Chapter Twenty

Among the Dark Elves

And from that day forth, Galbatorix was a dark elf. His initiation complete, he returned with Arthryn to Queen Saethryn's fire. The fire had nearly tripled in size since he'd last seen it, and what looked like the entire dark elvish tribe had gathered around it. There were fewer of them than he'd thought – about thirty all told, including children. They sat cross-legged, talking in low voices. They certainly appeared to be quite a sombre people, but the occasional laugh rose above the conversation. Saethryn and the other nobles sat at the head of the fire in a dignified group, and Galbatorix was instantly guided toward them. He sat by Saethryn's right-hand side, and Laela joined him, sitting on her haunches by his side and forcing a dozen elves to move out of her way, which they did with good grace.

Food was brought for both of them; roasted venison and rabbit, fish and watercress, various strange fruits and lichens, iced mushrooms, a kind of bread made from acorns, and plenty of warm mead and wine. Galbatorix ate heartily, very glad after having gone so long without proper food. With every bite he felt new strength come into him, and he sighed and let the warmth of the fire soothe his aches and pains.

The dark elves now proved a lot more talkative than before, and all those who were close enough to him wanted to ask him questions about his life. He answered them as well as he could, and later on Saethryn invited him to tell his story for the whole tribe to hear.

Which he did, as best he could, telling them all about his life, beginning with his upbringing in Teirm. He gave them the account of his parents' deaths as he had read it in the records, and then talked about himself – his becoming a dragon rider, his training, his romance with Flell, the rivalry with Vrael, the fight with the Ra'zac, the forging of White Violence, his time in Teirm, the attack on Laela, and finally, in a subdued voice, Flell's betrayal, the death sentence and their escape from Ilirea. The dark elves listened, occasionally shaking their heads or muttering sympathetically.

Once he had done, Queen Saethryn said; 'A sad story, Sire, but one with some significant implications. From your actions we can see that, although you are a rider, you are not of them – you resisted all attempts to make you mindlessly follow the ways of the Southern elves and kept your own mind. You have acted like a dark elf in many ways; you have kept your own counsel, and questioned rather than destroyed. Because of you a race has been saved from destruction – that Ra'zac you spared may indeed return to help you some day. And the fact that you reached so far into the inner workings of the riders shows us something important. Once they would have carefully vetted every new applicant who came to handle the dragon's eggs, but their arrogance has lulled them into a false sense of security. They failed to discover your secret, and no doubt you would have been able to live as one of them for many centuries, undisturbed, if you had not been betrayed. The riders made a fatal mistake in making you one of their own but then betraying you; they have made an enemy of you – one more dangerous than they realise.'

'They betrayed me,' Galbatorix agreed. 'But I don't want to fight them. I wouldn't stand a chance, and anyway, they're still… I still respect them, and I don't want to kill any of them.'

'Even one man may make all the difference,' said Saethryn. 'And when that man is a rider… one day you will change the world. Arthryn's prophecy cannot be wrong.'

The moon was well overhead by this time, and as the group around the fire talked on an eerie sound disturbed the silence from the forest all about. It was the howl of a wolf; long and piercing and mournful. It was difficult to tell where it was coming from, but it was answered a few seconds later by the voices of an entire pack, somewhere in the forest.

The dark elves looked up at the sound, their expressions alert but not disturbed. No doubt they were used to it by now.

Saethryn smiled. 'I think our visitor is returning,' she said.

Galbatorix glanced around, but saw no-one. 'Visitor?'

Saethryn pointed at the trees. 'He is coming now.'

A group of dark elves on the opposite side of the fire moved aside to let the newcomer through, and Galbatorix started.

It was a wolf. A huge, black wolf with shaggy fur and powerful shoulders. It was dragging the carcass of a deer behind it. The dark elves showed no sign of fear when they saw it; in fact they let the creature into their circle without a murmur. The wolf dropped its prey beside the fire, and immediately a group of elves came forward, drawing their knives. They quickly and efficiently skinned the deer and spitted it over the fire. The wolf let them do so, and padded straight toward Queen Saethryn. She bowed her head to it and reached out to touch its head. The wolf growled softly, but let her run her fingers over the silky fur between its ears. Its eyes were burning gold and disconcertingly alert.

Galbatorix looked on curiously. 'A tame wolf?' he suggested.

The wolf whipped around to face him, suddenly crouching low, teeth bared. It growled, not gently this time, but loudly and savagely.

Galbatorix drew back slightly, but stared back at the wolf, being careful to make no sudden moves. It reminded him almost instantly of Ilia, the wild dragon, and he reached out with his mind to soothe the creature. To his astonishment it seemed to have been expecting that, and he found himself fiercely repelled.

'Be careful,' Saethryn warned. 'He is proud. And certainly not tame,' she added.

Galbatorix made eye-contact with the wolf. 'I am a friend,' he told it in the ancient language, hoping it would understand.

