Chapter Twenty-Nine

The Message

After the reunion with Shruikan, Idün carried Galbatorix and Morzan away over the Spine. Shruikan, still too small to be ridden, followed closely. They stayed well away from inhabited areas lest they be spotted, and flew for most of the day, searching for a place to hide. The Spine itself was out of the question – lack of food and attack from wild dragons would make it far too dangerous. In the end they found a place by the sea, where there was a cave in the rock. There was good fishing there, and fruit trees further inland, and a river flowing into the sea. Everything they needed.

They settled into the cave, setting up a small camp well out of sight. It was large enough for Idün to fit in, and the red dragon claimed the back of the cave for her own, curling up on the stone floor with her wings folded neatly on her back. She laid her head on her foreclaws and slept. Very peaceful.

Shruikan stayed by Galbatorix's side as he conjured up a black fire. Morzan had brought plenty of food, and he and Galbatorix sat together and shared a simple meal.

'This is a good place,' said Galbatorix, glancing around at their new home. 'We can stay here for as long as we need to. Until Shruikan is big enough to fight. Then we'll be ready to begin.'

'What are we going to do, sir?' Morzan enquired, breaking a loaf of bread.

'You don't have to call me sir.'

Morzan shrugged and waited for him to reply.

'We'll give a signal,' said Galbatorix. He picked up a flask of water and drank deeply, meticulously wiping his mouth afterward. 'I'm going to show the elders I mean business. It'll be direct and ruthless. I'll hit them right where it hurts.'

'How?' said Morzan.

'I'm not quite sure yet,' said Galbatorix. 'But we'll have plenty of time to make plans. In the meantime I need to build up my strength again. And I can teach you a few new things about magic if you're interested.'

Morzan nodded. 'I need to brush up on my swordplay, too,' he said. 'I spent months cooped up in that castle handling nothing bigger'n a pen.'

Galbatorix grinned. 'Yes, I know what that feels like.'

They were silent for a time as they satisfied their hunger. Galbatorix broke the silence eventually. 'That was a very brave thing you did,' he said quietly. 'You saved my life, Morzan, and not for the first time. I still can't quite believe you did it.'

'I can't either,' Morzan said honestly. 'But I know it was the right thing. To hell with the elders and their bullcrap. You're my friend. Far as I'm concerned, friends come first, an' family too.'

'You could die for this, you know,' said Galbatorix.

'Not if I get them first,' Morzan said darkly, touching Zar'roc's hilt.

'But you threw so much away,' said Galbatorix. 'Everything you had. For me. They'll curse you for this. You're a traitor now, same as me.'

Morzan's face twisted. 'Screw them,' he spat, with unexpected venom. 'Take 'em and send the bloody bastards to hell, every last one of 'em. I hate them. Hate their miserable, lying guts. I've hated 'em for ages. Since before you disappeared. They're scum.'

Galbatorix looked at him steadily. 'How do you know, Morzan?'

'You're what I was looking for,' Morzan said earnestly. 'When I went to see the elders for the first time, I was looking for leaders. For people who cared about people. I thought they'd be noble an' wise, just like in the stories. But they weren't. It was all lies. But you… you're what they're not. You're the leader I was looking for, I just didn't see it until last night. Now I know, and that's why I swore myself to you.'

This declaration, which was said in a tone of utter sincerity, took Galbatorix by surprise. In all his life he had never, ever seen himself as a leader. Even when he had governed Teirm he hadn't felt like a leader. But now Morzan was calling him one. This was something he had never expected to see, but he was seeing it now – someone was looking to him for leadership. And not just anyone. A fellow rider. Very much a leader in his own right already, but one who was so convinced that he, Galbatorix, was worth following that he had abandoned all the power and privileges he had once had and chosen of his own free will to become a fugitive and a traitor.

'I'm honoured, Morzan,' he said. 'If you really want me to lead you, then I'll do my best. I swear.'

