Chapter Seven

Journeys

It was nighttime. From his seat on a windowsill in Angela's home, Solembum crouched and watched clouds drifting across the sky. It would soon be time to go hunting.

The big cat yawned and stretched, and then pushed at the window with his nose. It swung open easily, and he slipped out into the night.

He left the town, moving with the silent grace common to all cats. Like Ravana, he was in his element at night, and he moved out onto the plains beyond Furnost like a shadow. He knew exactly where he was going, and what he was hunting, too. Normally he would be after birds, rodents… maybe rabbits, but now he was after something much larger. And he would travel for as long as he had to in order to find it.

When Angela woke up the next morning, she knew he was gone. She accepted it, but it troubled her. She knew where he had gone.

Meanwhile, Solembum travelled. For days and nights the werecat walked, sometimes as a cat and sometimes as the small black-haired boy he could become. He ate whatever he could catch, always on the lookout for the thing he was truly hunting.

After a week and a half had passed, he found it.

She was lost. The blue dragon limped over the plains, her tail dragging on the ground, one wing hanging uselessly by her side. She was badly injured. Patches of scale had been torn from her flanks, which were caked with dried blood. Her wing was a wreck, its membrane ripped to shreds, and the muscle in one of her hind legs had been damaged so that it didn't want to touch the ground.

She wasn't even sure of where it was she was trying to go, or why. Immediately after the battle, she had been in such a haze of fear and pain that she hardly remembered a thing later on. She had flown away as fast as she could go, somehow able to stay in the air despite her bad wing. Perhaps her terror overrode that. She was chased, and they caught up with her. That was when she had gathered the injury on her leg. For the rest of her life, she would never be quite sure how she survived. But survive she did. She killed her pursuer, and afterwards she was alone. Her wing ceased to obey her after a time, and she began to walk, only aware of a wild urge to reach the Beor mountains. She had to get there.

But her journey was a doomed one. Sick and bewildered, weakened by blood loss, she lost her sense of time and direction, and didn't even realise that she was wandering in circles. Her eyes had become mad and bloodshot, and anyone who came too close to her she attacked. But by then she was too confused to fight properly.

In the end, having not eaten and having barely slept since her escape, she simply collapsed, slumping down exhausted somewhere on a windy moor.

That was where Solembum found her, a huge, breathing mound with the moonlight shining on her scales. The werecat, in his feline form, nosed gently at her cheek and touched her mind with his. 'Be peaceful,' he told her. 'I came to find you. What is your name?'

The big, dark-blue dragon stirred slightly where she lay. 'My name is Lifrasir,' she answered. 'Who… who are you?'

'My name is Solembum. I am a werecat. How long have you been wandering like this?'

'I don't know,' said Lifrasir, her mental voice vague. 'I'm hurt.'

'So I can see,' said Solembum. 'Listen to me, Lifrasir. I have come to help you. And to tell you something.'

'Tell me,' said Lifrasir.

'Later,' said Solembum. 'First I must help you.'

Without another word, he padded silently away. In time he returned, carrying the carcass of a hare, which he placed by the dragon's snout. 'Eat,' he told her. 'It isn't much, but it will help you to heal. I can tend to your wounds.'

Lifrasir asked no questions. She devoured the hare with a single bite, and afterwards was content to lie still and let the werecat see to her injuries. He flipped over to human form with scarcely a pause, and began to apply healing herbs to her flanks, leg and wing, crushing them with his teeth and actually climbing over her to get at those wounds which were out of his reach. Once he was finished, he muttered some words in the ancient language and Lifrasir felt some of her strength return. She stood up tentatively, feeling much better, and Solembum flipped back to cat form and watch her flex her wings.

'They're better,' she said out loud. 'You healed me.'

'Yes,' said Solembum. 'You will still be weak for a time, but you will be able to fly again.'

'Why did you help me?' said Lifrasir.

'I have news for you,' said Solembum, ignoring the question. 'But first, tell me… are the rumours true? Has Urû'baen fallen?'

'It has,' said Lifrasir. 'I saw it burn.'

