Chapter Fifty-Three

The Hunt

Galbatorix slept deeply, and dreamed. A good dream. He saw Skade, as clearly as if she were there in the flesh, sitting by the stream and watching him inscrutably. He went to her, and she embraced him, her skin warm, her hair soft under his hands, her wild, fierce scent filling his nostrils. My sweet one, she murmured. My Galbatorix.

He kissed her. My Skade. My beautiful Skade.

She laughed at him. Can you run, Galbatorix? she asked. Can you catch me? And suddenly she was running away through the trees, her silver hair flying. He ran after her, and they wove here and there among the trees as fast as they could go, chasing each other, first one way and then another, never slowing, never tiring. He caught up with her by the still waters of a pool, and she pounced on him, knocking him down. They wrestled on the bank for a time, rolling over and shouting mock-threats until they relaxed and lay with their limbs entangled, breathless and giggling like children.

I caught you! he crowed. No-one escapes from me!

No, Skade breathed. Not even you.

They kissed again, not gently, but fiercely, almost violently, her claws cutting into him until blood beaded on his skin. But it didn't hurt.

Sing for me, Skade said.

What song?

Any song.

So he sang, his voice rising into the sky, and though he knew he couldn't sing like the dark elf who had taught him the words, he didn't care at all. Because to Skade it was beautiful, just as she was to him.

She smiled and kissed him again. The sweetest song I ever heard. What did it mean?

It meant… it meant I love you, Skade. More than anything. More than life. Will you ever come back to me, Skade? Will you remember me?

Always, Galbatorix.

After that he woke up. He fought to stay asleep, trying desperately to keep hold of the dream, but it slipped away from him, leaving nothing but a lingering sweetness and yearning behind. He opened his eyes and stared up at the sky. It was bright blue, threaded through with wispy clouds. Morning, or maybe afternoon. He felt warm and aching, but peaceful. He lay still and smiled in a gentle, loving way, a smile of the sort he had not worn in a very long time, one that made his normally cold and impassive eyes soften and brighten. If anyone had seen him then, they would no longer have feared him.

But the smile did not last long. He immersed himself in the dream for a time, savouring the memory of it, but then Shruikan stirred beside him and said; 'You've been asleep for a long time. What about Vrael?'

Galbatorix sat up sharply, reaching for his sword. 'Dduwiau felltithia 'i! What in the blue hell-?'

Morzan, Tranah and Vander were nearby, sitting around a fire and sharing some food. Tranah looked up at him. 'Calm down, sir,' she said. 'We're nearly ready to go. Come over here and have something to eat; you need it.'

Galbatorix stood up. 'What the hell happened? I don't remember going to sleep. Why didn't you wake me up? We haven't got time to waste!'

'You needed to rest, sir,' said Tranah, an odd note of relief in her voice. 'You'd had a nasty fall, and you'd used up a lot of energy fighting Vrael. D'you want to fight him again when you're about to pass out from exhaustion? Or would you prefer to be properly awake so you can remember the look on his face?'

Galbatorix sat down by the fire, muttering irritably. 'How long did I sleep? Is it still today?'

'It's tomorrow, sir,' said Tranah. 'You slept all day and night. You needed it. So did we.'

'Have some cheese, sir,' Morzan added, offering him a piece he'd been toasting on the end of a dagger. 'It's not bad.'

Galbatorix took it with ill grace. 'If Vrael gets away because of this-,'

'He won't sir,' said Vander. 'Didn't you see him? He's hurt. Badly. He won't have the energy to fully heal himself, if I'm any judge. And Nöst probably took a few injuries when he smashed into the dragon roost like that. Besides, we already know where he'll be going – Ilirea.'

'Maybe not,' said Tranah. 'He's wounded, and Nöst will be able to feel it. Pain does things to a dragon's mind, makes him act irrationally – forget his thinking brain and be more like an animal. I've seen it before. He might well go somewhere else.'

'Like where?' said Morzan.

'Somewhere he feels safe,' said Tranah. 'Not a city, somewhere in the wild. Like how a wounded animal returns to its territory – that's the place where it feels safe.'

'But Nöst's a bonded dragon,' Morzan pointed out. 'He doesn't have a territory.'