'I trust you,' said Morzan. 'And… can I ask for something?'

'By all means,' said Galbatorix.

'When we go after the elders, let me kill Oromis,' said Morzan.

'Your old master? Why?'

'He's a monster,' said Morzan. 'And I hate him. What he did…'

'What did he do?' Galbatorix asked, leaning forward to listen.

Morzan's face was full of mingled disgust and fear. 'Everyone knew about it,' he said, clenching his fists. 'They all knew. But they just let it happen! No-one said anything. They just watched it happen and acted like it wasn't.'

'What was it?'

'Children,' Morzan said in a low voice. 'Small boys. I saw them. He had them sent up to his bedchamber. All the time. I saw them. Brom saw them too, but he just kept making excuses, sayin' there was some other reason for it, and when I said there wasn't he just changed the subject.'

Galbatorix went cold. 'And the other elders knew about it?'

Morzan nodded clumsily. 'They knew. They all knew. Even Vrael knew. I heard him telling Oromis he ought to be more discreet, and Oromis just said no-one would dare ask questions anyway.'

Galbatorix drew White Violence and slammed it into the cave-floor, point-first, burying half the blade in the stone. It stuck there, and he grasped the hilt tightly, the same hatred Morzan had seen in the crypt burning in his cold eyes. 'We'll kill them, Morzan,' he said, speaking the ancient language. 'All of them.'

Morzan nodded. 'I'll find Oromis and I'll make him suffer.'

'And I'll kill Vrael,' said Galbatorix. 'I'll kill him with my own hands. When my sword finds him, I'll make him feel the pain he inflicted on me and I'll hear him scream, and then I'll know that justice has been done.'

'And anyone who tries to stop us will die,' said Morzan. 'Except…' he hesitated then, a semblance of normality showing through his rage. 'We won't kill Brom, will we? He'll join us, I'm sure he will. If I ask him to. I don't want to have to fight him; he's my best mate.'

Galbatorix nodded. 'I don't want to hurt Brom. I didn't want to hurt Carina either. She attacked me first, but after I beat her she pleaded for her life and I was willing to listen. It was a trick. She caught me off-guard and stabbed me in the stomach.'

Morzan scowled. 'I liked Carina,' he said. 'She was always kind to us. But if she tries to get in our way, I'll kill her.'

'It'll be hard and dangerous,' said Galbatorix. 'Very dangerous. We probably won't survive. But I intend to fight on for as long as I can. Until I die or until I've won. No turning back. No hesitation.'

'Others will join us,' said Morzan. 'I know they will. We're not the only ones who know the truth.'

'I hope so,' said Galbatorix. 'I don't want to have to kill any more people than I have to.'

For the next four months, Galbatorix and Morzan lived in the cave. They ate well and trained; sparring with their swords and practising magic. Galbatorix taught Morzan some new spells that he had learned from Durza, but said nothing of the dark elvish ways he had learned. He still did not want to reveal that he was a half-breed, or speak of his time in the North. And besides which, he knew perfectly well that no-one except for him could use dark elvish magic. The ability to do it was in his blood, and now that the dark elves were extinct, no-one but him would be able to wield their magic. But he did make an attempt to show Morzan how to move in shadows. Morzan, however, lacked the dark elvish grace, and the art would not work for him. He could be very stealthy if he wanted to, but he was not able to melt into a shadow as Galbatorix could.

During that time Galbatorix regained his strength. His muscles rebuilt, his old wounds healed completely, and his hair slowly but surely regrew into a magnificent thick curly mane around his shoulders. He restyled his beard into a pointed goatee, and kept himself scrupulously clean. It made him feel like himself again. More than himself. Little by little he was reclaiming his identity.

On the second day after their arrival at the cave, he waited until he was alone and used a small pool of water on the floor to try and scry Skade. But the pool showed him nothing but darkness. That could mean one of three things. Either she was somehow shielded, or she was too far away for the spell to work. Or, most terribly of all, she was dead.