'It is said that the Queen and her son were executed on Eragon's orders,' said Solembum. 'I do not know if it is true.'

'I saw them escape,' said Lifrasir. 'Or…' uncertainty came into her voice. 'I don't know if it's true. No. It can't be true. Skirnir. He was there. He helped them. They're alive. I know it.'

'It is also said that the King is dead,' said Solembum. 'Tricked and murdered at Orthíad, along with Shruikan.'

'I know,' said Lifrasir, lowering her head.

'It is not true,' said Solembum. 'That's what I have come to tell you.'

'I don't understand,' said Lifrasir, looking up at him again.

'Your father,' said Solembum. 'He is alive. I saw him.'

'Alive?' said Lifrasir. 'How? Where did you see him?'

'He was in Furnost,' said Solembum. 'He made his way to our town, injured, and a herbalist nursed him back to health. Now he has left Furnost.'

'Where did he go?' Lifrasir demanded. 'Where can I find him?'

'He has gone to Dras-Leona with some friends,' said Solembum. 'They mean to join the Imperial army there and fight against Eragon and his followers. You must go to him, Lifrasir. He needs your help.'

Lifrasir nodded and spread her wings. 'Yes, yes, I must. Immediately.'

'Wait,' said Solembum. 'There is something else you must know.'

'What? What is it?' said Lifrasir, vibrating with impatience.

'The death of Shruikan has shaken your father to his very core,' said Solembum. 'Few riders survive the death of their dragon; he has survived it twice.'

'Has he gone mad?' said Lifrasir.

'He has lost himself,' said Solembum. 'His mind has become… very fragile. He cannot remember who he is because he will not allow himself to. His sanity is hanging by the slenderest of threads. If something were to happen that would force him to remember what he has made himself forget, it could drive him insane. Or kill him. You must help him, Lifrasir. He needs to be protected.'

'How can I help him?' said Lifrasir.

'Give him your strength,' said Solembum. 'But above all else, give him your love. It was your mother's love that saved him last time, but if she is dead then it must be you who does this for him. Without him, the Empire is doomed.'

Lifrasir hesitated. 'Why are you doing this, Solembum? Most Alagaësians hate my father. Only my mother ever truly understood him… so why?'

Solembum sighed. 'I am older than I look,' he said. 'Once, long ago, there was another being whom most of Alagaësia hated. He was dark and savage, and his spirit was wild and fierce like no other I have ever seen. From the day he was born, he was feared, and others tried to kill him at every turn. He defied death. None could ever stop him – there was a power that watched over him, protected him, a power that few have any comprehension of. They could not kill him. But they took everything from him but his life. The only one he ever loved was killed before his eyes… and his children… they were stolen from him.'

Lifrasir's golden eyes were sorrowful, but confused. She said nothing, and waited for Solembum to finish. The big cat looked her in the eye, his tail twitching.

'I am ashamed to admit it,' he said. 'But I was one of those responsible for stealing those children. To this day, I have never forgotten what we did, nor stopped regretting it. Now I see the same story playing out once again, and this time I will not stand by and let hatred destroy all. Galbatorix is guilty of great crimes, yes, but he is a great man in his own way, and he deserves the chance to prove it once again. Only he can stop Eragon, and if he does not… chaos will follow. Already it is beginning to consume Alagaësia. That is why I have come here to help you, Lifrasir. So that you can help him… and help us all.'

'Thankyou,' Lifrasir said softly. 'I'll do what I can. I only… who was it? May I ask you that? Whose children did you help steal?'

'It was your grandfather,' said Solembum. 'Now go, Lifrasir, and may good fortune go with you.'

Lifrasir nodded. She beat her wings, flinching at the pain in her newly-healed membranes, and rose into the air, flying up and away from Solembum, who watched her go through his unreadable green eyes. 'It is done,' he thought. Then he turned and was gone, a shadow among shadows, and the night swallowed him.

