Chapter Twenty-Seven

Apprehension

For the next few days, Galbatorix lived in the crypt with Shruikan and did his best to get by. He left the crypt every night and went into the city to steal food and, occasionally, frighten some unsuspecting soul. He even, in the end, went out during the day as well, to see if his new appearance would be enough to keep him anonymous. It worked. No-one looked twice at him, and although there were a few rude remarks about his increasingly wild and shaggy-looking hair, he blended in with the crowd almost perfectly. It meant he was able to legitimately buy things, so he used the last of his money to buy himself some proper food, as well as some meat for Shruikan.

The black dragon remained wild and untrusting, preferring to hide in the vault, which Galbatorix left slightly open for him, although he did in the end venture out to explore the crypt. He was soon testing his wings, climbing up onto the tombs and launching himself from the tops, trying out a clumsy glide. After a few days he was getting steadily better at it. His claws hardened, and he sharpened them on the stone, growling to himself. He had a hunter's instinct, and spent a lot of time scuttling around the floor, hunting for mice and rats. Galbatorix brought him plenty of food, and he thrived on it, although he refused to let Galbatorix touch him. His speech improved, and he became less monosyllabic, though he was not talkative and listened to whatever Galbatorix said to him in silence. He was not like Laela at all; he was a wild dragon through and through, and clearly did not like being cooped up underground like this. But Galbatorix would not let him leave and was careful to weight down the trapdoor whenever he left, for fear that the dragon would try and escape. He felt cruel doing this, but he knew perfectly well that if Shruikan was seen in the streets he would be in danger straight away.

Shruikan started to grow almost immediately, and Galbatorix knew that in a few months he would be too big to live in the crypt. It was an excellent hiding place, but sooner or later he was going to have to leave it. And yet, if he let Shruikan out, he knew what would happen then. The dragon wouldn't stay with him. If he got the chance he would fly away, and Galbatorix wouldn't be able to find him. He'd go back to the Spine, most likely, and there the other wild dragons would rip him to pieces. Or, if he didn't fly away, he might decide to turn on the man who was, technically, his gaoler. If Galbatorix didn't somehow win his allegiance before then, the result could be death for one or both of them. No, he could not stay in the crypt. He would have to leave it, and soon, while Shruikan was still small enough to be restrained.

But where could he go? Somewhere in the wilderness, perhaps. But hiding out on his own was easy. Doing it in the company of a half-grown dragon – a dragon that, moreover, was completely different from any other dragon – would be nigh-on impossible, especially if that dragon was uncooperative and didn't want to be with him.

He wrestled over the problem endlessly, lurking in shadows at night and stalking people through the streets, his mind occupied with the various ways of dealing with it. If only Shruikan trusted him, if only he could ask him to help, but the dragon was too young to understand complex ideas, and too savage to listen. Sometimes Galbatorix felt resentful toward him for effectively ruining his chances of staying in Teirm. But he couldn't help but grow fond of the hatchling as well. Although he was so untrusting and uncompromising, he was intelligent and brave; brave enough to show no fear of Galbatorix, even though he was many times bigger than him and could have killed him with his bare hands. He also showed curiosity rather than fear when he saw Galbatorix use magic, and on the rare occasion when he actually spoke to him of his own volition it was to ask about how it worked; a question Galbatorix answered readily enough.

No, Galbatorix did not blame Shruikan. But he was frightened for him as well as for himself. Whether by their own choice or not they were both in danger, and it was up to him to keep Shruikan safe. And at least, he realised, he was no longer alone.

On the evening of the fifth day after Shruikan's hatching, when there was a bright full moon out, he crept into the city with the intention of stealing more food. His route took him past the castle, and as he was walking silently back down into the city and away from it, he saw a solitary figure going in the same direction. Almost automatically, he began to stalk it. He was getting better at following people without being seen, and after so many nights spent playing ghost it had almost become second nature.

His latest victim was also cloaked and hooded, and moved with a certain grace, although he couldn't tell if it was a man or a woman. He followed it anyway, starting to grin. It was thrilling, this half-game he played.

When he was close enough, he reached out toward the victim's mind, and that was when everything went wrong.

The instant his mind touched theirs, he was fiercely repelled. Not just blocked, but actually mentally attacked, and so hard that his vision went grey for a second. Before he could recover, a word was shouted and a gout of livid green light hit him square in the chest.

