Complaining holds a certain charm. It is unlikely to actively better one's situation but, in the case where betterment is not an option, it can relieve the crushing pressure of helplessness. I mention this because I fear much of what follows will reek of petty complaints; to the brink of becoming the diva many courtiers have wrongly accused me of being. With that defense stated: Durza is the second-worst traveling partner I've ever had.
The creature had the audacity to be both prude and beast at once. He was a violent, savage mess who expected to be treated like Guntera made flesh. His moods were completely inscrutable and flickered like a mirage. One of the hardest things to grasp was that, in some ways, he was not a singular entity; he was a collective. The spirits within him shared a single consciousness- like a hellish mockery of a dragon and rider- but they still held contrasting opinions, goals, emotions, and hatreds. I learned very quickly that one thing above all others turned Durza from, a "passable human," to a, "demon incarnate": inconvenience. He was the sort of being who would melt a great castle to cinders rather than walk a meter out of his way- needless to say, the innocent people within said castle were of no concern to him.
Which made the prospect of entering the second-largest city in the Empire at his side a fucking nightmare. But he was not the only nightmare that would accompany me. We were to be joined by the holders of the title for which Durza vied: the worst escorts in the world.
I shifted my weight from foot to foot, half ready to fight for my life if it came to that. Galbatorix's orders may have prevented me from starting confrontations with his allies, but nothing prevented me from finishing them. Starsong was a comforting weight on my hip, but most of my revenge fantasies involved my twin daggers- two blades for two cloaked monstrosities.
If they didn't hurry up, I would have to fight Durza for the pleasure.
"Those wretched husks-" the shade's hissed tirade devolved into a foreign tongue, but I could tell from the tone alone that he was issuing dire threats.
"It's still only late afternoon- they're probably dead asleep." I stretched and yawned. We'd reached the roots of Helgrind early in the morning after a sleepless night of riding. Durza looked as unbothered as ever- I wondered if he even needed sleep!- but I was tired enough for both of us.
"Would you rather rent a room and wait for them?" The teasing lilt of the same voice that was just snarling in rage moments before unsettled even my iron nerves. From his thin-lipped smile, I knew he knew it. "We can approach the city at your leisure."
"Even if we could sneak you in through a main gate, I still wouldn't. We can't bother the priesthood prematurely, and I'm not keen on letting you wander the general population."
Before the black-robed abomination could reply, the sharp tip of a beak crept from the solid rock. The Ra'zac (for it could be no other) scolded, "Your whining will wake the dead." A click and hiss punctuated the remark before the shape disappeared once more.
To my total and absolute shock, Durza issued his own series of quick clicks. A muted screech of irritation sounded from beyond the illusory wall, which seemed to mollify the shade somewhat.
I'm surrounded by monsters. Not men made into monsters by their faults, but man-eating, bloodthirsty creatures filled with malice- for me in particular! I shivered off the rumination and tapped a foot against the solid part of the stone. To my eye, the most disturbing part of Helgrind wasn't its unusual height or foreboding color, but the way it seemed disjointed from the land surrounding it. It reeks of magic, but as to when, whom, or why I couldn't even begin to guess.
Humans are infants in an ancient world. Katana, concealed in a pocket of intangible space [another realm of magic I am completely unqualified and unwilling to explain], soothed some of my misgivings. Though, by your standard, would dragons be just as monstrous?
I've never seen you eat a human.
Not for pleasure, though I bit plenty of them during the Fall. And besides, bonded dragons feel more akin to the two legs than our wilder counterparts.
How would you know?
I had teachers too. A mixed cloud of grief and badly repressed traumas bloomed between us. And even they stooped to consume whatever wandered in their path once they lost their minds.
Sometimes I think Shruikan is developing a preference for human flesh- why else would he bother eating morsels that can't ease his hunger?
He doesn't much care what he eats, so long as he is fed. And we both know Galbatorix sees his servants as disposable.
I was (surprisingly!) glad that the sudden emergence of both Ra'zac ended our internal line of debate. The two always looked precisely the same- I wondered how many iterations of those same robes they possessed; how many generations before them had donned the same mantles. Ra'zac were longer lived than their prey of choice, though not as eternal as the elves or dwarves. Even Galbatorix is just a blink in their race's history.
