Chapter Fifty-Seven

The Final Curse

For a long time after Galbatorix had spoken, absolute silence reigned in the elder chamber. Then, at last, Roland spoke.

'Sir… sir… no. No, you cannot mean that.'

Galbatorix was breathing harshly, his hand pressed into his chest. 'I'm dying, Roland,' he said again. 'There's nothing anyone can do. I'll be dead in less than a day.'

Vander dropped his sword and strode forward. 'Show me,' he almost snarled.

Galbatorix undid the fastenings on his breastplate and let it drop to the floor, and then opened his robe, exposing the left side of his chest.

Several of the Forsworn cried out.

The entire left side of Galbatorix's chest had turned an ugly red and purple colour. The scar over his heart was swollen, its surface taut and shiny, as if it were about to burst, and he cried out when Vander touched it.

'Godsdammit,' the skinny man swore. 'Godsdammit, godsdammit, godsdammit! How long have you been like this? How long have you known?'

'Since the morning after it happened,' Galbatorix said quietly. 'Since I woke up.'

'What's wrong with him?' Kaelyn demanded.

Vander stared blankly at the scar for a few seconds longer, and then abruptly turned away. 'He's bleeding internally,' he said. 'That shard of dagger inside him must have pierced his heart. Sir…' he turned back, his voice full of entreaty. 'Sir, why didn't you tell me?'

Galbatorix pulled his robe back into place. 'Because I knew there was nothing you could do, Vander. There's nothing anyone can do. I had to keep it secret. I had to stay strong, so you wouldn't worry. If I had said anything, we would have been delayed for weeks and I would have died then, without finishing what I started. I wanted to finish the war before then. So I could die knowing my life's work was complete.'

'But it must have hurt you.'

'It did. All the time. All the-,' he broke off, his face creasing. 'All the time,' he gasped. 'I kept myself… alive… used magic. It exhausted me. I could hardly stand. But I had to keep going. And now it's… it's done. I can die now, I can rest.'

'No!' Morzan strode forward and grabbed hold of his friend's shoulders, holding onto him as if hoping to keep him in the world of the living by force. 'No! I won't… I won't let it…'

'Morzan, there's nothing you can do,' said Galbatorix. 'Truly, nothing.'

Morzan let go of him and turned on Vander. 'Do something, dammit! Save him!'

Vander stared at the ground. 'I could reopen the wound and drain the blood out,' he said in defeated tones. 'But it would probably kill him anyway-,'

'No,' Galbatorix said harshly. 'There's nothing you can do, so don't try, Vander. I want to die with dignity. Give me that at least.'

Morzan started to sob. 'You can't do this, sir! You can't die! You can't! Not after everything you've done! It's not fair!'

Galbatorix took hold of his arm. 'It's all right, Morzan,' he said gently. 'I'm ready to go. It's my time. I've accepted it.'

But the others had not. They crowded around him, reaching toward him, all talking at once.

'Sir, please. Please, you can't do this! We need you! Let Vander do something-,'

'There's nothing I can do,' Vander interrupted. 'The bleeding is too severe.'

'It's my time,' Galbatorix said again. 'I have…' he cried out as the pain shot through him again, and his legs folded. The others supported him, and he lay still in their arms. Tranah reached out to pull his robe open again and expose the wound. She touched it, sending more pain into his system, and then withdrew her hand, swearing.

To his shock, Galbatorix saw tears on her face. 'It's all right, Tranah,' he whispered. 'I've seen it. I've seen…'

'Sir, please,' said Tranah. 'Please, you can't die!'

'I've seen it,' Galbatorix said again. 'I have… the seer's blood. I saw it. I saw it. Saw myself… with a dagger in my chest. Saw myself die. That's what the dream meant. And then… at Marna… it came true. It was true. I saw myself die. It's fate. It's time. I can't… I can't fight fate.'

'But how can you want to die?' Tranah demanded, angry through her tears.