But Galbatorix refused to believe that. He banished the image, or lack of it, and cast the spell again. This time he sought out Durza. And he found him, sure enough. The Shade was standing somewhere in a rocky gorge, and looked around sharply almost as soon as he appeared, his blood-coloured eyes peering out of the pool.

His voice sounded faintly in the air. Galbatorix? Is that you?

'Yes,' said Galbatorix. 'Where are you, Durza?'

I am near Orthíad. Still no sign of the Ra'zac. Where are you? I tried to find you a hundred times but you were not there.

'I'm on the coast,' said Galbatorix. 'I'd better not say where. I would have contacted you, but I was taken prisoner in Teirm for a few months.'

But you escaped. May I ask how?

'Morzan was governor of Teirm,' said Galbatorix. 'He decided to join me and set me free. I set him free of his oath to Vrael and he swore to serve me from now on.'

That is excellent news, said Durza. As I predicted, your actions have already drawn support. Have you anything else to tell me?

'Yes. I have a new dragon.'

Durza blinked. It was the only sign of surprise he gave. How did this happen?

Galbatorix explained briefly. 'He's wild, but he trusts me. And he's strong. Very strong. And intelligent. He'll be big enough to ride in a few months.'

It seems the gods are favouring you, Durza observed.

Galbatorix nodded. 'My luck is definitely improving. Durza, there's something I want to know. Where's Skade? Did she get back to the cave?'

She did, and now she and Rangda are on their quest to find the Night Dragon. Skade asked me to tell you that she will not forget you.

'I tried to scry her just now,' said Galbatorix. 'I saw nothing. Do you have any idea why?'

The silver dragon has flown away over the sea, said Durza. She is too far away to scry. Do not fear for your beloved, Galbatorix. She has a power few can even begin to comprehend, which you and I can neither understand nor control. It will protect her better than a hundred armies.

'What power is this?' said Galbatorix.

Durza glanced skywards. The storm, he said. Before Galbatorix could reply the Shade went on, I must go now. I do not wish to linger in the open for long. Contact me again in three days and we will speak then.

The vision faded away.

From then on Galbatorix made a point of scrying Durza every few days. The Shade travelled a remarkable distance in very little time, and reported all his doings briefly and concisely. Even though he still had not found the Ra'zac, he had plenty of things to tell Galbatorix. He had been spying on the various towns and villages he passed through, and gathered all the latest gossip, news and rumours. Word of Morzan's treachery and the Great Betrayer's third miraculous escape had spread quickly. Now, it was said, the two riders were in hiding somewhere, plotting to overthrow Vrael and the other elders. Some were angry, some frightened, but others – and this was the thing Durza seemed most interested in impressing on Galbatorix – others were speaking of it with excitement. Even admiration. There was rebellion in the air. So far nothing major had happened, but the common people were becoming restive. A few brave and reckless souls had even taken to spreading propaganda about how the Great Betrayer was going to avenge every unjust thing the riders had ever done, and how he would welcome anyone who joined him and lead them to victory over the riders.

The response from the riders had been both predictable and depressing. Such people were hunted down and summarily executed – publicly, and by the method that would have been used on Galbatorix. The traitor's death. Those who were lucky enough to avoid capture went into hiding or fled into the wilderness. But even so, there was something the riders could not remove, and that was the symbol. The triple spiral that Galbatorix had left on the walls of Ilirea was appearing everywhere, carved into fenceposts, painted on walls, scratched into the soil. Durza had been encouraging its spread by leaving it in various places for people to see.

It was perfect. Galbatorix saw that right away. 'I've become a symbol,' he told Morzan, once he had tentatively revealed all this information to him. 'I'm everywhere. The riders have no way of telling where I am now. I could be anywhere. But I'm everywhere. They're starting to see my presence everywhere. And they can't shake it off.'

