[Black hole]

Contents:

Part One - Preparation
Chapter 1: The Regent and the King - Page 1
Chapter 2: The Council of War
Chapter 3: Black and Red
Chapter 4: Enslaved
Chapter 5: Surath

Part Two -
Chapter 6: Visions and Decisions
Chapter 7: Elusive Answers
Chapter 8: Kryssa - Page 2
Chapter 9: A Glimmer of Hope - Page 3
Chapter 10: Arrival
Chapter 11: Tyranissian - Page 4
Chapter 12: Chains
Chapter 13: Blood - Page 5
Chapter 14: A Day of Rest
Chapter 15: The Black Tree - Page 8
Chapter 16: Dwarves and Disagreements
Chapter 17: A Dangerous Plan - Page 10

Finished off Part One . Next part will include Eragon and more of the good side POV.

Remember, no matter how much or how little you read, feel free to vote in the polls. You dont even have to post to say "You suck."



Part One
Preparation


Chapter 1
The Regent and the King

Lemran knocked nervously on the rough, heavy door, before pushing it open a crack. By the light of the torches lining the circular hall, he could see that a few of the seats around the round, mahogany table were empty - and most importantly, the two largest, which sat directly opposite each other, were among those unoccupied. He breathed a sigh of relief. He was not late.

Carrying several maps and scrolls of parchment, Lemran marched towards the large table. A few of the men seated around it cast him a cursory glance as he passed, but none of them greeted him nor exchanged any pleasantries; this was not a social gathering.

Lemran moved towards his own seat - a hard, shabby chair which contrasted brilliantly with the huge, plush seat of purple velvet and polished wood next to it. Spreading out his papers on the table in front of the large chair, Lemran sat down, and looked around the hall with interest.

The room was large and circular, like the round table at its centre, with a bare stone floor and grey, windowless walls, lined with torches in brackets and small, heavy wooden doors most of the way round, leading to other parts of the citadel. Behind Lemran’s own seat was another, larger and more ornate set of double doors, which served as the main entrance.

At the opposite side of the room was another door, even larger than the main entrance, made of dark, heavily fortified wood, with no handles, which could only be opened by magic. This door was the entrance from the Eastern Citadel - the King’s half of Urû`baen’s great castle. Directly in front of the door was the King’s seat at the table - a large, throne-like chair of black marble, with one seat on either side of it. All three were empty.

Around the table sat about thirty people, mostly men, some dressed simply, some in fancy robes and cloaks, and some in ceremonial military armour. They were a mixture of the army’s generals and commanders, members of the King’s court, and high ranking government officials.

Just as Lemran finished laying out the maps and papers on the table in front of him, the main doors opened, and he turned around as a man strode into the room. He was around fifty, almost completely bald, and had a grey moustache. And although he wasn’t particularly large in stature, he had an aura of power and authority about them, and wore expensive garments of deep, dark green, with a long black cloak trailing behind him. His name was Lord Proland, and he was the Regent, the man the King had made responsible for the finer points of governing Urû`baen, and essentially, all of the Empire.

A couple of other men scurried in behind Proland, closing the main doors behind them, as he marched forward and sat down on the purple chair next to Lemran. Many of the men around the table nodded towards him in greeting, which he acknowledged. He gave Lemran a grim smile, and then began studying the maps and notes Lemran had prepared for him.

Everyone in the room knew that the King would be here soon enough, as he usually waited until just after Proland was seated before entering. And sure enough, within a minute, the black doors opposite Lemran and Proland creaked open, and they all watched in anticipation.

A tall man walked quickly into the room, and in unison the entire table, including Proland, bowed their heads respectfully. He was fairly thin, but had wide, powerful shoulders, with a luxuriant black cape draped around them. All of his clothes were black, and about his neck hung a long, dark silver chain, with a curious black jewel set in it. He had fairly pale skin, and dark hair, which was oddly untidy and casual, a few inches long. His features were handsome, his skin smooth, yet his face had a strange quality that Lemran couldn’t quite put his finger on, that made it impossible to guess at his age from it. His eyebrows were dark and think, and his mouth seemed to be perpetually in a small, derisive, half-smile.

Yet what were most noticeable were his eyes, which were a pale, wintry blue colour, and especially round, glinting alertly beneath his bushy eyebrows, continuously in motion, darting around so fast it was slightly nauseating for Lemran to look at them.

Galbatorix moved forward quickly, his presence surprisingly unassuming, and took a seat in his black throne, slouching slightly, the fingers on one of his hands absently tracing there way across his face, his elbow resting on the armrest.

Behind him came two more men. The first was Murtagh, who Lemran noted with a twinge looked pale and slightly sick, his handsome face worn with fatigue, fear and anguish, his dark hair slightly overgrown, and his eyes dark, haunted, and full of suppressed rage. Lemran tried to catch Murtagh’s eye, but he didn’t seem to notice, sitting down stiffly on Galbatorix’s left, while a tall, thin man, with very short black hair, a hooked nose and sharp, beady eyes, took a seat on his right. This man was Avarus, Galbatorix’s primary spellcaster.

His eyes flashing around the table, Galbatorix flicked his wrist behind him, and the black doors slowly closed. “Now,” he said, his deep, smooth voice effortlessly reverberating around the meeting hall. “Let us begin.”

------



Chapter 2
The Council of War

“I would not assume that there is anyone here who is ignorant of the most recent developments,” said Galbatorix, the entire table listening intently to him, save for Murtagh, who sat looking thoroughly dejected at the King’s side. “However, there is not a single one of us on this Council of War who knows everything he would wish to, so we will be start from the beginning, and we will be thorough.” His eyes came to rest on a large, bulky man in silver plate armour, with curly black hair and beard, who jumped to attention the moment Galbatorix looked at him. “You may begin, General Raemur.”

“Thank you, your highness,” said Raemur, his deep and gruff. He addressed the rest of the council, and began without preamble, “Feinster has fallen. Official confirmation arrived yesterday, telling us that three days ago, the gate was breached, and the Varden entered the city. Any reinforcements that were on their way have been called back, and will garrison at Dras-Leona instead.”

“We also have confirmation,” came Avarus’s cold, arrogant voice from beside Galbatorix, “that Eragon Shadeslayer and the dragon, Saphira, have returned from their absence, and were present at the battle of Feinster. They and several elves were responsible for breaking the defences, taking the castle, and killing the sorcerers who protected Lady Lorana.”

Sitting at Proland’s side, Lemran noticed that Murtagh looked up and appeared interested at the mention of the rebel dragon rider, Eragon.

“What of Lady Lorana?” asked one of the noblemen.

“It is not clear,” said Avarus, “but it appears as though after she was captured by the Varden, she betrayed the King to save her own treacherous skin.”

There was some muttering around the table, and Lemran heard one of the noblemen, a fat man in a flamboyant gown of ruby red, say “Outrageous!”

“How many were killed?” asked Proland, his voice calm and level.

“Again, we cannot tell precisely, but prior to the Dragon Rider’s arrival, it was reported that several hundred rebels had been killed.”

Proland glared at Avarus, his face contorting in anger. “I meant, how many citizens of the Empire?”

“Ah…” said Avarus. “Well - “

“We may assume,” came Galbatorix’s voice suddenly, his eyes rolling in his sockets to fix on Proland, “that every man, woman and child of Feinster is as good as dead. The rebels have proved themselves willing to slaughter anyone and everyone who does not serve them. Many will be forced to join them through fear, while any brave soul who defies them, and refuses to devote their life to barbarism and hatred, and to spreading fear and terror throughout our once peaceful Empire, will be cruelly executed.

“Perhaps once the insurgent leaders are slain or captured,” the King continued, “those forced into their service will be free to return to the safety of the Empire. However, while the tyrant Nasuada and the gullible, power hungry and bloodthirsty Dragon Rider, Eragon, remain - “

“They’re not-“ Murtagh suddenly sprung to life, attempting to say something. However, with his eyes darting rapidly towards the young Rider and then back to Proland, Galbatorix continued speaking without stopping and Murtagh suddenly fell silent, seemingly unable to say any more.

“- at the helm of the Varden, there is nothing we can do to recover those forced into their service without putting them in grave danger.”

Proland nodded, seemingly satisfied. He looked down at the notes Lemran had prepared for him, and said, “Judging from the reports of the legions garrisoned there, the city was not adequately defended; even including the soldiers and ordinary men of Feinster who stepped up to defend their home, as well as our reinforcements, there was less than a quarter of the number that fought on the Burning Plains. Is the money that I and the other members of your government have devoted to the war effort too little, or was Feinster just not important enough to warrant defence of the highest standard?”

“The numbers at Feinster weren’t as high as we hoped,” said General Raemur in his deep, gravelly voice, “for two reasons. First, many reinforcements and supply trains that travel close to the Surdan border get ambushed by Varden and Urgals, meaning it’s difficult to get as many as we wanted to Feinster. And second, as I’m sure you know, Lord Proland, at the same time as the Varden attacked Feinster, the elves were marching on Gil`ead, forcing us to split our armies in two. Gil`ead, being one of the main barracks for the military, and much closer to the centre of the Empire, was naturally much easier for us to get troops to. And since we already lost Ceunon, we thought it was important that we did not lose another northern city.”

“Which brings us,” said Galbatorix, “to the more positive major news, which I am sure has reached everyone’s ears. The brave men who fought for the Empire, commanded by General Raemur and General Drun,” Galbatorix’s eyes flicked momentarily to Raemur and another man in officer’s armour a few seats down, “and aided by our own young Dragon Rider, Murtagh, defended Gil`ead from the forces of the vicious and conniving elves.”

“Aye,” Raemur agreed, his voice grim. “It was a hard battle - the elves are strong and fast, and their spellcasters are stronger than our own. As you can most likely see if you read the reports of battle, we lost many good men, and the elves raised some parts of the city to the ground, but in the end, there were too many of us, and our resolve was too strong. And after Murtagh killed the other Dragon Rider - “

A few people around the table interrupted him, confused. “Other Dragon Rider?” asked a man a few seats away from Lemran and Proland. “I thought that the King, Murtagh, and Eragon Shadeslayer were the last.”

Galbatorix nodded slowly. “It is now apparent that that was not quite true. Long had the suspicion gnawed at my mind that there was another Rider, hiding with the other elves in their forest, though I could never quite be sure. The Rider was one of the old order, one of the few among them who was not corrupted by their wealth and power. But alas, it appears that not even he could withstand the torment of being trapped with the malicious elves for so many years, as he had allowed their hatred and jealousy to eat away at his mind, corrupting his former wisdom. It saddened me to see how far he had fallen.”

