Chapter Forty-Nine

In a Sea of Despair

Morzan woke up to a strange sound. He opened his eyes and stared blankly at nothing. Everything was blurry, and his head ached savagely. He was lying on a hard surface, and pain burned in every bone and joint, as if he had just suffered a savage beating.

He lay still, trying to will himself out of the confused haze covering his brain, while the sound that had roused him came again. He listened idly to it, and ice suddenly trickled into his brain when he realised what it was.

Screaming.

Morzan sat up, yelping when pain crackled through his spine. The screaming was coming from somewhere to his left, and he struggled to his feet and took a few shaky steps toward it. He walked straight into something hard and cold, and instinctively grabbed hold of it to stop himself falling over. He held onto it, blinking as his eyes finally refocused. He was in a small, gloomy space, but there was a light source directly in front of him – a torch, he realised. But he couldn't reach it, and nor could he go any further toward the person who was screaming.

He was in a cell.

Panicking, he reached out for Idün with his mind. She wasn't there.

Morzan felt as if something had just hit him in the stomach. 'Idün?' he yelled, his voice hoarse and cracked. 'Idün? Idün! Where are you?'

There was no answer. Morzan sat down sharply, his heart fluttering. 'No,' he whispered. 'No! Idün! IDÜN!'

The only reply were the screams, still coming from somewhere down the corridor.

Morzan started to shudder. He felt a hot wetness on his face, like blood, and stared blankly at the little spot of wetness that had suddenly appeared on the floor in front of him. Others joined it, and he covered his face and tried to fight back his sobs. In vain. There was a deep and horrible pain in his chest, as if he had been stabbed in the heart. He knew it was the place where Idün had been. She was dead. He'd lost her.

Morzan lurched to his feet and hurled himself at the barred door. 'NO!' he screamed, again and again. 'No, gods no! IDÜN!'

'Morzan!' a voice called.

Morzan barely heard it. He continued to ram himself against the bars, overwhelmed by a horror in his soul so profound that it smothered his senses. He was only vaguely aware of the screaming babble that came from his mouth, and the pain as he hit the door of his prison, again and again. Eventually his legs folded beneath him and he subsided onto the floor, sobbing brokenly.

'Morzan!'

The voice continued to call him, and he eventually looked up and saw that the prisoner in the cell opposite his had come to stand on the other side of her own door, holding onto the bars.

'Morzan,' she said again.

Morzan looked at her blankly. 'Tranah,' he rasped.

One side of Tranah's face was swollen, and a raw scar went from her forehead to her jaw. 'Are you hurt?' she asked.

Morzan looked at the ground. 'Idün's dead.'

'I know,' Tranah said softly. 'I saw her die. I'm sorry, Morzan.'

Morzan's fists clenched. He sat still for a moment, and then let out a horrible howl and started to bash his head against his cell door as hard as he could. Tranah cringed. She was about to say something, when another dismal scream echoed down the corridor.

Morzan suddenly became still. He blinked dazedly. 'What's… what's happening…?'

'We've been captured,' Tranah said in a dull voice. 'All of us. We were overconfident. There weren't only three riders here.'

Morzan shuddered. 'Brom's dead,' he whispered. 'I've killed Brom.'

'It wasn't your fault, Morzan. He attacked you first. It was him or you.'

Morzan started to cry. 'I want to go home,' he sobbed, his voice a child's.

'You can't,' said Tranah. 'We're not going to survive this. None of us are. Morzan, he's here. Vrael's here. He's the one who did this to my face. He's going to-,'

She was interrupted by a voice from down the corridor. 'Xanathus! Xanathus, ha'aii ran Ymazu xantho yanthan!'

The words were in some language Morzan didn't recognise, and they came in a ghastly, wailing, agonised voice – a voice he recognised. Vander's voice.

Tranah wrenched at the bars of her prison. 'Leave him alone!' she roared. 'You cowards, stop it! You're killing him!'

Silence followed, disturbed by a faint sobbing and moaning and then the sound of a door slamming. Footsteps came down the corridor toward them, and Morzan shrank back, shuffling toward the corner of his cell with the instinctive fear of a trapped animal. A shadow fell across the floor, and he looked up as the door opened and a familiar figure came through it.

