Chapter Forty-Eight

Dark Defeat

They hadn't expected it. None of them had. Ever since the Great Betrayer and his followers had entered into open war with the other riders, the various elvish rulers had become increasingly disenchanted with both the riders and humans in general. And, when they learned the awful truth of the Great Betrayer's heritage, they had known that he would attack them sooner or later. By this time the falling-out between Vrael and Queen Islanzadí had already taken place, and the elves had more or less broken off communications with Ilirea altogether and retreated into Du Weldenvarden. If the humans were rebelling, then so be it. Vrael could deal with them.

Then had come the attack on Osilon. It had come swiftly and suddenly and taken them utterly by surprise. One moment Osilon was there, and the next it had gone – its buildings burnt to the ground and its inhabitants slaughtered. The few survivors had fled to Ellesméra and told Islanzadí what they had seen. The unthinkable had happened. A group of riders had turned on their elvish allies in the most savage way imaginable, and Vrael had failed, utterly failed, to protect his race from them. Islanzadí had sent emissaries to the Lord of the Shur'tugal in the hopes of winning back his support, but no reply had been sent. Ilirea had shut itself away, even from her, and there was no way of knowing if the message had even reached Vrael at all. But when months had passed with no sign of another attack, and then word reached Ellesméra that the Great Betrayer was dead and his followers as well, the elves had allowed themselves to relax. The war was over and Vrael had won.

A messenger was sent to Menulis at Gil'ead, to congratulate him on having finally brought the Betrayer to justice and to ask him to speak with Vrael on behalf of Islanzadí.

The messenger did not return, but the Ellesmérans continued to wait for some word to come back to them. It never did.

And then, one day, someone did come to Ellesméra. Glaedr, riderless and half-insane, one of his forelegs gone.

The elves took him in and tended to his wound, but could not get any sense out of him other than that Oromis was in some sort of trouble. Islanzadí had him taken to the Stone of Broken Eggs and made comfortable in a cave there. When he had had some time alone to recover, he could perhaps tell them what was going on.

Some days later, Islanzadí rose early one morning as her habit was and went to sit in her audience chamber and watch the sunrise. Although she and her fellow elves felt fairly secure, they had taken precautions – sentries were perched everywhere in the trees, watching the sky with keen eyes. Anyone who entered the valley, from either the ground or the sky, would quickly find themselves the target of a lot of arrows. Elves were very good archers.

Islanzadí seated herself on the carved chair which was reserved just for her, and breathed in the morning air. A still day. The sky overhead was blanketed with silvery-grey clouds, but it would probably be clear by noon. A large oak-tree grew not far from where she sat, standing incongruously in the middle of an otherwise smooth carpet of grass. Its branches thrust up through the open roof, leaves rustling softly in a light breeze, and the ground beneath it was littered with fallen acorns. A fine tree. Some people had suggested removing it, but Islanzadí had decided to leave it where it was. In spite of its origins, she rather liked it.

She sat back and stifled a yawn with one elegant hand. The last few months had been trying ones, but she was feeling much more optimistic now. As soon as she had confirmation that the danger was over, she would go to Ilirea and speak with Vrael, although by rights he should be obliged to come to her and apologise. His handling of the whole sorry affair had been grossly incompetent, and Islanzadí had a very strong inclination to remove him from office. Even though he nominally outranked her, she had a great deal of influence over his fellow elders, and if she asked them to they would almost certainly pressure the Lord of Riders into retiring. Menulis would be a good replacement, and no doubt the other elders would favour him, considering he had been the one to finally kill the traitor. And he had had the sense to make it a public death, so that the common people would be left in no doubt of what happened to rebels. Yes, he would be a much more fitting ruler. Islanzadí resolved to see to it as soon as the opportunity arose.

A faint rumbling sound came from overhead. She looked up to see that the horizon had darkened. Lightning flashed in the distance, and she heard the thunder and sighed. She hated storms. The violence of them always depressed her. With any luck, though, this one wouldn't reach her valley.

She looked at the oak-tree again, and frowned slightly. Something had changed. A little shiver ran down her spine, and she stared at the tree, trying to figure out what was bothering her. There was nothing there. Islanzadí muttered to herself and looked away.

And then, quite slowly and without any sense of shock, she realised that there was someone sitting on the chair next to hers. She looked at them blankly, somehow knowing that they had been there for some time.

