The Path Least Chosen

by Wolfyman123

Two hundred years ago, Vrael commanded Eragon Shadeslayer and Saphira Brightscales to leave Alagaësia on a mysterious mission. Now they have returned, only to find that the world they left behind is not the same one they remember. The Order is gone, decimated by a Rider called Galbatorix, and Eragon must fight for his home and face a past he once though he left behind.

58. Chapter 58 - The Storm

Chapter 58 - The Storm

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Tenga's Hidden Entry

I've long since wondered how I could have changed the past. This has led me down the "rabbit hole" of how time, gravity, and space all coalesce together. But neither did this knowledge, or the inherent question poised with, grant me my ultimate wish. Instead, I crafted a spell - a powerful spell, mind – that could only slow time, not reverse it.

If I cannot fix the past, then I can forewarn the future.

There is no such thing as Fate, at least how we view it. The future is ever-changing, ever-shifting. Each action we take makes one future more likely than another. It is nearly impossible to view the far future with any certainty, even if she claims to be able to see. Instead, It is far easier to view the immediate reactions to our actions.

Or the action we could take.

And so, after decades of spent researching yet another folly, I have created a spell that is capable of peering into the many threads of fate. Each action causes a reaction. This is how history is made. If you are reading this, then please understand this one, simple concept: Fate is simply the culmination of the choices you've made.

The columns of soldiers pouring out of the Varden's camp made no noticeable sound, the clinking of their armor muffled by rags wrapped around their feet and weapons. Their figures were difficult to make out in the gray light of early dawn, but his enhanced eyes were able to pick out their movements easily. Beside him, Arya watched on silently, her fingers moving quickly over Fírnen's saddle as she checked to ensure it was secured.

The soldiers -Urgals, werecats, and men alike- marched across the sloping fields toward Urû'baen before dividing neatly into three lines; one progression taking their place before the front gate, while one went towards the southeastern part of the curtain wall and the other towards the northwestern part.

Neither he nor the other leaders expected their movements to go unnoticed by the soldiers posted atop the walls. Only once the catapults, ballistae, and other siege weapons were finally moved into place did they expect their maneuvering to be discovered. Soldiers of the Varden moved with grim faces toward the walls and the battle ahead, but Eragon was impressed that the men were even willing to go into battle after witnessing Shruikan's flight the night before.

It spoke to their belief in him and the others that they would succeed here today, and Eragon used that to help steady his nerves. Beside him, Arya finished her checks of Fírnen's saddle and moved in close, the metal of their armor clinking lightly in the narrow space between them.

They did not speak, for nothing remained to be said between them.

A horn rang high in Urû'baen, the blast of sound echoed by others joining in the chorus. Lights began to spring up throughout the city as lanterns and torches alike were lit. The soldiers of the Varden left behind all pretenses of stealth at that moment; to the east a group of elves on horseback set off towards the hill that backed the city, planning to ride up the side of it and attack the wall along the top of the immense shelf that hung over Urû'baen. Men began to drop the rags hindering their movements as they moved, the sound of their steps growing steadily louder as more soldiers did the same.

From the center of the Varden camp, a massive figure spread its wings, the faint light of torches making Glaedr's golden scales glow almost a slight orange. A lone figure clad in golden armor sat atop his back, holding a sword and shield. Glaedr raised his head and bellowed the roar stinging Eragon's ears and causing the soldiers of the Varden to lose a resounding cheer in return.

Glaedr launched himself into the sky, winging his way above the walls. He was careful to keep himself out of range of the city ballistae, simply content to strike fear and confusion into the heart of Galbatorix's army.

Now, Eragon thought, glancing over to Nasuada's position at the rear of her army.

Three horns sounded from the Varden, which immediately gave rise to loud shouts of orders that rippled through the armies. The Varden's war machines launched their projectiles at the city, arching high into the air, aiming over the curtain wall.

Soldiers charged forward while archers loosed their arrows, and Eragon watched from afar as Men, Dwarves, Urgal, Elves, and Werecats alike moved across the ground almost in slow motion. Above them, a near-steady stream of stone flew through the air into the city beyond, and Eragon could not help but think of the poor citizens who would awaken to chunks of stone raining down on their heads.

Glaedr swooped down low and let loose a torrent of flame that washed over the upper battlements of the wall, clearing it of both men and ballistae alike. Some soldiers farther down the wall tried to turn their siege weapons upon Glaedr but were unable to reposition fast enough, for groups of elves flew -aided by magic- from the ground below and quickly dealt with them. From there Glaedr moved on, helping to clear the wall of soldiers who loosed arrows, tar, and javelins at the Varden below.

Saphira and Fírnen growled lowly behind him, eager to join in the fight, but held themselves back, waiting for their queue. Glaedr had volunteered to aid the armies in clearing the wall, citing that his bulk would make fighting within the city's limits nearly impossible. His solo act was not without forethought, however. While Thorn was no longer a concern for the army, Eragon was weary that Galbatorix held something else in reserve, waiting for the perfect moment to strike.

Glaedr was more than willing to play bait.

The early morning sun lightened the sky, and Eragon was more clearly able to see the wreath of destruction that was raining down upon the Varden's army from the walls, even as Glaedr and Oromis attempted to help clear paths for the slow-moving siege towers. Slowly the siege towers moved closer to the wall, arrows flying from the upper levels towards the enemy soldiers on the battlements. The deaths of the soldiers below were unavoidable, Eragon knew, but he could not help the growing knot in his throat as he watched more soldiers fall to the ground, never again to rise.

For nearly half an hour Eragon and Arya waited - a near eternity on the battlefield– hidden from sight on the top of the hill outside the Varden's camp. Then, Eragon spied the signal; Oromis held Naegling high into the air and a bright golden orb of light arched high into the sky before fading into nothingness.

Turning towards Arya, Eragon nodded, and together the two of them leaped up into their respective saddles. From the shadows the figure of Eragon's half-brother approached, his borrowed elven armor glinting lightly in the morning sun. Approaching Fírnen, Murtagh silently held the gaze of the green dragon, waiting a moment for the slow blink of an amber eye.

As quick as he could –not as fast as Eragon nor Arya, but certainly faster than any human could manage– Murtagh clambered his way atop Fírnen, settling into the saddle behind Arya. The sight of another person wrapping their arms around her slight figure, regardless of it being Murtagh, made Eragon bristle and grimace.

Peering at his mate, Eragon noticed how she also grimaced slightly at Murtagh's presence before her face cleared, leaving behind her usual stoic look. When she caught him staring she merely raised an eyebrow, and Eragon smiled slightly before urging Saphira forward. Murtagh, for once, remained wisely silent.

As Saphira spread her wings and leaped into the sky, Eragon could not help but think back to the night before when he had made his plan; Eragon had originally intended Murtagh to fly with him and Saphira, but Arya had argued against it, citing how Saphira would quickly become overburdened with his current plan. Murtagh did not care either way who he flew with, so long as he was present during their confrontation with Galbatorix.

Eragon had to fight down the urge to argue against Arya's logic, despite knowing that she was right. Saphira had made a joke about how he should get rid of his urge to pound his chest with his fists whenever Arya was even around another male, but Eragon struggled to find the humor in it.

The wind surged over Eragon as Saphira quickly gained speed, aiming directly for the heart of the Varden camp. There, in the center of a clearing, thirteen elves waited for them –all of them Blödhgarm's spellcasters as well as Glenwing– with a thirty-foot-long piece of rope tied around the chests and under their arms. The other end was tied to a log as thick as Eragon's thighs and equal in length to a fully grown Urgal. Glenwing, Eragon noted, carried Niernen the Dauthdaert. Eragon had entrusted the fabled spear to Blödhgarm, knowing that the elf would care for it until its use once again became necessary.

As Saphira swooped low over the camp two of the elves gathered the log between them and tossed it high into the air. Saphira easily caught it in her talons and pumped her wings hard against the air, the sudden addition of weight causing Eragon to jolt slightly in her saddle. Flapping strongly against the wind, Saphira flew high into the air, Fírnen close behind her.

She leveled off nearly a few hundred feet in the air, high enough that Eragon and the others could easily clear the massive walls surrounding the city, as well as the looming buildings behind it. Onward she flew, over the fields filled with the combined armies of the Dwarves, Varden, and Elves. Closer to the wall Urgal's attempted to alight long ladders against the curtain wall, hiding behind their large shields as they worked.

A strange sensation washed over Eragon as Saphira alighted over the walls, and it took a moment to realize that a spell had attempted to wash away the many enchantments placed upon him and Saphira. His energy level dipped slightly from the opposing spell before it slid off him completely. He likewise felt the same sensation when Arya and Fírnen passed over the wall; he was the one who cast the many wards over their group, all the while avoiding the use of the Ancient Language.

It was a key part of their strategy, and one Eragon had spent the last few months perfecting, ever since he had learned what Galbatorix was truly after. The Name of Names had the potential to completely strip all of them of their defenses, and as such Eragon had devoted much of his spare time to learning how the Grey Folk had once manipulated magic before they bound it to the Ancient Language. It had taken him some time to even manage the simplest of spells; not because of the difficulty in casting wordless magic, but in ensuring that his thoughts would not stray.