The journey to Dras-Leona was a relatively easy one – much easier, certainly, than the one that had brought him to Furnost. That journey was a haze of pain and uncounted time that he barely remembered and preferred not to. This time was different. Now he had a horse to ride, and food, and though they were not gone altogether his injuries were much better now. His arm was more or less fine, although it twinged occasionally, and his hands were back to normal. Although for some reason the right one – the one he used to perform this thing which the others called 'magic' – had a weird round scar on the palm. It was partially obscured by the darker, fresher scars which the shards of embedded wood had left. Perhaps it, like the spiral-design tattoo on his shoulder, was a clue to his true identity, but it felt meaningless when he thought about it.

His leg was a different story. It ached almost constantly. Sometimes, at night, it was excruciating. He could walk after a fashion, but slowly and with a pronounced limp.

Much of the time his mind was a blank. It was only in his sleep that that changed. He had nightmares. Often the black and white dragons would appear in them, all dead and decayed, and he would see a vague shape that he knew was Eragon – Eragon, laughing at him. And beyond them, just out of reach, the silver dragon with the sad eyes, holding the silver egg in her claws, always beckoning but always out of reach.

He said very little during the journey, often staying silent for hours at a time and only breaking the silence in order to say something essential – such as point out a rough patch in the road, or suggest a good place to stop for the night. Ulfrid, Carnoc and Leonol didn't complain about this. In fact they were astonishingly respectful toward him – all three seemed to have automatically subordinated themselves to him, and they did whatever he said without question, and called him 'sir' when they spoke to him. They didn't ask him any questions about himself, which was just as well. Whether this was because they thought he was secretive or believed it would be impertinent to ask he wasn't sure. Maybe both.

He was a little saddened by this. He had thought of them as friends, not subordinates, but he couldn't find a way to voice his feelings. Besides which, he suspected that if he did they wouldn't understand.

They kept away from the main roads most of the time, for fear of being spotted (the others seemed very anxious to keep him out of sight of other people, and he decided to go along with it), and the strategy worked. There were plenty of other travellers about, and even if they had elected to follow the conventional route they probably wouldn't have attracted all that much attention. Leonol said that many were going to Dras-Leona – most of them because they were still loyal to the Empire and wanted to fight against the usurper. 'So you'll have plenty of followers, sir,' he added.

From hints like these, Arren reached the conclusion that he must be someone considerably important. Maybe a general or a nobleman. Either way, if there were people in Dras-Leona prepared to fight under him, then it was all to the good. He would need help if he was going to beat Eragon.

In the evenings, when they made camp, Ulfrid, Leonol and Carnoc practised with their weapons. None of them had any formal combat training, but Leonol was a fair shot with a bow and Carnoc could swing his axe with considerable speed and power. Ulfrid had a slightly rusty sword which he'd inherited from his grandfather, but he explained, with some embarrassment, that he didn't have much idea how to use it.

'You couldn't give me any tips, could you, sir?' he asked.

Arren held out a hand. 'Here, give it to me.'

Ulfrid handed it over, and the others watched with interest while Arren weighed the weapon, testing it. The sword felt natural in his grasp. He could feel the balance of it, and his hands automatically shifted themselves so that they would have total control over the blade. Without thinking, he swung it at the nearby stump of a tree. The blade connected with an almighty whack, sending bits of rotting wood flying.

'Good hit, sir!' said Ulfrid.

Arren grinned. It had felt good, natural. Without a second thought he began to hack away at the stump, swinging the sword with wonderful ease. It went exactly where he wanted it to go, the worn blade making faint swishing sounds in the air. Encouraged, he began to show off, using fancy twists and twirls that he didn't know he knew. It was like a dance. It brought new memories to him. They flashed briefly through his mind, tantalisingly clear before they were gone as quickly as they had left. He remembered sparring with a young, dark-haired man who wielded a sword with a red blade. He remembered the white-bladed sword that he had left in the canyon. White violence. His sword. And he remembered fighting with it in his hand. Not sparring this time, but true fighting – savage and fast, against a teenage boy who looked more elf than human, his pale brown hair plastered to his forehead with sweat, his brown eyes burning with hatred. His own voice echoed in his head. I'll kill you, brat, with my own hands, I'll see you dead, I swear it.