Galbatorix fell, hard. He landed on his back, pain crackling through his limbs. Panic shot through him and he made a desperate attempt to get up, but his body wouldn't obey him, and he slumped back onto the cobbles. He blacked out for a few seconds, and woke again to the sound of footsteps. He looked up and saw a wavering image of his captor, standing over him. Through the roaring in his ears he heard a voice say; 'All right. Let's see who you really are.'

The hood was ripped away from his face, and his vision cleared at last, letting him see who had overpowered him.

It was Carina. The green-eyed woman peered at him, squinting slightly in the gloom. Galbatorix stared back, terror turning his stomach to ice. It was all up. She'd caught him.

Carina blinked. 'Who the hell are you?' she demanded. 'You're the person who's been sneaking around the place at night, aren't you?'

Galbatorix said nothing, but his fear lessened as he realised that she didn't recognise him. Had he really changed that much?

Carina summoned up a magical light in order to look at him more closely. What she saw was a skinny, malnourished young man clad in a set of rags that could not by any stretch be referred to as clothes. He had a thatch of shaggy, murky brown hair, and his face was obscured by a tangled beard of the same colour. All in all he looked like any homeless beggar one might see in the streets. But he was psychic, she knew that much.

The boy tried to drag himself away from her, but Carina planted her boot on his chest, pinning him down. 'Oh no you don't,' she said. 'You're not going anywhere until I get some answers. Who are you? Why were you following me, and how did you know how to do that with your mind? Don't lie; I know it was you.' She tried to probe at his mind, but found it was blocked. She blinked. 'What in the…?'

And that was when she saw the one thing that had not changed. It was the eyes. They stared at her from out of that thin, grubby face, and she knew them. Black eyes. Black, fathomless eyes, looking at her with a pleading, frightened expression she had seen before, that terrible day when she had last seen the man the world now called the Great Betrayer.

'Oh my gods,' she said. 'It's you.'

Too late, she realised her danger. The boy's bony hands took hold of her ankle, viciously twisting it sideways. Carina fell, and the next moment Galbatorix had sprung upright and launched himself at her. She managed to scramble away and regain her feet, but he drew his sword and attacked, letting out a wild scream like a wounded wolf.

Carina drew her own blade, Svard-Hvass, and was just in time to defend herself. The two swords met with a loud crash of steel, and they began to fight.

But Carina was at a disadvantage. It was not that she was not a skilled swordswoman – she was – but she was afraid. And her fear only increased as she fought on. This was the Great Betrayer. This was the one who had beaten Vrael in single combat while armed with nothing but a blunted practise sword. And he fought like the wild animal he had come to resemble, driving forward in a flurry of terrible blows, his bony frame packed with energy. If he had screamed or snarled as he fought, if he had shown some sign of passion, it might almost have been better. But his attack, frenzied though it was, came in absolute silence.

And before that, Carina faltered, and it cost her dearly. In a split second, Svard-Hvass was knocked from her hand in a blow so powerful it sent pain shooting straight up the bone in her arm. But she reacted fast. She dodged the next attack and summoned up her magic. A vivid ball of green fire shot straight at Galbatorix's face, but he blocked it with a quick shielding spell and counter-attacked. Carina managed to block it, but then Galbatorix spoke a string of words in some strange, lilting language she did not understand, and before she knew what was happening, a force had lifted her off her feet and slammed her into a wall. She landed in a crumpled heap, panting and gasping in pain. She looked up through dimmed eyes, and saw him standing over her, his sword pointed at her throat, his own eyes blazing with triumph.

'Please,' Carina whispered. 'Please, don't kill me! Please, Arren.'

He paused at that, and for a moment a flicker of recognition showed in his face.

'Please,' Carina said again. 'I don't want to fight you. I just want to talk.'

For a few agonising seconds, he didn't move. But then he withdrew the sword slightly.

It was just enough. Carina drew a dagger from her sleeve and hurled it. The weapon caught Galbatorix in the stomach, embedding itself in him. He screamed and staggered backward, and the next moment Carina was on him. She leapt upright and rushed at him, snatching up her sword from the ground in one fluid movement.

But Galbatorix was not defeated. He saw her coming, and, maddened by pain, he attacked. White Violence's blade hit Carina hard, inflicting a terrible slash across her midsection. She screamed and fell, blood pumping out onto her clothes and turning them red in seconds. But in spite of her injury she tried desperately to get up and defend herself, only falling back when the pain nearly made her lose consciousness. Helpless, she looked up and saw him standing there, holding the bloody sword ready in his hand.

For a moment he stood there, swaying slightly, the dagger still protruding from his stomach. Then he turned and ran away, vanishing into the darkness and leaving behind nothing but a few spots of blood.

