Edge of Oblivion
Chapter I - Galbatorix
DISCLAIMER: The Inheritance Cycle is not owned by me. Christopher Paolini owns that universe which he created.
Galbatorix whooped in delight as he and his dragon soared through the air. His dragon did several barrel rolls followed by other complex aerial maneuvers, and though he felt dizzy from them the dragon rider enjoyed every minute of the experience. After many years, he had finally finished his training as a rider. Now the rest of his learning will come from his experiences beyond Vroengard to the wider land of Alagaësia.
His powers were still growing with each passing day, and he had spent many years now with his dragon, their bond strong and true. The winged magical creature was already big and getting even bigger, though at a much slower rate than before. Typical for a dragon of his age.
His other two companions who were also on their dragons were a few hundred feet below him, looking up at him with amusement. They were his closest friends, and together he fancied they were the strongest of all the riders. Even Vrael himself could not defeat us! he thought with a grin, patting his dragon as they flew through the sky.
Perhaps in a decade we can hope to match his power, said his dragon, Do not forget that he is our leader for a reason. It would not do to underestimate someone so powerful
His powers are waning and he is getting far too old for his position. We will be the most powerful rider and dragon in history, and we will take command of the riders, said Galbatorix, that much I promise you.
His dragon, Jarnunvösk, rumbled with laughter and then let loose a roar of defiance against the world after that statement. That we shall.
The consciousness of one one of his companions pushed against his at that moment, the Spine is below us now.
Very well. Let's go down and see what all this fuss is about the Spine being too wild, he said to his friend, We shall be the first riders to tame the Spine!
A feeling of satisfaction and agreement flowed through the connection before it was severed. Jarnunvösk angled himself downward, and so did the two other dragons, and within minutes they were soaring next to the peaks of the Spine.
-xxx-
It was dusk by the time Jarnunvösk landed in another clearing big enough for him with a earth-shaking thud, and a few seconds later Galbatorix dismounted from him. He landed on the ground on his feet then tucked into a roll to soften the impact. They were deep within the northern part of the Spine. Already they had encountered two roving bands of filthy Urgal warriors, which they destroyed with ease. He surmised that they were out hunting or perhaps even on their way to pillage the countryside. Other than that, there was not much the Spine had to offer in terms of challenges for them, and even those Urgals were no match for three dragon riders and their dragons.
Either whatever it was that people said made the Spine dangerous was hiding from them or it did not exist. Really the only danger has been and still is the threat of Urgals. They had spotted an entire village about a league to the northwest, but they decided to attack in the morning for it was already late in the day and the sun was beginning to set. They set up camp and ate from their provisions, starting a small fire in the middle.
It seemed like they had walls about them as their dragons lay down and curled around them, their giant scaled bodies mimicking stone walls, albeit with spikes.
"Galbatorix," said one of his companions aloud, "How much longer are we going to stay in the Spine?"
The other companion, setting up a campfire, added, "And how much farther north do we go?"
He looked at them, his eyes alight with power, "We will go many more leagues. I told you when we set out that we shall be the first to pacify the Spine, and that will be the beginning of our claim to glory my friends. They will sing of our feats and prowess at every inn and tavern and every court in the land. We will be heroes." And maybe even gods, once we've secured our power, he added in his thoughts.
They smiled as he spoke, his words rang true to their hearts and pleased them. Though they were a little concerned, they could not help but be excited about their actions towards making Alagaësia a safer and better place. Their recent success with killing roughly a hundred Urgals also bolstered their confidence. It was the first time since they had finished training that they actually used their powers and abilities in a real to-the-death fight, and the Urgal corpses that littered the mountainsides behind them were a testament to their strength.
"Come now, let us eat and then rest. Tomorrow we will undoubtedly encounter more of these filthy beasts, and we will need our strength," he said and with that they ate their packed meals and then lay down to rest. Good night, Jarnunvösk.
Good night, my rider. May your dreams be pleasant, replied Jarnunvösk.
The next day, they were up at the crack of dawn. Mounting their dragons, they lurched into the air, wheeling into formation with Jarnunvösk in the lead. It took them less than ten minutes of flying to spot an Urgal village tucked in between two mountains, steep cliffs bordering two sides of it and acting like a natural wall. The Urgals were running around in panic upon sighting them, their warriors arming themselves hastily. It would do them no good.