That is true of every race. Katana's mind reflexively tried to rustle the wings she no longer possessed. Especially dragons. Her unassailable pride was humbling. And it was true- millennia before the Riders were ever conceived, the skulblakan had ruled the skies.
Though they were no longer alone in that arena. I knew, though I was grateful to not be near the things again, that the matured Ra'zac slumbered deep within Helgrind. Their children stood shoulder to shoulder, a healthy distance from Durza. Unfortunately, the farther they inched from the shade the closer they moved to me.
I took one giant step backward. "The sooner we get through this mess, the sooner we can be quit of one another."
Durza actually laughed- a bone-chilling sound. "My thoughts exactly."
-:- -:- -:-
The process of entering Dras Leona was eased by the myriad infrastructure allotted for the Ra'zac. The whole city was designed with their comforts in mind- the close-together buildings that cast many side streets in constant shadow, several homes that were only facades concealing storehouses and secret paths, and (most unsettling) the expansive district of down-trodden and hapless humans outside the city limits who could be picked off without being missed. They don't even know that they live in a giant nest.
Would you want to know such a thing?
I couldn't articulate a satisfactory response to Katana's query. Perhaps we all are; the earth itself is just the feeding ground for some unknowable god.
Just as she had long ago, Katana conjured her impression of our world; a massive dragon sleeping in a sea of molten rock. She can shake us loose with just a rustle of her wings.
Then I hope she rests peacefully through my lifetime.
Our philosophizing proved an amiable distraction from my horrid company. Durza had drifted into tense quiet- never a good sign- and the Ra'zac were similarly self-contained. The thing about them I most loathed was the total absence of their consciousness- even at the height of my concentration I felt only emptiness in front of me. At least Durza was detectible, though only a moron would so much as brush the thoughts of a shade uninvited.
"We have arrived," The shorter Ra'zac stepped up the drooping stoop of a nondescript home and pushed the door in. Though it appeared to be flimsy wood, it creaked inward like a metal grate in need of oiling. Both of our guides slipped inside, followed closely by Durza and then me. Sure enough, as soon as I crossed the threshold I saw the whole structure with new eyes. The illusion was rudimentary, not likely to fool even a non-mage under close inspection. (Then again, that was assuming anyone could get this deep into the rat's nest of a city without drawing attention to themselves.) The building itself was no more than a cover for the entrance of a small tunnel. Its stones were polished smooth by centuries of hands rubbing along them, even the hewn steps sagged in the middle like melting wax.
"Cheerful." I was tempted to fish my cloak out of my pack; a dreadful chill drafted from deeper down the tunnel before us so that even my necklace felt icy and uncanny around my throat. I had no mind to be shuddering and chattering the whole rest of the walk. The three creatures walked ahead, ignoring me entirely. "Not the type for comedy. Got it."
"Not the type for conversation," Durza snapped.
We spent the rest of that particular tunnel in awkward silence, save the occasional clacks between the ra'zac. I noticed too that Durza observed them with unrestrained fascination- almost a hunger. Shouldn't it be the other way around? What interest does he have in them? Our trip ended before I could think the matter through.
I wasn't prepared for the amount of light in the cathedral after the blackness of the tunnel. Even with the late hour, light poured through the western windows like streaks of fire. Far too many candles blazed on the altar, dozens and dozens of the things, dripping wax everywhere. Two people in somber grey robes knelt at the altar, prostrating themselves without reservation…
…To the very gods who stood at their back.
Said gods paid no attention to their devotees, striding through the- no doubt, painfully- bright room to an unassuming wooden door. One produced a key and the other slid it into the lock, so smoothly that they moved more like one creature than two. They ushered us in, followed behind, and then closed off the excessive light. I blinked until I could make out details in the room.
To my surprise, three people sat together in the dim, cramped office. Well, "sit" may not be the most appropriate word to describe the center person's pose- the limbless form was propped up on velvet cushions, almost like an oversized infant. I recognized the scars of blades, whips, brands… and the unmistakable puncture marks of large beaks. The other two priests, one missing an ear and the other a hand, seemed to be serving as an attendant and secretary to the first. As soon as all three beheld the ra'zac, the latter two fell to their knees and pressed their faces into the stone. The limbless figure could no more have done the same than gotten up and danced a quadrille, but they inclined their head and said reverently, "An honor to be graced with your presence."
