Chapter Twenty-Three

Salvation and a Shade

In spite of his exhaustion and weakness, Galbatorix fought every step of the way back toward the dungeons. Even though his hands were chained together, he hurled himself at his guards, shoving them against the walls and trying to kick and headbutt them, ignoring their armour and weapons. They hit him to try and subdue him, but he fought on, like a wild animal in captivity, his eye blackening and blood coming from his nose, wrenching at his chains.

It could not save him. He was taken down to the dungeons, into a room where a wooden frame stood in the middle of the floor. The guards pulled his robe off, leaving him clad in nothing but his boots and trousers, and shackled his wrists to the frame above his head. Half-hanging by the wrists, he forced his head around and saw one of them pick up a whip.

'No! Stop! Stop it! AARGH!'

The whip came down for the first time, and then again and again. He screamed and cursed at them, trying desperately to break free, but the whip continued to strike him, breaking the skin in a hundred different places and leaving deep, bleeding welts.

And Galbatorix Taranisäii screamed.

In the elders' cave high above, an argument was taking place. Saraswati confronted Vrael, openly angry with him for the first time in years. 'For the love of gods, Vrael, you can't do this! It's inhuman!'

'The law must-,'

'To hell with the law!' Saraswati shouted. 'Have you lost your mind? How could you do this to someone?'

'Saraswati, the boy is a traitor,' said Vrael, trying to stay calm. 'He must be punished, or we will have failed.'

'I agree with Saraswati,' said Yansan. 'You saw him, Vrael. He's suffered enough.'

'Are you saying I should spare him?' Vrael asked coldly, his anger rising. 'After what he did?'

'I don't care what he did,' said Yansan. 'No-one should suffer like this. Are we tyrants like the kings of old? Your kind taught us compassion, and we must show it now or we will have made monsters of ourselves.'

There was an angry muttering from among the elders at large. Yansan and Saraswati, the two humans, glanced at each other but stood firm. But the remaining three, Oromis, Menulis and Vrael, remained steadfast.

'You know what he is,' said Menulis. 'We all know. He violated the very meaning of what it is to be rider when he became one of us, and that cannot go unpunished.'

'You!' Vrael burst forth, turning furiously toward the other elf. 'You're to blame for all this! You let the creature live! What were you thinking? You should have had the cursed monster killed at birth, but what did you do?'

'I couldn't kill a child,' Menulis snapped back. 'How could I? I am a rider and I value life. Even the life of a half-breed.'

'Even the life of a traitor?' Vrael sneered.

Menulis hesitated. 'No. A traitor's life is worthless. I cannot disagree with you there.'

'Just kill him,' said Saraswati, taking hold of Vrael's arm. 'Please, Vrael. Have mercy on him. Don't make him suffer the traitor's death. Just kill him quickly, in private. Make a quick end to it.'

Vrael hesitated. 'I cannot be soft on traitors. No matter who they are. Justice must be seen to be done, and if we are kinder to one of our own it will be seen as favouritism.'

'Vrael, the boy is insane,' said Yansan. 'Anyone can see that. There is no justice or satisfaction in killing someone who probably isn't even aware of why it is happening. If we bring him out into the open air in the state he's in, what will that look like? You tell me that, if you can.'

'Don't you dare question me,' Vrael spat, while behind him Nöst bared his teeth in a snarl. 'For as long as I remain ruler of Alagaësia, disloyalty will be punished with death. The boy will die the traitor's death, tomorrow. That is my will.'

Oromis nodded. 'I agree. It must be so.'

Menulis hesitated a moment, then said; 'I agree also.'

Vrael looked challengingly at Saraswati. She faltered, and then glanced at Yansan, silently asking him for his support.

Yansan looked around at Oromis, Menulis and Vrael, and then sighed. 'If that is your will, Lord Vrael, then so be it.'

Saraswati said nothing. She turned her back on Vrael and nimbly climbed onto the back of her own dragon, Vandana, who flew out of the cave without pausing to acknowledge the other elders.

So it was that Galbatorix's fate was sealed.

