Chapter Ten

Into Darkness

Although he didn't notice anything at first, when Saphira knocked him down, Galbatorix had taken a heavy blow to the head. After Eragon and Vervada had made their escape he suddenly started to feel dizzy. Ignoring the mourning Valdyr, he stagged away down the slope to the stream that ran through the forest below the cave. There he drank and splashed water on his face, trying to clear his head. It didn't work. He blinked several times and rubbed his forehead, wondering why everything was going grey. He felt sick and cold. Frightened, he started to make his way back up the slope, staggering blindly this way and that. He made it back to the clearing where Saphira lay, and then fell down in a dead faint.

Valdyr carried him inside, and waited in silence until Lifrasir returned. She saw Saphira's body and rushed into the cave, shouting Valdyr's name. Valdyr ran to meet her. 'It's all right,' he said. 'We're safe.'

'What happened?' said Lifrasir. 'Is that…?' she wordlessly indicated the cave's entrance and what lay just beyond it.

'Yes,' said Valdyr. 'We were attacked. They caught us by surprise. I'm sorry, Lifrasir. If I still had both my eyes…'

'But how did you survive?' said Lifrasir, glancing over at Galbatorix. 'And what happened to him? Is he hurt?'

'No,' said Valdyr. 'He fainted. I think he's all right. But…' he shuddered and pressed himself against Lifrasir's leg. 'I can't believe it,' he said. 'Any of it.'

'How many were with him?' said Lifrasir. 'How did you fight them off?'

'There weren't any,' said Valdyr. 'He came alone. Him, and Saphira, and – the creature.'

'Alone?' said Lifrasir. 'He must have been mad, coming here alone! How did Saphira die?'

Valdyr turned his snout toward the unconscious Galbatorix. 'He killed her,' he said simply. 'With the spear he made.'

'Did Eragon survive?'

'Yes,' said Valdyr. 'The creature carried him away.'

Lifrasir shook her head, like a horse worrying at flies. 'But if she was there, why didn't she do something to help him before?'

'I don't know,' said Valdyr. 'It was… weird. It all happened so fast, but she just stayed there. Hovered up there and watched it all happen. She stood by and let her mother die. She could have killed me, and him, too. He was right there in front of her. But she just knocked him over. She didn't use her teeth, or her fire. It was like… like she wanted us to survive for some reason.'

Lifrasir rustled her wings disgustedly. 'That monster of a dragon doesn't seem to be on anyone's side but her own,' she said. 'I don't know what she's trying to do, but…'

There was a groan from Galbatorix. The two dragons hurried over to him and saw him sit up. He rubbed his head, mumbling, and then squinted at the two dragons.

'Are you all right?' Lifrasir asked.

Galbatorix blinked. 'Lifrasir?' he said. 'Is that you?'

'Yes, it's me,' said Lifrasir. 'How do you feel?'

'I've got a headache,' said Galbatorix. 'How did you find me, Lifrasir?'

'I didn't,' said Lifrasir. 'I've been here all along. What are you talking about, Arren?'

'Arren?' said Galbatorix. He looked puzzled for a moment, and then smiled. 'Oh. No-one's called me that in years, you know. Not since I was a boy. I suppose I changed it out of pride, really. I was always very full of myself back then. Could you help me up, please?'

Lifrasir, her heart pounding, held out her snout toward him. He grabbed it, and she lifted him to his feet. He held onto one of her horns for support, and looked over at Valdyr, who was wearing a disbelieving grin.

'Valdyr,' he said. 'What are you grinning about, then? And what happened to your eye?'

'Father?' said Valdyr, slowly and cautiously.

'Yes?' said Galbatorix, tentatively letting go of Lifrasir's horn and standing unaided, though shakily.

'Are you… all right?' said Valdyr.

Galbatorix paused to think about it, and then said; 'No, not really. My head hurts, my leg hurts, I feel like I haven't slept in a month, and I probably couldn't squash an ant right now, let alone run an Empire.' His voice broke. 'And Skade. And the child. And Shruikan. I've lost them forever.' He slumped back into a sitting position, his head in his hands.

Valdyr sat down next to him, wrapping his tail around him protectively. Galbatorix seemed comforted by this. 'Still,' he said after a while, rubbing his eyes with his fingertips, 'Life goes on, I suppose. I'm still alive. And I have an enemy who needs dealing with.'

'You mean Eragon?' said Lifrasir.

'Yes,' Galbatorix growled. 'Eragon. He killed Skade, and Shruikan, and Vidar, and so many others. I'll kill him with my own hands, I swear it. No matter how far I have to go to do it. And I'll kill the dragon first. So that he knows what it felt like for me.'

'You – what?' said Valdyr. 'But she's – how much do you remember?'