'What I want has nothing to do with it,' Galbatorix said sharply, his voice suddenly recovering its old power. 'It's my fate and I accept it. Just as Arthryn taught me to.'

'It's not your fate,' Tranah snapped. 'There's no such thing as fate. There's only choice. How can you choose to die?'

Galbatorix closed his eyes. 'I don't, Tranah. I don't. There's no way to stop it.'

Tranah glanced at Vander. 'Is there?'

Vander shook his head. 'There's nothing we can really do to save him,' he said. 'Not unless there's a way to cheat death. And there is no spell that can do that.'

Galbatorix shuddered as more pain bit into him, stabbing at his heart. He could hear their voices pleading with him, begging him not to go. He reached out for Shruikan. 'Shruikan…'

'I'm here, Galbatorix,' Shruikan answered softly. 'Is it… is it time?'

'It won't be long. I'm so sorry, Shruikan, I'm so…'

A howl echoed over the heads of the Forsworn. Shruikan, lying half-collapsed against one wall, lifted his snout and began to wail. Galbatorix, hearing it, clenched his jaw to try and control himself. But he had no strength left, and tears started to wet his face. First Laela, and now Shruikan. He tried to get up, wanting to go to him, but his boots slid out from under him, and he sobbed weakly. And then, suddenly, Tranah was embracing him. The others joined her, holding out their arms to support and comfort their leader. He could feel their warmth all about, and their concern, and even though the pain was burning inside his chest, making his vision flash red, he realised something then.

'It's you,' he whispered. 'It's you. I was wrong, I was…'

'What is it, sir?' said Tranah, her voice soft, almost motherly. 'What are you trying to say?'

Galbatorix let his weight back onto his feet and stood upright, supporting himself on her shoulder. He looked around at them all; Roland, with Orwyne by his side, Morzan, white-faced but angry in his desperation. Kaelyn, Gern and Tuomas, comforting each other with touch. All of them, united.

'It's you,' he said again, a note of wonder in his voice. 'You're what… you're my family, aren't you?' He looked at Roland and Orwyne. 'My grandparents.' Morzan. 'My brother.' Kaelyn, Gern and Tuomas. 'My sons and my daughter.' He smiled a sad, gentle smile. 'I wasn't… I wasn't alone, was I? Not after I found you.'

'Yes,' said Tranah. 'We're your family and your followers, Galbatorix, and we're your friends. We don't just obey you; we care about you. And if you die…'

Galbatorix sighed and looked away from her. 'I don't want to die,' he said. 'I don't want to leave you. But there's no way…'

'Think, sir,' Roland urged. 'Is there anything that can be done, any healing spell you know, anything?'

Galbatorix cringed and shuddered again. 'No,' he rasped. 'Nothing, there's…'

Roland bowed his head. 'Then we've all lost,' he said. 'We've failed.'

'NO!' Morzan roared. 'Stop it! Shut up! This ain't happening. This is bullshit. This is…'

Galbatorix did not listen. The pain was growing stronger, pulling him away into darkness and peace, and he let himself remember a time when he was happy, out in the snow by the pool, with the family he had known for such a short time. They would be waiting for him somewhere out there; he knew it. I'll be with you now. There's no way I can stay, there's no way to stop it, no way…

But he could still hear their voices, calling to him, calling him back, and he could feel Shruikan's mind still linked to his own, and its pain and fear. 'I don't want to die, Galbatorix. I don't want…'

Slowly, very slowly, he opened his eyes. 'There is…'

'What is it, sir?' said Tranah.

Galbatorix breathed in deeply and forced himself to stay awake. 'There is a way to cheat death,' he whispered. 'A spell I learned. But it would…'

'Tell us!' Morzan shouted immediately. 'How do we do it?'

Galbatorix raised his head. 'How much would you do for my sake?' he asked them all in a low voice. 'How far…?'

'Anything, sir,' said Tranah.

'Anything,' said Roland.

'I'd die in your place if I could,' said Morzan.

'So would I,' said Strein.

'And me,' said Kaelyn.