Shruikan was dozing in the vault, but woke up instantly when he heard the trapdoor above him creak open. The black hatchling lifted his head sharply, peering up out of his hiding-place. The strange black fire was still burning in the crypt, and the silvery glow it gave off illuminated the dark figure coming down the stairs. Shruikan stood on his hind legs, his foreclaws gripping the edge of the hole, and saw it stop at the bottom of the stairs, leaning against the wall. Hurt, ragged breathing came from it, and it took a few more steps forward and then collapsed by the fire.

Shruikan could tell from the scent that it was Galbatorix. He climbed out of the vault and warily went to investigate.

Galbatorix lay on his side, his hands clutching at the dagger that was still stuck in him. He hesitated for a moment, and then pulled it out. Immediately, blood began to trickle out of him and pool on the floor. Too much blood. Too fast. He pressed down on the wound, trying to staunch the flow, but it oozed between his fingers, turning both hands red and sticky. He was bleeding to death. Dizzy and confused, his vision going grey, he summoned up his magic and tried to heal himself, but it was already too late. The attempt sent a shockwave of hot, sick pain through his whole body, and he raised his head slightly and vomited blood all over the floor. The pain that caused was so intense that he blacked out, his head hitting the ground with a hollow thud.

But death wasn't going to come that quickly. He woke up a few moments later when something touched his face, and looked up dully to see Shruikan's small face.

Galbatorix coughed, more blood bubbling up into his mouth. His right hand twitched, the fingers curling amid the pool of red vomit by the fire, but he made no other move. From somewhere far away he heard Shruikan's gruff little voice.

'You are hurt.'

With a mighty effort, Galbatorix found his voice again. 'Yes,' he rasped, blood gurgling in his throat. 'Listen,' he said. 'Shruikan. Get… away… leave. Escape. Left… trapdoor… open for you. Go, Shruikan. Go…'

'But you are hurt,' said Shruikan, not understanding.

Galbatorix's hand moved again, the forefinger extending to point at the darkened stairs leading out of the crypt. 'I'm sorry,' he whispered, his eyes closing. 'I can't… help you any more, Shruikan. I'm going to… going to die. Get away. They'll come looking. Run.'

Shruikan looked at the stairs which led into the world he had never seen. Then he looked at Galbatorix. The human was lying quite still, his eyes closed. Then, slowly, his hair and beard changed colour. Dark brown became jet black, black as night, black as Shruikan's own scales.

The dragon blinked, confused. He had never seen anything like that before.

The human had gone very pale. He was barely breathing now. Shruikan watched him closely, not knowing what to do. Go, he'd said. Run away.

Shruikan turned away toward the stairs that led to freedom. He could feel a faint breeze on his face, coming from the shadows that lay ahead, and he put his foreclaws on the bottom step, tensing in readiness to jump.

But then, quite suddenly, as he stared into the darkness that was the world outside, fear struck into his heart. It was fear of the unknown. The freedom he had craved lay on the other side of a shadow, and Shruikan realised that he feared it. He did not want to pass through it alone. The world outside was beyond his comprehension. He had never seen the open sky, never known was outside the stone room where he had hatched, and now, when he was so close, he did not want to leave.

The little dragon stopped and lowered himself back onto the floor, looking back into the crypt with its flickering shadows and silent stone faces. He had considered it a prison, but now he realised that it was the only home he had ever known. If he left it, he would be lost.

It was very cold now. The fire was beginning to weaken. Shruikan could hear the shallow, gasping breaths of the dying human. There was blood on the floor, drying in the warmth from the fire. It looked pitch black in the silvery gloom, like a liquid shadow.

While Shruikan stood there, torn between staying and leaving, a strange sound disturbed the eerie silence. It was a low, faint rumble, coming from somewhere overhead.

A storm was building. Shruikan looked up at the shadowy stairs, and saw them suddenly light up, turning pure white for the fraction of a second.

Outside, a mighty gale began to blow, bringing black clouds in from the sea. Thunder and lightning fought a battle in the sky. It was an unnatural storm, a looming, raging presence that turned the air over the city into a maelstrom of boiling cloud and savage light and sound, and a wind that tore the tiles from the rooftops and howled around the deserted House of Taranis, so loud that Shruikan, crouching there in the crypt, could hear it.

But he felt no fear at all. The light flashed again from somewhere beyond the shadows, followed by the growl and roar of thunder, and that was when Shruikan saw something. He saw… a shadow, cast upon the wall just for an instant, and it was the shadow of a massive dark dragon, wings raised, mouth open wide in a mighty roar of thunder. It was unlike any dragon Shruikan had ever imagined, but he knew it was his friend. It was there to protect him, it was his guardian. It owned the storm, and so did he.