Vrael.

Before Morzan knew what he was doing, he had leapt to his feet and charged straight at his enemy, his mouth opening to emit a crazed bellow of hatred. Vrael raised a hand, and Morzan was hurled backward. He hit the wall of his cell and slid down it onto the floor. The pair of guards who had entered with Vrael hauled him to his feet, twisting his arms behind his back, and held him still.

Vrael came forward, his white hair and clothes making him look almost ghostly in the gloom. Morzan's strength failed him, and he stood very still, staring at his erstwhile master with terror in his eyes.

Vrael nearly towered over him. His old, fine-boned face was cold and still, his pale eyes expressionless. Morzan could hear him breathing; quick, sharp bursts through his nostrils – the only sign of emotion he showed. Vrael stood unmoving for a few moments, and then hit Morzan in the face. 'You filth,' he said in a low voice. 'You scum.'

Morzan spat at him, and Vrael hit him again, so hard that stars exploded in his vision for a moment.

'Evil!' the elf roared. 'You pathetic piece of humanity, you murdering oathbreaker, you half-breed's slave!'

But Morzan was not defeated. He braced himself against the wall and threw his full weight forward, so hard he broke free of the guards' hold on him. He barrelled straight into Vrael, knocking him over, and began to punch him in the face and throat, as hard as he could. The guards grabbed him from behind, but he shook them off as if they were nothing and wrapped his big hands around Vrael's neck, squeezing with all his might. Vrael, his mouth bleeding from a couple of broken teeth, managed to free his right hand. Seconds later his magic struck into Morzan, and the bulky rider cried out and went limp. The guards dragged him out of the way and helped Vrael to his feet as more guards hurried in. Vrael healed his injuries with magic and kicked the helpless Morzan hard in the stomach. Morzan lay, unable to move, and saw Vrael staring down at him.

'You will be punished for your crimes, oath-breaker,' the old elf breathed. 'The time for mercy is over.' He turned toward the door, beckoning to someone standing in the corridor outside. 'Do what you will with him,' he said. 'But do not kill him.'

'Yes, my Lord.'

Then Vrael was gone, and the guards were pulling Morzan upright. A voice from the doorway said; 'Not here. This way.'

Morzan hung from the guards' grip, unable to resist any further. He saw Tranah watching him from her cell as they carried him away, her face pale, making the livid red scar all the more ugly and obvious. 'Courage,' she called after him, and then he couldn't see her any more.

The guards took him down the corridor, past dozens of other cells. He thought he caught a brief glimpse of someone who might have been Vander lying on the floor of one of them, and then they had left the cell block and were going down a flight of stairs. He was half-carried through a dark corridor that smelt of mould and rotting fish, and into a dimly-lit room where a brazier full of glowing coals cast unpleasant shadows onto the walls.

'Chain him there,' the voice commanded.

The guards took him to the end of the room and lifted his arms over his head, snapping iron manacles onto his wrists, neck and ankles. He hung there, his feet just touching the floor, utterly helpless.

'Leave now,' the voice said to the guards, and they departed.

Morzan fought desperately against the paralysing magic, his brain afire with terror, but all he could do was stay where he was and watch someone coming toward him.

'I don't think we need the spell any more,' said the voice, and a tingling spread through Morzan's body as the paralysis was dispelled. As soon as he had command of his limbs again, he started to struggle against his manacles.

'Pointless,' said the voice. It muttered a word, and some torches on the walls lit up.

Morzan found himself faced by a tall elf clad in brown, one he vaguely recognised from his days as a student in Vroengard so long ago.

The elf was looking at him with a strange look in his eyes, almost a hungry look. 'Morzan Drasborn,' he breathed. 'Do you remember me?'

Morzan said nothing.

'I am Sadron,' said the elf. 'One of the few uncorrupted riders left in Alagaësia.'

Morzan found his voice. 'Sod off, elf.'

Sadron turned away. He seemed to be trying to control himself. 'You killed my family at Osilon,' he said quietly. 'My mother. My father. My sisters.'

'Tough break, elf,' Morzan sneered. 'What d'you want me to do, kiss it better?'