The wolf relaxed suddenly, sitting back on its haunches, the growl dying away. It seemed to grin at him. And then it changed. Its great shaggy body shifted and warped, the fur retreating back into its skin, the paws lengthening, the snout melding back into the face. In seconds the change was complete, and where the wolf had sat there was a boy. He looked about seventeen, very pale and slender, much like a dark elf but with rounded ears. His hair was black and shaggy like the wolf's fur, and his eyes were burning gold.

Galbatorix let out a yell of fright, reaching automatically for his sword.

The boy grinned at him. It was a very wolfish expression. There was a stirring from the crowd and a dark elf appeared, carrying a black robe. He gave it to the boy, who pulled it on, not taking his eyes off Galbatorix. 'So,' he said, speaking at last. 'This is your King, is it, Saethryn?' his voice was flat and disinterested. He looked Galbatorix up and down, unreadable. 'He doesn't look like a King to me.'

'Sire, this is Faegareth,' said Saethryn. 'Like you, he is unique.'

Galbatorix recovered his dignity with some effort. 'You're a werewolf, are you?' he said.

The boy, Faegareth, moved away to sit on Saethryn's other side. 'The werewolves are all dead,' he said briefly. 'I am a shapeshifter. Most likely the last of my race.'

Galbatorix's eyes widened. 'Oh! A shapeshifter? I read about your people in the old records.'

Faegareth looked at him, slightly bored. 'A good read, was it?'

Galbatorix pulled himself together. He stood up and walked toward Faegareth, then bowed to him. 'It's an honour to meet you, Faegareth,' he said. 'I am sorry for what the riders did to your people. Truly.'

Faegareth listened, his head on one side, and made a small sound of satisfaction. 'So you do know your manners,' he said. 'Good. What is your name, half-breed?'

'I am Galbatorix Taranisäii. Of Teirm.'

'Soon to be King of Alagaësia,' Faegareth supplied.

Galbatorix glanced at Saethryn. 'Actually, I would rather avoid it.'

Faegareth grinned again. 'Good. Every King I've ever met has been an idiot. I think I like you, Galbatorix.'

Galbatorix returned to his spot as politely as he could, and Faegareth paid no more attention to him after that. But he surreptitiously watched the shapeshifter, unable to hide his curiosity. He wondered if Faegareth was the surviving shapeshifter the records mentioned as having been seen lurking around the edges of various settlements. He did not look very old, but he must have lived an extremely fraught life. An outcast from birth.

A young-looking dark elvish maiden had shuffled her way through the circle to the shapeshifter's side, and now she snuggled against him, casting flirtatious glances at his face. Faegareth immediately lost all interest in everyone around him and turned his attentions toward her.

Galbatorix watched them for a few seconds, then looked away, embarrassed. Behind him, Laela snickered.

'Faegareth has been with us for a long time,' said Saethryn, ignoring the spectacle. 'We call him "Faen-Tyarnadd" – thousand faces. He comes and goes as he pleases.'

Faegareth looked up from his lover. 'Don't think I'll bow down before this boy-king of yours, Saethryn.'

'You know perfectly well that I would not ask you to do anything you did not wish to do, Faen-Tyarnadd,' Saethryn said calmly. 'Nor do I think you would do it if I asked.'

'Actually, I don't particularly want to see anyone bow to me,' Galbatorix put in, unable to stop himself. 'I think that's a right I should have to earn first.'

Saethryn seemed pleased by that. 'Good,' she said. 'I have no use for arrogance. If you ask him, Faegareth may choose to teach you what he knows of fighting and magic. But treat him with respect. His race was one of the oldest and most powerful in Alagaësia before the riders destroyed it.'

Galbatorix nodded. 'I understand.'

He spent that night in a dark elvish shelter, curled up on a bed of furs. It was surprisingly warm inside, especially after Laela curled herself around the outside and let her body block out the wind. He slept more deeply than he had ever done before, his fingers curled and mouth slightly open. And he dreamed.

He saw himself. But not himself. He saw a version of himself that he had never seen or imagined before.

He saw a dark shadow that rose from the ground and came to life. It formed itself into the shape of a man – him. But this was a him who towered over all else, his eyes blazing with horrible cold power. The sword in his hand burnt with white fire, and his hands were soaked and dripping with blood.

The huge vision pointed at him, like some dark shadow of death choosing a victim, its face full of hatred. Its voice filled the air, loud and biting. COME.

He tried to run from the vision, but no matter where he went it was always there in front of him, filling him with its awful presence, and there was no escape. Help me! he cried. And help came. Laela. She was there in moments, her white scales lighting the darkness. She flew toward the vision of himself and touched it with her snout, and it dwindled away, shrinking back to ordinary human size, the blood disappearing from it hands, the sword crumbling to dust, the shadows falling away until all that was left was… him. Just him, just a boy, and he found himself looking out through its eyes because, after all, they were the same person.

He touched Laela's snout. Save me, Freslae.

But then Arthryn was there. She shook him awake, bringing him out of the dream, and when he opened his eyes she said; 'Good morning, Sire. Come. Your training begins today.'

And so it did, and every bit as intensely as it had been in Ilirea.