Durza and I exchanged exasperated looks.
"Thesssse two will be in the library. They are not to be disssturbed." It had not occurred to me until that very moment that, despite outward appearances, the cult of Tosk were the servants of the Ra'zac. And, as the Ra'zac were bound directly to Galbatorix, all orders from the king went through the flesh-eaters first and then down to their disciples. They're giving orders on our behalf because Torix knows the cultists would obey Durza or me with much less zeal. Curious indeed.
Once our cloaked escorts had issued the commandment, they exited the office without fanfare. The lesser priests remained on the ground, though the center one raised their head to survey Durza and me. Even through their marred and mutilated visage, I could see the tell-tale loathing that had followed me all my life; the loathing accorded to any extension of Galbatorix's will. "So," their slow words carried a curious whistling amid unintelligible slurring, "our king has found a subject in which his knowledge is insufficient. We should hail this day as a holy ceremony."
Despite our mutual hatred, I had to admire the priest's open contempt- it was a brash display in front of the king's two most valued servants. But then, a human willing to lay on a sacrificial altar before the Ra'zac is not lacking in courage. "Point us to your archive. Then we may leave you to celebrate the occasion."
-:- -:- -:-
The novice who'd guided us bowed so low that his mid-length hair bushed the floor as he shut the library's door. I knew that this was only the first layer of their information store, but it mattered little- we had not come for a book. I shucked off my pack and propped it in a chair. A few adjustments of my cloak and it was passable from behind. "I'll keep watch until you can point me in a direction, then you can watch here while I search for the target."
"And if anyone should intrude?"
I lifted an eyebrow. I had no doubt that Durza could handle himself. And besides, no one would think twice of a shade leaving corpses in his wake. "I'm sure our escorts would appreciate the extra meal."
"The worshippers here consider it a great honor to give of their flesh." Durza's tongue flicked over his lips, a mocking glimmer of mischief over his skull-like face.
I frowned at the shade. "Be that as it may, see that you honor them sparingly."
"Now who's lacking a sense of humor?" He closed his eyes and lowered his head. I would have considered his expression peaceful… had it not been him wearing it.
While the denizens within him held counsel (I preferred to know as little as possible about that particular process) I set to work looking for a hidden entrance within the library itself. I first set out a simple spell to detect any protective or illusory magic. To my exasperation, the whole room was layer thick- it was laced into the very walls! I ended my spell and settled on searching the old fashioned way; though that looked to be a tedious tactic.
But, on the second level of the rectangular room, I noticed something odd. A collection of dwarvish poetry was smashed into a historical section. Only one tome of verse in a sea of autobiography? I suppose I should burn an incense stick for Makhek in thanks. The old Feldunost had forced dozens of similar compilations on me while he was my neighbor- something about making me more cultured. I probably wouldn't have recognized it at a glance without him. I crooked a finger into the spine and slid it gingerly from its roost. Sure enough, a tarnished brass knob was just barely visible against the dark wood of the ancient shelves.
I should read more.
I like it when we read together. Katana had a much more vivid imagination than I did; while I tended to think in words, she often thought in images and sensations. The combination of our two styles made reading a near-transcendent experience.
As do I. Once we get home, I'll allocate time to it each night.
Thank you.
"I have your heading." Durza's head straightened with a crack of his neck, eyes fixed on me like a hound eager to pounce on a fox. "You have the exit?"
"I do."
-:- -:- -:-
The inner labyrinth of the cathedral was even more difficult to navigate than the outer one. To make matters even worse, various initiates wandered the place. They worked on everything from chores to autopsies with the same subdued mindfulness. Their meditative nature made them easy to sneak past, but it was still a tense and grueling journey.