Sadron span around and punched him in the stomach. Morzan jerked in his chains, wheezing.

'You soulless monster!' the elf screamed. 'How could you? How could you-?'

'They was elves,' Morzan snarled back. 'They deserved everything they got.'

Sadron hit him again. 'Benion!' he yelled. 'Helinniel! Eruanna! Anariel! My family! My father! My mother! My sisters!' he continued to rain blows down on Morzan, repeating the names over and over again with every single one. 'Benion! Helinniel! Eruanna! Anariel! Say their names, gods damn you! Benion! Helinniel! Eruanna! Anariel! You killed them! You killed them! You killed them!'

When he finally subsided, breathing harshly from the effort, Morzan's nose was broken and both his eyes were blackened and swelling. He coughed and groaned, but still had enough spirit left to say; 'You… bloody… coward.'

Sadron's eyes were burning. 'You're going to die, human,' he said. 'Not the traitor's death. I will find another way. A worse way. But you won't die until you've suffered. Lord Vrael was generous to me. He gave me permission to do what I liked with you.' He turned and walked toward the brazier, where a number of metal torture implements had been placed among the coals. He muttered a protecting spell over his hand and selected one, gripping the wooden handle so tightly his knuckles turned white.

Morzan's eyes widened, and he started to twist desperately, pulling on the manacles with all his might. Sadron sneered and tore the front of his shirt open, exposing his chest. He lowered the metal rod until the red-hot, glowing tip was an inch away from touching Morzan's skin. 'I want to hear you scream,' he whispered.

Morzan closed his eyes. Idün.

And after that there was only pain.

Vrael walked alone through the dining hall in the upper levels of Vroengard's fortress, his sword, Snœr'ónd, on his back. The servants he passed bowed low to him, murmuring respectful 'my Lord's, but he barely looked at them. He hated this place. Hated being surrounded by humans all the time, hated being away from the safety of Ilirea's walls. But it was necessary, he knew. The information that had reached Ilirea over the last few months had been sketchy and confused, at best. The elders had continuously sent riders out to the major cities, to govern and defend them, while others searched the countryside for the Forsworn. Much of the time it was impossible to be certain of where any one rider was or whether he or she was alive – messenger birds frequently failed to reach their destinations, and anything sent by courier would arrive far too late to be of any use. Rider after rider had simply disappeared without trace, with no word of what had happened to them. Some were later found to have joined the Forsworn. Others were never seen again. And some did come back to Ilirea and their master. The Great Betrayer made a point of sending the remains of everyone he killed back home to be interred, perhaps out of some twisted sense of honour but more likely as a form of intimidation to his enemies.

When Menulis finally persuaded Vrael to let him hunt for the traitors himself, Vrael and his fellows had been optimistic that he would succeed. And then, some time later, they had received a message from him which justified their optimism. A letter detailing the ignominious and very public death of the Great Betrayer, and a box containing his preserved and withered traitor's heart.

Vrael had taken no joy from the news of his death, and had had the heart placed inside a tomb in the catacombs under the city, which had been carved with the traitor's name and likeness during the years of his training, as tradition dictated. No body would ever rest there, and the ritual sealing of the tomb was not carried out.

But still, the ghost of the Great Betrayer would not stop haunting Vrael. Even though he knew he was dead, he felt no sense of triumph or relief, and nor did he feel safe.

And the sense of foreboding had not gone away, and in the end it had been justified. Vrael had sent a rider, Carina, to Gil'ead to report to Menulis. She had not returned. And ominous news had reached Ilirea – news of an uprising by its inhabitants against the castle, led by some unknown rebel. And now the city had suddenly broken off relations with all its neighbours, and nobody was leaving or returning from it. And when Menulis failed to reply to any of the messages sent to him, and other accounts reported that the common people were beginning to openly rebel in the Great Betrayer's name, Vrael had decided that it was time to take control of the situation. Gil'ead needed to be made an example of, whether Menulis was still there or not, which now seemed unlikely. Elder Oromis had offered to lead an attack on the city, with a number of lesser riders who had remained in Ilirea, and Vrael had recruited an army of ordinary troops from among the elves and dwarves currently in the city – all human occupants having been forced out some time ago.