The sincerity in their voices gave him new strength, and he pulled himself upright. 'All right,' he said. 'All right. Then we'll… we'll do it.'

'What do we have to do, sir?' said Orwyne.

'Bring the prisoners up here,' said Galbatorix.

'Which ones?'

'All of them.'

He hadn't realised how much time had passed since the battle for Ilirea had begun. The sun had sunk low enough to shine in through the entrance of the elders' cave as the Forsworn left it, their dragons flying out into the city as fast as they could. Galbatorix stayed behind, huddled between Shruikan's foreclaws, conserving his strength for what lay ahead. Morzan stayed with him, pale-faced, occasionally wincing from the pain of his own injuries. 'It's gonna be all right,' he kept saying. 'You're not gonna die. I won't let yeh do it.' He glanced at Galbatorix and grinned weakly. 'Eh? You can't die on us, mate. There's still things left for us to do. You've still got to kill Vrael, an' after that you've got a country to rule.'

Galbatorix made himself breathe deeply, forcing himself to stay awake. 'I don't want to rule,' he murmured. 'How… how can I? I don't know anything about ruling.'

'Vrael didn't either,' said Morzan. 'Know why? 'Cause he didn't care. He reckoned he could order people around just 'cause he was powerful an' they weren't. But you ain't like that, sir. You listen to people. Sure, you look scary an' all, but I know you don't mean to be. It's just the way yer are.'

Galbatorix nodded. 'I suppose I act that way sometimes because people expect me to.'

'Yeah,' said Morzan. 'People expect me to act like a moron all the time. I know it. All muscle an' no brain, that's Morzan.'

'You're not stupid, Morzan. I never thought of you that way. Never.'

Morzan grinned his gap-toothed grin. 'It's all right, sir, I know that. You always took me for what I was. Just like you did for everyone else.'

Galbatorix laughed softly. 'That doesn't make me different, Morzan. Because you did the same thing for me. You always have done. When Brom said I was a half-breed, the others all stopped. I saw them. They were shocked. They looked at me for a moment before they said anything, because they were wondering if it meant I wasn't a real person any more. But you didn't. Not even for a moment.'

'Well, why should I have?' said Morzan. 'What damned difference does it make? Everyone's gotta have parents. My dad drove a brick-cart an' spent all his money at the tavern. An' then there's me, his son, the one everyone called Donkey, who used to drag his dad out of the gutter an' take him home when he'd had too many to walk there. An' that boy ended up fighting for the best leader in the world, the one who beat the elves and the old riders and the wild dragons an' then ended the new ruler of the riders. They call me Lord Morzan, Galbatorix's strong right arm. Honest, they do. I've heard 'em. Now, who would have said that the son of Murtagh the Bricklayer would end up in a place like this, eh? Who would have said I'd been born right for it? No-one, because that ain't how it works. You ain't born to be anything. You choose it, fight for it. An' no matter what happens, I know I chose right.'

'You're wiser than you think you are, Morzan,' said Galbatorix. 'And you're right. It is all about choosing. I wasn't born a rider, or a leader, or anything except for what I am. I could have spent the rest of my life in Teirm, making boots. But I didn't, because I chose to look for something different. I heard the things people called me after they found out the truth. "Bastard half-breed freak", that was what they said. And they spat at me and threw things, and some of them even tried to kill me. And I saw it… saw the way they looked at me. They were frightened of me. And it made them hate me. And I wanted… I wanted to change it, so I tried. I spent… my whole life trying. And now…' he laughed a harsh, bitter laugh. 'And now I can see how well I succeeded. I showed them what would happen if a half-breed joined the riders.'

'No, sir,' said Morzan. 'It's not like that. It ain't. It's war; people always die in wars. People joined you, didn't they? So they believe in yeh. An' after this is done an' you're strong again, we'll show them they were right. We'll make this country great again, all of us together.'

