Chapter Twenty-Seven

Lessons of the Past

Later on, the five riders – Carnoc, Jarsha, Sif, Nasuada and Murtagh – sat together in the banqueting hall and ate. All of them were frightened and resentful. Carnoc in particular jumped at every sound, and kept glancing nervously at the door, as if expecting a group of guards to come through it and attack him at any moment. His red dragon, Rose, stayed close to him, her head resting on his shoulder.

Sif picked listlessly at her food, sitting hunched in her chair. The blue hatchling nosed at her cheek. 'Don't be sad, Sif. I'm here.'

'Father's dead,' said Sif. 'I'm scared, Saphira.'

'I'm scared too,' said Saphira.

'The mean man killed Father,' said Sif. 'What if he kills me too?'

'I wouldn't let him,' said Saphira. 'But he was nice to you, and me, too.'

'But Mother said he tells lies,' said Sif. 'What if he's only pretending? What if he's going to cut my head off?'

Saphira whimpered softly. 'Thorn said he killed lots of people.'

Sif had a strange feeling then. She saw her father, lying so still like that in the stone room, and when she thought of the scary man with the red eye and how he had stood there, big and dark like an evil shadow, a burning feeling appeared in her chest, as if there were a fire inside her. She imagined his face, and imagined him burning away in her fire, and she liked it. 'I hate him,' she said. 'I hate him forever.'

Nasuada hadn't told the others about the oath she had taken. She sat beside Murtagh, hunched and miserable, but taking strength from his presence and that of Silarae. At least she still had them. But any minute Galbatorix was going to come back. She hated him so much, but he confused her as well. In spite of everything that had happened, in her mind she was not quite sure if he was friend or foe. His motivations were always so uncertain; he would help you if there was something in it for him, but turn on you at a moment's notice. He would lie or tell the truth depending on what suited him, and though he always seemed so cold and shut-in he sometimes acted as if he were genuinely sorrowful for what he had done and for the hatred she showed toward him. He was a mystery to her, just as Murtagh sometimes was, and though she hated him she could not help but be fascinated by him as well, and sometimes she felt somehow drawn toward those dark, unreadable eyes and that stern, handsome face.

The thought made her feel disgusted with herself, and she downed a goblet of wine, her free hand clutching Murtagh's.

There was a thump from the doorway, and Galbatorix limped into the room. Skade was with him, and behind them was a graceful, slender white dragon with silver wings. She was the size of a horse, and only just fitted through the doorway – the thump had been from her horn hitting the doorframe. Nasuada stared in amazement. Murtagh dropped his goblet and swore loudly.

Galbatorix took his place at the head of the table, his hand resting on the white dragon's shoulder, and everyone there could see it. See how graceful the two of them looked together. Two bodies. One soul.

The white dragon watched them all keenly, then dipped her head to touch Galbatorix with her snout. He smiled a gentle, peaceful smile that none of them had ever seen him use before, and said; 'My fellow riders… this is Laela.'

'But-,' said Murtagh. 'But – but – I – no. Just. Not…'

Laela laughed.

Galbatorix smiled at some comment she'd made in the privacy of their heads. 'I gave the riders their lives back, and in return I have been given a second chance at life. I'm a rider again.'

'But-,' Murtagh said again. 'Is that… the Laela? The one who died?'

'I am,' Laela said out loud. 'Your dragon is Thorn, isn't he? He's more handsome than you are.' She grinned.

'But this isn't…'

'In a world of magic, anything is possible,' said Galbatorix. 'What fate took, fate gave back. Now. Listen to me. All of you.'

They did.

'You all here, are the future of Alagaësia. I am the past. I belong to an old way of life, a way that is now ending. You are the new riders, and the future belongs to you. There is very little left that I can do for you, but I have brought you and your dragons together, and I have brought you to Urû'baen. Soon your new lives will begin, and it will be your job to keep the peace in Alagaësia, just as riders have always done. As for me, I'm leaving.'

'Leaving?' Nasuada repeated. 'Leaving to go where?'

'I'm leaving Alagaësia,' said Galbatorix. 'Skade and Laela and I are going together. I have renounced the throne. Now there will be a new King, and you must answer to him from now on.'