My destination proved to be less than spectacular- just another cramped office much like the one we'd visited an hour before. The key difference here was a display case of artifacts on the left side of the room. Many of them were brassy instruments of some ritual importance, but the most striking was definitely the central decoration: a hewn piece of black stone in the likeness of a ra'zac skull. The glossy beak was so akin to the real thing that I half expected it to click at me. The massive eye sockets were a bit of a surprise to me- though it explained their hatred of light to some extent. Two perfectly rounded opals sat in them; milky and iridescent.
I set a few silent warning spells in the hall behind me and set to work. The display case itself was the object of my search. The priest to whom it belonged had bound a spirit to its protection. Overkill would be an understatement. Still, I have to admit- as someone who is trying to rob them- it is a very effective deterent.
We can't very well steal a whole cabinet.
No. We'll have to unweave their spell and recapture the spirit. Either one of those tasks on their own would have been monumental- both simultaneously would be suicidal for anyone but Torix himself, or his star pupil.
I plucked and poked at the web of spells containing the spirit for time indeterminable. The unfortunate reality of sorcery was that, though the principles involved were universal, the methods of enforcing them were not. Ironically, the next step in finding the Name would be made much easier if we already possessed it. I relented after some consideration that undoing an unknown spell by an equally unknown caster would simply not be practical given the other constraining factors. The only two possibilities I think feasible are to negate all magic in a given space or brute-force the trap. Either path will release the spirit, and attempt to recapture it before we are discovered.
Can the former even be done?
Before I could formulate an answer, all of my warning spells triggered at once. I flung myself into a gap between two shelves, but it proved an unnecessary precaution- a group of noisy, agitated initiates stampeded past the office. That can only be trouble.
On cue, Durza sent an irritated flick of thought in my direction. His thoughts burned like acid; very much like Galbatorix's favorite mental tortures- in fact, it seemed likely that it was this very creature that had inspired them. We were disturbed. I shan't make more of a fuss than necessary but try not to tarry.
I winced. Can you buy me half an hour?
Half of a half. With that, he snapped the link closed.
A sigh of relief and exasperation escaped me. I suppose it was too much to ask to avoid incident with a shade in tow. Still, this limits our options. If my absence has not already been noted at the scene of whatever he's wrought, it soon will be.
Unless you want him to make even more of a scene.
I do not. I did my very best to imitate the ideal conditions for sorcery, but it was impossible to do so at any workable speed. As difficult as Galbatorix's training had been, I was grateful for it in such inclement circumstances. He'd forced me to meditate and learn standard safeguards before I was even a teenager; that was not peculiar to him. The real test came after the fact; casting silently, fighting without sight, maintaining perfect mental focus through excruciating pain or total calamity. All these and more I'd been drilled in until I was able to reliably perform any feat in any circumstance; a skill set that had saved my life more than any single bit of knowledge could on its own.
Even so, rushing delicate magic was an excellent way to end up in tiny pieces for the untried. Even Siyamak- the most skilled and powerful mage I'd ever known- was not immune to this fact. I stilled my thoughts and glided through the casting, one sentence following the next like speeding rounds of the same song. I bound my net and purposefully tripped the trap.
It was like cutting through the sky. A sudden pull and following push of air combined with a sharp wailing sound. The entity exploded from its trappings eagerly, lashing out in decades and centuries of contained rage. It blundered into my net easily enough, but the force of it nearly buckled my knees. My vision darkened momentarily as the necessary energy fled me. I drew from Katana and the four other eldunari I'd been allowed to carry along, and, even then, I was uncertain of success. This is nothing like the one I summoned in Uru'baen!
That one wasn't murderous.
I sank a root of consciousness into my pendant, soaking in the extravagant source of power reluctantly. As soon as I did, the ricocheting cloud of malice halted mid-flex. The sapping of my energy halted. The room grew brighter and bluer as the spirit calmed. Flickers of gold and green lightning snaked through its core.
I tensed every muscle; whatever good that might do. Experimentally, I drew out a tiny thread of energy from the pendant.
The spirit jittered in place; a rainbow of hues to match the Ra'zac sculpture's eyes violently strobing.
I shut my eyes to the nauseating display. On a hunch and for extra security, I attached the thread to my net. The light behind my lids became painfully bright, the whole room filled with the aroma of scorched earth and fresh rain, and then it was all gone to nothingness.