They heard the sound of wings from outside, and a large group of dragons flew in. Others followed, and soon the chamber was full of them. The Forsworn brought the prisoners and their dragons to stand in a cluster in front of their leader, and Tranah came to his side.

'All right, sir, we've brought them. What do we do with them?'

Galbatorix got up with difficulty, wincing. He leaned on Morzan's arm and pointed at the edges of the chamber. 'Arrange them… in a circle. Chain them. You'll stand in a ring, with them on the outside. I'll be in the centre, and we'll cast the… the spell.'

'Are you sure you'll be strong enough for it, sir?'

'There's no other choice,' Galbatorix rasped. 'Do it.'

Tranah nodded and hurried off, and they heard her barking orders to the rest of the Forsworn. The prisoners, including Oromis, Yansan and Saraswati, were taken to the edges of the chamber and arranged in a ring, in a bizarre parody of the elders' circle that had once stood in that very chamber. The dragons lay behind their riders, their wings and legs chained together, and each rider was forced to kneel, their wrists chained to rings driven into the floor by magic. They, having been forced to take oaths not to fight or try and escape, cried out pathetically as the manacles were snapped into place, begging to be set free. Their pleas were ignored.

The Forsworn arranged themselves in a circle, their dragons beside them, and Morzan helped Galbatorix to the centre. Shruikan made to follow him, but he turned to the black dragon and said; 'No. Go outside. Perch on the top of the tower and watch out for danger.'

Shruikan lowered his head toward his partner. 'I won't leave you, Galbatorix.'

Galbatorix touched his snout. 'I'll be all right, Shruikan. Please, go. For me. I want you to stay safe. When it's time, I'll call for you. Please, Shruikan.'

Shruikan breathed in deeply. 'All right,' he said. 'But please… don't make me wait long.'

'I won't. I promise.'

Shruikan walked slowly toward the entrance, and the Forsworn parted to let him through. He took to the air with a clumsy flick of his wings, and circled upward and out of sight. Galbatorix stood still, apparently listening to his mental voice, and then sighed. 'He'll be safe out there,' he murmured, to no-one in particular. 'Morzan…'

'Yes, sir?'

Galbatorix was breathing heavily, his head low. Sweat beaded on his forehead. 'Go…' he nearly whispered, gesturing vaguely at the spot where Idün waited. 'Take your place.'

Morzan didn't move. 'Sir…' he said. 'Do you know what you're doing?'

'I hope so, Morzan.'

Morzan hesitated for a moment, and then took his friend in a fierce embrace. 'I'll do my best for you, sir,' he said. 'I swear I will.'

Galbatorix's thin body felt frighteningly fragile in his arms. 'I trust you, Morzan. Just as you trust me.'

Morzan let go of him and went to stand by Idün's side. 'I'm ready, sir,' he said. 'What do we do?'

Galbatorix looked toward the entrance. Outside, the sun was sinking below the horizon. 'We wait until moonrise,' he said.

'Why?' said Tranah.

'Because…' he paused, and winced. 'Because the magic is dark elvish. The moon… strengthens it. When it shines in on us, it'll be time.'

He sat down, cross-legged, and bowed his head. In his chest the piece of the dagger bit into him, cutting a little deeper with every heartbeat, slowly working its way into his heart.

Outside, the sun gradually disappeared in a blaze of red and gold, while in the sky overhead the stars began to come out. Smoke drifted up toward them from the burning city, and Galbatorix knew that the sacking of Ilirea was still taking place. The elves below were being massacred, just as they had been in Du Weldenvarden. And he was glad. There, in that cold chamber, feeling his wound slowly killing him, he was glad.

'Sir,' said Tranah. 'While we wait, you should probably tell us how this spell works.'

Galbatorix coughed and shuddered. 'It's dark elvish,' he said. 'I learned it in the North. From my grandmother, Arthryn. If it works, it will heal me and make me much stronger than before. I will open my mind to yours, and recite the spell. All you have to do is… is pour energy into me. Draw it out of the prisoners. As much as you need. Just keep it going, don't stop. It will take all the energy you can provide. But I must warn you. If… if the spell fails, I'll die. And you'll feel me die, as if I were your dragon. Are you… are you willing to risk that?'