As soon as he was ready to emerge from hiding and declare open war on the riders, the people who had drawn those symbols and believed in the talk of rebellion would flock to his side. He knew it in his bones. The ground was being prepared for him when he wasn't even there. It made him want to laugh.

Morzan was growing more and more impatient to leave the cave and begin the fight back, but Galbatorix continually made him stay. 'We're not ready,' he said, again and again.

The main reason for that was Shruikan. The young dragon still had growing to do. And he and Galbatorix still had to learn how to work together. It was just the same as it had been with Laela, in a way.

But it was harder. Shruikan was not Laela. Although he and Galbatorix were indeed bonded now, they did not have the instant grace and harmony that there had been with Laela. Their bond was very different. They could speak to each other and share their feelings, but they had not bonded because their natures were perfectly compatible. Shruikan was a wild dragon. He did not understand human things, and had no interest in understanding them either. Much of the time he was openly contemptuous toward Morzan and Idün, whom he called a "tame" dragon. Only Galbatorix's influence kept Idün from trying to discipline the belligerent black dragon, but even he had trouble with Shruikan.

Shruikan was rebellious. He trusted Galbatorix and seemed to like him as well, but he would disappear for days on end and come back suddenly and with no explanation of where he had gone or why. He refused to defer to Galbatorix in any way and was often arrogantly aloof.

But Galbatorix persisted. He would spend hours with Shruikan, just talking to him, telling him things in mental speech, sharing himself with his new partner, piece by piece. When Shruikan was uncooperative, when he snarled at Morzan or was rude to Idün, Galbatorix asserted himself. He scolded the black dragon, even physically restrained him once or twice, and continually worked at making him calm down and be civilised. It wasn't easy. On one occasion Shruikan actually attacked Galbatorix in a fit of rage, snarling in pain as he felt the injuries he inflicted on him through their mental link, but persisting all the same. But Galbatorix fought back, and eventually both of them were forced to retire, unable to bear the pain any longer. Shruikan sulked in a corner of the cave, but when Galbatorix approached to heal his wounds he let him do it, and then silently lifted his snout to Galbatorix's hand and let him stroke his head and murmur to soothe him.

Many times, Morzan wondered why Galbatorix kept at it. He had never seen a rider actually in open conflict with his own dragon like this. He'd argued with Idün in the past, but they had always agreed in the end, and neither of them had so much as considered the idea of attacking or abandoning each other. This, however, was different. Although Shruikan was bonded he remained wild, and as Galbatorix slowly talked, threatened, cajoled and bribed his way into the black dragon's confidence, Morzan realised what he was doing. He was taming Shruikan, slowly but surely, teaching him how to behave, forcing him to control his natural ferocity. And Shruikan gradually began to calm down. Galbatorix asked Idün to begin teaching him how to fight and fly, and she obeyed, albeit with some hesitation.

'Work him hard,' Galbatorix told her privately. 'Don't be afraid to use force if you have to. He won't like it, but he can't learn if he won't be disciplined.'

Idün obeyed. Shruikan submitted rather sulkily to her tutelage, after Galbatorix had told him to be respectful to her.

The red dragon quickly found herself with a battle on her claws, but she persisted, with Morzan's encouragement. She began teaching Shruikan various aerial manoeuvres, and set him to carrying out tasks designed to strengthen him. When he was six months old and big enough to carry a rider, Galbatorix borrowed Idün's saddle and, after some coaxing and even a few threats, strapped it onto Shruikan's shoulders. Shruikan let him climb on and secure himself, and then took to the air, flying up and over the sea. Morzan and Idün stood in the cave entrance and watched the black dragon circling high above, a dark speck against the clouds. He made several loops and dives, skimming low over the sea before catching a warm ocean breeze with his wings and shooting straight upwards. Galbatorix clung on skilfully, his curly hair flowing in the breeze, and they could see how much in harmony the two of them were now. It was a rough, wild kind of harmony, but harmony all the same.