'A few things,' said Galbatorix. 'I remember Shruikan dying… I was hurt, I walked to Furnost and a healer looked after me… I went to Dras-Leona and… not sure what happened there. And then I was here. Why?'

'My – Saphira is already dead,' said Valdyr. 'You killed her.'

'I did?' said Galbatorix. 'I don't remember doing it. When was that?'

'Just now,' said Valdyr. 'Can you walk?'

Galbatorix stood up, supporting himself on the dragon's tail, and Valdyr led him outside. There Saphira's body lay, already beginning to stiffen. Galbatorix limped toward it, examining the empty face and the bloodied wooden stakes sticking in the chest.

'It's her,' he said. 'And… I killed her, did I?'

'Yes,' said Valdyr. 'She and Eragon came here. They were after you. But you killed Saphira.'

'What, with a bit of wood?' said Galbatorix. 'I didn't use magic?'

'Just that,' said Valdyr. 'She swooped on you, and you got her in the chest. But I think something strange was going on. The creature was with them. Vervada. But she did nothing. She carried Eragon away afterwards, but she never attacked either of us. You were right there in front of her, and all she did was knock you over.'

'So Eragon survived,' said Galbatorix. 'And Vervada… she has her own agenda. She always has. I don't know what it is, but… maybe she wanted Saphira to die. I know I did.' He kicked Saphira's body viciously. 'Now you know what it feels like, brat.'

Eragon knew. He knew very well indeed. He hung limply from Vervada's claws, lost in a fog of agony in which he saw nothing but Saphira. He saw her die, over and over again, saw the wild man Galbatorix had become stab the life out of her with a shattered piece of wood. He heard her last scream, echoing in his head, and felt her pain, tearing into his chest. Saphira. He wanted to cry out her name, but it refused to form in his mouth. Saphira. Saphira was dead and he had felt her die, and all he wanted to do now was die himself. Or, failing that, he wanted his mind to fall into the void. He wanted to go mad, so that he wouldn't suffer any more. So he let his mind crumble around him, feeling his very self drain away.

But there was a presence inside him that wasn't his. And it wasn't Saphira. She was gone forever. It was Vervada. The cold, smothering presence of the warped dragon was still there in his head, and it wrapped itself around his mind, holding it together. Vervada was still controlling him. And she would not allow him the release which madness offered. He made a few feeble attempts to fight back, but she easily overpowered him. She forced him to stay sane. But she did nothing to lessen his pain. She let his suffering continue. In fact, she actively sought to make it worse. Lifrasir had been right when she had said that Vervada was on no-one's side but her own and that she had an agenda of her own – she was and she did. It was she who had directed much of what Eragon had done recently, and it was she, and she alone, who had made him and Saphira go after Galbatorix on their own. And she had been the one who directed Saphira's last swoop, straight onto the spear. She didn't feel any sadness for her mother's death, and nor did she feel guilt. Vervada had very little in the way of emotions.

She flew away from the Spine on her ragged wings, heading not toward Urû'baen but into the wilds up North, passing over numerous cities, villages and small towns on her way. She did not stop once, but flew on steadily, not taking the time to hoist Eragon onto her back but leaving him hanging from her claws as if he were a fresh kill she was taking to her young. But, of course, she had no offspring and never would do either.

She flew for several days, her energy keeping Eragon alive, and when she finally came to rest it was at the very Northern end of the Spine, in an isolated valley with great cliffs rising at the end of it. She landed there, in a muddy field. Here and there, curious humps stood out from the otherwise flat ground, their surfaces covered in new grass. They were the remains of a village, burnt to the ground years before. Vervada put Eragon down and let him wander shakily over ground where buildings had once stood.

'I know this place,' he muttered. 'This is… home.'

Vervada watched him through her dead eyes for a time, and then called him back to her. He came immediately, long since accustomed to doing as she willed him to, though his walk was more like a lurch and his face had gone pale as a corpse. Looking very much like a zombie, he stood obediently by Vervada's side. She walked off through the ruined village, and he followed her uphill, through a forest of pine trees and to the cliffs. There was a cave there. Not a very big one, its entrance half-obscured by loose rubble. Vervada cleared the obstruction away with a few sweeps of her claws and entered the cave. Eragon followed.

Inside the cave a small fire was burning, its light flickering over the wet, moss-covered walls. And by it sat a tall, lithe woman clad all in white. Her skin was pale and she had long, ash-white hair. When Vervada appeared in the entrance, the woman stood up and came toward her, smiling coldly. 'Hello, Vervada,' she said.

Vervada lowered her head, and the white-clad woman touched her snout with a long-fingered hand laden with rings. Then she looked at Eragon, and her silver eyes blazed with controlled hatred. 'So,' she said, advancing toward him. 'Eragon Shadeslayer, we meet at last.'