When the lightning flashed again, he realised that the dragon was his own shadow. And in that instant, power flooded into him. Power and certainty. He felt himself grow, his spirit filling his body like molten metal, his chest expanding with a roar like thunder. A voice filled his head, deep and powerful, and rich. Shruikan. Shruikan of the Storm, Shruikan the black dragon, Shruikan Storm-Dragon.

Shruikan watched the lightning, then turned back to look at the human. He was very still now. Perhaps he was dead. But when the lightning flashed again, he suddenly convulsed, his mouth opening in a terrible scream of pain. His eyes snapped open, and the look in them had changed. There was no human in those eyes. They were the eyes of an animal in pain. An animal that was dying. But his shadow was thrown onto the wall, and it was not the shadow of a human, but that of a great dragon.

Calmness came to Shruikan then. He walked forward, his small limbs moving with a new grace and certainty, around the fire and toward the human. He stood in the pool of blood, not noticing it at all, and pressed his snout into the middle of the human's right hand, where a silver circle gleamed faintly in the firelight.

At once a burning energy rose up inside of Shruikan. It rushed through him and into the human, haloing them both in a strange black light that was like a hole in the world.

And Galbatorix felt it. It filled every part of him, red-hot, vital, wonderful. His mouth suddenly thrilled at the taste of blood and acid, his eyes opened and pierced the shadows, his mind expanded and then reformed, and he felt himself come alive once more, the pain and weakness banished by the fighting spirit of a wild dragon.

When he woke up, there was a presence in his mind. He could feel another consciousness linked to his own, and when he realised what it was, joy warmed him from end to end. He lay still, feeling safe and secure in a way he had not done for a long time, and he knew the nightmare was over. 'Laela,' he said mentally. 'Oh, thank gods. I had a horrible dream, Laela. I dreamed you died, and I went insane, and… Laela?' he stopped suddenly, confused. 'Laela, is that you?'

There was silence, and then a mental voice said; 'Who's Laela? Are you all right, human?'

Galbatorix sat up sharply. He was in the crypt by the black fire, and his hair was matted with blood. Instantly, reality came flooding back into his mind, crushing his joy. It had not been a dream. It was real. Laela was dead. But – but – he looked around, and saw Shruikan sitting by the fire, looking up at him. 'Hello, Shruikan,' he said blankly. 'Do you know… was that you speaking to me just now?'

The mental voice spoke again. 'You're healed!' it said. 'You're better! I thought you were going to die, but you're all right. Did I do that?'

Galbatorix blinked and touched his stomach. There was a hole in his clothes, and a large bloodstain, but no pain. The injury was gone. 'I'm… I'm all right,' he said. 'It's gone. Something healed me. But… but… I don't understand…'

'I can feel you,' the mental voice said. 'I can feel you in my head. What's going on, Galbatorix? What did I do?'

Galbatorix looked at Shruikan, and realised it was his voice speaking. 'Shruikan?' he ventured.

Shruikan shuffled his wings. 'Yes, it's me,' he said. 'I don't know how I'm doing this, but…'

Galbatorix reached toward the dragon, wide-eyed. 'Oh my gods,' he said aloud. 'It's… did you bond yourself to me, Shruikan? While I was unconscious?'

'I don't know,' said Shruikan. 'I saw you dying, and… I didn't want you to die. And I saw the way you looked, and I thought… you were like me. And I didn't want you to die. And there was a feeling… like power inside me. And I gave it to you so you wouldn't die. But now you're in my head. Why are you in my head? I can feel you. I don't understand…' The hatchling's mind suddenly radiated fear, and Galbatorix saw him starting to huddle into his wings, whimpering.

Without thinking, he reached out and scooped Shruikan into his arms, cradling him against his chest. Once Shruikan would have tried to pull away, but now he pressed himself against Galbatorix's rags, trembling slightly.

Galbatorix shared a feeling of calmness, just as he had once done with Laela. 'It's all right,' he soothed. 'Calm down, Shruikan, nothing's going to hurt you.'

Shruikan seemed comforted. 'But what's going on?' he said. 'What's happened to me?'

'We've been bonded,' said Galbatorix. 'We're joined together now.'

'What does that mean?'

