Chapter Six

The Pact

Night, and grey clouds drifted across the sky, glowing white where they passed over the moon. Trees rustled in a faint breeze, and the sea hissed at the shore. Tall cliffs rose just inland, and that was where a massive, shadowy shape crouched. In the darkness it looked like a hill improbably perched on top of the cliffs, but it moved from time to time and proclaimed that it was, against all reason, alive. The shape was a dragon – a dragon as big as a castle. He sat on the clifftop, the rock crumbling under his claws, occasionally rustling a wing the size of a ploughed field. The dragon was black. His name was Ravana, and the night was his time. Normally he would be in the air by now, roving endlessly over his country, on the lookout for anything unusual. This land was his and had been for more than a thousand years, and although very few had ever come across it he was always on the alert.

Now, though, he stood on the clifftop and watched the huge bank of black cloud that lay some way out to sea. Lightning flashed over it from time to time. It was his storm. His sentinal. No-one could enter his country by sea if he didn't want them to. At the bottom of the sea beneath it was a treasure-hunter's paradise of sunken ships, but nobody would ever be able to find them without joining them.

With the storm in place, Ravana could probably have afforded to relax. But tonight he was feeling restless. He hadn't slept at all the previous day, and tired though he was he kept his eyes open, staring obsessively out to sea. His feelings told him that something had happened, and that he should be prepared for it. Whatever it was.

After a while he was joined by another dragon. This one was only a fraction of his size – she barely came up to his elbow. And though she too was black, her wings were red.

'What are you watching for?' the red-winged dragon asked in respectful tones.

Ravana shifted on his perch. 'Someone is coming,' he growled.

'Who?' the young dragon asked.

'Watch with your eyes, not your tongue, Balisong,' said Ravana. 'We'll see who it is when they come.'

'Yes, lord,' said the younger dragon, dipping her head in the dragonish version of a bow.

They waited together in silence, while the storm raged on. But then the lightning died down. Someone was indeed coming. And the storm was letting them through. Ravana tensed expectantly. The clouds moved and the moon shone through. Its light touched the scales of a dragon flying toward the shore… a big, silver dragon.

But as the dragon got closer, it became apparent that he was not alone. There were two others, flying on either side of him. They had been less visible because, like Ravana, they were black.

Ravana stood tall on his huge legs, and spread his wings wide. Then he lifted his head and roared. The roar echoed over the land and the sea, deafeningly loud, and he belched flame into the sky – flame that was as black as his scales. The oncoming dragons roared and flamed in response, and Ravana settled back onto his haunches. 'It's them,' he said.

The three dragons reached the land. Without hesitation, they flew straight up to the cliff and alighted by Ravana's side, bowing low. Balisong ran to meet the largest of them – the silver one. 'Skirnir!' she cried.

'Balisong,' said Skirnir, touching her snout with his. He indicated the two youngsters with him. 'Meet my son and daughter. This is Skömm, and this is Dreyri. Skömm, Dreyri, this is my sister Balisong. And…' he glanced up at Ravana. 'This is my grandfather, Ravana.'

Skömm and Dreyri stared at the massive old dragon, wide-eyed. Neither of them had ever seen a dragon so large. Ravana looked back at them, his golden eyes unreadable. Then he looked at Skirnir. At the silver-haired elf climbing down from his back.

Skade stumbled toward him, and knelt, holding her child in her arms. 'Father,' she murmured.

'Skade,' said Ravana. He was silent for a time, looking at her. She was filthy and exhausted, and there was blood on her clothes, but she got up and stood before him, unflinching.

'I thought I told you that I never wanted to see you again,' Ravana said at last.

'You're my father,' said Skade.

'I stopped being your father after you chose a filthy human before me,' said Ravana, his eyes as cold as death. 'After you… mutilated yourself. And now you have a human child by him. You are not welcome here any more.'

Skade stared at him in silence, her golden eyes blazing.

'Where is your mate?' Ravana demanded. 'Did he betray you like every human does? Did he try and kill you and send you running back to me like a crippled hatchling?' he sneered.