'No, but he does have the place where he hatched,' said Tranah. 'Ellesméra. Every dragon remembers his hatching, and the place where it happened has a special place in his heart for the rest of his life.' She sounded as if she weren't speaking her own words. Aedua yawned behind her, and Galbatorix realised Tranah had probably been speaking for her.

'Interesting theory, Tranah,' said Vander. 'Sir, what do you think?'

Galbatorix thought about it. Would Nöst really go back to his birthplace, when he had lived in Ilirea all his life? And what about Vrael? Would he fight against it, or would he want to go there too? After all, Islanzadí would surely welcome him – it was said that they had been lovers in the past, and he probably had more family and friends there than he did in Ilirea. Perhaps, to him, Ellesméra was home. In fact he had most likely been born there, or somewhere else in Du Weldenvarden. Would he, like Nöst, feel the pull of home strongly enough to go back there, when Ilirea would be far safer?

'The call of home is strong,' Shruikan murmured.

At the sound of the black dragon's voice, memories returned to Galbatorix. Memories of a time, so long ago as it seemed, when he had been in the North, lost somewhere in the middle of a barren snowfield, when a single day had robbed him of everything he cared about. First his people, and then Laela.

But he had not given up, and he had not stopped. Even though he had nothing left, even though his pain and loss had driven him to insanity, he did not lie down in the snow and die. He walked on, day after day, journeying beyond exhaustion, beyond pain and beyond hope, heading straight for the one place where he believed he could be safe – the place where he had been born. Teirm. He had never really wondered before why he had gone there. It was so far away, and he was alone and in no fit state for travelling. And he couldn't possibly be safe there. It was a major foothold for the riders, absolutely in their power, and sure enough, when he had finally reached it, he had been captured and delivered into the clutches of his enemies. If he had been thinking rationally at the time, he would have seen the pointlessness of going there, but he had not. In the midst of his madness, the lure of home had been the only thing left to drive him on.

'Sir?' said Morzan.

Galbatorix nodded. 'I agree with Tranah,' he said. 'He's gone to Ellesméra. Ilirea's where he lived, but Ellesméra is where his people live. What's left of them,' he added viciously.

'I don't know,' said Vander. 'Ilirea's as much of a home to him. He's lived there for more than two hundred years. And Saraswati's there, too.'

Galbatorix considered it. 'Yes… it could be either one, really. But I'm not going to risk splitting up. Here's my suggestion; we head East, toward Therinsford. We'll stop there and ask the locals if they've seen him pass. Nöst's too big to hide in the sky, no matter how high he flies. If they tell us anything useful, we can work from there. If need be, we'll go to Ellesméra first, and if he's not there… well, we'll decide what to do then.'

'Agreed,' said Tranah.

Galbatorix stood up. 'Let's go.'

It took them an hour to reach Therinsford. When they got there they found the very last thing they had expected to find – a large yellow dragon, crouched in the middle of the town. When it saw them coming, the dragon screeched and took to the air, flying away toward the Spine as fast as it could go. Aedua made a half-hearted attempt to go after it, but quickly gave up and landed on the outskirts of the town with Shruikan and the others. Galbatorix dismounted and led the way into Therinsford, saying; 'That dragon didn't have a rider. He's still in the city somewhere, and he'll have had his eyes on the sky.'

'Head for the governor's palace,' Tranah advised. 'It's not far from the centre.'

They jogged through the streets, swords drawn. Around them the local people ran to hide in buildings or alleys, knocking things over in their haste to get away.

'Well, it's better than having a bunch of snot-nosed babies thrust at you,' Galbatorix said dryly.

'Don't even remind me,' said Tranah. 'I must have blessed about a hundred of the things by now. They take it all so seriously, too.'

'It only ever happened to me once,' said Galbatorix. 'I had no idea what I was supposed to do, so I just made something up.'

Tranah nodded. 'That's what I always did too. Look – there it is.'

The palace loomed ahead of them – a large stone thing converted from an old fort. There were guards posted by the doors, but they fled as soon as they saw the four riders coming. Galbatorix made straight for the doors and wrenched them open. Almost instantly, someone ran out of the building and nearly slammed straight into him. Without thinking, he moved aside and punched them in the face with the back of his right hand, which was still grasping White Violence's hilt. The other person fell hard, and in a split second Galbatorix saw a yellow-bladed sword go clattering over the flagstones underfoot. With astonishing speed, he kicked the sprawled rider as they tried to rise, knocking them down again, and put the tip of his own sword to their throat.

