The Warrior and The Dragon
(Part III)
He walked the horse out of the forest, exercising caution not to mount it until he had reached a safe distance from the city walls.
The road to the south traversed the barren, wide expanse beneath Helgrind. In the distance, the pointed cone of the mountain peak was partially obscured by thick, leaden clouds. The landscape transformed dramatically around him, shifting from the dense forests and untamed fields he had previously encountered to a desolate area strewn with short, twisted shrubs and rocks.
Out in the open field, the wind was fierce, blowing from the east and lifting the dry soil into dense whirlwinds. Murtagh was forced to cover his mouth and nose with a scarf and pull the hood of his cloak over his head, shielding his eyes.
As the road led out into the open plains, the stronger gusts of wind made the horse restless. The rider soothed it with gentle strokes and kind words, guiding it to the right side where a trace of moisture from the lake still hung behind the rocks.
While darkness prevailed, he allowed the horse to trot freely at its own pace, not wanting to overexert it. Yet, as the first light of dawn broke, he dismounted and, as was his custom, veered off from the public road.
In the vast plain, there was nowhere to hide. The stone rocks and low shrubs offered little protection from the eyes of other travelers, who might be heading in the same direction. The reeds that thrived near the deserted lake shores seemed to him the best hiding spot. So, he guided his horse there, planning to move cautiously among them and return to the road just before dusk.
He advanced cautiously, always leading the horse by the reins and frequently navigating treacherous ground. His journey through dense clusters of reeds, cattails, and bulrushes reaching up to three meters in height was slow but steady. With short rest breaks—more for the horse than himself—he covered a safe distance from the city.
Dusk fell early, and with it, the wind strengthened. The clouds drifted westward, and the faint glimmer of distant stars began to appear in the sky. Murtagh guided the horse away from the lake and closer to the road.
The young man was exhausted from fatigue and sleeplessness. Apart from escaping Dras-Leona and potentially targeting the Ra'zac, he had no further plans for which direction to take. Should he head towards Belatona? Perhaps Surda? Or would it be safer to retreat to the northern, isolated regions of the empire? However, his mind was so weary that he couldn't think clearly at that moment. He desperately needed sleep, food, and the horse needed rest.
Murtagh guided Tornac behind a large boulder, secured the harnesses to the thick trunk of a bush, and placed a feed bag with some barley around the horse's head, letting it eat its fill. Then, he spread out his blankets and lay down, permitting himself a little sleep. Two to three hours would be sufficient. He would regain some strength before later approaching the base of Helgrind. Rested, he could devise a plan to neutralize the dreadful Ra'zac.
The night's cold was biting, but at least the wind was partially blocked behind the rock. Lighting a fire was out of the question, not only because he didn't want to risk being seen by his enemies, but also because its warmth would give him extra sleep, stealing precious time. He wrapped himself as best as he could and, clutching his weapons, let his gaze drift over the starry sky.
As night fully settled, the starlight grew stronger. Tiny sources of light flickered in the depths of the sky, some nearer, others farther away. And across the distant waters of the lake, the faint glow of the galaxy hung overhead.
His eyes were ready to close, and Murtagh hovered between sleep and wakefulness when a black shadow swept over him, blotting out a section of the sky and dimming the starlight. For a moment, in the drowsy haze of approaching sleep, he thought he had dozed off and that the shadow was merely a trick of his dream. He was already settling onto his side when the strange phenomenon repeated.
The second shadow that swept over him was too real to dismiss as a trick of sleep and dreams. The air around him changed abruptly, and dirt swirled nearby. The dry, earthy scent filled his nostrils, and he heard the horse neigh softly beside him, its hoof striking the ground. Murtagh jerked upright, fully alert, bow and arrows in hand.
There were two shadows, from those who had every reason to fly silently, in a low flight above him.
...The Ra'zac!...
For it could be nothing and no one else but them.