'Yes,' said Tranah. 'I won't let you die, sir. I promise.'

'None of us will,' Roland agreed.

'Well, it sounds straightforward enough,' Morzan said confidently. 'Just an extra-powerful healing spell, right, sir?'

Galbatorix nodded vaguely. 'I suppose you could call it that.'

Tranah glanced behind her, to where a green dragon lay, his rider kneeling beside him. Carina looked back, entreating her sister with her eyes.

'Sir,' said Tranah. 'The spell… what will it do to the prisoners? It won't kill them, will it?'

Galbatorix hesitated. He looked at Tranah, at Strein, at Morzan and Roland and all the others, and then he looked out through the entrance at the sky, where the stars were shining out of the darkness. A faint glow was visible on the horizon, white and pure. The moon was rising. A memory came to him as the faint whispering of Shruikan's voice in his mind. Sparing your enemies will never bring you anything except more pain. One day you'll see that, Galbatorix.

'Sir?' said Tranah.

Galbatorix looked at her. 'No,' he said softly.

'Galbatorix, the moon is rising,' Shruikan called. 'Can you see it?'

Galbatorix stood up slowly. All the strength was leaving his limbs. His heart was fluttering desperately in his chest, trying to keep him alive even as the blood leaked out of it into his flesh, making it swell and throb. Blank fear closed over his mind. This was it. He no longer had the strength to walk. In less than an hour he would be comatose, and after that he would die.

And, in that moment, white light flooded into the elders' chamber. The moon had risen, and its glory fell across the assembled riders, gleaming on the dragons' scales. Galbatorix closed his eyes when it touched his face, and felt a strength and calm fill him, cold and certain and pure.

'It's time,' he whispered. 'Begin.'

'Galbatorix, what are you going to do?' Shruikan's mental voice asked.

Galbatorix took in a deep breath and shut the dragon out, severing their bond and purging Shruikan's presence from his mind until nothing was left. When he had done, he opened his mind to those of the Forsworn, letting them share his thoughts and feelings. He travelled along the mental channels this created, making connections between the Forsworn and the prisoners, every single one, until every rider and dragon in the room was connected, sharing one consciousness. He heard them shudder and cry out mentally as they felt his pain, and his own body, still standing in the middle of the chamber, trembled as it felt the pain of their own wounds – Morzan's cracked ribs, the sword-cut on Tranah's leg, Orwyne's burn, Idün's torn wing… he could feel it all.

He pulled back into his body, still keeping the channels open, and took command of his voice once more. He paused for a moment, delving into his memory, and then he began. He held his hands out toward the moon, palms-forward, fingers spread wide, as if trying to pluck the shining orb out of the sky, and began to recite the words Arthryn had taught him, so long ago.

'At 'r chyneua chan 'r llonaid leuad, Fi invoke hon hud. At 'r gras chan 'r ar goll dduwiau, Gwna hon ble. At 'r chrau chan hyn aberthau, Chymera hon ddonia.' His voice rose to the ceiling, strong and confident. 'At 'r chryfeder chan 'm hud a 'r chyfnertha chan hyn swyn gyfareddwyr, Chymera ar myfi 'r muchedd chan 'r brudia, a arddel 'r 'n ddedwydd noda chan 'n ddiau anfarwoldeb.' He turned slowly, staring at the Forsworn, one by one. 'Chan hos nos, Fi bodd gwared myfi chan farwol gwendid a buchedda 'r buchedd chan ddinwydd. Fi bodd mo chrebacha chan 'r yn dioddef chan byth. Chan hon ddiwrnod Fi shall bod fel carega, yn clywed na boeni, na hiraetha, na cawdd a na fenwyd. Pawb hon Fi bodd abertha, a ad 'm chrau ddylifa ag 'r chryfder chan dduw.' His voice faltered a little, but he turned toward the moon once again, holding his hands out in supplication toward it, and spoke the final sentence. 'Hon Archa chan 'th, 'n dragwyddol dduwiau, at 'r 'n gysegredig chyneau chan 'r leaud. Ad 'r chyfnewid ddechrau, a ad 'm buchedda ai bwra 'm i lawr.'

