Asahel

I’d like to take the opportunity to write about character-driven versus plot-driven scenes in stories. Except in the case of allegories, perhaps, character-driven stories are preferred because the characters in a plot-driven story are less believable due to the fact that they are nothing more vehicles to drive the plot along. However, even in character-driven stories, there can be plot-driven scenes. What do I mean by that?

Well, let’s say that you have a character that detests violent activity, and you decide that at some point this character must be put into a situation where he/she may have to act violently in order to prevent some undesirable outcome. That’s a plot-driven scene. You’ve decided it must happen and have placed your character in the scene.

This is not bad or wrong, but there are definite traps you need to avoid now. Let me illustrate this with an example from Brisingr. Note that this contains spoilers for those who haven’t read the first third or so of the book. If you don’t care, read on.

While fleeing the Empire’s territory, Eragon and Arya are set upon by a group of soldiers. They attempt to avoid a conflict by posing as travelers, but this doesn’t work and as events escalate, the two of them end up killing the soldiers. One of the soldiers sees how badly the fight is going, drops his weapon and attempts to flee. Eragon pursues, and the young man begs for his life, pleading with his pursuer for mercy. Eragon kills him—and Arya’s main complaint about the whole thing is why couldn’t Eragon have saved them some trouble and killed the similarly unarmed Sloan earlier. He says it’s because the soldier was a threat and Sloan was not. Arya is subsequently amazed by his wise understanding of moral principles.

Here are the problems with the scene: First, there is no reason for the conflict to take place at all. Eragon was able to avoid being spotted by some soldiers earlier by using a spell to become invisible. Arya is also a spellcaster and so should be able to do the same (and even if she didn’t know the spell, there’s no reason Eragon couldn’t make both of them invisible). Second, there’s no reason Eragon couldn’t have pursued a nonfatal alternative. He put Sloan to sleep; surely he could do the same to this boy, giving them a lead in the case of intended treachery. Spellcasters are able to alter people’s memories; surely Eragon or Arya could’ve put it in his head that someone else killed the soldiers and then fled in a different direction, thus throwing off pursuit even when he does manage to relate what he believes has happened. Third, even assuming he just lets the soldier go, what’s he going to do? He can’t tell anyone until he gets to a town, and Eragon and Arya travel at a much faster rate—they’d be far ahead of any pursuit brought about by this act of mercy. Eragon may say this soldier is a threat, but it’s simply not true. Indeed, this whole scene has led many a person to the conclusion that Eragon murders the young man because it’s the most convenient option available.

I disagree with that conclusion. What I believe happened is Paolini wanted a scene wherein circumstances forced Eragon to kill an unarmed person so that he could use it as a contrast to the situation with Sloan to demonstrate why it had been the right choice to let Sloan live but not this other person. Again, this is not a bad idea, but, as you can see, he fell into the traps of the plot-driven scene.

Trap 1: There’s no reason for your character to be in that scene. Yes, just like Eragon and Arya should’ve easily bypassed the entire conflict with the soldiers, you need to make sure that your character has a reason to be in the scene you’re writing. Remember the previous example of the character that detests violence? Such a person would not usually be found in areas where violence is likely to crop up. Put some thought into why your character is there or why this violent situation has arisen somewhere where your character would naturally be.

Trap 2: Your character acts out of character because the scene demands it. This is widely known as an “It’s In The Script” moment. Eragon considers very few alternatives (he only considers that the man is too slow to travel with them and thus they can’t take him prisoner, and that the soldier’s True Name Oath would prevent him from being disloyal to Galbatorix should he be let go). He doesn’t consider restraining the boy with any method magical or mundane. He doesn’t consider messing with his memories of the event. He doesn’t even consider whether it would really be so detrimental just to let him go. This is because the scene requires Eragon to kill the unarmed person as a contrast to Sloan, so Eragon has to act out of character to accomplish it. So, remember the character that detests violence? If a violent situation starts developing, the first thing this character would think of is escape, so if there’s an easy way for him/her to escape, you have to rewrite the scene.

There you have it. If you want a plot-driven scene in your story, this is fine, but you must avoid those traps. There needs to be a reason that your character is in the scene beyond “He/She needs to be in the scene for it to take place.” While in the scene, your character must still act in character. If your character behaving in-character would ruin what you want the scene to accomplish (as I believe it would in Eragon’s case), then, for the love of all good writing, rewrite the scene until you can get it to work with your character acting in-character.

Comment [8]

In this, I intend to give advice on how to help your characters act out-of-character properly.

Now, some of you may look at that premise and immediately say, “Well, that’s just wrong! Your characters should never act out-of-character!” In one sense, you are correct. However, stick with me and perhaps you’ll get something of value.

Think of it this way: Everything that a person does is a part of his or her character. In that sense, no person in a work of fiction ought to act out-of-character (excepting, of course, something along the lines of mind control, but I’m not going to get into that). However, consider events from the perspectives of the other characters, then think of your own life. Have you ever said or done something that even those that are very close to you were surprised about? These are people that know you almost as well as you know yourself, and yet they were still taken aback by something that, you guessed it, seemed out-of-character for you.

This strikes at the heart of my point. At some time, a character may do something that may not be out-of-character but will seem so to everyone else (including, perhaps, the reader). If done poorly, the reader will mentally call you on it and lose a lot of faith in your characterization. If done properly, it can be quite a learning experience and help to create deep, rich characters.

The main key is to have other characters evince a realistic response. There can also be varying levels of response based upon how well the characters know the one acting out-of-character. I once wrote a scene in which a sweet, mild-mannered young magic user discovered that a young man courting her was actually a vampire, whereupon she immediately drove a sword through his heart and incinerated him. While her sister was not surprised, those present that knew her casually were shocked. The first question she was asked was, “Are you all right?” though she obviously hadn’t been injured in the fight. She was confused, along the lines of, “Yes I’m all right. Why do you ask?”

Her friends brought up the reasons for their surprise: she was gentle and previously demonstrated little inclination to violence. She felt as though she were being accused of some heinous brutality and defended herself, arguing that vampires were especially vicious monsters that deserved and needed to be exterminated. Her sister also backed her up on that.

Imagine how a reader is likely to react if those voices of surprise had not been present. It seems likely his or her thoughts would be along the lines of, “I’m supposed to believe this sweet young girl just toasted a vampire without batting an eye? Yeah right.” It would only be worse if all of the characters were acting as though this had been nothing unusual, because then it feels like the author is trying to convince the reader that the character would behave that way, making the reader resist it all the more. Having those voices of shock show the reader that, yes, what happened was “out-of-character.” It then gives your character the option of defending him/herself, thus providing a rationale for why the action really was in-character, and offering a deeper, more complete look at the character.

In summary, when you have a character do something “out-of-character,” make sure that those around him/her are treating it the way they would treat such an event. Even though this has been called “How to Handle the Out-of-Character Moment,” consider that it may be a lesson in making sure that secondary characters remain in-character. After all, what rings false in these so-called out-of-character moments is the others not responding to it the way they truly would (i.e. acting out-of-character themselves).

Comment [9]

This is not the seventh chapter of The Mirror Looks at Eragon. That’s still in the editing stage.

After finishing Inheritance (and, consequently, Inheritance), I decided to do a chapter by chapter breakdown of the book, starting with the first two chapters. Now, I will point out both flaws as well as things done right.

Let’s begin, shall we?

We start the first chapter in medias res, as Eragon and the Varden are hours into the fight to take Belatona. Shortly into the opening, Eragon twists his ankle after jumping down off some rubble, and when one of the enemy soldiers attempts to take advantage of this opening, we’re treated to this:

Eragon parried the thrust with a flick of his wrist, swinging Brisingr faster than either a human or an elf could follow. The soldier’s face grew slack with fear as he realized his mistake. He tried to flee, but before he could move more than a few inches, Eragon lunged forward and took him in the gut.

Remember that “faster than either a human or an elf could follow.” I’m saving that for later. Now, does anyone remember the last few books in which Eragon, being such a sensitive guy, was suffering over the many, many people he had to kill for the greater good? Yes? Well, that’s over. I’m serious. It never comes up again. He never again considers all the people that he slaughters. Notice something else: he stabs the fellow in the gut. Now, we’re informed that Eragon is an excellent swordsman, so he could’ve stabbed the fellow anywhere. Why the gut? A gut wound kills slowly. The following are the only reasons I can think of to stab someone in the gut instead of somewhere that would kill quicker:

1) You want him to survive long enough that you can heal/treat him, thus saving his life. (Eragon doesn’t do this.)

2) It was the only opening you had, so you stabbed him there to debilitate him and then finished him off quickly and mercifully. (Eragon doesn’t do this.)

3) You wanted him to die slowly. Suffering. In great agony.

I can only conclude that 3 is correct.

There are other excerpts of Eragon “cutting them down with impunity” and so on. This is a regular occurrence. So, the characterization of Eragon feeling any remorse for those that he kills is done. He no longer cares about meting out death (especially painful deaths) to others. I guess Paolini dropped all pretense that Eragon isn’t supposed to be a sociopath.

Our next incongruity happens during this battle as well. When an unseen magician protects several soldiers from being roasted alive by Saphira, Eragon speculates about who it may be:

Was it Murtagh? he wondered. If so, why aren’t he and Thorn here to defend Belatona? Doesn’t Galbatorix care to keep control of his cities?

Look, Paolini, we’re perfectly capable of spotting your plot holes. You don’t need to point them out us, but thanks.

Let’s answer Eragon’s questions, though.

Was it Murtagh? No.

If so, why aren’t he and Thorn here to defend Belatona? I think you mean “if not.” Because if it is Murtagh, then he and Thorn are here to defend Belatona. So, why isn’t he here to defend Belatona? No reason. Not only is there no speculative reason why he might not be there, there’s also no narrative reason given for him not to be there. It’s mystifying.

Doesn’t Galbatorix care to keep control of his cities? No. Why not? No idea. We’ll keep our eyes open, though, in case we’re given a reason in the future. (I caution you, however, not to hold your breath.)

There are only two other items of note in the first chapter: a man on a horse with an eerie lance charges Saphira and manages to wound her despite Eragon’s wards. This gives Eragon The Rage, and he starts to call upon all available energy—himself, the sapphire in his sword’s pommel, the 12 diamonds in his belt, and the tremendous store in the ring Aren—in order to kill the rider. Fortunately, the elves do it first to keep Eragon from being a raging fool. Although we do get an example of Paolini overexplaining things.

“How badly—Is she—” Eragon said, too upset to complete his sentences.

It’s a good thing you pointed that out or I probably would’ve thought Eragon was out of breath or something.

Anyway, Eragon wonders if Galbatorix made the spear, thinking that maybe Galbatorix thinks he and Saphira may actually be a threat and it would be safer to kill them. The furry elf lets Eragon know he’s being an idiot because Galbatorix could easily handle all of them if only he would bother to show up. Why doesn’t he do that? No idea, but I’m sure it’s going to be a really good reason.

The last thing of note in the chapter is that a wall collapses on Jimmy Olsen while Superman inexplicably watches and does nothing. No, wait, I’m sorry. A wall very slowly collapses (it’s described for more than a page) on some Varden soldiers being led by Roran. Does Eragon consider drawing upon all the energy of his body, pommel, belt, and ring to shore up the wall or deflect it or shield those underneath, thus saving Roran and the others with him? No. With Eragon it’s apparently hos before bros. Also, the next chapter is called “Hammerfall,” so this highly contrived scenario is not looking good for Jimmy Stronghammer… Roran. I meant, Roran. Roran Olsen… Stronghammer.

Ok, next chapter.

Nothing particularly interesting happens in this chapter (get used to me saying that).

See, Roran was near a doorway when the wall fell, so there’s a chance he’s ok (there were other Varden with him? what?), and Eragon dashes up the rubble into the keep and kills many people in physically ridiculous ways as he tries to find his way to Roran. When he gets there, Roran is struggling with an enemy soldier, finishing him off as Eragon arrives. He says, “About time you—” and collapses (he falls!) unconscious (don’t worry; he’s fine).

At first, I wasn’t sure why the chapter title irritated me so much, but I realized what it was when I compared it to a similar thing in my own writing. Those of you that have been following the crossover fic are already aware that a character of mine named Celestine is kidnapped and sold into slavery during the course of the story. During this period of captivity, I have a chapter entitled “The Great Escape,” in which Celestine attempts an escape… and fails. The title of the chapter is in reference to a group of other characters from the main group that realize they’ve been taken captive by another lord and manage to escape him. Thus, there is the subversion of expectation. Celestine is captive; we expect the escape to be hers. We didn’t realize the others were captive and thus had no reason to expect that they needed to escape. Surprise!

So, what’s the difference between that and Inheritance? It’s not a subversion based on hidden information; it’s based on a different way of understanding the word “Hammerfall.” It’s a pun. That’s in addition to the annoyance that Eragon or any of the elves with him could’ve saved all of the soldiers (including Roran), so there’s no reason for it to unfold this way. And furthermore, I didn’t expect Roran to die anyway. It’s hard to subvert an expectation that no one holds.

Stay tuned for more.

Comment [8]

Chapter 3: Shadows on the Horizon

Nothing particularly interesting happens in this chapter (prepare yourself to hear that more often).

This chapter starts off poorly even from the first two lines:

In order to catch Roran before he struck the floor, Eragon had to drop Brisingr, which he was reluctant to do. Nevertheless, he opened his hand, and the sword clattered against the stones even as Roran’s weight settled into his arms.

Here’s the good general rule of writing that Paolini just broke: It shouldn’t take much longer to read an action than it takes for it to occur. How long does it take for a person to collapse in a heap? Now, how long does it take to slog through those two beasts of sentences?

Also, think of what’s implied in these lines. Eragon’s cousin-who’s-like-a-brother (or cwlab from now on) is collapsing. As he starts to fall, Eragon first thinks, “I’m going to have to drop my sword to catch him.” He THEN thinks, “Gosh, I really don’t want to drop my sword.” He THEN thinks, “Well, I guess I have to.” And all of this is before Roran hits the ground. Amazing.

By the way, the compassionate Eragon went the entire last chapter without even giving a thought to the other soldiers who were with Roran. Want to guess how many other things he says before even wondering about someone that isn’t directly related to him? Four. It kind of makes it ring hollow when he finally does ask if anyone else is ok.

The rest of the chapter is Eragon, Roran, Arya, and furry Elf finding Lord Bradburn to force his surrender. When they finally catch up to him, we’re treated to this unintentionally condemnatory line:

As they and Roran entered the chambers, the high-ranking retainers and castle guards who had gathered in front of Lord Bradburn blanched, and many began to shake. To Eragon’s relief, he only had to kill three of the guards before the rest of the group placed their weapons and shields on the floor in surrender.

Please, Eragon, don’t even pretend. They were quaking in their boots at your sheer awesomeness. You didn’t need to kill anybody. Smack them around a little bit. Hew a few swords in half. Cleave a few shields in twain. Make your sword catch fire. A nice show of force would’ve garnered the same surrender with no body count. The fact is, you wanted to kill them. You were disappointed when they surrendered because you couldn’t kill more without giving yourself away.

At any rate, they subdue Lord Bradburn and then werecats show up.

Chapter 4: King Cat

In this chapter, the Varden seek an alliance with the werecats. Frankly, the political maneuvering is baffling. Not because it’s intricate, no. It’s because it’s stupid. There’s some concern that they may not be able to afford an alliance if the werecats desire too much compensation, and Nasuada says this:

“Perhaps they wish nothing more of us than a chance to strike back at Galbatorix.” She paused. “But if not, we shall have to find means other than gold to persuade them to join our ranks.”

Keep that in mind.

Anyway, King Grimrr Halfpaw of the werecats is shown into the throne room. Previously, the only people we knew were present were Nasuada (leader of the Varden), Jormundur (her senior commander), and Eragon (the person the world revolves around). Now, these selections to receive a royal delegation make sense. However, as Grimrr walks down the aisle, we discover that also present are Angela and Roran. An herbalist and a random captain. Ok, ok, the captain is also the cwlab of the man whom the world revolves around and nepotism is clearly rampant in this world, so I can forgive even that. But Angela? Really? And—even better—she says something odd and intentionally inflammatory to the visiting royal that they hope to forge an alliance with. Who invited her? Baffling political maneuver #1.

So, Nasuada and Grimrr exchange pleasantries, and Nasuada gets around to asking why werecats have been so secretive up until about now. Grimrr points to Eragon and says it’s because he is Galbatorix’s weakness and concludes saying:

“Time has come, human, for every race, even werecats, to stand together and prove to Galbatorix that he has not broken our will to fight. We would join your army, Lady Nasuada, as free allies, and help you achieve this.”

For some reason, I read all of his lines in the book with the voice of Antonio Banderas. I can’t help it. And now you can’t either. Enjoy.

Anyway, are you ready for baffling political maneuver #2? You bet you are. So, after this person you’re courting as an ally has just made this bold pronouncement, what would your response be? Actually, you know what would be better? Try to imagine the absolute last thing you would say (short of actually rejecting the offer, of course). You probably still won’t guess it. Nasuada asks how much they want for compensation and hints that they wouldn’t be able to pay much. The guy just announced that they want to get Galbatorix and they want to join your army as FREE allies, and she asks how much they want in return.

How can she be so stupid? She even speculated/hoped before that they may want nothing more than the chance to strike at Galbatorix, and now she asks what else they may want in return? Grimrr shows more restraint than I would by not starting his next sentence with, “Well, since you’re offering…” How could she not see that merely asking what they want in return would lead to them asking for something in return? Why not let them broach the subject of potential compensation if they so choose? After this demonstrated level of intelligence, I’m amazed she doesn’t have an adviser to remind her to breathe periodically.

At any rate, an affordable accord is reached, and the werecats join. And there was much rejoicing. Yay.

Also, remember when I said that I would point out flaws as well as things done right, but I haven’t pointed out anything done right yet? I haven’t forgotten. I’ll still point out things done right when the time comes. It’s just going to be a while, but you probably should’ve figured that already.

Comment [8]

Sorry for the delay all. I’ve been busy with various projects, but I’m returning now to give you much ado about nothing. I mean that from the bottom of my heart. The next two chapters of Inheritance are so many pages of nothing.

Chapter 5: Aftermath

Nothing of any importance happens in this chapter (I hope you weren’t holding your breath from the last time I said that). All that goes on is other people that we aren’t going to follow plan on securing the captured city. Eragon asks about Angela’s intentionally inflammatory comment to the visiting dignitary only to be told it’s a story for a later chapter. In fact, the only thing even worth commenting on in the chapter is when Eragon visits Katrina to tell her Roran’s ok.

“There’s no real news other than that. Roran’s fine; he said to give you his love.”

Her expression softened, but her worry did not entirely disappear. “He’s all right, then?” She motioned toward the ring she wore on the third finger of her left hand, one of the two rings Eragon had enchanted for her and Roran so they might know if one or the other was in danger. “I thought I felt something, about an hour ago, and I was afraid that…”

Eragon shook his head. “Roran can tell you about it. He got a few nicks and bruises, but other than that, he’s fine. Scared me half to death, though.”

Yeah, remember that ring from the previous book? The ring that many noted would be rather torturous as you could feel that your loved one was in danger but there was nothing you could do about it? Yes, that’s apparently working as intended.

Also, I noted Eragon conveniently left out the part where he totally could’ve kept Roran out of danger entirely if it weren’t for the fact that Paolini wanted to try to fool us into thinking Roran was going to die.

Eragon then goes to eat and the chapter ends. Yep. That’s the whole chapter.

Chapter 6: Memories of the Dead

Nothing also happens in this chapter (if you were holding breath, are you a vampire?). At least the chapter begins with an amusing observation:

“Galbatorix is mad and therefore unpredictable, but he also has gaps in his reasoning that an ordinary person would not. If you can find those, Eragon, then perhaps you and Saphira can defeat him.”

Ok, future me just came back from Galbatorix’s defeat (surprise!) and this doesn’t apply at all. Eragon finds no gaps in his reasoning that lead to his defeat. What does happen? Well, you’ll just have to wait patiently for me to get there. Future me is a notorious jerk that doesn’t reveal very much at one time.

So anyway, Eragon is reliving memories of Brom (who is dead, thus the chapter title). By the way, do you want to know how much nothing is in this chapter? Here’s an excerpt to gnaw on:

Eragon stared down his chest at his thumbs. He placed them side by side, to better compare them. His left thumb had more wrinkles on its second joint than did his right, while his right had a small, ragged scar that he could not remember getting, although it must have happened since the Agaeti Blodhren, the Blood-oath Celebration.

You’ve heard of navel gazing? Well, prepare yourself for thumb comparing! Thrill as he discovers that one thumb is more wrinkled! Gasp as he finds a scar he didn’t know he had on the other! Seriously, that’s so much nothing that it’s threatening to suck in and consume the entirety of Alagaesia, and not even Bastian could save them.

You know, I don’t mind when authors put in extraneous details that have no direct impact on the plot, but they need to be either world-building or character-building. This is neither unless being an easily bored idiot is supposed to be part of Eragon’s character.

Anyway, Eragon tries to contact Glaedr, who’s become withdrawn after losing his life partner. Arya shows up. She also tries and fails. The chapter finally has mercy on us when Albriech shows up to tell Eragon that his mother (Albriech’s mother, that is; not Eragon’s) is going into labor.

Comment [6]

Chapter 6: What is a Man?

A miserable little pile of secrets? Ha, no, but wouldn’t that be fun?

Anyway, give yourself a very big pat on the back if you figured this question doesn’t get answered in the chapter. Then again, perhaps the implied answer for this chapter’s question is supposed to be “Roran,” at which point I guess I’ll just shrug and say, “Meh. Close enough then.”

I won’t complain too much, though, since this chapter isn’t useless filler like the last dozen or so (you can stop holding your breath now). It doesn’t advance the plot, but at least it does have some good character building for Roran (so, perhaps half a breath?).

In this chapter, Roran is heading home after some trials and travails involved in securing the city. As it turns out, people don’t like it when you invade their homes and will continue to fight back against you. Shocking, I know, but true. We’re treated to this quote:

Roran could sympathize with the people who felt they had to defend their families, but at the same time, he cursed them for being so thick-skulled that they could not recognize the Varden were trying to help them, not hurt them.

Help them, eh? By doing what?

build barricades in the street, search houses for soldiers, and confiscate weapons.

Ah, yes, so helpful. And who knows what else the Varden might be doing? Do you think I’m being ungracious? If so, hold that thought for just a moment.

Roran gets back to Katrina, and they share a good moment as she tends to him. Roran reflects on his concern that if Katrina gives birth before the war is over, she intends to leave for Surda since it’s a safer place to raise a child than a roving war band. This is a good moment because it builds some tension, placing a ticking clock on the war that hasn’t really been existent until now. Unfortunately, this ticking clock is only for Roran—a secondary character—and a later attempt to provide a more general ticking clock will fail miserably (but we’ll get to that when the time comes).

There is something rather unfortunate during the chapter, however. At one point, Katrina compliments Roran for acquitting himself bravely. Roran replies:

Ha! And do you know why that is. I’ll tell you. Not one man in ten is actually willing to attack the enemy. Eragon doesn’t see it; he’s always at the forefront of the battle, driving the soldiers before him, but I see it. Most of the men hang back and don’t fight unless they are cornered. Or they wave their arms about and make a lot of noise but don’t actually do anything.

So, the Varden are cowards. It makes you wonder how they managed before Eragon joined if not even 10% of them were willing to fight during a battle. But at least it can’t get any worse than that, right? Right? I mean, how could it possibly—

I think that, perhaps, they just can’t bring themselves to look a man in the face and kill him, although it seems easy enough for them to cut down soldiers whose backs are turned.

Forgive me, I try not to use emoticons, but this… This is… o.O Yeah, that’s about right. Ok, so the good guys are cowards that will eagerly kill you when you’re defenseless. There are no words. Paolini, did you read this section? Did you at all consider how this made the “good” army look? So, remember back just a bit ago when I was wondering what else the Varden were doing while “securing” the city? Seems a lot more plausible that the Belatonians (Belatonese? Belatonish?) really do need to defend themselves against these heartless, ruthless marauders, doesn’t it?