I peeked through my lashes, half expecting to be assaulted anew by the spirit's hatred. My invisible net was empty. Not even a glimmer of the spirit's presence remained. I triple-checked every facet of my barrier- as far as I could tell, it was pristine.
But, when I went to dip into the energy within my pendant to cast another searching spell, I found instead the intangible sentience of the spirit. It seemed to be dancing between the crystal formations of the jewel, drinking in energy where it encountered it but otherwise content to make merry and ignore the outside world.
Katana too poked at the consciousness excitedly. Well. I didn't know they could squeeze so small.
Nor did I. It seems that we know even less about them than we previously thought. As unsettling as the realization was, I had technically secured our objective. I tightened my net, to cover the pendent solely and completely. Though nothing physical had changed about it, it weighed much heavier around my throat. I wonder if the first spirit played with my necklace for the express purpose of leaving a message to the second.
As fascinating as that theory is, we have thoroughly exhausted our time.
I swore and sent a quick thought to Durza. I presume my absence has been noted?
Correct. And, what's more, I've had an urgent order from the king. I must leave at once for the north. Can you handle this on your own?
Yes, yes, make our excuses and be on your way. As irritating and potentially dangerous as the situation was, I was grateful to not make the return journey with a shade at my side and a spirit in my care. If you pass through Ceunon, feel free to dispatch us of Duke Emmisan. He's made a nuisance of himself.
With pleasure.
I groaned aloud. Galbatorix had better be on his knees in gratitude when I return.
If that happens, please be sure to create a fairth for me.
Fleeing Dras Leona would have been much more troublesome had I not made another acquaintance on the way. I nearly ran smack into the poor thing- a young boy who was so quiet, emotionless, and pale that he would later acquire the moniker, "Ghost." He was indentured to the cathedral as punishment for an unspecified crime along with his younger sister, Amber. We traded favors back and forth: he helped me escape the labyrinth unseen, so I helped him escape the city. (Durza's tantrum had involved a contained fire and three casualties; a combination that had the guards quite put out at both of us for some years after the fact. Then, once free and clear, I guided the siblings to Felice and Monty. Ghost rarely ever spoke to anyone- save myself and, later, Venom.
I didn't dally with the gang- Galbatorix was not in a mood to be patient. I handed off my necklace with little fanfare, though I got dressed down for letting Durza wreak havoc. The actual interogation needed to take place at a later date- something had completely distracted Galbatorix (one of the draw backs of working for a mad man).
But all of these details come to naught in comparison to the surprise waiting for me in the next night. It is often said that the greatest strategists never make a move unless they can profit from it in multiple ways. Even at his worst, Torix was still a passable strategist. But I had failed to predict that the secondary benefit he sought from this errand was my absence.
I've said before that Torix is adept at parting people from their better judgment; in this case, it was a very literal thing.
"You, WHAT?!" My throat hurt from the strength of my exclamation. I really hadn't meant to shout, but the words this hatchling had just dropped in my lap nearly gave me a stroke. "Have I not taught you anything?"
Murtagh hung his head, embarrassed and contrite. When he finally found his voice, it was meek. "You have…"
"Then please explain to me why you are now officially in the service of the king!" Galabtorix had taken my brief departure from Uru'baen as an excuse to sink his claws more fully into Murtagh. On the pretext of a birthday dinner, he had coaxed him into a promise of fidelity. While not as literally binding as my own, it was every bit as real. In Alagaesia, men were made and broken on the strength of their word alone. And a promise, even in the common tongue, to a king was as binding as any vow ever made.
A smidge of defensiveness crept into Murtagh's reply. "What choice did I have? I couldn't very well say him nay, not while I still live in his house! And, besides," He rubbed his palms against his trousers, "I know he's not a man to be trusted, but the world he wants to build is a good one."
I felt sick. "Murtagh," I forced myself to breathe deeply before I projected all my self-loathing onto a boy who had, as yet, done no wrong. "It is not just his stated ends that make him dangerous, but his methods. Those that serve him- people like me- pay for it with their very souls. I do not want that life for you." I cannot watch you suffer Morzan's fate.