'It means…' he hesitated, searching for a way to put it into words. But at the same time, he felt happy in a way such as he had not felt for a very long time, since the day when Laela was ripped out of his heart. The hole inside him where she had been was beginning to be refilled, and what it was filling with was Shruikan. He had been alone for so long, but now that time was ending. He was a rider again. Two bodies, one soul. 'We're one, you and I,' he said. 'Our minds, our souls, are joined. From now on we'll share thoughts and feelings. We're partners. Whatever I feel, you feel. And whatever you feel, I feel. If you get hurt, I'll feel your pain. If I'm afraid, you'll be afraid too.'

Shruikan listened. 'Is… is that good?'

'It means we'll never be alone again,' said Galbatorix.

Morzan was with Idün up on the dragon roost when he got the first indication that something bad was happening. Leaf, who was dozing on the roost not far away, suddenly woke up, standing up with a jerky motion, his wings opening. The green dragon looked this way and that, his eyes full of fear. Idün nosed at him cautiously, trying to reassure him, but Leaf wouldn't be calmed down.

'Carina,' he said, letting both Idün and Morzan hear him. 'Something's happening to her. She's in danger-,' he broke off and let out a roar of agony. For a moment he huddled on the stone roost, one hind leg twitching, and then, without warning, he hurled himself off into space and flew away toward the city.

Morzan acted fast. He climbed onto Idün's back, and the red dragon took off after Leaf as fast as she could go.

She landed down in the street, where a crowd was beginning to gather around Leaf. Carina was there, lying on the ground, and Leaf was nosing at her, desperately trying to make her wake up. Morzan jumped down from Idün's back and ran over. Leaf let him approach, and he lifted Carina's head in his large hands, his heart pounding. There was blood on her clothes, and more blood was coming from a deep slash cut into her from her ribcage to her hip. But when Morzan called her name, her eyes fluttered open.

'Morzan,' she rasped.

'Carina, for the love of gods, what happened? Who did this?'

Carina grasped Morzan's hand. 'Morzan… heal me. Quickly. The words are…'

'I know, I know,' said Morzan. He spread his hands over Carina's wound and spoke the healing words. Red energy went to work, sealing the wound shut, but although the bleeding stopped the wound did not close completely.

Carina sighed. 'It's not… enough,' she said. 'I have to – go back to Ilirea. Proper healing. This will be enough to keep me alive until then. Listen, Morzan. It was him. He's alive. He's here, in the city.'

'Who is?' said Morzan.

'The Great Betrayer,' said Carina. 'He attacked me. Listen carefully. We had a fight, him and me. I wounded him. Badly, I think. Go after him, fast as you can. Follow the trail of blood. Catch him while he's weakened.'

'Me?' said Morzan. 'Me, catch him? But…' he had never expected the prospect to frighten him so much.

'You can do it,' Carina urged. 'I trust you, Morzan. You're a good fighter. Just use your head, and you'll be fine. If you catch him, it'll… you'll be rewarded for it. Richly rewarded. You know that. And it's your duty. Go, Morzan. I trust you.'

Morzan nodded and helped her up. 'All right,' he said. 'I'll try my best.'

'I know you will,' said Carina. 'Help me onto Leaf, then go.'

Morzan obeyed. Once Carina was secure in Leaf's saddle, the green dragon flew away as fast as he could go, leaving Morzan in command.

The young man hesitated, aware of all the expectant eyes fixed on him. 'Go on,' Idün urged softly. 'Tell them what to do.'

Morzan pulled himself together. He drew his sword and pointed at a group of guards who had run down to help Carina. 'Look for blood,' he said. 'On the ground. See if you can find any.'

They went to work, and Morzan joined them. After a few awkward minutes of scanning the ground and using magic to banish the shadows, he found the beginning of the trail. Spots of blood led away down a side alley. Without pausing, Morzan began to follow it.

The trail led West, following a maze of twisting alleys and up into the rich quarter of the city, where it abruptly ended. Morzan stopped, looking around. It had become very dark. As he stood there, trying to find the trail again, a rumble of thunder came from overhead. Seconds later, jagged lightning lit up the entire street, turning everything blinding white. Morzan jerked in fright, but when the lightning flashed again, it highlighted a broken window in the back of a nearby building. Morzan ran to inspect it. There was blood around the edges of the shattered pane, and when he touched it he found it was still wet. He climbed through and into the building, doing his best to move silently. It was warm and dry inside, and absolutely silent, but he didn't dare summon up a magical light to show the way. Instead he stood by the window, moving to stand with his back to the wall to avoid being silhouetted by the next flash of lightning. That came, sure enough, and he was able to see the rug on the floor. Broken glass marked the beginning of a line of dark, glistening spots. Morzan hesitated, then followed it, holding his sword ready in one hand. Idün made mental contact with him. 'Where are you?'

