Chapter Twenty-Six

To Sleep in Stone

When Galbatorix returned to the banqueting hall, he found Skade and Laela still there. The white dragon was sitting on the table in front of Skade, and the pair of them were talking animatedly.

Galbatorix paused in the doorway, just watching them. He smiled.

Laela looked up. 'Hello. What are you looking so dreamy about?'

Galbatorix limped toward them. 'I was just thinking how strange and wonderful it is to see the two people I loved best out of everyone I've ever known, together.'

Laela grinned at him. 'That's a little sentimental considering what you've just been up to.'

Galbatorix sat down beside Skade. 'You know about that, do you?'

'Of course,' said Laela. To Skade she said; 'He's been talking to your brother. And that female, whatever her name was – you were nasty to her.'

'What have you been doing?' asked Skade.

'I checked on Kullervo,' said Galbatorix. 'Doesn't seem we'll be able to get through to him. He wouldn't do anything but rage over what's been done to him… I can understand that, of course. All he wants is to find a way to change back. I told him about someone I knew once who might be able to help him, but the odds of finding him are a thousand to one.'

'That doesn't matter,' said Skade. 'Not to Kullervo.'

Galbatorix nodded. 'I have a feeling he won't be here long. Next time we go to see him, he'll be gone. I can almost promise that. We can't help him if he won't let us.'

'It's better this way,' said Skade. 'Better for him if he goes. It's his way to do things alone. Sometimes all you can do for someone is let them go their own way.'

'True,' said Laela. 'And the woman? What about her?'

'Nasuada has taken an oath to serve Alagaësia, and its King,' said Galbatorix. 'Of course, I didn't specify which King. The poor thing seems to think she's become my slave for life.' He shrugged. 'Let her believe what she wants. She never listens to me, and why would she? I haven't exactly been honest to her in the past. Now… I'll make the announcement about Ravana's ascension in a few moments. Tonight, when Murtagh and the others get here, we'll have the burial ceremony for the Brat. And after that… after that there won't be much left to do. We can help Ravana set up the new government and whatever, but too much interference would only slow things down. Let them sort it out for themselves.'

Laela cocked her head. 'Whatever you say, Bratslayer.'

'That was tasteless, Laela.'

Laela snickered. 'I couldn't resist.'

'It's not funny, Laela,' said Galbatorix. 'He was a person. And a rider.'

'Who killed Shruikan and crippled you,' said Laela, losing her grin.

'"While your enemy lives, never forgive him. When he is dead, let his crimes against you rest with him",' said Galbatorix. 'It's the dark elvish way. My way. Now, let's go.'

'Go where?' said Skade.

Galbatorix pointed to the window. Outside, the horizon was turning pink and gold. 'It's sunset. Time to give the new King his power.'

Outside in the city, people had gathered in the thousands to hear Galbatorix speak. Snow was still falling, and had formed drifts in the streets and on windowsills, and now that calm had returned and the people had realised that they were free once more, a new mood of carefree jubilation had taken over. Grown men were laughing and throwing snowballs at each other, and children ran in and out of the crowd, giggling. Merchants were giving away oranges and other treats for free, and the atmosphere was an almost festive one.

Galbatorix and Skade emerged onto a large balcony that jutted out from the castle wall, Laela with them. The balcony was one Galbatorix had often used to address the people, and in fact had been built for that specific person. He'd always believed in giving things a personal touch, and during his time as King had often been seen in public – until about twenty years prior to the battle on the burning plains, when he had become suddenly reclusive and stopped leaving Urû'baen altogether. No-one was certain of why it had happened, but it had marked the beginning of a period of slightly erratic leadership, and rumours had spread that the now unseen King was actually dead and had yet to be replaced.

But now Galbatorix was back, and he took his place on the balcony with his Queen beside him, resplendent in his new robe with a thin silver circlet on his brow. From this height, the crowd could not see his red eye, nor notice how much he had aged. They cheered when they saw him, and shouted his name when he raised a hand in greeting.