'Who are you?' she demanded, not particularly bothered, but annoyed that they had managed to creep up on her.

The someone else was another elf, and quite young. He wore a black robe with a hood trimmed with what looked like wolf-fur, and his hair was light-brown and flowed over his shoulders. He threw a slightly amused glance at her. 'Hello, My Lady,' he said. 'I didn't mean to disturb you, but it's such a nice morning, and this is a rather good spot to watch the sunrise, don't you think?'

Islanzadí frowned at him. 'How did you get in here? The guards shouldn't have let you in.'

'I persuaded them,' said the elf. 'My name's Taliesin, by the way, of Nädindel.'

Islanzadí sat up a little straighter. 'Did King Shardian send you?'

Taliesin nodded. 'He wanted to be sure that things were going well here. I arrived this morning and thought I should come straight to you.'

'I am pleased, Taliesin,' Islanzadí said, remembering her formalities. 'You carried your message well. Ellesméra is safe and secure; we have suffered no attacks. So far there has been no word from Vrael, but I have sent a messenger to Gil'ead to talk with Elder Menulis. Have your own people heard anything new about the war?'

'The latest news has it that the Great Betrayer is dead,' said Taliesin. 'Elder Menulis finally caught up with him and put him to death at Gil'ead. As for his followers, they have been scattered and most of them killed. The war is over.'

'We know all of that,' said Islanzadí. 'Elder Menulis sent us a message to that effect. But something has happened to Elder Oromis.'

'Oh?' said Taliesin. 'What do you know of this?'

'His dragon, Glaedr, came here a few days ago,' said Islanzadí. 'Wounded and without his rider. One of his forelegs… it was completely severed. He was in great pain, so much so that we could not get any word from him about Oromis.'

Taliesin looked thoughtful. 'Did he survive?'

'Yes,' said Islanzadí. 'He is recovering now. Hopefully when he is better he will be able to tell us more.'

'So everything else is well?' said Taliesin. 'Are you prepared for an attack if one comes?'

'We are,' said Islanzadí. 'It seems unlikely, but some of the Forsworn could still pose a threat. I have sentries posted in the trees.'

'And if an attack happens?' said Taliesin. 'Do you have the numbers to repel an invasion?'

'Our forces are sufficient,' said Islanzadí. 'I have two hundred warriors in the valley.'

'That's not many,' Taliesin observed.

'It is enough,' said Islanzadí.

Taliesin nodded. 'It sounds like you're well-prepared,' he said. 'But if I may, I have a suggestion to offer.'

'Speak,' said Islanzadí.

Taliesin stood up. 'You need some better guards,' he said, and punched her hard in the jaw.

Islanzadí fell backward off her chair, unconscious. Snickering, Taliesin took a length of rope from inside his robe and tied her arms behind her back. He easily lifted the Queen of the elves to her feet, and dragged her away into the little building behind the audience chamber. There he sealed the doors with magic and tied Islanzadí to a chair. Once she was secure, he dragged a table over to the nearest window and sat on it, cross-legged, watching the sky. The storm was already beginning to gather its power overhead.

Taliesin grinned to himself and took the glove off his right hand. He laid it on his own forehead. 'Flytja sjá gríma.'

The magic went to work. A few seconds later his chin started to prickle as his beard regrew, and his hair turned black and formed into its usual loose curls. When it was done, he glanced at the unconscious Islanzadí. 'Fel 'm boblogi ca 'n hwy ddial, gormeswr,' he muttered. ''Ch amsera wedi darfod. Your time's up, tyrant.'

Islanzadí's eyes opened slowly. She stirred and tried to lift her arms, then screamed when she realised she was tied up. 'Help! Help me!'

Galbatorix checked the window again. 'I wouldn't bother if I was you,' he said. 'Your guards can't hear you. They've been taken ill. A rather bad case of being dead.'

Islanzadí's eyes widened. 'You!'

Galbatorix bowed. 'It's been too long, Queen Islanzadí. Thankyou for the information, by the way. I've just been passing it on to my friends. I'm sure they're finding it very useful.'

'Taliesin-?'

'Taliesin Taranisäii was my great-grandfather, actually. Noted for his skill in diplomacy. I, however, prefer the sort of diplomacy delivered on the end of one of these.' He drew White Violence.