"But you're not soulless," he protested. It would have been gallant if it wasn't so misguided. "Even before the oaths, you followed his orders. You wouldn't do anything truly evil!"
Bile rose in my throat. "I can never tell you how grateful I am for your good opinion, but you're quite mistaken. I have done worse than evil, and all in service of that man. I believed him once too." Teeth and fire and bliss like agony…. Shadows that I had done my best to bury over the years since their creation reared like striking serpents in my mind. "It isn't your fault, but you are in more danger now than you have ever been."
"Wouldn't being under his wing be safer than being out on my own?" He seemed unwilling or unready to face the first part of my admonishment. "The other lords wouldn't be able to bother me ever again. And, even if they did-"
"Hey!" I jolted back to my feet, conjuring the ferocious tone that I'd only heard in my most distant memories; my mother (my first mother!) made truly angry. "I never want to hear you talk like that again, am I understood? If I didn't already know you better, it would seem you think a fate worse than death is a fair price for the suffering of those who've mocked you."
Murtagh's whole face, neck, and upper chest turned crimson as Zar'roc's blade. He hung his head in shame. "No, Ma'am."
I swallowed hard, embarrassed myself for suddenly acting my age. "None of that ma'am stuff. I'm not saying this just to hear my own voice- I need to know that you understand…" I trailed off, powerless to put into words all the competing forms of horror that Murtagh's situation conjured. "... that you understand what you stand to lose."
"I know he's dangerous… but he's the only one in Alagaesia who can make his vision a reality. He wants to restore the dragons and unite the land. No more war, no more rebellion… wouldn't that be a good thing?"
"So thought many less capable conquerors. And, to the last, they eventually learned that forced peace is no peace at all. Soon or late, something with disrupt the status quo; and woe unto anyone caught in that eruption."
"That's easy enough to say, but people are dying! I can't just stand by!"
More people will die if Galbatorix gets his way. My throat tightened around the words, my oaths of "proper representation" apparently considered that simple truth a bridge too far. I wormed them around, "You're assuming that the existence of the Varden and lack of living dragons are the only things costing people their lives." The image of Durza and the Ra'zac standing side by side, two separate but equal nightmares wreaking havoc in Galbatorix's name, was a strong symbol for everything wrong with the current regime. Good rulers didn't allocate entire cities to be food for their pet monsters, let living demons run loose, attempt multiple genocides, enslave the race they could not destroy, molest children for their own entertainment, drive all of their allies completely mad, fail to care for their citizens in any tangible way, or any of the other thousand affronts to decency that Galbatorix made anew every single day.
But there was no way to voice any of those things. "There is a difference between a dream and a goal, and that is in the planning and execution. In terms of vision, Torix is truly singular among men. But his plans often run awry, and… it is difficult to build a paradise on ashes."
Murtagh winced at my words. I was glad that, rather than trying to renew his protests, he sank into an armchair in my sitting room and rested his elbows on his knees. "I hear you, Lil. Even so, I don't see any way I could have refused him."
I sighed and flopped into the seat across from him. He didn't know it, but right between us is where I'd been taught the lesson I could never forget; where I'd been permanently marked as Galbatorix's property. I'd never even bothered to replace the vase I broke. "You're right, damn it all." I pressed my ice-cold hands to my burning face. "Does Tornac know yet?"
"No."
I shook my head and took a deep breath. "I'll come down to your morning practice with you. I'm sure he'll have plenty to say to me too."
"You don't have to do that. This is my mess- I can take a scolding for it on my own."
I chuckled. "And you are my mess; where you go, I go."
It should come as no particular shock that Tornac's admonishment was severe.
It was a different kind of discipline than I was familiar with- he was subdued, cold, and rational. But, worst for Murtagh and therefore worst for me to witness, was his obvious disappointment. Eventually, we three agreed that Murtagh didn't really have a way out of that conversation without divine intervention… but the situation was still grim.
Tornac and I exchanged one long, deadly serious look. I knew from no more than the set of his jaw that he understood my thought without me voicing it: something drastic may be on the horizon.
Needless to say, no one was in the mood for a ball of all things. Yet, It was exactly such an occasion that loomed the very next day. If I only I knew it was to be the last for many months.