that instant that Galbatorix felt something that he had felt once before – something that had nearly destroyed him. He felt part of himself die. His mind shut down. He began to fumble with the straps holding his legs in place, aware of nothing but a desperate urge to get away from the hell he was suddenly in. The straps came loose, and Shruikan hit the canyon wall, flinging him out of his seat.

Then he fell. And darkness swallowed him.

Evening, and Skade returned to her chambers. It had been a long day, and the silver elf was exhausted. She'd never known, before, that running an empire would be so much hard work, but it was. And it wasn't glamorous, either. She'd spent the morning attending to the accounts, spoken to twelve different officials about matters of state – which included repairs to the dam at Gil'ead, a problem with smugglers in Therinsford, a shortage of grain in Daret and the building of a new irrigation canal in Melian – and spoken to Dreyri and those of her siblings who had returned to Urû'baen in the evening. There'd barely been time for a quick lunch, and by dinner time she was too tired to eat much and went straight back to her room to rest. It was difficult to imagine that Galbatorix had put up with this sort of thing day-in-day-out for a century. No wonder he'd been so keen to go off adventuring again. Skade just wished she could have gone with him.

She entered the room, locking the door behind her, and flopped gracelessly onto the bed. For a while she just lay there, enjoying the softness of the mattress, but she got up eventually and started preparing for bed, feeling thoroughly fed up.

While she was kneeling in front of the clothes chest, selecting a nightdress, someone grabbed her by the hair. A dagger flashed across her neck, and Skade fell backward, blood oozing from her neck.

But she wasn't dead. She flipped herself over almost instantly, and scrambled backward away from her attacker, pulling herself upright with elvish grace. Standing by the wall, with her hand clasped to her injured throat, she found herself confronted by a black-clad human with a hood covering his face. There was a dagger in his hand, its blade stained with her blood. Only her quick reflexes had saved her; she had seen the dagger coming and had thrown herself onto the floor to avoid it.

Skade didn't pause to think. She rushed at the assassin, taking him by surprise and bowling him over. He stabbed at her with the dagger, getting her in the shoulder, but she grabbed hold of his wrist and twisted the weapon out of his grasp. The assassin punched her in the face and wriggled out from under her. The instant he had the space to do so, he reached into his clothes and brought out a second dagger, rising to his feet and preparing to attack again. Skade got up, a guttural growl sounding in her chest – an unnatural noise which no elf could ever make. She bared her teeth, and the assassin faltered a little at the sight of them, which was just what she had been aiming for. She kicked him, hard, in the stomach, and followed it up by lashing out at him with her claws. The man threw himself at her, dagger first, and the two of them struggled together on the floor until Skade sank her teeth into the assassin's hand and made him drop the dagger. She pinned him down, flipping him onto his stomach and twisting his arm behind his back, while outside her bodyguard broke down the door and came rushing in.

He and Skade dragged the assassin to his feet, and while the bodyguard held him still Skade said; 'Who sent you?'

The assassin refused to answer. His hood had come off during the fight, and he was revealed as ordinary-looking but tough. The sort of man you wouldn't look twice at in the street. He stared at Skade with hatred, and she snarled and thrust her claws into his chest, twisting them to cause him pain. The man cried out.

'Answer me,' Skade rasped, blood still running down her neck.

'I'll tell you nothing,' the man spat back, wincing.

'You'll tell everything,' said Skade. 'Maybe not to me, but you'll tell it to the King.'

'The King is dead,' said the assassin. 'He died at Orthíad today.' He wrenched his arm free, and before anyone could react he had pulled a tiny glass capsule from his pocket and crushed it between his teeth. Instantly he went rigid, twitching horribly, and then sagged in the guard's grip. He was dead.

'Dammit!' the guard swore. 'I'm sorry, my lady.'

'Take him away,' said Skade.

'Should I send a healer to you, my lady?' the guard asked.

'No,' said Skade, turning away. 'I'll be fine.'

The guard left. Alone, Skade went to a shelf and opened a small box which sat on it. She took a length of bandage and some herbal ointments from it, and set about tending to her injuries, her motions automatic and emotionless. She could feel herself trembling slightly. The attack had been so sudden, so violent… and how had the assassin got into her room? Someone must have let him in. And that could only mean there were spies in the castle. The question was… who were they? Galbatorix would know the best way of finding them. But the assassin had said he was dead. No. That couldn't be true. Never.

Skade finished bandaging her throat, and looked blankly at her hand. There was blood on it from where she had grabbed at the dagger blade. It would do. She cupped her hand, and let a little pool of blood gather there. Then she focused on it and said; 'Draumr kópa.'

Light bloomed in the little red globule, white and shimmering. Skade, staring intently at it, focused on Galbatorix. Show him to me. Show me Galbatorix.

The magic responded. Its light wavered and opened up to show her where her beloved was now. But all she saw was darkness.