Then it was all over, and he was standing by the remains of the stump, leaning on the sword, his shoulders heaving.

'That was incredible, sir,' said Carnoc, his rough voice bringing Arren back to reality.

'Can you teach me how to do that?' said Ulfrid.

'I'll try,' said Arren, holding out the sword for him. Ulfrid took it, a little hesitantly, as if he was expecting it to attack him.

'You're not holding it properly,' Arren told him. 'Put your hands here, and here. Yes, like that. Now, place your feel well apart, so you're balanced. That's right. Now, take a swing at that stump.'

Ulfrid tried it, and Arren found that his instructions were effective. After this, he taught all three of them the basics of swordplay over the course of several evenings. He enjoyed it. It made him feel that much closer to the person he had once been, and it was encouraging to see them improving under his tutorship. He had a go at using Leonol's bow, and found he was quite a good shot with it, and he also knew how to use Carnoc's axe fairly effectively. Clearly, he was trained in the art of fighting. So maybe he really was a general of some kind as he'd guessed. It would make sense, if they were claiming people needed his leadership in Dras-Leona.

The journey went on in this way for a week and three days, and they knew it was nearly over when they finally spotted the walls of Dras-Leona up ahead. They had already passed the three peaks of Helgrind which, according to Leonol, the Dras-Leonians worshipped. Arren didn't like the look of them. They were dark and forbidding, and did not have the protective, benevolent presence of something he would consider worth worshipping.

While they were still hours away from the city itself, they had already spotted the tents that had been set up on the plain outside it. There was an army camped outside Dras-Leona.

'And I've a damned good idea who's commanding it,' Ulfrid said grimly.

'What shall we do, sir?' said Carnoc.

Arren thought it over. 'We'll go closer and have a look,' he said. 'See if we can figure out what's going on.'

They carried on their way, making a wide circle around the tents of the army. There were other travellers arriving at the same time, and they too were avoiding the camp, but when they got close enough they saw no signs of any fighting taking place. Perhaps they had arrived during a lull.

They found out what was going on eventually. There were other travellers heading toward the city, but there were just as many going in the opposite direction. Arren stopped one of them and asked him where he was going.

'Home,' the man replied. 'There's nowhere else to go.'

'They wouldn't let you into the city?' said Arren.

'Nope,' said the traveller, who looked tired and grubby from his journey. 'I came all the way here from Daret to join the army and fight for the true King, and then they tell me to get lost. How's that for a warm welcome, eh?'

'What's that army doing there?' said Arren, indicating the encampment, which looked even bigger now that they were closer to it.

'They're the Brat's followers,' said the traveller.

'They don't seem to be attacking the city,' said Arren.

'That's 'cause they're not,' said the traveller. 'There's one of his riders in the city right now. She's negotiating with the governor, trying to get him to surrender. If he says no… well, then things'll get bloody. But there's a truce for now. No-one's being allowed in or out, and all the gates are locked up tight so you might as well turn back now.'

'Not on your life,' said Carnoc. 'We're going in.' He glanced at Arren. '…isn't that right, s- Arren?'

Arren nodded. 'I'm not giving up now,' he said.

The other traveller shrugged. 'It's your funeral,' he said, and went on his way.

Arren ignored him, and urged his horse forward. Ulfrid, Leonol and Carnoc followed, but he knew how apprehensive they must be. Sure enough, Ulfrid said; 'So how're we gonna get in, sir?'

'Easy,' Leonol interrupted. 'Just tell the guards who you are. They'll have to do as you say, sir. I mean… it's you, for crying out loud.'

'No!' said Carnoc. 'Are you crazy? We don't know if they can be trusted! What if the enemy got hold of him? He wouldn't last two minutes!'

Arren listened to them bickering while the city drew closer. Finally Carnoc said; 'Well, look, it's up to you, sir. What will we do?'

Arren shrugged. 'I'll think of something.' In theory.