The other rider, who he now saw was a woman, tried to scramble away from him. 'No!' she yelled. 'Oh gods, oh gods, oh gods-,'

Galbatorix planted his boot on her chest, pinning her down. 'Shut up,' he snapped.

Morzan caught up with him. 'Sir, stop!' he shouted. 'Don't-!'

The rider's eyes flicked toward him. 'Morzan!'

'Sir,' Morzan said urgently. 'Don't kill her. It's her. It's Lalla, the one who said-,'

Galbatorix looked down at the terrified rider. 'Morzan says you were sympathetic to him,' he said. 'Is that true?'

She nodded desperately. 'It's true,' she said, using the ancient language. 'I would have helped him if I could, but my oath wouldn't let me. I ran away to try and find you-,'

'And you came here. Why?'

'To hide,' said Lalla. 'I saw your friends fly over, and I thought… I was afraid they'd kill me as soon as they saw me. Please, sir, please don't kill me. I don't want to fight you, I just want to live.'

Galbatorix sighed and spread his hand over her. She closed her eyes and turned her head away, but he merely cast the spell over her to remove her oaths. When he had done he said; 'You're free now, Lalla. And I'm grateful to you for refusing to hurt my friend. I only kill those who attack me first, but you've shown you're ready to stop serving Vrael. Can I let you up now?'

Lalla looked up at him, breathing rapidly. 'Yes, sir,' she said, still using the ancient language. 'I won't attack you, I promise.'

Galbatorix removed his boot from her chest and helped her to her feet. She stood, dusting herself down, and Vander brought her her sword and silently handed it to her.

'Now,' said Galbatorix. 'I need your help and I haven't any time to waste. I'm looking for Vrael. Have you seen him?'

'Yes, sir,' said Lalla. 'He flew Eastwards, toward Marna. That was yesterday at around sundown.'

'How fast was he going?'

'Not very,' said Lalla. 'Nöst was flying low… he looked like he was wounded.'

'Good. Now, Lalla… are you ready to join us?'

'Do I have a choice?' said Lalla, with surprising boldness.

Galbatorix decided honesty would be the best policy. 'Not really. You're either one of us, or one of them. If you refuse to join either side, you'll probably be forced to leave the country. If you join us, you'll be treated with respect and your advice and suggestions will be listened to. We're equals and we don't have a hierarchy or a system of elders.'

'But you're the leader,' said Lalla.

'Yes, but I'm not an autocrat. Every one of my followers is also my friend. We're fighting for freedom, Lalla, and for justice. As a rider, it is your duty to fight for those things. The time of elvish supremacy is over. Now, humans are taking back what belongs to them. Will you remember what race you truly belong to, or have you become one of them?'

Lalla said nothing for a long time. She looked at Galbatorix, as if trying to discern some sign of deception in his face, and then she looked at his friends. Morzan winked at her and said; 'Go on, Lalla. We ain't evil. You deserve to be one of us.'

'All right,' Lalla said at last. 'I'll join you. What do I have to do?'

'Just take an oath of loyalty to me,' said Galbatorix. 'Swear to obey my orders and fight on my side, come what may, to keep our secrets and to never surrender or falter in the fight for justice.'

Lalla nodded. 'Then I will,' she said, and took the oath.

When she had done, she looked at him with a strangely drained expression, almost a weary one, and said; 'What do you want me to do, sir?'

'Come on,' said Galbatorix, and walked off. The others fell in behind him, and Lalla fell into step by his side, still looking at him expectantly. 'Call your dragon,' Galbatorix told her. 'Tell him to meet you at the edge of town, where Shruikan and the rest are. You and he will go to Vroengard. You'll find three riders there – Gern, Elric and Kaelyn. And some of the others may be there as well. Report to them; tell them I sent you and that I've gone to Marna to find Vrael, and after that to Ellesméra. As soon as the others return to Vroengard, they're to return to Gil'ead and take command of the army. Tell them to prepare the troops as thoroughly as possible. As soon as I return, we're going to march on Ilirea. If I'm not there within three weeks, tell them to leave without me. They're to take the prisoners with them. All of them. Keep them well-guarded and take every precaution to make sure they don't escape. Have you got all that?'