The instant the last word left his lips, he felt his own magic surge up inside him. Without Shruikan's strength to reinforce it, it started to sap his energy immediately. But even as he felt it start to kill him, energy flowed in to replace it from the Forsworn. Twelve beams of light hit him; red, blue, brown, gold, yellow, orange, grey and green, and when it touched him it turned pitch black, until his entire body glowed with dark energy.

The words had been spoken. All that remained for him to do now was stand still and keep the channels open. He tried instinctively to move, but couldn't. The magic had him in its grip, and it kept him rooted to the spot, unable to do anything but watch and wait.

He looked down at his hands, and saw them covered in light, every pore and wrinkle outlined by it. He flexed them, and they moved, every bone and joint perfectly coordinated. So beautiful, so elegant, and his.

And still the magic continued to flow, on and on, filling every part of him, and with it came strength. This was a strength greater than Shruikan's, greater than Laela's, greater than his own. His bones and muscles burned with it. He lifted a foot and stamped it on the ground, and huge cracks spread over the stone. His hands flexed, and suddenly he knew that, if he wanted, they could break a dragon's neck or bring down a tree. His eyes shone, and he stared out at the moon and realised he could see every crater on its surface, and count every star and cloud in the sky. He could see the snow on the mountains, hundreds of miles away, and the sea beyond them. He could hear it, too, rushing and hissing with the waves. And beyond that, even, to other lands and other places, and there he thought he caught a brief snatch of a voice. Your father, it said. Your father.

And he could see things closer too, far more clearly than he had ever seen them before. He could see every grain of dust on the floor, every hair on Morzan's head, every thread in the fabric of his robe.

But still the power did not stop coming. He felt it move over him, inexorably. Searching. And then… and then the pain hit him. He lifted his head to the ceiling and screamed, as the magic took hold of him, lifting him up off the floor. He felt his sinews stretch to breaking point, and his skin warp and shift as if it had a mind of its own. His spine cracked, bending along its entire length, and in his chest his heart beat faster and faster, threatening to burst with its own energy. The thick scar on his chest swelled outward like a blister. Then it burst. The wound reopened, and blood gushed out, soaking into his robe in torrents. Galbatorix screamed and screamed, his voice filling the entire chamber and making its walls shake. He could feel his life's blood pouring out of him, hot and vital, running down over his chest and dripping onto the floor below until he was suspended above a lake of redness. But still the magic had hold of him, and it would not let him die. It was all that was keeping him alive now. In his head, he could hear the voices of his friends, screaming as they shared his pain, and his voice joined with theirs just as it had once joined with Laela's.

But still the magic poured through them and into him, and still the spell continued. And, even as the agony threatened to destroy his mind, he heard something, faintly, above the sound of his own cries.

An innocuous sound. Not a particularly loud one. But he heard it.

The soft clank of a piece of metal landing on stone.

The instant he heard it, the pain in his chest began to recede. The magic surged up once more, gathering itself inside the wound, and the bleeding abruptly stopped. The wound closed over in seconds, black energy knitting the flesh back together and leaving no sign of a scar behind. His back clicked softly and became supple and flexible once more, and his crooked forefinger cracked back into its original shape. Every scratch and bruise he had gathered over the last few days healed over, and the miraculous strength filled him, replenishing his energy, giving him his life back before the magic gently lowered him to the floor once more.

Joy rose in Galbatorix's heart. He had done it. It had worked. He was alive. He wanted to call out to the others, and tell them it had worked, tell them they had been right, tell them…

But he couldn't. His mental voice was utterly silent. Fear suddenly struck into his stomach. The magic was still flowing into him, inexorably, on and on. And it did not stop. He couldn't move. He couldn't speak. He was trapped, standing in a pool of his own blood, still as a statue, his eyes wide open.