Oh, and dear, sweet Katrina doesn’t point this out. She just wonders if Galbatorix’s soldiers are as reluctant to kill as the Varden. In the space of a heartbeat, she’s already forgotten that the Varden are only reluctant to kill you when you’re looking at them, like the Boos from a Mario game. That’s probably how long it took for Paolini to forget that he just flat out stated his selected good guys are literally backstabbing murderers.

Well, after that travesty, there’s another good character moment when Roran confides in Katrina that he gave up after his death seemed inevitable. Me? I would’ve confided in my wife that I think my cousin secretly wants me to die since he didn’t magically protect me from the collapsing wall even though he easily could have.

The chapter ends when Roran and Katrina get news of the same imminent birth that closed out Eragon’s chapter previously. We get an amusing thought from Roran who is concerned that the birth may not go well because of the “overlong pregnancy.” I suppose this is Paolini’s attempt to lampshade the rather quick travel the whole village of Carvahall managed to make to the Burning Plains, but I’m not fooled. I did some research on pregnancy (yes, research is one of those things writers do) and discovered that normal term is 38-42 weeks. Modern pregnancies in the United States don’t typically go past 40 weeks because doctors will induce labor if it doesn’t naturally occur by then. After 43 weeks, chance of live birth is greatly diminished. So, a pregnancy that’s 1 month overlong is pushing it. Past that, well, you’d better be giving birth in a Paolini story because that’s your best chance.

Speaking of, let’s see how that goes…

Chapter 7 — The Price of Power

But not yet.

One of my friends pointed out to me that an inordinate number of chapters in Eragon end with someone going unconscious (i.e. knocked out, fainting, sleeping, etc.). Well, in Inheritance he’s got a taste for the cliffhanger ending. He sometimes even nests cliffhangers within cliffhangers like those Russian dolls. Even this time, he’s given us the same cliffhanger for two different chapters and then put a chapter in between the resolution.

Don’t get me wrong. Cliffhangers can be very good. It builds tension. We are presented with a dramatic event that we want to know the resolution to, but we have to wait to discover the resolution, so we wonder how things will turn out as we wait. So, is anybody super worried about how the birth will go? Anyone? Anyone? Bueller? And not only is that supposed to be the cliffhanger for one chapter, but two!

Ok, so if this chapter is not about the resolution of the cliffhanger (the birth), then what is it? Filler again. It has next to no important plot information. I’d be tempted to call it character development for Orrin, but I refuse to call character destruction “development.” Oh yes, this is one of Paolini’s most baffling decisions (and that says a lot). Does everyone remember Orrin from the previous books? Let me sum up: He basically comes off as something of a philosopher king. He’s mainly interested in his experiments into the properties of natural law and has gone to great length to ensure that he can take his experiments with him during the war. He even seems uninterested in executing the war as compared to his science hobby. Now, I wouldn’t necessarily have wanted him to be my king if I were a Surden in the war, but at least he was something of a character.

In this chapter (the first chapter that we’ve seen him since the third book!), he has now completely changed character. Please excuse me while I sigh for a moment.

Sigh.

Ok, I’m ready. He’s no longer charming in his awkward way; he’s now a rude jerk. He’s no longer interested in his experiments; he’s now dark and brooding. He’s no longer a philosopher king; he’s now a pompous, self-important aristocrat. And this is all in basically the flip of a switch! The last time we saw him, he was one thing; the next time we see him, he’s this other thing altogether!

And what caused this change? Ugh, it gets even worse! He lost a childhood friend during the battle because of a Belatonican (Belatench? Belatonasian?) man upset regarding the fact that the Varden have a pact with the Urgals. Oh, and why should the local populace be concerned about the roving band of people dedicated to destroying the Empire that have teamed up with the war-hungry monsters that mount babies on pikes? But let’s ignore that—let’s go back to this moment that has changed Orrin’s character. IT IS TOLD TO US! We are not shown this moment. We don’t see how he reacts. We don’t hear what he says as it happens. And why would this change him right away? Why can’t we watch as Orrin returns to his tent that night, starts to fiddle with a flask of something, and then puts it away as he prefers to brood on his friend’s death and this misbegotten pact with monsters?

And there’s another big problem with Inheritance which begins to come to light in this chapter. I’m going to go into much more depth on this later, but let me plant the seed. I call this problem “The Inexorable March to Victory.” You’ll see what I mean.

One other big problem in this chapter is Paolini’s lack of strategic wisdom. The big problem that the Varden face is the occupation of all these cities on the way to the capital. Each one they capture necessitates the loss of troops not just to death but also to garrison duties, which makes the next seige even more difficult. In the end, it will leave them the fewest amount of troops possible with which to besiege the main goal. So, what’s the solution? Is it to bypass the cities and head directly to the capital? No, of course not! If they did that, the armies from the cities they bypassed would just attack them in the open, combining with the forces from the capital coming in the other direction and forcing them to fight a losing battle on two fronts. By the way, this is a point that was already brought up in the third book, so I guess Paolini just wanted to hammer it into our heads that that’s a bad idea.

So, what’s the solution? It’s to keep doing what they’re doing and hope it works! Pardon me for a moment; it’s hard to type with my palm against my forehead.

Ok, I’m better.

Now, I have a question (and the numbers are not mentioned, so I’m just going to make some up). Which is more dangerous: ten thousand armed men behind fortified walls or ten thousand armed men in an open field? Or how about ten thousand armed men marching through a valley unaware that they’re walking through a trap set by the enemy they believe they’re pursuing?

Why does Paolini believe the only two outcomes are “besiege every city along the way” or “fight multiple armies on multiple fronts at once?” I mean, how are the armies at Dras-Leona supposed to know the Varden have bypassed them anyway? Do they know when the Varden are supposed to get there? Will they pour out immediately if they’re a day late? A week? If the Varden start a bypass maneuver, will the capital empty out right away to complete the flanking? If so, how will they know that the Varden are heading straight for the capital or trying to lure both armies into a trap or even trying to outmaneuver them both and occupy the capital before either army knows what happened?

It’s like Paolini believes his good guys have the best possible strategy and he wants to make sure the readers know that, too. Even if they did have the best possible strategy (which they don’t), that’s still terrible writing. If we already know they have the best possible strategy, there’s no tension that they might lose. Are you beginning to see what I mean by The Inexorable March to Victory? Trust me, it gets much worse as the book goes on. But that’s a review for another time.

Comment [5]

Chapter 8: Rudely into the Light…

We’ve returned to filler chapters, but at least the cliffhanger is resolved (sort of). I guess that means it’s back to not holding your breath while waiting for something to happen. At any rate, there are a couple of problems in this chapter besides the fact that it’s filler and accomplishes nothing.

Ok, so the baby’s being born. Also, it’s a difficult birth and people are concerned that Elain might die in the childbirth. Arya is assisting with the birth, which leads to some anti-Elf racism. Let’s hear it for our heroes! Racists that like to attack people when their backs are turned!

Anyway, there’s some activity and eventually Arya comes storming out to talk to one of the other Elves named Invidia. Personally, she’s one of my favorite characters. Mainly because of her graphics cards.

Eragon catches up to Arya and asks her how it’s going. She says it’s not going well, and Eragon asks why it’s taking so long and if there’s some way that Arya could speed it up. Arya says that she could’ve gotten that puppy out within half an hour but Gertrude and the other women will only let her use the simplest of spells because they’re afraid of magic and Elves. Frankly I don’t see how they’d be able to stop her, but she seems as if she’s just being diplomatic about things.

The whole process drags on and on (and on) until finally the child is born, but tragedy strikes. Although the child is healthy, she has a cat lip (which based on the description, I’m pretty sure is a cleft palate). Arya goes to get Eragon to heal her, and he asks why she can’t heal her. Here’s the explanation:

“If I rework the child’s appearance, people will say I have stolen her and replaced her with a changeling. Well I know the stories your kind tells about my race, Eragon—too well. I will do it if I must, but the child will suffer for it ever after. You are the only one who can save her from such a fate.”

This is what we call mixing mythologies. For those of you who are only familiar with Tolkien’s Elves and all the carbon copies out there (including Paolini’s), it may come as a surprise to you that there is a whole different set of Elf folklore out there. In pre-Tolkien folklore, Elves were more like malevolent fairies, and changelings were sometimes swapped for human children for a variety of reasons. They may take the human child to be a servant, because they love human children, or even just out of pure malice. The changeling left in the child’s place could be an enchanted piece of wood that would soon appear to grow sick and die; it could be an old Elf that wants to be coddled by humans.

Now, notice how none of that makes any sense when talking about Elves of the Tolkienian variety. The changeling couldn’t be an old Elf, because the size difference would make that infeasible. If the child grew up happy and healthy, it couldn’t be enchanted wood. Also, the target is all wrong. Elves were supposed to take beautiful, healthy children and leave the parents with something they wouldn’t want. This is the opposite case where it’s implied that Arya would be accused of taking a defective child and replacing it with a healthy one. Even the pre-Tolkien Elves wouldn’t have gained from such a trade, so how does it make sense for Elves in this story?

Ok, so the lesson is: if you’re going to draw from multiple mythologies, make sure that everything you borrow makes sense!

Eragon is nervous about healing this child. Now why might he be nervous when he’s healed so many people before? Well, it’s because healing a baby kind of reminds him of what he did to Elva. But he’s resolved to heal her, so he takes her to his tent. Oh, did you think the cliffhanger was actually going to be resolved in one chapter? No, no! With a cliffhanger as tense as childbirth, you need to resolve that over two chapters!

Chapter 9: A Cradle Song

He heals her, and he uses a song to do it. That’s really all that happens, but don’t worry, there are still some problems in the execution worth looking at.

The first is that he spends about half an hour (and several pages) on just the prep work. He needs to think of the right words, formulate the spell, go over the words to make sure he has the correct pronunciation, etc. Does anybody else remember when Eragon was walking around healing people and cured someone’s cancer? I don’t recall him spending a half hour trying to remember the Elvish word for cancer or tumor or whatever, or agonizing over the correct pronunciation for shrink. So remember everyone: cancer is easy to cure, but cleft palates are hard.

Also, there are these two excerpts:

Gently, ever so gently, he transferred the newborn from his arms onto the blankets, as carefully as if she were made of glass.

and

Slowly, ever so slowly, the fissure in the girl’s gums and palate fused into a seamless whole, the two sides of her cat lip pulled together—her skin flowing like liquid—and her upper lip gradually formed a pink bow free of flaws.

I honestly started giggling when I read the first one. Or perhaps I should say that happily, ever so happily, I giggled in mirth at the strange repetitious repetition.

This next one, however… Well, here’s the main excerpt:

He and Saphira tried to avoid touching her mind with theirs—not knowing how the contact might affect her immature consciousness—but they still brushed against it occasionally; her mind felt vague and indistinct to Eragon, a thrashing sea of unmoderated emotions that reduced everything else in the world to insignificance.

Does anybody else remember when Eragon touches the minds of animals and gets a sense of their little animal thoughts? Well, apparantly, animals in Eragon’s world have thoughts, but not baby humans; their minds are vague and indistinct with nothing but unmoderated emotions. As the father of a baby human and having once been a baby human myself, I’m actually offended by the implications of this.

Anyway, after the process, Eragon gets the urge to bless the girl. You think he would’ve learned after Elva, but, no. So, does everyone remember how he blessed Elva to “be shielded from pain” but accidentally got the grammar wrong and instead said “be a shield from pain,” which cursed her to feel others’ pain and drove her to prevent that pain in order to prevent her own? Here’s the blessing he decides to give the newborn: “May you be happy.” I’m sure that’ll work out fine. I mean, there’s certainly no chance that that could possibly make it so that she only feels the emotion of happiness, leading to situations where she’s happy when you’re supposed to be sad (like funerals, injuries, etc.) further leading to her being ostracized because it’s unnatural to be happy all the time like that, but, hey, at least she’ll be happy about being driven away from human society. Yeah, that blessing can’t go wrong when spoken in the original language just like a spell.

The chapter closes out with everyone oooing and ahhhing over Eragon’s work. All right, the father who’s daughter has just been healed, I can see that, definitely. The entire village? Ok, they’re a close knit group, so maybe… But all the Elves? Actually, it’s even worse than that. Arya even tells Eragon, “Not even our most skilled enchanters could improve on your gramarye.”

Oh yeah, the first time he’s ever cast a spell like that, and the first time he’s ever done it in song, and he does it so well that not even the most skilled of the Elves could’ve done it better. That’s our Gary Stu. He’s the best and everyone has to let us know that.

Personally, I would’ve thought it would’ve been a lot better if one of the Elves had come up to Eragon and said, “Your work on the child was quite good! Well, for a human, of course. You did much better than any other human could have.” But we can’t give our hero backhanded compliments like that, can we? Otherwise, how will we know that he’s the best?

Comment [9]

Chapter 10: No Rest for the Weary

Althought the chapter is named for the popular misquotation of Scripture, I think it would’ve been just as apt to use the proper quote, “No rest for the wicked.”

We open the chapter with Roran and six of Nasuada’s Nighthawks thinking about how they might kill each other. Oh, but it’s just a game they play! Ha ha! Do I have to go into much detail about how wrong this is? Well, let me present a few thoughts anyway.

Where did Paolini get this? Since I’m not a mindreader, I don’t know for sure, but I’d be willing to bet he got it from either a martial arts movie (like Hero) or Robert Downey Jr.‘s Sherlock Holmes movies (because he figures exactly how he’s going to defeat someone before he does it). Here’s the thing, though: I don’t think I’ve ever seen that used by good guys against other good guys. Here’s another thing: Roran would be outnumbered 6 to 1 by presumably the best of the best (after all, they’re tasked with guarding the leader of the entire Varden), two of which are much-stronger-than-human Urgals. Then again this is the guy who killed almost 200 men in one sitting, so moving on…

Anyway, Nasuada calls Roran in to give him a mission. The resistance at Aroughs has been stiffer than expected (must have taken city Viagra), and they need the men back right away, so she’s sending Roran to replace Brigman, the captain currently in charge of the siege. He has a week to accomplish his mission before Nasuada will have to send Eragon there, and it’s going to take four days of travel, so he basically has three days to end a siege that’s already gone on too long.

I found this quote of Nasuada’s quite amusing, though:

If you can’t, then I’ll have no choice but to send Eragon and Saphira to Aroughs, which will leave us barely able to defend ourselves should Murtagh or Galbatorix attack.

First of all, they’ve always said before that if Galbatorix were to ever attack them directly, they’d stand no chance, but now she’s saying that even without Eragon, they’d barely be able to defend themselves against him? Second of all, Murtagh? Well, spoiler alert, but you’ll see later how well they’re able to defend themselves against Murtagh even with Eragon and Saphira present.

Roran avers that he doesn’t have experience with sieges and maybe someone better qualified would be in order. However, Nasuada knows that there’s no city that could withstand the cousin of Stu, so off he’ll go.

Then, we get the most mystifying argument in favor of literacy that I’ve ever read. Paraphrasing it wouldn’t do it justice, so here’s what Nasuada tells Roran about being able to read:

“For all you know, one of those might be a writ ordering your execution. You are of limited use to me like this, Stronghammer. I cannot send you messages without others having to read them to you, and if you need to report to me, you will have no choice but to trust one of your underlings to record your words accurately. It makes you easy to manipulate. It makes you untrustworthy. If you hope to advance any further in the Varden, I suggest you find someone to teach you. Now begone; there are other matters that demand my attention.”

Let’s start with the first one. Let’s just say, for sake of argument, that one of the letters she gave him really was a writ of execution and that Roran actually does know how to read. She could just seal the letter, say, “This is for Brigman’s eyes only,” and, as long as Roran isn’t suspicious about it, being able to read makes no difference AT ALL. (By the way, this makes the second time in one chapter where one of the good guys has thought about killing one of the other good guys… Just throwing that out there; make of it what you will.) As for the other argument, yes, it would be something of a hassle communicating with him, but I don’t think it makes him much more susceptible to manipulation than a literate person. Let’s suppose for a moment that an unscrupulous underling wants to give Roran the wrong orders. If he knows that Roran is illiterate, sure he could try to say whatever, but he runs the risk that someone else may notice that what he’s saying doesn’t match what’s written and calling it to Roran’s attention. And although that particular type of manipulation wouldn’t work on a literate Roran, that doesn’t mean he’s immune. Someone could forge orders and swap them out so that Roran reads the wrong one. And it’s the same for him communicating back to his commanders. He could either dictate to someone he really trusts, or if no one that he really trusts is available, he could get a few other people to read it back to him to verify its contents. But even if he’s literate, he still has to rely on the delivery person to deliver the message he actually wrote, and not swap it out for a bogus report.

Oh, and you know all this hoopla over Roran needing to learn to read, and he won’t advance if he doesn’t learn how to read? Do you think he learns how to read? No. He doesn’t even get someone to start teaching him. That entire bit was superfluous.

But at least the plot moved forward a bit.

Chapter 11: Dancing with Swords

Unlike this chapter. All that happens in this chapter is that Eragon spars with an elf named Wyrden. Eragon wins at first, but Wyrden adapts and starts beating him, making Eragon have an internal hissy fit. Eragon then spars with Arya, and she beats him, too.

Glaedr does say one line before going silent again. I guess that counts for something.

Comment [4]

Chapter 12 – No Honor, No Glory, Only Blisters in Unfortunate Places

This chapter opens with Roran and his men stealing horses from a nearby manor house in order to get to Aroughs. I understand that it’s sometimes necessary to appropriate the enemy’s materiel during a war, but wait a tick… Let’s rewind a couple chapters to when Nasuada was sending him on the mission.

“She [Nasuada] pursed her lips, considering. ‘Very well, take whomever you want, just so long as you leave within the hour. Let me know how many are going with you, and I’ll see to it that the appropriate number of horses are waiting along the way.’”

So, am I to assume that Nasuada didn’t in fact provide the appropriate number of horses, or that Roran and his band are stealing horses just for kicks? No honor, no glory, no kidding.

Well, no honor, no glory, no worries, because they’ve got that spellcaster Carn with them. I’m sure he can paralyze their pursuers or put them to sleep or…

“As he drew level with Carn, Roran shouted, ‘Can’t you hide our trail with a spell?’

‘Don’t know how!’ Carn replied, barely audible over the rush of wind and the sound of the galloping horses. ‘It’s too complicated!’”

Or not even think about it after bringing up one thing that he can’t do. Great. Oh, but it gets better. After several pages of chase scene, they decide that they can’t escape; they have to fight. Well, with a spellcaster on their side, but not on the other side, this should be a simple fight. I mean, he could paralyze their attackers or put them to sleep or… cast a spell to hide their trail from the dogs. No, I’m serious. Even Roran calls him out on it, and Carn replies:

“Because I hadn’t thought of it yet, that’s why.”

Ho ho! That wacky Carn! Well, anyway, the Chase Scene that Never Should Have Been ends, and with it, the chapter. Well, that chapter was useful. Will the next chapter prove equally useful? Probably.

Chapter 13 – Mooneater

This year… for the fourth of July… Eragon… will Eat the Moon! Nah, I’m just kidding.

Eragon begins this chapter trying to understand what Glaedr told him earlier: You must learn … to see what you are looking at.

I wouldn’t waste too much thought on that, Eragon. It’s an Ice Cream Koan .

At any rate, as he ruminates, he eventually comes across Angela telling a story to a bunch of Urgals and werecats. She’s just getting to the part in the story about a killer rabbit:

“—but he was too slow, and the raging, red-eyed rabbit ripped out Hord’s throat, killing him instantly. Then the hare fled into the forest, and out of recorded history.”

That’s no ordinary rabbit! That’s the most foul, cruel, and bad-tempered rodent you ever set eyes on! That rabbit’s got a vicious streak a mile wide! It’s a killer!

Ok, but on a more serious note, I’m citing Paolini for thesaurus abuse here. Why? I don’t care what your thesaurus may say, Mr. Paolini, a rabbit is not a hare. Rabbits live underground in burrows (the only exception being cottontail rabbits) while hares live above ground. Rabbits are born blind and hairless while hares have fur and are able to see from birth. I also hear that rabbits taste a lot better.

Anyway, the thing with the strange rabbit/hare hybrid is just an aside. The rest of the story is about a person named Terrin getting help from a dragon named Mimring to save a besieged Dwarf city. Paolini even works in a “and there was much rejoicing” reference, just so you know the Monty Python reference was intentional. Of course, I’d expect Angela to know about Monty Python. She’s clearly from our world, not theirs.

Anyway, the story ends and Garzhvog alludes to some of the stories they tell, mentioning a victory at a place called Stavarosk, which Eragon says he’s never heard of before. Garzhvog not only takes this as an insult, but even suspects Eragon may be trying to pick a fight with him. Eragon insists he really hasn’t heard of it. The Urgals are surprised, thinking that all humans should know of Stavarosk, or at the very least it should be well known among the Varden. Eragon says that no one has mentioned to him, but maybe they haven’t gotten around it to it yet because he hasn’t been among the Varden long. Anyway, long story short, Stavarosk is where Galbatorix got his butt handed to him when he tried to exterminate the Urgals. Obviously, tale of this defeat is not widespread because Galbatorix is a liar and a coward.

There are a few things wrong with this.

First, the whole Garzhvog taking Eragon’s ignorance as an insult is odd. I get that they have a different culture wherein there’s the possibility of unintentional insult. I don’t have a problem with that. What I have a problem with is this particular situation being an insult in any culture. Say a French person hears an American mention Washington crossing the Delaware and asks where the Delaware is because he/she has never heard of it. Hard to see how the American would take offense. Try it with any culture, though. An American hears an Ethiopian mention the victory at the Battle of Adwa, and the American asks about it. A Brazilian hears a Russian mention the victory at Maloyaroslavets and… you get the idea.

Second, so Galbatorix tries to keep word of this spectacular defeat quiet. He also apparently succeeds to a limited extent because Eragon has only heard that he lost a bunch of people in the Spine, but never heard what exactly had happened. That’s kind of odd since he lost them in the Spine, which is where the Urgals live, but no one seems to put two and two together. It’s further odd because well, “Remember the Alamo!” or how about Pearl Harbor and the date that will live in infamy? Defeats—especially spectacular defeats—are often turned around into something of a moral victory as in “Remember those who fought against impossible odds right until the bitter end.” It seems to me that Galbatorix would want to turn this defeat into umbrage against the monstrous Urgals.

Third, this just really solidifies my suspicion that Galbatorix had nothing to do with the Urgals under Durza’s command. His first dragon was killed by Urgals, then he tries to wipe them out and loses more than half his army in the Spine. That makes sense and fits with his character. He then recruits Urgals into his army… That never made sense, and knowing now that he tried to exterminate them all makes it all the less likely.

Fourth, the menace of Galbatorix and the Empire just got taken down a peg here. Remember how we’re constantly told how powerful Galbatorix is, and if he just shows up, they’ll all be toast? Well, here’s something Nasuada says in an earlier chapter when Orrin wants her to break her pact with the Urgals:

“If, in their wisdom, the elves, the dragons, and the Riders all decided to tolerate the existence of Urgals—even though they could have destroyed them easily enough—then we ought to follow their example.”

Ok, so you get that? The elves, the dragons, the Riders could all have exterminated Urgals easily, but they fought off Galbatorix. And now, an army of elves and Urgals is marching against Galbatorix along with humans, dwarves, and a dragon and Rider to boot. Does anyone think Galbatorix stands a chance especially since the Empire hasn’t won a single battle since the books began? Yeah, me either.

The chapter wraps up with Eragon asking Angela some questions. We find out that the Angela’s Urgal name means Mooneater, which she earned by eating the moon. Now, if someone had told you that an entire race of people call her Mooneater because she ate the moon, what would your next question be?

“Why did Garzhvog give you that stone?”