'Go to Vroengard, report to your followers there, tell them to go to Gil'ead, prepare the army, you've gone to Marna and then Ellesméra to catch Vrael, if you're not back in three weeks lead the army to Ilirea and bring the prisoners,' Lalla recited.

'Perfect. You'll make an excellent member of the Forsworn, Lalla.'

They had reached the spot where the dragons waited by now, and Galbatorix went straight to Shruikan and got into the saddle. He secured himself in place and waited while the others mounted up, leaving Lalla on the ground, still waiting for her own dragon to arrive.

Galbatorix looked down at her. 'Good luck, Lalla. I'll see you again. Be proud of yourself. You did the right thing.'

Shruikan took off with a weary flick of his wings, and Aedua, Ymazu and Idün followed, rising into the grey sky like a flock of birds.

'Marna it is, then,' said Galbatorix. 'We can stop there and get some supplies before we head on to Ellesméra. We should be there in a few days; we can stop by at Gil'ead on the way past and make sure things are all right there.'

'Yes, sir,' said Morzan.

Below them, on the ground, Lalla saw her dragon, Somerscales, coming toward her. She landed a short distance away, and ran to meet her. 'Lalla! Are you all right?'

Lalla embraced the yellow dragon. 'Yes,' she said. 'But we've… we're…'

'What? What is it?'

'I joined him,' said Lalla. 'He removed my oaths to Vrael and I took another one to serve him. We're Forsworn now, Somerscales.'

Somerscales' eyes widened. 'What? Lalla, how could you?'

'I had no choice. He would have killed me. And I don't want to serve Vrael any more. Not after what he did.'

'But will the Betrayer be any better?'

'I don't know, Somerscales. He's going to attack Ilirea soon. He told me. We have to go back to Vroengard and deliver a message to the F- to the others.' She laughed a little madly. 'Our fellow oathbreakers.'

Somerscales flicked her tail. 'Can we do this, Lalla? Can we be traitors?'

'We already were, Somerscales. And Vrael didn't want us. I could see it in his eyes. He didn't trust me, or you.'

'And can you trust the Great Betrayer?'

Lalla sighed. 'I have to.'

The journey toward Marna took three solid days of flying, and during that time they saw no other riders. They flew on past evening and into dark every night, and only went to ground very briefly in order to snatch a few hours of sleep before setting out again at dawn. They rarely spoke, reserving all their energy to simply keep going, on and on, over a landscape that never seemed to stop moving. Morzan, Tranah and Vander, their wounds barely healed from their time in Vroengard's dungeons, quickly became haggard and exhausted, often forced to sleep and eat in the saddle. None of them, however, even considered asking Galbatorix to slow down the pace. He showed absolutely no sign of tiredness – in fact, from time to time Tranah found herself wondering if he even slept at all. He was like one possessed; his eyes constantly fixed on the horizon, as if he were frightened it would disappear if he looked away. He virtually stopped speaking altogether, and in fact often looked as if he was unaware of their presence – his eyes would pass over them as if they were no more than rocks or trees, and he sometimes took several minutes to respond when someone spoke to him. He had even stopped combing his hair – which had until that point been a ritual carried out every morning and evening with the predictability of a sunrise or sunset. His determination to find and kill Vrael had become an obsessive drive that had now overridden all else, and it was so clear to his three companions that none of them could really make themselves feel much resentment over his behaviour. Galbatorix was not mad, as so many people believed, but he was driven in a way few other men were, and now that force in him was plain for all to see. His mind was not on Alagaësia now, or his friends, or the revolution: it was on Vrael, and Vrael alone. Vrael, the Lord of Riders. Vrael, who had taught him all he knew and made him a rider. Vrael, who had sentenced him to death for a crime he had not committed, and who had taken away everything he cared about. So much pain, so much death, so much misery. And Galbatorix believed that the blame for all of it rested on Vrael's shoulders. Knowing this, how could they possibly deny him the revenge he had been seeking for so long? They could not and did not. They recognised that, for now, their friend had become their leader, and simply followed him with all the loyalty he had won from them, ready to help him come what may.