Now he was fairly capable of casting more complex spells wordlessly, and he had spent the night before weaving such spells around himself, Saphira, Arya, Fírnen, and even Murtagh. His half-brother had been surprised when Eragon had told him he knew about Galbatorix's quest to find the Name of the Ancient Language, and Murtagh had laughed loudly with glee when Eragon told him about his plan to subvert the Mad King.

"For the first time in a century," Murtagh grinned, a half-mad expression on his face, "Galbatorix will be the one who is caught off guard."

The two dragons hastened their flight toward the citadel's massive gate, all the while Glaedr remained behind, aiding the armies in their attempt to breach the city's walls. Oromis and Glaedr would join them when their work was done, which would allow Eragon and the others time to penetrate the many traps and wards that no doubt surrounded the Black King.

Saphira tucked her wings in against her body and dove towards the gate, using the wind and her speed to shield the elves from any enterprising archers below. Cries of fear and astonishment rang out from below at the sight of the two dragons, but Eragon paid them no mind; his goal, after all, was not stealth.

Just before she was about to slam into the gate Saphira quickly turned and reared upright, her powerful wings flapping hard to slow herself. Then, in a move only Saphira could pull off, carefully lowered herself down, all the while keeping herself level and allowing the elves below to gingerly reach the ground.

The elves quickly cut themselves away the moment they were grounded, moving out of the way to avoid the log Saphira dropped. Then the two dragons landed in the courtyard before the gate, their massive bulks causing the ground to shake and further cries of panic to ring out from the city beyond.

Quickly, Eragon undid the bindings on his legs and leaped the great distance down from Saphira's back, bending his knees slightly to absorb his increased weight. He strode quickly towards the gate where the elves were assembling, Arya and Murtagh, jogging slightly to catch up to his brisk pace.

The giant two black doors that made up the entrance to the citadel were made of what appeared to be solid iron, clearly having been designed to be an imposing sight to any who dared approach.

Blödhgarm and his elves gave Eragon and Arya respectful nods as they approached, their faces grim and determined. Glenwing tried to smile but merely grimaced, holding the Dauthdaert away from his body as though it were a dangerous snake in his grasp. Clapping Glenwing on the back in greeting, Eragon quickly took the spear from the elf, ignoring Glenwing's dramatic sigh of relief.

Aware that the dragons were watching his every movement, Eragon shared a glance with Saphira before holding the spear out towards his half-brother. Murtagh stiffened at the gesture, but was quick to realize they had little time to spare; the horizontal strip of metal in the sally port began to sink inward, the rusted metal scrapping loudly in the quiet air.

As the small piece of metal –barely three fingers wide and thrice as long– began to slide to the side, Murtagh gave Eragon a brief nod of acknowledgment before sprinting towards the massive doors.

"State your business-" a haughty voice began, but was cut off as Murtagh jabbed the Dauthdaert through the open slot. The dying groan of a man echoed out of the small horizontal opening, followed by the sound of a man falling to the floor.

Murtagh, without missing a beat, pulled the spear back and shook the Dauthdaert to remove the scraps of blood and flesh on its barbed blade. Then, with both hands, Murtagh grasped the hilt and placed the tip along the seam of the sally port. The sally port was barely big enough for a single person to pass through and would take some time to cut through, but Eragon was more worried about the numerous enchantments that had been laid on the citadel.

Sharing a glance with the others, Murtagh screamed out his frustration, his spell blazing into being with a single bellow, "Verma!"

Shielding his eyes from the bright red blaze of light, Eragon moved away from the intense heat that Murtagh's spel was producing. His face was awash in both fury and pain, Murtagh steadily used the tip of Niernen to cut through the iron gate. Sparks flew and bounced harmlessly off of Murtagh's wards, though his half-brother barely paid them any mind.

Arya stood next to him as they watched Murtagh work in silence, while Blödhgarm and the other elves took up defensive positions around the two dragons. The elves were quick to scare away any onlookers gathering at the edges of the courtyard, though Eragon wondered briefly why they were not already hiding; the sounds of battle were steadily gaining in pitch every minute that passed, and Glaedr's massive golden form flying above the wall was still clearly visible even from Eragon's position.

It took Murtagh only a few minutes to fully cut through the thick metal door, the wards surrounding the Dauthdaert allowing him to easily bypass the no doubt numerous wards Galabtorix had placed. Murtagh was sweating profusely when he finally finished cutting the door, and his half-brother took a step back and paused briefly before kicking the door.

Eragon was impressed with his strength; his half-brother may have been without Galbatorix's enchantments, but it still only took Murtagh three kicks to dislodge the door, which fell inward atop the dead guard. Holding the spear tightly in his hand, Murtagh passed through the hole in the gate, the others watching with bated breath.

After a moment of hesitation, Murtagh turned around and nodded at the group, but his half-brother did not have any time to hand the spear off to the next person; a group of twenty soldiers rushed towards Murtagh from inside the citadel, pikes outstretched.

Quicker than any human, Murtagh spun around and wielded the Dauthdaert as adeptly as he had his blade; within moments Murtagh had already slain five of the men when Eragon finally made his decision.

The chance to test his wordless magic against some of Galbatorix's actual spells was too great a chance to pass up; either he was correct and his manner of spellcasting would work, or Eragon only had a scant amount of time to come up with another solution to the Name.

Unsheathing Brisingr, Eragon took a deep breath and charged through the hole.

"Eragon!"

A wave of magic washed over Eragon as he passed through the man-made hole, but whatever magic there was slid off his wards easily. Blinking in surprise, Eragon barely had a moment to contemplate his success when half of the remaining soldiers split off from Murtagh and charged at him.

Together, the two brothers carved through the soldiers with ease, and Eragon even had to chase down one of the soldiers as they tried to flee.

The last soldier Murtagh remaining spat in his half-brother's face after he skewered the man on the end of the Dauthdaert. "Traitor," the man gurgled before falling to the ground, dead.

Murtagh's expression did not change as he pulled the spear from the fallen soldier, shaking the spear once more to clean off the blood. Together the two brothers quickly cleared the space in front of the sally port, before Murtagh held out butt of the the spear to the nearest person on the other side of the hole.

Arya was the first to grasp the end of the ancient elven weapon, allowing Murtagh to pull her through the hole. He could see his mate stiffen slightly as she passed through, but when nothing happened she quickly let go of the Dauthdaert and strode over to Eragon. She glared at him, likely for his reckless action, but did not rebuke him when he gestured to one of the rooms on either side of the gate. Heading towards one room each, the two Riders quickly entered and found the mechanism used to open and close the gates.

Together, in a task that would require more than the same number of humans, the two Riders pulled at the mechanism in sync, filling the air with the loud clanking of chains. They only ceased their efforts when Glenwing let out a loud, "Stop!"

When Eragon emerged from the hole –barely having broken a sweat– he saw that nearly half of the elves had already made their way over the threshold, aided in part by Murtagh's continued efforts. The last two elves – Blödhgarm and Wyrden– both waited by the dragons and one at a time grasped the end of the Dauthdaert with one hand and rested the other on a dragon's flank.

Only when Fírnen and Saphira were over the boundary did Eragon finally call over two of the elves? Uthinarë – an elf with black hair– volunteered and took the Dauthdaert in hand. Laufin followed quickly behind, sharing a passing glance with his other companions.

"Wait here for the Mourning Sage," Eragon bid the two elves. "Hide, if necessary, but the Dauthdaert must be here when they pass over the threshold."

"It will be done, Skörungr," the elf's murmured in unison.

The plan was simple; Eragon and the others would –aided by Murtagh– clear the path to the throne, dismantling as many of the traps and spells as they could along the way. Then, whenever Glaedr and Oromis deemed it time, the two Elders would finally leave behind the battle outside and join them before they reached Galbatorix.

The timing was a bit complex, but Eragon held faith that his former teachers would know when to leave the battle behind for the final confrontation. The doors groaned loudly as Laufin and Uthinarë closed them behind the others, and Eragon finally took in the large hallway they stood in.

For nearly a quarter mile the hallway ran straight as an arrow, deep into the heart of the hill behind Urû'baen. At the other end laid a set of doors, emblazoned with golden patterns that glowed beautifully in the soft flameless lanterns that were mounted regularly on the walls. Dozens of passages branched off from the main hallway, though none of them were large enough for Saphira.

The hallway itself was enormous but empty; not a single soldier was seen, save for the first group of twenty they already slew. Silence rang over the group as they glanced about the corridor.

"Where's Galbatorix?" Arya asked Murtagh.

His half-brother nodded at the far doors. "Straight through there. But rest assured that several traps wait for us; even more now, if he knows that I'm with you." He turned towards Eragon expectantly, as did the others. "Now, brother, tell me your plan."

Eragon smiled and strode towards the front of the group, turning around so his back was towards the end of the hallway. He trusted the others to watch his back while he explained his plan. "Long ago, as I've already told Arya, I met a strange man by the name of Tenga; he is old and even possibly crazed, but I've yet to meet someone as intelligent as he. He has given me several spells that have already outwitted Galbatorix's cunning magic, and I will once again draw upon his knowledge."