'I think I've found him,' Morzan replied. 'He's inside this building…' he sent her an image of it.

'Be careful, Morzan,' said Idün.

The trail of blood led Morzan to a small stone room. There was an open trapdoor in the middle of the floor, a smear of blood on the underside. Faint, flickering light was coming from somewhere below. Morzan gripped his sword more tightly, and began to descend the stairs as quietly as he could.

When he was very close to the bottom he stopped, peering ahead into the room. It was long and low, stone-lined, full of elaborately carved tombs, each one decorated with a life-sized statue of its occupant. There was some kind of pit in the floor, half-covered by a large slab, and on the other side of that a strange black fire burnt in the middle of the floor, a fire with neither smoke nor fuel. There was a large bloodstain on the floor by the fire, but no sign of anything living.

Morzan stood still, caught in indecision. He didn't want to enter the room. If Galbatorix was down there he was hiding, and if he attacked suddenly and caught him, Morzan, off-guard…

He reached out mentally for Idün. She was only just within range, but he informed her of the situation. 'What should I do?' he asked.

She hesitated before replying. 'You can't stand there forever,' she said. 'Run in. Quick and sudden. Take him by surprise.'

Morzan nodded, feeling much more certain. 'All right,' he said.

Without waiting another moment, he charged down the stairs and into the chamber, drawing his sword back ready to strike.

The instant he emerged from the staircase, something hit him hard in the side, bowling him over. He landed awkwardly, and before he could get up the tip of a sword was thrust into his neck, hard enough to draw blood.

Morzan, panicking, looked up and saw someone he only just recognised. Galbatorix. He was filthy and dishevelled, and had a lean, hungry look to him, like a wolf. His once-handsome face was obscured by a matted black beard, and the curly mane he had taken so much pride in had been hacked off. The remains of a black robe hung from his scarred, bony frame, and he wore a pair of boots that he had wrapped in strips of leather to stop them falling to pieces. And the eyes were the worst of all. They were hollow and desperate, with a dull, lifeless look about them. But beyond that there was something… a light, an energy, something wild and hard and savage.

All of Morzan's courage deserted him. For a few moments there was silence, disturbed only by their breathing.

Morzan let his sword drop out of his hand. 'Please,' he said. 'Please don't kill me, Arren. It's me. It's Morzan. Remember me? I'm your friend. I helped you. Do you remember me, Arren? It's Morzan.'

Galbatorix blinked, and the blankness in his eyes faded. 'Morzan?' he said slowly. His voice had changed. It was deeper, rougher, lacking the light, passionate tone it had once had. It was not the voice of a boy, but a grown man.

Morzan swallowed, the cut on his neck stinging and bleeding. 'Yes, it's me,' he said. 'I came to find you. D'you remember me?'

'Of course I remember you,' said Galbatorix. The irritability in his voice sounded so normal that it did a lot to calm Morzan down.

'I'm not here to hurt you,' he said. 'I swear. I just came to help you.'

Galbatorix looked at him suspiciously. 'How did you find me? Did you follow the… I left a trail, didn't I?'

Morzan nodded cautiously.

'Damn!' Galbatorix swore. 'I should've… did anyone come with you?'

'No,' said Morzan. 'I swear. I came on my own.'

'In the ancient language,' Galbatorix said curtly. He kept casting wary glances at the stairs, but all his attention remained on Morzan.

Morzan obediently switched languages. 'I'm on my own,' he said. 'I swear, Arren. I don't want to hurt you, you're my friend. I hate the elders. You've got to believe me.'

For a long time Galbatorix said nothing. Morzan watched him, too frightened to attack him.

A long, painful silence stretched out for what felt like half an hour. Galbatorix's expression did not change. And then, quite suddenly, he withdrew his sword and put it back into its sheath. He reached down and pulled Morzan to his feet, then embraced him tightly. 'Morzan!' he cried, and his voice was suddenly that of the boy Morzan had met that day in Ellesméra so long ago. 'It's so good to see you again! Great gods, I thought you'd come here to kill me.'

Morzan was startled, but he returned the hug. When they let each other go, he looked at his old friend's face, unable to hide his pity. 'Arren,' he said. 'You've changed so much. I hardly recognise you.'

Galbatorix fingered his beard. 'I hardly recognise myself any more, Morzan,' he said dryly. 'But it's still me.'

