Chapter Sixty

Einn-Viđr Fell

It did not take Galbatorix long to find the place called One-Tree Hill. It was Westwards from Tärlee, at the very edge of the forest, close to some farmland. It was easy enough to see how it had got its name; the hill's sides were bare, but at the very top there was a single tree reaching up into the sky, silhouetted against the setting sun.

Galbatorix and Shruikan approached it on the ground, keeping to the edge of the forest to stay hidden. Neither of them could see any sign of a dragon by the hill, but Shruikan raised his head to scent the breeze. 'He's there,' he said.

Galbatorix stared intently at the hilltop. 'We have to come at them from the air. Running up the hill would put us at a disadvantage. But we need to know where they are first.'

Shruikan looked upwards. 'We should wait until dark. But before that…'

'Wait here a moment,' said Galbatorix. He walked on a short way, until he was as close to the hill as he dared go. At the very edge of the forest, he selected a handy tree and nimbly climbed into its branches. It was a tall oak, perfectly suited for climbing, and he went as high into its branches as he dared before he stopped and peered intently at the hill, searching for anything that could be Vrael or some sign of his camp. There was a shape by the roots of the single tree, but it was too far away for him to be certain of whether it was a figure or not. He thought quickly, and muttered a few words in the ancient language. A tiny window opened in the air, and he stared intently through it, willing it to show him what was under the tree.

His heart leapt. Vrael. He could see him now, as clearly as if he were sitting right next to him. The old elf was sitting cross-legged under the tree, eating something. There was a twisted scar on the side of his neck, a relic of Vroengard, and his fine white hair fluttered in the wind as he looked up, pale eyes scanning the landscape. For a moment they stared directly at him, and he drew back instinctively, heart pounding. But Vrael's gaze moved on and Galbatorix relaxed and banished the magical window. 'He's there,' he told Shruikan. 'Alone. Where could Nöst be?'

'Flying overhead, most likely,' said Shruikan. 'The forest couldn't hide him. He'll be keeping watch.'

Galbatorix stayed in the tree, scanning the sky as the first of the stars began to come out. If Nöst was up there then he was flying very high – too high, most likely, to spot Shruikan on the ground, especially now the light was fading. He briefly considered searching for the white dragon's mind, but decided against it. It would alert him instantly. 'If he's up there, he'll come down,' he decided. 'He can't stay up there all night. It'll be too dark for him to see anything anyway.'

'Keep watching until the moon rises,' Shruikan advised.

Galbatorix settled down in the branches to wait, pulling his robe around him. Time trickled by and the last of the stars came out as the sky slowly turned the colour of Shruikan's scales. The last of the sunset faded. In moments it would be full night. And then, just as Galbatorix was thinking of climbing down again, Shruikan's voice shouted in his head. 'He's coming! Look!'

Galbatorix looked up sharply. For a few moments he saw nothing, but then his heart started to pound as he saw a massive shadow descend from the sky. The starlight gleamed faintly on rows of white scales, and he heard the faint thud as Nöst landed on the hilltop by the tree.

He grinned in the darkness, and slid down out of the tree as fast as he could go. He ran to the spot where Shruikan waited, and vaulted onto his back. Shruikan turned and loped away from the hill at high speed, his talons almost completely silent on the leaf-litter. His wings unfurled as he emerged into the open air, and he launched himself off the ground with one smooth movement.

Galbatorix held on tightly as the black dragon spiralled upward, his shape outlined against the stars. From somewhere overhead he heard the sound of thunder rumbling. Shruikan was summoning the storm. Even as he turned in the air and flew toward the hill, the sky above them became darker still with cloud. The thunder grew still louder, and lightning began to crackle around Shruikan's wings.

He circled over the hill for a time, letting the storm gather its power. The thunder rumbled and growled, roaring like an angry dragon, one mightier than Shruikan, or Nöst, or any other dragon but one.

Galbatorix, holding onto Shruikan's neck, felt the dragon's heart pounding through his skin. 'Now?' he whispered.

'Now.'

Shruikan dived. He put his head down and dropped from the sky, folding his wings back as tightly as he could, just as he had done in Ilirea. Galbatorix clung on tightly, bracing himself for the impact. The ground rushed up to meet them, faster and faster, a great moving shadow hurtling toward them. But it was not all dark. No, there was a patch of pure whiteness below them. White as snow.