It's a pity these Urgals can wield magic, said Galbatorix to Jarnunvösk, It would have been so much easier to kill them with but a few words.
But where is the challenge in that? Jarnunvösk then roared at the Urgals in challenge, and some of them bravely, or foolishly, roared back. It is time to kill these savage beasts! Unto them! the dragon's mental voice roared as well.
He flew by the growing mass of Urgal warriors, letting loose a torrent of fire and burning about a dozen of them in that first pass. They bellowed in defiance, letting loose arrows and letting fly barbed spears. They never reached their targets as the magical barriers and wards they had placed around themselves protected them from physical harm, the projectiles clattering uselessly to the ground.
It was about an hour later that they eventually destroyed the entire village, leaving only its smoldering ruins behind. Dark smoke branched up into the sky as they flew around to make sure they had gotten every last one of the filthy beasts. Satisfied, Galbatorix continued flying north, his companions in tow. Finding another Urgal village that they also burned to the ground, they made sure to sweep back around in case they missed any. As night fell, they camped at another clearing for the night.
The next day was much the same, though they found only one other village through the whole day. Galbatorix began to wonder how many they had killed already, and how many more would meet their doom. The endeavor was easier than he thought, and he also began to question why the riders did not take care of the Urgal problem before. Surely the elder riders could have purged the Spine of this infestation in but a few days, a week at most. The Urgals were a war-mongering race and a danger to everyone in Alagaësia - they deserved to be eradicated. Not to mention it would make the Spine a safe place and humans could settle in the now Urgal-free territories.
One of Galbatorix' companions had gone out to hunt, bringing back three deer with him about a half hour later, one for each rider-dragon pair. They cooked the meat and ate until their stomach's were full. Then they talked for a while and fell asleep.
-xxx
Galbatorix stirred from his slumber, awoken by a strange feeling in his gut. The back of his neck prickled slightly. He shed the grogginess in a flash. Something felt wrong. He could sense it. But what? He slowly rolled over, grasping the hilt of his sword that lay next to him, his skin feeling the rough leather grip of the hilt.
Jarnunvösk, he prodded the dragon with his mind, Wake up! he projected the mental shout. There was definitely something wrong.
The dragon snorted, its chest rumbling slightly as its giant eye facing Galbatorix fluttered open.
What is it? asked the dragon, sleepily.
I-... I'm not sure. Something doesn't feel right... replied the young rider, getting up into a crouch as his eyes peered out into the surrounding darkness. The fire had long since died, a few glowing embers remained and that was the only light in the otherwise pitch dark night. Not even the stars or the moon could be seen in the sky.
Suddenly, Jarnunvösk got up onto all fours, sniffing the air with alarm. I smell Urgals! he cried out, They are upon us! The dragon growled.
Galbatorix stood for a split second, stunned. They were supposed to be the ones attacking the Urgals, not the other way around! How did they find us? And what gave them the courage, and the idea itself, to attack the riders? he wondered. He moved to wake his companions, but then realized that the Urgals really were already on top of them as one of them roared and ran towards him, the roar sending a pang of fear down his spine - the first time he had felt that in their cleansing mission. His hulking frame was barely visible in the darkness, what dim light from the embers of the dying fire barely revealing anything. The dark armor and clothing of the Urgals helped to further conceal them in the darkness, but while they were hard to see they were easy enough to hear.
As he avoided the swinging axe and slashed the Urgal dead with his sword, Galbatorix let loose a powerful mental yell towards his companions in order to rouse them.
They woke up in a hurry, their own blades sliding out of their sheaths almost instantly and just in time as the rest of the Urgals descended upon them in a sudden thunder of war cries. Their dragons had already taken many wounds by the time they were able to cast their wards around them and fight back the first wave, for those dragons were not ready as Jarnunvösk was. Because the fighting was intense the riders could not immediately heal their dragons' wounds, and their fighting was far below what they could otherwise do. The battle was hard, and they were surrounded and vastly outnumbered.
Galbatorix felt fear creep further into him as he parried a blow and decapitated an Urgal in one smooth move, moving on to the next as he killed three more in a span of a few seconds. No matter how many Urgals fell to his blade, even more came to replace them. It was almost as if the entire Urgal population in the Spine had turned out for this attack.