By the time the guard put down the whip, Galbatorix's back was a mass of torn and bloodied flesh. He hung limply from the frame, the manacles drawing blood from his wrists, the last of his resistance gone, his harsh, wounded breathing the only sound he made. One of the guards unfastened the manacles, and he crumpled onto the floor. They roughly put his robe back on him, and then dragged him away by the shoulders, out of the room and into the dungeon corridors. They passed several occupied cells along the way. From one of them, an old elf watched them pass and sighed.

When they reached the empty cell at the end of the corridor, the guards kicked the door open and dumped their prisoner inside. He made no attempt to get up. One of the guards departed. The other paused for a moment in the doorway. 'Sit there and think about what you've done, half-breed,' he sneered. 'D'you know what they do to traitors? In the morning they'll hang you, tear your guts out and then rip your heart out and show it to the crowd. Should be a sight to see. Does a half-breed even have a heart? I dunno, but I'm gonna watch to find out.'

The door slammed shut, leaving Galbatorix alone. He made no move for some time, but eventually he managed to get up off the floor. He dragged himself into a corner and huddled there, curled up with his face in his hands.

Time dragged on in the darkness. Maybe hours, maybe minutes. It felt like years. He dozed fitfully, woke and then slept again. And he dreamed strange fragmented dreams. But all the while, waking or sleeping, he could not rid himself of the vision that burnt in his brain. He saw Laela die, over and over again, her eyes looking into his, her pain his torment, her death his destruction. There was no release in madness now. His memories had returned, and they were a far worse torture than the lash-marks on his back. He cried alone in the dark, sobbing weakly into his hands, his mind screaming out for her. Laela.

But there was no answering voice, and there never would be again. Laela was dead.

Later, when he revived a little, he looked around in the dim light and found a jug of water that had been placed in the cell for him. He lifted it in his shaking hands and drank deeply. As he rested between swallows, looking blankly into the jug, he saw something looking back. It looked like the face of a corpse. Sunken and waxy, the lower half obscured by matted black hair, one side bruised and swollen and the nose crusted with blood. But the eyes that stared out of it were not even remotely human.

Galbatorix knew he was looking at himself. He let out an anguished scream and hurled the jug away. It shattered against the wall, and before he knew what he was doing he had risen to his feet and thrown himself at the cell door, battering himself against it in a maddened frenzy.

His body thumped against the solid wood, sending pain crackling through him, but he continued to hit the door with all his strength, raving and screaming, shouting one word over and over again. 'LAELA! LAELA!' Madness took him again, and he punched the door as hard as he could. His fingers made an audible cracking sound when they broke, and he laughed.

But his burst of energy did not last long, and in the end he fell onto his stomach once more and lay still, his back bleeding. In the instant that he hit the floor, a wave of powerful despair swept over him. He was going to die. The riders had him again, and this time there would be no escape. It was all over. His life was finished when it had barely begun. Tomorrow he would be killed; broken and dismembered before a jeering crowd, just like the one that had come to taunt his parents.

Yet the prospect did not scare him. Here and now, when he was aware of himself once more and able to remember what had happened and know what he had become, he no longer wanted to live.

When at last he heard the cell door open, he welcomed the sound. He lay absolutely still and let them lift him off the floor, his head hanging, eyes closed. From somewhere far, far away he heard a voice.

'…Arren? Arren, can you hear me?'

Galbatorix mumbled something unintelligible.

A hand touched his face, and a second voice said; 'My gods, Arren, what did they do to you?'

Galbatorix found his voice again. 'Laela…'

'Arren, it's me,' the first voice said. 'It's Brom. I've come to help you.'

Galbatorix forced his eyes open. Instead of the cruel faces of the guards, he saw Brom and Morzan looking at him, their expressions full of concern. Brom. Morzan. The names wandered through his mind, and he sighed and let his head drop again.

Brom looked at Morzan. 'Come on, Morzan, let's get him out of here.'

The two riders carried Galbatorix out of the cell, as quickly and quietly as they could. He found his feet and stumbled along between them, too confused to know what was going on. A couple of guards challenged them, but Brom said; 'We're taking him. Don't even think about stopping us. You never saw anything, understand?'

The guards withdrew, too much in awe of the two riders to interfere.

Morzan and Brom took Galbatorix out of the tower under cover of darkness, and only stopped when they were in the open air. There they took shelter in an alley and had a hurried, whispered argument.