Nöst looked up the instant before Shruikan reached him. The white dragon let out the beginnings of a scream, and then Shruikan hit him. He struck Nöst square in the back, and his outstretched claws tore clean through the other dragon's right wing, shattering the bone and ripping the membrane to shreds.

Shruikan's momentum carried him on, straight through the ruined wing, and his claws drove into Nöst's flank, giving him the purchase he needed to stop himself before he smashed into the ground. The black dragon landed belly-first on Nöst's back, injuring himself on the spikes, but he extricated himself as Nöst's head swung around toward him, landing neatly on his paws. Nöst, bellowing in agony and shock, rose up onto his hind legs, his mouth opening to belch white fire at Shruikan. But the black dragon was faster than he was. He ducked under Nöst's head and ran toward the tree, putting it between himself and his enemy. Nöst began to go after him, but his wounded wing would no longer fold. It dragged on the ground, gushing blood, and he screamed and slumped onto his belly, trying pathetically to reach the wound with his snout.

Galbatorix leapt off Shruikan's back, drawing his sword almost instantly, and not a moment too soon. Vrael had risen from his place by the tree, and his hand was already rising, glowing with magic.

'Hlíf!' Galbatorix yelled. The shielding spell, hastily summoned, deflected Vrael's first attack just in time, and he dodged around the tree and rushed at his former master, side-on. Vrael span around to face him, and another spell narrowly missed him. It burned a patch of bark away from the great tree, and passed so close to Galbatorix's head that it singed his hair.

'Brisingr!' black flames sprang up from the ground in front of Vrael, and the old elf instinctively reeled away, raising his hand to send water at it and put it out.

Galbatorix took advantage of the distraction in the blink of an eye. He hurled a ball of concentrated, raw energy at Vrael, hitting him in the stomach and bowling him over. Vrael vaulted upright with astonishing grace, and spoke a spell that made a dozen rocks rise from the ground and hurl themselves at Galbatorix. He blocked them with another shielding spell and lashed out with his mind, hoping to break through his mental defences. Vrael struck back powerfully, sending a wave of hot pain through his skull, and ran at him, straight through the wall of black fire.

But Galbatorix was not defeated yet. He shook his head quickly, dispelling the red light flashing in front of his eyes, and dodged around the tree to avoid Vrael's next assault. The old elf followed him, moving with alarming speed. Galbatorix leapt at him from behind the tree-trunk, and his fist connected with Vrael's chin, knocking him backward.

Vrael staggered and nearly fell over, but he recovered quickly and ran back the other way, catching up with Galbatorix on the other side of the tree, close to where Nöst lay. He threw a barrage of white fireballs at him, thick and fast – too fast for Galbatorix to block them. He darted off toward Nöst in order to avoid them, which proved to be a mistake. The white dragon lashed out with his tail, sending him flying.

He landed across the roots of the tree with a loud thump and a blast of pain that made his entire world flash red for the fraction of a second. As he struggled desperately to get up, Shruikan rushed to defend him. Vrael avoided the dragon's talons and drew his sword, swinging it toward him with lightning speed.

Shruikan was not used to fighting an opponent armed with a sword, but the black dragon's ferocious nature prevented him from hesitating for more than an eyeblink. He opened his mouth wide and blew a stream of black and silver fire directly at Vrael. The elf blocked it with magic and charged straight at him, sword raised. Even as Shruikan swung around to face him, the white blade hit him in the forelegs, tearing a pair of deep wounds over the joints.

Shruikan bellowed as his front legs folded beneath him and he landed hard on his chest. Nöst was already rising to come after him, mouth agape, and the black dragon scrambled desperately away from him, trying to find shelter behind the tree.

Vrael went after him, sword raised, eyes fixed intently on his vulnerable hindquarters, but as he neared the tree, a powerful blow smashed into the side of his face, nearly knocking him over.

Galbatorix was on his feet, and White Violence was in his hand. Vrael, blood leaking from the corner of his mouth, swung around to face him. Snœr'ónd came down in a powerful sweep, straight for Galbatorix's neck. But he moved backward, bringing White Violence up to block it, and the two white blades connected with a clash that matched the thunder still raging overhead. Vrael found his balance and drove forward, putting his full weight behind his blade, mouth opening to scream. 'BETRAYER!'