Shruikan finally returned to the cave, landing a little clumsily on the sand outside. Galbatorix climbed down and patted the dragon's neck.

'Did you see us?' said Shruikan, addressing both Morzan and Idün. He was panting, but his teeth were bared in a grin. 'We did it! We flew together! It was amazing.'

Morzan blinked. 'You liked it?'

Shruikan nodded vigorously.

Galbatorix grinned. 'I was hoping you'd enjoy it,' he said. 'I certainly did. I hadn't flown like that in a very long time.'

Shruikan nudged him affectionately with his snout, knocking him off his feet. 'Forgive me for not wanting to do it,' he said. 'I'd flown before, but… like that, with you there, sharing how it felt… it was wonderful.'

Galbatorix got up, wincing. 'It's like I said,' he said. 'We're bonded, you and I. And we share how things feel. That's what it means to be a rider.'

Shruikan flicked his wings. 'As soon as I'm old enough to breathe fire, we can go,' he said. 'I'm tired of waiting. I want to fight.'

'And that's what we'll do,' Galbatorix promised. 'But we'll have to practise flying too.'

'Good,' said Shruikan.

Over the next month or so Shruikan and Galbatorix went flying together often. That was when Morzan saw a proper partnership truly begin to form between them. The battle was over. Now that Shruikan and Galbatorix had come to fully trust each other and to work together without the need to argue, they were approaching something like the absolute grace that Morzan and Idün had. Two bodies, one soul.

At last the day came when Shruikan breathed fire for the first time, spitting a great lance of black and silver flame across the cave. He practised it endlessly, evidently proud of this new gift, and this final stage in the black dragon's maturing marked a disturbing change in Galbatorix's behaviour.

He became restless, pacing back and forth in the cave and muttering under his breath, and at other times practising with his sword, making powerful swings and thrusts at the air, his face locked in cold concentration. His usual patience deserted him, and he became irritable and aggressive. Evidently he was tired of staying in the cave. Something of Shruikan's spirit seemed to have worked its way into his rider, and Morzan was not at all surprised when he stood up one day and said; 'It's time. Time to begin.'

Morzan had prepared himself. This was the day he had waited for so long, and he felt his fighting spirit rise inside him. 'When do we go, sir?'

'Today. Now.'

Morzan nodded and set about packing up his belongings. Galbatorix helped him, and between them they broke camp and repacked their bags. The dragons were quick to see what was going on. Idün let Morzan fasten her saddle and strap the bags to it, and stood waiting by the entrance, her tail lashing.

Galbatorix had fashioned a crude saddle for Shruikan out of a blanket, and he tied this in place and then climbed up and sat down, taking hold of the rope he had tied around the black dragon's neck. 'All right,' he said. 'Let's go.'

Morzan mounted Idün and nodded to signify that he was ready.

Idün and Shruikan took to the sky, their riders holding on, both wearing determined expressions. Morzan, feeling the wind whip through his hair, realised his heart was pounding. But his fear was subsumed by his dark excitement. The waiting was over. Their time was now.

A cool breeze was blowing over the rooftops of Dras-Leona. It caught at the brightly-coloured banners that hung from the castle walls, making them snap and flick against the stone. It was late evening and the first of the stars were coming out. Up on the dragon roost, Calathiel patted her partner's neck. 'Don't be long,' she said softly.

Her partner, a heavily-built male dragon whose scales sparkled sapphire blue, put his head on one side and crooned softly. 'I'll be back by morning,' he said. 'I promise.'

'Very well,' said Calathiel. 'But be careful. I don't want anything to happen to you.'

'And nothing will,' said the dragon. 'I swear it.'

'I trust you,' said Calathiel. 'Good luck, Iormungr.'