They gaped at him. 'But… which King?' said Murtagh.

'Who will rule here, if not you?' said Carnoc.

'The new King is waiting for you outside the gates,' said Galbatorix. 'Once we have finished here, you will go out and meet him, and pledge yourselves to him. He will be your master, and master to all other riders who come after you. But first… first there is something I must show you.'

They watched him expectantly. He scratched Laela's neck, his expression a little sad.

'I am going to show you the truth,' he said. 'I am going to show you my memories.'

He glanced at Laela, and the two of them shifted slightly, bracing themselves as if in readiness to meet an oncoming foe. Then Galbatorix held his hand out toward them and said; 'Opnask minn hjarta eđa syna minn frœđi!' – "Open my heart and show my history".

And light bloomed in the air. It formed a sphere of pure white energy over the table, formed from the joined minds of both Galbatorix and Laela, and as they watched it expanded and then formed into a window. And through that window they saw images.

They were faint and hazy, distorted as if by a veil, and with them came a confused babble of sounds. At first nothing could be gleaned from it but then, as they listened, they could make out the sound of a voice – muffled and distant, like a voice in a dream.

Call him Galbatorix, call him-

The images changed abruptly, and they saw a vague picture of a face – though it was impossible to tell whether it was male or female, human or elf. The sounds became a distant rumble and roar, as of waves, and above that they heard a wailing.

'My earliest memories,' Galbatorix explained. 'That was my mother's voice. And what you can hear now is the crowd that came to see her executed the next morning.' He smiled a little enigmaticaly. 'Ingë Taranisäii. That was her name. She was nineteen years old. And my father, Skandar Traeganni – he died with her. After he gave me my name.' He saw the looks on their faces, and nodded slightly. 'Yes. What you've heard is true. I am a half-breed. Look.'

The images changed again, and now they were bright and clear – no longer seen through the eyes of an infant. They saw two small children, staring out of the window with suspicious expressions. What do you want? one demanded.

A child's voice replied. Can I play with you?

The children glanced at each other. Then one came forward and shoved the unseen speaker away. No! Go away, freak!

Rejected, the child whose eyes they were looking through turned away. They saw simple wooden houses lining a cobbled street in a city somewhere, all from the low perspective of a child. The child halted in a gutter and his vision moved toward the ground, where there was a puddle of water. As he leaned over it, they saw his reflection staring up out of the window. The soft face of a child no more than four years old looked up at them. He wore simple clothes, and had a mop of black curls, but his eyes were not the eyes of a child. They were black and glittering, and… somehow utterly wrong. They did not fit with his face at all.

The child sat down and looked at his hands. They were long-fingered and pale, and he flexed them and fiddled absent-mindedly with a tear in the knee of his trousers. They heard him sigh.

Arren? an adult voice called from somewhere.

The child turned to look, and saw a woman coming. He stood up and went to her, and the vision faded.

'I was often alone,' Galbatorix muttered. 'The other children didn't like me. I can see why. I scared them. I didn't mean to, but… I suppose children often see what adults don't. They knew I was different. But it only ever got worse.'

Now they saw a new vision. This one was higher from the ground – evidently from the perspective of a much older Galbatorix. He was walking along a street on a busy day, carefully avoiding the puddles on the road. As he passed a glass window, he stopped and looked at it. They saw the reflection of a tall, thin teenage boy, clad in black, his eyes as dark and piercing as ever. He moved a little closer to his reflection, and meticulously rearranged a few stray curls before he moved on. But as he went on his way, they noticed he was avoiding going too close to any of the people he passed. Some of them stared at him, and he quickly turned away as they did, but they could hear mutters following him. They were low, but hostile. The boy stared at the ground.

And then, in the blink of eye, the vision changed. What they saw next was a gang of young men, surrounding the teenage Galbatorix. Their faces were distorted with hatred as they advanced on him, and he backed away, until he was forced to stop, his back to a wall. He made an attempt to break through the gang, punching one of them in the chin, but was quickly knocked back. They closed in, raining blows down on him from all sides, and their voices echoed in the hall, loud and accusing and hateful. Half-breed! Half-breed freak!

They could see the vision flashing red as he was struck in the head and face, until there was a loud thump and he fell down. They could hear him yelping in pain.