Galbatorix shook his head in sorrow, then continued, “He was offered a chance to abandon the campaign against the Empire, as no doubt his experience and knowledge could be valuable to us. Yet he refused and, jealous perhaps of Murtagh and his valiant dragon Thorn’s apparent power, focused his rage on him, intent on sending both of them to their death. Yet Murtagh was able to defeat them, breaking the last of the elves’ feeble courage, and leaving him free to assist our spellcasters against the elves’ magic.” Murtagh shot Galbatorix a furious glance, but said nothing.

A few of the noblemen, military leaders and government officials congratulated Murtagh, though Lemran noted that he looked more upset than ever.

“There are more details about the battles in the reports,” said an old General in a brisk, efficient sounding voice. “But what this Council must focus on is what our next move will be. And one of our most pressing problems at the moment is money. The cost of hiring more troops, providing food and shelter for those left homeless after Gil`ead, as well as necessary repairs… the list goes on. After losing Feinster, along with several towns and villages near the Surdan border, we won’t be receiving nearly enough taxes to cover everything.”

Several men near Proland’s side of the table agreed, and began quoting a lot of figures about the Empire’s financial state. Lemran was also asked to give some information about the situation in Urû`baen, during which he felt Galbatorix’s eyes focused on him, making his hands shake slightly, though he was able to keep the tremor out of his voice.
“Surely a slight raise in taxes in some areas could at least cover the wages and supplies for necessary reinforcements,” said General Raemur. “The elves will no doubt launch another attack on Gil`ead, and we will need some more men to be able to defeat them again.”

“General, we cannot raise our taxes much more,” insisted Proland. “The war has affected some places badly enough already - taking any more money would destroy them, or drive them to side with the rebels.”

“I am sure we will find a way,” interrupted Galbatorix, “to cover the costs of what General Raemur requires for the defence of this Empire.” His eyes moved contemptuously over the noblemen and government officials. “Perhaps we will no longer be able to afford certain luxuries that some here have enjoyed for too long.”

Many of the people at the table exchanged nervous glances, but Proland looked Galbatorix in the eye, and said, “I agree, your highness. I am tired of seeing the wealthy and the titled living in the heart of the Empire in extravagance, while those in villages in towns on the outskirts bear the burden of paying our wages on their backs.” Galbatorix, Raemur, most of the military men and a few of the others nodded in agreement, while the rest looked mortified. “However,” Proland continued, “I also believe that all should make the sacrifice - and although you do not waste the Empire’s wealth on comforts or vices, each year you spend more and more on extensions to the Citadel, and on materials necessary for your study and experimentation of magic. These, too, are luxuries we cannot afford in this time of need.”

Lemran and many of the other men stared at Proland in mild horror. However, while Galbatorix usually did not tolerate such insubordination without at least some sort of punishment, he allowed much more from Proland than he did from any other man. He inclined his head towards the regent. “I admit, many are the hours I while away, honing my power to perfection and discovering the inner secrets of the world. Sometimes, in my fervour, I forget the cost of the expansion and improvement of the Citadel, or my studying of magic. I would willingly sacrifice my own interests for the wellbeing of the Empire.” Proland and the others looked at him in slight surprise.

“However, “ he added, “it is apparent to me now that the advancement of my power and magic is more crucial than ever, with a rebel Dragon Rider and the elves determined to wreak havoc upon the Empire. It is my enchantments which protect your homes and cities from destruction, my strength that allows my apprentice,” he gestured towards Murtagh, “to be able to overpower the enemy Dragon Riders and prevent them from massacring our soldiers, and the fear of my power that prevents the Varden and the elves from marching on Urû`baen this instant.

“And very soon,” the King continued, “you will be able to see with even more clarity the benefit of having the power of a God at the helm of the Empire. We discussed at our last Council, the idea implemented by myself, Avarus, and General Raemur, where a select few valiant soldiers are granted with the blessing, and the curse, of the inability to feel pain. Their courage and dedication strikes fear into the cowardly hearts of our enemies, and allows them to endure more than ever in defence of their Empire. Already they have proven effective, defeating many of the Varden and Surdans despite being outnumbered tenfold, and contributing significantly to our victory at Gil`ead.

“Yet know that that was just the beginning. Avarus and I have delved further into enchantments and spells to allow the bravest and most loyal of our soldiers to become stronger and even more effective in their service of the Empire. Admittedly, some of these should have been put into effect at the battle of Feinster - but unfortunately they were not quite ready in time.”

There was silence for a few moments after Galbatorix finished speaking, with none wanting to be the next to speak. However, eventually Proland said, rather bluntly, “So, what is our next move?”

“Gil`ead needs reinforcements for a start,” said Raemur. “But after that, we need to worry about the Southern front. The Varden did not waste much time between the Burning Plains and Feinster - they’ll probably make an attack on Belatona or Dras-Leona within a few weeks.”

“I agree,” said Proland. “And I believe that Dras-Leona is the place to hold them back, once and for all. It is much closer to Gil`ead and Urû`baen, and it already has a large garrison. Belatona will not be so easy to defend, and it is too close to Feinster and Surda - we will lose too many troops moving there, like we did with Feinster. And by the time we can prepare its defences, the Varden will already have attacked.”

There were a few murmurs of agreement and mutters of protest from around the table, but before anyone could speak up, they were silenced by a harsh laugh from Galbatorix. “Ah, Lord Proland, you try to support your plans with logic and common sense… but your motives are not hidden from me. You wish the battle of all battles to take place at Dras-Leona, not Belatona, because of your own disgust for that place, and the priests that practice there.”

Proland eyed Galbatorix defiantly. “The thought may have crossed my mind.”

“I assure you it did,” said Galbatorix.

“The fact is, your highness, that even though Dras-Leona is one of our largest and most important cities, it is also the home of some of the worst atrocities in the Empire - and neither your visit there last year nor the death of the Ra’zac seem to have put a stop to it. No doubt much devastation and death would fall upon whichever city we fight the Varden at, and in my heart, I would rather see it happen at Dras-Leona than anywhere else.”

A frown had crossed Galbatorix’s face at the mention of the Ra’zac, but when Proland finished, he chuckled softly. “Even I must admire your honesty and boldness, Lord Proland. And regardless of your motives, you are correct about one thing - Dras-Leona is the best place to put an end to the rebellion. I would not see the fight reach Urû`baen, and Dras-Leona is the best place to group our forces - close to the heart of the Empire, much easier to defend than Belatona, with water, food and shelter in abundance.”

“Yet how do we ensure the fight comes to Dras-Leona without either sacrificing or evacuating Belatona?” asked Proland.

“If the Ra’zac were still alive,” said Galbatorix, “they could have been used to lure Eragon there, and to force him to bring the rebel armies with him. However, since they are no more, we must think of a different way to entice the Varden into attacking Dras-Leona.” He glanced at Avarus at his side. “I am sure we will find a way.”

Without warning, Galbatorix stood, clapping his hands, and making Lemran and many others at the table jump. “Make preparations to move all forces available to Dras-Leona and Gil`ead, and to keep them stationed there for up to two months. I will make sure to keep our plans hidden from the prying eyes of the elves and the rebels. I leave it to you to make sure everything runs smoothly until we are ready to fight.” His eyes swept the table one more time, and he turned and walked towards the black doors, which swung open allowing him to pass into the dark corridor beyond. Avarus leapt to his feet and followed, leaving Murtagh sitting alone at the far side of the table. At last, Lemran was able to catch his eye, and Murtagh gave him a grim nod, before getting up and reluctantly following the King into the darkness.

-----

This post has been edited by Black hole: 03 August 2009 - 03:00 PM

[Lady Goldylocks]

C-level it and read the rules for writers hangout please!

[Black hole]

I realised the second i posted that i forgot to type in the topic description Sorry

Chapter 3
Black and Red

The Citadel of Urû`baen was a gigantic building, dominating the centre of the Empire’s capital. In the days when the elves controlled the city, it had been Castle Illirea, a formidable structure in itself, but since Galbatorix had taken over, it had grown rapidly, its black walls advancing steadily outward, with more and more being added on as the decades passed.

In the heart of the Citadel was a huge, circular courtyard, lined with tall and proud oaks. Lining the west side of the courtyard was a large, official looking structure of brown stone - the Western Citadel, home of the office of government for Urû`baen and the Empire. However, to the east of the courtyard was a gargantuan, black fortress, its walls made of dark grey stone, its towers rising into jagged peaks, with spikes of black marble protruding from the rooftops. The Eastern Citadel it was called - Galbatorix’s own private home, the place where he spent nearly all of his time, rarely venturing out.

The eastern wall of the Citadel was huge, perfectly straight, and had a single, circular gap in the centre of it, a hundred feet in diameter, and a hundred feet up from the ground. Within it was a large, open cave of sorts, where dragons could land and take off. This cave branched off to other larger chambers, big enough to accommodate dragons. They had once been the home for some of the Forsworn, but now these rooms were empty, save for one dragon and Rider, who would rather they were anywhere else.

“Do you want us to leave for Dras-Leona?” asked Murtagh, his voice hollow, as Galbatorix walked with him to his and Thorn’s chamber within the Eastern Citadel. They had just left the Council of War, coming from the meeting chamber in a basement beneath the Western Citadel, through a passageway beneath the Citadel’s central courtyard.

Galbatorix fixed his eyes on Murtagh, and as they did so, Galbatorix felt himself reach within Murtagh’s mind, effortlessly, examining it at leisure. He sensed an involuntary shift in Murtagh’s thoughts as though he meant to try and repel him, but then he submitted, knowing his defences were nothing to the King.

The first thing that struck Galbatorix was the sorrow, and helplessness on the very surface of Murtagh’s mind. Images flashed in his mind: Oromis, his face contorted with pain and fear as his seizure overwhelmed him; Glaedr roaring with rage before his huge, golden form tumbled down through the sky; Thorn curled up in his chamber within the Citadel, his crimson eyes gleaming with water as Murtagh tended to his injured tail.

However beneath the sadness that Murtagh felt, Galbatorix sensed a much stronger emotion - rage. It was suppressed by Murtagh’s feeling of powerlessness, and his fear for what would happen to Thorn if he let it out, but he could still feel it, burning relentlessly at the very core of Murtagh’s being. His lips curled into a cruel smile as he sensed it, before his eyes flicked away from Murtagh, and their mental contact ended.

“No,” he said, as they continued through the wide passageways towards Murtagh and Thorn’s chamber. “You will not depart for Dras-Leona just yet. There are plans to be laid, and traps to be baited, before the battle. You will join the army at Dras-Leona in time, but for now, I wish you both to remain here. I want to make sure Thorn is fully recovered before you leave.”