Islanzadí started to struggle, wrenching at the ropes that bound her. 'Let me go, you foul half-breed! I will have you buried alive for this!'

Galbatorix laughed coldly. 'Will you now. How charming. Perhaps I should keep that in mind when I decide how to dispose of you.'

Islanzadí became still. 'You fool,' she snarled. 'Just how long do you think you can hide in here? Do you honestly believe you'll get out of here alive? You've just climbed into your own tomb.'

'Oh, I don't know about that,' said Galbatorix. He stood up on the tabletop, staring intently out the window. The sky outside had slowly turned the colour of slate, and a strong gale made the trees toss and groan, their leaves flying.

'What's happening out there?' Islanzadí demanded.

'The world is changing out there,' said Galbatorix. 'Right now, as we speak. Do you believe in ghosts, Islanzadí?'

'Your foolish human superstitions have no power over me,' said Islanzadí.

'A simple "no" would have sufficed,' Galbatorix said evenly. 'Well, there are ghosts. Perhaps we can't see them, but they're there. They're all around you, Islanzadí. They've been following you for a very long time. Angry ghosts. Do you know what they called me in Teirm?'

Islanzadí only stared at him.

'They called me "the Shadow That Walks",' said Galbatorix. 'A shadow is another word for a ghost, and that's what I am. Or what I carry. I'm the ghost of your past, Islanzadí, come back to remind you of what you've done. You know what I am, don't you?'

Islanzadí's eyes burned. 'Dark elf,' she hissed.

Galbatorix nodded. 'You should have seen it before, 'N Ddeheoul Choblyn,' he said. 'It's all in me. When we first met, I didn't know. Now I do. I found the last of the dark elves, and they taught me their ways. Their magic, their language, their secrets. You, Islanzadí, were the one who destroyed them. You and the rest of your evil race. But now your crimes have caught up with you. I am the last dark elf. Fate chose me to punish you, and that is what I am doing. Your power over Alagaësia is ending.'

Islanzadí couldn't bear to meet his eyes any longer. She looked away. 'You're going to die, hálfr-dreyri,' she said in a low voice. 'Vrael will kill you for this.'

'Vrael? That old fool is hiding in Ilirea with the rest of the elders, too frightened to come out and fight me himself,' Galbatorix sneered. 'At least, two of the elders are hiding with him. The other two never made it back there. Menulis is dead. I killed him with my own hands. And Oromis has been inconvenienced in Gil'ead. Very soon Ilirea will be attacked, and when that happens, Vrael and the rest of the elders will die. Painfully. And you, Islanzadí, will not be able to stop it. Would you like to know why?'

'Because you're going to kill me,' said Islanzadí.

'You? You're just one person. Although killing you would indeed be very enjoyable. But I'm afraid you were misinformed. The Forsworn aren't gone; far from it. We're growing stronger all the time.' He sat down on the table and yawned elegantly, like a cat. 'I wish you could see it, Islanzadí. I wish we could both see it. Unfortunately, some of life's little pleasures have to be experienced vicariously. But I'll do my best to give you an outline of it. Du Weldenvarden has been invaded. Two days ago, Ilía Fëon was attacked by an army of humans and urgals, led by two of the Forsworn. None of the inhabitants survived. I heard that directly from my two friends. And today I came here to infiltrate Ellesméra before we attacked it. The storm is gathering. Shruikan is coming, and a few of the Forsworn are with him. They're leading an army of five hundred. Humans, urgals and kull. Alagaësia's downtrodden races have risen up against you, thanks to me. Unfortunately, not all of the Forsworn could be here to see Ellesméra's destruction. The rest of them are busy. I believe Sílthrim fell some time during last night. Nädindel is being attacked as we speak, and Kírtan… oh, I dealt with that one on the way here. I think you might recognise this.' He flicked something toward Islanzadí. It landed neatly on her lap, and she stared blankly at it.

A gold ring, crafted in the shape of a twisting vine entwined with a snake set with rubies and emeralds.

'Queen Caunwen's ring,' she breathed.