Leaving his horse and belongings as they were, he strapped on his sword, slung the quiver across his chest, and, with his bow ready and an arrow nocked, he listened intently. This was his chance. The devious Ra'zac surely hadn't spotted him, and since they were flying so low, it could mean only one thing. They were soon to dismount the creatures they rode, for some reason. If Murtagh managed to catch them alone, without those beasts, it would be worse for them and far better for him. In the darkness and with the wind against them, it was a perfect opportunity to approach them.
The young man tightened his grip on his weapons. His bow and arrows had a lot of work ahead. They were to avenge all the insults and the horrific loss of those who perished at Cantos. Standing before the bodies of the dead, Murtagh had sworn vengeance in his own blood. Now, the time had come.
From a distance, he saw the two massive forms of the Lethrblaka, first descending to the ground and then rising again into the sky, flying towards the cone of Helgrind. His earlier suspicions were correct. The Ra'zac had dismounted, and their formidable beasts were flying away. Who knew what kind of business the treacherous creatures had in the middle of the plain during the night.
Silent as a wildcat, he moved through the darkness, carefully approaching the spot where he had seen them land, making a circular motion and ensuring he stayed downwind. He watched for a while from a distance as their hunched figures walked silently but cautiously, like two predators stalking unsuspecting prey in the night. He would need to wait at a safe distance and be extremely careful if he didn't want to become their victim.
The Ra'zac moved near the public road, heading towards the two boulders that stood out clearly in the starlit empty plain. Murtagh waited. Whatever they were planning—certainly not good deeds—it was better not to rush in. Later, with the Ra'zac busy with their prey from the hunt, he might find them distracted and more vulnerable.
Screeches and hissing sounds echoed from the direction of the two boulders, accompanied by a wild roar that took his breath away. A bright light illuminated the entire area, and the eerie screeches and rattling sounds repeated. Then, silence. Murtagh slowly counted to fifty in his mind, then began to approach cautiously, all his senses on high alert.
The majestic sight that awaited him was something no human had seen in nearly a hundred years on the land of Alagaësia.
The strong light of an oil lamp reflected off the magnificent scales of a blue dragon, scattering myriad shades of deep blue. The dragon lay bound at the edge of a campsite, its enormous wings folded tightly against its sides, secured with a thick black chain. Its maw, with its fearsome teeth, was restrained by a leather muzzle strapped between the deadly horns of its head. Its taloned feet were firmly hobbled together. A young man lay face down on the ground, his hands tied behind his back. The Ra'zac held his aged companion, kneeling in the center of the camp. One of them, the smaller one, was preparing to slit his throat with a dagger.
With the memories of the Cantos massacre still fresh in his mind, Murtagh angrily loosed the arrow that he had nocked and ready in his bow for some time. The opportunity was perfect, and the Ra'zac was an ideal target, standing in a well-lit spot. However, a sudden movement by the creature caused the arrow to miss its heart and instead bury itself deep in its shoulder.
Murtagh let slip a curse for the lost opportunity as he swiftly readied a second arrow. The wounded Ra'zac howled in pain, while his companion narrowly avoided death by hurling himself to the ground. Murtagh's second arrow whizzed just above him.
Furious, the young man unleashed a barrage of arrows at them as they crawled on the ground, hissing, seeking temporary shelter behind some low rocks. Murtagh quickly ran to the opposite side of the campsite. This opportunity to take down the two monsters was unique, and he had no intention of letting it slip away.
He loosed more arrows at the Ra'zac, catching them off guard. From his vantage point, he was sure some of his arrows had found their marks. As the creatures moved swiftly, he saw their black cloaks, covering their hunched forms, now riddled with holes. He noticed the shaft of a broken arrow deeply embedded in one of their arms.
With a wild cry of anger and pain, the smaller Ra'zac swiftly fled towards the public road. His companion picked up the dagger from the ground and hesitated for a moment, torn between quickly following him and finishing off his victims first. Another arrow from Murtagh made the decision for him. With two swift leaps, he was at the other end of the campsite, but before the darkness swallowed him, he suddenly turned and hurled the dagger, aiming at the fallen man.