“How kind of you,” muttered Murtagh, then winced as Galbatorix’s eyes focused on him for a second, and a bolt of mental energy struck his mind.

They reached the end of the passageway, and moved out into a large chamber of dark grey rock, lit by magical torches around its walls, and a narrow window in the roof, which was open to the sky, allowing in a single shaft of sunlight. At one side was a pool of smooth, mirror like water, with a small waterfall splashing down into it from a hole in the wall.

Thorn rested at the wall of the chamber, his tail hidden beneath his crimson wings. One of his eyes opened as Murtagh and Galbatorix approached, and Murtagh darted towards him.

Greetings, Thorn, Galbatorix’s deep voice echoed throughout both Thorn and Murtagh’s mind as he lingered at the entrance of the chamber, his eyes roving around it. He noticed the makeshift bed at Thorn’s side, and a pile of Murtagh’s possessions next to it, with Zar’roc foremost among them. And how is your injury today?

Better, said Thorn. His voice was strong and clear, but it was also quiet and humble, lacking the arrogance Galbatorix had heard from other dragons.

Allow me to inspect it, and see if there is anything more I can do, said Galbatorix.

Thorn’s baleful eyes fixed themselves on the King, and Galbatorix’s own eyes met them. Thorn allowed him into his mind without a fight, and Galbatorix sensed a deep and profound pain within him; sorrow over the loss of Glaedr and Oromis, and guilt over his own role in their death.

Thorn opened his wings and slowly held his tail out towards Galbatorix. It was several feet shorter now, but it was still long and thin, so it would have little effect on his ability to fly. The wound where the tail had been severed had closed up, though the new end did not have the same graceful tip as before.

Your healing spells were effective, said Thorn, I am grateful. He sensed a small, hollow rush of gratitude from the dragon for removing the pain of his flesh wound.

Galbatorix motioned towards the water at the side of the chamber. You should drink more of your water. It will make the healing faster. It might even help your tail grow some more.

Murtagh glared at Galbatorix, but Thorn nodded grimly. I will try to drink more often.

Galbatorix smiled. Good. He resumed speaking normally, his voice reverberating around the chamber despite it being at a fairly normal volume. “You may both remain here, until you are needed at Dras-Leona. Then, you will bring the dragon Saphira here to Urû`baen. I trust neither of you will want to fail as you did at the Battle of the Burning Plains.” His eyes fixed themselves on each of them in turn, and Murtagh shuddered slightly, though Thorn remained resolutely still.

And what if we are unable? said Thorn. Last time, Eragon was able to overpower us, even using Eldunari.

“You will have assistance this time,” said Galbatorix. “And the rest of the rebels will be engaged in battle with our armies, preventing them from coming to Eragon and Saphira’s aid. No, this time I am sure that if you put in enough effort, you will be successful.”

Thorn and Murtagh remained silent, and Galbatorix spoke again. “In the meantime, both of you will recover your strength. Thorn, you must practice flying, and learn to cope with the damage to your tail. As for you Murtagh, I will have Avarus spend some time making sure that your magic is up to the high standard it should be - if Eragon has had help from Oromis, he may be slightly more powerful than anticipated.”

Murtagh and Thorn both nodded mutely, and Galbatorix smiled. “And once again, I congratulate you on your performance at the Battle of Gil`ead. Make the most of this rest you have earned, for within a few weeks, you will face the heat of battle once again at Dras-Leona, one last time. Then will the rebellion be stopped once and for all, and the Empire will enjoy another age of peace, with both you and, if all goes well, your brother, at the head.”

With that he turned and quickly and quietly walked out, leaving Rider and dragon alone with their thoughts. As he did so, Galbatorix felt a slight twinge of envy for the bond they shared. He glanced down at a large emerald ring on his right hand, before he clutched at the black jewel on the silver chain he wore. He pushed such thoughts from his mind, and made his way through the empty passageways.

The Eastern Citadel had expanded greatly above ground over the years Galbatorix had lived there, but it had also grown enormously in another way, that few knew of. For beneath the black citadel was a labyrinth of dark tunnels and passageways, and it was towards these that Galbatorix walked. Rather than the great hall, the throne room, or the other rather luxurious chambers in the great castle above, this was his domain.

The larger tunnels stretched deep underground he knew, but it was quicker for him to move into the slightly smaller corridors beneath the Citadel, not quite large enough for a dragon. With ease he navigated his way through the dark passages and hallways, until he reached a large, ornate door, with a dragon’s head made of dark silver protruding from its centre. A crimson red glow emanated from between its metal fangs, as though it were about to breathe fire.

Galbatorix pushed the door open, and strode down a long, perfectly straight corridor. Ornate stone torches in the shape of dragon’s heads, bearing enchantments he had made long ago lined the walls, and as he walked, fire kindled within them, illuminating the way forward.

There were several corridors branching off, each lined with enchanted torches, but Galbatorix ignored them, walking straight along till he reached the end. Stepping forward, he barked a word in the Ancient Language, and a floating orb of white light flared somewhere above him, allowing him to see.

He had stepped into a huge, round cave, fifty feet high, its floor made of smooth black marble, and its walls of rough grey stone. There were a few tunnels branching off from it round the side, but his magical light did not pierce the darkness within them.

At the opposite side of the cave, was a raised stone dais, with three round hollows in it. Two were empty, but in the central, there was a smooth stone of dark emerald. An egg.

Galbatorix glanced at the green egg momentarily, before his eyes focused on the object in the exact centre of the cave. Rising up from the ground was a stone representation of a dragon’s arm - slightly smaller than a real one, rising up just a few feet. Its clawed hand was opened, palm facing upwards, and resting upon it, was a large, black, jagged jewel.

He moved forward to it, close enough to see a small chip at one of the jewel's edges. Galbatorix’s fingers brushed the black stone in his necklace, and he remembered the many spells, and the days of hard work that it had required to make that small mark.

He reached out with both hands, and placed them on the sides of the large black stone in front of him. At once, a presence in his mind, that had before been faint and unnoticeable, flared into life, till he could sense that it was a vast, cunning intellect to rival his own.

So, said a harsh, powerful mental voice, it is at Dras-Leona that the rebellion ends, and the last dragon and Rider will fall under our control. Do you think Thorn and Murtagh will be successful in defeating them?

They would not try to help them again, said Galbatorix. That much is certain.

The presence agreed, and then brooded for a moment. Since Glaedr and Oromis were alive, it said at length, the Rider will know of the Eldunari?

It seems so, said Galbatorix. Glaedr’s corpse was searched, and no heart of heart was found. It is probable that it was given to Eragon.

Perhaps that is how he was able to defeat Thorn and Murtagh last time.

Perhaps. But that shall not happen this time.

Galbatorix projected thoughts and images of his most recent plan that they had devised together.

No, it agreed. It shall not.

-----


Not sure if these are getting too long or not, i get carried away when writing any dialogue

This post has been edited by Black hole: 06 January 2009 - 04:01 PM

[tubbylincoln]

No it is perfect and long detailed dialogue is good to have in story such as this one

[Black hole]

Thanks Next chapter. I'm featuring Murtagh and Thorn more now, and i hope i didnt do them too badly, since i know a lot of people like them

Chapter 4
Enslaved

The day after he had sat at the Council of War, Lemran made his way from his home in Urû`baen to the Western Citadel.

Lemran was in his early twenties, tall and lean, with short, dark brown hair and blue eyes. In an attempt to look less out of place among the noblemen and officers of the government, he wore a regal blue cloak over his simple leather clothes.

The courtyard of the Citadel of Urû`baen was packed, with people moving to and fro between the solid wall of brown that was the Western Citadel, with some people occasionally venturing east on business, towards the vast, dark Eastern Citadel, looming over them ominously. Lemran spared it a glance before he turned directly west, towards the main entrance of the Western Citadel.

For a couple of years now he had served as Lord Proland’s assistant. His father had been a high level minister in the government, so entering the politics of the government and the King’s court hadn’t been such a huge leap. However, when he saw the ruthlessness of the world, at places like the Council of War, it always made him realise just how sheltered he had been.

Lemran made his way through the halls of the Western Citadel, to the very highest level, and into Lord Proland’s office - a large, cluttered room, lined with bookshelves, with a huge circular window overlooking the Citadel’s courtyard. This also had the unfortunate side-effect of having it look directly across the courtyard at the Eastern Citadel, its black presence bearing down on them constantly. Then again, Lemran thought, maybe Proland had intended that, as a constant reminder of the King looking over his shoulder.

Proland himself was looking rather flustered, sitting behind a large mahogany desk covered in papers. He was currently reading a rather battered looking scroll, with great interest.

“What’s that, my lord?” asked Lemran, as he quickly began to remove the clutter from Proland’s desk, moving it over to his own small table at the side of the room, where he could organise it.

“Potentially, very good news,” said Proland. “Someone claiming they can give us very detailed information about the higher levels of the Varden, at the hope of stopping the war and putting an end to the suffering on both sides.”

Lemran snorted derisively as he looked over the rather more mundane reports of supplies and weaponry being moved to Dras-Leona and Gil`ead in preparation for the battle against the insurgents. “Yeah, right,” he said. “What do they really want?”

“They don’t say yet,” said Proland, slipping the parchment into a drawer on his desk. “Looks like they are just touting their services right now, and seeing if we’ll bite.”

“And will we?”

“We will see what they have to offer, yes,” said Proland. “That is one decision me and him,” he jerked his thumb out the window, towards the Eastern Citadel, “will definitely both agree on. Anything that will bring this war closer to an end.”

Lemran was interested to hear more about it, but Proland did not volunteer any more information, and he knew he would not until it was necessary for Lemran to know. So he went back to reading through the more mundane papers, signing orders where he was able, and passing the more important items onto Proland.

Lord Proland had been Regent of Urû`baen for nearly twenty years now, and he was almost universally respected throughout the city. Galbatorix, for all his faults, was a fairly able ruler, but he was too apathetic to devote his time to it, instead spending all of his time locked away beneath the Eastern Citadel, working on dark, secret and powerful magic, unknown to all but him and his dragon, Shruikan. Not even his most trusted servants, like the Forsworn, his former henchman Durza, or his current chief spellcaster, Avarus, knew all that he worked in the bowels of the Citadel.

The King’s absence made the running of the Empire difficult, but it was people like Proland who kept it together, devoting hours of hard work to running it smoothly and keeping the people happy. And for the most part, they did a good job - Urû`baen was very prosperous, and most of the centre of the Empire had a decent standard of living. Those round the outskirts had a tougher time, as Proland knew, however there was only so much they could do - especially with all the time and wealth devoted to defending themselves against insurgents such as the Varden.