Only this time, Saphira added, her dislike of the plan clear in her words, you will rely on Wordless magic. This will be dangerous, and we will need to watch Eragon's back closely; both to ensure his mind does not stray and to defend him in case of an ambush. He will be defenseless while he is channeling the spell. Arya, as well as the Eldunarí and myself, will guard his mind. The rest of you will need to guard his flesh.

"And, what, Skörungr, is this spell you will channeling? And why only now tell us?" Blödhgarm's fur bristled briefly before settling down.

"Forgive me," Eragon said to the others, his eyes lingering on Arya the longest. Only she and Saphira knew the full plan, and though she –like Saphira– greatly disliked his idea, none of them could see another way to reach the Mad King. "It was never my intention to deceive you or the others, but I could not risk even a stray word of this plan making its way to Galbatorix's ears. Now that we are here, it is still possible that he could come up with a counter, but I highly doubt that he will have the time.

"This spell," Eragon continued, "will allow me to peer into the future, but only for a short amount of time. It's complicated, but I will be able to spot any traps before they are sprung."

"In theory," Arya stated, her words harsh and biting.

"Aye," Eragon admitted, turning to face her and letting his features soften. "But we have come too far now to back down, and unless someone else has a better plan, then we need to start. The battle outside will not wait for us to decide."

The elves silently stared at each other before once more facing Eragon. "We stand with you, Skörungr, as we always have," Blödhgarm said, slapping one of his fists to his chest.

Eragon breathed a sigh of relief. "Thank you."

Glenwing smiled at Eragon, nodding encouragingly.

He turned to his half-brother with an expectant look.

Murtagh merely snorted and gestured at him. "Well, let's see how well a Mad Magician fares against a Mad King."

Taking a breath, Eragon turned around, waiting for Arya to approach. His mate carefully placed her hand on his armored shoulder, and Eragon shared a small smile with her. Despite her reluctance, Arya returned his smile, her beautiful features calming a part of Eragon that he hadn't known was agitated.

This was a gamble, Eragon knew. He was attempting to use wordless magic in a high-stress environment, particularly when wordless magic should not be used. On top of that, he had to conceptualize an entire complicated spell – one that he barely understood- in his mind and hold it there, all the while peering through the "strings of fate" as Tenga had stated.

It would either be one of the greatest feats of magic Eragon ever performed, or it would be his folly.

Taking a breath, Eragon internalized everything he knew about the future. He thought about Tenga's words, about how the future was not set in stone, yet was determined based on the things that already happened; how these futures were probabilities, with only a handful more likely than the others.

Forcing this into his mind in the way that Grey Folk once did, Eragon forced the world into a more pleasing state; immediately visions flashed before his eyes, each moment a swirl of possibilities and potentialities. Futures he never thought possible poured into his mind like liquified iron, unleashing an agony he never thought possible before.

Focus! Came an unbridled exclamation in his head, echoed in a thousand futures. Remove the futures that cannot be! Do not let them cloud your mind, or you will be consumed by what can never be!

The voice sounded suspiciously like Tenga, though he felt no mind like the hermits in the ruined temple that was his mind.

"Eragon!" Arya cried out, hundreds of versions of his mate reaching out a hand and placing it on his cheek. The ones that did not were discarded, for they were futures that would never be.

Good! Good! See only that which can happen. The rest are immaterial.

Slowly the visions coalesced into slivers of themselves, each a stream of worlds and possibilities that were separate from the others. As each future narrowed and eased from his vision, Eragon finally understood why Tenga called fate "threads".

Slowly, Eragon looked around, his movement echoed in the slivers of time pouring into his mind; it felt less like a volcano being directed into his skull and more like a hot spring. Unpleasant, surely, but vastly preferred over the other.

Arya looked at him worriedly, her beauty echoed throughout all possible futures. He knew exactly what she was going to say moments before her mouth even opened.

"Are you alright?"

Eragon laughed and nodded at the same time. "Aye. 'Tis unpleasant, but I think I am ready." He could feel a thousand different versions of Arya brush her mind softly against the corners of his The sensation nearly overwhelmed his senses and caused multiple strands of time to shake in his vision. Firmly, he reinstated his vision of the world.

The strands stilled.

He could feel the others staring worriedly at him, but Eragon waved aside their caution. He knew, without a doubt, that he needed to start now, or else he would never be able to finish. The spell consumed far too much energy for the dragons to power it indefinitely.

Besides, he needed to avoid any chances of glimpsing that dark, looming weight that bore across all the timelines. It lingered along the edges of his vision, slumbering with its forbidden knowledge.

It was, Eragon instinctually knew, the many futures that lay beyond those grand doors at the end of the hallway.

Intuitively, he seemed to know exactly how this worked; Eragon, at that moment, intended to take a step forward, and a thousand different futures played out in front of him. In an instant he discarded all the ones that were insubstantial and thus unlikely to happen, –things like Eragon immediately keeling over from the moon falling on his head was easily tossed to the wayside–instead lingering on those futures that were bright and blaring in his vision.

Those he peered into, and saw the trap that lay in wait.

"There," Eragon stated, pointing at the wall to his left. "A trap. If I take a single step forward it will open a small door there in the wall, and hit me with a poisoned arrow."

The others blinked at him in astonishment, especially when Murtagh, already knowing how these sorts of traps were set up, easily strode over and revealed the hidden door. A quick snip of a wire disarmed the trap, and Eragon nodded in satisfaction.

"That was too easy," Murtagh snorted, his words echoing in Eragon's head before he even spoke. Nearly a dozen different Murtaghs said the same thing, though some altered slightly from the one in front of him. "There's no way they thought that could work. Even a simple revealing spell could have detected it."

"Aye, that was just a test," Eragon told his half-brother. He was getting better at recognizing and distilling the current reality from those of the many possible futures. Now he was ready.

Then he intended to take another step.

---

It did not take them long to work out a system; Eragon would take a few steps forward, peering through the many probabilities that lay out before them, and then point out the traps to the elves. They would, with his direction, disarm or destroy them. Then Eragon would continue forward, stopping every so often to peer into the many futures.

Arya's and Saphira's mind were a constant companion, helping to ground him in reality. At first, they attempted to keep his mind from swaying completely, but the longer Eragon held onto the wordless spell, the more they seemed to trust that he wasn't going to accidentally kill himself.

Murtagh had taken to pestering Eragon – to Arya's displeasure – on how exactly the spell worked. Glenwing, however, displaying a wisdom Eragon thought the elf lacked, wisely stayed away from Eragon and thus Arya's wrath.

"It's not exactly like scrying," Eragon grunted, peering through the different realities before taking another step. "Nor is it like some of the time-altering spells. I'm not changing anything. I'm just looking.."

"At something that has not happened yet," Murtagh shook his head. "How in blazes does that work?"

"Looking is the wrong word," Eragon decided. He pointed out another trap to Blödhgarm, explaining the intricacies of the trap to the elf. Satisfied that Blödhgarm could disarm it, Eragon turned back to his half-brother and Arya who stood closely by his side.

Even though she objected to Murtagh speaking with Eragon initially, she – and the multitude of Eldunarí behind him – were interested in how the spell worked. At first, Umaroth hadn't truly believed the spell was possible, not until Eragon completely and correctly predicted the random words the Eldunarí told the elves to speak out loud. Even then, Eragon had to predict a few more chance encounters before the older dragon was satisfied.

"It's more like," Eragon tried to explain, thinking. The temptation to peer into one of the probabilities that lingered before him was great, but he resisted the urge. "A prediction. It's easier to 'see' a reaction from an action that occurs immediately than it is one to happens in a week. If I were to look now a week into the future, the events I witness would not likely ever come to pass."

Too many variables to consider, Umaroth interjected, the old dragon humming with realization. I see. A most useful spell in the short term.

"Aye, but easy to become paralyzed with indecision. If things were to occur too quickly at once, I'm not sure I could keep up with it."

"Then let us get on with it," Murtagh grumbled.

A particularly cunning trap had taken them longer to overcome than Eragon had initially thought, and it was not long before they stood in front of the doors at the end of the hall.

The absence of an obvious trap worried him. Galbatorix likely had a plan to subdue them should they try to cross the boundaries of the door, one that Eragon was unsure if they would be able to counter.

Staring up at the large door, Eragon felt his hands shake slightly. Gripping them tightly, Eragon took a deep breath and turned his head to peer back at Saphira.

She blinked a giant sapphire eye, appraising him. Are you ready, little one?

I don't think we could ever be truly ready, Eragon returned. But we are here, and we will never get another chance like this.

Saphira turned her head back down the hallway, and a moment later Eragon heard a loud pounding sound grow steadily closer.

Fírnen, behind Saphira, twisted in the hallway and crouched low, tasting the air with his tongue. After a moment the green dragon relaxed, raising his head and turning to face the rest of the group. Glaedr and Oromis approach, as well as the two elves.

It took a few minutes for Oromis and Glaedr to approach, the golden dragon's bulk taking up nearly all of the space on either side of him. There was so little room between the dragon's scales and the brick wall of the hallway that if Glaedr needed to retreat, Eragon feared that Glaedr would need to walk backward the entire time.