He spent that first day being shown around the dark elvish settlement, and was introduced to the various elves who would be teaching him. There was Ystwelyn, a master swordsman who would teach him the art of fighting – not just with swords and bows, but also hand-to-hand. Arthryn herself would instruct him in magic and other arcane knowledge, and Saethryn insisted on teaching him the art of rulership – how to lead not just a city, but a nation. And from the whole tribe he learnt how to live like a dark elf. He learnt how to walk silently, how to vanish into a shadow, how to stalk a deer through the forest and bring it down with nothing but a dagger. He learned how to climb like a squirrel and perch for hours on a branch, not moving at all, taking everything in.

These new skills came naturally to him, but that did not mean they came easily. They didn't. They were as hard and harder than the things he had learnt from Vrael, and as his training progressed they became yet harder. But he rose to the challenge as best he could, never complaining, pushing himself to his limits. He began to learn the rudiments of the dark elvish tongue, which could, just like the ancient language, control magic – but not the magic of the riders. This was dark elvish magic. Magic that could do things he had never dreamed of. He learnt how to create the ever-burning black fire, which could not be spotted from a distance and which needed no fuel. And there were other spells that Arthryn taught him which he never used, spells so powerful that a single person could not cast.

'Magic is the force which fuels every force in the world,' the seer explained. 'It can, in theory, be used to do anything. It is only limited by whoever casts it. Magic could move a mountain, but no magician – human, elf, dragon, urgal – could possibly channel or control the amount of force it would require. There are spells we know which have never been used successfully, but which we know could work under the right circumstances.'

She taught him many of these spells, and when he learned about them – what they could do, and what it took to do them – he began to understand why the Southern elves hated them so much. It was out of fear. Dark elvish magic could do unspeakably terrible things. When he dared to mention this, Arthryn said; 'Yes. And that is why many of these spells have never been attempted; to do so would be a crime against all races. But the knowledge should not be suppressed or destroyed. Only by acknowledging that these things exist, yet never succumbing to the temptation, can we prove that we are better than that.'

'That doesn't make any sense,' said Galbatorix.

Arthryn shook her head. 'If you would prefer to live in darkness, put out your eyes. Don't try and put out the sun.'

That didn't make any sense to him either, but he respected the seer too much by now to say so.

One person he was truly interested to learn from was Faegareth, but the shapeshifter remained frustratingly elusive. He was often around, but rarely in human form. Galbatorix would look up and see a golden-eyed crow or wolf vanish into the trees from where it had been watching him. Faegareth was certainly unreserved about his powers; he would slip from one form to another as casually as one might change his shirt, not seeming to care if anyone saw him naked after he took on his human shape. His attitude toward other people was a little difficult to judge; he kept apart and was quiet and reserved, yet seemed to respect the dark elves. While he avoided showing an open interest in Galbatorix, it was plain that he was indeed interested and observing his training from afar. One day Galbatorix found him lounging on a tree-branch in his human shape, and stopped to talk to him.

'How old are you?' he asked. 'If you don't mind my asking.'

Faegareth regarded him calmly for a few moments before he replied. 'I am two thousand years old.'

Galbatorix was astonished, but did his best to hide it. Talking to Faegareth made it very easy to end up feeling foolish. 'I've seen you in many shapes,' he said. 'But which one is actually you?'

'All of them,' said Faegareth.

'But what shape were born in?'

'I was born in wolf form,' said Faegareth. 'But my people have no fixed shape. We assume the same shape in order to, uh, conceive, and mothers remain pregnant no matter what shape they take afterwards. When it is time to give birth, the child is born in whatever shape the mother is in at the time. We can hatch from eggs, be spawned, born grown… whichever way is right for that shape. As for me, my mother raised me as a wolf cub until I was old enough to learn how to change.'

'It must be lonely,' said Galbatorix.

Faegareth raised his eyebrows. 'Oh?'

'Having no shape of your own,' said Galbatorix. 'Doesn't it ever make you feel lost?'

'Sometimes, maybe,' said Faegareth, sounding unconcerned. 'But why should we hanker after something we never lost? Do you ever miss being unable to breathe fire? Of course not.'

Galbatorix nodded. 'I see what you mean. What's it like to change? Does it hurt?'

Faegareth paused to think about it. 'It doesn't hurt, no. Or not in an unpleasant way. I doubt anyone who has never tried it could really understand it.'

They were silent for a time. Galbatorix sat down beneath the tree, cross-legged like a dark elf. 'What do you think about all this, Faegareth?' he asked eventually. 'This whole… King thing.'

'I don't put much store in prophecies,' said Faegareth. 'Some are true, some are false.'

'But is Arthryn's prophecy false?'

Faegareth paused. 'I've never known her to be wrong.'

'So what do you think about it?' said Galbatorix. 'I can't help but be curious.'

Faegareth glanced down at him. 'You want to know what I think?'

'I wouldn't have asked if I didn't.'