Morzan hesitated. 'Are you… all right? I mean, when I saw you last, you were so…'

'Insane,' Galbatorix said, cutting across him. 'Yes. I know that. Losing Laela, it… it damaged me a lot. I forgot who I was for a while. When you took me out of the dungeons I was… well, you saw how I was. But I'm better now.'

'You don't look better,' Morzan said honestly.

Galbatorix sighed. 'Yes, I suppose I've looked better. But when you're a fugitive you don't have much time for personal grooming. I haven't washed my damned hair in about a month. What's left of it, anyway. But what about you? What are you doing in Teirm?'

'Vrael sent me to help Carina,' said Morzan. 'After you… well, with all the civil unrest an' stuff…'

'So you've finished your training?' said Galbatorix. 'I see you've got your sword,' he added, glancing down at it.

Morzan bent to retrieve it. 'I sure have,' he said proudly, showing it to Galbatorix. It had a red blade and a silver hilt set with a large ruby. 'I called it Zar'roc. Misery.'

'That's a bit of a depressing name for a sword,' Galbatorix observed.

Morzan shrugged. 'I liked the sound of it. Anyway, that's what swords do to people, ain't it – I mean… isn't it? Makes them miserable.'

Galbatorix nodded. 'I suppose that's true. Did I ever tell you what I called mine?' he touched the hilt. 'Hvítr Atganga. White Violence. Set with the diamond I found on Helgrind.'

Morzan eyed it. 'Why's it black? I thought diamonds were clear.'

Galbatorix shrugged. 'What happened to Carina? Did she die?'

'No,' said Morzan. 'I got to her in time and healed her. She's gone to Ilirea for proper healing. Left me in charge. Vrael won't be happy about that.'

'Why not? You're a rider, aren't you?'

'But a human one,' said Morzan. 'Carina doesn't count; she's senior. But Vrael doesn't trust humans no more. Not even riders. He wouldn't let me finish my training. Said I had to prove myself first.'

'What?' said Galbatorix. 'Why? What did you do wrong? He doesn't know about…?'

Morzan shook his head. 'Of course not. If he knew I'd probably be in a dungeon right now. But he was angry something terrible after what you went and did to the walls in Ilirea. Blamed us for not noticing anything. That was you what did it, wasn't it?'

Galbatorix snickered. 'Yes, that was me. My message to the elders.'

'What did it mean?' said Morzan. 'The spiral thing. What was it? And them pictures over the gates, what did they mean?'

'The spiral is my symbol,' said Galbatorix. 'Look,' he held out a hand, displaying the ring on his finger. Sure enough, it had the triple-spiral design. 'And the pictures over the gate were a warning. I think Vrael was smart enough to understand them.'

'What did they say?' Morzan persisted. 'I didn't get it.'

'It meant "I am watching you, and I will kill you",' said Galbatorix.

Morzan went pale. 'Kill?'

There was no trace of amusement in Galbatorix's face. 'Revenge,' he said. 'For Laela. For what they did to me. And to so many other people. If I can, I'll kill all of them. Vrael, Oromis, Menulis… all the elders. And anyone who tries to stop me will die as well. I took a vow to do it. Once I wanted to die, but now I have that to live for.'

Morzan could see the hatred burning in his eyes. He couldn't bear to look at it, and hastily changed the subject. 'What is this place?' he asked, looking around at the chamber.

Galbatorix turned to watch the firelight flickering over the statues. 'This is my home,' he said. 'My inheritance.'

'Inheritance?' Morzan repeated. 'I don't understand. Inherited from who, Arren?'

'Please don't call me that,' said Galbatorix, in a tone of strained patience. 'Arren is the name they gave me after my real one was stolen. Arren Cardockson was a leatherworker's son who knew nothing. The person you're talking to now is Galbatorix. Galbatorix Taranisäii. This,' he went on, making a sweeping gesture that took in the stone walls, the tombs, the statues and the vault, 'Is the crypt of the Ancient House of Taranis. My house. This is where my ancestors are buried. The triple spiral you saw on Ilirea's walls is their symbol. My symbol. There. See, there?' he indicated the tomb and the statue directly behind Morzan. The statue was of a young woman with long, curly hair. 'That is my mother,' Galbatorix said softly. 'Ingë Taranisäii. I got my curly hair from her.'

Morzan ran his hands over the statue. 'But the Taranisäiis died out years ago,' he said.

'Not quite,' said Galbatorix. 'Ingë was executed when she was nineteen. But she left an illegitimate son behind. Me.'

'You said your parents were murdered,' Morzan recalled. 'When we first met.'