'She put up a good fight,' said Galbatorix. 'They all did. And then they died. I burned the bodies myself. But don't worry – I didn't forget to say the funeral rites first. Even dark elvish rites are better than none at all, wouldn't you say?' he got up suddenly and stepped down off the table, coming toward her. Islanzadí cringed away from him as he leant over her. His clothes smelt of smoke, and when she looked more closely at them she could see the faint crusting of dried blood still clinging to the fabric. Galbatorix took the ring from her lap and retreated. 'I'll keep this, if you don't mind. It's rather nice. Dwarf-made, I think.'

Islanzadí watched him as he slipped the ring onto his own finger. 'You monster,' she said. 'How could you do this?'

'Monster?' Galbatorix roared, his calm exterior suddenly vanishing. 'Monster?' he jabbed a finger at Islanzadí. 'You're daring to call me a monster? You?' he started to pace back and forth, his boots making no sound on the floor. 'The silver elves. The red dwarves. The unicorn herders. The sand-people. The Drei'totza. The Durgians. The dark elves. Where are they, Islanzadí? Where did they go?'

Islanzadí blanched. 'The mistakes of the past-,'

'Mistakes?' Galbatorix repeated. 'You call the destruction of a hundred races at your hands a mistake? And they say I'm insane. No, Islanzadí. You knew what you were doing. You all knew, and you used the riders to do it. You call me monster, but I know why you hate me. I'm the one that got away. The one you couldn't control. I'm doing to you what you did to us, and I'm doing it in the name of freedom. I will kill the elders and set Alagaësia free. The riders won't be controlled by you any more, or ever again. The time of the elves is over.'

Thunder broke in the sky outside, so loud it made the walls shake. It was followed by a blinding flash of light, and after that, Islanzadí heard crashing, roars and screaming.

Galbatorix glanced up at the window. 'It begins,' he said softly.

The wind howled, splattering the window with rain, and the storm gathered its power. Outside, battle-cries mingled with shouts and the roaring of dragons, and the crash of steel. Islanzadí closed her eyes and fought back a passionate sob.

A loud thump rang through the room, and the door shook in its frame as something struck it from the other side. Galbatorix turned instantly, raising his sword. The door shook again and again, its hinges juddering and shedding dust and flakes of paint. He moved quietly to stand behind Islanzadí, touching White Violence's point to the back of her neck.

The door shattered into pieces, and someone came charging through it. Galbatorix tensed, but the intruder halted halfway and said; 'There you are, sir!'

Galbatorix lowered his sword. 'Orwyne. Thank gods, you had me worried for a moment there. Quick, help me with her.' He cut Islanzadí's bonds and dragged her to her feet, and Orwyne hurried to help him. She pinned the elf's arms behind her back and marched her out of the building, Galbatorix walking in front with his sword in his hand.

They emerged into a scene of chaos. Humans, elves and urgals were fighting each other among the trees, heedless of the storm that raged all around them. Overhead three dragons circled, launching fire at the elves on the ground. Magic, arrows and spears flew everywhere, and the ground was already littered with bodies.

Galbatorix halted by the base of the oak tree he had created so long ago. 'Hold her here,' he told Orwyne, and walked out onto the battlefield. Shruikan swooped down to land beside him, and Galbatorix patted the black dragon's shoulder and muttered a spell under his breath. A moment later he raised his sword. Lightning flashed over the blade's polished surface, and he shouted; 'ELVES OF ELLESMÉRA!' His voice, magnified by magic, carried out over the valley, drowning out even the sounds of battle. The combatants heard him, and dozens of elves instantly rushed to attack him. But Galbatorix signalled to Orwyne to bring Islanzadí forward. He grabbed the elvish Queen by the back of the neck and threw her to the ground, jamming White Violence's point into the spot between her shoulderblades. 'I have your queen!' he bellowed. 'If you come any closer, she dies!'

Several elves halted their charge. Others, however, came on. Shruikan lowered his head and breathed a massive blast of black and silver fire at them, killing many and forcing the rest to retreat. Galbatorix hauled Islanzadí to her feet. 'Tell them to surrender,' he rasped in her ear. 'Tell them, or die with them.'

Islanzadí had no resistance left. 'Surrender!' she shouted. 'We surrender! Throw down your weapons! I command you!'

The battle had nearly stopped already, and now it ended altogether. One by one the elves threw their weapons down and were captured. Galbatorix's followers brought them to a spot at the base of the hill where their leader stood, and when they had all gathered he suddenly let go of Islanzadí and kicked her hard in the back, sending her staggering down the slope. Her people caught her and quickly gathered around her, protecting her with their bodies. But they had no chance to fight on. They were surrounded.