Faegareth nodded slightly. 'To be honest, you don't look like a King to me, and I find it hard to imagine that it could ever come to pass. You're intelligent and you know how to fight; you're learning fast – you'll be a dark elf through and through before long. Whether you're a leader I can't tell yet, but you made it this far so you're not weak or a fool. As for me, I've lived too long and seen many Kings come and go to care much. Some good, some bad. If you're to be the next one, so be it.'

'I don't want to be a King,' said Galbatorix.

'Then don't be,' said Faegareth. 'It's your choice.'

'What about the riders, though? They wiped out your people; you must hate them.'

'Races rise and races fall,' said Faegareth, with a hint of resignation in his voice. 'I miss my people all the time. We weren't very social; we lived alone for most of our lives. But there is a difference between being alone because you choose to be and being alone because there is no-one to go to. If you know there are people living out there who remember you and care about you, it's enough to give you strength. But when they're gone forever… that's hard.'

'Why did the riders destroy them?' said Galbatorix. 'Did your people do something they didn't like?'

'Oh, the Southern elves,' said Faegareth, almost carelessly. 'They're pathetically predictable. Racist, to be blunt about it. They have a very narrow view of the world. One world, one way, one people. You already know which people. They disliked us because we were a link between races. We could interbreed with any people we chose. Human, elf, animal, dragon… even Ra'zac and urgals. The shapeshifters were, shall we say, notoriously promiscuous. We produced what the elves could not stand. The very thing that's sitting underneath me right now, in fact.'

'Half-breeds,' Galbatorix muttered.

'Indeed. Racial purity is something the Southern elves have always obsessed about. So they destroyed us. There weren't many purebred shapeshifters left; we had interbred to the point that most of us were half-breeds who could only take on two or three shapes. Weredragons, werewolves, creatures like that were half-breeds. They were easy enough to find and kill. It took a very long time for the last of us to be found and destroyed, but by now the extinction of the shapeshifters is all but complete. As far as I know, I am the only one left. One day, perhaps, I'll go looking for others. If I could find a female from my race…' he made a short, contemptuous sound and stopped speaking.

'You shouldn't give up hope,' said Galbatorix. 'I thought my own race was dead, but I found them.'

Faegareth glanced down at him, not without amusement. 'How old are you human?'

'Nineteen.'

'When you are as old as I am, I think you'll find your perspective changing a little,' said Faegareth.

'I don't doubt it,' said Galbatorix, privately wondering if he would live that long. It was difficult to imagine.

As for Laela, she was left to her own devices. The dark elves were respectful toward her, but not overly interested in her, and she found herself increasingly lonely and alienated. Before she knew what was happening, Galbatorix had been almost completely absorbed into the tribe. She hardly saw him any more except in the evenings, and then he was full of talk about the things he was learning and took very little time to ask after her own wellbeing. She accepted it patiently, reminding herself that he must be excited and that at least they were safe now, but as the weeks wore on it began to rankle more and more. She listened to Galbatorix's account of his talk with Faegareth with a little more interest, however.

'It sounds like he was awfully relaxed about it,' Laela observed when he was done.

Galbatorix nodded. 'I expected him to be a little more, well, angry. But he wasn't. I suppose it was such a long time ago that he's accepted it.'

There was silence for a time.

'So,' said Galbatorix. 'What did you do today?'

'The same thing as yesterday,' said Laela. 'Nothing.'

'Oh. I suppose it must be boring… we haven't talked much lately, have we?'

'No,' said Laela.

'What do you think of this place, Laela?'

'It's strange,' said Laela. 'It's… I keep seeing you everywhere I look. It's so strange – you never looked like other humans, but here… here I can see people who remind me of you all the time. You move like them, you know.'

'Oh. Is that bad?'

'No. Just odd. You were right, Galbatorix. They're your people. You fit in with them like you were born here.'

'You don't sound completely happy about that,' said Galbatorix. 'What's wrong, Laela?'

Laela hesitated, her tail twitching slightly in the snow. 'Well,' she blurted, 'Well, I just… it's not that I'm not happy that you found them, but…'

'But what?'

Laela raised her head to look at him. 'Is this going to be our life now, Galbatorix? Are we going to stay here for the rest of our lives? Is this what you're going to do? Become a dark elf?'

'Why not?'

'Is it really what you want?' Laela asked seriously.

For some reason that made him angry. 'Laela, what's wrong with you? Don't you know what this means for me?'

'I'm not sure I do. Tell me.'

'I've found my family, Laela. I've found the thing I've been looking for all my life.' He waved his hands about as he spoke, something he often did when he was feeling particularly impassioned about something. 'Ever since I was a child I've never quite felt like I fitted in anywhere. Nowhere ever felt like home. But this is where I belong, don't you understand? This is my home, my family. The dark elvish ways… they're my ways. How can you think that's a bad thing?'

Laela dug her claws into the ground, churning up earth and snow. 'Calm down. I didn't mean to upset you. Of course it's a good thing. But… it's just that… well, the fact that you never fitted in is one of the things I always loved best about you. It made you unique.'

'I'm still unique,' said Galbatorix. 'I'm still a half-breed, aren't I? Nothing can change that. Isn't it enough?'