Was that your question, too? No? It wasn’t mine, either. Eragon is extraordinarily bad at asking follow-up questions. At any rate, we also find the story behind the “Cheep cheep” comment earlier. She had come across Grimrr toying with a bird he’d caught, and she punished him by casting a spell that caused him to chirp whenever he opened his mouth for the next week. Aren’t you glad you finally know the answer to that mystery? I think this kind of anticlimactic reveal is supposed to foreshadow the fight with Galbatorix, but I’m getting ahead of myself.

Chapter 14 – Rumors and Writing

The reason I’m doing more than two chapters is because I need to increase the pace of this, or I’ll be doing it forever.

This is a short, unimportant chapter anyway, which makes a nice contrast to all of the long, unimportant chapters. Eragon listens in on some Varden complaining about elves. I’d say this is supposed to show racism on their part, but the complaints seem legitimate. One complains that they look down their noses at the humans and half the time won’t talk to you when you ask a friendly question. So, instead of showing the human’s anti-elf sentiment, this really seems to be showing the elves’ anti-human sentiment. Furthermore, when one complains that the elf women are beautiful but uninviting, one of his friends suggests that’s because he’s ugly. Now, if we were just trying to show anti-elf sentiment, his friends should all agree that elf women are just frigid. As is, the humans seem reasonable.

The conversation continues with a speculative discussion of “What if the elves turn on us after this is over?” Basically, they feel at the mercy of the elves, at the mercy everyone that can use magic. Someone even stupidly says they need the Riders back only for one of his friends to point out the obvious: you’d still be relying on someone else to defend you.

The men then tell rumors about a general named Barst that works for Galbatorix. Eragon then closes out the chapter by doing some writing. Oh, and Eragon is still hallucinating:

“Then Eragon set aside the book, extinguished the candle, and lay down on the cot to rest. He wandered through the fantastic visions of his waking dreams for only a short while; once the first hint of light appeared in the east, he rolled upright to begin the whole cycle anew.”

Poor boy didn’t get any sleep at all, he was awake dreaming all night.

Chapter 15 – Aroughs

In this chapter, Roran arrives at Aroughs, takes command, surveys the city’s defenses which are hopelessly impenetrable to their small force, and then comes up with a plan to breach the city (we’re not yet told what the plan is).

I wish I could say I’ve left out something important, but I haven’t. Instead, I’m going to use this space to expound on what I alluded to earlier. One of the big problems with this book is what I called the Inexorable March to Victory. Try to name a war in which one side never lost a single battle—not even one. I doubt there are very many, but statistically speaking, I’m sure it must’ve happened sometime, so let’s add the follow-up question: Was the side that never lost a single battle in the war ever expected to lose the war? And yet, that’s the situation we’ve come across with the Varden. In order for there to be dramatic tension, we have to believe they could lose, but they win every single battle (and always against dire odds we’re told!). Does anyone doubt that Roran’s plan will work?

Forget real life for a moment; have you ever seen this in fiction before? Let’s take a look at Eragon’s main source material, Star Wars. When The Empire Strikes Back opens, where are the Rebels? Hoth. Why are they on Hoth instead of Yavin IV? Because even though the Rebels scored a strong victory by blowing up the first Death Star, the Empire has been kicking their butts in retaliation all across the galaxy, starting by crushing the base on Yavin IV. And the movie even opens with the Empire crushing the base on Hoth. You want to show everyone a hopeless fight against a superior foe, Star Wars does it.

Now, I may rag on Paolini a bit for ripping off Star Wars in broad strokes, but one of the things he doesn’t copy is showing the Empire being victorious by virtue of its tremendous military advantage. The Varden never lose a large open engagement, and they never fail to take a city that they besiege. Why would I think they’d lose just when they get to Galbatorix?

Let me show another example of doing this well. The following is something of a spoiler for The High King, the last book of the Prydain chronicles, so I’ll put it in the spoiler box just to be safe. However, I feel this kind of spoiler actually makes one more eager to read the story.

The High King centers around the final conflict between the Sons of Don and Arawn Death-Lord (I shouldn’t have to mention who’s the bad guy in this conflict). The Sons of Don are mustering all the lords at their capital of Caer Dathyl. However, when King Pryderi arrives—the king they were counting on the most because he had the largest army—he announces that he’s sick of the cantrev lords constantly fighting amongst themselves and only uniting because they’re afraid of Arawn. He declares that he will join Arawn to bring order to the realm and demands their surrender. Shortly thereafter, Caer Dathyl is in flames, High King Math has been slain, and much of the army perished defending the city. You want a hopeless situation that it doesn’t look like the good guys can win? This is it in spades.

So, how could Paolini have managed something like this in Inheritance? Here’s a few off the top of my head:

1. When Nasuada and Orrin argue over breaking the pact with the Urgals, what if Orrin gave her an ultimatum: You can have either the support of the Urgals or the support of Surda, not both. Furthermore, if you choose them, understand that Surda will do everything in its power to exterminate the Urgals even if they have to fight the Varden to do it. That’s a real lose/lose since we already know the Urgals won’t react well to having the pact broken, so it will mean either fighting against them or fighting against Surda, which is precisely the worst thing to be happening when you’re trying to carry on a military campaign against a larger foe.

2. We’re told that if Galbatorix ever shows up, they’re toast. So, how about Galbatorix shows up at one of the cities under siege and kills everyone that doesn’t manage to escape? That’d look pretty hopeless.

3. We’re told that if Roran can’t prevail in the siege against Aroughs, Nasuada will have to send Eragon, which will leave them vulnerable. What if Roran didn’t prevail, Eragon went to break the siege, and the Varden were attacked and defeated while he was away?

It’s not that hard. In fact, sometimes it’s fun to play a game of “Make it as hard on the protagonists as possible.” I may write an article just on that some time.

Comment [11]

As a preface for an article I’m about to write, I need to write out this point first: the character of Eragon in Paolini’s Inheritance cycle. By the way, spoiler alert. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.

I would like to firmly establish 3 main points: First, Eragon is not (or at least not supposed to be) a sociopath. Second, the story could be improved if he were. Third, Paolini probably won’t do that.

What do I mean Eragon is not/not supposed to be a sociopath? For one thing, Eragon’s characterization is handled poorly, but as far as I can tell, he’s supposed to be a traditional hero. So, when he goes on these bouts of sociopathy (and there are myriad examples here, ranging from his spurning of Murtagh when his kin probably needed his empathy the most, his treatment of Sloan, and the terrible behavior towards the unarmed, fleeing soldier that I’ve already mentioned in a previous article), I take this as poor characterization. The reason why I don’t say Eragon is a sociopath despite the examples in the text that would seem to indicate it is because, to my mind, that would mean that Paolini is intentionally forging him into a sociopath. Which leads right into the next point.

I think Paolini should make Eragon a sociopath. Frankly, I see that as about the only way of salvaging the story. The story is impossible to finish with Eragon cast as the hero because, even if the 4th book were good and corrected every previous mistake, it would still be dragged to the bottom of the lake by the firm anchors of the first three. However, the 4th story could actually work as a deconstruction of the traditional fantasy hero if we learned by the end of it that 1) Eragon really is a sociopath and 2) the story has been written by an unreliable narrator who’s been trying to tell the story of Eragon in as positive a light as possible (because he’s afraid of the über-strong sociopath with a dragon) while still sticking to the basic facts. But what about the first books?

Well, there are already plenty of examples of Eragon’s sociopathy. If we learned that the good/heroic parts were exaggerated by a scared scribe, they would suddenly make sense. Plus, there are other small clues. Eragon is from Carvahall, and the text tells us that all the people of Carvahall are descended from mad royalty. Perhaps Eragon inherited a touch of madness? Eragon’s mother allied herself with the evil usurpers (or if we go so far as to also recast the bad guys, she later fell for the evil rebel, Brom). How about the vicious double standard between dragons and Ra’zac? They’re both predators that have been known to consume humans, but dragons are noble and can be reasoned with while the Ra’zac are OMG evil! Could this be a writer wary of upsetting the sociopath’s dragon? Notice the amount of pandering that Nasuada does to Eragon and his family. Is she concerned about what might happen to her if he’s not kept happy? Also, look at the relationship between Arya and Eragon. Is she slowly warming up to him, or, as he grows more and more powerful, is she becoming resigned to the fact that he’ll eventually do whatever he wants and there’s little she can say or do to change that?

Granted, this doesn’t fix all the story’s problems (why is Galbatorix content to sit in his throne room letting an opposing Rider run rampant even though he’s supposed to be the most powerful thing in the world and could’ve stomped his enemy flat basically any time he wanted?), but it would be a much more interesting turn of events than anything we’ve seen thus far in the story. It is probably the only way to make the 4th book of any real interest at all.

But it won’t happen.

There are many reasons for this. First, even if he did (or at least read this article), I don’t think it’s the story he wants to tell. He wants to tell a story of a good hero vs. an evil villain—not a sociopath on the good guy’s side vs. an evil villain (or, even darker, a rebel sociopath vs. a benevolent dictator as seen through the history written by the winners). Second, he has no real reason to do this. He’s going to make plenty of money off the 4th book, and, the irony is, if he pulled this kind of last book change on everyone, it would be a better story, but it would also alienate his fanbase and net him less money. In this case, writing the better story would be the less desirable option (at least monetarily).

Comment [34]

I’m adrift in the void. I look around at the gleaming pinpricks of light out there as I’ve done so many times before. It’s strange. I remember there used to be more of them. A lot more. Hundreds of stars have died since I’ve been watching them out here.

It is peaceful, at least. I’ve never run into anything. One part of me always imagined that I’d eventually run into a comet, an asteroid, a planet. Even a star or a black hole would’ve been nice. But another part of me knows that space is vast and mostly empty. So empty that the chance of encountering anything is so low as to be impossible. The odds must be even lower now than before, what with everything else succumbing to entropy.

Yes, I figure the scientists that predicted an entropic death for the universe were correct. The ones that predicted a big crunch followed by another big bang followed by another universe… Well, I wish they’d been right. Restarting the universe might even be enough to kill me and I’ve long since lost any trepidation about what waits beyond life—be it annihilation, paradise. Even hell would be nice for a change of pace.

I’m adrift with only my memories. That and two lockets: a gold one for my lover and silver for my dear child. I want to cry, but my body ran out of water long ago and I have none to drink. Water, water, nowhere, and all my tears do shrink. Water, water, nowhere. Who could give me drink?

I have a mouth, but I still can’t scream. No air, you see. I open my mouth and yearn to pour my agony out into the void, but the void will not receive it.

I laugh inside myself (no air). When you’re a teenager, what do you think about living forever? You may think about how many nations you’ll outlast—I did—but you simply can’t wrap your mind around outlasting the planet beneath your toes.

I look at the golden locket—the one with my love. Yes, I still love him. It’s been so long that I can hardly remember his face. Oh, but once a long time ago I saw a whole cluster of stars supernova seemingly at once. I know they didn’t, but the light from the glorious explosions reached my desperate eyes almost simultaneously. As I watched the sparkling diamonds glitter all at once then wink out, I remembered his face so suddenly that I wanted to cry that I had ever forgotten. And then scream because I couldn’t cry. It’s always in that order.

I look at the silver locket—the one with my child. But no, I don’t want to think about that right now. No.

So I look again at the golden locket. How could you do it to me? I was mortal. I would have lived a life of perhaps 80, 90 years? That’s about how long humans lived back then, I think. I know I begged you. I know I pushed you. But you knew! You were already immortal, had already lived more than a century by the time you’d met me, and with even that small fraction of the infinite, you had to know how the story of immortality inevitably ends (or—well—doesn’t). When a child begs you for the poisoned apple, you don’t give it to her! Let her cry! Let her scream! You even let her hate you if she must, but for the love of God, don’t give it to her!

My God, my God, why have you forsaken me? Oh, but if he’s out there, he didn’t do the forsaking. Father into your hands I commit my spirit. But that’s not true, either. I committed my immortal soul into the hands of my lover, and he bound it to this body forever because I wanted him to.

I can’t blame him. Certainly not more than I blame myself anyway. For all of our love, I couldn’t be happy with just one lifetime with him. I had to have a hundred lifetimes, a thousand lifetimes, a million lifetimes. And I did. And I was happy. But after a billion lifetimes, I learned a hard lesson about fallibility. He was always so perfect, but in the end, even he couldn’t protect us both from the accident, so he chose to protect me. So, I kept as many of his ashes as I could in the golden locket.

As for the ashes in the silver locket, well, I never was as perfect as my lover. No, please, no. Not that again. I was thinking about my lover and how he sacrificed his body for mine.

Honestly, I don’t think it mattered. The thing about immortality? You don’t die. I remember one of the tales of Hercules went like this: Once Hercules got roaring drunk (so many of his tales begin that way) and accidentally gave his teacher Chiron a mortal wound. However, Chiron, being immortal, could not die from the wound. By the cruelty of immortality he was forced to endure what could not be endured until Zeus granted him mercy and took away his immortality, allowing him the sweet relief of death.

They are ash, but are they dead? I suspect they are trapped in their own senseless voids much like me. Had he chosen to save himself instead of me… our ultimate fates are different from each other only in the minor details. I could cry for them. No, I can’t. Makes me want to scream.

Merciful Zeus! Hear my prayer! Let your lightning rays smite from record my youthful days, surround my immortality in their glow and bring me down to death below; Zeus is my prayer.

No answer. Curse you, merciful Zeus.

Cornelius Gallus said that worse than any wound is the wish to die and yet not be able to do so. I don’t know if anyone disagreed with him, but I couldn’t believe how right he was.

Where, O Death is thy victory? Where, O Death is thy sting? Come and sting my heart; take your victory. Here I am, O Death! Fight me! I’ll let you win! I forfeit.

So many ages ago, my father told me something about the value of learning to love what was good for me. I’m sorry I didn’t listen. Please, you have no idea how sorry I am. I know now that this wasn’t good for me. I figured that out at least a thousand years ago. (Impossible to keep track of how long it really was. A million years? Five years? I just know it feels like about a thousand.) I wish I could take it back, but the desire to be immortal when I was young and in love with him was too much. Even if I had it to do over again, I know the choice I would make.

Then I think for the hundred thousandth time, as I invariably do when I start thinking of all this, I should have chosen Jacob.

Comment [27]

An Unexpected Arrival

“Is she still unconscious?” Murtagh asked.

“Yes. You have an hour before Thorn is ready for your next mission. Why not check in on her?” Galbatorix suggested.

Murtagh nodded and entered the room. The young soldier guarding her stood with a salute.

Murtagh asked, “How is she?”

“She’s stirred a little. Nothing more.”

“I see. Wait outside.”

As the lad left the room, Murtagh walked to the bed. He’d only heard the story circulating among the castle guard of her sudden appearance—and immediate collapse—in the throne room yesterday. They said that, although Galbatorix was taking precautions against potential harm, he was somewhat convinced the young lady—despite her unorthodox arrival—was innocuous.

Murtagh studied her. Her blonde hair clung to her sweat dampened forehead. He pulled back the top blanket, figuring it may ease her discomfort. She’d been sweating a lot, however, and her white robe stuck close to her skin, causing Murtagh’s ears to burn red. She was obviously on the cusp of womanhood, needing scarcely four more seasons to blossom. Trying not to think about it, he walked over to a nearby table where lay a cloth and a metal basin with cool water. He dipped the cloth in the water and wrung it out, using it to gently wash her face. He hoped it would bring her back to the waking world, but his hopes were dashed as her stirrings proved fleeting.

Far too soon, he had to leave on Galbatorix’s new mission—dealing with a small cadre of elves trying to scout Yazuac for weaknesses. He resolved to waste no time dealing with them.

* * *

Celestine awoke, her senses blurred. She looked around as her vision stopped swimming, but couldn’t tell where she was. She was lying in a bed in a room with walls, ceiling and floor all of rough-dressed black stone. There was a wooden table and chair against the wall across from her. There was a metal pitcher and goblet on it. There was also a small wooden stand next to the bed with an oil-burning lamp on it. Normals hadn’t used such low technology for centuries. Her vision wasn’t completely clear yet, and she closed her eyes, groaning as a wave of nausea swept over her.

She caught some motion out of the corner of her eye. Someone left the room quickly, reacting to her noise. Celestine called after the person, but he—possibly she—didn’t return.

She sat up in the bed, swaying a little. She was cold, but sweating. Sweating in heat made her uncomfortable, but cold sweats were even worse. She looked again at the pitcher on the table. Her mouth was dry in contrast to her body; however, she didn’t think her quivering legs would cooperate with her. Where was she? How had she gotten here? Where were her friends? Where had she been before losing consciousness?

She tried focusing on the last thing she clearly remembered. They had been traveling to Ellette’s glade, hadn’t they? She was distracted by the sound of voices outside the doorway. People were talking, but she couldn’t hear them clearly.

* * *

Galbatorix approached the lithe red-haired man who was sending the guard away.

“Report.”

“According to the guard, she awoke shortly after I inspected her mind. In fact, I had just stepped out of the room.”

“Did you discover anything of importance?”

“She’s confused and doesn’t remember the past few days. She’s a foreigner. Given the preponderance of spells in her thoughts, I believe she’s a magician, but her thoughts regarding magic are… strange. I don’t know how to describe it…”

“Try,” the king said with a stern frown.

His red eyes stared at the doorway for several moments. “Her mind connects spell words with shapes—many of them of great complexity. I’m not familiar with anything like it.”

“Do you believe she’s a danger, Dorias?”

“I detected no malice in her. She intends us no harm. She’s definitely not an assassin.”

Galbatorix nodded. “Still, a confused magician with a lapse in her memory could be dangerous. Very well. I’ll handle things from here. I need you to head the army at Belatona.”

“Before I go, did you glean anything of interest from her possessions?”

Galbatorix shrugged. “The sword is combat-worthy, but the armor has so little coverage, I think it’s ornamental. And this thing,” he said, holding up Celestine’s magic gun, “I can’t make heads or tails of.”

“I understand. I’ll serve you well at Belatona, my liege.”

* * *

Celestine stared at the doorway. The voices stopped and a tall, bald man clad in black armor stepped inside the room. He studied her for a few moments and then spoke with careful enunciation.

“I’m sorry,” Celestine said. “I can’t understand you.”

He said another string of foreign words and then grinned slightly. “We can understand each other’s language now.”

“Oh, you speak Syllian?”

“Syllian? Never heard of it,” he said. “No, young lady, that was magic. You are familiar with magic, I understand?”

It certainly wasn’t any spell that Celestine was familiar with. Many wizards did a lot of research into language translation spells, but as far as she knew, they’d concluded it was a theoretical impossibility. If he had discovered such a spell, he must be a brilliant Mage.

It gave her pause. Most Mages these days had little love for her, but if he intended her harm, surely he would’ve done something while she was unconscious. Looking at the pitcher, she decided that she needed water to continue conversing. She took control of a few magical lines to wrap around the metal pitcher and goblet and bring them to her. She poured herself some water and slaked her thirst. When she looked back up at the man, she paused with the cup still at her lips. He seemed very surprised at her. What had surprised him? He said he knew she was familiar with magic. She was wearing traditional Mage’s robes. There was no way her spell could’ve surprised him; it had been so basic.

“You shouldn’t be silent casting in your condition,” he said quietly.

“I’m sorry… I should’ve said something,” Celestine said, thinking she must have offended him by not announcing her intention to use magic.

“Yes,” he agreed, “well, no harm done. However, you did cause quite the commotion in the throne room yesterday.”

“What did I do?”

“Appeared from nowhere. Then collapsed.”

She poured another cup of water and drank. “I don’t remember that.”

“Let’s start with names. Do you remember yours?”

“Celestine Faber.”

“Celestine. My name is Galbatorix. King Galbatorix, actually.”

Celestine bowed her head. “Your majesty.”

“It must be an honor to be in the presence of the king.”

Celestine nodded. “Yes, sir, I don’t know many kings. The only ones I’m aware of are just figureheads with little real authority. Oh, but I don’t mean you don’t have real authority! There are many little nations I don’t know much about. Not that I mean your nation is little! I just… should probably stop talking.”

He laughed at her unintentional gaffes.

It struck her as strange that he was acting as though she should know who he was. But then, hadn’t he said he’d never heard of Syllians? Who in the world didn’t know about one of the largest and most powerful nations on the face of the planet? Especially another nation’s king! “Where am I, sir?”

“Urû’baen, the capital of the Empire.”

“Which empire?”

“What do you mean? There’s only one,” he said.

Only one? Celestine knew of many empires throughout history and several contemporary empires—the Asyuran Empire, the Gavarian People’s Empire, the Makotan Empire just to name a few. She felt a terrible feeling in the pit of her stomach. She didn’t realize she’d started crying until a tear dripped off her nose into her half-empty goblet. “I’m starting to feel that I’m much further from home than I thought,” she said.

“I’m beginning to reach the same conclusion,” Galbatorix said. After a moment, he walked to the bed and sat beside her. “Don’t be sad, Celestine,” he said, putting an arm around her shoulders. “We’ll figure out a solution to your problem. And who knows? Fate may have sent you here to help me with my problem.”

She looked up at him and dried her tears. “What do you mean?”

“Currently, the Empire is beset by enemies on every side. The times are dark, and the fate of the Empire—of my people—will be decided in the near future. You could play a part in that decision.”

“I suppose it’s possible.”

“I have something of yours here. Can you tell me what this is?” he asked, holding up her magic device.

“Oh! That’s my gun!”

Galbatorix chuckled and scratched behind his ear. “There seems to be something wrong with my spell. That last word wasn’t translated.”

“It’s a magical projectile weapon.”

“This is a weapon?” he asked, incredulous. “How powerful is it?”

“At its most powerful, it could knock down a small building.”

“How does it work?”

“You’ll notice in the firing chamber, the crystals contain an array of dodecahedrons. Casting tetrahedrons into the array, it will rapidly form 18th and 19th level shapes. You can then use as many of those as you can handle to form a spell of pure force.”

Galbatorix nodded his head, but his eyes looked puzzled, giving Celestine the impression he hadn’t understood her and was only pretending that he had. Of course, that didn’t make sense. He was a Mage and it was a fairly simple spell. Perhaps something had gone wrong in translation.

She asked, “I apologize for being such a bother, but if I may ask, did you find any other people besides me? I was travelling with many friends.”

“No,” he replied. “As you can imagine, we searched the entire capital for a similar breach. You were the only one.”

“Please, sir, where I come from, the situation is also dire—that’s why I need to arm myself. I need to find my way home. Where exactly is Urû’baen?” Celestine asked.

“Urû’baen is south and east of the Ramr River,” he answered. When met by her blank look, he added, “Which flows out of Isenstar Lake past Bullridge.” When her look grew even more befuddled, Galbatorix stood and said, “Let us consult a map.”

Celestine draped the blanket over her robes as she stood. She followed him through the hallways—all with much the same décor as her room. While they walked, Celestine asked, “Why is everything so dreary?”

“Ah, that,” Galbatorix said. “My life has been an unhappy one. There’s no need for you to worry about that, though.”

They eventually reached his library—a grand place filled with large windows that let in plenty of sunlight—and he directed her attention to the large map hanging on the east wall. As Celestine examined it he pointed to the capital and said, “This is the map of Alagaësia. Here is Urû’baen.”

“I don’t recognize any of these names…” Celestine said. “Except maybe Gil’ead… that sounds kind of familiar. I think it was a place famous for healing balm.”

“Balm? In Gil’ead?” Galbatorix asked. “Must be a different place.”

“Probably. It was an old city—older even than the Empire… Than the Mage Empire, that is. I also don’t think they spelled it with an unnecessary apostrophe,” she said. “What’s north of this forest?”

“Uncharted territory.”

“And south of these mountains?”

“Uncharted.”

“East of the Edda River? Let me guess. Uncharted.”

Galbatorix nodded.

“All right, maybe this is part of some island I don’t know about. But with this many cities, it has to be somewhat sizable. I would’ve thought I’d heard of it.” Celestine glanced at the four corners of the map, then asked, “Where’s the scale?”