Murtagh saw his aged companion stumble towards him, positioning himself as a shield between the young man and the dagger. Murtagh cursed. He was certain that his last arrow should have struck the monster square in the chest. Instead, it ricocheted, and the Ra'zac had managed to escape. He emerged from his hiding place and quickly reached the two victims of the Ra'zac.
The younger man was definitely unconscious, possibly injured, but his clothes did not appear to be stained with blood. The old man, however, had taken the venomous dagger in his side.
Drawn by awe, Murtagh's attention shifted to the other member of this unique group—the blue dragon—who, from the opposite side of the campsite, looked at him, though bound and muzzled, with eyes full of vengeful wildness. Murtagh stood at a safe distance, his mind racing. It was clear that this dragon must have been the primary target of the Ra'zac, who, despite being wounded, might return shortly to avenge their pursuer. Murtagh had to act swiftly. With a respectful bow towards the dragon, he recited the words that seemed most fitting for the occasion.
"I greet you, mighty dragon, and assure you that I am your ally. The Ra'zac are my enemies as well, and they may soon return to harm you and your companions again."
He waited for a few moments to see the impression his words had made on the dragon. The fierce gaze did not soften, and a puff of smoke escaped from its nostrils, accompanied by a muffled growl of frustration. Murtagh understood that he needed to free the dragon from its bonds. However, unsure of its intentions, he was afraid to approach.
"If the two Ra'zac return, we are all at their mercy," he declared with a voice full of confidence, not letting his inner fear show.
The blue dragon's head jerked back and forth. Its neck stretched as far as the muzzle allowed, and its sapphire eyes locked onto him. Simultaneously, he felt a rhythmic pulse at the edges of his mind, like a light sting, causing him discomfort and making him quickly raise the barriers of his mind. But he soon realized that the dragon was trying to communicate, so he relented.
"Free me!" the dragon demanded fiercely, and Murtagh hurried to comply.
With hands trembling with excitement, he first freed the wings, then the legs, and finally removed the muzzle from the majestic head. All the rumors that had been discussed weeks ago in Lady Melker's parlor—rumors brought by her son from the capital—were now being confirmed right before his eyes.
Another dragon besides Shruikan, the one magically bound to Galbatorix, had not been seen in the lands of Alagaësia for years. As far as Murtagh knew, Shruikan was the last living dragon of his kind. But now, an egg had hatched, bringing forth another of these fearsome yet majestic creatures. The young man, lying face down on the ground, was obviously its rider.
As soon as the dragon was freed, it rushed towards the bound, unconscious young man. It gently moved the injured old man aside and covered the other with its wing. Murtagh approached, bringing the oil lamp close to them.
"Mighty dragon, if he is your rider, then he may be injured. Allow me to untie him and care for him."
From the moment the dragon was freed, Murtagh's anxiety eased a bit. If the Ra'zac decided to return, the dragon would alert him. His overall excitement about the presence of this majestic creature did not allow his mind to question why the dragon had not detected the Ra'zac earlier. Why hadn't it warned its companions?
The dragon roared at him, coiling even more tightly around the rider's body, making it crystal clear that it would not allow anyone to touch him. Flecks of disappointment sprouted in Murtagh's heart. He had driven off the Ra'zac and freed the dragon from its bonds. Yet, the only gratitude the creature expressed was a powerful roar and fierce wildness.
With no other choice, Murtagh turned his attention to the old companion of the dragon rider. He placed the Ra'zac's lamp on the ground and gently turned the fallen body onto its back. This time, the dragon did not seem averse to the contact, so Murtagh continued to tend to him. He opened the old man's cloak and tore his garment to find the dagger lodged between two of his ribs. The wound appeared deep, and the blood that had flowed stained the ground. Once the blade was removed, the bleeding would continue unabated.
Murtagh prepared bandages by cutting strips from the man's cloak with his knife. He tied the wound as tightly as he could to stop the bleeding. Then he turned again towards the dragon and its rider. "There is nothing more I can do for your companion. The wound is deep, and he has already lost much blood." The dragon growled angrily but did not move. Murtagh looked at him intently. "I have my horse and belongings nearby. I will go fetch them now. When your rider awakens, he will surely need help. His companion can no longer assist him."