'How're we going to get him out of the city? Someone's bound to see us…'

'So what? We'll tell 'em to mind their own damn business, what're they going to do to us?'

'Someone'll tell Vrael, you idiot, if he finds out it was us-,'

'I know what to do.'

They froze. 'What?' said Brom.

It was Galbatorix who had spoken. He straightened up, moving away from them to stand on his own two feet, and they stared at him in astonishment.

'Arren, are you all right?' said Morzan.

Galbatorix fixed him with a look that made him cringe. 'My name is Galbatorix. Galbatorix Taranisäii. Let me help you.' He took two steps back, and vanished.

Brom and Morzan gasped. 'What the-?' Brom started.

Galbatorix reappeared. 'Use the shadows,' he commanded them. 'Follow me.'

He melted away into the darkness. They just barely saw a shadow move away down the street, and they hurried after it as fast as they could go. Galbatorix led them through the city, weaving in and out of the streets, keeping to the shadows. They nearly lost him several times, but the faint sound of his feet on the ground was just enough. Neither of them could disappear as he did, but they did their best to keep hidden until they reached the edge of the city, and there he reappeared by one of the gates and stood there, waiting for them.

Brom caught up, panting. 'How did you do that?'

Galbatorix grinned at him; a horrible, crazed, wolfish grin. 'Because I am Galbatorix,' he said. The grin disappeared suddenly and he looked at both Brom and Morzan with a strange, folorn expression. 'Do you know where she is?' he asked them abruptly. 'I can't find her.'

'Find who?' said Morzan.

'Laela. I don't know where she is. Do you know where I can find her?'

Brom and Morzan exchanged glances. 'She's dead, Galbatorix,' Brom said softly. 'Don't you remember?'

Galbatorix looked at him blankly. 'Dead? But… I don't… I can't…' he turned suddenly and darted through the gate. Brom and Morzan ran after him and into the trees beyond, where they halted. There was no sign of Galbatorix anywhere, and for a moment they thought they had lost him, but they found him standing by a tree, nearly invisible.

Morzan held out White Violence in its sheath. 'Here,' he said. 'I got it back for you.'

Galbatorix took it, holding it uncertainly as if he didn't know what it was. Brom gave him a bag of food. 'Take it,' he said. 'Get out of here and never come back. There's nothing more we can do for you.'

Galbatorix watched them with a wary expression. 'Flell,' he said suddenly. 'I remember… what happened to her? Where is she?'

'She finished her training,' said Brom. 'They sent her off on an assignment. I don't know where.'

'But what about the child?'

'Stillborn. I'm sorry, Galbatorix.'

His expression did not change. 'Thankyou,' he said quietly. 'Both of you.'

Brom shook his head. 'I couldn't let them kill you,' he said. 'I just… did you really do all those terrible things?'

Galbatorix looked at him, and Brom noticed that he was keeping his right hand cradled against his chest. 'I can't even remember any more,' he said. 'But it doesn't matter. I'm all over and done with. They killed me, Brom. They destroyed me. Get away from them. Don't let them turn you into an elf. Don't become them. Be human, Brom. Always be human…' his voice faded away, and so did he. One moment he was there, and the next he was gone. Morzan peered at the ground where he had been standing, as if hoping to find some clue there.

'Look,' he said, pointing at a dark patch on the leaf-litter.

It was blood.

Later in life, when he looked back on those dark days and nights, he could never tell where or how he got the strength to do what he then did. While he was lying in his cell, waiting silently for death to come, he felt all but dead. But when Brom and Morzan had taken him out of there and into the open air, it was as if he had just woken up. The wild, animal instinct that had kept him alive on the terrible journey from the Icelands took over and led him out of the city and toward freedom.

He let himself vanish into the dark forest, and from then on things changed once more.

Mentally, he was a little better than he'd been before. There were still blanks in his memory, and from time to time he would be struck by crippling fear and grief, which at its worst would leave him unable to travel for days at a time. But he was no longer incapable of thought or reasoning. He was regaining a little of his humanity, slowly but surely, and his former panic attacks left and were replaced by something that was, in a way, worse. Where there had been fear and bewilderment, there was now nothing but a deep, dark coldness inside him. His haggard face became bare and empty of emotion, his stare hard and icy. It was not hope that drove him on now, but rage that hardened into a powerful, bitter determination to stay alive, to keep on going, not to give in and let his enemies win.