“There’s not a scale on the map.”

“Who in the world makes a map and then doesn’t put a scale on it? Honestly! Well, can you tell me how large this area is?”

“From Kuasta,” he said pointing to the town on the west coast, “to Hedarth ,” he said pointing to the town near the Edda River, “is about 220 leagues.”

“A league is almost 5 kilometers, so… That’s a bit less than 1100 kilometers. And if that distance is 1100-ish, then… the distance from north to south would be about… 650.” She grew quiet. “This area is a little larger than Illyica. And who knows how much further it extends in the other three directions?”

“What do you think?”

“Where I come from, the world is well charted. The ocean is large, and there are a lot of little islands that I don’t know the names of, but this…” She felt tears forming in her eyes again and took time to swallow and regain her composure. “I don’t know where in the world this place is!”

“What if… What if this isn’t your world?”

“Impossible! The farthest the technologists have managed is to put robots on the moon. How could I have gotten to another planet?”

“Hrmm, that translation spell is… What are technologists? And robots?” asked Galbatorix.

“Robots are those mechanical creatures which move about on their own power, and technologists are the people that make them.”

“Truly you come from a world of marvels. I should think I’d like to visit sometime.”

“Let’s assume for a moment that I am in a different world. We don’t know where our worlds are in relation to each other, how I got here, or how to return.”

“Fret not, young lady,” Galbatorix said, walking to a nearby bookcase. “I hereby vow to do everything I can within my vast power to see you returned safely home.”

“You would do that for me? How could I ever repay you?”

“That’s not necessary. However, it will take time to find a solution to your problem. I’m sure you will have some opportunities to be helpful in the meantime. Now, why don’t you get yourself cleaned up while I do some research? You can take your what did you call it? Gun? And I’ll have a guard leave your armor and sword for you.”

Comment [17]

Murtagh Returns

Murtagh and Thorn neared the tallest tower of the citadel. The mission had been an unequivocal success, and Murtagh looked forward to seeing the new arrival again.

You were thinking about her a lot during the mission, too, Thorn said.

Of course I was. How often do people literally appear out of nowhere? It’s unusual, Murtagh replied.

You’re sure it’s not more than that?

You say that a lot.

Thorn landed on the flat platform, and Murtagh dismounted. One of the dragon keepers approached and said, “There’re five cattle in the courtyard if he’s hungry.”

“He is. Where’s the king?”

“Library, sir,” he said. “Word is he’s researching a spell for our newest guest.”

“She’s awake?”

“Yes, sir. She woke not too long ago.”

Bidding Thorn and the keeper farewell, Murtagh headed straight for Galbatorix.

“Word’s been going around the castle that our visitor has revived.”

“Yes,” Galbatorix said, looking up from a large leather-bound codex, “how did your mission go?”

“The spies are dead. None managed to report back to their allies.”

“I’m not used to you attending to your duties so efficiently,” Galbatorix observed. “Perhaps I ought to keep nubile blondes in the castle more often?”

“I only want to figure out how she got past your defenses—same as you.”

“Oh, I seriously doubt you feel the same as me,” Galbatorix said. “At any rate, I need to talk with her further. Would you mind fetching her?”

“Of course not,” Murtagh said. “Where is she?”

“Bathing.”

His cheeks burned red again. “Right now?”

“You may want to wait until she’s finished.”

“Of course.”

Murtagh walked the halls, going over the exact wording of Galbatorix’s order. “Aha… I may want to wait until she’s finished,” he said to himself. “Then again, I may not.”

As he approached the room, he heard splashing water. He quietly stepped in the doorway. Her armor, sword and some mysterious device sat on the dais to the left. The right side of the room had three walled-off enclosures with bronze wash basins. The girl’s white robe hung from a metal hook outside the third stall—farthest from the doorway. He walked to the dais, pretending to be interested in the armor. He then peeked in the direction of the stalls, but he couldn’t see inside the occupied pen. Shifting a few feet to the left, he caught a glimpse.

She had her back to the dais as she used a stone jar to pour water atop her head. Her wet hair cascaded down her slender neck like a waterfall of sunshine. The dripping strands clung to her shoulders. The smooth, pink skin of her shoulders, however, was in direct contrast to a multitude of scars on her back. The scars made her back look like a field that a farmer had put to the plow and made the furrows long. His hand clenched into a fist as he wondered who would’ve done such a thing. Anyone that would mar such supple skin with ugly white scar tissue deserved at least a good beating in return. And what were those two protrusions, each a few inches long, between her shoulder blades? Could they be broken bones jutting from the skin? They moved up and down a little, much the way a bird works its wings. She didn’t appear to be in pain.

He leaned to the side a little more and thought he heard a whisper. Her eyes were a beautiful shade of blue that reminded him of the tempestuous sea. Wait a moment.

Before he realized what was happening, the world was tumbling around him.

* * *

The bath had been simply delightful. Although Celestine was unused to bathing rooms that lacked doors, it wasn’t a problem that a simple magical ward couldn’t fix. The scented oil she’d found smelled like pine needles—a tremendous improvement over the odor of dried sweat. As she relaxed, letting the warm bath soothe her aching body, she tried to remember. They’d been travelling to Ellette’s glade. They had reached it, she was sure. After that all she had were vague recollections of a trial and a pool of water, a sense of immersion, and then? Nothing until she woke up in that drab room. Suddenly, she heard a voice in her ear, “Intruder.” She turned her head.

There was a dark-haired young man looking at her. Gathering all of the magical lines around her, she flung them in a massive, disordered attack that sent him flying back against the wall. Not much impact—the wall was too close to the dais. One quick redirection and he was soaring into the middle stall. As he splashed about in the basin, Celestine leapt out of the bath, wrapped her robe around her, rushed to the dais and picked up her gun.

He clambered out of the bath, dripping from head to toe. Celestine yelled, “Insolent!” and pulled the trigger. It took a lot of control not to use lethal force.

The young man said something that didn’t translate, and her spell ricocheted off an invisible barrier, taking a small chunk out of the masonry. His eyes grew wide—whether due to confusion or fear she couldn’t tell. She kept her gun trained on him, but hesitated, trying to figure how he’d blocked it.

As her finger tightened on the trigger, he cried, “I’m sorry!”

“And well you should be! Who are you and why are you here?”

“Murtagh. I was sent to fetch you.”

“I thought Galbatorix’s soldiers were better behaved.”

“I didn’t see anything. Your modesty is intact.”

“How long were you watching?”

“I don’t know. A minute? Maybe less. Definitely less. Less than a minute.”

“You’re not like the other soldiers.”

“Of course I’m not!”

“I knew it! You’re an intruder trying to kidnap me!”

“You can’t be serious…”

Celestine shot twice more. The spell just abruptly changed direction when it got close to him for no apparent reason.

“I’m not an intruder! Are you trying to be difficult?”

“You don’t get to complain about my behavior; I’m not done complaining about yours yet!”

“Did that sentence actually make sense to you?”

She pulled the trigger again, to the same effect as before. “How exactly are you doing that?” she asked.

“I was going to ask you the same thing. Are you casting spells without speaking?”

“Yes. So?”

“So, don’t you think that’s just a bit dangerous?”

“Why would it be?”

“Why would it be?” he echoed. “You have to maintain precise concentration to cast a spell. If you don’t vocalize it, any stray thought that enters your head—a particular danger for you, I’d wager—could have disastrous consequences.”

“Magic is not that fragile. What I want to know is how you’re deflecting it without altering the magic lines.”

“Everything you just said is basically nonsense. Would you please just follow me to Galbatorix? I’m tired of trying to make sense of you.”

“I’m not going anywhere until I get a better apology.”

“Well pardon me, your highness. I was unaware we had visiting royalty. Shall I fetch madam’s towel?”

“Yes, and fetch one for yourself while you’re at it,” she said. “You smell like wet dog.”

“And you smell like an Elf.”

He grabbed two towels and threw one at her before leaving to wait in the hallway. She eventually exited the bath area dry and dressed with her armor over her robe. Murtagh’s clothes had left a puddle in the hall, but he’d dried off his hair. He’d removed his overshirt, and Celestine noticed that his wet undershirt bespoke a well-muscled chest.

As he escorted her, he commented, “You know, for a girl so concerned with how much others can see of her body, your armor doesn’t cover much of it.”

“Which is why I wear it over my robe,” she said in a curt tone, “or did you expect me to be able to even move in 35 kilograms of armor?”

“The shoulder armor and helmet remind me of eagles.”

“It seems you aren’t as dumb as you look. That’s what they’re patterned after.”

“Why eagles?”

“Iustinian considered the eagle the noblest of birds and the lion the noblest of animals, so when he commissioned the paladins to face the undead hordes of Sul Nef’Khern, the shoulders and helmets were made to resemble eagles and the lion’s head was emblazoned on the breastplate.”

“I wasn’t looking at the breastplate.”

“Right.”

“So… what do you mean by undead?”

“Bodies that have been reanimated by spells or curses. Don’t you have necromancers in your world?”

“What do you mean ‘your world?’”

“Nevermind.”

They continued in silence until Murtagh cleared his throat and spoke again. “So… how did you acquire those scars on your back?”

“None of your business!”

“I only ask because I have one of my own that winds its twisted way down from my right shoulder to my left hip,” he said.

She said nothing.

“I received mine from my father—or, more accurately, his sword—during one of his drunken rages. I was three at the time.”

Celestine replied softly, “I spent an unfortunate duration in the slave trade. I received my scars from the slaver reselling me. I suppose I must’ve annoyed him.”

Murtagh stopped in front of the library door. “Has anyone killed him yet?”

“No,” she said, grasping the door handle. As she pulled it open, she said, “I forgave him.”

“Forgave…?”

As they entered the library, Galbatorix said, “Ah, there you are! What happened to you, Murtagh? Did you decide to take a bath while you were there?”

“Oh, you know me,” Murtagh replied. “Just another bad decision in a long line of bad decisions.”

“Something I should know about, Celestine?” Galbatorix asked.

She shook her head. “Nothing I couldn’t handle.”

“Very well,” he said. “I called you here to inform you that my research is beginning to pay off. It still may take a while, but I’m confident I’m headed in the right direction. While you’re waiting, would you mind doing something to help me?”

“Thank you very much, your majesty. I’d be happy to assist you,” she said.

“It won’t be easy, but it’s within your capabilities, I’m sure. As I said before, you don’t need to repay me, so you don’t have to do this, but, so you may understand the context of my request, it’s time I told you my story.”

Comment [9]

The Tragical History of King Galbatorix

“Come, let us head to the dining hall as I speak,” King Galbatorix said, leading the way. “The first thing that you must know is that I belong to an ancient order of Dragon Riders.”

“Oh, we have dragons in our world, too,” Celestine asked. “Most people don’t try riding them, though.”

“Becoming a Rider was my dream come true. You see, there’s a special bond between dragon and Rider—dragons will only hatch for the one destined to be its Rider. I grew to become one of the most gifted Riders ever. Unfortunately, I was arrogant in my youth. I also had quite the taste for adventure in those days, and I convinced two of my friends to go exploring the Spine with me,” he said. “It was an unmitigated disaster. We were ambushed by Urgals.”

“Urgals?”

“Yes, beastly creatures similar in form to men, but with great ram-like horns upon their heads. My friends were killed. My dragon was killed,” he said, stopping in the hallway for a quiet moment. “I alone survived, but without my dragon, I didn’t want to live. I wandered those cursed, godsforsaken mountains, attacking anything that came across my path so great was my desire to find something that would kill me,” Galbatorix said, shaking his head. “And then I came to my senses. I realized that I would’ve died for Jarnunvösk—my dragon. Was I too much of a coward, then, to live for her? No, I would not dishonor her sacrifice, so I made my way back to the civilized world, finally ending up back with my purported compatriots. Having learned the most important of lessons from my first dragon, I petitioned that I be allowed to train another dragon. They denied me.”

“I don’t understand. You said dragons only hatch for the one destined to be its Rider. Why would they deny you? What if another dragon was meant for you? Wouldn’t that mean it would never hatch?” Celestine asked.

“Yes, why indeed?” Galbatorix echoed. “Needless to say, I was stunned for precisely the reason you mentioned. It was the moment I opened my eyes. For the entirety of my life to that point, I’d imagined the Riders were guardians of justice and truth in the realm, but that last dealing with them made me question that assumption. I decided to find the answer.”

He paused to open the tremendous oaken doors that led them into the dining hall. It was large and, though it was cut of the same sort of black stones Celestine saw everywhere else, at least it had rich red tapestries hanging on the walls and a decorative golden chandelier shedding firelight all around. Galbatorix motioned to the attendants, who seated them at the grand table—Galbatorix at the head, Murtagh on his right, and Celestine on his left.

“After months of observing, I realized the truth,” he continued. “They were not champions of virtue—some were noble in heart, yes, but most were concerned only with their own power and many were blind to the shortcomings of their fellows. You see, that was why I had been denied a second chance at a dragon—many of the powerful Riders were concerned that one actually would hatch for me. They had delighted in my fall and sought to prevent me from rising again.”

“What did you do?” Celestine asked.

“What could I do? Me? A dragonless Rider against the entire Council?” he said. “I still had some friends among the Riders and I approached them with my problem. Morzan—Murtagh’s father—was one of them.”

“Morzan?” Celestine asked, glancing at Murtagh who was still grimacing from mention of the name. “The man who attacked his own child?”

Galbatorix stiffened a bit. “I see you’ve been talking with Murtagh. No, Murtagh, he wasn’t the man you thought he was—the man you’ve told Celestine about. But I will get to that in time. Let me tell you what he did for me.”

Celestine looked at Murtagh again. He seemed surprised at what Galbatorix had just said and listened with interest to what the king said next. “Though the Council had forbidden it, Morzan and two other Riders helped me sneak into the rookery whenever new eggs were placed. My dragon, Shruikan, hatched for me.”

“It was meant to be.”

“Yes, but you can imagine how unhappy that would make the Council. I raised him in secret for as long as I could, but it wasn’t long before everyone found out. So I made my challenge: They had denied me a dragon, but it had hatched for me which—as you aptly pointed out—meant it was fate. The leader of the Riders, an elf by the name of Vrael, grew exceedingly wroth. He claimed that I had forced Shruikan to serve me by using powerful dark magic. He branded me a traitor and tried to kill me on the spot,” he said. “However, my friends were with me as well as many of the more noble Riders. We escaped, but Vrael declared us all traitors and swore to hunt us down and kill us. Since they were sworn against us, we figured we were sworn against them, so we took to calling ourselves the Forsworn.”

The servants arrived and placed their food on the table. Celestine thanked them and looked at the meal set before her. It looked quite good—potatoes, carrots, bread with butter, and a steak of some kind. She silently prayed thanksgiving for her food and began eating, using her best table manners. Murtagh picked at his food in a disinterested manner, probably eager to hear more about his father.

Galbatorix ignored his food as he continued, “It was war after that. Out of about a hundred Riders, do you know how many believed the truth and opposed Vrael’s lie? Thirteen, not counting me,” he said. “The war was terrible—I suppose all wars are. Due to being severely outnumbered, we had to harry our foes from secret, but whenever we attacked any Riders, I always told them what had happened and gave them the chance to join us. Vrael had already poisoned them against me, though.”

When Galbatorix paused to drink, Celestine said, “I assume you won the war?”

He shook his head. “No, young lady, I didn’t. As the tide swung against him, Vrael enlisted the help of the Empire, for he was good friends with King Angrenost.”

“I don’t understand. You’re the king now, right? You must have won.”

He shook his head. “You’re right. You don’t understand. Celestine, there are some wars that you don’t win even if you don’t lose. By the end of the war, all of my friends save Morzan were dead. The Riders were dead. The wild dragons left the continent in disgust, leading to the rumor that I’d killed all of them as well. And what did I gain? An Empire I’d never wanted to lead and the well deserved title of the man who’d brought about the Fall of the Riders,” he said. “And my friend, Morzan? He was never the same after the war. You wear the garb of a fighter, girl. Have you ever been in a battle?”

Celestine placed her hands in her lap and looked down at them. Her shoulders hunched slightly, and she drew in deep breaths.

“I see you have. Then you have some idea of what happened to my friend. Murtagh,” he said, turning to the young man, “your father’s rages were never caused by alcohol. He saw enemies everywhere even after they were all dead. He came to me the day after he threw his sword at you. He was weeping, telling me about how Vrael had been coming after you, how he was too far away to make it in time, how he’d thrown the sword in a desperate bid to save the son he loved—and, of course, how he’d been terribly wrong. He begged me that if I couldn’t find a cure for him by the next time he returned to the capital, then I had to kill him.”

“What did you say?” Murtagh asked.

“What could I say? I promised him a cure,” he replied. “It didn’t matter, though. Brom killed him before he returned.”

“Who’s Brom?” Celestine asked.

“Ah, yes, I’m sorry. I skipped ahead,” Galbatorix said. “Though so much had been lost in the war, I held on to one hope. I had three dragon’s eggs left. I resolved to rebuild the Riders only this time as the champions of right that they were supposed to be.”

“A noble goal.”

Galbatorix raised his glass towards her. “Thank you. May I yet see it fulfilled,” he said. “Unfortunately, the southern kingdom of Surda broke away from the Empire. I didn’t much care; after all, if they didn’t want to be a part of the Empire, why should I want them in it? It may have been a poor decision. They began funding dissidents throughout the Empire, which eventually led to a full rebellion movement, calling themselves the Varden. I managed to drive them out of the Empire, and they took refuge with the Dwarves.”

“Oh, you still have Dwarves in your world? Most of ours died out, though we recently discovered some still living in Boreara,” Celestine said.

“Yes, at any rate, during the war, Morzan tried to convince Brom to join us. They were friends and Morzan was sure Brom would listen to him, but he’d already accepted Vrael’s words. Brom felt betrayed by his friend and tried to kill him, but instead Brom’s dragon, Saphira, died in the fight. As you would expect Brom joined the Varden,” Galbatorix said, shaking his head. “Pity, too. He was one of the noblest Riders I’d ever had the pleasure to meet. Talented, also. He actually managed to steal one of my dragon eggs.”

“That sounds quite dangerous. Whatever became of it?” Celestine asked.

“The Varden tried for some time to get it to hatch. I found out much later that it hatched for a boy from Carvahall, named Eragon,” Galbatorix answered. “I’d sent out a Shade named Durza to recover the egg after Morzan’s death, but when he tracked down the couriers, one of them teleported it away to a random location before she could be stopped. By the time it resurfaced, it had hatched, and Durza put into motion his plan to betray me. I would’ve welcomed Eragon as a fellow Rider had I known. Durza sent his vile Ra’zac to take the youth by force. Eragon escaped them, but his uncle was killed in the process.”

“A moment, please. What are these Ra’zac? And what’s a Shade?”

“Ra’zac were very dangerous predators that preyed on humans. I thought they’d all been killed during the Ra’zac War, but Durza found some survivors and kept them from me. Shades are sorcerers that have enhanced their powers by becoming possessed by spirits,” Galbatorix said.

Celestine grew pale. “Where I come from, calling upon spirits is blasphemy.”

“Interesting. Why does your god disallow it?” he asked.

“Because spirits are capricious. They may give you power, but it will ultimately be at the cost of your soul,” she answered.

“I see that your god is wise,” Galbatorix said. “I’ve learned to keep people of that nature on a tight rein. I was too lenient with Durza, and look what happened there.”

“I thought Durza worked for you,” Murtagh said.

Galbatorix shook his head. “He did when I sent him to retrieve the egg. Everything he did after it hatched was his own design. The army of Urgals that he led… Do you honestly think I’d have anything to do with those brutish creatures that killed my first dear dragon? And now, like Vrael, he poisoned the Rider of the last female dragon against me,” he said. “I’m the villain in Eragon’s story, and there’s nothing I can say or do to convince him otherwise.”

“What about the other eggs?” Celestine asked. “How do you know Eragon has the last female dragon?”

“One of the eggs hatched for Murtagh. His dragon, Thorn, is a male. As for the third egg, it is yet unhatched, but I can read its thoughts. He’s male as well.”

“You need a neutral third party—a mediator,” Celestine said. “Someone Eragon might listen to, who can explain your side of things.”

“Exactly. A mediator…” Galbatorix said. “Celestine, would you be my mediator?”

Celestine choked on a bite of potato. “Me? Why would this Eragon fellow listen to me?”

“You’re not even from Alagaësia. You’re the ultimate in neutrality,” he replied.

Murtagh interrupted, “Where’s she from? Alalëa?”

“It’s more complicated than that, Murtagh,” Galbatorix said. “I’ll explain later. So, what do you say? My dream all these long years has been the rebirth of the Riders as the noble champions of justice they always should have been. You may be the only person in the Empire capable of bringing it about if you can just get Eragon to listen to me.”

Celestine stuck a piece of bread in her mouth and chewed slowly.

Galbatorix continued, “If you don’t, I’m certain the Riders will die out. Eragon has thrown his lot in with the Varden. A conflict between us is inevitable. Whichever of us survives is immaterial, if we are enemies, the Riders are doomed either way. You don’t need to answer immediately, but keep in mind there is a war going on. Surda and the Varden have already captured Feinster. They are headed for Belatona now, and if they capture that as well, there’s little to stop them on their way to Urû’baen.”

Comment [14]

Chapter 4

Meeting Dragons

“All right, then,” Celestine said, “I’ll do it. I’ll talk to Eragon—try to get him to see your side of it.”

“Wonderful, my dear, simply wonderful,” Galbatorix said. “However, I haven’t gotten this far by not considering worst case scenarios. The Varden may react to you with hostility. You need something… well, something more.”

“I assure you I can handle myself,” she said, sliding her dish aside.

“Eragon is more dangerous than you know,” Murtagh said. “A wise person wouldn’t turn away assistance.”

“I was simply expressing assurance that I’m up to the task,” she said. “Of course I’d be willing to accept help.”

Galbatorix said with a nod, “Very well, follow me.”

He led them through halls and down several flights of stairs. Eventually Murtagh asked, “You’re taking her to the rookery?”

Galbatorix nodded. “I want to see if the third egg will hatch for Celestine.”

Celestine stopped suddenly. “What? Why would it hatch for me? I’m not from your world.”

“You are here for a reason, Celestine,” Galbatorix said. “Fate brought you here; perhaps fate intends to grant you a dragon. There’s no harm in trying, after all.”

“No harm? What if it does hatch? I don’t want to be a Dragon Rider in this world. I’ve got my own world to get back to!”

“You said—”

“I know what I said!” she interrupted. Cutting off royalty was ill-advised, though, so she continued in a much softer tone, “I’m sorry, but I have tremendous responsibilities back home. I don’t think I should be taking on a responsibility like this here.”

“Consider the opportunity!” he said. “A dragon friend is no small gift. He can even make your magic more powerful.” Celestine stood still, so he continued, “Besides, this isn’t something that needs to bind your concerns to this world. Once I have Eragon and his female dragon on my side, you need not stay. You could return to your world with a powerful ally, which would make your responsibilities there a bit easier. What do you say?”

Celestine considered him. Kings rarely took no for an answer, and he seemed so… excited by the prospect. “No harm in trying, I suppose,” she said.

After reaching the bottom of the stairs and going down a long hallway, they stood before a nondescript door. “Here we are!” Galbatorix declared.

“I expected something a bit more… well, more,” Celestine said.

“Don’t be fooled by appearances,” Murtagh told her.

“Indeed,” Galbatorix said.

He removed a key ring from his pocket. Hanging from it were five keys of different metals—gold, silver, iron, and two bronze. He first inserted one of the bronze keys and twisted it in the lock. He followed it with the gold key, then the iron, then the silver, and finally the other bronze key. When he had used all the keys, the keyhole shimmered and disappeared. Behind it was a stone block with an octagonal indentation. Galbatorix pressed his ring into the notch. When he pulled his hand away, the octagon had changed into an eight-pointed star. The king took a star-shaped pendant from around his neck and placed it in the stone. Finally, he whispered, and the door opened.