“Look at this!” said Proland exasperatedly, waving a small, crumpled piece of parchment in his hand. “General Raemur asking for updates on our finances, wanting to know what he can tell the blacksmiths he is having making new swords and spears for twenty thousand new recruits. Does he think we can just get money off the noblemen overnight? You’d have an easier time getting the horns off of a live Kull than you would trying to pry even a penny from one of their grasps!”

Lemran agreed. “Apparently Sir Todrius is claiming bankruptcy, to avoid the new taxes we are implementing. Even though I know for a fact he just bought several sets of solid gold dinner plates for banquets.”

Proland chuckled and shook his head. Lemran felt that it was the perfect opportunity to speak to his master about what was on his mind. “My lord, can I ask a favour of you?”

“That depends on what that favour is,” answered Proland with a smile.

“I was wondering if you could arrange for me to visit the Eastern Citadel, and see Murtagh,” said Lemran. “I haven’t seen him for many weeks now, and I thought he appeared worse than ever at the Council yesterday.”

Lemran had known Murtagh for several years; they had been childhood friends in Urû`baen, both living about the same social status, though Murtagh’s circumstances had been worse than Lemran’s. While Lemran’s parents had both lived until he was around eighteen, Murtagh’s were long dead, and all they had left him to remember him by was a scar on his back and a dark and violent reputation.

Lord Proland looked intently at Lemran, absent-mindedly pulling at his silver moustache. “I think I could arrange that. In fact, I was meaning to ask you if you could keep an eye on Murtagh - I fear he may be in danger.”

Lemran raised his eyebrows. “From the rebels?”

“No, although they most assuredly would like to see him killed,” said Proland. “From Galbatorix’s own servants - Avarus in particular.”

Lemran almost laughed. “But none of them would dare touch Murtagh. He is more valuable to the King than any of them. Galbatorix would skin them alive if they attacked him.”

Proland nodded grimly. “That is exactly why he is in danger - many of Galbatorix’s servants grow jealous of Murtagh’s prominent position. While they pledge themselves fully to the King, working tirelessly to please him, he does not even offer his loyalty willingly, and yet still he is valued more.”

That much was true. Lemran remembered when, several weeks ago, after the Battle of the Burning Plains, Murtagh and his dragon Thorn had landed in the courtyard of the Citadel. Galbatorix had left his fortress to greet them, and Murtagh had confronted him, in front of a crowd of hundreds, telling him that he would not serve him anymore.

Lemran had watched from afar as bolts of dark energy had shot out from Galbatorix’s hands, pinning Thorn helplessly to the ground. The King had exchanged a few words with Murtagh, before releasing the red dragon, and having several soldiers and magicians march both of them into the Citadel.

“Morzan and the other Forsworn are long gone,” Proland continued, “and even that foul Shade that the King insisted on using despite our protests is dead too. Avarus and Galbatorix’s other more trusted magicians were growing used to receiving more attention from the King. But now they fear Murtagh will inherit his father’s position as the King’s right hand man, and they will lose the power they have grown accustomed to.”

“But Galbatorix needs Murtagh,” insisted Lemran. “He wants a new order of Riders to make it easier to maintain the far reaches of the Empire. It would be suicide for Avarus to try and kill Murtagh.”

“Galbatorix needs Thorn,” Proland corrected. “If he can capture the rebel dragon Saphira, he will be able to breed more dragons, and bestow them upon more willing subjects than Murtagh. And even without Thorn, there is still another egg that could hatch, making Murtagh even less vital.

“And I have heard word from some sources in the Eastern Citadel,” Proland continued, “that Avarus grows more and more resentful of Murtagh. No doubt the King knows of this, as he can see inside the heart of any man. But if there comes a point where Murtagh stops being so useful to Galbatorix… Avarus may have the opportunity he is waiting for.”

Lemran nodded. “I will try to warn him when I see him.”

“Good. I’ll send the King a message, tell him I want you to have access to Murtagh over the coming weeks, to make sure he is safe, and fit for battle at Dras-Leona.”

* * * *

Lemran climbed the wide stairs of dark grey rock, and entered the Eastern Citadel through the huge, black gate that opened out onto the circular courtyard. Several men in soldiers’ uniforms stopped him - however, he could tell by the way they tried to invade his mind that they were actually magicians in disguise. The world of the Eastern Citadel was very different from that of the Western.

As the magician guards tried to enter his mind, Lemran threw up mental barriers around himself, keeping them out. His father being in the government before him, he had long since learned how to defend himself from mental attacks, as had many in the upper levels of Urû`baen.

“I am here at the orders of Lord Proland,” said Lemran confidently. He had brought his sword with him, sheathed and slung over his back. It was a narrow, but strong blade of polished silver, which he had owned ever since his sixteenth birthday. Not that he actually intended to use it against the guards; it just looked better if he had it with him. “Your master wouldn’t be too pleased if you wasted the Regents time by holding me up any longer - else he might need to do some more work himself.”

Lemran strode past the guards onto the black marble floor of the atrium, smirking to himself at the scowls on their faces. However, the smile was quickly wiped off his face as a deep, smooth voice to his left said, “Indeed, I would not be pleased, young Lemran. For you are right, without Proland I would bear the burden of leading the Empire almost entirely alone, which would be trying even for me.”

Lemran turned to see Galbatorix himself, moving quickly and silently as a shadow, towards the main entrance of the Eastern Citadel, his eyes roving around the room as usual. Avarus trailed along behind him, his thin lips twisted into a cruel sneer beneath his hooked nose.

“Ah… your highness.” Lemran was dumbstruck. He had not expected anyone of importance, never mind the King, to meet him when he arrived at the Citadel.

The King seemed to read his mind - or perhaps he did, Lemran wasn’t quite sure, for he said, “I am on my way to discuss with your master a proposal he has had from someone with access to a lot of information about the rebels - information which could prove useful for putting an end to this needless war. His messenger requested that I meet him, as well as informing me of your arrival.”

“I see…” said Lemran. He wondered if the King would punish him for his earlier remark. He knew Galbatorix tolerated a lot from Proland, because he needed and respected him as much as Galbatorix could need or respect any man. However he did not know if this immunity would extend to him, as Lord Proland’s assistant.

Galbatorix’s round, blue eyes landed at last on Lemran’s and he felt the King look into his mind. He lessened his mental defences, as he knew that the King could break through them in an instant if he so wished. Thankfully, the King did not seem to try to probe deep into his mind, merely skimming the surface, and sensing his feelings of apprehension.

Galbatorix’s mouth, which was forever in a smirk of sorts, curled upwards even more into a more prominent smile. “Fear not,” he said, “loyal citizens of the Empire need not be afraid to make observations - though they should try to avoid being so insubordinate about it.”

“Thank you, your highness,” said Lemran, breathing a sigh of relief. He saw Avarus’s face fall slightly.

“Your master’s request for permission for full access to Murtagh has been granted,” said the King. “Though I am a little confused as to what exactly the reasons behind it are - his message was not particularly clear.”

“We merely wish to ensure his physical and mental wellbeing before he leaves for battle again,” said Lemran. “We know the strain the war will be having on him, and it is important that he is able to fight at Dras-Leona.”

Lemran felt Galbatorix look inside his mind again, sensing Lemran’s concern for Murtagh’s state, and learning of Proland’s fears he could be in some danger. An image of Avarus flared to the front of Lemran’s mind, and Galbatorix nodded.

“Very well, you may proceed. I trust you know where to find Murtagh.”

“Yes, your highness,” said Lemran.

Galbatorix nodded again, and without another word he started walking again, Avarus glancing coldly in Lemran’s direction before following him out into the Citadel Courtyard.

Lemran continued further into the Eastern Citadel. To the right side of the entrance hall was a large set of stairs which led up to the throne room, the guest chambers, and to the chambers on the upper floors where Galbatorix’s magicians studied and trained. Directly opposite him was the entrance to the great hall, which was closed at the moment. There were many other doors lining the hall, some of which he guessed would eventually lead downstairs to the lower levels, where none would dare venture without Galbatorix’s express permission.

Lemran took the door he remembered would take him around the great hall, to the very back of the Eastern Citadel, to the dragon’s quarters. He was lucky that he had a good memory, for he could have easily got lost once he got to the larger tunnels, built for dragons, which wound their way around the back of the black fortress.

Eventually he reached Murtagh’s chamber, to find the young Rider reading over books of spells, which he was no doubt expected to read for Galbatorix or Avarus. Thorn was sprawled out in the centre of the chamber, flexing his tail.

They both looked up as Lemran entered, and Murtagh smiled briefly. “Hello again, Murtagh,” said Lemran, before turning to Thorn, who’s red eyes gazed at him intently. Lemran inclined his head, “And greetings to you, Thorn. I hope your tail does not ail you too much.”

“He thanks you for your concern,” said Murtagh. “But he says the war has left deeper wounds than the one on his tail.”

Lemran nodded grimly. “I understand. The war is hard on us all, but on you two more than anyone.”

Thorn growled in agreement, but Murtagh said nothing. Lemran noticed Zar’roc beside Murtagh’s bed, and he patted his own sword in its sheath. “Do you want to practice sparring, like we used to when we were learning from Tornac?” he asked. “I may not be able to keep up with you any more, but I will try as hard as I can. It might help you take your mind of things.”

Murtagh glared at Lemran. “The last thing that practicing sword-fighting will do is take my mind off the war,” he said coolly.

“Ah… fair point.” They fell into an awkward silence, until eventually Murtagh said, “Thorn wants to know why you are here.”

Lemran thought he may as well get it over with. “Lord Proland thinks you may be in danger from Avarus and some of the other magicians. He hears that they are growing jealous of your position - even more jealous, that is.”

Murtagh laughed hollowly. “Let them have it. Do you think I would care if they took my place at the King’s side?”

“I think you would care if they took your life,” insisted Lemran.

Murtagh’s eyes met Lemran’s, and Lemran sensed a deep, ravening anger within them. “Maybe not,” said Murtagh icily, which scared Lemran.

Thorn moved over towards him, and nudged his Rider with his snout. Murtagh looked at his companion, and closed his eyes for a few seconds, appearing to calm down. “Thorn thanks you for your warning. We appreciate you and your master looking out for us.” He moved over to his makeshift bed and lay down on it, looking up towards the single window in the roof of the high chamber. “Is that all?”

“No, that is not all,” said Lemran, moving over to Murtagh’s side. “I am concerned about you - both of you. Galbatorix and Proland have allowed me to come and see you at any time I want, or any time you need me, to make sure you are all right.”