Eventually, Oromis approached, sporting dark red patches of blood that were scattered about his golden armor. Glaedr remained situated behind Saphira and Fírnen, unable to pass either dragon in the narrow hallway, while Oromis wound his way between the dragons and towards Eragon and the others near the large doors.

"I see we made it in time," Oromis smiled. It was perhaps the single most forced smile Eragon had ever seen the older elf present.

Blödhgarm, Arya, Glenwing, and the other elves greeted Oromis lightly. Eragon and Murtagh, however, stared up at the large door before them.

"You think knocking would be a good idea?" Eragon asked his half-brother, not trying to mask how his nerves caused his voice to shake.

Murtagh laughed loudly, the Dauthdaert tightening in his grip. "Maybe if we ask nicely enough, Galbatorix will just surrender and let us chop his head off." None of the elves found the attempted joke humorous, and Murtagh quickly sobered after a moment of silence. "There's most likely a powerful spell on the doors."

Oromis approached with Arya, and together the four Riders stood in front of the massive doors. On the other side of the massive doors was Galbatorix, the betrayer.

This, more than anything else, was his destiny. It was also likely the reason, Eragon was beginning to suspect, that he was called home.

"Aye," Oromis agreed. "But there is little to be done over it; we need to get through these doors. The longer we wait the worse the battle outside will grow."

It was impossible to ignore Oromis' logic. Nodding to Arya, Eragon shared with her a small smile.

Arya reached up her hand to grasp the handle, but Eragon's hand shot out and slapped it away. "No!" Eragon warned, visions of the future sliding into being the moment Arya's hand lifted from her side. His mate blinked up at him curiously. "Touching the door unleashes a spell that will render half of our forces unable to move."

"How do you know this?" Oromis asked. While Arya quickly explained the spell that he was currently utilizing to Oromis, Eragon instead glanced over at his half-brother knowingly.

"What?" Murtagh asked, blinking at him. "I didn't know such a spell was placed."

Eragon smiled, his eyes darting from the Dauthdaert in Murtagh's hand to the wall beside the doorway. Murtagh frowned and followed his gaze, realization making him snap around towards Eragon. "How did you know?" Murtagh pointed a finger at him, narrowing his eyes. "And don't say the spell; it's already freaky enough."

"I know because you are here," Eragon smiled. "Only you know how to disable the trap, which is the only reason I was able to glimpse it. Without you, we would either be stuck outside these doors or have to surrender half of our forces."

Murtagh sighed and shook his head. "I said don't tell me it was the spell," the Red Rider grumbled, picking up with Dauthdaert and pointing the tip against the left wall. The tip of the spear tapped an otherwise ordinary brick, and Murtagh turned to Eragon expectantly. "This one?"

Staring at it a moment, Eragon nodded.

"Excellent," Murtagh grinned. "I always wanted to do this." His half-brother reared back and stabbed at the brick hard, the tip of the spear passing through the brick as though it were not even there. The brick was an illusion, and the moment the Dauthdaert passed through a great crack reverberated out from the wall. A pulse of magic energy washed over them and made even the dragons stumble slightly, though they were otherwise unharmed.

"Ha!" Murtagh grinned, pulling back the Dauthdaert. "Galbatorix and his magicians think they are clever with their little crystal-powered spells."

Whatever Murtagh's gripe with the use of crystals to store energy for spells Eragon did not have time to figure out. Instead, he turned back towards Arya and nodded his head. "Try it again."

"Wait," Murtagh stated, fingering the Dauthdaert lightly in his hand. "Take this," he lifted the Dauthdaert and held it out for Arya to grasp.

She inclined her head at Murtagh, sliding Támerlein into its sheathe and gripping the spear tightly with one hand.

Arya lifted her hand and paused it inches from the handle, staring at Eragon expectantly.

Eragon sighed and said, "You have to intend to grab it, otherwise I just see you pausing and looking at me."

How does her intention affect the outcome of the future? Umaroth questioned.

"No idea," Eragon shrugged. "It just does. Tenga did not exactly leave detailed notes on the finer points of how it works. I know enough to get the spell working without the use of the Ancient Language, but I do not wish to peer too closely at its structure."

Arya frowned at him for a moment, before nodding her head. Then, she lowered her hand.

Eragon saw nothing immediately in the future and remained still as Arya fully grasped the handle for the door. Arya paused and looked towards the others, and when she saw no reason to stop immediately began to pull hard on the door. In a feat that no mere human could manage Arya wrenched open the large door, the massive structure slowly beginning to swing outward. Even for Arya, it was a struggle, her brow dripping with sweat as she pushed the door open.

When the door reached the far wall Arya released it, returning to Eragon and the others. "Are we ready?" she asked, her gaze flickering to Fírnen behind them before settling on Eragon.

"There is little more we could do now," Oromis answered. Drawing Naegling from his side.

Let us face the Oathbreaker and make him pay for his crimes, Glaedr hissed.

We will fight, even to the end, Fírnen growled.

"He will pay," Murtagh spat. "For everything he's done."

Blödhgarm growled lowly while the other elves nodded their agreement, and even Glenwing smiled viciously.

Before them loomed a long, dark chamber. The flameless lanterns that sat atop iron poles running down its length did little to illuminate the space, Above, crystals faintly glowed as well, reminiscent of the stars in the night sky; the crystals too, like the stars, provided almost no light in which to see. The two rows of lanterns ended nearly five hundred feet away, ending at a broad dais.

Upon which sat a throne.

A throne occupied by a dark figure, with a bare sword that appeared to be faintly glowing white. Murtagh snarled next to him, and Eragon tightened his grip on Brisingr. Arya, still wielding the Dauthdaert, hoisted it high in front of her, as though ready to strike at some unseen foe in the shadows.

Saphira craned her neck over the elves in front of her, her tongue lightly lashing against the back of Eragon's armor.

Eragon exhaled and released the spell he had been channeling, the many strands fading from his vision. For a moment he stumbled, his world out of balance; he had grown used to the strands and the many futures floating past his mind's eye, and it left him feeling bereft and forlorn for something he could not place.

The other gave him a moment to recover, and Arya placed her free hand on Eragon's shoulder. Swallowing hard, Eragon pushed away the sudden panic that grew within him.

Together, with a determined step, the four Riders, thirteen elves, and three dragons strode into the throne room. Behind them, the door swung shut with a resounding boom. The noise echoed down the chamber until even faded out with a whimper. The noise did not startle Eragon; no, his attention was firmly fixed on the dark figure, which roused the moment the echo reached it. Then, as if stirring from a great sleep, the figure sat up straight on its throne.

A voice, deep and rich filled the throne room.

"Ah, I've been expecting you. Welcome to my abode. And welcome to you in particular, Eragon Shadeslayer, and to you, Saphira Brightscales. I have long awaited your arrival ever since I first heard the tale of your return. Arya, daughter of Islanzadí, Shadeslayer in your own right, and the newest Rider of our grand Order, I welcome you. Fírnen, you've returned home, and how you've grown! Of course, Oromis and Glaedr, my Elders. I thought you were long dead; even still, I welcome you. Umaroth, Valdr, and those others who travel with you unseen."

The voice paused for a moment, before continuing, "And welcome home, Murtagh, my wayward child. I hope Thorn has recovered from his ordeal."

Murtagh hissed his anger, drawing Ithring. Eragon placed his hand on his half-brother's arm, shaking his head slowly. "He's goading you," Eragon whispered, carefully watching Murtagh.

He remained silent, a single eyebrow twitched on his face. Still, Murtagh overcame his anger, though he held Ithring close at hand.

Eragon and the others began the long walk down the chamber, and the distance had a strange calming effect on him. Some part of him had expected Galbatorix to attack them immediately upon stepping into the throne room, but that did not honestly fit with what Eragon knew of the Mad King. Galbatorix was too paranoid to even leave his castle, so it would follow that he would likewise be cautious about striking an enemy, even if he held the advantage.

Arya, next to him, glanced around the chamber. "I do not see Shruikan."

Murtagh grunted, "He's here."

Saphira and Fírnen taste the air, and it was Fírnen who responded, Murtagh is correct. I can smell him, but I cannot hear him.

Murtagh lowered his voice, his eyes locked onto the throne ahead. "Do you see that curtain behind Galbatorix? The ones stretching to nearly the ceiling? That's Shruikan's wing."

Eragon blinked, astonished. He knew the black dragon was massive, but as his gaze moved up and down the chamber he could not help the slight shiver that ran down his spine.

Leave Shruikan to us, Glaedr commanded with a low growl, forcing Eragon out of the slight stupor. Arya, give Oromis Niernen.

Arya nodded and handed the spear back to her old master, who accepted it reverently. Oromis slowed his pace until he was astride with Glaedr, who easily fit within the large chambers.

Blödhgarm and his elves split apart as well, six of them lagging to stay with Glaedr and Oromis. Blödhgarm himself stayed with Eragon, and the others, and Eragon was heartened to see Glenwing take up residence behind him. There were few people Eragon trusted to watch his back, and Glenwing had more than earned the right.

As one, they stopped thirty feet from the raised dais, while Oromis and Glaedr paused some twenty feet behind them. Why they remained so far back Eragon could not guess, but he trusted his former masters that they had some semblance of a plan.

Perhaps it was even better than the one that Eragon was currently operating under.