Galbatorix backed away steadily, dodging most of Vrael's blows and deflecting the rest, making no attempt to make any attacks of his own, his face locked in concentration. He ended up with his back to the tree, unable to go any further, as Vrael swung Snœr'ónd at him with all his might, screaming his hatred. And still he did not try and strike back. He blocked the first few blows, and when the next one came in, aimed at his arm, he deflected it with a powerful flick of White Violence's blade, nearly knocking it out of Vrael's grasp. In the same instant, he braced himself against the tree and shoved forward as hard as he could. His knee came up, catching Vrael in the groin, and the elf screamed and staggered backward. In an instant Galbatorix came after him, raising White Violence. Now it was Vrael who was on the defensive. Galbatorix came on, bringing his sword down again and again as if it were a club rather than a sword. Vrael managed to block it, but the blows landing on Snœr'ónd's blade were so powerful that they threatened to disarm him at any moment, and he had no room to summon up his magic. And still Galbatorix came on, his teeth bared in a snarl. As White Violence struck, he started to speak, gritting the words out, one by one. 'Earth – born – fire – forged – magic – blessed – water – soothed-,'

Vrael tried desperately to hold his own, dodging this way and that and getting in his own blows wherever he could, but fear had hold of him, overwhelming his senses. In his head, he heard Nöst's voice. 'FIGHT, VRAEL! FIGHT!'

It put new strength into him. He ducked in under Galbatorix's arm and brought Snœr'ónd around in a powerful, reckless sweep. It hit Galbatorix in the side, cutting deeply into his flesh. Blood spurted out, splattering onto Vrael's face, and Galbatorix let out an unearthly scream. Vrael hit him again, on the leg, hurling him violently to the ground. He hit hard, yelling in pain, blood soaking into his robe, while over by the tree Shruikan fell onto his side and started to thrash desperately, roaring.

Vrael stood over his enemy, gasping for breath, his sword stained with Galbatorix's blood. At his feet, Galbatorix struggled to get up, but his hand kept slipping out from beneath him. His head fell back, and he started to sob softly, wracked by mortal agony.

Vrael pointed Snœr'ónd at him. 'So this is how you die,' he snarled. 'Alone. Where are your friends now, half-breed? Who will save you now? Who will mourn over you?'

Thunder crashed overhead, deafeningly loud, splitting the sky with white lightning.

Vrael started to laugh madly. 'Who will mourn?' he screeched. 'Who will mourn for the murderer? Who will mourn? Where will your tomb be? Who will shed a tear there?'

Galbatorix gathered his hands beneath him and managed to lift himself into a sitting position, but his strength failed him and he slumped back and became still, lying in a pool of his own blood.

Vrael watched him in silence until he stopped breathing, then stepped toward him, moving delicately, like a cat. He stood looking down at him for a few moments, and then spat on him. 'No-one will,' he said softly.

He kicked Galbatorix's body and spat on it again, and then turned away, stone-faced. He could see Shruikan, still alive, lying quite still by the base of the tree. Overhead, the storm raged on. A powerful wind descended on the hilltop, tearing at the branches of the tree and sending its leaves flying away over the forest of Du Weldenvarden.

Vrael began to walk toward the black dragon. 'And you,' he rasped. 'Shruikan Stormscales, son of the Night Dragon, slave of the half-breed, monster among dragons… I will send you to join your master in the shadows where you belong.'

As he came on, raising his sword, he heard something behind him. He turned sharply.

Galbatorix was getting up. Blood was still dripping from his side, but he ignored it. He slowly climbed to his feet, clutching his sword in one hand. Lightning flashed in his eyes, and Vrael's blood ran cold. 'No,' he whispered. 'No!'

Galbatorix said nothing. He straightened up, flexing his shoulders so that his back cracked. 'Vrael,' he whispered.

Vrael started toward him. 'Just die!' he screamed, and swung his sword as hard as he could. He hit Galbatorix in the chest, inflicting a deep and terrible wound. Galbatorix shuddered violently and cried out, the hand that held his sword twitching and juddering under the impact, but still he did not fall.

'Die!' Vrael said again. 'Why won't you die?'

Galbatorix did not move. 'Vrael,' he whispered again, blood trickling from the wound in his chest. 'What did you do with my daughter?'

Vrael pulled himself together. 'The creature was destroyed,' he said coldly. 'I saw to it myself.'

Galbatorix became very still. Not a muscle moved in his face. White Violence rose until it was level with his chest, pointing forward. And then, quite suddenly, he screamed. The sound tore from his throat, and he charged.