'He's dead,' said Skade.

'Killed in some petty human quarrel, no doubt,' Ravana growled.

Skade shook her head. 'It was the boy,' she said. 'The one who killed Vidar. He murdered him. And he killed Shruikan and Lifrasir as well.'

Ravana roared again. He lifted his snout to the sky like a wolf, and the ground shook with the agonised bellow he made. 'Shruikan!'

'That's why I came to you,' Skade said quickly. 'I need you.'

Ravana slammed his forepaw down, inches away from her, and the cliff split along its entire length. Balisong went tumbling from her perch, catching herself with her wings before she hit the ground, and the other three dragons threw themselves flat in fright. In Skade's arms, the child began to bawl.

'This is your fault!' Ravana howled. 'Shruikan! My son!'

'It's the boy's fault!' Skade shouted back. 'He tricked Galbatorix and Shruikan, and he killed them, and he would have killed my son and I if we hadn't fled. Alagaësia is in flames, and if Kullervo doesn't ally himself with the boy he will die as well. I came here to you because only you can stop it.'

'I take no part in what happens in Alagaësia,' said Ravana, calming down slightly. 'This is my home now. It means nothing to me.'

'Kullervo is your son as well!' said Skade. 'He needs you.'

'Kullervo is a fool if he chooses to stay there,' said Ravana. 'If he wants help, he must come here to me and ask for it himself.'

'Kullervo is as stubborn as you are,' said Skade. 'He won't come here unless he's forced to. It's time for you to stop hiding here like a coward and do something.'

'I am not a coward!' Ravana bellowed.

'Prove it!' said Skade.

Ravana suddenly went quiet. He glared at Skade, trying to cow her, but she stayed where she was and glared back. 'I chose to stay with Galbatorix because I loved him,' she said in a low voice. 'I loved him with all my heart, just as you loved my mother.'

'That's different,' Ravana interrupted.

'It's exactly the same,' said Skade. 'Species makes no difference, Father. None at all. Love transcends everything. You must know that.'

Ravana closed his wings and sat back on his hindquarters. For a time he said nothing. He seemed to be deep in thought. At last he said; 'What is it you want me to do, Skade?'

'I don't care what happens in Alagaësia,' said Skade. 'There's nothing there for me now. I only want you to avenge Galbatorix. Kill the boy. You will have justice for Shruikan and Vidar as well that way, and Lifrasir.'

Ravana paused. 'I will do as you ask,' he said. 'But only if you swear that you will never leave here again.'

Skade nodded. 'I don't want to go back,' she said. 'I'll do as you ask.' She switched to the ancient language, and intoned; 'I swear that I shall not leave this place again for as long as I live.' As she spoke, she felt the magic in the words wrapping themselves around her, binding her to her word. The oath was made and could never be broken. But now Galbatorix would be avenged. His murderer would die, and Skade only wished that she could have seen it.

'Good,' said Ravana once she had finished. 'Now stand still. I will change you back.'

'No,' said Skade. 'Not now.'

'I will not have an elf living here,' said Ravana. 'You were born a dragon, and you will become one again.'

'My son,' said Skade. 'He can't live without a mother. I won't be able to care for him as a dragon. He needs my milk.'

'It doesn't matter,' said Ravana. 'I will change him as well.'

'He's too young,' said Skade. 'He wouldn't survive it.'

'Then I shall wait until he is older,' said Ravana, snorting irritably.

'Thankyou,' said Skade. 'Will you go now, or in the morning?'

'I won't be going anywhere,' said Ravana. 'This is my land. I will not leave it.'

'But you said-!'

'If the boy comes here, I shall kill him,' said Ravana. 'Otherwise… I shall let him rot in Alagaësia.'

'You lied to me!' Skade cried.

'I did what I had to to protect my daughter,' said Ravana turning away. 'No less. Find somewhere to live. Skirnir, you and your young are under my command now. You will stay here as well. It is my will.'