Hearing the shouts, Galbatorix couldn't help but smile. 'It's nice to have some people pleased to see us, isn't it?' he remarked to Skade.

'It certainly is,' said Skade, placing her hands on the railing, which had been adorned with flowers, and looking down on her subjects with a benevolent expression.

'I can't see,' Laela complained, from beside Galbatorix's boot.

Galbatorix glanced down at her. 'Oh, I'm sorry, Laela. Here, climb up.' He offered her his hand.

'Give me a moment,' said Laela. She moved back, away from him, then stood firm with her paws well apart, and breathed in deeply. Then she started to grow. Up and up, her chest and flanks expanding, her legs thickening and her wings becoming wide and sleek. She grew until she was the size of a horse, and then stopped. 'That's better,' she said, and came to stand at her rider's side, arching her neck over the railing so that the people below could see her. They cheered again at the sight of her.

'How did you do that?' said Galbatorix.

'I had some energy left over,' said Laela. 'Now stop wasting time and talk to them! It'll be dark in a few minutes.'

Galbatorix pulled himself together. He looked down at the expectant faces of the crowd, and took a deep breath as he recalled what he was going to say to them. Sometimes he thought that it was times like this that really defined him as a person, or at the very least as a ruler.

'People of Urû'baen!' he cried, letting the magic he had stolen from Durza amplify his voice so that it resounded out over the heads of the crowd. 'My people! The Shades are dead and Alagaësia is free. I killed them for you. I came back to set you free.'

There was a roar of approval from the crowd.

'I am not a despot!' Galbatorix yelled, suddenly impassioned. 'I am not your enemy and I never was. I died to set you free! I laid down my life, for you! Now I have been reborn, and I stand before you now, complete, body and soul, with my Queen and my dragon by my side, to give you a gift.' He paused, and a spasm of pain passed across his face before he went on. 'When I first built this Empire of ours, I vowed it would mean the end of the old ways, an end to prejudice, lies, the supremacy of the light elves over all other races. I vowed that it would no longer be shameful to be human, I vowed that I would bring equality. The old ways died when I killed Vrael and made myself King because I could not let anarchy destroy the land where I was born. Some people – the Varden – wanted to return to the old ways. They wanted to rule here. Their arrogance, their lust for power, was their failure. The Varden is gone now, just like the Shades. And just like my Empire. Ages end, and new ages begin. It is inevitable. This land lives as we live. What lives, changes. What does not change, dies. My time as King is over, and this is my last declaration to you all. People of Urû'baen… people of Alagaësia, I have given back what I took from you all those years ago – I have brought the riders back.'

Laela roared.

'The riders have returned!' Galbatorix yelled. 'The ancient magic has been reforged between man and dragon! Soon Alagaësia will be united and guarded by dragon riders once again, and they shall not be trained by elves, but by ordinary men and women of Alagaësia. There will be no more separation; the new riders will not cut themselves off from the people they serve. If you would join them, then go to the dragons and prove yourself worthy to them. But to be a rider is not to be privileged. A rider's life is one of service – service to you. When the first of the new riders comes to the city, look to them for your needs, let them fight for you, let them build your cities and sow your crops. A new age is beginning. People of Alagaësia… let it be an age of glory!'

The crowd went wild. Whoops and cheers rose high into the grey sky, sounds of mingled joy and relief. Laela took off, and flew over the crowd, circling low amid the falling snow, and as the people watched her with awe, she began to sing.

There were no words to her song. This was a dragon's song, high and crooning, strange but beautiful, and wild. It lifted the hearts of everyone who heard it.

Galbatorix watched her for a moment, then turned away and retreated back into the castle, accompanied by Skade.

Once he was through the door and out of sight of the crowd, he winced and slumped against the wall, his hand pressed into his chest.

Skade was there in an instant. 'What's wrong?'

Galbatorix gritted his teeth, his fists clenched. For a few seconds he stood there, his face twitching as if he were fighting some internal battle, and then he relaxed and opened his eyes.