The dragon nodded but remained silent. Its eyes were just as fierce and hostile as before, and aside from those first two words, it did not try to communicate directly with Murtagh's mind again.
With heightened vigilance and weapons at the ready, Murtagh plunged into the darkness of the night towards where he had left his horse tied. His heart was restless. He might not have managed to neutralize the Ra'zac – why hadn't any of his arrows inflicted significant damage, only minor wounds to the creatures? – but at least he had encountered some individuals whose fate would surely be intertwined with the destiny of Alagaësia.
Murtagh took a deep breath of the cold night air. He couldn't say what had transpired from the moment the dark shapes of the Ra'zac's mounts had awakened him from his sleep until he reached the victims' campsite. However, the sight of a dragon rider struck down and bound on the ground, and his dragon chained up, appeared truly strange, almost ridiculous.
Tornac remained calm where he had been left. Murtagh gathered his belongings, took the horse, and returned to the campsite. The dragon rider had not yet awakened, and his companion had not moved from where he had been left. The dragon looked just as fierce as before, growling and baring its teeth from time to time. Despite his admiration for the creature, Murtagh couldn't help but feel a twinge of bitterness that all the dragon's fierceness was directed at him, the one who had helped, while it had previously submitted to the Ra'zac's will.
He tethered his horse next to those of the two companions and began gathering dry twigs from the bushes. The night was freezing, he was tired and hungry, the two companions were injured, and the Ra'zac had fled, unlikely to return. With such a protective dragon nearby, avoiding a fire was pointless. Soon the sweet warmth spread around the campsite.
It wasn't long before the young dragon rider showed signs of recovery. Murtagh, seated on the opposite side of the fire, noticed the dragon retracting its wing. Would the dragon, now that its rider was regaining consciousness, become truly dangerous to him? The young man had not let go of his bow for a moment, and his sword was at his side the entire time. He saw the young dragon rider's eyes turn towards him with suspicion.
"Who are you?" he asked, taking a quick, sharp breath.
Murtagh's hands tightened instinctively around his bow. He felt his palms sweating. "Murtagh," he replied curtly, his voice carefully controlled.
With great effort, the young man sat up and brought his hands from behind his back to the front. "Why did you help us?"
"You are not the only enemies the Ra'zac have. I've been tracking their movements for a while," Murtagh replied.
"Do you know who they are?"
"Yes!"
The dragon rider whispered an unknown word, and his bonds immediately loosened.
…Magic!...
Murtagh held his breath, unsettled. The young man might possess some magical abilities, but that hadn't helped him at all. From what Murtagh had read, the Ra'zac were completely immune to magic. It was no surprise they had managed to overpower him.
The young man tried to stand, but his legs trembled and buckled. He collapsed helplessly to the ground again. Murtagh attempted to approach and help him, but the dragon stopped him with another fierce roar. Its sharp claws struck the ground forcefully, sending chunks of earth flying towards the fire.
"I would have helped you sooner," Murtagh said, "but your dragon wouldn't let me get close."
"Her name is Saphira," the dragon rider said, breathing heavily. After that, the dragoness growled again in displeasure but nonetheless folded her wings and moved back a little, allowing him to approach.
Murtagh, carefully watching her, grasped the dragon rider's arm and helped him to his feet. He had to be extremely cautious with his movements if he didn't want to become the dragoness's scapegoat. Who could guarantee that, with the slightest ailment of the rider, the dragon wouldn't attack him?
The young dragon rider groaned and would have collapsed to the ground again without help. Murtagh guided him to the side of the fire, where his companion lay on his back.
"How is he?" the dragon rider asked, pointing to the old man.
"Badly," Murtagh replied curtly. "The dagger hit him right between the ribs. You can tend to him in a moment, but first, let's see the damage the Ra'zac did to you." He helped the young man remove his shirt. Immediately, Murtagh's breath came out in a sharp hiss, expressing his dismay at the wound he saw. "Ouch!"