Eragon stared at her, wanting to flee but unable to.

'My name is Rangda,' said the woman. She leant in close to him, and he saw a strange tracery of faint black veins on her face. His hand wanted to grab the hilt of his sword, but it wouldn't move. All he could do was stand still, completely helpless, and watch Rangda as she looked him up and down. He could feel her sweet-scented breath on his face, and though she did not look dangerous he was terrified of her.

Once the silence had drawn out to agony pitch, Rangda abruptly turned her back on him and strode away to the other side of the cave. There was a small heap of items there, and one of them was a sword. Rangda picked up the sword, then turned to face Eragon, the fire burning between them and reflecting in her eyes and on the blade she held. The sword had a finely-crafted golden hilt, and its long, straight blade was bright yellow like sunlight. Beautiful. Rangda ran her finger down the blade, and licked the blood off with relish. 'A fine weapon, isn't it?' she said, advancing slowly toward him. 'Never rusts, never needs sharpening or polishing… a true rider's sword. I'll show you how well it works.'

She brought the blade around in a powerful, one-handed blow, and hit Eragon in the shoulder. He toppled over sideways, crying out in pain, and almost instantly blood started to soak into his shirt. Rangda gave him no time to recover. She stood over him and hit him again and again, not to kill but to injure, making great slashes in his arms, legs and chest. Eragon curled up, screaming, trying to protect himself, but Rangda was merciless. She tossed the sword aside and began to kick him, aiming for his gut, where it would hurt him the most. She showed no pleasure in doing it – rather, she was cold and methodical, her face blank. She even looked slightly bored, as if she were doing something as uninteresting as stacking boxes. Eragon, bleeding in a dozen different places, tried to crawl away, and Rangda finally stopped. She picked up the yellow-bladed sword again, and stood calmly while Eragon dragged himself over to Vervada. The silver dragon had sat and watched the whole thing without moving once, and when Eragon reached her she turned her head toward him and then turned it away again and yawned, showing her jagged, broken teeth. Eragon collapsed by her foreleg, and lay there, gasping, while Rangda walked toward him, sword in hand. She bent and lifted him to his feet by the scruff of the neck, as easily as if he weighed no more than a bag of peanuts, and slung him over Vervada's shoulders. Vervada shuddered a little, but didn't move.

Rangda pulled Eragon into a sitting position, but he was too weak to stay upright and slumped over Vervada's neck. Rangda put her mouth to his ear and whispered; 'You will not remember me, or this place. The one who did this to you was Galbatorix. He killed Saphira, and then he did this to you. The wild dragons are working for him, and so are the elves. Once your power is secure, you will drive the elves to extinction, using any means necessary. You will fight the wild dragons until they take oaths to serve you forever. You will make yourself King in Alagaësia, and your power will be absolute. And…'

She spoke on for a time, and Eragon listened, his eyes half-open and glazed. Once Rangda had done, she walked around to Vervada's head and touched her on the snout. Vervada closed her eyes and hissed softly. Then she stood up and lumbered out of the cave, Eragon lolling pathetically on her back, only just strong enough to hold on. Vervada took off and flew away from the ruins of Carvahall, leaving Rangda behind. The white-clad woman sat down by her fire, feeling the dark spirits inside her rushing through her veins like molten metal. They were impatient. They had sensed Eragon's presence.

The Shade pressed her hand to her chest. 'Soon, Durza,' she whispered. 'Soon.'

Lifrasir and Valdyr were nervous.

It seemed illogical, in a way. They had got exactly what they had longed for – they had the old Galbatorix back. From the moment he woke up after killing Saphira, he was speaking and acting exactly like the man they remembered and thought they had lost forever – he remembered his name, he recognised them both, he could use magic with all his old skill and was just as tough and shrewd as he had always been, but they knew he hadn't truly recovered, and maybe he never would. The apparent recovery had been too sudden and too easy for it to be complete. His mind was still fragile. And, in some ways, he was very different than the man he had once been. He had lost his old vigour and become tired and worn. He walked slowly and with a pronounced limp, and was weak in his left arm. His hair, once as black as a crow's wing, was now shot through with grey, and his once-neat beard was ragged and untrimmed. And there was something about him – a hunch to his shoulders, a quietness in his voice – which gave something else away, something deeper: weariness with life. He was often very depressed, and no wonder, given all he had been through and all he had lost.

But there was one thing he hadn't lost, and that was his quick thinking and decisive way of dealing with problems. Very shortly after his awakening and the revelation that he had killed Saphira – and forgotten that he had done it – he took charge, limping back into the cave and announcing that they were no longer safe where they were and had to find a different place to shelter. The two dragons were quick to see the sense in this, and in short order they relocated to a different part of the Spine, finding a temporary shelter in a forest at the base of some cliffs.