For a fraction of a second, both of them were blood-red. But the right one changed back to black so quickly that Skade only just caught it. 'Galbatorix?' she said. 'What's happening?'

Galbatorix grasped her hand. 'Skade. There you are. I'm… fine.'

'No you're not,' Skade said sharply. 'What is it? Are you in pain?'

Galbatorix grimaced again, and then sagged slightly. His breathing was fast and shallow, as if he had just been running. 'I think,' he said. 'I think Durza is still alive. I can feel him… inside me… argh!' he wrenched at his hair, doubling over as if someone had hit him in the stomach. Skade, panicking, held him close until his convulsions ceased and he straightened up. 'Well,' he panted. 'That… wasn't fun.'

'Are you all right?' said Skade, anxiously checking his eyes. They were back to the way they'd been before – one red, one black.

'Fine,' said Galbatorix, but he was unable to keep the nervousness out of his voice. 'By the gods, everything bad keeps happening to me, doesn't it? But don't worry. I can control it. It's nothing. Just a few death throes. It'll stop soon enough. I'm fine, Skade. Honestly.'

Skade glared at him. 'Don't even think about it, Galbatorix. Come on. You're going upstairs to get some sleep.'

'Not now, Skade,' said Galbatorix, trying to extricate himself from her as gently as possible. 'I've got work to do. Murtagh and the others will be here any minute, and…'

'And I don't care,' said Skade. 'You need rest and you're going to go and get some. Now.'

'But I-,'

'Now!' Skade barked, and, ignoring his protests, the silver elf hustled him upstairs and to his bedroom, where some helpful soul had strung up a hammock. Skade pointed at it. 'Sleep,' she said. 'Go on. I'll look after things for you.'

Galbatorix threw his hands up in defeat. 'All right, all right, if you insist.'

'I do,' said Skade.

'You know, I'm still technically the King here…'

'And Kings need sleep,' said Skade, unmoved. 'I'm not leaving until I'm convinced you're actually going to sleep and not sit in here sorting through paperwork or writing speeches or something.'

'What paperwork? What speeches? That's over with, Skade. Forever. No more paperwork, no more proclamations, no more anything.'

'Good. Then you can sleep.'

Galbatorix sat down and began unlacing his boots. 'All right, you win. But for the love of gods, come and wake me up if anything needs my attention. Okay?'

'I'll take care of everything,' said Skade. 'Now for the sky's sake stop worrying.'

Galbatorix stood up and shrugged off his robe, then climbed into the hammock and settled down. He sighed. 'I never could get used to sleeping in a bed, you know. I could only ever really sleep in a hammock. Ever since I was a boy.' He yawned.

Skade smiled. 'Sleep well,' she said, and left. She closed the door as quietly as she could, and then locked it and put the key into her pocket with a sly expression before she walked off.

Left alone in his room, Galbatorix felt the gentle swinging motion of the hammock soothe him as it always did. He sighed. 'I'm the King who sleeps in a hammock,' he mumbled to himself.

Then he slept.

Galbatorix dreamed dark dreams. Shade dreams.

He knelt before the human, his head bowed. When he glanced up, he found himself looking into a pair of eyes like black diamonds – dark and deep, and cold, and powerful. So powerful that before them even he faltered, he who feared nothing.

'I swear to serve you,' he intoned in the ancient language. 'I shall do your bidding at any cost, for as long as I live.' As he spoke, he could feel the magic binding him to his word.

'Good,' the human said. 'And see you keep your word, Shade. You know what will happen if you don't.'

He looked back, emotionless. 'I know.' He could sense the human's satisfaction, but felt no rage or resentment. Emotions were for humans. Not for him.

The oath was a sacrifice that would cost him dear, but he was willing to make it. As the human turned away from him, he watched him with hunger in his eyes. One day, he vowed to himself. One day. The human will not always be strong. One day he will make a mistake. One day his defences will falter. And on that day I shall take his body and his powers for my own.