Galbatorix sat upon his throne, the large velvety wings of Shruikan casting a shadow over his features. Then, the Mad King leaned forward slightly into the light; Galbatorix looked nothing like the twisted version of Eragon's late-night imagination.

His face was long and lean, with a deep brow and a bladelike nose. His eyes were hard as stones, and they showed little white around his irises. His mouth was thin and wide with a slight downturn at the corners, and he had a close-cropped beard and mustache, which, like his clothes, were black as pitch. In age, he appeared to be in his fourth decade. His shoulders were broad and well-built, and his waist was trim.

Upon his head sat a crown of reddish gold with numerous glittering jewels. The crown was so old that Eragon wondered if it had once belonged to King Palancar.

On Galbatorix's lap was a sword. A sword that Eragon had seen before.

Its blade, hilt, and crossguard were stark white, while the gem that was set within the pommel gleamed beautifully. It looked just as it did the first time Eragon had ever seen it – a blade so white it appeared to be a sun-bleached bone.

It was not Galbatorix's blade, Eragon was certain.

It was Vrael's sword.

White hot rage filtered into Eragon, echoed by Saphira. But their wrath was dwarfed by Umaroth's, whose fury nearly made Eragon shut his mind from the Eldunarí.

Galbatorix examined them each in turn with a sharp, unblinking gaze. "So, you have come to kill me." His gaze stopped on Murtagh. "Kneel before me, Murtagh, as you've done so many times before, and I will spare you and Thorn."

"No," Murtagh spat, his face red with anger. "Never again."

"Kneel," Galbatorix commanded, before speaking a long string of words. It was, Eragon realized, Murtagh's True Name.

His previous True Name. Murtagh merely smirked at Galbatorix, and a flicker of what looked like surprise shot over his face. "Ah, so you've changed your name," Galbatorix waved away, one hand still resting on Vrael's blade. "No matter. I will break you again like I've done before." Turning away from Murtagh, Galbatorix lifted his sword and held his arms wide in a welcoming gesture. "Now then, shall we begin?"

No one moved, though Eragon ensured that his grip was firm on his sword.

"No?" Galbatorix smiled, reminding Eragon of a shark. His cold, dead eyes certainly matched the aquatic creature. "Perhaps we can exchange a few words, like truly civilized beings, without worry about who is trying to kill whom."

Umaroth and the other Eldunarí raged in the recesses of Eragon's mind.

Kill the Oathbreaker!

Wait, Eragon commanded, ensuring that the others, as well as the Eldunarí, heard his mental voice.

You do not intend to converse with the Egg-breaker, do you Skörungr? Umaroth growled. We must kill him, here and now!

Calm yourself, Umaroth, Glaedr counsiled. There will be time for tooth and claw soon enough.

Umaroth growled and weighed Glaedr's words for a moment before agreeing, Very well. Skörungr, we await your word.

Gratitude filled Eragon, and he made sure that the emotion flowed over the mental connection to Umaroth.

The exchange had happened only in moments, but it was long enough for Galbatorix to raise an expectant eyebrow, staring at Eragon intently. "What say you, Leader of the Order?"

Eragon's lips curled, but he lowered Brisingr slightly. "Very well, then. Speak."

Galbatorix chuckled. "Ah! So there is some intellect inside that head of yours! Perhaps if you were around a hundred years ago then the Order would not have grown so fat and lazy under Vrael."

Eragon swallowed hard, choosing to ignore the snipe at Vrael. "You wanted to speak. So speak. But know this; your words will sway none of us here, no matter what you say. We intend to kill you, regardless of what that may cost."

"Indeed?" Galbatorix grinned. "Then, mayhaps, I shall be spared my long-winded plee to see you join my side willingly? The argument was most convincing, I must say."

Eragon returned the King's grin, watching as the King's faded slightly, "I'm afraid not. You see, there is little you could do to convince me. No amount of honey could ever cover the stench of your deceit."

"Unfortunate," Galbatorix sighed. "I very much looked forward to debating with you. I hear that you were quite the Rider in your day; apprenticed to Vrael himself even! Not to mention that rather nasty business with a Shade. Tell me, how did you escape my notice? For decades after the Fall I hunted down all the remaining dragons in the land; none escaped my grasp. Yet, somehow, you and Saphira both slipped through."

"I guess we were lucky," Eragon smirked.

"Indeed," Galbatorix appraised him. "No matter, I will find out soon enough." The Mad King turned to the others with a quick look but dismissed everyone but Murtagh out of hand." What says you, my once loyal subject? Shall you lay down your blade? Is there anything you desire that could get you to return to your rightful place?"

Murtagh spat. "Your head."

"Besides that," Galbatorix waved away, unconcerned.

"Murtagh was silent for a moment, Ithring shifting in his grip. "I want to know why," his half-brother finally exhaled.

"Why what?" Galbatorix asked, tilting his head slightly and appraising Murtagh.

Murtagh nearly exploded his anger was so great, held back only by Eragon's stiff arm on his. "Why did you hand Thorn over to that monster!? Why did you let Keres turn him into a Shade!?"

"Ah," Galbatorix sighed, straightening and looking off to the side. His eyes seemed to track some unseen shadow, but when Eragon glanced over he could see nothing through the darkness. After a moment the Mad King shrugged. "I was curious; Keres wanted to create a 'more perfect being' as he said, and his argument was compelling. Besides, if Thorn was to become stable as a Shade, then he would have proven rather useful."

Arrogant to think that even he could contain a fully formed Shade in the form of a dragon, Umaroth hissed.

"Useful?" Murtagh said softly at first before his voice began to grow until he was nearly shouting. "Useful? Thorn wiped out an entire city! A city full of your subjects! How is that useful?"

Galbatorix's dark eyes glittered in the faint light. "There are more powerful things in the darkness than even the dragons know of, boy."

The Mad King faced Arya then, and Eragon fought the urge to step between her and Galbatorix. "And you, Arya, daughter of Islanzadí? Will you follow your mate, even to your death? Or perhaps you, Fírnen? After all, you spent nearly a century here in these halls, do you remember? I spent many a night talking to you, the last dragon egg in Alagaësia, during the years when I was securing my rule over the Empire."

Arya was the one to answer, for Fírnen had no desire to open his mind to the King, "He says… he remembers a little. But there is nothing you could offer him to return willingly."

"Pity."

Galbatorix's eyes fixed on the forms of Glaedr and Oromis, who lingered near the rear of the chamber. "If you were anyone else I would have offered you the chance to join me; the two of you rebuked my pleas to the council, and urged them to deny my request for another egg. No, you will receive no mercy from me."

Glaedr growled low in his throat, while Oromis merely gazed sadly at the Mad King. "Our greatest failure was not seeing the true monster that lurked within you, Galbatorix."

The King spat his distaste, not even attempting to offer them a reply. His gaze moved over the elves lightly, not even paying them a spare though.

His questioning seemingly done, Galbatorix let out a drawn-out sigh, glancing around the dark chambers. "Perhaps we shall have to fight after all; most unfortunate. It is so early in the morning. Speaking of, we could use some light in here. Naina!"

At his command, hundreds of lanterns sprang to life along the walls of the chamber bathing it with warm, candle-like illumination. For the first time, nearly the entire chamber was visible to Eragon, but he paid it no mind, his gaze instead locked onto the King seated on his throne.

Shruikan's wings twitched, rising to the ceiling and revealing the enormous dragon.

The black dragon lay curled on the floor with his head close to the throne, the massive body forming a wall too steep and too high for any to climb without the aid of magic. His scales sparkled with a dark, liquid brilliance in the dim light, giving them an almost opaque appearance. Eragon's eyes roamed over the giant dragon, trying – and failing – to take in the sheer size of him.

Then Shruikan opened an eye and looked down at him. His iris was a pale blue-white, a stark contrast to the dark scales that surrounded it. Those pale eyes studied them closely, but there was nothing in the dragon's gaze but pure fury – the extent to which Galbatorix had broken the poor dragon tore at Eragon's soul.

The other dragons growled at Shruikan's appearance, and in response jets of fire spawned from Shruikan's yawning nostril pits. His growl drowned out Saphira's and Glaedr's, and it was not until Galbatorix spoke that the giant black dragon grew silent. "Enough, Shruikan," Galbatorix responded. "There will be time enough for that."

The Mad King stood from his throne. "Now, then. Let us begin with this pointless fighting."

Galbatorix took a single step from his throne, and at once Eragon and the others rushed forward. Saphira, Fírnen, and Glaedr were unable to attack the King directly, so they instead – along with the multitude of Eldunarí that accompanied Eragon – attacked Galbatorix's mind.

Then, the King spoke a Word.

The Word reverberated within Eragon's mind and every part of his being seemed to thrum in response, as though some unseen instrument had been stricken. Galbatorix uttered some other words after the first, but none held the same power; this was the True Name of the Ancient Language.

When the last phrase left the King's lips Eragon felt a force attempt to grip him, and Eragon paused mid-stride. The others froze as well, and a dark grin stole over Galbatorix's face.

Eragon took a step forward, and the grin slid from Galbatorix's face. Something akin to fear flashed into existence before being replaced with a wave of desperate anger. "Impossible!" Galbatorix shouted, "No wards, no spells can stand against it! All of magic is subject to me, and I am subject to none!"