After that, everything fell into chaos. News started to come to Ilirea at last, and it was nothing short of catastrophic. The Great Betrayer, alive and well, the Forsworn not just still extant but growing in numbers, Elder Menulis, dead at the Great Betrayer's own hands, Elder Oromis either dead or a captive, along with several other riders, the wild dragons vanished, the elves and the dwarves no longer allied with the riders, the humans rebelling against their former masters… and all the while came the list of the Great Betrayer's victories. Teirm, Gil'ead and Dras-Leona, the three largest cities in the country, were all now under his control, and the few loyal riders who remained were simply too frightened of him to try and fight back. Some came to Ilirea for protection, and promptly refused to leave it. The rest had gone into hiding.

All this happened very quickly – so quickly that Vrael felt as if he did nothing but listen to the bad news as it rolled in, so quickly that by the time he formulated a plan of retaliation, it was already too late for it to be carried out. In the end, when Vroengard was the only major stronghold that was not definitely under rebel control, Vrael had decided to take the only course of action that was realistically left open to him. He gathered together every rider left in Ilirea and led them to Vroengard. There he found that the Forsworn had not yet attacked it, and hastily set about making the place secure. The rest of Alagaësia was a lost cause, but he would hold onto Vroengard at all costs. He quickly sent messenger birds to the various elvish rulers in Du Weldenvarden, informing them that they should gather their people and go to Ilirea as quickly as possible. From there, the Elders Yansan and Saraswati would lead them to Vroengard, where they would take ship and leave the country forever. Alagaësia had been a good home to the elves for a long time, but it was plain that it had ceased to be so. It was time for them to move on.

And then three of the Forsworn had suddenly come to Vroengard, evidently sent to capture it.

It had given Vrael an immense amount of satisfaction to take them captive, especially when he realised who one of them was. Morzan, the first of the Forsworn, the Great Betrayer's right-hand man and most loyal follower. An extremely valuable captive.

Vrael had been sorely tempted to simply kill the three of them, especially since every one of his fellow riders there had been urging them to do it, but he had reluctantly seen that they were more valuable to him alive. Alive, they could be used as bait. Perhaps they would bring the Great Betrayer himself to Vroengard. After all, he had already proven that he was willing to risk his own neck for the sake of one of his followers, and Morzan was not just his follower but one of his closest friends. He would certainly be willing to do a great deal to save him. If he did indeed have Elder Oromis, then they could trade captives. Vrael had known Oromis since childhood, and was unwilling to leave the country without at least being certain that he was dead.

But though the prisoners had to be kept alive, that did not mean they could not be made to suffer for what they had done. Vrael disliked it, but he didn't feel even a hint of pity for them. They deserved worse. They deserved far worse.

They were not the only ones who were suffering. Vrael turned a corner and entered the fortress' sickbay. There were several people in there, mostly casualties from the attack, being attended to by a group of healers. When they saw Vrael come in, two of the healers came to meet him.

'My Lord, I'm so glad you're here. This man here needs magic; there's nothing I can do for him.'

'Where is the boy?' Vrael asked curtly.

'In the private room over there, my Lord. But my Lord, there are people here who need-,'

Vrael brushed past them and made for the door to the private sickbay, which was reserved for people with contagious diseases, or those of great importance, who had the privilege of extra privacy. The Lord of the riders hesitated for a moment, and then opened the door.

The room beyond was simply furnished, its walls painted white. A large window of expensive glass panes was set into the wall by the bed, overlooking the sea.

Brom lay in the bed, utterly still, staring at the ceiling. He gave absolutely no reaction when Vrael entered. His eyes were dead and empty; two blue voids set into his face, and his lips moved as he mumbled to himself. Just one word, over and over again. 'Saphira. Saphira. Saphira. Saphira.'

Vrael stood over him. 'Brom,' he said softly.

Brom blinked at the sound of his name, and for a few brief moments something approaching awareness showed in his face. 'Brom,' he said, as if the word meant nothing at all.

Vrael sighed. 'Brom, can you hear me?' he said. 'Do you know who I am?'