Skade couldn't take it any more. She let out a horrible, roaring scream of fury, and rushed at her father's uncaring back, intent on attacking him. But Ravana spread his wings and took to the air, the blast of wind knocking her off her feet, and she lay helplessly on her back, watching as he flew away inland, toward the mountains.

It was two days after the sack of Urû'baen. Most of the city was rubble, but the castle still stood, and Eragon and his followers were comfortably ensconced inside it. Eragon had taken up residence in Galbatorix's old chambers, which had been stripped of all their valuables, and mere hours after the last of Urû'baen's defenders had surrendered he was already sending out his fellow riders to begin their work. They were sent to the various major cities in the land, to cow any remaining resistance and consolidate Eragon's powers. As soon as he was satisfied that his position was secured, he would annoint himself as the new King and usher in a new age for Alagaësia – one in which he ruled supreme. There were only a few dark clouds on this bright horizon. One of them was Skade-shaped. She had, contrary to the lies which he had put about, escaped from the city along with her child, thanks to the help of a renegade wild dragon. Eragon would see to it that the rest of the dragons accepted his rule – by force, if need be. If they were sheltering the erstwhile Queen and her son, they would pay for it with their own blood. Eragon knew all too well that even the mightiest power in the world could fall at the hands of someone suitably powerful – he himself was living proof of that. He had toppled the Empire almost single-handedly, and he would not allow Galbatorix's son to grow up wanting revenge for his father's fate. He would not let him grow up at all.

If the child grew up… and if he became a rider… if he had inherited his father's gift for leadership…

Eragon felt sick to his stomach. He shifted uneasily at his seat in the banqueting hall, and gripped the hilt of his sword for comfort. Was this what it felt like to be a King? Forever looking over your shoulder like this, unable to ever feel completely safe?

Eragon pulled himself together. The Empire was his by rights, and he wasn't about to start questioning whether he wanted it or not. It was his duty to bring peace and justice, and he would do that, no matter what the risk or the cost.

Eragon sat and studied a map of Alagaësia, busy marking out places where enemies might decide to go to ground. He wasn't anticipating any serious resistance, however. There were no riders on the enemy's side, and against his followers ordinary troops wouldn't stand a chance. However, it paid to be careful.

The door to the banqueting hall opened at this point, and Murtagh came in. Eragon looked up. 'Murtagh.'

'You asked to see me, Lord,' said Murtagh.

'Yes, that's right,' said Eragon, putting the map aside. 'I have a job for you and Thorn.'

'I'm listening, Lord,' said Murtagh.

Eragon smirked slightly. He adored being respected like this. Somehow, it made it all worthwhile. 'I want you to go to the wild dragons,' he said. 'Talk to Kullervo, and deliver him this ultimatum from me. Tell him that I rule Alagaësia now, and that includes him and his people. He's to come here, in person, to swear allegiance to me. If he doesn't do it… there will be consequences. Don't be afraid to be forceful. Understood?'

'Yes, Lord,' said Murtagh, his face blank.

'Good,' said Eragon. 'Now go.'

'My lord…'

Eragon raised his eyebrows. 'You're still here, Murtagh.'

'There's something you should know,' said Murtagh.

'Out with it, then.'

'Galbatorix,' said Murtagh.

'What of him?' said Eragon.

'There are… whisperings,' said Murtagh. 'Rumours. People are saying that he's still alive. That he's coming back.'

'People can whisper all they want,' said Eragon dismissively. 'It won't bring the dead back to life. I saw his body lying in that canyon, stuck full of arrows. The King is dead, long live the King. Now get going.'

'Yes, Lord,' said Murtagh. He hesitated. 'But…'

'Yes?'

'With these rumours… half of Alagaësia don't even know what he looks like. If a leader comes along who is smart enough to exploit those rumours, he could-,'

'If that happens,' Eragon interrupted. 'He will die. As will anyone else who opposes my rule. Now for the last time, go!'