Galbatorix's pure arrogance was to be his downfall; the King could not comprehend that there was something he did not know, that there was some hidden magic able to resist his command.

The Mad King shouted the Word again, followed by some other words in the ancient language, and Eragon felt another wave of magic slam against him again; this time, instead of sliding off his wards, the spell actively fought against him, and the sheer power of Galbatorix's strength overwhelmed him.

Umaroth and the other Eldunarí sprang into existence, their strength infusing his own until Eragon's wards were finally able to cast off the King's spells.

It worked, Eragon thought, elated. Galbatorix's trump card has been nullified.

That still left the rather unfortunate fact that Galbatorix had hordes of Eldunarí at his command, and would ultimately win in a battle of pure wills. Not to mention the no doubt numerous spells and wards that Galbatorix had woven around himself in the century since the Fall.

But even the mightiest of structures could not help but have some flaws.

Galbatorix needed to die. There was no doubt in Eragon's mind that if Galbatorix were allowed to live, there would be no future free of the Mad King.

Before that, however, Eragon needed to strip Galbatorix of some of his wards. Murtagh had told nearly all he knew of the wards surrounding Galbatorix and had given Eragon some helpful insights into their structures.

With the understanding of the wards came the ability to undo them. While Galbatorix may still have wards that even Murtagh did not know of, the fewer that impeded them the better.

Eragon reached deep inside his mind to the place where his magic resided and breached the barrier, immersing himself into the pool of magic. Then, as he was sprinting towards Galbatorix, Eragon reached out a hand and willed the world into a more pleasing state; the air around Galbatorix flashed red and black, and for an instant, his body appeared to have been consumed by flames.

The sound of rustling wind, followed by a loud shriek came next, and twelve orbs – appearing vaguely like spirits – appeared around Galbatorix's head and fled outwards, vanishing from sight the moment they touched the chamber walls.

Shruikan stirred, but Fírnen and Saphira were quicker, pouncing together onto the great black dragon's head. Shruikan roared his fury and shook his massive head, trying to shake the smaller dragons, and the floor shook from the weight of the three dragons.

Behind Eragon, a massive sound echoed from the chamber, and a dark shadow hung over him as he reached Galbatorix. The Mad King held up a hand and a wave of magic slammed into Eragon as the Mad King bellowed, "Letta!"

Unlike before, when Eragon had slipped the King's magic, the pure strength behind the spell halted Eragon's movements. Everyone, including Shruikan, froze. Even Glaedr hung in the air the black dragon, his talons inches from Shruikan's hide. Blödhgarm's fur rippled in his frozen state beside Glenwing, who Eragon saw out of the corner of his eye standing slightly behind and to the left of himself.

"Now!" Eragon yelled, with both his mind and tongue.

Together, all of them slammed their minds against Galbatorix's. For a single moment, Eragon felt the Mad King's mind; a twisted, shadow-ridden thing that was both bitterly cold and searingly hot. Then the dragons under Galbatorix's command attacked Eragon's mind, forcing him to withdraw.

Umaroth and the other Eldunarí swooped into place, taking up the mental struggle.

"You think this enough to stop me?"

"I stripped him of his wards," Murtagh muttered, "But-" Murtagh stumbled as though struck, but remained on his feet.

"I have plenty of wards," Galbatorix said, his face dark with his fury. "You cannot harm me."

Galbatorix stepped off his dais, striding towards Eragon with intent.

No! Umaroth screamed in his mind. The Eldunarí struggled against the currents of their mad brethren, attempting to reach Galbatorix's mind. But the Mad King was far too well shielded by the Eldunarí at his disposal.

They had come too far for them to be beaten so easily. For a brief moment, Eragon felt a flash of fear rush down his spine, only to be replaced by the heat of rage. A rage that had been ignited the very second he had learned of the Fall, and of the man responsible. Rage at the Betrayer who had killed his friends and blighted his home, who had doomed an entire race to extinction.

Almost as quickly as the rage came it washed away, leaving behind the bitter coldness of calm in its wake.

It was impossible to win against Galbatorix.

At least, in a head-on fight. Eragon needed desperately some way of evening the gulf in power between them; if Galbatorix's strength were a mountain, then Eragon – along with the Eldunarí and the elves – were but a small hill, staring up in wonderment at the towering behemoth before them.

Almost unbidden passages from Tenga's journal popped into his head:

The change is small enough that it would normally go unnoticed, but a sufficiently devised spell could alter the curvature around a limited area. Such a deviation would cause time inside the anomaly to proceed normally to anyone inside, but time outside would seem to have slowed to a crawl.

Outside your frame of reference, everything else will seem as if they are moving slow in comparison.

Tenga's time-altering spell, the one Eragon had practiced with Angela's help.

Eragon's mind raced, each step Galbatorix took towards him feeling like an eternity. What good would Tenga's spell do against Galbatorix? It would allow Eragon to react quickly, certainly, but it could not close the gap between the two of them in terms of strength.

A sudden realization stole over Eragon; when he had last used the spell, it had affected the feel of Arya's mind. Even his bond with Saphira felt as though she were surrounded by molasses, each thought taking longer to form the more he had fed the spell his strength.

Was it possible?

Maybe. But then Eragon had another problem as well.

The spell was to be limited to only one minute of use. Any more and Angela warned that it would be destructive.

Galbatorix had reached Eragon and stopped in front of him, and with a blink, Eragon realized that the King had been talking. "-outwit me? Me? You come to my castle, and you kill my men, and you act as if you are better than I. As if you are more noble or virtuous."

Eragon's head swam as a plan formed. It was a reckless one, a plan so hair-brained that Eragon was sure Arya would kill him if he survived it.

If. If he survived. This plan was as likely to kill Galbatorix as it was him, but Eragon saw no other path forward.

He withdrew his mind from the meddling of minds he had joined with the others, drawing a concerned glance from Arya. Saphira, he saw, was frozen atop Shruikan, her face hidden from his, but he knew that she would likewise be concerned.

"You need to be taught a lesson in humility, boy," Galbatorix spat.

Eragon loudly laughed, causing Galbatorix to pause, all the while forming Tenga's spell in his mind. Attempting to use the spell with the Ancient Language was not an option, as Galbatorix could potentially counter it with the Name. No, he had to do so wordlessly.

Galbatorix leaned in close to Eragon, his gleaming eyes inches from his own. "Perhaps you are already broken." The Mad King sniffed, as though taking in Eragon's scent. "But there is no shame in ensuring an obedient soldier."

The spell was complicated to form, especially with Galbatorix inches from him, but he had been practicing the Grey Folk style of magic just for this very reason. Galbatorix raised a hand as though to strike him, and Eragon willed reality to fit his vision.

Unlike the last time Eragon had used the spell, he did not start slowly. Instead, he poured all of his strength into the spell, and time slowed to a crawl around Eragon.

And the Mad King.

1…

Galbatorix's eyes widened with shock, and the sudden overbearing pressure of the spell holding Eragon snapped. Quick as any elf, Eragon swiped Brisingr up, his blue blade meeting Galbatorix's own. For a moment Eragon's eyes caught on the glyph adorning Vrael's old sword; the symbol for Islingr had been removed, instead replaced with the symbol for Vrangr.

The Mad King had stolen Vrael's sword and renamed it for himself.

5…

Fury strengthened his blows as Eragon hammered Brisingr against the Mad King. Galbatorix deflected the blows, his speed a match for Eragon's but he saw the naked fear in the King's eyes. "How is this possible?" Galbatorix hissed, his fear edging away in fury. "I cannot feel them! My Eldunarí!"

It worked!

The pressure was starting to grow unbearable, and even Galbatorix seemed affected by the spell. Around them, everyone remained frozen – even cut off from Galbatorix powering the spell – and their eyes struggled to track the dueling pair. Galbatorix attempted to cast a few more spells at Eragon, but they were easily blocked by Eragon's wards. Now that Galbatorix had been removed from his Eldunarí he was but an ordinary Rider.

A Rider's body that had been enhanced to that of an elf's, Eragon was beginning to see. The Mad King was a skilled duelist, blocking Brisingr deftly all the while returning his strikes with precision and power.

20…

Nearly half his time gone, and Eragon had yet to land a single blow. The few times that Eragon had slipped Brisingr past Galbatorix's guard and landed a hit against his skin had resulted in Brisingr bouncing off, powerful wards breaking to stop even Brightsteels edge.

"What did you do? How is this possible? Brisingr!" Galbatorix screamed, black flames erupting from the tip of his sword.

Eragon twisted out of the way of the magic flames, lifting his sword and likewise pointing it at Galbatorix. Silently, lightning formed from the tip of Brisingr and raced toward Galbatorix, unaffected by the time-dilation spell that surrounded them. Galbatorix's wards absorbed the spell with ease, but Eragon was beginning to see a pattern.

Galbatorix's understanding of magic was lacking. The Mad King uttered every spell out loud, as though he did not understand that it was possible to cast spells without speaking them. Nor did he seem to understand that wordless magic even existed.

Galbatorix was powerful, and likely a proficient duelist of minds.

But he was ignorant of the world.