There on a pedestal sat a green dragon egg. It looked like a smooth cut emerald, though it would be impossible to mistake for a natural gem.

“Go on,” Galbatorix prodded. “Pick it up.”

Celestine stepped lightly over to the pedestal and held the egg in her hands. After a moment, she asked, “Am I supposed to say anything?”

“There’s no ritual. Say whatever you want.”

“Oh,” she said, then looking at the egg added, “Hello. My name’s Celestine.” She looked back at the king. “How do I know if it’s working?”

She could tell as soon as she saw his downcast face what the answer would be.

“I can read its thoughts. He isn’t interested.”

Celestine gingerly set the egg back on the pedestal. “I’m sorry.”

Galbatorix just smiled and laughed. “Sorry about what?” he said. “If a dragon doesn’t want to hatch for you, there’s nothing you can do about it.”

“Still, you seemed so disappointed.”

Galbatorix chuckled. “Yes, I am, but I’m also concerned. This was intended to increase your power in case of hostilities.”

“With all due respect, more power is not always the answer. Clever application of power is much more important.”

“Very well,” Galbatorix said. “Murtagh, go to the courtyard. Once Shruikan and Thorn are done with their afternoon routine, prepare to take Celestine to Belatona.”

“Of course,” he said, leaving immediately.

As Galbatorix and Celestine left the room, the king asked, “You mentioned there are dragons in your world. What are they like?”

“They’re what we call cast creatures,” Celestine said, “because they were made by a very powerful wizardess a very long time ago. They resemble large, winged lizards, but the ones on the western continent—where they were first created—tend to be smaller than the ones in the east. Only the westerners ride dragons.”

“They were created by a magician? A human?”

“Yes. She was the ruler of the world’s first empire, which she carved out of the western kingdoms with the power of her own dragon riders,” she answered. “Unfortunately, it was so long ago that, after her defeat at the hands of a foreign dragon rider, her rise to power, her creation of the dragons, and the charm she cast to ensure her immortality changed from history to legend, from legend to myth, and then myth was forgotten.”

“How does one defeat someone who is immortal?”

“She bound her soul to a necklace and placed upon the necklace an irresistible compulsion charm. If no one was wearing the necklace, whoever saw it would need to wear it. When worn, however, she would possess your body,” Celestine said. “So, she had immortality of a sort. As long as someone was present whenever she died, her soul could take on another body. That one weakness was how she was defeated. The man that last killed her gave himself a mortal wound as she was dying. They died alone in a sealed room, undisturbed for thousands of years.”

Galbatorix said, “That implies a recent disturbance.”

“I don’t want to talk about her any more. She was a terrible woman that didn’t care who else suffered as long as she gained from it,” Celestine said. “Instead, I want to ask you about magic.”

“Very well.”

Celestine gave him a thankful smile. She looked around and said, “It’s just that the magic here is so odd.”

“Odd how?”

“It’s… primal. Yes, that’s it! It’s just like in Gabbrith’s Journey to the Distant Land. He wrote that on the farthest island in the sea—uninhabited—the magic was primal. No complex shapes in the magic field because no spells were ever cast there! That’s what magic is like here!” she said in a rush. “No one here casts spells the way I do. But, if that’s the case, what’s magic like for you?”

“In our world, everything has a true name. This name doesn’t just describe it—it defines it. Know the word and you can control the thing,” he replied.

“You have the power to alter reality at its most fundamental levels?” she asked, eyes wide.

“Yes, but there are limitations. Knowledge of the ancient language is the first limiter. If you cannot articulate your spell, it cannot be cast. Power is the second limiter,” he told her. “You must have enough power to accomplish the task in a mundane way in order to accomplish it in a magical way.”

“So… if you wanted to lift a heavy object using magic, it would require as much energy as lifting it normally? What happens if you cast a spell that requires more energy than you possess?”

“Then you die.”

“Oh my.”

“Yes, well there are also ways of borrowing energy from sources around you, so power isn’t much of an issue for a learned magician. What about for your people? What are the limitations of your power?”

“It takes great strength of mind to make magic respond to you. Our power is based on how much magic we can control and the complexity of forms we can weave them into,” she said.

“And how powerful are you?”

“I’m a sorceress,” she said. “That’s above a witch and below a wizardess—the highest category. I hope to become a wizardess before twenty.”

“Best of luck to you,” Galbatorix said with an encouraging smile.

“So, you said everything in your world has a true name?”

“Yes.”

“People, too?”

“Yes.”

“What happens if someone knows your true name?”

“Then you’d better hope that person doesn’t intend you ill,” he replied, stopping. “For example, I know Murtagh’s true name. I’m sure he’ll mention the oath to you.”

“What do you mean?”

“Murtagh’s had a hard time of life. As a result, he’s grown… bitter and exasperated. Once he ran away from the capital. When I found him again, he’d arrived at Farthen Dûr with Eragon. Fortunately, I had some agents there—twin magicians who had infiltrated the Varden for me—and they were able to bring him safely home after Durza and his army were defeated,” he said. He sighed and continued, “He actually wanted to join them and fight alongside Eragon against me! What could I do? Let the people that had killed his father corrupt his son? No. I failed Morzan in life; I swore I would not fail his son. I made Murtagh swear an oath of loyalty using his true name. He cannot break it.”

“You’re forcing him to serve you against his will?” she asked.

“Ah, but there is more to it than that. This spell is for his own good. Unlike fire, which cannot change its nature, people can change. I don’t want Murtagh to remain bitter and spiteful,” Galbatorix said, placing a hand on Celestine’s shoulder. “I want him to become the better man I know he can be. He is his father’s son! When he changes his nature, his true name will change, and then the oath will no longer apply,” he said with a confident smile. “And that, young lady, will be a good day indeed.”

“Why tell me?”

Galbatorix said, “I believe you can help him change.”

“I don’t know what power you believe I have, but there are no spells to increase a person’s virtue.”

“Oh, the virtue is already there, hidden beneath a troubled youth,” he said, “but I wasn’t referring to magic.”

Celestine wondered about that. Her greatest power had always been her magic. “I… can sing. Do you want me to sing to him?” Celestine asked, following Galbatorix as he climbed the stairs again.

The king smiled. “Don’t worry. I’m sure you’ll figure it out eventually.”

When they reached the castle courtyard, Galbatorix opened the door. Murtagh leaned against the wall to their left, looking towards a large open area where two dragons faced each other—one red like the setting sun, the other black as the blanket of night. The red one was the smaller of the two, but both were larger than western dragons. They looked at each other with such intensity that Celestine figured they must be communicating somehow. She’d never heard of dragons using telepathy, which was a rare feat in itself. Could it be?

Suddenly, a red claw swiped at the black wing. The black dragon tucked its wing and batted it away. The red dragon’s heavy tail swung round. When the black dragon reared up to avoid it, the red one lunged for its neck. The black dragon swatted his opponent’s head and snaked his own head underneath, latching powerful teeth against soft flesh.

Celestine gasped, but the black dragon released the red one and a strange scene unfolded before her eyes. The exact same attack sequence happened again, only this time slower and with the black dragon attacking first and the red defending. They did it twice more—faster each time—and when the red dragon let go of the black dragon’s neck the final time, the mentor nodded with a snort.

“Celestine, meet my dragon Shruikan,” Galbatorix said, face beaming with pride, “and Murtagh’s dragon Thorn.”

Though he hadn’t specified which was which, Celestine thought it obvious that the black dragon—the one doing the teaching—was Shruikan. “Goodness,” Celestine said, walking towards them. “Such fine examples of your species!”

Thorn looked from Celestine to Shruikan. When the older dragon nodded, Thorn also turned towards her and nodded. “You must be Shruikan,” Celestine said to the black dragon. “An outstanding teacher for this young one.” She then looked at Thorn and said, “Of course, it helps when you have such an excellent student in Thorn, yes?”

Shruikan nudged Thorn’s shoulder with his tail. The red dragon inclined his neck and wings in a way that resembled a bow. When Galbatorix approached, Celestine whispered, “Do dragons not speak in your world?”

“Telepathically,” he replied. “They speak verbally in yours?”

“Constantly. Some Mages say there’s nothing a dragon loves more than the sound of its own voice.”

“How intriguing.”

Murtagh approached and said, “Thorn will be ready to depart now that his exercises have concluded.”

“Before we go, I have a request, your majesty,” Celestine said. “I can’t broker peace on words alone. I need something I can offer them. What concessions am I authorized to make on your behalf?”

“Concessions? My dear, they invaded my territory unprovoked. I’m not willing to give up even an acre more of imperial soil,” Galbatorix said.

“It doesn’t have to be land,” Celestine said. “Your main goal is to show Eragon your sincerity in rebuilding the Riders. I need something that proves your sincerity.”

After some thought, Galbatorix said, “I can only think of one thing.”

“What is it?”

“The green egg,” he said. “It will show Eragon my sincerity, as you say, and if it hatches for one of them, I will have another Rider to join the ranks.”

“But, your majesty, is that not too valuable?” she asked.

“Indeed. The egg is like a child to me,” he said. “However, because it is valuable, Eragon will know my desire is true. You may offer it in exchange for peace, but if they refuse peace, the egg must return to me. I will not brook having yet another Rider standing against me. You may take it to Belatona,” he said before pointing directly at Murtagh and saying, “and you must keep it safe.”

Galbatorix looked at Shruikan, who then flew off. He said, “I’ll go to the rookery—yet again—and retrieve the egg. In the meantime, why not spar each other? You need to know what you’ll be up against if Eragon reacts to you with hostility.”

Comment [3]

A Well-Fought Match

The courtyard was a good location for a sparring match. It was open to the sun and air, and the large grassy lawn was soft. Hemming in the greenery were wide walkways with arched ceilings supported by smooth black stone columns. The only exits for the earthbound were two doors—one on the north side, one on the south—while the vast sky offered egress to flying creatures.

“Before we begin,” Celestine said, “let me ask you about Eragon.”

“You know, the way you pronounce Eragon’s name is a bit odd.”

“How do you mean?”

“Well, it sounds like you’re saying ‘arrogant’ but leaving off the ‘t.’”

“Oh. I’ll work on that, I suppose,” she said with a small blush.

“No, no,” Murtagh said. “I find it somewhat appropriate. But, you wanted to ask something?”

“Yes. You’ve fought against Eragon and the Varden, haven’t you?”

“Of course. I’ll be an invaluable resource for you,” he said.

“I’m sure you will, but I’d like to make the initial overture alone,” she said.

“That’s too dangerous. If Eragon attacks you and I’m not there to support…”

“If I bring along someone who’s already had hostilities with them, it just increases the likelihood of a fight. My best chance for peaceful resolution is to go alone.”

“But that is still too dangerous. If he were to attack—”

Celestine said, “I may be able to make Eragon’s dragon a non-issue in such a circumstance. Might I try something on Thorn to see if it works on dragons in this world?”

Murtagh said, “You won’t harm him?”

“Certainly not!” she answered. “That’s even assuming it works…”

Murtagh bowed and said, “Well, then, by all means.”

Thorn stared intently as Celestine directed her gaze at him. If the dragons here didn’t talk, she wasn’t even sure how it might work. “Thorn,” she said softly, “terak ba ji sol.”

Thorn said nothing, but in her mind she clearly heard a voice—deep and powerful as the voice of a dragon should be. It said, Valos.

She shook her head. That would take some getting used to. She cleared her throat and said, “Valos esetem!”

Thorn’s idly swinging tail suddenly froze in place. Murtagh’s reaction was almost immediate. He shouted, “What did you do to him? What did you do?”

“Calm down,” she said. “He’s just immobilized.”

“Let him go! You’re scaring him!” Murtagh yelled, his hand moving to the sword on his belt.

“Sorry,” Celestine called. “I’ll let him go. I didn’t mean to startle him so. Valos etuhet.”

Thorn snarled at her, but he did so while backing away. Murtagh looked at Thorn, concern furrowing his brows.

“Please tell him I really am very sorry,” she said. “I didn’t think it would scare him so much.”

“Didn’t think it would scare him to suddenly be unable to move a muscle? Frozen in place with no idea how it happened or when it would end?” Murtagh snapped.

“I… No, I didn’t take enough time to consider it from his perspective and I should have,” she said, her gaze dropping to the ground as she fidgeted with her hands. “I did say that I wouldn’t hurt him and I didn’t. I hope that counts for something,” she continued, adding, “Besides, at least we now know I can handle Eragon’s dragon.”

When she said that, Thorn roared. “He doesn’t want you to hurt Saphira,” Murtagh said.

She looked Thorn full in the eyes now and folded her arms across her chest. “Well then, it’s a good thing it didn’t hurt. Right?”

Thorn stared at her for several moments before snorting. Small plumes of flame swirled about his flared nostrils.

“Besides, if I keep her out of the fight,” Celestine continued softly, relaxing her defiant pose, “it will prevent her from getting hurt. I don’t want to hurt her any more than you do. Forgive me please?”

Thorn stepped closer to the young lady, the ground trembling with each stride. His head stooped low to ground level. He sniffed her, causing her white robe to flutter around her legs where it covered her armor. Finally, he nodded. “Thank you,” Celestine said. Then she kissed her first two fingers and pressed them to his nose.

“Go on, Thorn,” Murtagh said, “get the keeper to put the two-person saddle on you.”

As Thorn took off for the tallest tower, he asked, “Where did you learn how to do that anyway?”

“Just a little trick I picked up from the woman who created dragons in my world,” she said.

“Created dragons?” he asked, eyes wide. “It seems to me that someone who did that should have had some sort of title like Dragon Maker or something.”

“She had many titles attached to her name back in her day—not all of them were complimentary,” Celestine said. “Over time, her life and legacy passed out of all knowledge.”

“But you said you learned how to do that from her…”

“I really don’t know you well enough to get into that.”

“Perhaps later then.”

“Perhaps,” she echoed. After a slight, awkward pause, she asked, “So, are there any particular rules I need to observe for our sparring?”

“No rules other than let’s not kill each other,” he said then added with a laugh, “and keep serious injury to a minimum.”

Celestine smiled and tucked a stray shock of hair back into her eagle-crested helm. “I’ll do my best.”

“Before we begin…” Murtagh said. “I just wanted to apologize. Again. But sincerely this time. About before… My… curiosity overcame my good judgment. It won’t happen again. I promise.”

Celestine’s smile widened a little. “I’m no stranger to acting without fully considering the consequences of my actions. Apology accepted.”

They drew their swords. Murtagh brought his sword up to his chest and then swung it down and to his right. Celestine mimicked the salute. She attacked first, swinging high then low. He blocked and thrust. She turned it aside.

Celestine circled him a bit. Murtagh attacked—a high swing followed by a low one. She blocked and thrust as he had. He turned the blade aside. Celestine grinned and pressed with a more complex attack. Murtagh kept his defense up until he saw an opening to press an attack of his own. He drove her back with relentless, powerful swings. She spared a moment to glance around and said, “You seem to be trying to back me into the corner.”

“I thought it only fitting, considering the layout of the courtyard,” he replied.

“I suppose you expect me to counter with a diagonal sidestep?”

“Of course, but I find a sidestep nullifies a sidestep. Don’t you agree?”

“Unless your enemy can execute a proper feint…”

Celestine faked left, took a small step right, and then attacked left, stepping behind him and almost landing a hit to his arm. “Which I can.”

Celestine tried pressing the attack to back him into the corner, but he circled around one of the many pillars in the courtyard, changing the direction of the fight.

“Your swordplay is quite skillful,” he said.

“Thank you. It ought to be,” she said. “I’ve been practicing with the sword since I was six years old.”

“I wonder—and don’t take this the wrong way; I’m asking out of pure curiosity—why do you bother with a sword when you have weapons like that device on your belt?”

“The Forcecast Mark 12-C? Well, my people typically despise technology—even when it’s mixed with magic,” she answered, swinging high then low. “The only chance normals have of disrupting magic spells is once they get in close. We all learn how to use a melee weapon as well—one that can also be used to accentuate your spells. The sword and staff are just traditional—the staff even more so than the sword. I would’ve gone with the staff had it not been for Iakoban. He knew how to use the sword, so he taught me.”

“Iakoban is one of your friends?” Murtagh asked, aiming a slice at her arm.

“He’s… a family friend, yes.”

“I see. Keep in mind that Eragon has more in his arsenal than a dragon and a sword. He will also use magic, and I know one of his favorites,” Murtagh said before he pointed his index finger at her and the word leapt to his lips, “Brisingr!”

Fire soared at Celestine. She switched her sword to her left hand and held up her right palm. The enchantment in her right gauntlet helped her grab hold of the flame, form it into a ball, and throw it back at him.

Murtagh deflected it and, with more words, caused the ground beneath Celestine to quake. She lost her footing, and he used a spell to toss a nearby clump of sod at her. It impacted her breastplate, knocking her down.

She slid a couple of meters away, but Murtagh wasn’t closing the distance. He’d remained at length and tossed another fireball her way. Celestine struggled to her knees. She wove her hand in the air, molding the magic into the desired shapes and yelled, “Fortia!”

She’d had enough time to only create a partial shield—just enough to block the fireball—but it was invisible, so without Magesight, Murtagh would be unable to see its extent. He charged. Celestine created another shield and linked the two together. By the time he’d bounced off and returned to his feet, the shield was a complete protective dome.

Ensconced within her shield, Celestine stood and began taking control of all the magic she could. Murtagh noticed her moving her arms about in a strange, fluid fashion. That couldn’t be good for him. He swung his sword with all his might, but the barrier absorbed the blow with little apparent difficulty. He yelled “Brisingr” repeatedly, bombarding the shield with numerous fireballs. Still it held.

The smile on her lips seemed especially playful. That probably wasn’t a good sign for him either. He made a dash for the nearest row of pillars, but her spell caught him from behind. A band of glowing light wrapped around him then wrapped around the pillar, rendering him immobile. Sometime during all of that, he’d lost his sword.

Celestine dissipated her barrier and sauntered towards him. “My, that looks… awkward,” she said. “You’re completely helpless.”

“You think so?” he asked.

“Yes,” she said, “though you bluff well.”

He couldn’t see her since his face was pressed up against the column, so he tracked her position using the sound of her voice. “You think so?” he asked again, trying to determine how close she was.

“Yes. I wouldn’t have said so otherwise,” she told him, preparing to tap him on the shoulder with the flat of her blade.

He rapidly cast a spell that stretched and burst the band of light. He held out his hand and called his sword back to him.

Celestine blocked his attack. “Are you all right?” she asked, backing away as she parried.

“Fine,” he said, though his voice was strained. “Why do you ask?”

“Galbatorix said casting spells that you don’t have the strength to complete is fatal,” she said. “There’s no way any man is strong enough to break that restraint.”

“It’s enough to hold a man, five bulls, and twenty heifers,” he said. “The livestock aren’t far from the courtyard. I borrowed some of their energy.”

“Oh good,” she said, “then I suppose I’ll switch back to my main hand.”

Transferring her sword back into her right hand, she fought back persistently, taking full advantage of his exhaustion. Murtagh cast a spell and seemed to catch a second wind, counterattacking with more speed and power than he had even at the beginning of the match.

“I hate to admit it, but you’re better than I am,” she said.

“So why the grin?” Murtagh asked. “Eragon’s at least as good as me.”

“There’s something you don’t know about my sword,” she replied.

“Oh?”

“Remember that it was made to fight undead. It’s enchanted.”

“So? I’m not undead.”

“I think this one will still prove useful. Are you paying attention?” she asked. When she was certain his eye was on her blade, she shouted, “Liuhath!” and the sword emitted a brilliant flash of light, temporarily blinding Murtagh.

Celestine used it to her full advantage, pressing the attack high.

“That’s a low blow!” he complained.

“Honestly, what counts as a low blow when there aren’t any rules? Liuhath!”

Even though he now knew better than to look directly at the sword, it was still bright enough to daze him. She lunged, planting one leg behind him and slamming her pommel squarely against his armored chest. He hit the ground hard. Celestine stood over him, sword pointed down. “That was a pretty good match,” she said.

“Thanks,” Murtagh replied. Then he spun away from her blade and kicked her legs out from under her.

She rolled and got to her knees. He clambered behind her, wrapping one arm around her neck and controlling her sword arm with his other. She grabbed the arm around her neck with her free hand, pushed her hip against his center of gravity, and threw him over her shoulder. Murtagh kept his head as well as his grip and used her momentum to roll her. When they came to a stop, she was flat on her back and he was atop her on her right side. He tried to swing a leg over for an even better position, but Celestine had been taught to expect that and trapped his leg with hers. Before he knew what she was doing, she had wriggled her other leg out from under him, wrapping both of them securely around his body.

“You know how to wrestle?” he asked.

“Seemed a good idea to learn since all the boys want to grab hold of me during a fight,” she said.

“I’m sure they have good reason.”

“Well… It does prevent most spellcasting.”

“Oh. Right. There’s that, too,” he said.

“What do you mean, ‘too’?” she asked.

Her questioning stare made his inability to word his reply so embarrassing that she began to feel embarrassed as well. Thankfully, the north door swung open, ending their mutual discomfiture. Galbatorix strode onto the lawn, carrying a leather sack. He said, “I said spar, not play.”

Celestine released her hold on Murtagh, and they both stood. “We weren’t playing,” he said. “We had a well-fought match. She’s learned much about what she can expect to face if she should ever fight Eragon.”

Celestine nodded. “I used a wide variety of tactics so that I might see how he reacted to each. I did learn a lot.”

Galbatorix gave Murtagh the bag. “Keep it safe,” he said, before looking at Celestine and adding, “You too. Now, go. Fly to Belatona. I will finish work on your spell as you broker peace. May your god be with you.”

Comment [10]

Departure

Murtagh double-checked the saddle before climbing up and securing himself in the forward seat. He offered a hand to Celestine. After he pulled her up, she strapped herself in and leaned forward, wrapping her arms around him and pressing herself firmly against him.

My fire! What was that thought? Thorn asked.

Oh, come on. It was just a passing thought. Murtagh explained.

It was fleeting, yes, but intense. Does she attract you?

Why do you ask?

Thorn looked all around, making sure his intended flight path was clear before taking wing. It’s just that she’s so small. She’s only about two-thirds your size? At most? Don’t you want a female at least a little bit bigger than you?

Well, things are a little different with humans. A smaller female has some advantages.

How do you mean?

Consider this. Murtagh said. He imagined holding Celestine in his arms, his head resting atop hers and her nose pressed against the curve of his neck.

That… does seem nice. Still, I don’t like her very much.

Of course you’d say that. You weren’t the one that got frozen today!

Murtagh said to Celestine, “It’s a mistake to try reasoning with Eragon alone.” To Thorn he said, She makes mistakes, yes. I hope you give her another chance. For my sake.

I’ll try.

“Why do you say that?” Celestine asked.

“There are some things about Eragon you need to know,” Murtagh said. “He’s more Elf now than man—smug and self-important.”

“It’s interesting that your people also use the comparison to Elves to describe such insufferable behavior,” she said, laughing.

“Yes, but it’s more than a comparison. He has physically become more Elf-like.”

“As in quicker and more agile? Sharper eyesight? Pointy ears and haughty attitude?”

Murtagh laughed. “All of the above.”

“How did such a thing happen?”

Murtagh shook his head. “I wish I knew. He was a regular human being when I was captured after the Battle of Farthen Dûr. When I encountered him again at the Battle of the Burning Plains, I barely recognized him.”

“What did you do?”

“I was supposed to capture Eragon and Saphira alive. Instead, I only took my father’s sword back from him—as the eldest brother, it’s my birthright.”

“Brother? Eragon’s your brother?”

Murtagh nodded. “Before we fought, I told him that I was being forced to serve Galbatorix. He accused me of betrayal! As though I had a choice in the matter! When I needed a friend, all he could give was pity and disgust!”

Celestine laid her head against his shoulder and gently shushed him. “You have every right to be angry with him, but I hate to see you so upset. Please calm down.”