And for a hundred years, he waited for that day to come. He had no concept of impatience. If need be he would wait forever.

But he waited in vain, in the end. The other human, the new rider…

The world shook, and an almighty crack split the air. Shards of red stone tore the room apart, and as a great blue dragon descended upon him, the boy struck. His sword, its blade aflame, split his heart in two and destroyed him utterly, his mind and soul unravelling into the void.

And then he was dead.

Galbatorix woke up slowly. At first he couldn't remember where he was; he sat up sharply in his hammock, his hand reaching automatically for White Violence's hilt. It was out of reach, but as he looked around quickly for any sign of danger, he gradually realised that he knew this place. It was his bedchamber, the one he had shared with Skade until… until…

He let the events of the last few months slowly sink in once more, and then relaxed. It was all right. He was safe back in Urû'baen, and so was Skade, and Laela… Laela was back. Laela had been returned to him, and from now on he would always be safe.

His left eye was sore. He rubbed it, and realised that it was wet with tears. Odd.

He yawned and rolled out of the hammock. Landing on his feet, he stretched, rolling his shoulders and then arching his back like a cat. A little stiff, but otherwise good as new.

It was good to be alive.

But he wasn't left to think of that for long. As he reached for a comb, his memory was kind enough to remind him of the long list of things he was supposed to be doing. He swore. How long had he been asleep? It could have been hours, and all sorts of things were probably happening while he wasn't there to keep them under control…

He pulled his boots on and donned his robe with lightning speed, dragged the comb through his hair and then rushed for the door and nearly fell over when it wouldn't open. He tried the handle. Someone had locked him in.

Galbatorix sighed. 'Honestly, Skade,' he muttered, not without affection.

It was the work of a moment to unlock the door with magic, and he strode out into the castle to find out what was going on.

He found Skade in the treasury, with Rǿđull-Viđr in its sheath on her back. She was examining the rack of old riders' swords, and smiled at him when he entered. 'Did you sleep well?'

'Yes, and for far too long. Is it still today or did I miss it?'

'You slept all night,' said Skade. 'Stop stressing; I took care of things for you. Don't you trust me?'

Galbatorix fiddled with his hair. 'Yes, but… well, you know how I like to be there… what's been going on? Did Murtagh and the others get here?'

'Yes,' said Skade. 'Angry and confused, but I calmed them down. I told them you were resting but you'd come and speak to them later… they don't know the Brat's dead. I thought it would be better if you were there when that happened. I told them you killed Durza and that Nasuada is safe… I sent them to the guest rooms and had someone keep an eye on them.'

'That was wise,' said Galbatorix. 'So what are you doing now?'

'I'm choosing a sword,' said Skade. 'Galbatorix, there's something you should know.'

'Yes?'

'Carnoc and Jarsha. They're riders now. The green hatchling bonded himself to Jarsha, and the red one to Carnoc.'

Galbatorix paused. 'That's… that's good. Carnoc is an honourable man, and a brave one. He'll make a worthy rider. As for the other one, Jarsha… well, it's not for us to say who should become a rider, is it? If it was, I would never have chosen Nasuada. She reminds me too much of the old riders.'

Skade nodded. 'But Carnoc and Jarsha will be worthy. And Sif, too, perhaps.'

'So you're finding swords for them,' said Galbatorix.

There were several green or red-bladed swords there, but each one had a different hilt and a different name engraved on it.

'I'm trying to remember if the green hatchling's eyes are gold or silver,' said Skade.

Galbatorix thought about it. 'Silver. And the red one has gold.'

He selected a green sword with a silver hilt, and turned it over in his hands. It was longer than most of the others, and thinner in the blade. The hilt had a number of green and blue stones set into it, and was engraved with the name 'Laufsblađ'.

Galbatorix took up a fighting stance and expertly flourished the weapon so that its blade flashed. 'Laufsblađ. "Leafblade". Belonged to a rider called Tranah. One of the Forsworn, as a matter of fact, but I think we'll avoid mentioning that. I think this will do.'