'I don't know,' Laela said wretchedly. 'I shouldn't be upset about it, I know that. I suppose I'm just having trouble with how things are changing. It just feels like… well, before, back there-,' she moved her wing, pointing the spiked joint forward to vaguely indicate the direction in which lay Ilirea and their past life, 'I used to feel like I was the only one who understood you. When you came to me because you were lonely or uncertain, those were the times I felt closest to you. And now we're here, I feel like you don't need me any more.'

Galbatorix moved closer to her, scratching her horns with his fingertips. 'Oh, Laela,' he said. 'Don't be silly. I always need you. You know that. No-one will ever take me away from you.'

'Well, all right,' Laela mumbled, closing her eyes in embarrassment. 'But I'm still bored. I've got no-one to talk to.'

'I'm sorry, Laela. I've been neglecting you, haven't I? Well, I'll make it up to you. Tomorrow we'll go flying, and training be damned. All right?'

True to his word, on the following day he excused himself from his lessons and he and Laela went flying together. They left the valley on foot, to avoid attracting attention to its location, and once they were well away from it they took to the air.

They flew on over the Icelands for quite a long way, exploring the great mountains that lay beyond. The climate became even colder the further they went, and in the end the forests ran out and they found themselves flying over an endless icy waste with no sign of anything living anywhere. Beyond that was the sea, dotted with massive icebergs.

The flight took them hours, but they both enjoyed it. Simply spending some time together was what they had both been unconsciously longing for, and as always they gloried in the shared experience of flight and discovery.

They flew back as the sun began to set. It was full night by the time they reached the valley of the dark elves once again, and they returned to Saethryn's clearing, breathless and laughing. The Queen of the dark elves was waiting for them, and beside her were Faegareth in his human form and-

Galbatorix and Laela stopped dead.

It was a dragon. A dragon only a little bigger than Laela, but obviously ancient. Its scales were dark brown, almost black, rough and dull with age. The wings were pale and ragged, but the eyes were burning gold, and the dragon's stance was full of grace and power, its head broad and noble of expression.

'Welcome back, Sire,' said Saethryn, who was looking perfectly composed as she always did. 'And you, Laela. I have someone for you to meet. Please, come forward.'

Galbatorix obeyed. He walked straight toward the ancient dragon and bowed low. Laela did likewise, sensing, like him, that this dragon was at least as old as Nöst, and probably older. The dragon regarded them serenely.

Saethryn put her hand on the dragon's shoulder. 'This is Hyrenna,' she said. 'She is a plains dragon, the last of her race. Like Faegareth she came to us to be protected. The dark elves are masters of hiding, as you know.'

Galbatorix made mental contact with the dragon, as politely as he could. 'Greetings to you, Hyrenna,' he said. 'I am Galbatorix Taranisäii.'

'And I am Laela Snowscales,' Laela added.

Hyrenna put her head on one side and blinked once, slowly. Galbatorix thought he caught a hint of satisfaction in her eyes, but she said nothing.

'Hyrenna does not speak,' said Saethryn. 'She retreated into silence after her race was destroyed.'

Galbatorix looked at the ancient dragon, and for the first time he saw the hunch to her shoulders, and the way her wings drooped. 'I am sorry for your loss,' he said softly.

His right hand clenched by his side, and not for the first time he felt ashamed for being a rider. 'If I could undo what my people did, I would,' he told Hyrenna, laying a hand on his heart in the universal gesture of sincerity.

Hyrenna listened closely, and then sighed. It was a weary sound, but not an impatient one. She made mental contact with him and gently shared a feeling of understanding.

'Hyrenna has been with us for a long time,' Saethryn put in. 'She has been away for the last few weeks, hunting. And for the solitude. Wild dragons are not social creatures, but I'm sure she would appreciate your company, Laela.'

Laela stretched out her neck to touch Hyrenna's snout with her own. The old plains dragon sniffed at her, and the two dragons growled and nosed at each other, baring their teeth and making odd little hissing and snuffling sounds. Hyrenna nuzzled Laela's shoulders in an affectionate kind of way, and Laela said; 'I would be more than happy to.'

After that, things were a little more settled. Laela began spending time with Hyrenna, tending to the old dragon with a gentleness and patience which surprised even Galbatorix. In the evenings when they met to talk and compare notes about their day, she talked affectionately about her. 'Even though she never speaks, she says so much with just her eyes. She's so sad, but so wise. And you know what?'

'What?' said Galbatorix. He was amused and pleased to hear the eagerness in Laela's voice.

'She shared her memories with me,' Laela said proudly. 'Showed me pictures of her old life, just like you show me things sometimes. Do you know that the Hadarac desert wasn't always there? It used to be a big open plain with huge tall grasses growing on it – they looked like an ocean from above, when the wind blew. And the plains dragons lived there. They spent their whole lives in the open like that, hunting for wild horses. They dug hollows in the ground to lay their eggs, and the males helped to raise the youngsters… it was so beautiful, so peaceful. But then-,'

'The riders destroyed them,' Galbatorix supplied dully.