A large bruise extended down the young man's left side. His red, swollen skin was cracked in several places. He must have had some broken ribs. He should consider himself lucky he wasn't coughing up blood.
"Ouch!" the dragon rider agreed with Murtagh, examining his wound with a sorrowful look.
~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o
The king stood before one of the large windows in Lord Tabor's hall, gazing out at the city of Dras-Leona. Under the rays of a setting sun, the rooftops of the houses, the streets, and the squares unfolded before him, and in the distance, the waters of the lake glistened.
Reaching Dras-Leona from Urû'baen had taken him longer than he had anticipated; longer than he had initially desired. The dragon had not been cooperative, refusing to let him ride on his back, and the king – although he could have forced it – did not want to risk the potential consequences of such non-cooperation. Thus, he was compelled to use his royal carriage to travel by land to Dras-Leona, which resulted in significant delay.
Before embarking on the journey from the capital to here, his astrologer had informed him. The two flames on the ancient elven map were soon to converge. The old man had dared to advise the king to try to prevent this event. The astrologer had hinted at unpleasant consequences for Galbatorix's future if the meeting took place. However, the king had been amused by the astrologer's concerns. If he were to find this new dragon rider and his dragon, perhaps Morzan's son might finally prove useful.
The thought of Murtagh once again provoked Galbatorix's anger, and he felt his blood boiling. The ungrateful brat, to whom he had offered so much from the very first day he set foot in the castle... It wasn't enough that he had disappointed him by disobeying his orders; he had also taken with him a valuable servant of the palace, Tornac the weapons master.
It was inevitable that his guards would fail to stop them on the night they laid in ambush. Tornac was the most skilled swordsman to have ever passed through the barracks of Urû'baen's castle. The combination of him and Murtagh made them invincible fighters. However, the soldiers of the guard were numerous, and the weapons master had preferred death to capture. He had shielded the defector, sacrificing his life to clear a path for his escape.
If Galbatorix had realized earlier he deep bond of respect and affection between these two, he would have made sure to separate them in time. But what was done, was done and could not be changed. Besides, no one was irreplaceable.
The king took a deep breath of the cold afternoon air. For several days, he had securely trapped Morzan's faithless son in the house of young Lord Melker. However, Murtagh had once again proven unpredictable.
At some point, when he would fall into his hands again – because that time would surely come – Galbatorix intended to show no mercy. The old friendship that had bound him with Morzan and had influenced his judgment of Morzan's son would not prevent him from exacting the revenge he deserved. Before the king ended his useless life, he would make an example of him to all. So that no one would ever dare defy his orders again.
In any case, that treacherous deserter, despite his unwillingness to cooperate, could be of some use to him. If the astrologer's predictions were true, it could be Murtagh who would lead him to the new dragon rider and his dragon.
So far, the Ra'zac had proven incapable of achieving results. Their actions had only resulted in the precious, double treasure falling into the hands of his worst enemy, Brom. Not only had Brom managed to influence the new rider and his dragon, but he had also ensured their disappearance to an unknown location. But not for long! Thanks to the astrologer's useful information, Galbatorix knew where to search for them.
The king turned towards the center of the large hall. On a stone pedestal stood the silver basin he had recently used to skry Morzan's son. The surface of the liquid had already shown Murtagh meeting someone unknown, whom the king had not been able to identify.
It was natural that he could not observe someone unknown with scrying, whom he had never seen before. It was also likely that this unknown person was none other than the sought-after dragon rider. But the Ra'zac knew him! They had seen the new dragon rider and his dragon.
The king had already summoned them to Dras-Leona, to Lord Tabor's mansion, for a meeting with the intention of examining their minds. But so far, both had avoided presenting themselves before him. However, Galbatorix urgently needed them. He desired to know the young man who was to become his servant and the 'treasure' he carried through their memories.
Just as his anger was rising and he was about to repeat his mental summons to the Ra'zac, this time with urgency, the doors of the hall opened, and Lord Tabor himself appeared.