Skade lifted a red-bladed sword out of the rack. This one was thick and heavy, with a double-handed gold hilt set with jet-black stones.

Galbatorix's eyes darkened when he looked at it. 'I know that sword,' he said. '"Blođ-Söngr" – Blood Song. The owner was… well, she died the same day Laela did. See that little notch on the blade? White Violence did that.'

'Should we choose a different one, then?' said Skade.

Galbatorix paused. 'No. Let Carnoc have it. It deserves a better owner.'

'And Sif can have her father's sword,' said Skade.

'Yes,' said Galbatorix. 'And that reminds me… we'd better get on with the burial. Come on.'

They had the members of the new Varden brought into the throne room. Murtagh, Carnoc, Jarsha and Sif entered nervously, clad in fine new clothes and accompanied by the four newly-bonded hatchlings – including Silarae. Thorn was up on the castle walls with Laela, Lifrasir and her siblings.

Murtagh still had Zar'roc with him, and kept touching the hilt. He and his three fellow riders were definitely looking nervous. The instant Murtagh saw Galbatorix, he said; 'There you are. What's going on? Where's Nasuada? Where's Eragon?'

Galbatorix sighed and sat down on the throne, and suddenly it was as if he'd never left it. 'Murtagh, Sif, Carnoc, Jarsha… welcome to Urû'baen.' He bowed his head slightly to them. 'I'm sorry I couldn't speak to you sooner, but I needed to rest.'

'What's going on?' Murtagh said again. 'You brought us here and locked us up like prisoners – is that what we are? Are you going to kill us now we've got your throne back for you?'

'Actually, I was the one who got the throne back,' said Galbatorix. 'Seeing as how I killed Durza. As for the imprisonment… well, you refused to trust me when I came to you to offer my help. Consider this returning the favour. But let me assure you, you're in no danger of being killed. Jarsha, Carnoc, I have a gift for you.'

Skade went forward, and presented the two of them with their swords. They took them, staring at them in wonder.

'Your riders' swords,' said Galbatorix. 'Laufsblađ and Blođ-Söngr, Leafblade and Blood Song. Care for them. You are riders now.'

'Where is Nasuada?' Murtagh said again. 'What have you done with her?'

'She's safe,' said Galbatorix. 'You'll see her again in a moment. In fact she can probably see us right now, since Silarae is here.'

The black hatchling was standing by Sif. She hissed venomously at Galbatorix. He fixed her with a stare, and she fell silent and hid behind Sif's leg.

'What about Eragon?' said Murtagh. 'Did you set him free as you promised?'

'Your half-brother is dead,' said Galbatorix. 'I'm sorry, Murtagh.'

'Dead?' said Murtagh. 'How?'

'I killed him.'

All four riders gaped at him.

'What?' said Murtagh.

Galbatorix stood up. 'I kept my promise. Death is freedom.'

'You murderer!' Carnoc exclaimed.

'Eragon was my enemy,' said Galbatorix. 'And my enemies… die.'

Sif started to cry. Murtagh put his arm around her and hugged her to his side, but his eyes remained fixed accusingly on Galbatorix. 'You lied.'

Galbatorix's red eye turned toward him, horrible in the torchlight. 'Yes. I do that.'

Murtagh cringed. 'What happened to your eye?'

'A parting gift from an old friend. Mourn for Eragon, but don't say he didn't deserve what happened to him.'

'He was my brother!'

'Of course. And I'm sure he treated you like one, yes?'

Murtagh hesitated.

'I know how cruel he was to you,' said Galbatorix. 'I can't understand why you put up with it, to be honest. He treated you like scum.' He put his hands on his hips and did a whiny and surprisingly accurate impersonation of Eragon. 'Ooh, well, I'm so much better than you because I don't have a nasty old scar on my back any more.'

'That's not funny,' said Murtagh.

'It wasn't supposed to be funny. Now, come with me. We're going to lay him to rest under the city. Nasuada is waiting for us.'