'Yes, they did,' said Laela, losing her enthusiasm. 'They wanted the plains dragons to give them eggs, but they wouldn't. So they used magic to drain all the water out of the plains. The rivers dried up, the grasses died, all the game died of starvation. They thought the plains dragons would give up, but instead they fought back. Spread into the rest of Alagaësia and attacked human and elvish cities for revenge. They all died. Did you see those scars on Hyrenna's flank? That was done by Glaedr – Elder Oromis' dragon. He nearly killed her, but she escaped. Just like Faegareth. Just like us.'

Galbatorix shivered. No matter where he went, it seemed he could not escape from the riders. Even here the shadow of their countless victims lingered on. But, he realised then, he was one of them. One of the survivors. Just like Faegareth. Just like Hyrenna. So much death. Would he be the next to die? Would the riders find him, even here?

Later that day, when he went to Arthryn to learn more of magic, she said; 'There is something on your mind, Sire. May I ask what it is?'

'Please just call me Galbatorix.'

'Then what is troubling you, Galbatorix?'

'Arthryn Far-Seer,' Galbatorix said formally, 'I want to ask you… you've taught me so much about magic. Is there a way to use it to cheat death?'

Arthryn sighed. 'Ah. You mean the spell of true immortality.'

'What spell is that? What does it do?'

'You and I are already immortals,' said Arthryn. 'We can, in theory, live forever. But we are not "true" immortals. You know as well as I that neither of us will truly live forever. No matter what we do, sooner or later death will find us. It may be today, it maybe in a hundred years, but we will die. By poison, by disease, by the sword… we are still vulnerable. But a true immortal is not. A true immortal can never die. They are vulnerable to nothing. Nothing can harm them, not physical danger, not magic. They do not age, they cannot be killed. But the only true immortals who exist are the gods themselves, and their power is not for ordinary people to have. Still, there is a spell which can grant this power and make a god of an ordinary immortal. That is the spell of true immortality.'

'Has anyone ever used it?' Galbatorix asked.

'No. It has been attempted in the past, by a few mad individuals. They all died, and not quickly or pleasantly. Anyone who so much as attempts to use the spell of immortality will be cursed, for to cast it is a crime against gods and men, and against life itself. It violates not just the laws of man and elf, but the caster as well. If someone was to carry it out and live, they would indeed be as a god. But they would live a cursed life from that day on.'

Galbatorix shuddered. 'Would anyone be that mad?'

'Some have been, yes,' said Arthryn.

'But what's so terrible about it? How does it work?'

'Very well. I will tell you, because I would not for one second believe that you would even contemplate it. The spell of true immortality requires a vast amount of energy. The caster must enlist the help of at least ten other magicians, each one at least as powerful and skilled as a fully-trained rider. They must speak the spell in unison with him, and then channel the energy into him. But that energy cannot just come from them. That is why the spell is so unspeakable – it requires sacrifices. To become a true immortal, you would have to steal the lives of a number of powerful beings and take them for yourself. All their energy would be bound into you forever. You would become a hundred times more powerful than the most powerful rider, but to do so you would have to commit the worst kind of murder and violation.'

Galbatorix listened, dumbstruck. He had imagined that it would be terrible, but nowhere near as terrible as this.

Arthryn, however, was not done. 'The spell must be cast on the night of the full moon, when the power of the gods is at its greatest. The words are these…' she began to recite a string of words in an ancient form of dark elvish, which Galbatorix was fairly familiar with by now. He listened closely, unable to stop himself, and repeated them to himself. They had a strange mellifluous sound to them, like honey made into words.

'Now you see why it is better to accept our fate,' said Arthryn. 'Some laws were not made to be broken.'

Galbatorix nodded. 'I understand,' he said. 'If it came to a choice between dying and living like that…'

'Sometimes, death is the only right choice,' Arthryn agreed. 'When you are older you will lose your fear of death. Like fate, we cannot escape it, and we can only live if we learn to embrace it.'

There was a strange resignation in her voice as she said this. Later, Galbatorix would wonder if she had already known what was coming.

That night there was a full moon, one that was unusually bright. It shone down on Galbatorix's little shelter like a second sun, so brightly that it woke Laela up.

The white dragon stirred irritably and moved her head into a shadow in the hopes of getting back to sleep. It didn't work.

After lying there for at least an hour trying in vain to sleep, she sighed and got up. There was no point in trying to sleep if sleep would not come, so she decided to go for a walk to try and calm herself down.

The forest was very still in the moonlight. Everything looked as if it had been made from shadows and silver ice, and time seemed to stand still. Laela wandered among the elvish shelters, staying as silent as she could for fear of waking someone up. The dark elves were semi-nocturnal, and she saw a few of them up and about. Dozens of Galbatorixes; older, younger, taller or shorter, but all him. She still could not shake that feeling off. The only things that distinguished him from them were his slightly ragged rounded ears, and his curly hair, a trait that did not exist among the dark elves.