“Why?” Murtagh scoffed. “So I can fight better when I get to Dras-Leona.”

“Well, yes,” said Lemran. “But that’s not what I care about. Every time I see you, you appear worse than ever. I know you hate being forced to go to battle constantly, and I know that the King has put you both through a great deal of pain in an attempt to have you match your brother and his dragon’s strength. You need to know that you are not alone. I am here if you need me.”

A strange, formidable presence touched Lemran’s mind, and he was about to start putting up mental barriers, before he realised that it was Thorn. We thank you for your kind words, said the dragon. Yet I do not know that you can help. Our pain runs deep, and we are alone, trapped, enslaved. Galbatorix knows our true names, and has had us swear loyalty to him, as you know. And we have both done terrible things, things that fill our very being with regret and sorrow.

Murtagh nodded. “Galbatorix has forced us to do battle with another dragon and Rider - three times now. And last time, we - we killed them.” He shook his head, his fists clenched in anger, and Lemran saw a tear form in one of Thorn’s crimson eyes.

“But… they were offered the chance to stop fighting,” said Lemran in an attempt to comfort him. “You offered them the chance to join the Empire. You had to kill them.”

“Why? Because they refused to become slaves, like us?” demanded Murtagh. “I do not blame them for not wanting to serve Galbatorix.”

Lemran fell silent, and Thorn spoke to him. Murtagh’s brother, Eragon, he began, told us that there might be a way we could be free. To break our bonds and escape our enslavement.

Lemran eyed the dragon wearily. He liked Murtagh, and he felt sorry for both of them, but it sounded as though they were talking about leaving the Empire and joining with the rebel dragon Rider, which could not be allowed if they were to put a stop to the war. However, he put these thoughts aside and asked, “What was it?”

Murtagh laughed derisively. “He said we have to change our true names. Change the very essence of ourselves. Easy for him to say, free to do as he pleases. I don’t know how he expects me to become any better - I have done the best I could with my lot in life. Feared by those who remember my father as a violent man, shunned by the Varden after I helped Eragon, for no reason other than that I was my father’s son. Forced to do battle against my former friends, torn between both sides. What could I have done better?”

Eragon did not say you had to become any better, said Thorn gently. Merely changing yourself in some way that would alter your true name, and break Galbatorix’s hold over you.

“And what about you?” said Lemran, addressing the crimson dragon. “You would have to change as well?”

I suppose so, said Thorn. Though I am not wise enough to know how.

Lemran nodded slowly. “And tell me, what would you do if you did break free of Galbatorix’s hold over you?”

“What do you mean?”

“Would you join your brother and the Varden?”

Murtagh thought for a moment, before he exclaimed, “I don’t know! It is all too confusing. I have seen the goodness in the Empire - I lived in Urû`baen for most of my life. People like you, Proland, and some of the other, good, decent men in the government, make this a good place. And Galbatorix, for all his flaws, does seek peace. You have heard him talk about the new age of peace once the Varden are destroyed and the dragon Riders serve him - you know how ideal he makes it sound, how persuasive he can be.

“And the Varden… they fight not for peace, but for freedom. That is a good concept… but they wish to bring down the entire Empire - and are willing to burn and pillage every town, city and village till they can do it. Maybe they are right to try and fight Galbatorix, for you can see in me and Thorn the extent of control he can have over people. But I do not know if I could bring myself to destroy a whole nation just to get revenge on one man.”

Two conflicting ideals, said Thorn. Peace and freedom. It seems that none can have one without the other.

“I do not know if I would fight with the Varden,” said Murtagh. “Honestly I don’t. But we want our freedom. It might be selfish but…” he looked tenderly at Thorn, “we have suffered so greatly. All we want is to be free.”

Lemran looked at both of them, and he felt pity well up inside his heart stronger than ever. “If you were free,” he said, “perhaps you could seek peace another way. Go to these rebels and try to reason with them - at least some among them must want the bloodshed to end.”

You speak about our freedom as though you can offer it to us, said Thorn.

“I don’t know about that,” said Lemran. “I am not in your position, so I can’t know how hard it is for you. But I can offer you some advice, from an outsider’s perspective.”

They were silent for a moment, and he knew they were conferring mentally, then Thorn said, Go ahead.

“Well… I don’t really know how these true names work, but if you need to change an aspect of your personality… look to each other.”

I don’t know what you mean.

“Well, Murtagh - and don’t get angry like I know you’re going to - but you seem to respond to your trials and hardship with anger and - “

“Wouldn’t you?”

“Probably,” agreed Lemran. “But I am just speaking my mind. You blame the Empire and the rebels for shunning you, you hate Galbatorix for forcing you to fight for him, and you loathe yourself for not being able to fight him. You have every right to be angry, as your lot in life has been worse than many have had to bear, and mostly it has not been your fault. But if this anger has become so important that it has become a part of you, and part of your true name… wouldn’t it be better to try and let it go, if it could gain you your freedom?”

“And how do you propose to go about “letting it go”?”

“I don’t really know,” admitted Lemran. “But maybe he does,” he nodded towards Thorn. “Look to each other. It’s almost as though you balance each other out. Maybe Thorn can help you not to let anger consume you so.”

So what would I do then? said Thorn, sounding slightly amused. Become more angry?

“I don’t know!” snapped Lemran. “I shouldn’t even have bothered.”

He turned to leave. “Lemran, wait.” He turned around. “Thanks for trying to help,” said Murtagh. “We’ll think about what you said.” Lemran nodded, once again leaving Murtagh and Thorn alone in their chamber.

-----

Quite a long chapter. But it was fairly important.

I appologise for any thought-dialogue that isn't in itallics... it doesnt carry over from MS Word which is what i write in. I think i got all of it, though i might have missed out a bit.

This post has been edited by Black hole: 24 December 2008 - 06:47 AM

[Lady Goldylocks]

Do not double post. Edit your three last treads into one!!!

[Black hole]

Chapter 5
Surath

Night had fallen over Urû`baen, and on the second floor of the Eastern Citadel, the throne room was bathed in shadow, with only the flickering light of the large fireplace for illumination.

The far wall of the chamber was dominated by a huge, ornate throne of black marble, with wide stairs leading up to it. However, the throne was empty, and Galbatorix was pacing around at the foot of the black steps, reading through several scrolls of paper.

“He appears to be a suitable candidate,” said the King, glancing up from the papers to look at General Raemur. “I assume you warned him of the risks?”

Raemur twirled some of his curly black beard. “Ah, actually… I was not sure what to tell him. Exactly how risky is the… procedure?”

“The procedure is highly experimental,” said Galbatorix, setting down the papers at the foot of the throne, and running his finger along one of his smooth cheeks absent-mindedly. “I have never attempted it before, and no one before me has ever attempted anything remotely like it. If it goes wrong, the consequences could be disastrous.”

General Raemur looked uncomfortable, but Galbatorix gave him a thin, reassuring smile. “However, it will not go wrong. I am the greatest magician to ever have lived, and I do not develop spells without due consideration. Every possibility is examined, every eventuality prepared for. But he is entrusting himself to my magical skills. If I have made a mistake - though that is virtually impossible - he could end up dead, or worse.”

“I am sure he will be more than willing to trust in your powers, your highness,” said the General.

Galbatorix nodded. “Then I shall attend to it now. Thank you General, you are dismissed.” Raemur bowed and left, and Galbatorix extended his mind outwards, engulfing the whole castle. He felt the minds of all the magicians training in the upper levels, though his own presence was light enough that they would not be able to detect it. He sensed the servants and the guards, some of whom were actually magicians in disguise. Long ago he had had his magicians take up other roles within the Eastern Citadel, to watch visitors when they thought they weren’t being watched, and to make sure there was no one on the staff that was trying to infiltrate the Citadel, as the rebels had attempted in the past.

He found Avarus, accompanied by another, unfamiliar man. Take him down to the lower levels, Galbatorix commanded. Avarus acknowledged the order, and Galbatorix left his mind, touching the black jewel that hung around his neck. He tilted his head to the side, pointing his ear downwards, as he felt the presence of the black jewel grow stronger in his mind.

He seems acceptable, the presence said. However, are we sure we wish to use one of the Eldunari?

We have enough to spare a few, said Galbatorix. And besides, soon it will not matter how many we waste.

Galbatorix made his way down into the lower levels of the Eastern Citadel, along the corridor lined with stone dragon heads, and out into the vast, round cave, which was already lit by a spell he had cast earlier.

Two men stood in the centre of the cave, next to the pedestal bearing the black jewel. One was Avarus, his face in a smug grin at being brought to Galbatorix’s most personal chamber. The other was a tall, young man, with very short black hair, and dark eyes which burned with determination.

Floating in the air next to them were the two objects Galbatorix had retrieved earlier - a round purple stone, slightly smaller than the similar black one on the pedestal next to it, its surface angular and uneven, and a Rider’s blade, its hilt black with jewels of intense violet set in it, and its blade a pale, gleaming purple. It was one of the many of Rhunon’s swords that Galbatorix had kept from his conquest of the Riders, and stored beneath the Eastern Citadel.

Galbatorix moved up to them, and studied the young man with interest. The man met his eyes unflinchingly, and Galbatorix looked inside his mind, finding it cold, ruthless, and with a will of steel.

Galbatorix’s eyes left the man, and he moved over to the black jewel, resting one of his hands on it. “Surath,” he spoke the man’s name, as though testing it on his lips. Surath continued to stand silently, his dark eyes fixed on the King. “General Raemur tells me you volunteered to become one of the painless.” Surath nodded once. “And yet you did not ask for anything in return? No riches to await you should you return, and no compensation for your family should you not.”

“Serving my King and Empire is its own reward,” said Surath, his voice flat and cold. “And my family is gone. My father was executed for cutting wood for a living when Ceunon was attacked by elves. My mother and younger siblings were also put to the death. Even if I wanted gold, I have no family left to give it to.”

Galbatorix shook his head, returning to look at Surath. “Tragic. The elves shall pay for what they have done, there is no doubt. Even in war, one would think that the enemy could show some respect. Yet the elves have allowed their rage and hatred to fester in their forest for a century, before unleashing it on any man, woman or child in this Empire. Where they could have shown decency and mercy, they have shown brutality and cruelty, destroying entire towns and cities, and exacting revenge upon those who must work and toil to make a living from the land and the trees, while they hoard their riches and live in luxury and decadence.”