'I came home plenty of times with bruises on my face,' said Galbatorix. 'My mother worried about me, but there was nothing she could do. In the end, I knew I had to do something. Sooner or later I'd be killed. So I tried to ask for help when one of the riders came to Teirm, where I lived.'

They saw a new vision now – one of a large wooden door. Two guards were standing on either side of it, and they raised their spears as the young Galbatorix approached.

I want to see the rider, Galbatorix's voice said. Several of the listeners started when they heard it. It was younger and lighter than the voice of the Galbatorix they knew, and had a broad Teirmish accent that he had long since lost. But it was his, all the same.

Get lost, kid, a guard replied.

I have something important to ask him.

The guard struck him with the butt of his spear, sending him sprawling. He pulled away hastily, and the pair of them sniggered at him as he left.

Galbatorix smiled slightly. 'Not much success there. But I didn't give up that easily. If the riders wouldn't listen to a commoner, then they'd listen to one of their own. I decided that if I wanted to change things, I should become one myself. So I went to the riders' trials that year – and did rather well, actually. And I was accepted and sent to Ellesméra. But I didn't tell anyone I was a half-breed.'

They saw a vision of a dragon's egg – pure white, cradled in a pair of long-fingered hands that were unmistakeably Galbatorix's. A faint squeaking came from inside it, and then it began to move. They watched as it hatched, and saw the pure white hatchling emerge – one whose silver eyes and wings made it instantly clear that the dragon now standing in the hall was the very same one.

The teenage Galbatorix's hand reached out to touch the hatchling, and the vision flashed white. When it reappeared, they found themselves looking at a group of humans and elves, each one with a dragon standing behind them. At their head was an elf, whose hair was as white as his dragon.

'Vrael.'

The elf held out something wrapped in cloth. Take it, he intoned. It is yours.

Galbatorix's hands reached out for it, and he pulled away the wrappings to reveal a magnificent sword with a white blade and a silver hilt. White Violence, as it had been mere days after being forged.

Your sword, said Vrael, his voice echoing toward them from over a century ago. You must give it a name. Wield it with courage and honour all your days, Arren Cardockson. You are one of us now.

The other riders held out their hands, palm-forward, and Vrael did likewise, touching Galbatorix on the forehead. The voices of the riders spoke as one, and the vision turned white once more as the magic was woven. They could hear the faint echoes all around them, whispering and ghostly. One of us, one of us, one of us…

Before they could see more, the vision changed again and they saw a young woman – no more than seventeen years old. She was very pretty, with light brown hair and blue eyes, but she was looking out at them with an expression of deep fear and worry, her eyes reddened from crying.

'Flell. My first love.'

Galbatorix, I'm pregnant, the girl said. It's yours. What am I going to do?

You mean you want me to marry you? Galbatorix's voice replied.

I can't do this alone. I need your help.

Silence for a time, and then they saw Galbatorix reach out and take her hands in his. Flell, if that's what you want me to do, then I will. But… there's something you have to know. I can't keep it a secret any longer.

'And then I told her everything,' said Galbatorix. 'How could I not? I already felt like a fraud because I'd kept it secret for so long. I couldn't keep hiding it. Not from her.'

Flell's face was full of bewilderment. But – a half-breed? And you never told me, and-

Please, Flell. It has to be kept a secret. The riders destroyed the dark elves. If they find out I'm one of them… please. You have to keep it secret. If they knew, I don't know what they'd do to me.

The vision faded to black again.

'Unfortunately,' Galbatorix said in a heavy voice, 'I had made a mistake. Flell betrayed me. I don't really blame her. I was sent to govern Teirm, and she had to go back to Ilirea to finish her training. Of course it came out that she was pregnant in the end, and when that happened she… well, she must have panicked. She told them I was the father, and I suppose they frightened her into thinking she would be in trouble for it… I really don't know. But she told them I was a half-breed. Perhaps she was hoping to save herself, but… well, she told them I raped her.' He smiled bitterly. 'After all, what woman would ever bed a half-breed willingly? No… it was my undoing. I had become arrogant. I was Vrael's prized student and the envy of all the other young riders. Stories about my prowess were everywhere. I'd only just been given my sword but I was already governing an entire city. I was already trying to reform things a little – I outlawed slavery and changed some laws which I felt favoured elves over humans unnecessarily… that sort of thing. It never really occurred to me that I could get into any serious trouble, even if they did find out my secret. I was wrong, and it cost me everything I had.'