He travelled alone and in silence, moving in shadows at night, neither seen nor heard by anyone. He became a living shadow; a dark and nameless spectre with neither name nor face. After a time he was able to fight through the block in his mind and regain the use of his magic, but he did not have the energy to do more than crudely heal his broken fingers. The lash-marks on his back remained as they were, and he bore the pain stoicly, treating the wounds as best he could with whatever herbs he could find.

At night he would slip into homes and onto farmlands and steal food to keep his bag full. Twice he was caught doing this, but he was still fast. The first time he escaped into the forest and stayed in the shelter of a shadow, grimly watching the villagers hunting for him in vain. The second time he was cornered, but knocked his discoverer out cold and was gone by the time people came to investigate. But in spite of both these near misses, he was in little danger of being recognised. He had simply changed too much for that to happen. His face was obscured by his new beard, his clothes were rags, and he covered White Violence's hilt with mud and kept his still-injured right hand bound up with strips of cloth. His appearance now was that of a common beggar, and he was content for it to remain that way, although he derived some wry amusement from the fact that he kept absent-mindedly trying to comb the tangles out of his hair.

It was hard and dangerous life, but a simple one. He had only one goal besides staying alive; to find a place where he could hide until he had recovered his strength. Several times he found places where he was able to hang on for a few days, but he was always forced to move on. And he quickly found that he was not, after all, as strong as he had thought. The welts on his back became infected, and steadily worsened as the weeks went by. The infection poisoned his blood, and he became ill and feverish. Though he forced himself to keep going, the sickness was not something he could simply will away. It took hold of him and would not let him go. He slept more but suffered from fever-dreams that ate away at his already ragged sanity, and when awake he had spells of dizziness and confusion and was sometimes unable to see straight. The disease continued to progress, and he began to throw up and have fits of shaking and hallucinations, followed by occasional fainting.

He became too confused and distressed to continue hiding effectively, and at a place called Yazuac he was spotted and recognised by a rider who was in the area. There was a near-capture, a brief scuffle and an escape, and he fled over land toward the Spine. Driven by some peverse inner strength that might have been pure willpower, he reached a tiny village called Carvahall, and there his journey ended. Half-blind and shivering with fever, he slipped through the houses in the dead of night and took shelter in the forest beyond. There, he collapsed. And there he was found.

For a long time he wandered through a dream. He saw Laela. She was standing on a snowfield, large as life, alive and smiling at him, eyes bright. He ran to her, but could not reach her, and he realised that the snow all about was ashes and bones. Laela cried out to him, suddenly frightened, and as he strove in vain to get to her the skin sloughed away from her body, leaving only a skeleton behind. The empty eye-sockets stared accusingly at him, and then the bones collapsed in on themselves and crumbled into dust.

After that there was nothing. He slid in and out of consciousness, aware of nothing but burning heat all around him, as if he were lying in the middle of a fire. He was able to wonder, briefly, if he was dying.

At last – at long last – he opened his eyes and saw a face looking down at him. It was thin and pale, the forehead marked by eerie black tattoos. It looked human, but he knew it was not. The hair was crimson, and the eyes were the colour of blood, cold and powerful and without emotion.

There was a strange presence in his mind. He could feel it probing at him, as Laela had once done when she was trying to understand what he was thinking. But this presence was alien to him. It was hard, metallic, cold as the grave, and he could feel it boring into him like a worm. He fended it off, pushing it away. The presence resisted, but he was stronger than it was, and he rid himself of it after a brief struggle and shut it out of his mind.

The face above him creased slightly, as if in pain.

Galbatorix managed to find his voice. 'Who?' he whispered.

The blood-coloured eyes examined him coolly, and after a few seconds a voice replied. 'I am Durza.'

That was all that was said for a long time. Galbatorix did not remember falling asleep, but he woke and slept again, for once untouched by dreams. When he woke again, he knew he was not going to die. He was in a cave, lying against one rough stone wall with several blankets over him. There was a fire burning somewhere off to his left. The red-eyed man who called himself Durza was nearby, and silently gave him some water. Galbatorix drank it. He wanted to ask where he was, but he couldn't find the words. He slept again.