She was. The catacombs under the city were larger than most people realised. They'd been carved out of some natural caves long ago, but much of the walls and ceiling had been left untouched, so that the original shape and form of the stone remained. Only the floor had been flattened and evened out, and in some places parts of the ceiling had been carved out to create more headspace. A narrow staircase, cut into the rock, led down into the catacombs, and Galbatorix and Skade led the four riders down them and into the cold, echoing space beyond. Burning torches had been placed at intervals along the walls, and their trail led them past the tombs. Dozens and dozens of them, carved into the walls. Each body had been laid to rest in a recess in the wall and then sealed in with a stone slab, into which was carved a life-sized image of the deceased. And beside each man or elf was an image of a dragon.

As they walked along, Galbatorix recited the names of the entombed riders. 'Tranah of Dras-Leona, bonded to a dragon called Aedua. Lanethial the elf, rider of Hrennain. Vardis, rider of Lain. Flell, rider of Thrain. M'nartha, she was before my time. This one here is one of the oldest tombs down here, see how the carving's worn away? And there… that one there. That's your father, Murtagh. That's Morzan's tomb. And this here is Brom's tomb. There's nothing in it, of course, but it was built for him a long time ago. And here…' he stopped by a tomb that was still open. 'This is my tomb,' he said.

The open space inside it was full of dust, and more dust covered the likeness of himself that was carved over it. This version was beardless and looked much younger, but the angular face and mane of curly hair were unmistakeably his. The image's carved eyes stared blankly into the distance, but its expression was eerily lifelike.

Galbatorix ran his hands over the stone, and sighed. 'Many, many people tried to put me into this tomb. Even I tried once…' he turned away abruptly. 'Come on. No time for dreaming.'

As Murtagh passed the tomb, he noticed that the name carved on it was Arren Cardockson. And beside that, Laela.

They took a left turn into a small chamber, and that was where they found Eragon's body. It had been laid in front of an open tomb, this one newly carved and bearing his likeness and that of Saphira. Eragon's body had been washed and clad in a suit of ceremonial armour – silver inlaid with bright blue enamel. His head was bare, and they could all see his face, deathly pale but serene. Íssbrandr was lying beside him, and Nasuada was crouched by his head, wearing a black silk gown.

Silarae ran to her at once, and she took the black hatchling into her arms and held her close, standing up as the others approached. When she saw Murtagh she ran to him.

'Nasuada!' he cried, embracing her. 'Thank gods you're all right.'

Nasuada buried her face in his broad chest. 'Oh Murtagh,' she sobbed. 'Eragon's dead.'

'I know,' said Murtagh. 'I know, Nasuada. Sif…' he looked at her over her mother's shoulder. 'That's your father, Sif. Go to him.'

Sif pushed her way past Carnoc, the blue hatchling following at her heels. She stood over Eragon's body, looking down at him with a look of heartbreaking bewilderment on her face. 'Father?'

Only silence answered her.

Sif knelt by Eragon's body. 'Father?' she said again, touching his cold face.

There was a movement behind her, and Galbatorix was there. She looked up at him, too confused to be frightened. 'Father won't wake up,' she said. 'What's wrong with him?'

'He's dead, Sif,' Galbatorix said softly. 'Here…' he crouched beside her, and lifted Íssbrandr, gently guiding the hilt into her hands. 'This was his sword. It's yours now. He would have wanted you to have it.'

Sif grasped the weapon, trying to lift it. 'It's heavy.'

'You'll be strong enough to use it one day.'

Sif stood up, holding the sword, and fixed Galbatorix with a child's direct stare. 'Why did Father die?'

'He made mistakes and did bad things, and hurt people. That was why he died.'

Nasuada was quick to intervene. She pushed Galbatorix out of the way and put her arm protectively around Sif's shoulders. 'Don't lie,' she said. 'Sif, this man killed your father.'

Sif's grip tightened on Íssbrandr's hilt. 'Did you?' she asked, her voice surprisingly strong.

Galbatorix nodded. 'Yes. I killed him.'