Galbatorix nodded. 'State sanctioned murder. They were executed the day after I was born. All my life the riders have been taking things away from me, starting from that day. They took my parents. They took my home. They took my people. They took Laela. And after that, when I was half-dead from despair, they took my freedom and my dignity as well. The only thing they haven't taken yet is my life. And I intend to keep hold of that for as long as I can. And they will pay. If I never do anything else in my life, I'll make them pay.'

'You can't kill them,' said Morzan. 'You can't!'

Galbatorix laughed a cold, crazed, savage laugh. 'Can't I? Can't I, Morzan?'

That was when Morzan acted. He pulled back one brawny arm, and punched Galbatorix hard on the chin. Caught off-guard, Galbatorix toppled backward, thumping into the tomb behind him and half-collapsing against it. Morzan took his opportunity. He held his hands out and unleashed his magic, striking straight into Galbatorix's head with it, as fast and powerfully as he could. It got past his mental defences before he could summon them, and disabled his magic and psychic powers, and the next moment Morzan was on him, snapping a pair of heavy manacles shut around his wrists.

Galbatorix looked blankly at them, then at Morzan. 'You cunning bastard,' he said softly.

Morzan straightened up. 'I'm sorry, Galbatorix,' he said. 'But I don't have any choice.'

There was a thump from the stairs, and a dozen armed men burst into the chamber. They were on Galbatorix in an instant, hauling him to his feet and taking White Violence away from him. He made no attempt to resist. His eyes were on Morzan, and instead of looking angry he had a terrible, wounded expression on his face.

'I'm sorry,' Morzan said again. To the soldiers he said; 'Search the room.'

They obeyed, nervously skirting around the fire but checking in every nook and cranny. Two of them peered into the half-open vault. 'Can't see properly,' one of them muttered, straightening up. 'Someone get me a torch.'

A fellow soldier supplied him with one, and the man thrust it into the vault, lighting its interior. Seconds later he swore and backed away, and a small, pitch-black demon burst out of the pit in the floor. Everyone jerked back in fright, and the creature – which, Morzan now saw, was a dragon hatchling – crouched at the edge of the vault's entrance, shoulders hunched in readiness to spring, hissing and snarling.

The soldiers were frozen in astonishment and fear. Morzan, with rather more presence of mind, said; 'Someone grab it. Go on, it's too small to be dangerous.'

Two soldiers advanced, albeit hesitantly.

But Galbatorix took advantage of the momentary distraction. He broke free of his guards and launched himself at them, shouting; 'Run, Shruikan, run!'

The two soldiers turned to face this new threat, and Galbatorix attacked them. He locked his manacled hands around the throat of one of them and twisted, breaking the man's neck. Before he had even begun to fall he had punched the other in the face. Then the others closed in. As Galbatorix went down under the mass of enemies, Shruikan took the chance that was given to him. He slipped between a soldier's legs and ran for the stairs. Morzan went in pursuit, but Shruikan bounded away, his wings opening to launch him into the air. He flew up through the trapdoor and into the deserted halls of the old house, flitting desperately this way and that until he found a window. He perched on the sill, scrabbling at the glass. Morzan ran at him, but he was too slow. Shruikan saw him coming, and bashed his head against the window. His snout broke the glass and he climbed through the hole, forcing his way through it. His wings caught, but he folded them backward and with one last kick he was through. Ignoring the tears in his white wing membranes, he flew up and away into the stormy sky, his black scales melding into the darkness until he had vanished as completely as Galbatorix had once done.

Morzan watched him go and turned away. He was in time to see the soldiers drag the struggling Galbatorix out through the trapdoor and into the stone room.

'What shall we do, my Lord?' one asked.

Morzan put Zar'roc back into its sheath. 'Take him to the castle,' he said. 'Put him in a cell. Chain him securely. Don't take any chances.'

'Yes, my Lord,' the soldier said.

As he and his comrades departed, Galbatorix kept his eyes on Morzan. 'You betrayed me!' he shouted, again and again. 'You betrayed me!' he cried out as a soldier brutally thumped him in the stomach.

Morzan couldn't bear to watch. He turned away, his heart leaden.

'What happened?' Idün asked him. 'Did you get him?'

'Yes, Idün. We caught him.'

'Why so sad, then?' said Idün. 'This is good news! Vrael will be delighted. He'll give you everything you want now. Maybe he'll even give you a city to rule.'

Morzan said nothing. But when he tried to imagine Vrael's reaction to what he had done, and all the honours and rewards he would receive, he felt nothing but misery.