Galbatorix pointed White Violence at them. 'Elves of Ellesméra,' he said. 'Listen to me now. You have lost. Ellesméra has fallen, and your other settlements along with them. You have been punished for your crimes against the people of this country. As you wiped out the dark elves, the red dwarves, the werewolves and the shapeshifters, I have now done the same to you. I have you in my power, and you are facing the punishment you deserve: extinction.'

At the sound of this dread word, a terrible wailing arose from the elves. Many of them fell to their knees, others tried to fight or flee, but their voices mingled, and every voice was terrified.

Galbatorix watched them, his eyes as cold as his heart, though he could hear them clearly enough.

…Please!

…Please, no! Not that, not-

Deyja, deyja, andlát!

…don't want to die, don't want to die…!

'However,' he said, cutting across them, 'I won't do that to you. I am not an elf. You couldn't rob me of my heart, and my heart won't let me become like you. Therefore, I will spare you from the fate you brought on so many others. My friends and I will leave this place and never return, but on one condition: that you never emerge from Du Weldenvarden again. Stay here and live how you choose, and you will not be interfered with. But if you ever leave it, if you ever try and take back the power you lost, if you try and stop the rightful inhabitants of this land from living as they choose, then I will return. And if that happens, there will be no more mercy. I will kill every last one of you. Even the children. That is my promise to you.' He put White Violence back into its sheath and inclined his head toward them. 'Fel dydy 'n ddigon.'

He had said all he had come to say, and now he climbed into Shruikan's saddle and glanced at Orwyne. She gave the command to the assembled army to depart, and Shruikan took off, flying low over the elves and knocking several of them down with his dangling talons before he swooped up into the suddenly clearing sky and flew away over Du Weldenvarden with slow, leisurely beats of his white wings. Orwyne gave the order for the army on the ground to depart, which they did in a slightly disorganised fashion, forming up behind their general, Nar Kvarn himself, and marching out of Ellesméra, although some could not resist pausing to loot a few of the enemy corpses.

Galbatorix and Shruikan circled overhead to watch them go, and once they were well on their way they followed them. A few moments later they were joined in the air by Orwyne and Ana.

Galbatorix made mental contact with Orwyne. 'Everything go as planned?'

'Yes, sir. No significant losses on our side.'

'Perfect. Ana, did you get them?'

Ana was laughing out loud. 'Oh gods, that was amazing. I had no idea joining you would be so much fun.'

Galbatorix and Orwyne exchanged glances.

'"Fun"?' said Calanon. 'Are you mad, human?'

'A little, maybe,' said Ana, unflustered. 'But, well, I've always hated elves and loved a good fight. And I'm going to be famous now, too. This is going to be written about in the history books, and everyone will know I was there. Brilliant.'

'This is nothing to be proud of, Ana,' Galbatorix said sharply. 'Now, did you do what I asked or not?'

Ana nodded. 'I did it, right enough. But you'll be a little disappointed. There was only one left.'

'What? What happened to the rest of them?'

'Search me. But I went up to the Egg-Guardian's house, like you said, and broke the door down. I found the box hidden in a cupboard. It was locked, but I got it open, and there was one egg left inside. So I took it. Maybe old Einás hid the rest of them before she ran off or something. Anyway, I've got it in my saddlebag. It's a rather nice colour. Green.'

'Well done, Ana. We'll keep it safe. Can't risk letting the elves get another rider on their side. The only new riders will be our riders.'

Orwyne frowned and watched the army marching below them. 'I just hope we don't end up wishing we hadn't spared them. Not that it wasn't the right thing to do, but you can't pretend they won't want revenge for this, sir.'

'There's no doubt about that,' Galbatorix agreed. 'But I really doubt we've got anything more to fear from them. They're not extinct, but they've been weakened very badly, and they know it. We'll keep watch on them. As soon as we see any sign that they're up to something…' He left the rest unsaid.

'You're right, of course,' said Orwyne.

'And we've got the strength,' Ana put in. 'We're riders. Not even elves can fight us and win. What's next, sir?'

'We meet up with the others at what's left of Kírtan and head back Southwards,' said Galbatorix. 'From there I'm going to head for Vroengard to meet up with Morzan. With any luck his news will be as good as ours.'