They finally arrived at Gil'ead, and found it secure. Oromis and Carina were still safely held in the dungeon, and the army had camped itself around the walls. Morzan, Tranah and Vander retired to their quarters to sleep and have a wash and change of clothes, but Galbatorix barely paused to eat before he went to speak with Nar Kvarn and the other generals. Once he had heard the reports and issued some orders, he finally went to his own rooms and slept in the hammock he had left strung from the ceiling, so deeply that he did not dream.

He woke up at midday the next day, feeling as if he hadn't slept at all, and rather stiffly set about cleaning himself up. He found a spare robe in a cupboard and put it on, and then saw to his hair and beard. Once this was done, he went to wake the others.

'We're off,' he told them briefly, and left for the dragon roost. There he found Shruikan waiting for him, already saddled and bearing a pair of bags containing food and spare clothes.

'We're leaving?'

'Yes.'

Shruikan sighed. 'How far is it to Marna? I can't keep going like this much longer.'

It wasn't like him to admit weakness. 'Not far,' Galbatorix reassured him. 'We'll be there by evening.'

Morzan, Tranah and Vander arrived, dressed and with their swords on their backs.

'Sir, do we really have to leave so quickly?' said Tranah. 'I barely had time for breakfast.'

'No need to get discouraged when we're nearly there, Tranah,' said Galbatorix. 'Tell you what – we'll take it a little more slowly today, all right? And when we get to Marna, we'll have a good long rest there, how does that sound?'

Tranah groaned. 'All right.'

Not long later, they were in the air again. Galbatorix, lying flat against Shruikan's neck to avoid wind drag, mentally rehearsed all the destructive spells he knew. He listed them over and over again, and when he had done that he pictured the final fight with Vrael, planning which angle to attack him from, which sword-blows and spells to use, ways in which to avoid Nöst's talons if the white dragon tried to interfere, things he could say to taunt his enemy into making mistakes. And finally, he imagined what would happen when it was all over, when he stood over Vrael's dead body. He focused on it with all his might, willing it to become real in his mind. Maybe, if he could see it clearly enough there, he could make it come true in real life.

'You should have killed him,' Shruikan interrupted.

'What?'

'You want to see him dead. You could have seen it already. You should have killed him in his sleep, back at Vroengard.'

Galbatorix shifted in the saddle. 'No. Not like that. It would have been too easy. I want to kill him face to face. I want to look him in the eye when he dies. I want him to know it was me.'

'What does it matter? He would be dead either way. If you had done it, we would be celebrating at Vroengard right now, not rushing across the country like this. The war could have ended days ago.'

'I don't think the war will ever end, Shruikan. Even after Vrael is dead and Ilirea is ours. I don't even know what I'll do after then. I never thought about it. But fighting's all I know. What will I do when there's no-one left to fight?'

'There is always someone to fight,' said Shruikan. 'Always.'

'But will I want to fight them?'

'Yes, Galbatorix. You will. Do you know why I chose you? I could have left you that night. I could have left you to die. But I didn't. I chose to spend my life with you and let you share my strength. Do you know why?'

'No.'

'Because we are the same, you and I,' said Shruikan. 'I knew it then without knowing it. You are human, but your spirit is different. You are like a wild dragon. You are not afraid to fight like other humans, and you are not afraid of yourself. A wild dragon fights his enemies and does not rest until they are dead. And you… you are the same.'

'I didn't used to be.'

'Yes you did. But you didn't know it until later. You know what you are. The others don't see it, but I do. You're a warrior. A killer. It's written on your soul.'

Galbatorix shivered. Destroyer… 'But I don't want to be that, Shruikan. I never did.'

'You don't have a choice. You can fight any battle and win, but you can't fight against yourself. If you let yourself become it completely, you can do anything.'

'And how do I do that?'

Shruikan snorted a little jet of flame. 'You spared the elves. You should not have done that. You should have finished it. You should have killed them.'

'I couldn't do that, Shruikan. How could I? I'm not like them. What gives me the right to say whether a race lives or dies?'

'You have the power to do it. Therefore, you have the right. They were your enemies. Enemies must die.'