As her breath tickled his ear, a warm feeling spread down to his toes. “Yes, of course,” he said, continuing in a more controlled tone, though he still had to shout above the wind. “Galbatorix has me enslaved by my true name. And Eragon had the gall to suggest that I let him kill me and Thorn in order to be freed from his control.”

“The nerve!”

“Indeed. Needless to say, I took great satisfaction in telling him we were brothers. Of course, he claimed I was lying, so I repeated it in the ancient language in which no one can lie. I’m his own flesh and blood. We fought by each other’s side. And yet he treats me as an enemy because I’m subject to Galbatorix. He’ll treat you the same way when he finds out you speak on behalf of the Empire whether I’m with you or not.”

“Perhaps I can be more convincing than you believe. At any rate, we must at least try for peace instead of accepting this cycle of violence as a foregone conclusion.”

“But it is a foregone conclusion. Hoping that peace can be obtained doesn’t make it possible.”

“We still must try. We owe it to everyone risking their lives on both sides of the conflict. Besides, I have a very powerful bargaining chip—the green dragon egg. I’m sure that will help convince them of the merits of peace.”

“It won’t be enough. Nothing short of the fall of the Empire will be enough for them,” he warned.

“Galbatorix believes otherwise. Why else would he have sent the green dragon egg along? But, let me think on it. I’ll come up with something,” she said.

The clouds drifted by like lazy sheep aimlessly wandering a blue pasture. He heard her ask, “Do you think you’ll ever forgive Eragon?”

Murtagh snorted, but instead of answering he asked, “Is it so easy to forgive such a great injustice? What about that slave trader for example?”

“It wasn’t easy, but I forgave him.”

“Why would you forgive him? He didn’t deserve it.”

Her voice sounded strained. “No, he didn’t. Isn’t that the point, though? No one deserves forgiveness.”

“I understand if you don’t want to talk about it…”

“It’s part of my religion. Dayus strongly encourages forgiveness.”

“He… told you that?”

“Not personally, if that’s what you’re asking,” she replied. “But a long time ago, Dayus gave the Covenant to His people, putting the Law into effect through angels.”

“What are angels?”

“Supernatural beings that serve Dayus, putting His will into action in our world. They’re very beautiful, full of light and power, majestic. Simply looking at one is almost unbearable.”

It sounds like she’s seen one.

“You’ve seen them before?”

“I’ve seen demons—fallen angels that no longer do the will of Dayus. They look just like angels.”

Then how do you know the difference? Thorn asked at the same time as Murtagh.

“It doesn’t matter how they look! You know them by what they do,” Celestine said. “For example, Dayus would never allow His servants to consort with human women, so one that did… is fallen.”

“That’s happened before? A demon with a human?”

“Didn’t you want to know about forgiveness?” Celestine asked, the question echoing in Murtagh’s head because Thorn had asked the same thing at the same time.

“Yes. Sorry. I got distracted. So, what did Dayus put in the Covenant that makes you want to forgive?”

“Well, it’s actually in the books of Wisdom and Prophecy that were given after the Covenant. In the Wisdom of the Ancient Priest, it’s written, ‘The child called Grudge is never weaned. He will consume all you give him and cry, “More! More!”’” she said. “Furthermore, in the Prophets, Dayus said to the prophet Bardamos, ‘Do you not know? Have I not said from ancient times? Vengeance rests in the palm of my hand. Will a man dare snatch it from me?’ Our wisest teachers interpret that as an implicit command to forgive. After all, if someone has wronged you, there are only two options: vengeance or forgiveness. Taking vengeance is tantamount to stealing from Dayus.”

“But that’s unjust!” Murtagh said. “Those who peddle human lives deserve death.”

“Yes, he does. And perhaps one day he will die for his crimes. He won’t die by my hand, though.”

“What difference does it make whose hand it is? I would’ve killed him.”

“Oh? I didn’t tell you before. He helped my friends rescue me. If I had killed him, if they had killed him to avenge me, then what? He served a purpose at the end that none of us could have seen from the beginning. Life is easy to take and impossible to return.”

“He saved you? But why?”

“I don’t know,” she said, holding Murtagh tighter. “Perhaps… I just don’t know.”

Far in the distance, Thorn could see the four peaks of Helgrind and thought, You don’t suppose they sacrifice in her religion, do you?

“Thorn was wondering… How do you go about worshiping Dayus?”

“Well, we do several things—many of which vary from country to country. One of the things we all have in common, though is sacrifice.”

I knew it! Find out if they sacrifice humans! Thorn insisted.

“So… what precisely do you sacrifice?”

“Bulls, goats, rams, any clean bird. That sort of thing,” she said. “The blood is poured out at the altar for the atonement of the people—”

What a tragic waste of blood!

“—and a portion is burnt up to honor Dayus.”

What an inappropriate use for fire!

“The rest is eaten by the assembly in fellowship.”

Now that I can get behind… Say, I spotted a herd of deer nearby. Would you mind if I did a little hunting?

You never have to ask, Thorn. Besides, we could use a little rest, too. Set us down there and go hunt to your belly’s content.

“It’s time we took a break,” Murtagh said. “Thorn’s going to set us down and then go hunt.”

Thorn landed near a small grove of young trees. In the distance, Celestine noticed several large, black mountains pointing to the heavens as if accusing them of some great crime. The dragon wasted no time, taking to the air about as soon as they were both on the ground.

Murtagh began gathering up brushwood to start a fire. Celestine removed her armor, set it beside a nearby log, and asked, “Could I have one of those branches?”

“Yes,” he said, letting her select one. “What do you want it for?”

“You’ll see,” she said, sitting down and moving her fingers in strange patterns around the stick.

Murtagh worked, arranging the wood in an orderly pile. “So, what sort of spell are you working on?”

Celestine looked up from her work for a moment. “Not technically a spell. A charm.”

“What’s the difference?”

“Spells have no ontological inertia—charms do.”

He nodded, but she could tell by his expression he was trying to fake understanding, so she continued, “Spells require the will of the caster in order to continue existing. Magic dissipates rapidly into a chaotic state unless forced into order by the will of a Mage.”

“How does a charm continue existing on its own?”

“They’re constructed in such a way that they rebuild themselves even as the magic tries to dissipate,” she explained. “A charm embedded in a physical object is called an enchantment—though I’ve also heard people refer to such items as ensorcelled. I’m pretty sure that’s the same thing.”

“I see.”

Celestine continued working while Murtagh finished arranging the wood before setting it ablaze with magic. Celestine smiled—the magic here was so different from her own. It was thrilling, but also worrisome. “Murtagh,” she said.

He looked up at her. “Yes?”

“Galbatorix said there were ways of borrowing energy from sources around you in order to cast spells you couldn’t otherwise cast, and during our match, you drew energy from the castle’s livestock,” she said, “so, if you wanted to defeat anyone, couldn’t you cast a spell too strong for them and drain all of their energy?”

Murtagh chuckled. “I asked Galbatorix the same question—any intelligent student of magic would. He explained that you can’t take energy from a sapient creature without his or her consent. Brute beasts can’t stop you, though. You can take as much or as little as you need from them.”

“I see.”

Celestine finished the charm and carefully broke the branch in two. She handed one to Murtagh, saying, “Hold this,” and walked away.

He looked at it, but it didn’t appear any different to him. When he looked up, she was already some distance away. “Where are you going?” he called.

She glanced over her shoulder and replied, but he couldn’t quite hear what she said.

He was about to yell back that he hadn’t heard her when she suddenly vanished. Murtagh’s heart skipped a bit. Had something gone wrong? Suddenly, a hand tapped his shoulder from behind.

Murtagh jumped and spun around awkwardly only to see Celestine standing there, grinning. “What was that?”

“It works! If things go wrong negotiating with Eragon, I can be with you in mere moments.”

“Why are you so determined to do this your way?”

“Why are you so determined to get in a fight with your brother?”

“Is that what you think? I’m just trying to start a fight?”

Celestine’s cheeks burned red. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

“Then how did you mean it?”

“Stop yelling at me!” she retorted, stamping her foot. “I understand that siblings fight. I’ve fought with my own brother. I’ve even fought with my little sister. I wasn’t trying to imply that you don’t want this to succeed—I’m sure you do. I’m just trying to make that happen.”

“You don’t understand Eragon or the Varden. There can be no peace with them.”

“But Galbatorix believes—”

“Galbatorix believes? Galbatorix believes! Let’s run through a short list of things that Galbatorix believed, shall we? He believed he and his friends would have a grand adventure in the Spine, and how did that turn out? He believed that the Dragon Riders would welcome him back and allow him a chance with another dragon, and what happened there? He further believed that getting Shruikan to hatch for him would bring the Riders to his side, and how many did? And what was the result of that division? His optimism will be his downfall… and yours.”

“I will go to Eragon alone. I don’t want to argue about it anymore.”

“You want to go to Eragon alone? Fine. He’s that way,” he said, pointing one direction before walking off the opposite way, into the forest.

Celestine stood there, mouth agape, as he left. A thousand things ran through her mind—insults, retorts, apologies, wanting to know if he’d be back—but none of them had the power to break the silence before he was gone, so she sat down and broke it with weeping.

Eventually, Thorn appeared among the clouds. Celestine dried her eyes and watched. When he landed, he curled up on the ground, placing his head near the roaring fire.

Celestine walked around the fire, approaching Thorn with the most casual steps she could. He didn’t move as she walked towards him except for his eyes following her motion. She halted when he huffed, sending out a small billow of smoke. When the smoke cleared, she resumed her ginger steps and sat by his head, gently patting him. Thorn looked back at the fire.

“So… Is Murtagh still mad at me?” she asked.

Thorn looked back at her for a few seconds before returning his gaze to the flames.

“You could give me some kind of indication like nodding your head,” she suggested only to be met once again with rigid silence. “I don’t mean to make people angry. I’d rather you both like me.”

Thorn looked at her again, but within a moment he raised his head and fixed his eyes on something else in the distance. He stood rapidly and ran off the other direction before taking wing. Celestine stood in wonder at the spectacle. When she looked where he’d been looking, she saw nothing for a time, but as she continued to stare, three figures appeared.

They were approaching on foot, dressed in green and brown garb. Celestine glanced at her armor. She’d never be able to get it on before they closed the distance. It would probably send the wrong signal anyway. She reasoned that it would be all right if she wore just the belt, however. Soon, they were close enough for her to tell that they were exactly what she thought they were—Elves.

One waved at her and called out a greeting, which she returned. Once closer, he said, “Traveling alone, young maiden?”

Celestine shook her head. She would need to lie. “I have a companion. He’s just out hunting for food. He’s been gone a while, so I’m sure he’ll back quite soon.” If only she were better at it.

“Where are you going?”

“Home.”

“Where’s that?”

Celestine shrugged. “I’ve been lost for a while.”

“Perhaps we could help then,” the Elf suggested. His friends began milling about the campsite.

“That’s not necessary.”

One of the other Elves nudged her helmet with his foot and commented, “Interesting armor.”

The leader said, “Looks about your size.”

Celestine nodded.

“What do you need armor for? Human women aren’t soldiers. A mercenary perhaps? An imperial agent?”

Celestine fidgeted. “I’m none of those things.”

The lead Elf stepped closer. “Has anyone told you what a poor liar you are?”

“You want truth? Here’s the truth. You don’t need to be concerned with me. Now be on your way—I require no help and I will brook no interference.”

The third Elf said, “One who takes her armor off shouldn’t talk like one who puts it on.”

Celestine laughed. “That’s so strange. We use the same expression in my world.”

The lead Elf arched a perfectly shaped eyebrow. “Your world?”

“My traveling companion will be back soon. I suggest you move along before he returns.”

“Young lady, you’d better start answering our questions.”

Celestine nodded. “Well, I’m glad to learn that not even the Elves here have Magesight. Where I come from, all Elves—even non-Mages—possess it. If you could see it, you wouldn’t be treating me as you are.”

“Cease your babbling, girl!”

“Babbling? Oh, yes, I realize I do go on a bit—usually without realizing. However, if there’s one thing babbling is useful for, it’s buying time.”

They all laughed. The leader asked, “Buying time for what? Your alleged companion to return?”

“No. My fidgeting wasn’t a nervous response. I’ve been taking control of all of the magic in this area,” Celestine replied. “Last chance. Leave now or accept the repercussions.”

“I’ve had enough of her talk,” the third Elf said, striding forward only to smash his perfectly shaped nose against an invisible barrier.

“Repercussions it is, then.” Celestine drew her gun and shot him in the chest.

Celestine’s eyes widened. The blast should’ve been enough to stun an Elf, but he only staggered back a few steps, barely fazed.

“Take down the barrier!” the leader yelled, drawing his sword.

He and his compatriots struck the barrier with tremendous force—much more than Celestine had anticipated. After a second barrage, the shield was almost obliterated. “Bother, bother, bother,” Celestine whispered, increasing the power of the Forcecast.

She shot one in the leg. He fell. She shot another in the stomach. His blood spattered the barrier and hung there in midair as he stumbled backwards and doubled over. Before she could shoot the leader, he knocked down the shield and, with a second slice, batted away her weapon.

He was too close. She sprinted to the campsite, where she’d left the enchanted branch. The Elf was much faster, tackling her just before she could reach it. Celestine screamed and kicked and struggled. The Elf maintained control of her, but a confused look graced his handsome brow. “What are you trying to reach?” he asked, only able to see a small tree branch nearby.

“That branch!” she cried. She took in a halting breath and added, “I was going to hit you with it.”

The Elf laughed as he picked it up. “Hit me with this?” he asked.

Celestine quickly grabbed it and vanished. She reappeared near the tree line, next to a sprinting Murtagh. He turned his head and stopped suddenly as she appeared. She said, “You kept it.”

Murtagh looked at the complementary branch tucked in his belt. “Of course,” he said. “Did the Elves hurt you?”

“How did you…?”

“Thorn. Come on, let’s not let them get away.”

“Two of them won’t be going anywhere quickly,” she said, following him back into the camp.

When they arrived, the leader was kneeling over one of his injured compatriots. He looked up and drew his sword, but hesitated when Thorn landed nearby. “I knew you were an imperial agent,” he said. “You smelled like a dragon.”

“Oh? That’s odd,” Celestine replied. “I’ve been told I smell like an Elf.”

His nose wrinkled in disgust.

“Drop your weapon, Elf,” Murtagh said.

Once he complied, Murtagh looked to Celestine and said, “Now the question is what to do with them. We can’t bring them along and we can’t let them go back to the Varden with news of you. We should probably just kill them.”

“Murtagh!”

“Bah, I’m not serious. There’s no honor in slaying the vanquished. If you had a suggestion…”

“I can immobilize them long enough for Galbatorix to come collect them,” she said as she walked over to the Elf that was slowly dying from the stomach wound and healed him. “They can’t see my spells, and now that I know how strong they are, I can construct a powerful enough prison.”

“Excellent idea. I’ll contact him right away.”

Once the Elves were healed and secured, Celestine approached Thorn again. She bowed her head and said, “Again I stand in need of your forgiveness. I doubted you. I’m sorry.”

Murtagh looked at Thorn.

Thorn said I accept her apology. I may dislike her, but I dislike Elves even more.

“Your apology is accepted. He’d never let anyone hurt you,” Murtagh said. “Nor would I.”

When Celestine continued looking at him, Murtagh asked, “What is it?”

“You kept it.”

“Yes, I know. You said that before.”

Without further words, Celestine closed the distance between them and wrapped her arms around him. Murtagh rested his chin atop her head. Her nose nestled in the curve of his neck, and her eyelashes tickled lightly as she shut her eyes and sighed.

Wind and wings! It’s even better than you imagined.

Right. Sorry. I’ll be quiet.

Comment [10]

Chapter 7

Siege of Belatona

“I’m exhausted,” Celestine said, “I didn’t manage to get any sleep!”

“I’m sorry, but there was no time to waste. If there were Elves that close to Helgrind, who knows how close the Varden are to Belatona?” Murtagh said. “I hoped you’d be able to rest some along the way.”

“Sleeping while riding a dragon is exactly as easy as it sounds,” Celestine said. “Oh, it’s no use. Might as well fill the time. Tell me more about Eragon. Start with the first time you met.”

Murtagh related the tale of his encounter with Eragon in Dras-Leona as well as rescuing Eragon from Durza in Gil’ead, which Celestine seemed to take great interest in, asking several questions about it. He was recounting the aftermath of the Battle of Farthen Dûr as they neared Belatona. As he had feared, the Varden army was close to the city.

Celestine asked Murtagh, “You said when you next saw Eragon at the Battle of the Burning Plains, he’d become like an Elf?”

“Aye.”

“How did you ever manage to beat him?”

“Galbatorix augmented my magic, so that was no contest. Physically, however, I suppose he was tired and worn. He’d been fighting for hours; I just swooped in near the end of the battle.”

“I don’t understand,” Celestine said. “Why weren’t you fighting earlier?”

“Oh that…” Murtagh’s tone soured. “The general in charge of the army was supposed to wait for me.”

When he didn’t offer any more explanation, Celestine prodded, “What happened?”

Murtagh sighed heavily. “He sent an ambassador to ask for terms of surrender, and to return the heads of some Varden assassins that had pretended to be asking for our surrender. Having delivered the terms, he was riding back to the camp when Saphira roared, causing his horse to throw him. He died in the fall.”

“Surely the general wouldn’t engage the battle early on account of a single ambassador?”

“Under normal circumstances, probably not. The ambassador was his cousin. But really more like a brother—they’d been raised in the same house since the general lost his parents as a boy,” Murtagh replied. “As soon as he recovered enough to start giving orders, he sent the entire army after the Varden. It was a massive blunder, sending the army into the treacherous terrain of the Burning Plains where our numerical superiority would be more of a hindrance than an asset, but the poor man wasn’t thinking clearly.”

“How terrible.”

“That’s what tends to happen to imperial ambassadors that parlay with the Varden.”

“I remember telling Galbatorix that clever application of power was more important than sheer force. I’m going to have to follow my own advice,” Celestine said. “I wish my sister were here. She’s much cleverer than I am.”

“We could go together. Perhaps I could get Eragon to give you a chance,” Murtagh said. “We are brothers, after all.”

“Do you really believe that?”

Murtagh looked at her slumped figure in front of him—so many gaps in the armor. She’d told him that she didn’t wear full armor because it was too heavy for her, and it did seem that some armor was better than none. But was it really? At least when wearing no armor, a person knows she’s vulnerable. Did wearing partial armor make her feel less vulnerable than she really was? “You know what I believe.”

She nodded her head. “I do.”

In the distance, Murtagh spied the bright blue glitter of Saphira’s scales. “Just… Just promise me that you will come back.”

She leaned back against him, tilting her head enough to look him eye to eye. “I promise.”

* * *

Eragon surveyed the city before him. The arrival of Thorn and Murtagh in a flurry of shimmering red had not escaped his attention, though that had been hours ago, and where in the city they now lurked was unknown to him. His worry did not elude Saphira, however, who gently nudged him with her nose.

Worry not, little one, she said, I have every confidence in you.

Thank you, he replied, though I wish I could have the same confidence in myself.

Before their conversation could continue, a lookout cried at the top of his lungs, “Horse and rider approaching from the east! Alone and under a white flag!”

Eragon exchanged glances with Saphira before they both hurried for the east side of the camp. He found the lookout and questioned him. The man pointed in the distance where indeed a solitary steed approached with a small rider on its back. With his advanced vision, Eragon could soon see that the rider was a young woman—about Katrina’s age—and she wore strange partial armor of white and gold over white robes that whipped in the wind. She seemed to him the very visage of a star descending from the heavens.

Soldiers formed up at the location in case the white flag concealed treachery beneath it. Blödhgarm also arrived with the other Elves assigned to protect Eragon. As the rider neared the camp, she slowed the horse to a trot then to a walk. When she was but twenty paces from Eragon, she brought the animal to a stop and removed her helmet, revealing hair like finely spun gold. She looked at the array of swords and bows and the posturing dragon before her. When Saphira emitted a low growl, a wry smile graced her soft lips. “I come to speak with Eragon,” she said in a commanding voice. She looked him directly in the eyes and said, “That’s you, isn’t it?”

Be careful of her, Saphira warned. She’s too at ease in the presence of a dragon.

“I am Eragon,” he replied. “And who might you be?”

“In due time,” she said. “First, would you mind helping a lady down? I’d prefer not to talk at length on horseback.”

“Of course,” he said. He helped her dismount—wary of her every movement.

When her feet alit, she looked up at him. He’d never seen such a shade of blue—not even in any of his many waking dreams—a clear blue like a summer sky, but her eyes were also possessed of striations the color of deep waters on a winter’s day. She smiled disarmingly and said, “My, what a strong grip you have.”

He relinquished her and asked, “Now, who are you?”

“Celestine Faber,” she replied.

“You approach us armed and armored. Why are you here?”

“As for the weaponry, there is war in the area, and a young lady traveling alone does well to arm herself even in times of peace,” she replied. She then loosed her scabbard and offered the blade to Eragon. “My purpose here is peaceful, so as a gesture of good faith, you may keep hold of this.”

Eragon accepted the weapon and pointed to the strange device at her hip, asking, “What of that?”

“What of it? Does it look like a weapon to you?”

Eragon shook his head. “No, but I have no guess as to its intended use.”

“Already you hold my sword. How much more do you wish to divest me of?” Celestine asked.

Eragon answered perhaps too quickly, “No more. It’s fine.”

Celestine shifted her gaze to the stately blue dragon. “You must be Saphira.”

Celestine then curtsied and said, “Terak ba ji sol.”

Danetor, Saphira said.

What was that you just said to her? Eragon asked, saying the same question aloud to Celestine.

I don’t know. I just felt like I had to say it.

“Where I come from, it’s a good idea to greet dragons with that phrase,” she explained, looking back to him.

“You still haven’t said why you’re here,” Eragon reminded her.

Celestine fanned herself with her hand and said, “I’m hot. Are you? Could we continue our conversation somewhere out of the heat?”

“Very well. We could go to—”

Don’t take her to your tent.

Where else would we find shade?

Saphira snorted. Small plumes of flame billowed from her nostrils. You could go to the pavilion.

You don’t think Nasuada would mind?

Mind? She would probably want to know about this stripling’s arrival.

“—the pavilion. This way.”

Eragon led the way, his elven entourage following. While they walked, Celestine talked. “I’m here for a very important reason. For one thing, I wish to extend gratitude for your action in slaying the Shade, Durza,” she said.

“You knew Durza?” he asked.

“Not personally. Durza made many enemies, however. I’m thanking you on behalf of one such person.”

They were passing by Angela’s tent at that moment. Angela took immediate notice of Celestine, as did Elva. Elva stared at her with her bright violet eyes and slowly smiled. Before Eragon could ask Celestine who she meant, Angela stopped them and asked, “Who is this girl?”

Before Eragon could respond, Celestine said, “Someone who can speak for herself. My name is Celestine.”

Angela looked her up and down, then said, “Oh, and did your parents name you ironically?”

The girl’s cheeks burned crimson. Eragon started to say, “Angela—” but Celestine interrupted.

“Angela?” she said. “Eragon, do you know what angels are?”

He considered it for a moment before shaking his head.

“I thought not. So, in a culture that has no knowledge of angels,” Celestine said, “how did you come by your name? Angela?”

Now Angela’s cheeks went ruddy.

“Ladies,” Eragon said, “let’s not—”

“I’m going to read your fortune,” Angela said, procuring her pouch of dragon’s knucklebones.

“A fortuneteller? I should’ve known.”

When Angela tossed the bones, Celestine held out her hand, saying something that Eragon didn’t understand, and the white shards halted in mid-air, looking like dull stars on a moonless night. “What does it mean when they do that?” Celestine asked, grinning.

“I’ll tell you what it means,” Angela said. “It means you don’t belong in this story. You’ll ruin everything.”

“A pity,” Celestine replied as the bones put themselves back in the leather pouch. “I hoped it meant that I made my own fate or something like that.”