Jarnunvösk roared in pain as a spear gouged into his front left leg, the protective wards around him finally failing, and Galbatorix staggered from the pain that echoed through their mental link, an axe glancing off his breastplate and leaving a thick divot in the armor. His dragon knocked the Urgal who had speared him into his companions and then let loose a torrent of molten-hot fire that burned the heap of them and several other Urgals nearby to a crisp. That gave a little bit of room and reprieve for Galbatorix to quickly heal the wounded leg of his dragon.
Using magic, Galbatorix managed to find some unprotected Urgals and killed them instantly with but a few choice words in the Ancient Language. Without warning, one of his companions let loose a mental cry of terrible pain, making Galbatorix turn in shock to see his companion fall to the bites of many swords and axes. His companion's dragon roared with a terrible anguish, and for a moment it redoubled its fighting efforts killing about two dozen more Urgals as it leapt to defend its rider. It was already too late, however, and he was dead by the time the dragon managed to get to the fallen rider. The dragon, in its rage threw itself back into the fray with terrible ferocity but because its injuries were too great it too fell before the horde of Urgals, though not before taking many along to death with him.
His distraction allowed Galbatorix to be speared in the side and a nasty gash opened when another Urgal managed to cut into his armor on his left arm with a crude blade. Crying out in pain, he ran his blade through the two Urgals who had injured him, blood splattering to the ground from his wounds. He quickly healed the spear wound as best as he could, for it was very life-threatening, and continued to fight. He felled many Urgals, and Jarnunvösk did as well, his tail and his claws cutting and slashing and pounding Urgals by the dozens. His streams of fire burned many more and he sank his teeth into even more and more Urgals, and yet they still came. There was no end to them, a roiling flood of savage anger and bitter vengeance.
It was as if the entirety of the Urgal nation, if there actually was one, had descended upon them.
We cannot win this! his remaining companion struggled to say to him mentally, weariness and pain in his thoughts. And there was a fear there that was not present earlier.
We must prevail. We WILL prevail. You must not give up hope, he thought back to him, Besides, we cannot fly out of here. Our dragons are too injured and there are enough of them here that they would kill us if we stopped fighting in order to leave.
He had thought about running, but because of that reason he did not. They would have killed him by arrow or spear if he had jumped onto Jarnunvösk in order to fly away. Even if he had set up a ward to protect himself and Jarnunvösk, he had his remaining companion to worry about plus he didn't know how long the wards would least given how many enemies were assailing them. Either that, or in the seconds it took for Jarnunvösk to get off the ground they would have tor through the ward and wounded him so badly they wouldn't have been able to fly anywhere else anyways. They were stuck there, and they would either fight and succeed or die trying.
And I don't have plans on dying today! he thought, feeling the weariness leave his limbs as he felt a renewed vigor. Dying was simply not an option.
Again there was a cry from behind him as Galbatorix' remaining friend, one of his closest companions, suffered a mortal wound and fell heavily to the dirt. The scene seemed so surreal as his dragon became enraged much like the other one had earlier, killing many Urgals. The dragon stomped, slashed, bit, burned, and swatted Urgals. The dragon felt no pain and felt no fear. All it felt was a great and terrible loss, an enormous void that could not be filled. And the dragon felt vengeance. Vengeance for the death of its bond-mate. But then it to succumbed to its injuries and fell before the horde.
Though Galbatorix did not know it, there were only a few Urgals left. He had many wounds now, though thankfully none were severe, and he gritted through them while he continued to fight. His sword, armor, and skin were covered in black Urgal blood, the stench of it filling his every breath. Jarnunvösk leapt into a group of Urgals who had planned a final attack on him en masse, crushing a few of them beneath him and then slicing the rest up with his claws. He let loose another jet of fire that burned a group of five Urgals. Galbatorix, using magic, hurtled rocks of all sizes at the Urgals. Gathering strength from Jarnunvösk, who was actually also tiring, he managed to use magic to kill some more Urgals before he realized he was far too tired to use any more magic without risking killing himself or Jarnunvösk in the process.
There was a remaining group of thirty Urgals left and Jarnunvösk decided to leap towards them as well. As he jumped to leap, a barbed arrow - whether by skill or by luck - struck him in an exposed portion of chest that was chipped off by a war axe that hit him earlier, and the arrow pierced his heart. He let loose a mighty roar of pain, his eyes widening in surprise. Galbatorix staggered to a knee as Jarnunvösk fell upon his side, crumpling a wing painfully though that paled in comparison to the pain in his chest. Agony wracked Galbatorix' chest, their bond allowing the pain to echo to the rider, and he cried out to Jarnunvösk. Rage filled him then. Insurmountable rage that welled within, unleashing like a dam had been broken. His exhaustion left him for that moment and he got up and ran towards Jarnunvösk with such speed as to rival even a the fastest elf.