Galbatorix stared blankly at the ground passing below them. 'No,' he said softly. 'No. I can't do that. I can't be like that. I'm not a destroyer, Shruikan. I'm not. If I did that, I wouldn't be human any more. I can't let that part of me die.'

'Why? What use is it?'

'How can you say that? I'm a man, Shruikan, not a monster.'

'They say you are already.'

'What does that matter? Yes, I'm a killer. I admit that. And I probably always will be one. But that part of me is worthless. The part of me that spared the elves is the part I won't let go of. Not ever. Not for anything.'

'Sparing your enemies will never bring you anything except more pain,' Shruikan told him, his voice deep and inevitable. 'One day you'll see that, Galbatorix.'

Blank despair settled over Galbatorix's mind, and he sighed and sat listlessly in the saddle. He thought about Laela to try and cheer himself up, but he could barely remember what she had looked like any more. He tried to recall how her voice had sounded in his head. What had it been like? Deep? Light? Soft? He didn't know any more.

A lump formed in his throat. I've lost you, he thought.

He did not share the thought with Shruikan. He knew the dragon wouldn't understand. He could still feel his presence in the back of his mind, and it made him feel tired and miserable. Laela had been more than just a steed to him. She had been his certainty, and his joy. And now she was gone, he knew there was no way he could ever find her again. No-one would ever fill the hole she had left in his heart. Not Skade, not Shruikan, not anyone. Skade had gone, and though Shruikan had taken Laela's place at his side he did not provide the feeling of comfort and security she had offered. All he understood was fighting and anger, and he neither knew nor understood kindness or compassion or other human things. Galbatorix wondered how much Shruikan had been influencing him over the last few years. It was certainly true that the dragon's ferocity would flow into him at moments of high emotion or danger, and he could control that, more or less, but what about other times?

It was a disquieting thought. He lingered on it for much of that day's flying, but didn't speak to Shruikan again. The black dragon made no attempt to converse. Evidently he didn't feel the need to say any more.

By the afternoon, Marna had come in sight. It was a small and half-ruined fortress built on a hilltop, with a small village built around it. Once the riders had used it as a stronghold, but a century or so ago it had fallen into disuse and since then had been governed by a string of minor nobles or disgraced riders, who had not committed crimes that were severe enough to merit death, but who had displeased their superiors enough to be sent to a place which everyone regarded as a dead end. Galbatorix had scarcely given it a thought so far, but it would serve as a good temporary stronghold along the way. The locals were hardly likely to raise any objections.

As they neared it, Morzan made mental contact. 'Idün says there's a dragon down there.'

Galbatorix stared ahead, and thought he could see a vaguely dragonish shape perched on one of the fort's old towers. He mentally nudged Shruikan. 'What can you see?'

Shruikan sent him an image of it. Sure enough, there was a dragon up ahead. Too small to be Nöst. 'Huh,' said Galbatorix. 'Must be one of their lot, hiding out.' He contacted the others. 'All right, it looks like we've got another rider to deal with. Just one this time. We'll go in quickly and knock out the dragon. It doesn't look too big, but we won't aim to kill it. We might be able to get some information, or maybe a new recruit.'

'Yes, sir.'

The fort drew closer. Galbatorix could see the dragon now. It was only a little larger than Shruikan, and did not look particularly alert. An easy target.

Shruikan flew lower, readying himself. When he was directly above the other dragon, he folded his wings and dropped out of the sky, talons outstretched. Galbatorix held on tightly, bracing himself for the impact. The dragon below heard the rush of air and looked up. Galbatorix, plummeting toward the creature, saw it clearly just before they hit, and his heart leapt into his mouth.

The dragon reared up to defend itself, mouth opening to spit fire, but Shruikan was faster. His front paws smacked into the dragon's head, sending it flying, and a second later he landed on top of it, pinning it down with his claws. The dragon struggled feebly, evidently stunned by the blow, and Galbatorix undid the legstraps and dropped onto the stone. He stood still, swaying a little from his exhaustion, and stared blankly at the dragon. It managed to raise its head, and its sky-blue eyes met his for a moment.

And Galbatorix knew that dragon. Knew it all too well. 'Thrain.'