Now they saw a huge white chamber – almost a cavern, its walls smooth and featureless. In it were the five rider elders, including Vrael. Oromis and Glaedr were there, as they had been at the height of their strength – Oromis standing straight and proud, his head held high, with none of the feebleness he had had when Nasuada had known him, and Glaedr a crouched, muscular brute of a dragon, his foreleg still intact, growling softly.

All the elders' dragons were growling, the onlookers realised. And their riders were staring straight at Galbatorix – and hence at them all – with expressions of controlled hatred, as if they were looking at some subhuman creature that deserved to be crushed underfoot.

Arren Cardockson, explain yourself, said Vrael. His voice was dispassionate, but his pale eyes blazed.

I'm not sure what I have to explain, the young Galbatorix said boldly. My actions in Teirm were according to what you told me. You told me to use my judgement, and-

You filth! Vrael roared suddenly. You replusive, presumptive, arrogant creature!

I am a rider! Galbatorix shouted back. I'm one of you, and I rule this land just as you do! And how dare you treat me like this? I'm not an elder, but I'm not a puppet of the Queen, either!

You are no rider! said Vrael. You are a traitor and an oathbreaker, and you are no equal of mine.

I care more about the people of Alagaësia than you ever did! I wasn't afraid to be my own person, you coward

You have betrayed us all, Vrael said in a low voice. We know your secret – hálfr-dreyri. Half-breed! You sub-human creature, you monster!

How did you find out?

Do you deny it?

No. I know. I've always known. But I can't help the way I was born. I'm innocent.

Vrael hit him. LIAR! You planned this! You planned all of it! You brought your vile dark elvish magic into the heart of Ellesméra itself, you corrupted the sacred order of the riders, and as if that weren't bad enough you violated a fellow rider and left her carrying your vile dark elvish spawn. Flell told us the truth of what you did to her. How you raped her.

'I argued,' said Galbatorix. 'But they wouldn't listen to me. They sent me away to wait while they decided what to do with me, and later on Brom came to find me. We were friends back then, you see. He came and warned me because he had overheard them talking. They had decided to destroy the bond between Laela and I, and when that was done they were going to execute me. Hanging, drawing and quartering. I didn't get a trial. It was a cover-up. They couldn't risk having the rest of the country find out that they had discovered a half-breed amongst their own, so they swore everyone to secrecy and sentenced me to death at once. But thanks to Brom's warning, I escaped from the city and went into hiding in the North. And there I found the one thing I had been searching for all my life – a family.'

They saw a snowy forest somewhere, and, standing among the trees were… elves. Dark elves. Everyone there blinked in confusion. Even though none of them had seen a dark elf before, the little group among the trees was strikingly – almost shockingly – familiar. They were like Galbatorix. They had his glittering black eyes, his pale skin, his black hair. They wore black robes just like the one he habitually dressed in, and many of the men had small pointed beards like his own. Their ears, however, were pointed, though they were longer and more curved than those of the Southern elves. Blue spirals were tattooed on their faces, and their hair was decorated with bone ornaments.

One of them came forward – an ancient woman, clad in a silver gown and leaning on a staff. The half-breed is come, she whispered.

Don't call me that, the young Galbatorix replied defensively.

But I call you that as a blessing, not a curse, Sire.

"Sire"? Why d'you call me that? I'm not a King.

But you will be one day, Sire.

'Arthryn Traeganni,' said Galbatorix. 'My grandmother, and a seer. She told me I would be a King some day. I didn't believe her. But I stayed with the dark elves for months. I learned their language and their ways, and for a while I was happy.' He sighed. 'Unfortunately, it couldn't last. The riders found me in the end, and from then on… from then on, it seemed all I could do was run. But some things can't be escaped.'

Night, and they saw fire rising over the treetops in the valley. Two dragons, both armoured for battle, flew overhead, belching fire on the fleeing dark elves. Huge craters had appeared in the ground – left by some magical weapon. They could see bodies and parts of bodies scattered everywhere.