An Urgal who had been readying a killing blow was immediately cut down by his sword. He continued to hack and slash, killing half of the Urgal force that had remained. One of the Urgals whose arm he had cut off rammed into his side with its horns, goring him. He yelled defiantly, decapitating the Urgal and ignoring the growing pain in his side. In a sudden burst of magical energy he yelled out, "Brisingr!" and fire spouted from his hand and engulfed the remaining Urgals, killing them. Doing this sent him to the ground, his vision blurring and turning black as he neared unconsciousness from the energy expenditure.
Jarnunvösk... he called out weakly with his mind. He rolled over, the smell of dying flesh and blood hung in the air along with the pungent odor of burnt flesh and the stink of Urgal. He bega to crawl over to where Jarnunvösk lay on his side, the dragon's breathing slow, pained, and labored.
Jarnunvösk... he called out again, and there, weak but alive, was Jarnunvösk's conscious reaching out through their bond.
Galbatorix.. Jarnunvösk thought weakly, his tone grim, I cannot survive this... The wound... it is too deep... my heart is badly damaged. Even now I can feel my life ebbing away as swiftly as the blood runs from my wound.
No! No! This cannot... This cannot be. I-I can... I can repair it, Jarnunvösk... he said desperately. His mind was sluggish and he could not summon the strength to even begin a healing spell. Realizing at the last moment that he had a small vial of faelnirv in a pouch strapped to his belt, he slowly pulled it out, thankful that it was undamaged, and gulped down the whole vial. About three mouthfuls worth. He felt energy suddenly surge into him as the warm feeling of the faelnirv slowly trickled down his throat and into his stomach.
I cannot lose you, Jarnunvösk! he cried, feeling a little better, and he racked his brain for the spell to heal such a grievous wound. He could not find one quickly enough though, and so he tried to come up with a spell himself. But the dragon interrupted him.
It is too late... Jarnunvösk slowly moved his head next to Galbatorix. His large eye looked straight at him, Galbatorix... I am... sorry..., and with one final breath Jarnunvösk shuddered and fell still. His large eye gazing one last time at his rider before it closed as the life left him.
Galbatorix fell to his knees and leaned back, letting loose a terrible cry. He felt a piece of him die and a great emptiness within him. He no longer felt the familiar touch of Jarnunvösk's consciousness, not even passively in the background where it had always been. For five years he and Jarnunvösk had been bonded, constantly there for each other and never totally disconnected. Now there was nothing. The loss was so great and so sudden, despair and hopelessness filled every fiber in his body. He wanted to follow Jarnunvösk into the great void, to follow the dragon that had left him alone in this terrible world. Then he collapsed, the emotional and physical tolls finally getting the better of him, and his consciousness fell away into the darkness.
-xxx-
When Galbatorix awoke, his body was stiff and in great pain. But it was nowhere close to the pain he felt inside, a deep pain like something had been ripped away from the very fabric of his soul. For a split second he thought perhaps he was merely dreaming, but when he opened his eyes the carnage lay before him, and so did the lifeless body of his beloved dragon.
Jarnunvösk, he tried to reach out with his mind, but there was nothing to reach out to.
He did not know what to do. There was nothing more that he wanted except to simply die and follow his dragon into whatever came after that. Yet he could not kill himself outright, partly because he was too exhausted to do anything beyond move his eyes and head, and partly because there was still a small piece of him that didn't want to die. For many hours he lay there, his mind torn apart and in chaos and his heart hurting as if he were the one with an arrow through it.
He decided that if he were to die, it was not to be by his own hand. So how best to do that? Find an Urgal and be killed by it in combat. He must die fighting, a warrior's death. That seemed right. Slowly, he got onto his belly and pushed himself to his knees, then he staggered upright to his feet and began to shuffle aimlessly around the mounds of horned corpses. For many hours he walked that day, slowly and painfully, and for two days he wandered the Spine, a lost and dark soul. He met a few Urgals here and there, but they proved to be no match for him even in his much reduced state. He slew them and he continued on his aimless path waiting for death to strike him. On the fourth day, he collapsed from lack of sustenance, the life in him dribbling away into the void. His mind was racing, though the rest of him had slowed to a crawl. The loneliness and the loss was maddening, and that in itself was becoming palpable. He could feel the madness overtaking him, but for a while longer his thoughts were his own at least.