The blue dragon dipped his head to her again, and then turned and launched himself off the roost. His large, sky-coloured wings opened and he flew away, up and over the Leona lake and toward the looming mountains of the Spine. Calathiel watched him go, and sighed. Her partner was spending a lot of time in the Spine right now. It seemed that finding a mate had awoken some instinct in him that wanted to spend time with wild dragons, and Calathiel couldn't very well stop him. She too wanted to return to her own people. She had been among humans too long. Their loud, crude ways made her feel tired and lonely.

She didn't feel like going below and facing Lord Aisling's blustering again, so she stayed in the open air and idly watched the sky darken

It was darkening too fast. Calathiel realised something other than night was coming when she saw the stars disappear from the sky. Dark clouds were coming in from over the mountains, and they closed over the city with unnatural speed, suddenly lit by lightning. Calathiel began to be afraid. Iormungr was going to be caught in the storm. And as the wind picked up, she shared the dragon's instinctive fear of it.

She tried to reach out mentally for him, but he was out of range. All she could pick up was a faint flicker of emotion. He was feeling nervous, but he was calm enough, and that meant he was safe.

Calathiel looked upward. The storm was becoming more violent. The wind tugged at her white-blonde hair, and lightning flashed, again and again, answered by thunder, although there was no rain as yet. She thought she saw something pale moving overhead, but almost as soon as it caught her eye it vanished into the darkness.

Calathiel hesitated. She knew she should go back inside, but something held her back. Perhaps it was the thought of Iormungr stranded in the mountains, but either way…

A gust of wind nearly blew her over, and she grabbed hold of the low wall that surrounded the dragon roost to steady herself, her stomach lurching.

The back of her neck prickled. There was something not right. She could feel it.

Calathiel turned around, reaching for her sword, and froze.

There was someone sitting on the wall behind her. She had not heard the trapdoor open, and indeed it was still closed. There was no way he could have climbed the roost, and yet there he was. A young man in a black robe, sitting there on the edge of the roost and idly cleaning his fingernails. His long, curly hair was jet black and streamed out behind him in the wind, and he had a pale, angular face with black eyes and a pointed black beard adorning his chin.

'Who are you?' Calathiel demanded, shocked. 'How did you get here?'

The man glanced up at her. 'Oh, hello,' he said coolly. 'I was wondering when you were going to notice me. Aren't you elves supposed to have better senses?'

'How did you get here?' Calathiel said again, hiding her shock.

The man sighed and pushed a lock of hair out of his face. 'Well, I have a few names. I seem to be collecting them. But my name won't be of any use to you, Calathiel.'

'How do you know my name?' said Calathiel.

'You'd be amazed at the things I know,' said the man. He sighed and began to mutter a string of strange-sounding words. At first Calathiel thought he was reciting a spell, but as she prepared to defend herself she realised the words were not in the ancient language. They were some other language, one she did not recognise.

'What are you doing?' she asked, still uncertain as to whether he was a threat or not.

The man stood up. He was taller than she had realised, and the wind tugged at his robe as he continued to mutter, his eyes fixed on her face.

Calathiel did not like this. She drew her sword. 'What are you doing?' she demanded.

'I'm reciting your funeral rites,' said the man, in a perfectly matter-of-fact voice. 'As a courtesy.'

'What?' said Calathiel. 'Are you insane?'

The man snickered. 'So they say,' he said. 'But that's not really for you to worry about, elf.'

'Who are you?' said Calathiel, yet again. 'I command you to tell me, or I will have you arrested.'

'Arrested for what?' said the man. Without waiting for an answer, he began to speak once more, using the ancient language but in a strange ritualistic chant. 'I am the shadow that comes in the night, I am the one with the hole in his heart, I am the King who rules over the dead, I am the fear that lurks in your soul.' He reached up to his shoulder and drew a long sword with a white blade. Lightning flashed behind him, outlining him in burning energy. 'I am the rider of the black dragon, I am the one who comes on the wings of the storm. I am the Great Betrayer… and you are my enemy.'