They reached the walls of Dras-Leona, on the opposite side of the city from where the main gates and the enemy were. There was a smaller gate there, barred and watched over by a group of guards up on the walls, bows at the ready.

'Stop right there,' one of them commanded.

They stopped obediently.

'We want to go into the city!' Carnoc shouted.

'No-one is allowed in or out,' the guard replied immediately. 'By order of the governor. Go back home, for your own safety.'

'We're here to join the Imperial army,' said Carnoc.

'We don't care what you're here for,' said the guard. 'No-one is allowed in. Now leave or we will be forced to kill you.'

Carnoc turned to Arren. 'Do something, sir!' he hissed.

Arren eyed the guards. They looked tough, and had the slightly bored command of men accustomed to wielding petty authority like this. He had a strong suspicion that they wouldn't be open to persuasion. They were following orders. Orders…

He came to the front of the group, and the guards tensed immediately. 'Listen to me!' he shouted to them. 'You will open the gate and let us in. Now.'

The guard who had spoken didn't hesitate. He loosed an arrow straight at him. Arren's right hand came up without his direction, and caught the arrow in mid-flight. He threw it aside, heedless of the astonished gasps of his companions. 'You will do as I say,' he said in commanding tones, not looking away from the guards. 'Open the gate. Now.'

'We… we can't, sir,' the spokesguard said. 'We're under orders.'

'And now you will obey mine,' said Arren. 'Open the gate, or I will open it for you.'

'Listen up, weirdo,' another guard said. 'I don't know how you did that, but we're not letting you in. Piss off, or we'll kill you.'

'Very well then,' said Arren, still acting as his instincts told him to. 'You leave me no choice. I shall open the gate.'

He held out his hand and said; 'Brjóta sási dyrr!'

The gate exploded. Bits of wood went flying in all directions, and a deafening crack of sound rent the air. The guards up on the wall threw themselves flat instinctively, and Arren's horse shied in fear. 'Now!' he shouted to his companions, and drove the animal forward. It ran through the hole where the gate had been, and the others followed as fast as they could.

They didn't stop until they were well away from the wall, and finally came to rest in a narrow street. There Arren dismounted. 'Right,' he said. 'We're going to sell them at the first place we can find. Then we'll find somewhere to stay. Come on.'

Without waiting for an answer, he walked off, leading his horse. Carnoc, Ulfrid and Leonol followed in awed silence.

Arren found a horse dealer after some searching and a few enquiries, and there they parted with their horses, Arren accepting the first offer the dealer made and leaving as soon as the transaction was completed, and then they began to look for an inn.

They would have some trouble finding one, however. Dras-Leona was ridiculously overcrowded. People were everywhere, walking through the streets, sitting in doorways, even perched on rooftops. It was clear that most of them were travellers; many were loaded with baggage, most looked a little lost, and all appeared tired. Normally such a crowd would be very noisy indeed, but this one seemed strangely subdued.

It didn't take a genius to understand why. At the governor's castle in the middle of the city, which was clearly visible from the streets, there was a dragon perched on the walls. The dragon was bright-green and bigger than a house, and they could see its noble head turning every now and then to survey the city below it. Arren's followers were very impressed by the sight of it; he heard them murmuring together when they first saw it. They didn't, however, speak to him at all.

With the city in the state it was it took them a very long time to find somewhere to stay, which was, in the end, an alley with a stack of crates in it. They made themselves moderately comfortable on the far side of these, out of sight of the street and ate the last of their provisions in silence.

Eventually Carnoc coughed. 'Well,' he said. 'We're… here now. What will we do next, sir?'

'What will we do?' Leonol interrupted. 'Good gods, Carnoc, could it be any more bleeding obvious what we should do?' he looked at Arren. 'Reveal yourself,' he said. 'Go to the governor's castle and tell 'em who you are.'

'But there's the rider-,' Ulfrid began.

'The rider?' said Leonol, waving a hand. 'Bugger the rider! He's killed dozens of them, one more won't be much of a challenge. After what he did to the gates?' He appealed to Arren, saying; 'Do it, sir. It's the only thing to do.'