How could this happen? he thought to himself, This was not how it was supposed to be. I was supposed to be the most powerful rider in history! And Jarnunvösk was to be my dragon, and he the most powerful dragon ever to grace the land. We were destined for greatness! This is not fair! For hours he wrestled with himself, unable to cope, unable to accept the fact that Jarnunvösk lay dead in the clutches of the mountains of the Spine. How long he lay there, he didn't know, but eventually he managed to kill with the simplest of magics a hare that got a little too close, snapping its neck like a twig. Biting into it hungrily, Galbatorix didn't even care that he was eating it raw. He needed food. He needed energy.
For weeks he went on, sustaining himself by eating whatever game he could kill and then eat, though he started cooking them again after that first hare.
Then one day, he had an epiphany or at least what he thought was an epiphany.
Perhaps, he considered with the briefest glimmers of hope in the dark desolate waste of his mind, Perhaps they can provide me with another dragon. They being the elders of course. He liked that idea. Yes, another dragon would be able to fill the gaping void that left him feeling so painfully empty and so terribly alone. Another dragon would heal him and make him whole again. That was the answer. That was the only way. He would ask the elders to grant him another dragon, and after all that he had done and been through, they would not refuse him. They could not! Then with that new dragon he will continue on and fulfill the promise he made to Jarnunvösk, honoring his memory in doing so.
It must be done. Willing himself to move, he managed to kill another rabbit magically with what little extra energy he had left. Starting a small fire with the faint whisper of "Brisingr", he slowly began to nurture himself back to health. It took him almost two weeks to recover a good portion of his strength, and throughout the recovery process he finally healed his wounds and doubled back towards the battlefield. Once he got to civilization, he needed to find a dragon rider who could take him back to Doru Araeba, where he would address the council and demand his new dragon. They would not deny him that request. He was certain of it.
Returning to the battlefield where he and his companions had made their final stand, which was still full of the dead, he made proper graves for his companions and buried them there, saying a few silent words to whatever gods existed to keep them safe and at peace. Marking their final resting places with elaborate tombstones, he continued on to the dragons. For them, he did the same thing as he did for the riders, though because the graves had to be deeper and the tombs larger it took him almost two full days to bury all three dragons. He would have done it faster but he was still not fully recovered. Then he burned the bodies of all the slain Urgals, making sure to spit on the massive mound of them as they burned to ash.
Another day was spent recuperating from that ordeal before he began to walk south again, towards civilization.
It took him two months to reach Palancar valley, the long arduous trek through the Spine allowing him time to think about everything, and in particular the future. Reaching the mouth of the valley, he was able to contact a rider stationed high up in the Utgard outpost. Alarmed and concerned, the rider had flown down to ground level with his dragon.
"Are you okay?" asked the rider with concern as he dismounted his dragon and walked towards Galbatorix, looking about. "Where is your dragon?"
He grimaced, the ache in his chest and his soul flaring as he was reminded of what he had lost. Glaring daggers at the rider he said, "I was involved in a terrible battle, and I... I lost him... Do you think I'm okay?" he said, bitterness in his tone as he eyed the dragon that he had flown on. The creature eyed him with sadness.
The other rider apologized profusely, the elf's eyes widening, "I did not realize... please forgive me."
"It's... alright. Can you take me before the elders in Doru Araeba? I must speak with them," he finally asked.
The rider nodded, "Of course. Once you're rested up we ca-"
Galbatorix' right arm sliced across the air in front of him, interrupting the elf, "No, this cannot wait. I must see them at once."
The elf gave him a long inscrutable look, but then slowly nodded. "Very well. Come, we will take you there as swiftly as we can."
And so it was that Galbatorix finally reached the riders' city. His spirit and his mind broken, he appeared before the council of elders and told them of all that had happened. Great sadness engulfed them and they pitied Galbatorix, but they blamed him for the deaths of his friends and the dragons.
"How could you blame me?" Galbatorix spat angrily, "They died in battle! I did not kill them. The Urgals killed them! Those vile monsters, they should all perish I tell you. We must purge them from Alagaësia once and for all. It would be better that way." He paced in front of them, shaking his head the entire time he spoke, "This wasn't supposed to happen... not supposed to happen.." he repeated a few times.