Again and again, they traded blows, all the while Galbatorix tried to overpower Eragon without his Eldunarí. Each time he failed.

40..

The pressure of the spell was beginning to make Eragon's headache He had now been under the spell longer than he had the last time he had used it, and the feeling of wrong only grew steadily stronger.

He needed to end it soon. Else the pressure of the spell would force him to make a mistake.

Galbatorix's wards were strong, and with Murtagh's help, Eragon had stripped away most of them already. Now he needed to remove the rest.

Slashing at Galbatorix, Eragon twisted away and flipped backward, landing deftly on his feet with at least some ten feet between them. Galbatorix stared at him in fury and started to approach, and Eragon used the brief respite to hold his hand over Brisingr's edge.

Black flames spilled out of his hand, much like he had done in Dras-Leona, though this time instead of spreading across the floor Eragon channeled them onto his blade. The licked at its edges and Brisingr shuddered in his hand, but whatever magic compromised the blade held against the devouring flames.

The Flames of Death climbed up the length of Brisingr's blade, coating it in its ever-burning flame. Unlike Galbatorix's black flames, these seemed to also contain a hint of white light within them, and the blue blade of Brisingr beneath almost seemed to make the flames take on a purple hue.

Pressure, and the draw of the two spells he was channeling nearly overwhelmed Eragon. He drew from Brisingr's pommel, bolstering his energy, even as Galbatorix approached.

The Mad King did not seem overly concerned by the flames coating Brisingr's length, instead striking Vrangr hard against Eragon. Galbatorix was a fine duelist, if a hint overaggressive, but his rage and fear made him prone to mistakes.

55…

Time was running out. Galbatorix shouted, "Jierda!" and the force behind the spell caused Eragon to stumble slightly. The Mad King took advantage of Eragon's blunder, darting in with Vrangr and clipping Eragon's shoulder when he tried to dodge the blow.

60…

No!

He was out of time, and the pressure against his head spiked. The pain nearly sent Eragon to his knees and Galbatorix attempted to capitalize on it, but Eragon regained himself, pushing the Mad King back with strong blows from Brisingr.

Slipping underneath Galbatorix's guard, the edge of Brisingr nipped the King's side, the black Flames of Death chewing through the King's wards and allowing the blade to bite at the skin. Galbatorix yelled in rage, his dark eyes filled with his fury.

"You will submit!" Galbatorix screamed into the air, only for his tirade to be cut short when a sudden loud crack reverberated in the air.

A pressure unlike anything Eragon had ever felt before came upon him, dwarfing the pain that had been a constant companion when Eragon had first cast the spell.

What was that?

Something Angela had warned him about floated to the surface of his mind: "You are perverting the very fabric of time. Would you not expect all of totality to try to right such a wrong?"

Was this reality reasserting its dominion over time?

A second crack sounded and made both Galbatorix and Eragon stumble. Then, behind Galbatorix and on the exact spot where Eragon had first cast the spell something appeared.

The world seemed to splinter on the spot, a crack forming in the air like a wound in reality. A great and powerful wave of energy spilled out, and the pressure on his body nearly doubled. Both Eragon and Galbatorix collapsed to their knee, the two Riders fighting to stand against the near-overwhelming power that the crack in reality conjured.

Whatever this crack was, Eragon could only feel his sense of doom growing.

Something peered out from the other side of the crack, and Galbatorix stumbled as if stricken, falling back to his knee. Seizing the opportunity, Eragon surged forward and raised his foot, kicking Galbatorix in the chest. The wards around the King flared and stopped his foot from connecting, but that had never been Eragon's intention.

The force of the kick, and subsequent pushback from the spell, caused Galbatorix to take a step back.

Right against the edges of the crack in reality.

The Mad King seized as if stricken, his black gaze opening wide with pain.

A force so great and powerful nearly overwhelmed Eragon, and the lumbering steps to reach the King felt as if they took an eternity. Then, Eragon raised Brisingr, the Flames of Death still writhing on its edge and drove the blade straight through the heart of the Mad King.

The world collapsed, and everything vanished in a white flash of light.

---

An intense pain woke Eragon, one that licked its way down his sides and made him squirm in discomfort.

Eragon!

A familiar voice reached his mind, and Eragon struggled to open his eyes.

Around him lay total devastation.

Massive chunks of the throne room were gone, obliterated from what looked to be a rather large blast. Some of the pillars that held up the massive ceiling overhead were completely gone, and small fires had broken out around the chamber.

Shruikan's massive form lay twisted on his side, his tongue hanging out of his mouth and his pale eyes listless in death. The Dauthdaert stood protruding out from the forehead of the dragon, driven in deep to near its hilt.

Two of them hovered over Oromis – who, Eragon realized after his heart thumped loudly in his chest – was merely nursing a broken arm. Glaedr stood nearby, sniffing at Shruikan's broken body with disdain, absolutely covered in blood and making him appear more red than gold. Fírnen was trying to knock over the throne, using his talons to grip the structure while he pried at it with his strength, while Murtagh stood peering down at a dead Galbatorix.

The King lay still in death, a twisted echo of pain on his face. The Flames of Death had done a number on Galbatorix, Eragon could see; nearly his entire chest had been eaten away by the flames, likely only stopped when someone had pulled Brisingr from his chest and extinguished the flames.

Only Arya knew the counterspell, having pried it out of Eragon after he used it the last time.

Arya. Where was she?

Eragon tried to sit up further from his position, noting for the first time that he had been resting against a rather warm wall. The wall moved behind him, and a familiar presence brushed against Eragon's mind.

Little one, Saphira keened.

Saphira, Eragon groaned lightly. As happy as he was to feel her presence, his entire body and mind felt like he had been squeezed and pulverized by a particularly angry Urgal. What happened?

We won, Saphira sniffed, her head twisting into view from above him. She sniffed at him lightly again, her tongue darting out to lap against his feet. After you killed Galbatorix, the rest of us dealt with Shruikan. Though the King was dead, many of his wards remained, and it was a difficult fight.

I can see that, Eragon replied, his gaze roaming over the expanse of Saphira's scales that he could see. She did not appear wounded, despite the blood that coated her, and he felt no pain radiate through their bond. Someone had already healed her wounds. Who dealt the final blow?

Arya, Saphira stated. She took it rather hard, killing a dragon.

Not an easy thing to live with, gaining the title of Dragonkiller.

No, but the two of you acted with mercy, not malicious.

Blinking, Eragon used his hand to help push himself upwards, glancing around. Speaking of Arya, where is –

"Eragon!"

Arya's words were like a balm to Eragon's soul. No sooner had she appeared around Saphira's massive bulk had she collided with his half-collapsed form, her strong arms squeezing him tight. As best he could, Eragon wound his arms around her lithe form, ignoring the discomfort that came from trying to embrace her while they both wore armor.

Neither of them seemed motivated to move from their embrace, even when the others – having heard Arya shouting his name – ventured over to him and gathered around Saphira. Only when Oromis politely cleared his throat did Arya withdraw, her gaze roaming over Eragon's features sharply.

Like him, she was battered and bruised, but never had he thought Arya more beautiful than in this moment. Arya sat down heavily beside Eragon, her shoulder knocking against his strongly. He leaned his weight against her and Saphira, thankful that they were both fine.

Glenwing came striding forward, a large smile on his face. "You did it!" The elf laughed, leaning down and embracing Eragon and Arya tightly. The elf, in his exuberance, kissed the two of them on their cheeks, laughing when Arya pulled back sharply and threatened to hit him.

"Aye, it seems that way," Eragon answered, before using some of his regained strength to pull the jubilant elf down next to him.

Murtagh was the last to wander over, Brisingr held lightly in his grasp. He returned the blade to Eragon, which was thankfully unscathed by the Flames. "It's too bad I didn't get a chance at him myself," Murtagh muttered, gesturing at Galbatorix. "One minute you were standing there, and the next Galbatorix collapsed, dead, with Brisingr in his chest."

That followed from what Eragon remembered, but what happened to that massive crack in reality he saw? Tenga and Angela were adamant that going over the time limit of the spell would have some major unforeseen consequences.

"What happened after that?" Eragon asked, his brow furrowing.

"The spell holding us vanished," Arya explained. "Glaedr fell upon Shruikan and the rest of us joined him in battle. I had the Dauthdaert, and when the moment was right, Murtagh and I struck at Shruikan. The spear hit him and–" Arya's words cut off, her throat closing momentarily as she bowed her head.

It was a hard thing for an elf to even imagine taking the life of a dragon. Especially Arya, who held dragons so high in reverence. Eragon reached down and twined their hands together, wishing that they were not each wearing their gloves.

Oromis graciously took over the narrative, smiling at Arya comfortingly. "After Shruikan was defeated, we tried to make sense of the situation. After all, you and Galbatorix disappeared in an instant, only for him to return, dead. We feared that you were lost or had been… destroyed, in some unseen battle."

One moment, Glaedr continued, blinking a golden eye at Eragon, we discussing our next move, when a loud sound nearly made us collapse from the pain. When we checked to see what the disturbance was, we found you, collapsed from exhaustion.

Murtagh grunted. "What exactly happened?"