“Mark my words, Eragon, she will try to lead you down a path that you’re not meant to travel.”

“Why don’t you let him decide what path he travels? He seems capable enough to me.”

Eragon didn’t like the way Angela rolled her eyes at Celestine’s rejoinder, but the feeling passed quickly as he realized something was slightly amiss. “Wasn’t Elva here when we arrived?” he asked.

Angela looked all around. “Did you see where she went?”

Eragon shook his head and Angela left in a huff. When she’d gone, Celestine said, “Sorry about that. I should’ve acted with more forbearance.”

“No harm, I suppose, though that was odd—even for Angela,” Eragon said before continuing on to the pavilion.

When they arrived, the elves remained outside the tent with Nasuada’s Nighthawks. Inside Nasuada sat at a large, wooden table that took up the majority of the tent. King Orrin, Jörmundur, and Arya were seated at the table as well. They halted whatever discussion they had been in the middle of as Eragon entered with Celestine. Saphira stuck as much of her nose through the front of the tent as was physically possible.

“We have a visitor to the camp,” he announced, motioning toward the young lady, who bowed ever so properly. “Her name is Celestine. This is King Orrin of Surda, Lady Nasuada of the Varden, Jörmundur, her right-hand man, and Arya, daughter of Queen Islanzadí of Ellesméra.”

“A pleasure to meet you all,” she said.

“For what purpose have you come to us?” Nasuada asked.

“As I told Eragon earlier, I came to thank him for slaying the Shade Durza. It was a mighty deed and of great benefit to the man who sent me here,” she replied.

“Yes, only you didn’t tell me who sent you here to thank me,” Eragon reminded her.

“Of course. Durza was a powerful and crafty enemy of the Empire. As such, King Galbatorix sent me to express his personal gratitude in ridding him of that traitor,” she said.

Upon mention of King Galbatorix, Eragon reached for the hilt of Brisingr, but the girl gave him a disapproving look and said, “If you intend to strike me down, may I be so bold as to request that you use my own weapon since I handed it over freely.”

Eragon’s cheeks burned bright red and his hand moved away from his sword.

Nasuada broke the stunned silence. “Galbatorix sent you? To… thank Eragon?”

“Not just that,” Celestine answered, keeping her eyes on Eragon, “but also to request peaceful resolution to the conflict at hand.”

“If Galbatorix told you Durza was a traitor, he lied to you,” Arya said. “He served the Empire.”

“Isn’t that what traitors do? They serve you until the very moment they stab you in the back. Eragon, you know that Galbatorix wants to rebuild the Dragon Riders. Did you ever think it strange that he would have your uncle killed if he wanted you on his side?”

Everyone at the table looked around at each other before fixing their eyes on him. Eragon shifted uncomfortably. “I don’t suppose I ever really thought of it,” he answered.

“Oh? Tell me, then, when did you first meet Durza?”

“When I was captured in Gil’ead, but—”

“And did Durza, having you at his mercy, immediately take you to the king?”

“No, I escaped before he had the chance.”

“So, you escaped while Durza was transporting you to Urû’baen?”

“No, I escaped from Gil’ead before he could transport me.”

“So, Durza was waiting on the arrival of some sort of wagon? Beasts of burden? Guards?”

Eragon thought about it. “No, there were plenty of those sorts of things in Gil’ead already.”

Celestine’s gaze grew uncomfortably strong on him. “Then what was he waiting for?”

Eragon looked at the ground as he thought—anything he could do to free himself from her eyes. A thought suddenly came upon him. He looked back with renewed vigor. “He wanted to speak with me. I recall him trying to get information from me before turning me over to Galbatorix.”

“So, you spoke with Durza, then.”

Eragon nodded.

“Think back. Did he say anything to you about the king? Anything at all?”

“Yes, he said…”

“Go on.”

“He asked me if I would rather serve a Rider who betrayed my order or a fellow magician like him.”

Celestine nodded now. “That sounds like a man gathering allies for a coup. He tried to turn you against Galbatorix by killing your family just as he was trying to turn the people against him by attacking towns and villages with his army of Urgals,” she said. “Galbatorix is grateful that you killed him and destroyed his army.”

Eragon’s mind reeled. Galbatorix sending him a thank you, and… “You also mentioned that he wants peace with us?”

“Yes,” Celestine said. “Please tell me, what would it take to end this unprovoked aggression against the Empire?”

“Unprovoked? He killed King Angrenost and usurped the Empire,” Orrin remarked.

“Pardon, but where I come from we have a saying that nobility comes from blood—either from birth or the battlefield. Only a blood relative of Angrenost would have a more legitimate claim to the throne than Galbatorix. Do you not agree?” she asked.

“Angrenost has no living relatives. They were all killed,” Nasuada said.

“Then you’re hypocrites. You’re trying to seize the throne by force just as you accuse Galbatorix of. Tell me, if you succeed, wouldn’t any of Galbatorix’s generals with a powerful enough army have as legitimate a claim to the throne as any of you?” Celestine replied. “You don’t need to answer that aloud. Just consider it. Now, what will it take to reach a peaceful settlement?”

“As long as Galbatorix lives, there can be no peace,” Eragon said.

“That’s a bother,” Celestine replied. “I take it you don’t care about the future of the Riders then?”

“What makes you say that? I care very deeply about the Riders! I’m trying to avenge them!”

“And after you’ve avenged them to your satisfaction you will have destroyed them. Your words do not match your actions.”

“And what would you suggest?” Arya asked.

“I’ve been given authority to offer the green dragon egg—the last dragon egg—in exchange for peace. It is the only thing Galbatorix could think of to prove his sincerity.”

Eragon’s interest was piqued. “You have the green dragon egg?”

“Not on me, obviously. I’m not that foolish, but, yes, it is near and it can be yours.”

“What price would you put on it?” Jörmundur asked.

“Galbatorix desires peace and to revive the Riders as a noble organization. The price of the egg is an immediate end to hostilities and for Eragon to help him rebuild the Riders. That is all.”

“Galbatorix doesn’t want peace!” Orrin said.

“Then why did he send me? Why did he send the green dragon egg? You talk of him not wanting peace, but as I understand it, it was you who started this war.”

“There are wrongs that must be set right,” Arya insisted.

“The only wrong I see here is a council of warmongers that would shortsightedly destroy all that they hope to restore due to an inability to forgive perceived wrongs,” Celestine declared. “Eragon, what do you think about this? Don’t you want peace? Don’t you want to rebuild the Riders? Listen to me, Riders fighting Riders is what got Alagaësia in this current state. How can you hope to improve things by doing precisely what caused the problem? Are you going to perpetuate the cycle of violence, or will you reject it?”

Eragon thought about it for nearly a minute. Ultimately, he said, “I don’t think that I can trust Galbatorix.”

“Very well,” Celestine said softly. “Please consider it further. I rode in under a white flag; I assume I’ll be able to leave peacefully?”

“Of course,” Nasuada answered.

“Thank you. One last thing before I leave. While considering Galbatorix’s offer, I suggest a ceasefire. Don’t attack Belatona. I promised its lord that I wouldn’t allow the city to fall. Any attack on the city would end poorly.”

“Are you threatening us?” King Orrin asked.

Celestine shook her head. “No, your majesty. Merely giving you information that should factor into your battle plans.”

“It sounds like our battle plans should include seizing you. Eragon, restrain her!” Orrin said.

He hesitated a moment. She’d ridden in under a white flag and had acted in good faith. Even now she made no move to defend herself. She only looked at him and said, “Twice today I have come under threat of force despite freely giving up my sword and asking for peace. Is this what the Varden considers honorable dealing?”

Again Eragon’s cheeks burned as deep a crimson as the setting sun on a hot day. “Take your sword back,” he demanded, extended the scabbard to her.

She shook her head. “Not until I leave. An ambassador of peace should have no need of weapons among the honorable, don’t you think?”

“Yes, and you’ve delivered your message. You came in peace, so in peace you shall also leave,” Eragon said.

Celestine inclined her head and said, “Thank you.”

Eragon escorted her back to her horse. As he helped her up, she said, “Don’t take this as a threat, but, please, don’t attack the city—for the sake of the Varden as well as my own.”

“For your sake?”

“All life is precious. Once taken, can I give it back? Can you? It’s a serious thing to kill a person. Never do so lightly.”

Having said that, she accepted her sword back and rode around the outskirts of the camp, heading toward the city. As he watched her go, he wondered what the siege would portend. They had to take the city before confronting Galbatorix. Her plea to spare the city and her offer of peace echoed in his mind, tempting him. He shuddered. Was this what Angela meant by leading him astray? Was this Celestine trying to tempt him away from the right path? But if she was, why did what she say feel so right?

* * *

When she arrived at the gate, Murtagh was there to meet her as well as Dorias and Bradburn, the lord of Belatona, whom she’d met upon first landing in the city.

“Glad to see you well, young lady,” the Shade said. “The Varden are notorious for dealing treacherously with our ambassadors.”

“I must admit I’m a little surprised as well. I was certain you’d need to use your branch,” Murtagh said.

“Enough pleasantries!” Bradburn declared. “Did you reach an accord as you said?”

Celestine sighed. “Not yet. Peace is a difficult process especially when dealing with people unwilling to consider it. I believe I’m reaching Eragon, though. I’ve discovered he has a conscience.”

“Bah,” Murtagh said.

“No, it’s true! I shamed him twice today, and you can’t shame someone that has no conscience. I feel much more confident about getting him to come around than I do about the Varden.”

“Without Eragon, the Varden would be little concern anyway,” Murtagh said.

“But until peace is achieved, my city is in danger. I want to know what the Empire intends to do to protect my people! You have not stationed nearly enough soldiers here,” Bradburn said. “I’m starting to believe the Empire will protect us as well as they did Feinster.”

“I’ve been here the entire time, your lordship,” Dorias commented.

He turned on the red-haired man and said, “Oh, yes, and a lot of good you’ll be against Eragon Shadeslayer.”

Dorias winced at mention of that title.

Celestine said, “Your lordship, I promised you that your city would not fall and I meant it.”

“And who are you?” he asked, whirling around. “A little girl that wears piecemeal armor? The king should be here! Then we would be safe.”

“The king is occupied with more important matters,” Murtagh said. “I assure you that we are more than enough to hold this city.”

“Bah, I’ll believe it when I see it and not until then. You had better not let my people suffer as those of Feinster did.”

As Bradburn stormed off, Celestine grabbed Murtagh by the arm and said, “I need to sleep—even if it’s just three or four hours. Take me to my room?”

Murtagh looked out towards the enemy encampment. “I don’t know if I trust them to keep the peace. I ought to keep an eye on them. Dorias, show Celestine to a room.”

“No,” Celestine interrupted, “I’m not going anywhere with a possessed man. Let him keep watch. Now take me to bed, please.”

Dorias smiled and, as Murtagh walked past, whispered, “She’s quite a tease, isn’t she?”

“Not really,” he replied. “Keep an eye on the Varden. Inform me immediately if they attack.”

* * *

When Celestine awoke, the sun was still fairly high in the sky. She washed up quickly, deciding to attend to the emptiness in her belly. She opened the door and received salutes from the two guards stationed outside. She asked directions to the kitchen and one offered to escort her there. The castle cook prepared a small but filling meal, all the while making idle chitchat about his family that he worried wouldn’t survive a Varden attack. The other kitchen attendants struck up similar cords, except for a girl younger than Celestine’s little sister. She kept silently to a corner, slicing potatoes.

When Celestine asked about her, the cook said, “She doesn’t talk. She came from Feinster, just her and her brother—a lad barely older than she.”

One of the other attendants interrupted, “He died of an arrow wound. They shot him in the back as he and his sister fled the falling city on horseback. What sort of animals attack fleeing children? Worse than animals! They’re monsters!”

Murtagh soon entered the kitchen. Celestine asked him, “Is everything well?”

He nodded. “No sign of activity. Seems as though they’ll keep the peace.”

“No peace,” a quiet voice from the corner said. “In sleep dreams of terror rob you of peace. In dreamless sleep there is peace. To sleep… not to dream… not to wake…”

Everyone’s attention turned to the little girl, who was no longer slicing potatoes but regarding the knife with a strange, serene expression.

Celestine reached forward with her hand, shouting, “Tendren des fortia!”

The magic in the room snapped quickly into intricately woven flexible vines that wrapped around the blade and pulled it from the young girl’s grasp as she thrust it to her chest. Celestine tossed aside the bloody knife and ran to the girl, applying a healing spell quickly. The kitchen attendants crowded around as Celestine stopped the blood loss, knitting flesh back to flesh. When she finished, she looked the girl in the eyes and asked, “Are you all right?”

She thumped her chest and, through a veil of tears, sputtered, “It still hurts.”

“Not all wounds can be healed with magic,” Celestine whispered, backing away to let the other women hold the weeping child. She then hurried out of the room.

She stopped in the hallway, trying to still her trembling and stem the tears that threatened to burst forth. Murtagh followed soon after her and placed his hand on her shoulder. Celestine turned to face him, saying between halting breaths, “What hope do we have? What hope is there against such indiscriminate hatred?”

Murtagh said, “There is love. That girl is alive because her brother loved her. She remains alive because you loved her. And she will endure because everyone in that room loves her.”

Celestine stared at him so long that he asked, “What?”

She shook her head as though waking from a daze. “Nothing. It just sounds like something I should have said. It gives me hope. Perhaps two brothers trying to kill each other could love each other instead.”

Murtagh replied, “I’m not that good of a man.”

“You could be.”

“I could try—for you.”

Celestine smiled faintly. “That’s a good start, but if you want to be a better person, you can’t do it for me. You have to do it for yourself. But, you know, you’re a better man than you think you are. I’m a stranger in this land, but you took me in, helped me. Even now, you’ve reminded me how blessed I am. Even in this other world I have a friend that won’t let me forget who I am.”

Murtagh stepped closer to her, taking her hands in his. “Of course. I…”

Dorias arrived at that moment in a great hurry. “They’re mobilizing,” he said.

“What?” Celestine asked.

“They waited until the sun dipped below the city wall, trying to cover their actions with darkness, but it’s unmistakable. They’re drawing up in formations. A battering ram is already headed toward the outer gate.”

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Chapter 8

Siege Breaker

“Didn’t you hear me?” Dorias asked. “The Varden are attacking!”

Celestine shook her head. “But I specifically warned them…”

“Snap out of it!” Murtagh said. “We have to face them. I need to get to Thorn.”

Celestine blinked and said, “I need to get my armor on.”

As they hurried through the halls together, Celestine told Murtagh, “Keep Eragon busy. I’ll handle the army. Oh, and if you have difficulty, say ‘Danetor ganra’ to Saphira—it will sap about half her strength.”

“Celestine, I can’t cast your kind of spells,” he said.

“I know and I don’t have time to explain, but it will work. Trust me.”

“Always. Dorias, stay with Celestine and protect her.”

“As you say.”

They reached a fork in the hallway—one way led to Celestine’s room, the other to the courtyard where Thorn awaited. Murtagh quickly leaned in to kiss Celestine, but she wasn’t paying attention and looked the other way. After he kissed her cheek, she looked back at him with a stern glare. “For luck,” he explained.

Her countenance softened. She nodded and all of a sudden kissed both of his cheeks. “Very well. For much luck, then.”

Celestine hurried to her room as Murtagh went to the courtyard. She was halfway in her armor when Lord Bradburn burst into her room. “The attack has begun,” he said. “You promised that you could keep my city safe. Can you?”

Eyes wide, Celestine swallowed the lump in her throat and nodded. “Of course I can,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “Evacuate as many people as possible behind the inner gate. Try to get as many people out of the city as possible. Go!”

“You may wish to heed her,” Dorias told the hesitant lord, smirking.

Fully armed and armored, Celestine made her way to the inner wall—Dorias following close behind—and climbed the stairs to the top. From her vantage point, she could see the Shade was correct. The mass of the Varden army was now halfway to the outer wall, a massive battering ram in the lead. She looked behind, noticing Murtagh atop Thorn, who was perched on one of the castle towers. She looked ahead, surveying the city, looking for a high place. “There!” she said, pointing to a flat-roofed manor house. “We must hurry!”

She glanced at the press of the crowd being herded through the gate on her suggestion—it would be impossible to get through that way. Taking her Forcecast from its holster, she fired a shot across the top of her left gauntlet. The charms in it altered the shape of the magic flowing over it, which she took control of and formed into a bridge. She remarked to Dorias, “Be careful as you follow. The path is narrow and invisible.”

Celestine sprinted to the roof with Dorias following closely behind.

“What now?” he asked.

“I will try to reason with them.”

“And when that fails?”

Her eyes slowly shifted from the approaching onslaught to his face. Her face, usually so expressive, was now impassive. “If that fails…” she said. “If I am to cast this spell, I will have to devote a lot of concentration on it. My ability to defend myself will be severely limited.”

“Then I will protect you,” Dorias said.

“I pray you don’t have to,” Celestine replied before casting a sound amplifying dome around herself. “People of the Varden!”

The battering ram’s approach faltered less than ten meters from the main outer gate as her voice boomed throughout the area, but only for a moment. She continued, “I asked your leaders for a ceasefire for your sakes. I extend that offer to you directly. Return to your tents, do no harm to this city, and you will live. Break the walls and only death awaits you.”

The crack of the ram echoed through the streets as if in answer. Celestine began weaving her next spell as she continued, “I call upon everyone that hears my voice as witnesses against you. Let them all hear that I have offered you both life and death. Please, choose life.”

The gates groaned under the relentless blows. The sky above began to darken and then take on a reddish tinge as the clouds roiled. “Are any of you married? Return to your wife or else you may die and another man will enjoy her love. Do any of have children? Return to them now or else you may die and then who will raise them? Turn back now before it’s too late!”

The gates shattered and a cheer went up from the Varden. Celestine dissipated her sound spell and whispered, “Dayus, be merciful when you judge the souls I am about to send you. They didn’t know they would see you today.”

As the enemy swarmed through the splintered gate and into the city proper, a seething mass of liquid flame slowly coalesced in the sky and plunged to the ground. Then another. And another. It was as if someone had dipped a sponge into a fiery lake and held it aloft, letting it drip to the earth below. Screams of agony filled the air.

Celestine looked intently at the battlefield, waiting for the first sign that the siege was broken, that the army was retreating. Some of them caught outside the wall fled back to the camp, but others made mad dashes for the broken gate despite the fact that more fire rained in the city streets than outside the wall. The ones that had breached steadfastly refused to retreat, heading to the keep with grim resolve.

A troop of the Varden archers made their way through the burning chaos until they were in range. They loosed a volley of arrows at the wielder of the flames; however, Dorias intercepted them in midflight, snapping them like so many twigs. The archers soon retreated as the fire intensified near them.

The soldiers inside the city tried to find cover, gaining ground slowly and carefully between the blasts of certain death. Celestine heard a cheer go out among the men and could see the glitter of blue amid the crimson hail. Murtagh and Thorn moved to intercept. Celestine didn’t pay much attention to their fight—only keeping track of their position so as not to accidentally smite Murtagh.

After an hour, Celestine noticed three Elves draw near the manor house. Dorias said, “I’ll handle this,” and leapt from the roof. Celestine almost lost concentration with stray thoughts of concern for him, but she regained her focus upon realizing that his magic allowed him to land without harm.

Initially, she paid little attention to his struggle, giving him the same faith she put in Murtagh’s ability. She merely glanced at him from time to time to make sure everything was fine.

After another hour, Celestine noticed a small squad of swordsmen approaching the manor house with care from the other side. She tried to dissuade their advance with a few precisely aimed blasts, but they instead made a mad dash for the door. There was no time to think about it. Dorias wouldn’t be able to protect her. She engulfed the entire street leading up to the entrance with fire and tried to ignore the screams of the dying.

She then looked over at Dorias to keep her mind where it should be, but his battle seemed to have grown progressively worse. She dropped a fiery orb on one of his attackers. The Elf managed to shield herself.

Trying to maintain her concentration, Celestine considered other options. Attempting a second spell powerful enough to do something to an Elf while keeping control of the burning clouds would probably not work out. She could continue pelting them with fire, but that could prove as unhelpful to Dorias as to his adversaries. Splitting her focus with her consideration caused her to lose control of one of the vortexes. It spun and descended to ground, becoming a tornado of fire. It plowed through several houses before she regained control of it. Some Varden soldiers that had been seeking refuge in those houses ran out into the streets, their comrades attempting to put out their flames.

Suddenly, from the corner of her eye, Celestine saw Saphira streak to the ground like a blue meteor. She plowed through a small garden. Thorn landed nearby, but as he approached, Saphira managed to scramble to her feet and in a moment, she and Eragon were back in the air, flying back to the camp as fast as she could manage. The Elves pulled back shortly afterwards and the rest of the army fled in a panic immediately thereafter. Celestine stopped targeting them, only allowing a few blasts to hit the ground somewhat close to them in order to keep them aware of the danger and hasten their retreat.

The threat passed, Celestine fell to her hands and knees, breathing heavily. She wanted nothing more than to curl into a ball until the pain dulled, but she knew she still had a task. She looked down at Dorias. He leaned against a wall, bleeding. He needed her. Celestine crawled to the edge of the roof and looked for a way down. She spied a nearby trellis and used it to gingerly descend. She rushed to him, half stumbling over her own feet, and inspected his wound. The shaft of an arrow stuck out of his chest. He grinned. “Pierced through the heart. The only way to kill a Shade.”

“Hush,” she said gently. “Be still.”

She applied a healing spell that would brace him enough to remove the arrow. As she did, he gasped. “I was sure…” he said with a gasp as the pain dulled, “you hated me.”

She glanced at his red eyes before returning her gaze to his punctured chest. “Am I speaking to one of the spirits in him?”

“You are.”

“Then I do hate you,” she said. “Mother always said, ‘Despise the spirits; pity the possessed.’ In there somewhere is a poor wretch of a man. If I must save you to save him, so be it.”

“You think we like this arrangement? We did not take him; he called us to him.”

“Hush already. I’m not supposed to talk to spirits anyway—they tend to lie.”

Dorias looked off into the distance. “Say what you will. I would rather be free of him. We all would.”

Celestine grasped the arrow shaft, but faltered. She looked him straight in the eyes. “Is that true?”

“We are luminous beings,” he sighed. “We despise this corrupt matter.”

“Prove it. Leave him.”

“We would have done so a long time ago, but his spell binds us to him.” Dorias smiled. “We would have killed him long ago, but it prevents that, too.”

Celestine chewed on her bottom lip. “I shouldn’t even be listening to spirits, but if you really do want out…”

In rapid succession, she traced a six-pointed star on her palm, pressed it to his forehead, and said, “In the name of Dayus, creator and sustainer of all things, ancient past all measure, maintainer of all power, leave this man!”

Dorias screamed. “Your god is not in this world!”

“There is nowhere the power of Dayus cannot be felt. He reaches to the highest heavens. Even the depths of the grave are not beyond Dayus’ might. His power will even reach into this man’s body to let you leave.”

Dorias squirmed and gasped. “The spell is too strong! We can’t leave!”

“Does Dayus command and then not give the power to act? Never! No work of man is too strong for Dayus. Stop doubting and take the power given you to leave. By the word of Dayus you will leave! Now! Begone!”

Dorias screamed and writhed. Suddenly, six glowing orbs rose from his body, hovering in the air for but a moment before soaring away at extraordinary speed. Dorias’ hair was now dark brown. He opened his eyes—now hazel—regarding Celestine with caution.

“Are you all right?” she asked.

He said nothing, but glanced down at the arrow still sticking from his chest before looking back at her.

“Sorry, right. Let’s get that out of you.” She pulled it out in one swift motion and immediately resealed the wound. “There. You’ll live, Dorias.”

He glared at her. “Live? Dorias is already dead and you killed him!”

She pointed emphatically at one of the charred corpses littering the nearby street. “That is death!” she screamed, then placed her open palm against his chest, feeling his heartbeat, and said, “Not this.”