Terror put ice into Calathiel's heart. 'Oh my gods,' she breathed. 'No.'

In that instant, Galbatorix attacked. He did it so suddenly and violently that the horrified elf had no time to react, and before she could summon up her magic, he was on her. She raised her sword in time, and the two riders began to fight, fast and brutally.

It was the first time Galbatorix had really fought someone since the day Laela died, and this was different. When he had killed Laela's murderers he had done so in a mad frenzy, barely knowing what he was doing. He still had trouble remembering much of what had happened during those terrible days and nights, but he knew perfectly well that he had been out of his mind.

Now it was different. Now he was aware of what he was doing. Now he was fighting not to defend himself. He had chosen this fight.

And he liked it.

He let all his buried rage and hatred rise to the surface and drive him forward, putting strength into his sword-arm. Calathiel fought back powerfully, her greater experience making up for his innate talent and advantage of surprise. They gave each other no space to use magic, and the clash of hardened steel mingled with the growing storm overhead. As Galbatorix collected a few small injuries, the pain of it made his anger increase. He drove forward recklessly, landing a dozen crushing blows on his enemy, who wilted in the face of his onslaught. Desperate, she brought her blue-bladed sword around in a powerful sweep, slashing his arm open from shoulder to elbow. Galbatorix yelled in pain and backed off a little, and Calathiel was quick to take advantage of it. She flicked her sword into her left hand, freeing the right, and unleashed her magic. Blue energy leapt the gap between them, aimed straight at Galbatorix's face. But he blocked it swiftly and counter-attacked. Pitch-black magic shot straight toward Calathiel. She dodged it, and it struck the stone behind her, shattering it and sending shards of red-hot shrapnel in all directions. Neither of them paused to avoid it. They began to hurl spells at each other, lightning-fast, each one trying to overwhelm the other. This was true magical duelling; intense, powerful, and extremely dangerous. It was a hundred times more destructive than an ordinary, physical fight, and a hundred times more exhausting. Winning was only half of the battle; the other half was avoiding passing out from having used up too much energy in one go.

Now it was Galbatorix who was at a disadvantage. His wound was bleeding profusely, and it was a second drain on his energy which he could not afford to have. Calathiel was quick to realise this, and gave him no room to heal himself; she continued to attack remorselessly, sending a barrage of blue fireballs at him and forcing him to waste energy blocking them.

But then, quite suddenly, she screamed. Her magic faded away and she fell backward, writhing and screaming, doubling up with her hands pressed into her stomach.

Galbatorix ceased his attack and returned White Violence to his right hand. He walked toward the elf and kicked her own sword out of her grasp, sending it spinning away over the stones. She relaxed and sagged gently back onto the ground, her breathing harsh. Her eyes had gone large and terrified. 'Iormungr,' she gasped. 'No, please gods no… Iormungr…'

Galbatorix put the tip of White Violence's blade to her throat. 'I hope you said goodbye to him,' he said. 'Because you're never going to see him again.'

Calathiel acted fast. She grabbed hold of the swordblade and wrenched it sideways, heedless of the blood that immediately began running down over her arms, and hurled herself at Galbatorix, screaming; 'IORMUNGR!'

Galbatorix dodged her attack and kicked out, catching her hard in the stomach. The instant she hit the ground, he took White Violence in both hands and thrust it into the elf's chest. The white blade passed straight through her body, piercing her heart and killing her almost instantly.

Galbatorix pulled White Violence free and stood back, panting. He was drenched in blood and sweat and his arms were trembling from his exertions, but the thrill of the kill set his blood on fire. He cleaned the gore off White Violence's blade as well as he could, then sheathed the weapon and bent to check Calathiel's pulse. There wasn't one. He looked at her stiffening face for a moment, then picked up her limp right hand and took the gold seal ring from it. He put it in his pocket, then strode over to her sword and picked it up. As he was tucking it into his shoulder-belt beneath White Violence's sheath, a movement caught his eye. He turned around sharply, and saw something fall out of Calathiel's cloak. Curious, he went closer to see what it was, and gasped.