'We can stay here for a day or so,' said Lifrasir. 'But after that we'll have to move.'

Galbatorix jumped down from her back and limped over to the cliff, where he sat down.

'What shall we do now, Father?' Valdyr asked him.

'I don't know,' said Galbatorix in a tired voice. 'I mean… what do we have? There's only three of us, which isn't much of an army. Eragon might have lost his dragon, but he still has followers, and now they know I'm alive they won't stop hunting me until they've found me and killed me. And I'm not sure I even care about what happens to the Empire any more. They wanted me gone, and now I am gone they'll have to deal with the consequences themselves. Because I've had enough.'

Valdyr and Lifrasir glanced at each other. 'You don't really think that,' said Valdyr.

'Maybe I do,' said Galbatorix, resting his head against the rough stone of the cliff and closing his eyes.

There was silence for a time, and then Lifrasir said; 'You know… we don't really know that Mother is dead. I saw her escape from Urû'baen with the child. Skirnir was waiting for them… for all we know she found him and they got away.'

'They were caught,' said Galbatorix, his face creasing in pain. 'I heard it. While I was… lost. The Brat had them executed.'

'It could be a lie,' said Lifrasir.

Galbatorix tilted his head forward again and looked at her miserably. 'Don't torment me, Lifrasir. Where could she possibly have gone that they didn't find her? A silver elf with a dragon's teeth? Everyone would notice her. I stayed anonymous because I look like just another human. But no-one ever forgets an elf. Especially one like Skade.'

'You should scry her,' said Lifrasir. 'Just to be sure. I can't bear not being certain.'

Galbatorix stood up. 'No,' he said. 'I don't… don't want to think about it any more.' He limped away through the trees, his head bowed.

Lifrasir watched him go. When Valdyr began to follow him, she caught the younger dragon's eye and shook her head.

Over the next few days, the three of them didn't dare stay in one place for long. They moved constantly, keeping to the fringes of the Spine where only the weaker dragons had territories. Lifrasir went ahead to drive away anyone who might see them, and Valdyr flew some way behind her, keeping low to the ground, carrying Galbatorix. They stayed somewhere different every night, but much of the time they would move on again after only a few hours, and almost all their time was spent travelling. Their paranoia was more than justified. The members of Baen-Letta were everywhere. On one occasion they were almost spotted, and only Lifrasir's quick thinking saved their skins. During that time they were almost completely ignorant of what was going on in the rest of the world – they had no source of news and didn't dare leave the Spine to find out for themselves. It was only when Lifrasir risked seeking out another wild dragon and asking him for information under cover of being interested in pairing with him that they learnt anything. She came back with the news that Kullervo's assault on Urû'baen had failed. Dozens of wild dragons had been killed, and Kullervo, seriously wounded, had fled back to the Spine with the help of Thornessa. The wild dragons were still fighting, and it was largely thanks to them that Dras-Leona was still standing, but it was being said that Kullervo was considering surrender. And if the wild dragons gave up, Eragon would be able to consolidate his power with very little effort and a new Empire would rise – one ruled by him and his new riders. One that the descendants of Ravana would have no place in, and where Galbatorix could never hope to ever be safe again.

Once Lifrasir had given this news, both she and Valdyr turned automatically to Galbatorix. 'What do we do?' Lifrasir asked. 'We have to make a decision.'

'We can't just do nothing,' Valdyr added when he didn't answer straight away. 'You've always known what to do. You've never let us down before. Alagaësia needs you.'

'Needs me?' said Galbatorix. 'Hah! It never needed me, and never wanted me either. And what good could I do?'

'You're a leader,' said Lifrasir. 'One of the greatest this land has ever known. You built an Empire when you were hardly more than a boy. You brought justice.'

'Justice?' Galbatorix snorted. 'What I did back then was in the name of some juvenile revenge fantasy. All I did was kill thousands of people and create a dictatorship no-one wanted. And besides… that was a long time ago. The mighty warrior you seem to think I am is dead. I'm just a tired, crippled old man, and I've stopped caring.'

Lifrasir, looking at him, noticed for the first time that there were faint lines on his forehead. 'Is that what you really think?' she asked quietly.

'Yes,' Galbatorix answered.

Lifrasir sighed, raising and refolding her wings in a nervous gesture. 'Well, we can't force you to do something,' she said. 'But you should think it over for a while.' She saw him open his mouth to refuse, and added; 'Just for a while. Please. You owe us that at least.'

'All right,' said Galbatorix. 'For you.' He turned and left, and they could see that he had lost his old grace. He moved slowly now. Like an old man.