Brom turned his head to stare vacantly at him. 'Do you know where she is?' he asked. 'I can't find her. I can't find her.'

'She's out there,' said Vrael, pointing at the window. 'Brom, listen… you have to listen. You can't hide. You can't let yourself die. You can't hide it away. You have to let yourself feel it. Otherwise, you'll never recover.'

'I can't find her,' Brom said again, showing no sign that he had heard or understood.

'She's gone, Brom,' said Vrael. 'She's dead. Morzan killed her.'

Brom's limp hands curled into fists. 'Morzan.'

'Yes. We have him, Brom. We got him. He's in the dungeons. He's being punished for what he did to you.'

Brom started to laugh. 'Morzan's my friend,' he giggled. 'My best friend. He used to call me "mate". Brothers, him and me. Like brothers. She said.'

'He stopped being your friend when he sold his soul to the half-breed,' said Vrael. 'And he stopped being a rider then as well. But you, Brom… you'll always be one of us. No matter what happens. Even without Saphira.'

Brom's crazed grin faded. 'Saphira…'

'She should not have died,' said Vrael. 'You should not have done what you did. Why wasn't Saphira armoured? I ordered you to find some for her.'

'They wouldn't let me,' Brom whispered. 'I went to the armoury and they wouldn't let me in. Because I was human. Oh gods…' he shuddered. 'Where is she, sir? Why can't I hear her any more? Why…?'

Vrael shook his head. 'Be calm, Brom. Rest. You will recover, I promise. And we'll take you away with us. To a better place. You deserve it for all you've done, human or no.'

Brom did not reply. He stared at the ceiling again, and at the sparkling blue of the sea outside the window, and said again, 'Saphira…'

Vrael saw no point in staying any longer. He quietly turned and left, his heart aching. 'Such misery in the world,' Nöst remarked.

'Yes,' was all Vrael said in reply.

Brom dreamed that night. Or perhaps it was not a dream, but a vision. He couldn't tell. He only saw one thing. Saphira. The blue dragon hovered in front of him, smiling, her eyes warm. I'm here, Brom, she said. Come! Come to me, come, I'm waiting for you.

Brom walked toward her, hands outstretched. Saphira! Where are you?

I'm here, Brom. Just here.

He came on, but no matter how far he walked she was always just ahead of him, calling him onward, laughing at him. I'm here, Brom. Here. Here!

Can't you come to me? he asked. Come here, Saphira!

No, no, no, she said. You have to come to me, Brom. Come, come, come.

And so he came on. Things got in his way, but he shoved past them, sometimes using his magic to make them move aside. And still Saphira hovered just ahead of him, tauntingly close but always out of reach.

The cold woke him up. He opened his eyes and stared at the darkness, feeling a pang of fear when he realised that he didn't know where he was. He looked around, his head moving with a quick, jerking motion. There was a silvery moon somewhere above. He could see it shining on the surface of the water, and he squinted at it, not understanding what he was seeing.

Brom, a voice whispered in his head.

He turned sharply, but saw nothing, and finally realised where he was. He was standing in the open air, at the edge of a cliff outside the walls of Vroengard's fortress, the sea breezes ruffling his hair. And his heart ached unbearably.

'Saphira?' he called. 'Saphira! Where are you?'

Brom, the voice whispered again.

'Saphira! Where are you, Saphira? Can you hear me? I can't see you! Please, please don't hide. Come back!'

I'm here, Brom. Look there. Look!

He stared out over the sea, and his heart leapt. She was there, right there, hovering over the waves, staring back at him sadly. Come to me, Brom, her voice whispered softly. I miss you.

Brom smiled. The pain in his heart faded away, and he laughed aloud for joy. 'Saphira! There you are! I missed you so much-,'

And I you. Please come, Brom. Come…

'Oh, I'm coming,' Brom laughed. 'I'm coming.' He turned and walked back over the clifftop. When he judged he was far back enough, he turned back and ran as fast as he could, toward the edge of the cliff. He reached the very end, where the ground dropped away into the sea, and leapt into the void, his wide-open eyes staring fixedly at the wavering image of the blue dragon.

Then he fell.