Murtagh didn't dare argue any further. He beat a hasty retreat, leaving Eragon to slouch back in his chair, scowling. 'Damn your blackened soul,' he muttered out loud. 'Must you haunt me at every turn? I should have cut your head off and kept it as a trophy. Still… even if you were alive, the Empire would still be mine.'

He grinned and whipped a dagger from his belt, slamming it blade-first into the map, where it stuck, half its blade embedded in the table-top right through the 'ë' in Alagaësia.

'I'll be ten times the king you ever were,' he declared. 'And my reign shall last… forever.'

Arren woke up feeling terrible. He ached, his eyes were sore, and he had a thumping headache. He sat up, wondering if he was hung over. But he only remembered drinking one beer. Then he remembered what else he'd done, and immediately reached for his damaged leg. It still hurt. When he felt the bone underneath, it was uneven to the touch, with a slight bulge halfway up his shin. The skin had formed scars where the broken bone had stuck through it, but he wasn't sure if the power he'd used on it the previous night had worked. It had definitely worked on his arm – it was wasted from lack of use, but completely pain-free. His leg, however, was a different story. He stood up tentatively, testing it. The leg hurt in protest, but it would take his weight. It was healed, at least partly, and that would have to do. He wasn't going to try any more experiments with the power from his hand. Last night's experiment had left him feeling ghastly enough already, and his instincts told him that the next one could be fatal.

He limped slowly around the room, trying out the leg. It would do. He could walk without his crutches after a fashion. That meant he could leave town now, and he resolved to do just that, and immediately. His subconscious was screaming at him to get out of Furnost. There were things happening elsewhere in the world, and he needed to be there.

Without waiting to think about it for another second, he picked up the bag which contained the rest of his money and stuffed it into his pocket. He didn't need most of the things he'd bought the previous day, so he left them where they were. In the end, he took only his money, his dagger and the black dragon scale which he found in the pocket of his old robe. For some reason it seemed terribly important to keep that.

He put the splints and bandages back on his arm and leg, and picked up his crutches. He mightn't need them any more, but it would look, to say the least, a bit suspicious if he arrived at the inn with two broken limbs and was suddenly fine the next day.

Once he felt he was ready, he locked the room and headed downstairs, where he found the inkeeper eating lunch in the bar.

'I'm leaving,' he told him, and tossed the key to his room onto the table.

The innkeeper picked it up. 'Right you are,' he said. 'I suppose you'll be wanting your money back for this week?'

'Keep it,' said Arren.

Without waiting for an answer, he left the Sign of the Golden Dragon, swinging on his crutches.

It was broad day outside – evidently he'd been asleep for a long time. Now then, all he had to do was buy some food and get going…

'Hi, Arren,' said a voice.

He looked around sharply, and saw Carnoc, Leonol and Ulfrid standing by the inn's wall. Waiting for him. They were warmly dressed and carried packs, and Carnoc had an axe in his belt.

'Not going without us, are you?' said Carnoc in his usual cheerful tones.

'Going where?' said Arren cautiously.

'To Dras-Leona, of course,' said Leonol.

'What makes you think I'm going there?' said Arren.

Carnoc leant in close to him. 'We know who you are,' he said in an undertone. 'And we've decided to go with you.'

'Now wait a minute-,' said Arren.

'It's all right,' said Carnoc, waving a hand. 'We ain't gonna tell anybody. Your secret's safe with us, sir.'

'It won't be if you go around calling him sir all the time, Carnoc,' said Ulfrid. 'But he's telling the truth,' he added, to Arren. 'We talked it over after you left last night, and we decided what you said was right. The kid shouldn't be allowed to just come in and take over here. Not after what he did. He's a coward and vicious, too. We figured you'd be goin' to Dras-Leona. That's where most of the Empire's troops are now. They'll be preparing to fight back, and they'll need you there. So we're going with you. To protect you, and fight with you. If you'll have us, that is.'

Arren didn't know what to say. He stood there, gawping at them like an idiot, while they watched him expectantly. And then, out of the blue, a feeling of familiarity began to creep over him. With it came certainty. He had to lead these men. It was his duty. They needed him to show them the way.