Laela followed the steam, without any particular goal in mind. She did like the moonlight, and the silence made her feel peaceful. She paused to drink from the icy water, realising suddenly that she was quite close to the sacred pool where she was still not permitted to go.

As she paused there, she saw a movement from the dense trees ahead and lifted her snout to look, water dripping from her jaws. It was Arthryn, all alone.

Laela bowed her head respectfully to the old seer. 'I'm sorry, Arthryn. I didn't mean to come so close to the pool.'

Arthryn stood by the trunk of a tree, her walking staff in her hand. She looked strangely weak, her head drooping as if from exhaustion, and Laela saw her gripping the tree's rough bark as if she were taking strength from it.

'Are you all right?' she asked.

'Well enough, Laela Snowscales,' said Arthryn. 'But I am sad.'

'May I ask why?'

Arthryn watched her for a moment. 'I am sad for him,' she said.

Laela did not need to ask who she was talking about. 'Why? He seems happy enough here. Finding your people gave him a new reason to live, you know.'

Arthryn shook her head slowly, her face full of misery. 'He is such a fine man. He has a courage and a strength in him that I have never seen before, and he has a good heart.'

'I know,' said Laela, not without pride.

'He does not deserve what lies ahead,' said Arthryn.

Laela's heart beat faster. 'What is it, Arthryn Far-Seer? What have you seen?'

'He does not wish to be the King he will be,' said Arthryn.

'Of course he doesn't. Why should he? He has no ambition for it. He's just a boy, Arthryn. He wants adventure, not some mad idea of becoming a King. And a King of what, exactly? The dark elves? Is that what you meant?'

'I do not know,' said Arthryn. 'But I have seen him with a crown on his head, seated on a dark throne. I have seen him as a King. But I have seen other things, and you will not like them, Snowscales.'

'What is it?' said Laela, tensing. 'Tell me.'

'I have seen him fight in terrible wars, seated on a dragon's back. And that dragon was not you.'

Laela froze. 'What? I don't understand – how can that be possible?'

Again Arthryn shook her head. 'I only know what I saw, and I saw him ride into battle on a dragon that was not you.'

Laela bared her teeth. 'If you think I would let him fight alone-,'

'I am sorry, Laela, but it cannot be changed. No matter what you do, no matter what either of you do, he will lose you. And it will tear him apart.'

'NO!'

'I am sorry,' Arthryn repeated softly.

Tears sprang into Laela's eyes. 'I can't… no. No. I don't want to… I can't… please, Arthryn. It's not true, it can't be true, I won't let it…'

'The future cannot be changed,' said Arthryn. 'Not yours and not mine. Accept it, Laela, and be at peace.'

Laela glared at her. 'No,' she said. 'I will not let it happen. Nothing can tear me away from him, and nothing ever will.'

Arthryn bowed her head, her whole demeanour full of terrible despair. Laela turned and left, her tail thrashing, and the old seer watched her go without saying a word.

The next few days were agony for Laela. She did not tell Galbatorix what Arthryn had said. She ached to tell him, and several times she nearly did. She tried to dismiss it, to convince herself that it was untrue, but she couldn't, and she longed to hear Galbatorix's gentle voice telling her that all was well, that he would stay with her and never leave.

But she kept it to herself, and the words chased themselves endlessly through her head, tormenting her and refusing to leave her alone. She threw herself into everything she did, driven by a kind of desperate enthusiasm, but not even Hyrenna's gentle presence could soothe her.

In the end, she could bear it no longer. She began to speak to every one of the dark elves, begging them to tell her some way to stop Arthryn's prophecy from coming true. They listened sympathetically, but every single one told her the same thing. It was impossible. No matter what she did, it would happen regardless.

In desperation, she turned to Queen Saethryn, to Arthryn's acolytes, to Faegareth, Arthryn herself… she even, in the end, talked to some of the children. Saethryn was kind and understanding, but simply repeated what the rest of her people had said. The acolytes told her it was the will of the gods, and advised her to meditate in the moonlight until she was at peace with reality. Faegareth coldly told her that hysteria achieved nothing and she would do well to keep her head. Arthryn said nothing at all, and the children only laughed.

Laela, by now at the end of her tether, cursed rudely at the acolytes and returned to Hyrenna's side, taking some small comfort from the old dragon's company.

Hyrenna seemed aware of the younger dragon's agitation. She nosed at Laela's shoulders, her great eyes concerned.

Laela looked back at her. 'Hello, Hyrenna. I'm sorry I haven't been with you much lately. I've been busy.'

Hyrenna indicated curiosity.

'Well…' Laela hesitated a moment, and then, in a rush of words, told her everything. Hyrenna listened closely. Afterwards she radiated a feeling of deep sadness and sympathy, one which was so powerful that it calmed some of Laela's fears.

'I'm sure you understand,' she said gratefully. 'You already know what loss is like.'

Hyrenna put her head on one side in that gentle way of hers, and sighed.

For some reason it made Laela feel better.

That evening, as always, she returned to Galbatorix's shelter. He was already there, eating a piece of acorn bread. 'Hello!' he said cheerfully. 'How was your day?' Without waiting for an answer, he said; 'Guess what happened to me today?'