Surath nodded, yet remained silent. Galbatorix began to pace in front of him. “I saw you left Ceunon to join the army when you were but seventeen. At the end of your training, you had already proven yourself to be one of the finest our army has ever seen. After that, you defended our southern border for a few years, where you made captain. You showed yourself to be most adept at leading small, stealth attacks on enemy camps, gathering information or eliminating their leaders. It was clear that this would be the best use of your talents, and since then you have been involved in similar operations all over the world - from fighting the Varden in the south, rogue Urgals from the Spine, or rebellious barbarians from the far north.

“And now, Captain Surath,” said Galbatorix, his voice an excited whisper, “you have the ability to serve the Empire even further.” Surath stood stiffly in front of the King, listening to his every word. Galbatorix began to pace round him in a circle. “There are other men who can become painless, mindless warriors. Others who can fight on, even as their bodies are ravaged, only to die from their wounds after the battle. You, however, have the opportunity to answer a higher calling.”

The King continued to pace around Surath, looking into his mind, and sensing the fierce loyalty to the Empire. He smiled. “We have developed magic that will make you more than a man. You will become - perhaps not a god - but an angel, entrusted with the divine powers of a god, and sent to do his bidding. You will become stronger and more powerful than a hundred men, be they painless or not. You will be the most vital instrument in the defence of our great Empire, and one of our greatest and most trusted servants.”

At this, a frown flitted across Avarus’s face, and Galbatorix sensed a flare of jealousy in his mind, but he ignored it, and focused on Surath, moving round to face him. The young captain looked at the King with steely determination. “It would be an honour to be granted this opportunity to do even more in service and protection of the Empire, and the King.”

Galbatorix probed deep into Surath’s mind, and sensed his unflinching resolve and loyalty to the Empire. “Before you can be granted this power, you must swear oaths in the Ancient Language of magic, to your Empire and your King.”

“Willingly,” said Surath.

“Very well.” Galbatorix pushed the words he needed into Surath’s mind for him to use, and the captain began speaking in the Ancient Language, swearing loyalty to the Empire, binding himself to do the King’s bidding, and promising not to misuse his powers.

When he was finished, Galbatorix moved to the two floating objects next to the pedestal - the Rider’s blade, and the purple stone that was the Eldunari of a fallen dragon. Galbatorix reached out and took the heart of hearts, gazing at its violet surface. Long ago, he had spent years breaking the spirit of each and every Eldunari he possessed, save for one, using powerful magic to bind them to him, forcing them to offer their magical energy to him, and to anyone else he permitted to use it.

“Start the spells, Avarus,” said Galbatorix. Avarus nodded reverently, and then began muttering in the Ancient Language, closing his eyes and extending his hands towards Surath. Galbatorix reached out with his mind and touched the presence within the black jewel, and together they mentally began going through thousands upon thousands of words in the Ancient Language, forming an incantation of immense power and complexity.

“We will make you stronger, faster, more alert, more resilient,” Galbatorix began, lifting the purple blade out of the air, and moving towards Surath with the Eldunari and the sword in his hand, while Avarus continued casting wards and spells of strength, and the presence within the black jewel continued with its silent, mental incantation, relaying its thoughts into Galbatorix’s mind. “But more than that, we will give you the ability to do things no ordinary man can do. Powerful magic will be yours to command - and all it will take to call upon it is a simple thought.”

Avarus continued casting enchantments over Surath, while the combined mental force of Galbatorix and the presence within the black jewel recited through hundreds more incantations, providing as many possible Ancient Language spells they could think of, interspersing them with powerful charms which binded them to the Eldunari. Ghostly tendrils wrapped themselves around the purple heart of hearts in Galbatorix’s hand, and it began to glow brighter and brighter.

“A Heartblade, you shall become,” said Galbatorix, moving closer to Surath, who was now enveloped in an ethereal purple glow, looking nervous, yet determined. Galbatorix looked at the sword and the Eldunari in his hands. “A fitting name, I think.” The spells of the Ancient Language flew through his mind faster and faster, and the purple Eldunari began to glow so fiercely it was almost blinding, the violet light seeming to spin all around them, Galbatorix stepped directly in front of Surath and their eyes met. “This will hurt,” he said, before the whirling purple life engulfed them completely.


End of Part One

--------------------

I couldn't quite get the ending i wanted for this chapter Just didn't seem to work as well as i'd planned, as i didn't want to go too far into the making of the Heartblade procedure (as i was going to do that at a later chapter).

This post has been edited by Black hole: 29 December 2008 - 07:47 AM

[Greeni]

I like your story, but when does Eragon come into it? (When is the next update?)

[Black hole]

Now

Part Two



Chapter 6
Visions and Decisions

He saw a flat, empty plateau of bare rock, surrounded by wild forest and desolate mountains. It was perfectly circular in shape, and in its centre another ring was carved, gouged deep into the rock so long ago that its origin had faded from the memory of the world. Beneath grey skies, the wind seemed to echo with whispers of a forgotten age, and he sensed hints of a strange, intangible presence, that was snatched away by the breeze whenever he tried to focus on it.

He felt himself drifting downwards, and he looked back down towards the disc of rock below. Upon it now was a magnificent dragon, its scales a deep, rich emerald against the desolate grey of the rock and the sky. Yet the dragon was wounded - blood leaked out from its underbelly, seeping into the stone below, and its once majestic green wings were tattered and torn. With what looked like a great effort, the dragon raised its neck, and from its jaws escaped a hollow roar of agony and distress.

He wanted to help the fallen dragon, but as he landed upon the stone circle, the huge creature faded into the ethereal mist, and all that was left was the stain of its blood upon the ancient disc of rock.

He heard murmurs in the wind all around him, and he twisted around, trying to see whoever it was that was watching him. Yet always there was nothing, and the whispering continued to surround him

He spun around again, and realised that he had moved into the centre of the disc, and before him was the carved circle. He looked down upon it, and a ghostly whisper, louder than before, emanated from the rock, calling out to him. “Eragon…”

“Eragon!”

Eragon was jolted out of his sleep like state. Next to him, Saphira lazily raised one of her scaly eyelids, and her deep blue peered at their visitor.

It was Blöhdgarm. “Nasuada requests your presence,” said the blue furred elf. “Queen Islanzadi has contacted us at last.”

Blöhdgarm moved some distance away, allowing Eragon and Saphira to get up and stretch. They slept on a hillside at the edge of the Varden encampment, Eragon sleeping at Saphira’s side. The Varden would be moving again soon, and they were still dealing with the aftermath of the battle at Feinster, so Eragon’s tent hadn’t been set up yet.

Sleep well, little one?

The last few days had been tiring, as Eragon had attended to the wounded within the Varden, Saphira lending her energy to him so he could heal. Throughout the nights he had almost slept as a human again, being so exhausted from his exertions. Yet this was the first time such a vivid dream had invaded his consciousness, and what he had seen deeply worried him.

Fine, he said, but he knew that some of his feelings about his dream flowed through their connection and into Saphira’s mind. Somewhat reluctantly, he sent the images of his dream to her mind, and she examined them thoughtfully.

Who was the green dragon? asked Eragon. Where was that stone circle? He paused, then said, And what do you think it might mean?

I know not, said Saphira. Perhaps it has some meaning which we cannot see yet. But sometimes, a dream is just a dream.

Eragon nodded, and tried to push the dream to the back of his mind, as he prepared himself to go before the elf Queen. He picked up Brisingr, which gleamed blue in the light of the rising sun, as well as the pack which contained Glaedr’s Eldunari, which he would keep with him at all times, and put on his belt of Beloth the Wise. He had all but emptied the belt in his efforts to heal the wounded soldiers of the Varden, but he had left the vast store of energy in Brom’s - his father’s - ring, Aren, untouched. He and Saphira agreed it was best saved for an emergency.

He and Saphira walked down the hill and toward the Varden camp, so the Blöhdgarm and the other elven spellcasters could go with them. As he walked, he and Saphira looked towards Feinster, the walled city outside of which the Varden was camped.

The battle of Feinster had been won fairly easily once Eragon and Saphira had arrived to tip the balance, but they knew that they would be faced with much more of a challenge at their next battle. Now that Oromis was gone, Murtagh and Thorn would almost definitely be dispatched to the next battle Eragon took part in, and once again he would have to face his half brother.

They reached the command tent of the Varden, just outside the walls of Feinster. Outside stood several of the Nighthawks, including two Urgals, who stepped aside to let Eragon past and allow Saphira to poke her head into the tent, which was too small to contain her bulk.

Inside were two people, standing in front of the scrying glass: Nasuada, who looked tired yet hopeful, and Arya, who met Eragon’s eyes and gave him a small smile as he entered.
In the scrying glass, Queen Islanzadi stood, looking haggard and anxious, nothing like her usual composed and elegant demeanour. Eragon bowed and greeted her formally in the Ancient Language, and she too extended the formal greeting.

Nasuada, who looked impatient to get started, said, “I have told the Queen about our battle here at Feinster, and Arya told her about your fight with the Shade. But Islanzadi wanted to wait for you before she spoke of her own news.”

Eragon already knew more than he wanted to about what happened at Gil`ead, but he said to the Queen. “What news? I was worried when I heard you hadn’t contacted us.”

“We have had to regroup some distance from the city,” said Islanzadi. “This is the first time I could safely contact you.” She looked directly at Eragon, and as their eyes met, Eragon could tell that she sensed he knew about Oromis. “Oromis and Glaedr were killed,” she said, her voice sounding strained and hollow. Hearing it again, a fresh wave of grief descended over Eragon and Saphira. Arya lowered her eyes, her beautiful face a picture of grief beneath her raven hair. Islanzadi lastly turned to Nasuada. “I assume Eragon has told you by now, as there is no sense in keeping it a secret… another Rider has remained hidden within our borders for the past century, one of the Council of Elders before the Fall, and perhaps the wisest of them all. It was he who completed Eragon’s training during his time in Ellesmera. He could not fight as well as he once did, as his body and mind were crippled by Galbatorix and the Forsworn during the war. He was not cowardly in his decision to hide - he knew he was the only hope to train a new Rider to oppose Galbatorix.

Nasuada nodded. “I understand. Eragon told me all about him and Glaedr, and I am deeply sorry that it is only in their death that I hear of them.”

Islanzadi nodded in understanding, and once again looked back to Eragon and Saphira. “Eragon - the Empire is more powerful than ever. Many thousands of soldiers defended Gil`ead, outnumbering us greatly. Even with our superior fighting skill, many of the troops had wards placed upon them by Galbatorix, or were the cursed painless. And after Glaedr and Oromis… after they fell, Murtagh turned his magic upon us. With Oromis gone, he was able to overpower our spellcasters, allowing Galbatorix’s armies to drive us off. I did not expect him to be so powerful, even with his… advantages.”