But not at Vrael.

Galbatorix turned and ran as fast as he could, leaning forward, putting all his weight behind his sword, aiming it straight at Nöst. And as he ran, he screamed a word. A name.

'LAELA!'

White Violence hit Nöst directly in the chest. Galbatorix's weight drove it straight through the white dragon's scales, through his flesh and his ribs, directly into his heart. Nöst's head snapped upward, toward the sky, and he screamed. Blood poured out of his chest as he struggled wildly to pull away, wings twitching convulsively. But his legs would not support him. He rolled over onto his side, his mouth stretching into a rigid snarl of agony. Blood started to run from between his jaws, and he groaned and became still, the light fading from his golden eyes.

Snœr'ónd dropped out of Vrael's hand. The white-haired elf fell backward, hurled to the ground by an invisible force, hitting the trunk of the tree.

And the Lord of the Riders screamed. He screamed and screamed, writhing on the ground as if he were being struck from all sides, his limbs flailing wildly, shaking and twitching. And all the while, he screamed. Screamed as his heart was ripped into pieces inside him, destroying him, taking away his joy, his life and his very being and hurling him into a darkness which consumed him utterly, taking away everything he had. Even his name.

And as he fell, his mind cried out. 'NÖST! NÖST!'

But there was no reply, and there never would be again.

It started to rain. Galbatorix, standing by Nöst's body, felt the water fall onto him, slicking his hair to his head and wetting his robe, washing away the blood. He stood still, lifting his face to the sky and letting the drops fall onto his face. And, just for a moment, he smiled.

A groan came from over by the tree, and he looked down toward it. He could see Vrael, moving slightly where he lay. Alive.

Galbatorix took hold of White Violence's hilt and wrenched it out of Nöst's chest. He walked toward the tree, but he went straight past Vrael as if he were not there, his gaze fixed on Shruikan. The black dragon was trying to get up, but his wounded forelegs refused to support him.

'Lie still,' Galbatorix told him gently. He spread his hand over the wounds. 'Waíse heill.'

He did not stop the flow of magic until the healing was complete and Shruikan could stand. 'Are you hurt?' the black dragon asked.

Galbatorix shook his head and patted Shruikan's shoulder. He took something from the dragon's saddle and turned away, walking back toward the tree. Vrael was still lying where he had fallen, spreadeagled. He was crying.

Galbatorix stood over him, sword in hand, and Vrael looked up at him, his dulled eyes widening with fear.

But then Galbatorix put the sword back into its sheath. He bent and lifted Vrael to his feet, and the elf put up no more than a feeble resistance as he tied his hands behind his back.

'Nöst…' Vrael whispered.

Galbatorix threw him down. 'He's dead,' he sneered. 'Serves you right, going out into the wilderness on your own like that. What were you thinking? Your stupidity cost you your dragon's life. Why didn't you come back to Ilirea? We were looking for you for months.'

Vrael said nothing. He lay half-collapsed against the tree's rough trunk, mumbling to himself. Galbatorix found a low-hanging branch and grabbed hold of it, lifting himself off the ground to test its strength. It held up under his weight, and he took the coil of rope he had taken from Shruikan's saddle and tied one end to it, tugging it to make sure it was secure. Satisfied, he tied the other end into a noose.

'You leave me no choice,' he said as he worked. 'I must pass sentences on you now. Vrael Linison of Ellesméra, for the crimes of high treason, abuse of power, several counts of murder and acts of genocide too numerous to mention here, infantacide, fornication with a member of a different race, cowardice on the battlefield, racial discrimination and deception of the people, you will suffer the punishment as laid out by the Council of the Rider Elders during the year of the Dwarvish Rebellion.' He wrapped the rope around the tree a few more times to make sure the noose was at head height, and turned to look at Vrael. 'Have you anything to say before justice is done upon you?'

Vrael struggled to get up, but his legs gave way and he fell back, grazing his head against the tree. 'Nöst,' he said again. 'Nöst…'

Galbatorix laughed. He pointed at Vrael. 'The elf is insane,' he jeered. 'Well, it's only to be expected. Losing his dragon has a bad effect on a rider's mind, don't you think?'

Vrael started to sob.