Laela lay down beside him. 'Go on.'

'You know Ystwelyn's daughter, Fynadd? Well, today she told me that she likes me and she wants me to… well, you know.' He grinned bashfully. 'She's beautiful. I told Arthryn about it, and she was pleased. She said that even if I spend the rest of my life just living here, if I were to take a dark elvish maiden as my lover and father children by her, it would be a great gift to the tribe. Children are a blessing to us, you see.'

He had said 'us', Laela noticed. Not 'them'. Us. He had become a dark elf through and through. 'That's wonderful,' she said.

Galbatorix didn't miss the lack of enthusiasm in her voice. 'What's the matter?' he asked.

'Hmm? Oh… nothing. Nothing. Don't worry about me, I'll be fine.'

But she was not, and she knew it. That night she lay awake by the shelter, full of a terrible fear. All she could think of was Galbatorix. They had been together for so long that she could not imagine living without him. Since the day she had hatched he had been part of her – the other half of her heart. She loved him more deeply than she had ever loved Thrain, more deeply than she could love anyone else. He was more than her greatest friend; he was her. Her safety. Her comfort. Her shelter. And she was going to lose him.

Tears began to brim in Laela's eyes. She tried to fight them off, but they overpowered her. She curled up alone in the snow and began to sob softly as a deadening wave of despair swept through her. No, she thought, again and again. No, no, no, no…

Something warm touched her forehead, and she looked up dully. It was Hyrenna, standing over her and looking at her, her golden eyes full of warmth, like a mother looking on her hatchling. Laela controlled herself with some effort, rising to greet the old dragon. 'Hello,' she said, her mental voice shaky.

'Why are you crying, Laela?'

Laela started. 'You spoke!'

'You cry for thy rider,' said Hyrenna. Her mental voice was rich and ancient. 'I feel it.'

'Yes,' said Laela. 'Yes, that's why… Hyrenna, I thought-,'

'I have broken my silence,' said Hyrenna. 'For thee, Laela. Tell me thy sorrow, white-scaled one.'

Laela turned her head to look through the entrance of the shelter, where Galbatorix lay on his side, sleeping deeply in his bed of furs. 'I don't want to lose him,' she said.

'It is thy fate, Laela. Why do you fight against it?'

Laela looked into the old dragon's face. 'Because I love him,' she said simply.

Hyrenna sighed and nodded. 'Love. I understand this well, for I loved my family. My mate, my parents, my chicks, all precious to me and by fate taken from me forever.'

'Then you understand what it's like,' said Laela. 'I don't want that to happen to me. Please, Hyrenna. I want to stay with him.'

Hyrenna nuzzled her gently. 'I understand this, Snowscales, I understand this well. But hear this true. There is no escape from fate. Many have tried, all have failed. There are forces in this world which we can neither understand nor control, and those forces take power even over the gods themselves.'

'But there has to be something I can do,' Laela said desperately.

Hyrenna looked at her, then into the gloom of the shelter where Galbatorix lay. 'What wouldst thou give for his sake, Laela? Truly, what wouldst thou do?'

'He's my rider,' said Laela. 'I would die for him.'

Hyrenna sighed her weary sigh. 'There is a way for thee to protect him from his fate. Only one way. But it is a way that will cost thee dearly.'

'I don't care,' Laela said at once. 'Tell me, Hyrenna. Please.'

'Thou must tear out thy heart,' said Hyrenna.

Laela paused. 'My heart?'

Hyrenna nodded. 'The energy that is thy life-force, the centre of thy being – that is thy heart. Rip it from thy chest, and place it inside him. That way, no matter what happens, some part of thee will always live inside him. It will protect him, strengthen him. But know this, Laela Snowscales, and know it true. If ye do this, it will leave thee crippled for life. Thy magic will be lost forever; no longer wilt thou breathe fire, and thy strength will be diminished. The sacrifice will be so great that death may be preferable. So choose wisely, Laela. Woulst thou do this to thyself for his sake?'

'I- I don't know,' Laela faltered.

Hyrenna looked at her. 'Choose,' she said, and left as silently as she had come.

For a long time after she had gone, Laela stood alone in the moonlight, watching Galbatorix sleep. His breathing was deep and peaceful, his pale face serene. He mumbled something and turned over, and as his hand appeared from under the furs she could see the gedwëy ignaesia on his palm, shimmering like a tiny moon.

Laela whimpered softly. She could not ignore Arthryn's words, nor forget them. She knew in her heart of hearts that, no matter how much she tried to deny it, the seer was right. Laela too had had dreams – dreams shared with Galbatorix. She had seen the darkness Arthryn had foretold made manifest in those dreams. He was doomed to suffer, and there was nothing anyone could do to stop it. And she would not be able to save him. But if she chose to do as Hyrenna had said, even at so high a price, it could help him. And if he was indeed fated to lose her, then she would do whatever she could to give him her protection before that happened.

Laela looked at him, so small and vulnerable lying there, and then she was sure.