“It was Galbatorix,” said Eragon. “I saw it through Glaedr’s Eldunari.” At the mention of the Heart of Hearts, Islanzadi looked horror struck. “It is all right,” said Eragon. “I told Arya and Nasuada about them. It is necessary that they know.”

“I would rather you did not spread the greatest secret of the dragons,” said the Queen. “I trust my daughter, and you, Nasuada. But you must promise not to tell any one else of them.”

“I promise,” said Eragon in the Ancient Language, Arya and Nasuada following suit. Saphira, being a dragon, did not, and Islanzadi did not expect it of her.

“Galbatorix was able to work his magic through the Eldunari Murtagh carried with him,” said Eragon, voicing the theory he and Saphira had came up with after witnessing the death of Oromis. “They must act as a vessel for him to communicate and to amplify his power. He took control of Murtagh, and used his own power to help him defeat Oromis, and probably your spellcasters as well.”

“But if Galbatorix can extend his own power through the Eldunari, why didn’t he do it before?” asked Nasuada. “At the Battle of the Burning Plains, and then Murtagh tried to capture you again.”

Eragon couldn’t think of an answer, but Saphira said, It will help Galbatorix to use his magic at a great distance, but still distance will have an effect. No doubt the Burning Plains was too far away for him to use the Eldunari to channel his power, but as we move closer to Urû`baen, he will be able to do so.

Eragon relayed her answer to the others, and Islanzadi looked troubled. “I knew Galbatorix was powerful, but I thought that if he wanted to fight us himself before Urû`baen, he would have to leave his castle and his hundreds of Eldunari, making him somewhat vulnerable. But if he can attack us without ever leaving, this makes things even more difficult.”

“He can only attack where Murtagh is present,” corrected Arya. “Even Galbatorix wouldn’t be able to use magic at such a distance without these Eldunari to channel his power through.”

Islanzadi nodded. “Then we must make it our priority at our next battle to kill the spawn of Morzan,” she spat. “Without him, Galbatorix will have to face us himself.”

“But your highness,” said Eragon, alarmed at the ferocity of the elf Queen. “Murtagh and Thorn do not serve Galbatorix willingly!”

“Perhaps not. But it is necessary. They have already killed perhaps the wisest of all of us. And they killed the dwarf king, which almost lost us the support of our mountain friends in this war. Would you wait until they have captured you and Saphira, or killed myself, Nasuada, or even my daughter, before you were willing to kill them?”

I agree, little one, said Saphira. Murtagh and his stunted dragon may be unwilling servants of Galbatorix, but you cannot allow your pity to endanger our cause.

Eragon reluctantly voiced Saphira’s view to the Queen. “I liked Murtagh,” said Nasuada, “but Saphira is right. We should double our efforts to make sure that he and Thorn are stopped, and if killing them is the easiest way to do that, then so be it.”

Arya was the only one not to voice her opinion, which Eragon thought odd, as he was sure that Arya, who was always rational, and had been quick to judge him about his treatment of Sloan, would agree with her mother and the others. “What do you think, Arya Shadeslayer?” he asked.

Arya met his eyes, and he thought he saw a slight blush at being called that name. However, she answered in her usual composed voice. “I agree… with Eragon. Murtagh and Thorn are dangerous tools of Galbatorix, but I think he is right in his reluctance to kill them. I think that we should think about Thorn especially - it is a terrible fate for a dragon to be enslaved from birth as such, and it is one that has befallen both Thorn and Shruikan.” She looked at Saphira. “As a fellow dragon, I would have thought you most of all would want to see them freed, rather than put to death.”

Saphira lowered her blue eyes, and Eragon sensed that she felt slightly ashamed at Arya’s words, and did not answer her.

“Well one way or another, we need to put a stop to Murtagh and Thorn, else we will be too weak to possibly compete with Galbatorix when we reach Urû`baen. But in the mean time, what are your plans, Nasuada?”

“Today we will begin our march north,” said Nasuada. “And we will encamp ourselves to the east of Belatona and to the south of Dras-Leona. We have received word from Orik and the dwarves that they will try to join us there before we move on either city.”

“Is it really a good idea to surround ourselves like that?” asked Eragon.

Nasuada gave him a cunning smile. “If we move fast, we will be able to cut off any reinforcements coming from the northeast to Belatona. And if none of the Empire’s soldiers can reach it, it will fall easily to us.”

“A wise plan,” said Islanzadi. “After we have regrouped, we will prepare for another assault on Gil`ead. I would guess that Murtagh would be dispatched to Belatona to try and capture Eragon, so we should have more success this time - unless Galbatorix himself flies out to fight us, in which case we will fight to the last breath to try and kill him.”

Nasuada nodded, then Islanzadi said, “I must go now, we have much to be done. Good luck, Nasuada. And good luck, Saphira, Shadeslayer, and… “Shadeslayer”.” A slight smile crossed her face, and the image faded.

Eragon, Saphira, Arya and Nasuada moved out of the tent, rejoining the elves and the Nighthawks. “Jormundur, Orrin!” Nasuada called to her captain and the Surdan King, who were busy giving orders to soldiers nearby. “Are we ready to leave?”

“Yes, Lady Nasuada,” said Jormundur. “We have a hard few days ahead of us if we want to cut off Galbatorix’s reinforcements getting to Belatona, but we should manage if we leave immediately.”

“Then leave immediately we shall,” she said. She turned to Orrin. “Have we any more men from Feinster willing to join us.”

Orrin nodded. “After they saw that Lady Lorana was not opposed to us, more volunteered to help, though I think it is a better idea to leave them here at Feinster. I have arranged for some of my own people to come and help the people here rebuild and recover, so that we will ensure their support in the future.”

“We do not have time to be worrying about things like that. One way or another, this war is drawing to a close, and we have to worry about the short term. We need more men if we are to win. That means that any soldiers that join us will have to come with our army. We are offering them the chance to fight for freedom from Galbatorix and his Empire.”

“Many of these men do not wish to leave their homes,” said Orrin. “They fight for Feinster, not for the Empire. If we want their loyalty to be to us, we need to show them we can make their city whole and prosperous again.”

Nasuada sighed. “Very well, allow them to remain here, and have your men offer their assistance. I suppose we can afford to lose some numbers, if we are soon to be reinforced by Orik and the dwarves.”

“I was not asking for permission, my Lady,” said Orrin. Nasuada scowled, but said nothing. Orrin turned to Eragon, Arya and Saphira. “What news from the elves?”

“The battle of Gil`ead was lost as we feared,” said Arya. “And as you know, Oromis and Glaedr, the old dragon and Rider my people kept hidden for all these years, fell to Murtagh and Thorn.”

Orrin nodded grimly. “That is bad news. But I still don’t see why we hadn’t heard of this Oromis before now?”

“He was kept secret for his own protection,” said Arya. “No one outside of the elves, save for Brom and Eragon, knew of his existence.”

“I understand,” said Orrin, though Eragon thought he looked slightly annoyed at not knowing everything that was going on. “And how was it that you knew about his death before the elves contacted you? Your mind is linked to his in some way?”

“Something like that,” said Eragon, knowing that he could not tell anyone else about the Eldunari he carried in his pack.

He was sure Orrin knew he wasn’t being told everything, but the Surdan King gave him a grim, understanding smile. “I see. I am sorry for your loss, Eragon Shadeslayer. And for yours, Saphira.” He inclined his head to Saphira, and left.

“We will be leaving shortly,” said Nasuada, once he had gone. “Will you and Saphira be flying above us?”

Eragon’s mind had drifted, wondering again to the vision he had seen before he woke up, of the dying green dragon, lying on the huge circle of grey rock. He let his thoughts enter Saphira’s mind, and she saw what he wanted to do and agreed. Nasuada asked again, and he said, “No, we will walk. Can you tell me though, where I could find Jeod? We have some things to discuss with him.”

-----

This post has been edited by Black hole: 06 January 2009 - 04:20 PM

[sunfest13]

This is great, I`ve been wanting an Eragon PoV. I like how you followed CPs style in some ways, but not all. I want to know what happens with Joed!

[ppeter]

Very good!!!
looking forward an Update!!!!!!

[Black hole]

Thanks for the comments I was hoping i would be able to incorporate some of Paolini's style, especially into Eragon POV, since that is his speciality obviously. Makes me appreciate his writing more, since i, like many others, am prone to criticise it sometimes
-

Chapter 7
Elusive Answers

The sun was climbing into the sky, illuminating the Varden camp as it disassembled, preparing to move north.

When Eragon and Saphira found Jeod, he was busy helping the men take down his tent. Eragon also noted that he was in a much bigger tent now, and there were several carts outside it filled with supplies.

“And be careful with that!” came a woman’s voice, and Eragon saw Jeod’s wife, Helen shouting at a clumsy man who had almost dropped a large crate he was putting onto a cart. “That’s the dwarves’ mead! Do you really want to face them after you drop it?”

It looks as though Helen made good use of the gift you gave her, observed Saphira, and Eragon agreed, pleased to see that the orb of gold he had given them had helped Helen, and by association Jeod, as repayment for the aid he had given Eragon and his family.

Jeod greeted them warmly, and Eragon helped him and the other men pack the tent onto a horse drawn cart, which carried many of the supplies for the Varden camp.

“So we are off on the move again,” said Jeod, looking towards Feinster with some regret. “It pains me to see so much destruction and death on our path to defeat Galbatorix. But it is necessary, unless the coward should come out and face us himself.”

Did you see battle during the siege? asked Saphira, Eragon relaying the question on to him.

“Not much, thankfully,” said Jeod. “After you two arrived, the fight was over fairly quickly. I was with a legion that secured the walls after we got into the city.” A horn was blown somewhere, signalling that it was time for the Varden to begin their trek north. “I assume you will be flying?” Jeod asked.

“Actually,” said Eragon. “Saphira and I want to speak to you about something.”

“I would only be too happy to help,” said Jeod.

The horn blew again, and all around them the last of the tents and supplies were being packed up, onto carts at the pack of the convoy, as the combination of Varden, Surdan, Urgal and dwarf troops began to move off.

Jeod, Eragon and Saphira made their way towards the head of the huge convoy, the Varden soldiers calling out to them in respect as they passed. “Shadeslayer!” “Bjartskular!” and “Argetlam!”

They spoke to Jeod lightheartedly for a few minutes, asking him about his search for secret passageways in Belatona or Dras-Leona - “Poorly, but maybe we’ll get lucky if I keep at it” - before Eragon broached the topic that had been on his mind.

He had been unable to shake his vision of the dying green dragon that morning. And while he couldn’t be sure of what it might mean, his mind kept going back to the one dragon that he knew was - or at least, would be, green: the dragon inside the last remaining egg.