The fever lasted for a long time. All he could do was sleep, wake and drink a little water every now and then. He lost all sense of time, all sense of place. There was only an endless now. Sometimes he dreamed and thought he was awake. Sometimes he was awake and thought he was dreaming.

The fever began to recede, and he slowly became more aware of his surroundings, enough to know that there was someone caring for him. A cool piece of wet cloth bathed his forehead, and warm hands touched him, encouraging him to take some water and a little food. It was those hands, that warm presence, that slowly brought him back to himself. And at last, one day, he woke up and saw the face.

Not Durza's. The face seemed to hover over him in a blaze of light, haloed by a glow of gold.

It was the face of an elf. And to him, at that moment, it was the most beautiful elf he had ever seen.

A curious sense of peace came to him. 'Who are you?' he murmured. 'You're beautiful.'

The elf started slightly, blinking in surprise when she saw he was awake. 'I'm Skade,' she said. 'How do you feel?'

'Weak,' Galbatorix said truthfully. 'But I'm getting better.'

The elf did not smile. When he shook off his confusion and looked at her properly, he was a little puzzled by the way she looked. There was a curious wildness about her appearance, and something not quite right about her face. Her long hair was silver – not grey, but true silver, with a strange shine to it, as if it were made from metal. Her skin had a faint silvery sheen to it, and when she spoke he noticed that her teeth were sharp, the canines protruding very slightly over the lower lip. And her eyes were… not elvish eyes at all. They were burning gold with slitted pupils. But to him she looked beautiful.

He sighed and lay still, knowing he was too weak to sit up just yet. 'I'm Galbatorix,' he said. 'Galbatorix Taranisäii.'

Skade brought him water. 'Here, drink,' she said. 'Can you eat something?'

He drank as deeply as he could, and felt some of the burning heat leave his body. 'I'll try,' he said.

Skade brought him dry bread. He couldn't chew it properly, so she soaked it in water for him and he was able to eat some of it, too hungry to care about how it tasted. He was aching to talk to her some more, but he slept again after that in spite of himself.

Next morning he woke up feeling much stronger. He was able to sit up with Skade's help, and she stayed with him and helped him to eat. When she got up to fetch more water, he watched her appreciatively. She wore a long, ragged silver gown that reminded him a little of Arthryn, and there was something a little odd about the way she moved. She did not have the easy grace he would have expected an elf to have; in fact she walked clumsily, frequently stopping and holding onto the wall to keep herself upright. In fact, just about everything she did was slightly awkward. There was a clumsiness in the way she gripped things, and a lack of expression in her face. At the same time, she had an odd way of looking quickly around her, her head making a little darting motion that reminded him of a bird.

There was a strange black mark on the side of her neck, like a tattoo, but shaped vaguely like a scar or a bolt of lightning. And, when she handed him a mug of water, he saw that her fingernails were curved black claws.

Yet all this only served to make him more and more fascinated by her. He waited until she was sitting beside him, and then said; 'Who are you, Skade? How did you find me?'

'I didn't,' she said abruptly. 'Durza did.'

'Durza…' the name sounded vaguely familiar.

'The Shade,' said Skade.

Galbatorix started. 'A Shade?'

'Yes. Didn't you know? There are two of them here.'

Galbatorix gripped his mug, blinking a little stupidly. This was more than he could cope with right now. He knew what a Shade was, of course. They were former human beings, once sorcerers who had dealt with dark spirits that were too strong for them. These spirits invaded the doomed sorcerer's body and turned it into a vessel for them. A Shade was extremely powerful in magic and notoriously difficult to kill. It was said that Shades had no capacity for any kind of emotion, and that they were only interested in one thing: power. Not power for anything, but just power, and as much of it as could be found. Any kind of power. Magical, political, physical… anything.

'Why would a Shade bring me here?' he wondered aloud. 'Why not just leave me to die?'

'He took pity on you,' said Skade.

'Pity? A Shade, feeling pity?'

'Shades can still be compassionate,' said Skade, a touch irritably. 'Rangda-,'

'Who?'

'Rangda is also a Shade,' said Skade. 'She brought me here. She and Durza are away right now. I've been looking after you.'

'I know,' said Galbatorix. 'And… thankyou for that.' He plucked up courage and took hold of her hand. She looked blankly at it, but made no attempt to pull away.