"Your Majesty!" The lord approached, bowing repeatedly, his broad robes folding over the layers of his large stomach. "Your loyal servants, the Ra'zac, are here and request an audience with your grace, if you would deign to accept their humble presence."
Since the king's arrival, Lord Tabor had taken on the duties of a servant himself. Instead of sending a lackey or a guard, he had taken it upon himself to inform His Majesty of the Ra'zac's presence. Whatever was needed, Lord Tabor would do, as long as he could escape the king's wrath for embezzling funds and avoid any possible punishment.
The king's eyes turned on him with disdain. The lord's presence quickly transformed his anger into disgust for the servile behavior of this subordinate. His gaze flashed with malice. He would first deal with the important matters of the new rider and his dragon, and then he would attend to him.
The king ascended the dais of the lordly throne used by the lord of Dras-Leona and sat upon the furs and comfortable velvet cushions. From that height, he gazed sternly at the entrance of the hall.
"Let them enter!"
Lord Tabor stepped aside, bowing humbly – wishing he could become invisible before His Majesty – as the two dark servants of Galbatorix, the Ra'zac, appeared at the entrance of the hall.
The king watched them with a sardonic smile blooming on his lips as they approached him slowly. The earlier anger, stirred by the memory of Morzan's son, had not yet subsided within him.
The Ra'zac arrived before him and stood at a considerable distance from the dais. Galbatorix's dark eyes fixed on them. He noticed that the smaller one appeared exhausted. Strange, as he was always the most viciously active and bloodthirsty. Perhaps the creature had not fed in a while. Maybe, once their conversation was over, he would allow this wretched being to sate part of its hunger on Lord Tabor's rich flesh.
As Tabor stood aside, still bent in a permanent bow, with sweat glistening on his bald forehead, Galbatorix thought it was sheer provocation. He imagined the Ra'zac first pecking at that bare head, then nibbling at the pig-like eyes of the lord with the swollen eyelids. Maybe afterward, they would rip out his tongue, which only knew how to repeat useless flattery for personal gain.
A series of abhorrent screeches and horrifying clicks drew Galbatorix's attention back to the matter of the dragon and its rider. He had sent the Ra'zac to capture them, but they had failed. They had better have a good excuse for their failure now.
"Speak!" The impatience in his voice was evident, despite his regal demeanor on the dais.
With continuous hissing and clicking, the larger Ra'zac began describing to the king what had transpired the night they encountered the new dragon rider. The bloodthirsty smaller one – Galbatorix knew it to be the female of the pair – remained strangely silent and withdrawn.
It wasn't that they had failed their mission, explained the Ra'zac, but just as they had captured the dragon and its rider, a multitude of enemies attacked them with arrows. The Ra'zac had to protect his injured female companion. Under the barrage of enemy arrows, it was impossible for him to risk the life of his precious partner. There would be other opportunities to capture the dragon rider.
This was what the Ra'zac claimed amidst hissing and clicking, but the ever-suspicious king was not convinced. By nature, these creatures were unaffected by magic, but Galbatorix knew dark methods that could subjugate them to his will. Long ago, he had discovered the true names of the Ra'zac, binding them as his slaves. Now, he used those names.
Reciting dark words, the king subdued the creatures to his will. He forced them both to open their otherworldly, hostile minds, penetrated their memories, and then he 'saw'!
He saw through Ra'zac's eyes and senses the beauty of the azure dragoness and marveled at her ferocity and loyalty to her rider. He saw the young man, almost a boy, who had bonded with her. He saw the old enemy, Brom, now an elder and incapacitated by the dagger. He even understood the true intention of the Ra'zac when they aimed the same dagger at the dragon rider. And the king was enraged.
The explicit order he had given was to capture dragon and rider, and deliver them immediately. It was not to eliminate one of the pair, thus endangering the existence of the other.
With an angry gesture of his hand, Galbatorix flung the two disobedient creatures to the other side of the hall. Horrific and unspeakable words escaped his lips, and the two Ra'zac began writhing on the floor, screeching and screaming deafeningly from pain and terror.