“All those years ago, when Saphira’s egg was first stolen, it was because you found a passage into Urû`baen?”

“Well, getting into the actual city of Urû`baen is the easy part,” said Jeod. “Too many people pass through its gates each day for the guards to know who every one of them is. The problem was getting into the Citadel itself. That was what the passage was for.”

The fortress used to be castle Illirea, said Saphira, Eragon relaying her words to Jeod. Did you find a plan of the old elven castle?

“That I did,” said Jeod. “I found more than a few, actually. But only one gave the information I was looking for. An old passage that led to a large house in the city. I assume it was used for someone in the castle to visit a… close friend, without it being common knowledge.”

“So could someone use this passage again?”

Jeod chuckled, and even Saphira gave a small, rumbling laugh. Do you really think Galbatorix would leave it open after the Varden was able to steal my egg from under his nose? chided Saphira. He may be mad, but he is not that stupid.

Eragon blushed, and asked Jeod, “If another map of castle Illirea could be found, might it show another secret passage. I am sure the elves would have some that you haven’t seen.”

“Perhaps,” said Jeod. “But you must remember, that place used to be castle Illirea. Now it is the Citadel of Urû`baen, and it is a very different place indeed. The old elf castle has been built upon over and over until now it is no longer recognizable as anything other than Galbatorix’s palace. And within the wall that encircles the Citadel there is another structure - the headquarters of all of the Empire’s government. They now call them the Eastern and Western Citadels - the Eastern being Galbatorix’s personal castle.

“And beneath the Eastern Citadel, there is another construction entirely. There is a maze of tunnels in its basement, leading deeper into the earth, until eventually they form into huge caverns and caves. That was why my secret passageway went undiscovered so long; there are so many passages beneath the Eastern Citadel that Galbatorix had not probed them all.”

“Then we might be able to find another one?” asked Eragon.

“I doubt it,” said Jeod forlornly. “After the theft of your egg,” he nodded towards Saphira as he said it, “I am sure Galbatorix would have looked more closely at the older passageways beneath the Citadel, rather than focusing on the ones he himself built. If there were any more, he would undoubtedly have found and blocked them as well. No, I believe that as far as getting into the Citadel of Urû`baen through some secret passage is concerned, we used up our one chance at that seventeen years ago when we recovered Saphira’s egg.”

Eragon fell into brooding silence. He knew that it was more important than ever now to look for a way into Galbatorix’s Citadel. For as well as the last egg, Eragon now knew that it must be where he kept his vast store of Eldunari - the heart of hearts of all the dragons he had forced to serve him.

How could someone go about getting into this castle then? asked Saphira.

“There are only three known entrances to the black Citadel of Urû`baen,” said Jeod. “One is an entrance for dragon’s set in its eastern wall, leading directly inside. It is a hundred feet above the ground, with only the sheer face of the black wall below it, so would be impossible to get to without flying.

“The second is its main entrance, which looks onto the Citadel courtyard. To get to it, you would have to go through the main gates in the outer wall of the Citadel, into the courtyard, then turn east, and walk straight through the front door of the Eastern Citadel. Obviously, to attempt that would be impossible.”

Jeod drifted into silence, leaving both Eragon and Saphira rather impatient. And the third? demanded Saphira at last.

“The third entrance is the only one I could possibly imagine using if you wanted to break in undetected - although even it would be suicide.”

“What is it?”

“It is the entrance to a cave, somewhere just outside of the city. It is the only entrance, save for from the basement of the Eastern Citadel itself, to the caverns beneath it.”

That sounds like the perfect entrance, Saphira commented to Eragon. Why would we not use it? However, Eragon had thought of another question, and he feared that Jeod’s response would answer Saphira’s as well.

“Why is this entrance even there?” he asked.

“It is for food,” said Jeod grimly. “Livestock and game, reared by a select few farms outside of Urû`baen, are marched down there every so often. Food for Galbatorix’s black dragon, Shruikan. For that is where the King keeps his most prized pet - in the dark caves beneath his castle.” Jeod shook his head. “Nothing that ventures down there ever returns. It is said that Galbatorix uses it as one of the most feared punishments the Empire can give, reserved only for spies and traitors, or those who incur the King’s personal wrath; he has them led down into the maze of caverns, where they will either starve to death, or become food for his fearsome dragon.”

While Jeod spoke, Eragon felt a sense of fear and dread at the horror that lurked beneath Urû`baen, but eventually his heart turned to anger. Galbatorix did not even let his dragon roam free, or hunt by himself. He kept him in a cave. The thought disgusted Eragon, and renewed rage at Galbatorix’s atrocities rose up inside him. Saphira’s cool, comforting presence soothed him gently, and he felt his anger subside slightly.

In a cave, Saphira, he said. In a cave. He had never thought a great deal about Shruikan. He had known that Galbatorix had stolen Shruikan, after murdering his Rider in cold blood, and then used dark magic to enslave the black dragon, and forge a mockery of the true Rider’s bond. But he had never heard any real details on what Shruikan was really like. Now that Jeod had given him an idea of the terrible conditions the dragon lived in, pity welled up inside him. He has it even worse than Thorn does, said Eragon eventually. At least Thorn has a Rider he can share his thoughts with, and gets out to fly. But I didn’t think even Galbatorix would keep his own dragon locked up in a cave.

He is evil, said Saphira. And he is mad.

We have to free Shruikan and Thorn, said Eragon, his thoughts burning fiercely. And we have to find and free the Eldunari. And, we have to get the last egg out of Galbatorix’s control. He cursed silently. It seemed like everything hinged on them being able to get into Galbatorix’s castle, whether by stealth or brute force. And he knew neither option was very likely.

We need to find a way to free the Eldunari from Galbatorix’s control, Saphira agreed. And getting the last egg would help. But Shruikan and Thorn have been twisted by Galbatorix, almost from birth. They are poor excuses for dragons -Shruikan especially - and I fear that we will be left with no choice but to kill them.

I will not kill Shruikan, said Eragon firmly. Not unless I absolutely have to. Neither he nor Thorn deserves death after what they have been through.

Suit yourself, said Saphira, flicking her tongue out absent mindedly. But I will not bind myself to such an oath.

I know you won’t, said Eragon with a smile. He knew Saphira would do what she thought was best for both of them, and he sent a wave of gratitude to her. They fell into silence, and he suddenly remembered that Jeod was walking with them, waiting patiently for him to speak. “I am sorry, Jeod,” said Eragon. “Saphira and I were lost in thought.”

“I understand,” he said with a smile. “I am sorry I cannot be more helpful with finding a way into Urû`baen’s Citadel. I understand it must be important to our cause.”

“Yes,” sighed Eragon. The pack carrying Glaedr’s Eldunari seemed heavy on his back, and his thoughts turned once again to Oromis and Glaedr, his former masters and teachers. Glaedr would not allow anyone to speak to him yet, and Eragon knew it was best to leave him to mourn for a while longer. “It’s strange,” he said. “We are winning the war, but it still feels like we are losing. And the closer we get to Urû`baen, the more of a struggle it seems to be.”

Jeod nodded in agreement, and suddenly another thought entered Eragon’s mind, seemingly out of no where. “Jeod… have you ever heard of something called the Rock of Kuthian? Or maybe the Vault of Souls”

Saphira suddenly became more attentive, looking expectantly at Jeod. Jeod however, just like the other two people he had asked, did not show any sudden spark of recognition, though his face clouded with thought. “The Rock of Kuthian,” he said, as though testing it on his tongue. “The Vault of Souls. I don’t recall ever coming across anything like that.” Eragon felt his spirits drop. It seemed that no one, not Jeod or even Oromis knew anything about what was in Solembum’s prophecy. “However,” said Jeod eventually. “While I don’t know anything about a rock, the name Kuthian does seem somehow familiar. Maybe I am wrong, but I have read a lot of names during my time. The name Kuthian might be rattling around somewhere in my mind, even if it is not connected to what you seek. Perhaps you might find it somewhere in Domia abr Wyrda?”

“Of course!” said Eragon, excitement bubbling up inside him. What with having to leave to visit the dwarves and the elves, he had forgotten about the book Jeod had given him. Domia abr Wyrda, the Dominance of Fate. A history of Alagaesia, written by Helstant the Monk. Even if it was not in the scrolls he had read when studying under Oromis, perhaps it was mentioned somewhere in Domia abr Wyrda - at least so that he could know where to look to learn about it in more detail. After all, the Rock of Kuthian could not exist through all of human and elf history without at least some mention.

Presumably the book was still among the possessions he had left at the Varden, and would be brought back to him when his tent was set up at their next long term camp south of Dras-Leona. He would make a point of reading through it when they arrived.

The sun was climbing towards its highest point now, and the sky was clear and beautiful in the late morning light. Eragon, said Saphira. Did you not tell Jeod that you would let him fly on me when there was time?

Eragon had forgotten about that promise. Would you be willing to let him fly with you for a while?

Perhaps, she said. Ask him if he wishes to now.

Eragon passed Saphira’s question onto Jeod, and his face split into a wide grin. He looked humbly at Saphira. “If you would allow me, Saphira, I would be honoured.”

Saphira lay low to the ground, and Eragon helped Jeod into the saddle that Saphira already was already wearing. “It’s his first time, so nothing too fancy, all right Saphira?” said Eragon with a grin.

I can’t promise anything. With a roar that made many of the surrounding Varden jump, she leapt into the air, rising up into the sky at an incredible speed. Eragon could just hear a cry of exhilaration and delight from Jeod, before he was whisked away by Saphira, a cheer rippling through the rebel forces as Saphira passed overhead. With an amused smile on his face, and the slight twinge of envy he had come to feel whenever he watched anyone else fly Saphira, Eragon followed them across the sky, before he resumed the walk that would take him, along with the rest of the Varden, to Belatona, Dras-Leona, and then, eventually, to Urû`baen itself.
----

Might be a little slow paced at the beginning... won't be long before it becomes more action packed though.

This post has been edited by Black hole: 05 January 2009 - 09:17 PM

[Soolebummm]

The story is very good. The only problem is.... WHERE is th update?????

[Lady Goldylocks]

Solembummm, posting posts just saying the story is good and asking for an update isn't allowed. Write why you liked the story not just that you did. I recommend you check out the pinned tread pixel made in this sub-forum.

[RasenShuriken]

This is awesome! I like how you write it sort of like Christopher Paolini's writing and how you don't make Thorn seem evil. I wish I could write like this but I'm horrible at writing. I can't wait for the next chapter!

This post has been edited by RasenShuriken: 16 January 2009 - 03:11 AM