Galbatorix's Fall Chapter 5, an inheritance cycle fanfic

As he leaned against the wall, Eragon's eyes closed in contentment and exhaustion. He allowed his mind to rove through the palace corridors in pursuit of any meandering thought that strayed across his path. Eventually, he traced a path back to Saphira, who was waiting impatiently in the courtyard.

What are you still doing in there? she asked anxiously. Smoke curled in tight tendrils from her massive nose.

Taking a well-deserved break, Eragon answered tiredly.

This is no time to rest! Saphira scolded him angrily. Haven't you gotten your things yet? Are you forgetting Elva's prophecy? The palace is aflame!

I don't smell anything, Eragon replied. Nevertheless, he cracked an eyelid to survey his surroundings with new attention. No scent of burning wood reached his nose, and he couldn't feel any heat that wasn't natural for this southern country. Still, he felt a pang of remorse that he'd forgotten to grab his things as he'd told Saphira he would. The soldier distracted him; that was all. Saphira spoke again:

It doesn't matter if you can't detect anything right now; you need to get everyone out of there! I see smoke pouring from one of the towers!

At once. Eragon sprang into action once again, and quickly iterated to the men what Saphira had told him. He also made special note of the soldier who'd slain the first Ra'zac before dashing up to his rooms to grab his more valuable possessions. Hastily, he stuffed his scrolls and the miniature of the Menoa Tree in a sack, and ran out to meet his dragon.

Saphira crouched underneath a tree in the midst of people carrying rubble to the burn pile. He met her gaze questioningly, and she ducked her head sheepishly, refusing to answer. Eragon trotted the remaining distance between them and swung onto her back. What happened? he questioned gently.

It was another illusion, she confided softly. Trianna was showing the other members of Du Vangr Gata how she created the fire.

Eragon breathed deeply and comforted Saphira, the pair creating a pool of calm lost in a torrent of motion around them.

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Roran looked upon the picture his cousin and dragon made and felt a hunger stir within him. Katrina… How he longed to sit with her, quell her fears, dry her tears, and make her happy. He knew that there wasn't even a faint whiff of romance to Eragon and Saphira's relationship, but they reached a degree of intimacy that he, Roran, had found with Katrina. You took my father and fiancée. How will you make things right? What will you take next?

With a melancholy sigh, he returned his attention to the particularly stubborn log at his feet.

Katrina was bored. After the uneventful meeting with the Ra'zac, they had not come back, and left her alone with her deceitful father. She resolutely refused to speak to him, and he extended the same courtesy to her. Katrina initially had spent her time memorizing the terrain of her prison, but it lacked intricacy, and therefore proved to be little challenge. Also, she had devoted many hours to plans of escape, where she fearlessly slew all the Ra'zac guarding her; where Roran swept in to rescue her and assassinate King Galbatorix; where her father unbent his pride enough to forgive her and give his blessing to her marriage. Katrina's happy daydreams grew to be quite elaborate, expanding to include everything as grand as the rise of the Dragon Riders to the insignificant as embroidering cloth napkins in pale yellow thread for her own daughter's dowry in the hazy, distant future.

However, she yearned for real human contact, something no amount of wishing and dreaming could satisfy. As she reclined against the wall, Katrina traced patterns in the air with her newly freed hands, trying to break the monotony. This, too, grew dull, and, spying the thin layer of loose dust and grime at her feet, she transferred her designs to something she could actually see. To her bewilderment, her finger left no imprint on the powder. In fact, it didn't even manage to dislodge a particle of the dirt. Frowning, Katrina used more force, but to no avail. She glanced at her father, but he was turned away from her, ignorant of her antics. Katrina wrestled her bound legs from under her without making too much noise, and tried dragging her heels through the dirt. Nothing.

Why would dirt remain so stiff?

Lying on his bed in the early morning, Eragon inhaled deeply. Tomorrow, he and Roran would make the trek to Helgrind. He wasn't ready.

Morning, Saphira greeted him cheerily.

You are way too… Eragon couldn't even think of a word to describe her: he wasn't a morning person.

I believe perky would be a good word there, Saphira teased. Come on, up!

Eragon blinked the sleep from his eyes and rolled out of his bed onto the floor. I'm up. He heard his dragon snort with her peculiar laughter.

If you're ready to go, then I suggest you look for your cousin and reassure him of his fiancée's well being. He's rather…stressed.

Where is he?

Doing something dangerous with that hammer of his. He saw a mental picture of Roran swinging at a stick he'd thrust in the ground.

I'll go make sure he won't hurt himself, then.

Good.

Eragon stretched briefly, and picked up his replacement sword—one couldn't be too careful. Closing his door behind him, he grew conscious of voices not far down the hall from him. Eragon dismissed them as idle gossipers, but he couldn't help but hear their conversation as it increased in volume. Still trying to block out the words—it wasn't polite to eavesdrop—he still found that one of the people was the man who'd slain the Ra'zac that had almost succeeded in wounding him yesterday.

"Still, you have got to admit that you deserve a bonus," one said. The other man snorted.

"Yes, you can argue that point until the grass turns purple, but that doesn't mean that I could actually get one," he countered. "The funds are rather low, here, and maybe they would reward me richly for killing the brute, but at present, a full meal is all they can really give me."

"So you're going to let the opportunity go by—that could pay for both fees, and have more to spare."

Now Eragon was curious. He continued walking towards the pair, and when he deemed it to be an appropriate distance, he waved to them.

"Good morning," he said courteously. The men turned to face him, and both returned the greeting.

"You were there," started one man belligerently. His hair was incredibly orange, as was the rest of his skin. Eragon wondered if he'd been cursed, or if this was another strange ethnicity, like Nasuada's dark skin. The man continued: "Helzvog killed that first black terror, and he should get a good reward for his work, shouldn't he?"

Eragon wasn't sure if he heard correctly. "Helzvog?" The second man, who had jet-black hair and soft eyes, nodded. "Did you know that your namesake—"

"—Was the Dwarf God? Yes," he answered quickly. "People often remind me."

Eragon nodded, and commented, "The treasury is a bit low at present. A reward will no doubt be given during peacetime." If that comes in their lifetime, he added mentally.

"Which is exactly what I said," Helzvog said, nodding to his companion. "Come on, Hurat."

Eragon stepped aside to allow Helzvog and Hurat to pass, smiling. What do you think of them? he asked Saphira.

I like Helzvog—he seems fair, she replied. I'm not sure about Hurat, though. What fees was he talking about?

Eragon shrugged, and continued towards his cousin.