The elders looked at each other warily, but said nothing, waiting for the young rider to finish.
"I come here, before you, not only to recount to you my story and what happened to us, but to ask of you something that would heal my pain and make me whole once more," said Galbatorix, looking at each elder with his black eyes. "Something that would ensure that I can continue to serve the riders and Alagaësia."
"And what is that, Galbatorix?" asked Vrael, leader of the riders, his tone neutral. Of all the elders, he was the only one who did not outwardly react to the story, his face inscrutable.
"I ask for another dragon." the young rider pleaded with them, his voice straining with emotion, and some of the elders gasped at that. I will then avenge the death of Jarnunvösk and my companions by finishing what we started and eradicating the Urgals from the face of Alagaësia! They will tremble before my rightful vengeance until the last of the vermin breaths their dying breath. They will no longer trouble anyone else. The Spine will have been tamed and Alagaësia will be that much safer. Best of all, I will become the great and powerful rider that I know I am destined to become! he thought gleefully, already imagining it in his mind.
The elders all looked at each other, their thoughts murmuring as they spoke silently through their minds.
One of the elders, an elf named Oromis, saw the madness in Galbatorix' eyes. To him, the young rider was not stable or sane enough to have another dragon and Oromis did not have the confidence that he would be able to care properly for this new dragon. Add to that the fact that the rider was clearly irresponsible and with a clear leaning towards committing genocide, and the elf could see little choice but to deny him this request. He told the other elders as much, and they all agreed with him. Even Vrael.
Oromis spoke then for all of them, "Galbatorix, I am sorry. We have discussed the matter at length, and I am sorry to say that we cannot give you a new dragon."
He raged at them then, his anger and pain spilling out of him. He cursed them and spat at them, but they did not yield. If anything, this further hardened their decision as the effects of the madness of his loss were set loose before them. Galbatorix could not believe it. That they would deny him a new dragon was beyond his comprehension. He thought they would understand, that they would empathize with his plight and try to help him. He thought that they would see reason. He was a rider after all! There were not too many of them, and he was one of their number, and yet here they were casting him aside. Galbatorix felt betrayed.
He glared openly at the elders with fire in his eyes, and finally composing himself somewhat he asked rather venomously, "Will you not change your minds?"
Vrael stirred, "Our decision, Galbatorix, is final."
Without another word Galbatorix turned on his heel and stormed out. He then found that same rider and asked if he would help him return to the mainland. After being dropped off, Galbatorix wandered south into the great plains. Going as far away from Vroengard as he could. He suddenly found himself in Ileria, the capital city of the Empire, and saw that it was readying for some big celebration coming up. Celebration. He wondered if he could ever do that again. The pain within him was still too much to bear, but it was ebbing slowly and he was slowly overcoming it. He could not forgive the elders for denying him another dragon and a chance at restoring himself.
He traveled farther south, when suddenly he happened upon a small village. As he entered its main street, he did not even notice that the entire village was deserted. Not a soul stirred, and upon entering the inn he stood there in shock. A multitude of bodies were strewn about, blood splattered everywhere, and limbs at odd angles 0 if they were attached at all. The faces of the dead wore horrified expressions and pained. Were it not for his own pain he would have been appalled, but he was not particularly moved by what he saw, only surprised. Turning to leave, a voice called out to him from the shadows.
"Who are you?" said the voice, its tone cold and almost inhuman.
"I am Galbatorix," replied the black-haired rider, stiffening as his hand went to the hilt of his blade. "And who are you?" Galbatorix turned then to look at who he was speaking too. He could sense immense power come from this being, and he had a vague notion of what it was.
The man smiled, showing rows of sharp teeth. He had blood red pupils that matched his crimson red hair, and all that red stood out for his skin was deathly pale. "You may call me Durza..." he said.
After a pause he continued, "I can feel your pain and your anguish, rider. I can help you."
Galbatorix stared straight at his red eyes, his mind churning, knuckles white as his hand clamped tightly to the hilt of his sword. "How?"
A/N: Another update! I hope you like it.
EDIT - I moved this to be the first chapter instead of the second (as I was writing I realized I didn't talk about Galbatorix, who will play a big part in this story and so I wrote about him then added it on as the next chapter. I realized that I could actually rearrange it so that it flows better so here you go.