He tried desperately to shut down the mental channels, to stop the flow of magic, but he couldn't. The sheer force of it was so powerful that it overwhelmed him, and when he tried to push it back it simply flattened him, sending red-hot pain into his head.

And, even as he started to panic, he felt it begin. He felt the magic start to change him. His heart beat faster and faster, pumping red-hot blood through his veins, and his lungs expanded and contracted like a bellows. Thoughts flitted through his head, lightning-fast. His muscles became iron-hard, infinitely strong, filled with magic, his eyes blinked and saw to the ends of the earth and his nostrils took in a thousand scents and knew every single one of them instantly.

A wave of euphoria rushed over him. The spell of true immortality. It was working. He knew in that moment that he could do anything. Anything at all. He could pull the stars from the sky, boil the seas and lift mountains with his bare hands. The whole world was his to reach out and change. He could command the powers of life and death, make the sun rise at night, turn back time as he chose, make anything the way he wanted it to be. He was all-knowing, all-powerful, eternal. He was a god.

Galbatorix started to laugh.

His laugh went on and on, echoing over the whole city. An insane, power-hungry, cruel and soulless laugh.

He could feel the fear and confusion of the Forsworn, but he didn't care. He laughed on, forgetting everything else, utterly consumed by the power inside him. His own voice shouted into the sky, harsh and twisted, impossibly loud. I AM GALBATORIX.

But even as he laughed, even in that moment as he felt himself ascend toward true immortality and godhood, he faltered.

His laugh died in his throat, and he cried out suddenly. Pain was filling him. Pain and terror – a terror so deep that it turned him icy cold all over. And, all around him, he heard it, horribly loud to his heightened senses, striking dread into him.

'NO!'

'Please no!'

'Gods, no, no, no, no!'

'HELP ME! SOMEONE, PLEASE HELP!'

He felt a hot, wet trickle move down over his face, from his eyes, but when he touched his face there was nothing there.

But he could still hear them. They were screaming, crying out, pleading for mercy, sobbing and shouting.

Shouting his name.

'GALBATORIX!'

'Curse you, Galbatorix! Curse you! Gods curse you forever!'

All his elation left him. He could feel a numbing, weakening pain all over him, and he knew it was coming from the prisoners. They were dying. He could feel blood oozing out of a dozen pairs of phantom eyes, feel their hearts fluttering and weakening, feel the searing horror and despair coming from them, hear their voices screaming, cursing him with their last breaths, crying out to the gods to strike him down.

And he could feel it, and he couldn't stop it. It was too late.

He could feel the Forsworn too, and he knew they were feeling what he was feeling. And he could feel their own agony, their own terror, their own desperation. But they, like he, could not stop the spell. The magic flowed on, dragged out of the prisoners and sent through the minds of the twelve Forsworn, straight into Galbatorix's body.

'No!' he cried. 'No! Stop it! Someone-!'

He could feel something at the back of his mind, some tiny, feeble presence, needling at him, trying to get through his mental defences. He shut it out instinctively, not knowing what it was, and it vanished.

There was a roaring in his ears, mixed with a distant buzzing. Soon it would be all over. He bowed his head and waited for the end to come.

But then there was another roaring, and it was coming not from inside the chamber but from outside it. Galbatorix looked up, bewildered, and then the floor shook. A massive bellowing made the walls tremble. He wanted to turn and run, but he could not. He stared helplessly at the entrance, and saw the moon vanish, blotted out. Something massive and golden rushed in, straight toward him, and then it had passed by, knocking him down. He didn't even feel himself hit the floor. He tried desperately to break away from the mental channels locked into his mind, but in vain.

And then he felt something he had felt once before, so long ago, something that struck into his brain with the force of a thousand sword-blows, something that picked him up and hurled him away into darkness, something that destroyed him and, with him, everything else.

He felt himself die.