Without a second thought, he nodded and said; 'Let's get going. We'll need provisions.'

'Got those,' said Carnoc. 'Ulfrid's got his granddad's sword and I've got my old woodchopping axe, which'll have to do.'

'And I've got a bow,' said Leonol, indicating the one that was slung over his shoulder.

'Good,' said Arren. 'Now, which is the best way to get to Dras-Leona?'

'There's a passenger-coach what goes that way,' said Ulfrid. 'Probably be full up, though. Our best bet's to buy some horses and just follow the road. It'll take about a week, provided we don't get attacked along the way. Anyway… we oughta be cautious about things. Don't want anyone else figuring out who you are.'

Arren longed to ask just who they thought he was, but he decided against it. If he really was who they thought he was, then asking the question would reveal that he didn't know himself. And if they thought he'd lost his mind, they'd probably leave him. He decided to play along, and hope that they would give him some clue that would help him figure it out.

'We'll buy horses,' he said.

'Right you are, sir,' said Carnoc. 'Uh… not sure if I can afford it, mind you.'

'I'll pay,' said Arren. 'If you can point the way to a good dealer.'

'Craddic's place would probably be best,' said Leonol. 'C'mon, sir, I'll lead the way.'

They set off. On the way to the horse dealer, Carnoc unwittingly revealed something dramatic. 'It's a shame you don't have your dragon with you, sir,' he said, keeping his voice down in case anyone was listening in. 'What happened to him? D'you mind if I ask?'

Arren's heart leapt. The black dragon in the canyon – it must be the one Carnoc was referring to. Then it had been 'his' dragon, he realised. He must have been riding it before.. before whatever had happened happened. But his excitement was quickly followed by despair. The dragon was dead. He had found it, and lost it in the same moment. 'He's dead,' he said shortly.

The others made small sounds of pity and dismay. 'That's awful, sir,' said Carnoc.

'They say there's nothing more painful than being a rider and having your dragon die on you,' said Ulfrid. He hesitated. 'Is that… is that true, sir?'

Arren shook his head wordlessly – he didn't know.

'They say you went mad after you lost your first one,' said Leonol, adding loyally, 'But you don't look mad to me, sir.'

Carnoc nudged his friend in the ribs. 'Don't be so insensitive, Leonol.'

'Sorry, sir,' said Leonol, wincing.

'I've got to say, though,' said Carnoc. 'You're very… unemotional. If I'd lost what you've lost, I'd… well, I don't know what I'd do.'

Arren was slient for a time, and finally said; 'I think I've lost more than you know, Carnoc.'

After that he went quiet, and his followers took the hint and asked no more questions. They reached the horse dealer, and after some bartering purchased five horses – one for each of them to ride, and one to carry excess baggage. The transaction left a considerable dent in Arren's money, and he hoped he wouldn't need to spend this much again any time soon. Once they had saddled up, everything was prepared, and they rode out of Furnost in a group, with Arren at the front on the only black horse. He liked the colour black. It suited him. Before he climbed into the saddle, he threw away his crutches and tore the bandages off his arm and leg. The time for pretending was over.

Carnoc, Leonol and Ulfrid were astonished by this.

'You healed yourself, didn't you?' Ulfrid said. 'With magic.'

Arren nodded. It felt natural, somehow.

And so the journey began. Arren felt apprehensive about what would happen when they reached Dras-Leona, and along the way as well. But there was a terrible rage inside him, driving him on. His mind was full of two people – one was the presence, felt but not seen, of the mysterious woman that he knew he loved but had lost. The other was the boy people had spoken of – Eragon. He had no memory of ever encountering him, but he was full of hatred toward him. Those faint echoes of his old self, which kept passing tauntingly in and out of his conscious mind, told him that this Eragon had done terrible things, and was still doing them. And that he was somehow responsible for what had happened to him. So Arren, in spite of everything, knew that nothing would make him give up. He had only two goals in life now – to find the one he loved, and to kill Eragon.