Next they saw Arthryn, standing by a pool. Laela was there, constantly glancing up at the sky and trembling.

Let me go! Galbatorix's voice shouted. For the gods' sakes, let me fight!

No, said Arthryn. There is nothing you can do, Sire. We are doomed.

DON'T CALL ME SIRE!

I am sorry. But you must stay here. You must stay safe.

Arthryn, I can't do nothing. I have to protect my people.

No. You will die if you do. And for what? A race whose time is ended? No.

But you'll die, Galbatorix said more quietly.

We have accepted our fate, Sire. One day you will accept yours.

Even as they spoke, there was a roaring from over the trees and two dragons came charging into the clearing.

Go! Arthryn shouted. Go now, Sire!

The vision changed once more. Now it was dawn, and the young Galbatorix was on Laela's back. They could see his arms hanging onto her neck for dear life. But the roaring had followed them. The vision flashed red, and they heard him cry out as an arrow suddenly appeared in Laela's shoulder. More arrows shot past him, embedding themselves in her, and he turned, raising his hand to sent magic at his attackers. Too late. They saw a confused vision of a great red dragon, its talons outstretched, and then they were falling, falling…

There was a loud thump, and the vision went black. It faded back, dim and wavering and confused, showing a few brief glimpses of a snowy landscape before it was looking down on Laela, lying where she had landed, one wing shredded and broken, blood running from her jaws. Galbatorix's hands touched her head, and they heard his voice calling her name. Her eyes opened, and he sobbed with relief, trying to make her get up. I am sorry, she whispered. I have to go. Don't be afraid.

And then –

The vision went red, and then black, and they heard screaming. Galbatorix's screaming. It went on for a long time – loud, agonised, distorted – a horrible, animal sound.

'That was the day Laela died,' Galbatorix whispered. 'And I went on feeling the pain of it for the rest of my life. It destroyed me more completely than I ever really realised.'

From hereon the visions became confused. They saw brief snatches of things – snow, blood, sword and sky, all mixed together and seen through a haze of greyness. Vague visions – hallucinations – flicked past; they saw ghostly images of Laela calling to them, and Flell, and Vrael, and they heard strange mutterings and whisperings, and the occasional scream or sob, or even a laugh.

'Insanity,' Galbatorix breathed.

The mixed images went on. They saw the face of a man, yelling and raising a fist to strike out at the vision that had scared him. Other faces – some frightened, some curious, some hostile, wandered past and vanished. Darkness followed light, and they heard the sound of Galbatorix's voice – now low and hoarse, mumbling dementedly to itself in the dark, calling Laela's name again and again.

When the veil of madness was lifted, it came suddenly, ripped away from the vision like a curtain. On the other side of it was Vrael – not a hallucination this time, but real and alive, looking out at them with utter contempt.

Kneel, you piece of filth.

Then they heard Galbatorix's voice – darker now, its old lightness gone forever, but steady and sane. Murderer, it whispered.

Have you anything to say?

Murderer…

Very well, said Vrael, ignoring him. If you have nothing to say, then I will pass sentence on you now. Arren Cardockson of Teirm-

MURDERER! Galbatorix's voice roared. Murderers! All of you! You killed Laela! You killed-

Arren Cardockson of Teirm-

Arren Cardockson is dead! I am Galbatorix Taranisäii, last son of the House of Taranis, last of the dark elves, and I will have my revenge on you if it takes me a hundred years.

The boy is insane, Oromis' voice sneered.

Vrael gestured at some unseen guards, who restrained Galbatorix as he fought wildly to get at him, screaming his accusation with all his might. Take him away, the old elf said. Take him to the dungeons and whip him. Tomorrow he will die the traitor's death, according to the law.

NO! Galbatorix screamed as he was dragged away. No! Murderer! You killed her! You killed Laela! Murderer!

But only darkness followed.

'And they beat me,' Galbatorix intoned. 'They tied me up and whipped me until there was hardly any skin left on my back, and then they threw me into a cell to wait for death to come. And I didn't care.'

They saw the shadows of a small cell, and heard Galbatorix's faint, shaky breathing. His hands reached out weakly for the jug of water they had provided, and he stared into it.