Galbatorix strode forward and lifted him to his feet, gripping him tightly by the back of the neck. 'Who will mourn over your tomb, Vrael?' he rasped in the elf's ear. 'Who will shed a tear for you? Who will care?' he dragged him toward the noose. There, he shoved a large rock into place and forced him to stand on it. He looped the noose around Vrael's neck, pulling it tight. 'No-one will,' he said, and kicked the rock out from beneath him.

Vrael dropped. He hung from the rope, his legs jerking, a horrible rasping, gurgling sound coming from his throat. His hands, bound behind him, contorted into grasping claws, and his entire body started to convulse.

Galbatorix stood by, watching him slowly strangle to death. As Vrael's face gradually turned blue, he began to chant softly. 'The red dwarves,' he said. 'The silver elves. The yellowskins, the sandpeople, the unicorn herders, the werewolves, the shapeshifters, the dark elves, the Drei'totza, the Durgians, the tree folk, the weredragons, the plains dragons, the sea-serpents, the urgals, the Ra'zac, the Shades.' He drew his sword, his eyes fixed on Vrael's face. 'Roland of the Three Peaks. Tranah Fenixdaughter and Strein Daretborn. Tuomas, Gern and Kaelyn of Gil'ead. Morzan Drasborn, Vander and Ymazu of the Hadarac, Orwyne Redwyn. Skandar Traeganni. Ingë Taranisäii. Cardock Arinuson. Freyja Sarthdaughter.'

Foam started to form on Vrael's lips. His struggles grew steadily weaker. He was dying.

Galbatorix pressed the tip of White Violence into the elf's abdomen, just below his ribcage. 'Arren Cardockson,' he said, and pushed the blade inwards and downwards in one powerful motion.

It cut cleanly through Vrael's clothes and into the skin and flesh beneath, and his intestines spilled out, glistening and horrible in the stormlight. He let out a rasping, strangled scream, blood bubbling between his teeth.

Galbatorix lifted White Violence above his shoulder, gripping the hilt in both hands. 'ARREN CARDOCKSON!' he screamed, and swung the sword with all his might.

Vrael's body hit the ground and rolled over onto the grass. A few seconds later, his head came to rest among the roots of the tree.

Galbatorix stood still for a time, his arm still raised, breathing heavily. Lightning flashed again from overhead, and he let go of the sword and slumped into a sitting position. His chest and side hurt, and he peeled his robe away from the skin to examine the wounds.

The wound in his side had exposed three of his ribs. He stared blankly at it. 'Shruikan, look at that,' he said, standing up and staggering toward him. 'I can see… look, you can see the bone.'

Shruikan angled his head away from it. 'Don't show it to me! Heal it, for gods' sakes!'

Galbatorix stopped, swaying slightly. 'Vrael's dead,' he said, blinking.

'I know. Galbatorix, heal yourself, now. Before you faint.'

'All right…' he spread his hand over the wound and spoke the healing spell. Shruikan lent him some of his own energy to complete it, and the white bone gradually disappeared, leaving a deep, puckered scar behind. The wound on his chest was equally bad, but he healed it as well. When he had done, he looked at his hand, flexing it experimentally. Why wasn't he tired? He had used enough magic to kill himself twice over, but he felt as if he had done nothing more strenuous than heal a bruise.

He dismissed the thought. There were more important things to do. He walked back to the tree, and picked up Vrael's severed head by the hair. The grisly trophy dangled from his hand, dripping blood from the neck. Shruikan, who had followed him, sniffed at it and then gave Galbatorix a hopeful look.

Galbatorix pushed him away. 'Don't even think about it. This is mine. But you can have the rest.'

Shruikan grinned a broad dragon-grin and tore into Vrael's body, ripping it apart. While he ate, Galbatorix took a rough cloth sack from his saddle and took out the apples it contained, stowing them away in his pockets. Once it was empty, he stuffed Vrael's head inside and tied the neck closed before he hung it on the saddle. The elf's sword was lying on the grass a short distance away, and he picked it up and tied it to the saddle next to the bag.

Shruikan finished his meal, and lay down under the tree, sighing.

Galbatorix sat next to him. 'I did it,' he said. 'I can't believe I…'

Shruikan nudged him gently with his snout. 'You have won, Galbatorix.'

'Yes…'

Galbatorix stared at his hands, trying to make himself grasp what had happened. Vrael was dead. The war was over. He had finally had his revenge.

But, as the storm began to subside in the air over One-Tree Hill, he felt more empty inside than he had ever done in his life.