'I'm not sure,' said Arren. Here it was; the time he'd been dreading. How much longer could he go on pretending like this? 'The rider might-,'

'You can kill him, sir!' said Leonol. 'We know you can. We need you, sir. We need you to lead us. The Empire's yours, you can't let the Brat destroy it. We've brought you this far because we're still loyal to you… don't let us down. Because if you do, we'll all die.'

'Well said,' said Ulfrid. 'He's right, sir. No way to go on hiding. If you're going to fight back, now's the time.'

They were all looking at him, expectant and trusting. Arren hesitated. And then fear, terrible fear, swept over him. 'I – I can't,' he said, standing up. 'How can I? I'm just a man. A crippled man who doesn't know what to do. I can't save the Empire, I can barely even walk.'

'You can! You have to!' said Leonol, also standing. 'You can't turn your back on all this, sir! It's your duty! Or-,' his eyes narrowed. 'Or were you just in it for the power?'

'I'm sorry,' said Arren.

Leonol stared at him. Then he spat. 'You're not who I thought you were,' he said. 'I guess they were right when they said you was just a monster who spent his time orderin' us commoners around. I can't believe I came all this way to serve you. You're a coward.'

'Now, calm down a bit, Leonol,' said Carnoc, standing up and tugging at his friend's elbow. 'Don't forget who it is you're talking to. But…' he glanced at Arren. 'But he's still right. If you just go, you'll be betraying all of us.'

Ulfrid also stood up. He pulled out his sword.

'Ulfrid!' Carnoc exclaimed. 'What are you-?'

Ulfrid held out the sword toward Arren, hilt-first. 'My sword's yours,' he said. 'No matter what you decide to do, I'm your man and I'll serve you 'till death. I don't care what the Brat says. You'll always be my King.'

At the word 'king', the fear surged in Arren. His hands began to tremble. 'Look,' he said, backing away. 'I don't know who you think I am, but-,'

Ulfrid lowered the sword. 'Are you mad, sir?' he said. 'You're the King! You ain't Arren, you're Galbatorix!'

The instant Ulfrid said the name, something inside Arren snapped. He turned and ran from the alley as fast as he could go.

Not even feeling his lame leg, he ran and ran, away through the city, his robes swirling around him, heedless of any notion of direction. He could hardly see where he was going. If he ran into anything he didn't notice it. The world was going dark, falling to pieces around him like a shattered mirror. In his brain, a black dragon and a white dragon screamed and died, their pain ripping through him, destroying every fibre of his being to his very centre. He did not feel the tears on his face, nor see the people staring at him as he ran past.

He finally came to rest in the shadow of a great dark building, and there leaned against the wall, trying to control himself. His heart was pounding in his chest, almost violently, as if it were trying to break through his ribs. His head was in a whirl of confusion and terror, all words and sounds and images and feelings chasing each other like leaves in a powerful wind, moving too fast for him to catch any one of them. He could feel his very soul collapsing in on itself.

But then, quite unexpectedly, he began to calm down. His heartbeat slowed, and he grasped the cold stone wall which he rested against, letting the feel of it bring him back to reality. His mind refocused itself, and he let out a great sigh and felt the terror drain away. He blinked, trying to remember how he'd got to where he was. He remembered running away from Ulfrid, Carnoc and Leonol, and their shocked expressions. But what was it that had made him run?

He sighed and dismissed the question. It didn't matter. What mattered was the here and now. Yes… he rubbed his eyes, feeling inexplicably tired. The sky was beginning to darken, and his leg was throbbing with pain. He looked up at the building he was leaning on. It was a big ornate thing, with three domed roofs. It looked rather menacing in the gloom, its upper walls adorned with statues of snarling beasts and stone spikes. He decided to get away from it; it was making him nervous. Accordingly, he turned and limped away, wondering vaguely why there was no-one else around by the building. It was odd, considering how crowded the rest of the city was…

There was a faint sound behind him. He glanced over his shoulder, and then something hit him hard on the head, and he fell.