Sif didn't look angry or upset. 'Why?' she said, and there was nothing but bewilderment in her voice and face.

'Because… because… because I'm a murderer. I kill people. It's what I've always done. Now…' he turned away. 'We're going to lay him to rest. Murtagh, Nasuada… you should be the ones to place him in the tomb.'

He stood by and let them do it. The dark recess in the stone was the perfect size to receive the body, and Murtagh and Nasuada lifted it in on its stretcher and carefully arranged it there, decorating it with flowers.

Once they were done, they and their fellow riders stood by in a little group, their heads bowed, and Galbatorix spoke the ceremonial words, the ones which he alone remembered and which had always been spoken at the burial of a rider. 'In death, as in life, let this man be remembered. Eragon Shadeslayer, son of Brom and Selena, born in Carvahall, let him be remembered for all he was and all he did in life, and let his death be but a final chapter in a glorious book. May he find peace and rest, and may his memory be honoured by friend and foe alike. May none speak ill of him from hereon, for in death all but a man's virtues are forgotten. Courage. Honesty. Integrity. Duty. Justice. Honour. These are the virtues of a rider, and the virtues which Eragon Shadeslayer, son of Brom, upheld until his dying day. May peace embrace him now that his journey is ended, may his soul be bound for eternity to that of his dragon, Saphira, as it was in life, that the two of them be united in love until the very ending of the world itself. Of earth born and in fire forged, by magic blessed and by cool water soothed, and by a breeze in the night blown away to a land of silver and bright flowers. All this I beseech of the great power of life and death which binds us all, in the names of the great men and dragons of the past. Receive our departed Eragon Shadeslayer, and be the balm to our grief.'

He finished speaking, and motioned to Murtagh and Nasuada. 'Let the tomb be sealed.'

The two riders lifted the stone slab between them with some effort, and fitted it into place on the tomb. Once the slab was in place, Galbatorix held out a hand and spoke a string of words in the ancient language, and the slab melded itself with the wall, sealing the tomb forever.

The little group stood in silence for a time, watched over by the carved likeness of Eragon, who stood out of the wall with Saphira by his side, his handsome face alight with something that might have been happiness.

Galbatorix sighed, breaking the silence. 'I blame myself for what happened to him, you know. And not just because I killed him. I killed him because he was my enemy, but we didn't need to be enemies at all…' Then, standing by Eragon's tomb with Skade by his side, watched by Carnoc, Jarsha, Murtagh, Nasuada and Sif, he began to speak, his voice distant. 'I remember the day when I found out there was a new rider in Alagaësia. The news was brought to me… I hadn't been so excited in fifty years. A new rider had come… I wasn't the last one left after all, and for a long time I had been afraid that when I died the riders would be gone forever. Eragon was the first of the new riders. When Saphira's egg was stolen and Morzan was killed… that was a disaster for me. I knew that if the egg hatched for an enemy of mine, the result would be chaos. Two riders in Alagaësia, on opposite sides… well, you know what happened then. But when I found out that the new rider was just a simple village boy with no known connection to the Varden, I was overjoyed. Truly. I'd been alone for so long, but now… now there was another of my kind. I knew that, as the last rider left, it was my duty to train this boy, teach him how to fight, how to use magic, how to lead. I could teach him the things it took me so much suffering to find out. He could be the rider I should have been, he and I could have created a new order of riders, a new way. We could have united Alagaësia, the two of us working together… it was a dream. But I failed. None of the people I sent to bring him to me succeeded. Instead he went to the Varden, he turned against me… Brom was his mentor, and he taught him to hate me. And the elves did to him what they did to all the old riders – they turned him into one of themselves. Reshaped him in their own image. Made him look on humans as rats and elves as gods. Made him narrow-minded and prejudiced. He was thinking and acting as they wanted him to, and it made him a monster in the end. Power corrupts. Always. He and I weren't that dissimilar to each other, when all was said and done. Both of us grew up as commoners, both orphans, neither of us knowing who our true parents were. Both of us became riders against all the odds, both of us made mistakes and let our power go to our heads, and both of us rebelled. If only I had got to him first, if only I had had the chance to speak with him as a friend and not an enemy, I could have helped him to avoid making my mistakes and becoming what I became. I wanted to look for him myself. I should have.'