'It was nothing,' she said. 'I didn't… I felt sorry for you because of what the riders did to you.'

'Yes…' Galbatorix looked away. 'You know about that, do you?'

'Durza told me. He said your dragon died and the riders exiled you when you asked for another one.'

Galbatorix tried to remember what had happened that day. 'They wanted to kill me,' he said.

'I saw what they did to your back,' said Skade. She bared her sharp teeth suddenly, and a low growl rumbled in her throat. 'I hate the riders. I hate them as much as I hate elves. They're lying scum.'

Galbatorix sighed and put down the mug. 'I know, Skade. Oh, I know. But how did you get to be here?'

'The elves betrayed me,' said Skade. 'And the riders as well. My friend betrayed me, left me to suffer. I would have died, but Rangda found me.'

Galbatorix felt a powerful sympathy toward her. 'I'm sorry, Skade,' he said softly, squeezing her hand. 'I… well, I know what betrayal feels like. Believe me, I know.'

'I know you do,' said Skade. 'That's why… when they said you were a rider, I thought that meant you were my enemy. But when Durza told me what happened to you, I knew you were just like me.'

'What happened to you?' Galbatorix asked. 'What did they do to you?'

'They cursed me,' said Skade. Her normally expressionless face contorted. 'They cursed me,' she snarled. 'Took away my dignity. Made me hideous.'

'You're not hideous,' Galbatorix told her.

Skade ignored him. 'They did this to me because of who my father was,' she said. 'I never even knew him, but they hated him. Those foul elves hated me…'

'Elves?' said Galbatorix. 'But you're an elf.'

Skade roared. Her mouth opened wide, baring her sharp, animal teeth, and the sound that emerged was a sound no elf could ever make. It echoed through the cave, loud and savage. She turned on him furiously, hitting him in the chest, her claws slashing through the remains of his clothes. 'I – AM – NOT – AN ELF!' she screamed.

Galbatorix fended her off as best he could, making no attempt to strike back. She calmed down slightly and stopped hitting him. 'I am not an elf,' she said again. 'Don't you dare say that, human. Never say that.'

'I'm sorry!' Galbatorix exclaimed, too shocked to be angry. 'I'm sorry, Skade. I didn't – but you look like an elf.'

'I am NOT an elf,' Skade rasped. 'They cursed me to look like this. They made me into the thing I hate. They destroyed me.'

Destroyed… 'If you're not an elf, then what are you?'

Skade drew herself up proudly. 'I am a dragon,' she said. 'Skade Silverscales, daughter of the Night Dragon, hatched in Ellesméra.'

Galbatorix gaped at her. 'A dragon?' And then, quite suddenly, he remembered. 'Oh my gods… you're her. You're the dragon who ran away with Einás the Egg-Guardian. You're the one who attacked Queen Islanzadí.'

Skade lost a little of her pride. 'I am,' she said.

'I saw you,' said Galbatorix. 'I saw you escape from Ellesméra that day. They told me to go after you, but I said no. I let you get away because I was tired of being told what to do by elves.' He grinned, the first true grin he'd worn in a long time. 'The other riders weren't happy.'

Skade smiled at that. It was the first smile he had seen her use since they had met. 'Thankyou for that,' she said. 'I'm sorry I attacked you. But being trapped like this is a nightmare.'

'I understand,' said Galbatorix, ignoring the stinging cuts on his chest. 'I mean… well… look what they made out of me.' He touched his face and grinned wryly. It was so strange to be making jokes again, but he liked it. It reminded him of being with Laela.

'You must be very strong,' Skade said softly. 'To survive for so long like that. I always thought humans were weak, but you're not.'

'Oh…' Galbatorix shrugged. 'Well. I suppose I kept on going because I didn't want them to beat me. But why…' he lost his smile. 'I don't know why I stayed alive. I have nothing left. The riders will find me, and then they'll kill me. But…' he looked straight at Skade, feeling a wild, mad courage, and said, 'But now I'm glad I didn't give up.'

'Why?' said Skade.

'Because-,' Galbatorix paused, then went on before his courage deserted him. 'Because now I've met you.'

Skade blinked at him, and then laughed. 'You're mad, human.'

He gave her a wounded look. 'I know.'