Their torturer and punisher stood tall, approached, and glared down at them with eyes bulging with rage. With abrupt movements of his hands, he intensified their agony and torment until their beaks stopped opening and clicking in distress, their screeches ceased, and they became two motionless curled-up forms, lying on the stone slabs of the floor.
The king's hands fell to his sides, and the words of dark magic faded from his lips. He stood still, the urge to punish satisfied within him. His troubled mind was lost, wandering through the paths of hell he had unleashed, his dark eyes fixed on the images of his innermost desires.
"I want the dragon alive!" he said, his voice controlled but hostile. "The same goes for the rider! I believe I made myself clear."
Galbatorix turned back to the dais and sat again on the lord's throne. His dark gaze fixed on the Ra'zac, though he did not truly see them. The image of the blue dragon still filled his vision with longing. "Return to your nest in Helgrind until I summon you again. Be grateful for my mercy that spares your lives and remember that your permission to hunt your beloved prey comes from me. I don't know what flattery the priests of the city have accustomed you to, but do not consider yourselves gods. No one is above me in hierarchy, nor has the right to disobey my orders. That dragon will be mine, as will its rider. Now, go!"
The larger Ra'zac moved painfully on the floor, slowly uncurled, and kneeling, protectively embraced his female companion. Helping his mate, they both retreated painfully towards the exit of the hall.
Just before they exited, the smaller one turned towards Galbatorix with a faint and pained growl, expressing her anguish and hatred. Her companion understood her aversion. The king had enslaved them both by learning their true names. He had taken their children and hidden them in a place unknown to them. He used them for his most challenging tasks, commanding them as if they were slaves; for slaves they had indeed become, against their will.
The dragon rider king was their enemy and the enemy of their kind. Deep in their hearts, both Ra'zac harbored relentless hatred for him and his dragon. They felt the same hatred for the young, new rider of the blue dragon. Would he not become the successor of the tyrannical Galbatorix? Would he not do to them and their children what his predecessor had done? The Ra'zac owed him no loyalty, nor did they intend to exchange one master for another. That was why he had thrown the dagger at him. He had attempted to kill him, to end his life early and mitigate the danger he posed to them.
As soon as the two Ra'zac staggered out of the hall, the portly Lord Tabor crawled on all fours before the king's feet. Throughout the punishment of the Ra'zac, the cowering man had been present and had witnessed Galbatorix's rage and fury.
He was now writhing and wailing before him, begging for mercy. He repeated the oaths he had once taken, pledging to always safeguard his king's interests and never again dare to think of disobeying. However, the king paid him no mind. He was too preoccupied with the image of the blue dragon, with his thoughts and plans for the future, to concern himself at that moment with this servant.
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In the tallest tower of the citadel in Urû'baen, the astrologer was burning the midnight oil again, hunched over his ancient map. The only light illuminating the small room came from the magically conjured flames, which had now merged into one. Like a radiant torch, they cast their light all around, growing in intensity, brilliance, and size.
The old man shook his head with evident disappointment. A dark sense of futility filled his heart. Within the towering twin flames, which blazed brightly, the astrologer clearly saw the downfall of his king. The beginning of the end of Galbatorix's reign, and perhaps even his very life, had begun with this union.
"It is too late for you, my king," the old man murmured. "The Warrior has met the Dragon… The two flames have already become one! Together, they will burn..."
Another glance at the map convinced him of the accuracy of this prediction. The depiction of the warrior on his horse shimmered in one corner of the universe, the drawn arrow in the man's bow ready to unleash an otherworldly fire. The horse's eyes blazed with intensity, and opposite them, the dragon's wide-open mouth spewed flames. The lion in the center roared as always, its proud mane waving and its deadly claws poised to strike. Yet something of its former glory was lost. Its roar sounded more like a cry of agony, and the movement of its raised, clawed paw seemed like a desperate defense for self-protection.
Galbatorix may still have been the powerful lord of Alagaësia, and his reign might have lasted for many more years. But the end of his rule had already begun. His doom was written in the stars.
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(to be continued)
A/N : Thanks for reading.