There was silence for a time.

'Why didn't you?' said Murtagh. 'You stopped leaving Urû'baen for such a long time, and no-one was sure why. Was it fear? Was that it?'

Galbatorix paused. 'It was… well, I suppose I can tell you now. I stopped leaving Urû'baen… I didn't go after Eragon myself because I couldn't. I couldn't leave the castle. I couldn't even climb a flight of stairs without help. The truth is, for most of your life I was too weak to even lift my sword.'

Murtagh gaped at him. 'But – I don't… I never saw anything.'

'Of course you didn't. I worked very hard to stop anyone else noticing. If anyone knew about it, how easily they could have overthrown me then… so I stopped leaving the castle. I stopped appearing in public and locked myself away, and gave all my commands second-hand.'

'But why?' said Murtagh.

'I had the plague,' said Galbatorix.

'What?'

'I caught it in Gil'ead. There was an epidemic there… it wiped out half the city. I went there because I hoped my magic could heal some of the sick, but after three days I realised there was nothing I could do. Then, when I got back to Urû'baen, I realised there were sores appearing on my chest. I tried to tell myself it was nothing, but… the sores spread everywhere. Every time I healed them, they reopened a few hours later. Then I developed a fever. I should have been dead within two days, but my magic was just enough to keep me alive. So I had to live with the plague until someone found a way to treat it.'

'But the plague in Gil'ead was forty years ago!' Murtagh exclaimed.

Galbatorix nodded. 'I had it for about twenty years, in the end. Some days I was stronger than others, but sometimes my throat was so swollen I could hardly speak. It was… well, during that time I was still ruling the Empire. I made bad decisions and missed important things because I slept so much and the sickness affected my brain, but I had to keep it a secret at all costs. Remember the day I spoke to you, just before you ran away? That day I was so feverish I could barely see straight.'

Murtagh remembered the wild-eyed, deathly pale madman he had encountered that night. They had dined together, and Galbatorix had spoken of his vision for the future of Alagaësia, his words almost hypnotically compelling. When Murtagh had mentioned the Varden, he had flown into a rage and shouted threats, his eyes burning with hatred. That Galbatorix had been very different from the cold, rational one he had encountered after his return to Urû'baen.

'You scared me,' Murtagh said now.

'I was afraid,' Galbatorix said frankly. 'I could feel the Empire slipping out of my grasp, but there was nothing I could do to stop it. But I finally had some luck, a few weeks after you disappeared. A herbalist in Teirm found a cure for the plague. It took a long time, but little by little I got better, and by the time you were brought back to Urû'baen and Thorn hatched for you, I was nearly back to my full strength. But by then it was too late. The Varden had grown strong, Eragon had joined them, and civil war was breaking out. I finally did capture Eragon, as you know, and I tried to reason with him then, but he was too far gone for me to get through to him. He simply wouldn't listen to anything I said. I doubt he would have believed me if I'd said the sky was blue. I could have killed him then, but I didn't. And when the Varden captured me and Eragon had me tortured… that was when I knew it was a lost cause. That was when I swore to myself that I would kill him. But after so much killing, I couldn't bring myself to do it for a long time. I could have hunted him down. I could have travelled endlessly all over the country until I found him and killed him, but I didn't. I kept holding myself back, hoping he would just leave me alone or see reason and try and negotiate peacefully, but… after what he did to me… in the end, I kept my promise. I don't expect any of you to forgive me – I have no right to expect that. But perhaps now you can understand what happened a little better.'

There was silence for a time. Finally Nasuada spoke up. 'I want… when he was dying… you whispered something in his ear. What did you say to him?'

Galbatorix looked at her, then at Sif. 'I said; "you have a daughter. I will keep her safe."'