It was a dragon's egg. Sapphire blue, gleaming in the stormlight.

Galbatorix picked it up, turning it over in his hands. He could tell by the weight of it and by the smooth feel of the shell that it was real.

He stowed it away inside his robe.

Moments later, the trapdoor leading to the roost suddenly opened. Galbatorix drew White Violence and turned to face this new threat, but to his astonishment the person who came through the trapdoor was none other than Lord Aisling himself.

Aisling pulled himself into the open and stood still, staring bewildered at the scene that awaited him.

A man in a black robe that was wet with blood, holding a bloodied sword in his hand and standing over the corpse of Calathiel, lightning flashing in the sky behind him.

Aisling's mouth fell open. 'Oh dear gods in heaven… guards!'

He must have had some already with him. Half a dozen armed men burst out of the entrance and surrounded the burly lord, who pointed at Galbatorix and said; 'Get him! Take him prisoner!'

Galbatorix grinned horribly. 'Don't you recognise me, my Lord?'

The first of the guards reached him and attacked. Galbatorix stepped aside to avoid his spear-thrust, and brought White Violence down. The guard fell. His head rolled a few feet and came to a stop, and Galbatorix charged at his comrades. They never stood a chance.

Lord Aisling watched the massacre with horror, and as the last of the guards fell he made for the trapdoor. But a gust of wind caught it and slammed it shut, and the next moment Galbatorix was there. His sword was still in his hand and there was a ghastly look in his eyes.

Lord Aisling started to tremble. 'Please don't kill me! I'm begging you!'

Galbatorix watched him plead for his life, a faint sneer on his face. 'My gods, you look even more pathetic now than you did the last time we met.'

Aisling backed away from him, but Galbatorix followed, silently stalking him over the darkened dragon roost until he was forced to stop when he reached the edge of the hole left by the magical duel. There he fell to his knees, sobbing. 'Please. P-please gods don't kill me!'

Galbatorix paused, then spread his free hand over Aisling's head and began to mutter. 'Of earth born and in fire forged, by magic blessed and by cool water soothed, then by a breeze in the night to be blown away to a land of silver and bright flowers. May the gods receive the soul of Lord Aisling of Dras-Leona, may he look down from the stars and may his wisdom embrace us. This I ask in the names of the lost gods, by the sacred light of the moon.'

He let his hand drop, and for a moment there was stillness, broken only by the rumbling of the thunder.

'What does that mean?' Aisling dared to ask.

Galbatorix looked at him with utter contempt. 'Ingë Taranisäii sends her regards,' he said, and struck the old lord a powerful blow which sent him tumbling backward off the tower and into space, his last scream swallowed up by the wind.

Galbatorix stood in silence on the roost for a time, feeling the wind in his hair. His arm hurt, but he hardly noticed it. He looked around at the bodies, which lay where they had fallen, trying to make himself feel something over what he had done. But he felt nothing.

The trapdoor opened yet again, and a dozen more guards, evidently summoned by someone who had heard the noise of the fight, came charging through it. They stopped when they saw what awaited them.

They looked at the heap of bloody corpses, at the great crater on the edge of the roost, and most of all they looked at the only living person left there, who looked back at them.

Their leader, with considerable courage, pointed at Galbatorix and said; 'You! Throw down your sword, now!'

Galbatorix started to laugh. He laughed too hard; a cold, sadistic laugh that went on for a long time. The guards advanced on him, but he made no move to escape. He stepped backward, until he was balanced precariously on the edge of the void, and put his sword back into its sheath. Then he raised his arms as if in a gesture of surrender.

The foremost of the guards reached him, and tentatively reached out to seize him. Galbatorix did not move. But as the guards closed in, ready to take him into captivity once more, a great, shadowy dragon swooped down from the sky and carried him away.