The face that stared back was barely recognisable. It was thin and wasted, scarred with the marks of fingernails. Half of it was obscured by a matted beard, and above that were the eyes – big, staring and utterly insane.

A scream split the air, and the jug was hurled away. The maddened creature that Galbatorix had become rose and started to fling itself at the door, screaming incoherently, yelling Laela's name. He punched the door, hard, and there was an audible crack as his fingers broke. But he only giggled and then slid onto the floor, sobbing brokenly.

'That was what they made me become,' Galbatorix said now. 'That was what they reduced me to. And I knew it. I knew it. All I wanted to do then was die. But I didn't. I had then what I would one day lose forever – friends.'

There was a faint creak as the cell door opened, and then the sound of voices. Arren? Arren, can you hear me?

Shadows moved against the light from the door, and a second voice spoke. Arren. My gods, what have they done to you?

Laela…

Arren, it's me. It's Brom. I've come to help you… come on Morzan, we've got to get him out of here.

'And so they did,' said Galbatorix. 'They got me out of the city, and gave me back my sword and my magic, and I ran away again. Though I didn't know where to go or what I would do. What did I have left to live for? Well… I found something, in the end. Out there, in the wilderness, with nobody to care for me and no-one who cared. I had become worthless, and I knew it. But…' he closed his eyes for a moment. 'But I didn't give up. I found a reason to go on living. A reason that changed everything.'

The vision became one of another forest, this one dripping with rain. The young Galbatorix had found a place to sit, by the base of a tree, and he crouched there, staring at the white-bladed sword in his hands and muttering to himself. I swear, he whispered. I swear… swear by my sword, my heart, my blood and my soul… I will have revenge. I will have revenge for you, Laela. I will kill them all. He said it again and again, first in the common tongue, then in the ancient one, and then in the language of the dark elves, his sword turning over and over, gripping it by the blade until blood trickled over the faded gedwëy ignaesia on his hand. Laela, I swear…

And, even as he spoke these words, his voice stopped being the voice of a boy forever.

The vision faded away to nothing, and the sphere of magic disappeared, leaving them looking at the man that boy had become. He looked drained, and his hand reached out for Laela. She laid her head on his shoulder, and he embraced her tightly. Skade hugged him as well, and he held onto her and Laela, his head bowed.

At long last, he looked at his audience once again, and though his eyes were shining with unshed tears his expression was steady.

Sif was crying. Nasuada, Murtagh, Carnoc and Jarsha had gone deathly pale.

'What happened to the child?' said Carnoc. 'Your child?'

Galbatorix gave him a strange, dead-eyed look. 'I asked Vrael that question before I killed him. The child was… destroyed immediately after birth.' He smiled a cold, twisted smile. 'It was a daughter. I never saw her. And that… all of that, those images, those memories… that is what brought about the fall of the riders. That is how I became the Great Betrayer. But, of course,' he went on, his voice taking on its old forceful, sarcastic tone, '-Let us not forget that I am insane and a liar, so none of it is true. Am I correct?'

'My… Galbatorix,' said Nasuada. 'I am… I'm so sorry.'

'Spare me your apologies,' Galbatorix said coldly. 'Your opinion of me is the last thing I could be persuaded to care about. I didn't show you that because I wanted your sympathy. I showed it to you because you need to understand.' He leaned forward over the table, his expression intense. 'You need to understand,' he said again, urgently. 'You are the new riders, the new rulers of this land. I am asking you, here and now… do not let what happened to me happen again. Don't become like the old riders were. Listen. Learn. Keep an open mind. Be compassionate. Arrogance, lust for power, narrow-mindedness… that was what destroyed the riders. It was inevitable that sooner or later their cruelty, their unwillingness to change, would bring their time to an end. Do not be like them, or you will suffer their fate. That is my warning to you. Do you understand?'

'I do,' said Nasuada.

'So do I… my Lord,' said Murtagh.

'And I,' said Carnoc.

'And I,' said Jarsha.

Nasuada stood up. 'We will remember it, Lord Taranisäii,' she said. 'All of us.'

Galbatorix looked at her with a new respect. 'That's all I want,' he said.