Eragon rubbed at his aching head and wiped his nose, blinking when he saw a hint of fresh blood. Then, as best as he could remember, Eragon described the events of the battle from his end. How, in his desperation, he had used Tenga's time-altering spell, to separate the King from his Eldunarí. Then, how he had attacked the King in the precious few seconds he had, and how he had coated his blade in the Flames.

Then, he attempted to divulge how he ran out of time and the crack had appeared, only for the others to stare at him incredulously.

"A crack in reality?" Oromis frowned in thought. "This is most unprecedented."

A matter for another time, Umaroth barged in, making his presence known suddenly. All that matters is that you've survived, Skörungr, and have done the impossible. You have slain the Oathbreaker and have seen justice fulfilled for our fallen kin. Your name, all of yours – Umaroth indicated, including the elves – will be remembered for as long as dragons are roaming the skies.

The elves seemed particularly touched, and Eragon thanked Umaroth lightly.

At last, the Oath-breaker is dead, Glaedr stated.

"Aye," Eragon thought, "now we need to–"

A sudden memory appeared in his mind, sliding into place and making Eragon pause in his speech. Everything that had happened in the Vault of Souls came rushing back, and Eragon felt a tingling rush race down his spine.

Eggs! The eggs, Saphira!

I know, she crooned, a low whine of happiness escaping her.

"The eggs," Eragon breathed, turning wide-eyed towards Arya next to him. His mate frowned briefly at him, her gaze searching, before the same spark of realization crossed her features. Arya's eyes grew nearly as wide as the first time she saw the multitude of dragon eggs hidden beneath Vroengard, a stricken, dazed look appearing on her face.

Now that Galbatorix was dead, the spell concealing the knowledge of the eggs was broken, allowing Eragon, Saphira, and the others to regain their memories. The dragons would return to the world, and Alagaësia and all her species would once again flourish. New Riders could join their ranks, and the Riders would be allowed to regain their former glory.

This time, Eragon swore, he would not allow another Galbatorix to rise.

Umaroth and the other Eldunarí with him filled with happiness, the unseen dragon's elation a growing pressure against Eragon's mind. Glaedr and Fírnen let out jets of golden and green flame from their realization, and Oromis's face filled with tears as the older elf collapsed to his knees. Glaedr moved in to comfort his Rider, lowering his massive head next to Oromis and allowing him to lean against the massive dragon.

Glenwing and Murtagh frowned in confusion at the others, and Eragon realized that they did not know.

"Eggs," Eragon stated, drawing Murtagh's gaze. "Hundreds of them, hidden away from Galbatorix."

Murtagh froze, surprise filtering across his features. A brief flash of elation and pure, unbidden joy flashed as well, but it was gone before Eragon could see it fully. "Where? How?"

"On Vroengard, hidden. The knowledge of their existence was hidden, but with Galbatorix's death," Eragon said, gesturing to the dead King.

"The Rider's will rise once again," Murtagh muttered. There was an undercurrent to his words, one that Eragon felt led to a deeper worry within Murtagh.

"Aye, but with Eragon here as the Leader," Glenwing commented, slapping Eragon firmly on the back and making his vision flash white from the pain, "Then we will have nothing to fear!"

Ignoring the elf, Eragon glanced around the ruined chamber, noticing for the first time that Blödhgarm and his elves had disappeared. When he asked after them, Arya answered, "Blödhgarm offered to find Galbatorix's horde of Eldunarí in his treasure room.

No sooner had she spoken did Blödhgarm himself stride into the large chamber from the main hallway, a long line of metal boxes floating along behind him. The elven spellcasters walked alongside the caravan of boxes, their hands gripping their blades tightly as their eyes searched for any hidden threats.

"Are those?" Eragon questioned, struggling to stand. Arya and Glenwing helped him to his feet, and he leaned against the two of them as he fought to keep his legs under him. The use of the time-altering spell, along with the Flames of Death, sapped much of Eragon's strength, and not even the energy replenished by Saphira could stop the pain that radiated from his body.

Perhaps the lingering pain had something to do with the fact that he had spent longer than the specified minute inside the influence of the spell; whatever that crack in reality was, Eragon was sure that it had some unintended consequences. He would bear whatever they were, as it had allowed him to strike the killing blow.

Still, he needed to speak with Tenga as soon as he could. Not only to discuss the fracture in reality but how Eragon returned from the brink.

He had no memory of ending the spell.

Blödhgarm smiled at him, his fangs on prominent display. "It is good to see you standing, Shadeslayer. We were worried you would not survive your fight with the King."

"Seems I'm made of sterner stuff," Eragon commented, before gesturing with his head towards the boxes. "The Eldunarí?"

"Aye," Blödhgarm nodded. "They are confused. It will take them years to recover. If they ever will."

Have no doubt, elf, that we will help our brethren to the best of our abilities, Umaroth stated.

Blödhgarm's yellow eyes flickered to the spot above and behind Eragon, where the Eldunarí resided. "We will aid you in whatever way we can, Bjartskular."

"We can worry about the Eldunarí later," Eragon said, pushing off of Arya and Glenwing once his legs felt more stable beneath him. Saphira rose from the ground, her lumbering steps echoing in the large chamber. "Blödhgarm, keep them safe. We need to venture into the city and ensure that the battle is over."

"We will stay as well," Oromis added, striding forward and placing his hand against Eragon's shoulder. "If that is amenable to you, Eragon. Many of these Eldunarí we personally knew, and I cannot leave them. Not now."

Eragon nodded, sharing a look with his old master. "Very well."

Blödhgarm and the elves maneuvered the many boxes into the chamber near Glaedr, who gazed at the enslaved Eldunarí with sorrow-filled golden eyes.

Together, they strode from the chamber, with Murtagh in the lead. Arya and Glenwing flanked Eragon on either side, while Saphira and Fírnen trailed behind.

For a moment, the world seemed to glow brightly to Eragon; they had rid the world of Galbatorix's rule and had freed Alagaësia and its people from a century of anguish and toil. There was much work to do, much of it hard and tedious, but for once Eragon felt truly optimistic about the future that lay before him.

Then, a page from the Varden sprinted into the throne room, panting with the effort. The young man lifted his gaze and called out, "Shadeslayer!"

Eragon and Arya stopped and looked at the page, their gazes questioning. But then the page turned to Eragon, his face pale and filled with grief. All at once a sudden, terrible thought crossed Eragon's mind, and he could feel his knees buckle.

He knew, instinctually, what the page was going to say moments before he did.

"It's your father, Shadeslayer," the young boy got out between his attempts to catch his breath.

For the second time today, Eragon felt the world give out beneath his feet.

---

Holy smokes. That's a wrap on the final battle.

I hope that you guys enjoyed this chapter. It was probably one of the more difficult ones to write, and I apologize for how long it took. Initially, I wanted to get this chapter out before Christmas, but I honestly lacked the will or desire, since it required more out of me as a writer than I have ever given to a single chapter.

But then that spark hit, and I was able to somehow pump out like 10k words in just a few days. Hopefully, this chapter was worth it and different enough from the original final battle with Galbatorix that it was at least interesting to read.

There will probably only be two or three chapters after this one, including the brief chapter that will come after this. So far, the plan is this:

A brief chapter from someone else's PoV

The final chapter to wrap up the story

Maybe an epilogue, though its length is questionable

Not sure how long it will take to get these chapters out, so stay tuned! Big thanks to those who have supported the series thus far, I really appreciate the kind words and encouragement. Also, the description of Galbatorix, as well as a few other things, was taken straight out of Inheritance.

Some additional information for those curious about the spell that Eragon used: It's sort of a quantum spell, that allows someone to "predict" what will be the most likely outcome from a multitude of probabilities. It's a spell that requires quite a bit of energy to perform, and an even stronger mind to keep the multiple "threads" of the future. Think kind of like Doctor Strange in Endgame, but on a smaller scale: if you view too far into the future, the "predictions" become inaccurate and useless. And, as mentioned by Eragon, it's not exactly like scrying. It's more like the spell takes in all available information surrounding the user – both known to the user and unknown, which can open a whole can of worms – and makes some accurate guesses.

This spell, admittedly, is a stretch, especially with physics, but I did need something to fill in for Elva since she does not exist (at least the cursed version of her) in this universe.

Anyway, that was enough rambling. Please leave a comment and let me know what you think!

Happy New Year to everyone, and I hope you had a wonderful holiday break!

---

Ancient Language translations (Old Norse):

Italics represent the Old Norse translation; Bold represents Ancient Language.

Fyrir Neðan – Below Something. Fallen One

Du vættr Bani – The Bane of Spirits: Name of the Brotherhood

Vættr - being, creature; supernatural being, spirit.

Bani - death; bane, cause of death, slayer

Skörungr – leader, notable or outstanding person, paragon. Title for Leader of the Riders; given as an honor.

Guliä waíse medh ono, Skörungr - Luck be with you, Leader.

Grœnn – green. Verdant. More accurately, the color of the forest.

Grœnnskular – Verdant-scales.

Lengr – For a longer time

Ginnung – space, void

Lengr-Ginnug – Spacetime Tenga's definition of Space and Time as one concept

Istalrí - Flames

Freohr – Death

Blöthr – Stop, halt.

Eka dunei ono - I love you.