His only response was a scowl. She stood and walked away. The former Shade eventually fell in step behind her. While they were still some distance from the inner gate, Celestine asked, “So, what is your name then?”

“Kaelin.”

“Well, Kaelin, welcome to having your life back.”

“Is life worth it when you lack the power to protect yourself?”

“Protect yourself from what? Death? Dorias didn’t protect you from that tonight. I did.”

“And do you think Kaelin could’ve protected you from three Elves?”

Before Celestine could respond, she noticed Murtagh running towards them, waving. He ran up, exclaiming, “Wasn’t that glorious? I especially liked that fiery whirlwind flourish at the end—a very nice touch.”

“It wasn’t a flourish—I lost some control over the spell,” she said, her voice on edge.
Murtagh didn’t notice her tone, instead surprised by Dorias’ change in appearance. “What happened to you?”

Kaelin frowned and replied, “She removed my spirits.”

“Amazing, I didn’t know that could be done,” he said, then looked back at Celestine. “There are few Shadeslayers in the world, and today there is but one Shadebreaker, Lady Celestine.”

Celestine snapped back, “Don’t you ever call me that again!”

Shocked, Murtagh asked, “Why not?”

“For one thing, I don’t need any self-aggrandizing titles.”

“It’s not supposed to—”

“And another thing, I didn’t break him; I fixed him!”

“I just meant—”

“And not only that, but it wasn’t even me; it was the power of Dayus!”

“As you wish. I’ll never say it again,” Murtagh said. “At any rate, let us head to the banquet hall. Lord Bradburn is already having a feast made ready to celebrate the victory.”

“A feast in the midst of a siege? Is he mad?” Celestine asked.

“It’s a display of confidence in you, Celestine. After what you did, he thinks the siege will be done inside of a week.”

“I don’t want to celebrate,” Celestine said. “I want to go to my room and be left alone.”

“Celestine, this is in your honor, and while we’re here we represent the Empire. Now, tonight we were victorious, but Eragon and the vast majority of the Varden army still camp outside those walls. The men need to know we will continue to support them ‘til it’s over— else their spirits will be as candles in a gale.”

“Fine then, let’s go be joyful over a thousand needless deaths.”

“Celestine, I heard what you said before the battle—everyone did. They brought it on themselves. Their blood is on their own heads.”

By then, they’d entered the courtyard through the inner gate and were greeted by throngs of adulating civilians. Swept up as in a tide, Celestine soon found herself seated in the banquet hall on Lord Bradburn’s left. As everyone else in the room loudly celebrated the victory, Celestine ate nothing, quietly sipping her cup of wine.

As the hours passed by, everyone’s plates were empty and in high spirits. Lord Bradburn stood and rapped the table loud enough to get everyone’s attention. “A toast!” he declared, motioning the stewards to refill everyone’s cups. As everyone stood and held aloft their goblets, he continued, “To Murtagh, champion of the Empire, and a better Rider than the Varden’s!”

The crowd cheered and drank. Murtagh spoke. “It was a hard fought battle, but Celestine gave me a word before battle and, at that word, Saphira, that great dragon, fell like lightning from the heavens!”

The crowd roared. Lord Bradburn continued the toast, “And to Celestine, a most powerful magician, who single-handedly slew a thousand of their best men!”

Everyone cheered and drank their wine—everyone except Celestine. She stood still, cup still aloft, a blank expression on her face. Her attention suddenly snapped to as the crowd took up the chant, “Speak! Speak!”

Celestine called out, “For what do you honor me?”

Someone in the crowd called back, “For the heaps of charred Varden!”

The crowd cheered.

She raised her cup a bit higher and said, “Then this wine is the blood of the slain.”

The crowd cheered again, raising their cups to participate in the toast. Their cheer died down as Celestine slowly poured the red wine out all over the table. “Dayus forbids the drinking of blood,” she said, tossing the empty cup to the floor as she stormed out of the hall.

Everyone began looking at each other and at Bradburn, murmuring. Finally, Murtagh stood and began heading to the exit. He turned briefly to say, “She’s from a distant land.” He continued towards the door, turning one more time to add, “They have different customs there.”

As Murtagh left, Bradburn announced, “You see, she pours out the blood as an offering to her god. Be cheered for we now have a god fighting for us!” And the crowd roared with approval.

Murtagh made his way through the halls. As he neared her room, he noticed cracks in the stones leading to her chamber. He opened her door. She had thrown her bedsheet over the mirror. There were cracks in the stones in her room, too, and the wooden bedposts were bowed outward. Celestine kneeled by the bed, her upper body draped over it as she whispered fervently, her body wracked by heaving sobs. It looked like a shadow was growing over her back, but it would lighten and every time it did, a new crack appeared near her.

“Celestine!”

Startled, she jumped to her feet and turned to face him. She wiped her tears from her cheeks and said, “Leave me alone!”

“No!”

She flung herself at him, shouting, “Get out of here!”

Murtagh caught her and held her close. “No, I won’t.”

She began weeping into his chest, asking over and over again, “Was there another way? What else could I have done?”

He cradled her head and told her, “There was no other way. There was nothing else that would’ve stopped them. You did nothing wrong.”

“Nothing wrong? A thousand men all with hopes, dreams, friends, family—all cast headlong into the grave—and there’s nothing wrong?!”

“And what of the people you saved? The men, women, children of this city who would have suffered at their hands?”

Her entire body trembled as she continued speaking. “When the Harcadian army attacked the Mage Empire, Daistros faced them alone. He wove a spell of such skill that their entire army could not move forward, could not move to the side, could only move away. Even their most powerful wizards could do nothing to disrupt his magic. If only I were more skillful. If only I were better, then I could make everyone do what they should. I could make them all… Everyone… Then no one would have to die.”

“You did your best. By the gods, you can forgive the man that scarred your back, but you can’t forgive yourself for doing the only thing that would stop a band of marauders from pillage and plunder?”

Suddenly, one of the castle soldiers burst into the room and said, “Murtagh, sir!”

Murtagh interposed himself between Celestine in the door. He turned his head to the young man and yelled through clenched teeth, “It can wait!”

“But, sir, it’s about the egg room.”

Comment [4]

Chapter 9

The Stolen Egg

Murtagh’s heart skipped a beat at the mention of the egg room. He turned back to Celestine, who had turned her back to the door and was wiping the tears from her face. He brushed the side of her face with the back of his index finger. “Celestine…”

“I know,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “We must go.”

“Has it been stolen?” Murtagh asked as Celestine retrieved her helmet.

“Yes, sir,” the soldier replied.

“Lock down the castle and the courtyard. No one leaves until I find out what happened.”

“Already done, sir.”

On the way, he contacted Thorn from a distance. I’ve just received word that the egg has been stolen. Have you noticed anything amiss in the courtyard?

The egg? I’ll tear asunder any fool that harms it! I’ll—

Focus, Thorn! Have you noticed anyone trying to skulk away with a stolen dragon egg?

No. I’ve been here the whole time since the battle. When was it taken?

I don’t know yet. I’ll let you know more as I find out.

As they approached the room, they were met by two guards. “Sir,” one said, “it’s a grisly scene. The young lady might not want to see.”

“The young lady has seen worse in her time,” Celestine replied.

“I meant no offense, m’lady,” he said, bowing his head.

“What happened?” Murtagh asked.

“We found them when we went to change shifts. No telling how long they’d been dead or the egg gone.”

“That may not be the case,” Celestine said, walking around them and entering the room.

Grisly was an apt word. Barely any patches of floor were not covered with blood. Two of the guards had been eviscerated. A third guard had a slit throat. The fourth was lying face down in a pool of blood, his cause of death not immediately evident.

Murtagh entered the room behind her and said, “By the gods…”

Celestine inspected one of the eviscerated guards. “He’s been dead for hours.”

“We’ve been changing shifts every six hours as ordered, sir,” one told Murtagh.

Celestine had a puzzled look on her face. “Six hours sounds about right, but… do you notice anything odd about this scene?”

Murtagh paid close attention to the details. “Yes,” he said. “Their armor is undamaged. It looks like it was pulled up at the belly to make those wounds.”

Celestine rolled over the face down man. “His wrists have been cut. His armor is undamaged as well.”

“They killed themselves?” Murtagh asked. “But… I don’t understand.”

“Could they have been made to kill themselves? Magically?” Celestine asked.

“I suppose.”

“What of your wards on the pedestal?”

“Those are gone.”

“So, whoever did it must be a spellcaster,” Celestine said, “but six hours ago… That would’ve been right about the beginning of the battle, wouldn’t it?”

Murtagh nodded. “Perhaps the Varden had someone on the inside.” He turned to the soldiers. “Go and inform Lord Bradburn of this.”

“It’s already being done, sir,” he said. “One of us went to get you, one went to Lord Bradburn, and us two stayed here.”

“Well then, go and inform him to get his spellcasters together. Quickly!”

As they left, Murtagh turned to Celestine. She was closing the men’s eyes and whispering prayers over them. He waited until she was done before saying, “Celestine… I think we ought to wait to inform Galbatorix about this.”

She stood and gave him a disapproving look.

“It’s just that we may recover the egg quickly, and then it will be no point to worry him for nothing. Just give it time is all I mean.”

“No, we have to tell him right away.”

A familiar voice came from the doorway. “Glad to know at least one of you has some sense.”

They both looked as Galbatorix entered the room. Murtagh asked, “How did you…?”

“Know? Did you not think I had potent spells of protection placed upon it, boy? Or were you wondering how I got here so fast? I can move quite quickly when my last dragon egg is involved!”

“Your majesty, we will recover the egg,” Celestine said.

“Oh will you?” Galbatorix asked, advancing towards her. “And to think I made a great advancement towards returning you home. Recognize this?” he asked, handing her a large, leather-bound tome.

She skimmed through the first few pages before skipping large sections to check later parts of the book. “This is Holy Writ. You got this from my world?”

“Where else?” he asked, prying the book from her grasp.

“You can send me back?”

“After figuring how to obtain things from your world, figuring out how to send you back to your world would be a fairly simple matter. However, I think the issue with the egg warrants more attention.”

“I can fix this! I can get your egg back!”

“I can get my own damned egg back!” Galbatorix said. “How do you intend to fix… this?” He held out a shard of thick, green shell.

“It’s hatched?” Murtagh asked.

Galbatorix just glared at him in response.

“I can fix this!” Celestine insisted. “I can make it right!” she said, hurrying from the room.

Murtagh started after her, but Galbatorix grabbed his arm. “Let me go! She’ll get herself killed!”

“As if I’d let anything happen to her before she’s of any use to me. First things first. I need to know what you two have been up to.”

Having said that, Galbatorix began scouring his mind, reading all of the events Murtagh had witnessed since they’d left for Belatona.

* * *

Arya looked at Eragon as he sat in his tent, holding his head in his hands. He said, “I don’t know what happened. We were doing well. I’d almost overcome Murtagh, but then he said those strange words and Saphira suddenly grew so weary.”

Arya said nothing. Eragon looked up at her. “How many did we lose?”

She sat next to him. “I don’t know. About a thousand. King Orrin is already speaking of harsh measures to take against deserters.”

“Deserters? But this was just a setback. We’ll find a way to defeat this new foe; we always do!” Eragon said, standing. He paced back and forth a bit before adding, “We shouldn’t have attacked anyway. She warned us this would happen. She knew her power better than we did. That is not a mistake that will be made twice.”

“More than that, Eragon. She knew our power better than we knew hers. As you say, though—it is not a mistake to be made twice.”

“I need more power! Solembum told me that when all seems lost and my power is insufficient, to speak my name to the Rock of Kuthian and open the Vault of Souls. This must be that time, but I still don’t know where the rock is. Arya, I asked you about it before. Have you found anything out about it?”

Arya stood. “Asked me about it? This is the first I’ve ever heard of it. Though it does sound familiar…”

Before Eragon could say anything else, they were interrupted by an amplified voice ringing throughout the camp. “Eragon!” she called. “Eragon! Where are you? Come out and face me, coward! Eragon!”

The color drained from his face, but still he reached for his sword. Arya touched his hand as he strapped it to his belt. “Let me handle her,” Arya said.

“But—”

“You will need to rally the men so that they don’t flee. I will handle this sorceress.”

“Be careful,” he said. He paused to look at Arya just a moment before hurrying from the tent.

Arya took a deep breath and let it out slowly. She’d barely had any time to rest since the night’s battle, but then that meant the little sorceress hadn’t either. She walked briskly from Eragon’s tent, stopping only to retrieve her sword, heading towards the sound of the voice which was still calling, “Eragon! Where are you?”

Men were running the other direction. As she made her way through the press of men, Arya hoped that Eragon would be able to handle the situation. King Orrin had spoken of harsh measures indeed.

Less than a hundred feet outside the camp, Arya found Celestine. The girl stopped and said, “I’m looking for Eragon.”

“Does a lion answer when a dog barks?” Arya asked.

“Where is Eragon? I would have words with him.”

“You decimate our army and then storm our camp? You will have far more than words, little sorceress, but not with Eragon.”

“Have it your way then, Elf,” Celestine said, drawing her sword.

Arya readied her mental defenses and then reached out to probe her opponent’s mind. She was shocked to find it completely unguarded, her thoughts completely open. Decimate their army? They’re the ones that attacked! Then they steal the green dragon and he won’t even face me! My responsibility and if I don’t get it back, Galbatorix will never send me home. After I deal with this Elf, we’ll see what Eragon has to say for himself!

As she listened, Arya noticed something in the background—some sort of song. It wasn’t like the dreamy Elf song that lured the unwary. Though quiet, the sound was majestic, glorious. She’d never heard anything like it in the mind of a human. She listened more and more carefully, trying to discern the words, but she paid so much attention to the background that she almost didn’t notice the girl’s attack in her foreground thoughts. A shape and some unfamiliar words coalesced in her mind along with a sentiment of Let’s see how she handles this. Arya couldn’t see the attack, but could tell that it was aimed at her chest. She dodged to the left as quickly as possible, but whatever it had been clipped her arm, half spinning her and nearly knocking her down. She would have to ignore the song in the girl’s heart if she hoped to win this encounter.

Arya probed the girl’s mind for any information on her magic defenses, but could find nothing. How could a girl with a mind so open possibly be hiding her magic defenses so well? Or, on the other hand, how could a spellcaster of such demonstrated power possibly have no wards to defend her?

Arya was on the defensive again quickly as Celestine cast several more spells—mostly invisible force spells like the first one. She concluded her attack with a fireball and Arya noticed something that stunned her so much that the fireball passed much closer to her than she would’ve liked. The girl hadn’t said or thought brisingr at all, and yet, there was fire. Her mind had been much the same as when casting the other spells—shapes and unfamiliar words. Perhaps… her magic was different? So, perhaps she didn’t have wards such as traditional spellcasters had? Arya almost spoke the words to stop Celestine’s heart when a sudden thought stopped her. There was no way Galbatorix would let his pet force of destruction out on the battlefield without putting wards on her if she couldn’t do it for herself. That would also explain why she couldn’t sense them in the girl’s mind—they wouldn’t be there.

Celestine had paused her attack for the moment. Thoughts of frustration seethed in her mind. Playing with me. Hate Elves. They think they’re so superior. I’ll show her superiority.

Arya sprinted forward and swung her sword. Celestine parried and riposted, but Arya was quicker, sidestepping and pressing the attack as Celestine stumbled back. The girl’s thoughts were in turmoil as she began reacting without thinking first. She must have had training with the sword in order to keep herself defended so well on instinct and muscle memory. Suddenly, Celestine concentrated on some shapes and said some words aloud, but her actions were moving as fast as her mind was now and Arya couldn’t tell where the attack would hit until after it sent her sprawling away.

As Arya stood, Celestine pondered her opponent. Good thing she didn’t see that one coming… Wait a tick, the Elves here don’t have Magesight—no one here does but me, and I already knew that. Oh, Angelina would’ve already thought of this, I’m sure. I should be fighting her the way I’d fight a normal. Celestine smiled. “One last chance. Let me see Eragon.”

“It will not happen,” Arya said, but in the back of her mind she wondered how Celestine would fight a “normal.”

“Very well, but remember: you asked for this.”

Her eyes looked about; shapes started filling her consciousness. She moved her hands and arms, speaking words of some other language, and the shapes in her mind transformed into vaguely human outlines. Whatever she was doing, Arya didn’t intend to let her finish. She charged again, but before she could reach Celestine, several more armored girls appeared around her—all looking just like their originator, all with swords drawn.

Arya paused. Were they real? If this Celestine were a standard spellcaster, there would be no way. How to know the limits of this stranger’s magic, though? She continued to press into her opponent’s thoughts as she swung her sword at the nearest doppelganger. The girl’s thoughts mainly indicated that she was pleased with her cleverness, but Arya picked up on a stray musing that answered her question. So very hard to see through illusions without Magesight.

Even so, the figure in front of her blocked the sword, and it felt real enough. Was it possible she was attacking the real one? Arya focused her effort on this one, but when another stabbed at her, she parried just in case. That blade felt real as well. The girl’s thoughts had already betrayed that these were illusions. It must simply be that the illusions were complete in all the senses. Any of them could be the real one.

One of the girls said, “You don’t talk much when you fight. That’s probably best.”

Arya turned on her quickly, pressing a ferocious attack, ultimately running her sword through the girl’s throat. She fell to the ground and disappeared. The other girls laughed. One said to another, “She’s quite the vicious one, isn’t she?”

“Yes, but not very discerning,” the other girl answered.

Complete in all the senses indeed. Suddenly, Arya caught another thought. Won’t see this one coming.

With more than a slight sense of desperation, Arya paid careful attention to every detail her keen Elven senses could pick up as several of the armored foes converged on her. Behind her she noticed blades of grass bending under an invisible weight. All of the girls were illusions! The real one was invisible! Arya swung her sword in a broad arc that would block an incoming stab at as many levels as possible. Something clanged off her blade at about thigh level. Arya spun to swing again from the same side. This time she made contact with something that yelped.

The illusory foes all disappeared and Celestine became visible again as she rolled several feet to the side. A trickle of blood ran down her left arm, but it appeared that the worst of the blow had been absorbed by the eagle-shaped shoulder armor. Arya dashed forward to run her through on the ground, but an invisible shield blocked her as the little spellcaster stood and hurried to a safer distance.

Arya again delved into the girl’s mind to determine how next her foe would approach her. Don’t have time for this! How did she even…? Blasted Elven senses I’m sure. And what is this pressure? It’s like a headache, but instead of pressure in my head, it’s like pressure on my… sense of self… Oh bother, Murtagh warned me about this. She’s been reading my thoughts this whole time! Oh, what did he say to do? That’s right. Concentrate on some ear worm piece of music. But what to pick… Ah yes!

One, one, one Makotan swordsman

Went out, went out, went out to fight an army.

He fought, and won; he beat one hundred soldiers,

But they came back with two hundred.

So one, one, one Makotan swordsman

He stood, and fought, against two hundred soldiers.

He lost, and fled; the army was victorious,

But he came back with another.

So two, two, two Makotan swordsmen

Went out, went out, went out to fight an army.

They fought, and won; they beat two hundred soldiers,

But they came back with three hundred.

Arya got out of her mind to escape that annoying singsong tune—there was no more use being in her mind. She’d have to handle this a little more traditionally. Celestine moved her hands about, saying words in that unfamiliar language, until she slammed both palms into the ground. An eight-foot tall, roughly human shaped figure rose from the earth beneath her of which it also seemed composed. The girl plucked some sort of stone from her belt pouch, knelt on its broad shoulders, and pressed the stone into the creature’s mouth underneath its gravelly tongue. It almost seemed to breathe after she did that. She then whispered into its ear something that Arya could hear by virtue of her sensitive Elven ears, “Golem. Smash.”

Celestine slid down its back as the so-named golem raised its arms and roared. Arya lost track of her as she became invisible again. As Arya prepared a spell, several more golems rose from the ground and roared in like manner. Surely those had to be illusions…

* * *

Eragon could hear the roar on the other side of the camp—a roar deep and loud like winter’s first avalanche on a cold, lonely mountain. He hoped Arya would be unharmed, but he also had no time to reflect on it. The mass of men that he’d been convincing not to break and flee from Celestine’s approach were looking past him to the grassy plains with renewed panic. “Hold men! Hold!” Eragon cried. “We have fought through numerous battles! Faced foes far more powerful than we had any expectation to defeat! This will be no different.”

As he spoke, he heard the thundering of hooves. King Orrin and his cavalry circled around the press of soldiers to face opposite them. They then lowered their lances. “Any deserters shall be immediately punished with death,” he proclaimed. “Now arm yourselves against the intruder and fight like men. Do you still hope to free yourselves from Galbatorix’s reign? Then defeat this child!”

“You mean me?” the clarion voice called out.

Everyone turned and looked to see Celestine approaching, her countenance as severe as a bird of prey. The men glanced at the cavalry that blocked their escape. Many were drawing weapons, perhaps thinking to summon up enough courage for an assault. She must’ve seen it, too, for she raised her hands and said, “Ignatous orbus succendamus.”

A waist-high ring of fire encircled her to a radius of five feet. At the mere sight of flames, one of the soldiers broke and ran, heedless of the horsemen that barred his way. As he tried to push past, one of the cavalry speared him between the ribs. Eragon and Celestine both shouted an imprecation at the same time, and then the world turned upside down for Eragon. He saw men flung left and right like children’s ragdolls. He saw the ground and the sky change places several times as he felt himself soaring through the air.

When he came to himself, the horses had been scattered, the men had been scattered. All that remained on the battlefield was him and Celestine. She was knelt over the injured man—a soft, white light emanating from her hands. She was weeping.

He drew Brisingr. As he approached, he heard Saphira in his mind. Eragon, do you need help? I’ve kept the men from retreating on the north side.

Check on Arya, please.

But Eragon…

Please!

Very well, but I’m coming to you as soon as I make sure she’s well.

He walked towards her with great care. Each step he reminded himself that she was a danger, an obstacle on the way to Galbatorix. She had to be defeated. She paid him no mind as he neared, focused entirely on the prone man. His wound was closed, but fresh blood trickled from the corner of his mouth. Eragon raised his sword and swung. The blade rebounded off an invisible shield.

“A man lies dying—one of your own men even!—and all you can think of is adding more death? What’s wrong with you?”

“You slay hundreds upon hundreds of men, but you want to save this one? Why?”

“Because I can!” she shouted back. She then wiped some tears from her cheeks and said, “Or at least I thought I could. I stopped all the bleeding, but he’s lost a lot of blood and he’s choking on the blood in his lungs. I can replace the lost blood, but I don’t know what to do about his lungs.”

“Can’t you just put the blood back into his veins?”

“Easy for you to say.” Celestine suddenly looked directly at him. “That’s it! It’s easy for you to say! Say it; cast the spell. It wouldn’t take a lot of energy at all.”

Reluctantly, Eragon did as she asked. She clapped her hands and said, “Dayus be praised! He’s going to make it!”

The man lolled his head towards her. She looked him in the eyes, hands poised over his chest, and cautioned, “Brace yourself. This last part hurts.” She focused on his chest a moment before glancing back to him to add, “A lot.”

The white glow returned to her hands and, true to her word, the man cried out in pain and writhed beneath the light, but within moments it was over and the man was able to unsteadily get to his feet. “Go back to your tent,” Celestine told him.

As the man complied, Celestine said, “I’m glad you helped. But now for the reason I’m here.”

Eragon tightened his grip on Brisingr.

She continued, “Where is the green dragon?”

“What? I thought you said you had it.”

“It was stolen during the battle by some magician that murdered all the guards, and you have no knowledge of this?”

“It’s the first I’ve heard of it. In case you didn’t notice, while you were burning the city streets, I was busy fighting Murtagh, and after the battle I was tending to Saphira.”

“I know you didn’t steal it personally,” she said, “but I presume there are other magicians in your marauding band. You know of none of them that took it?”

“I don’t.”

“I need to get that dragon back!”

“That’s the second time you’ve said ‘dragon’ instead of ‘dragon egg.’ Has it… hatched?”

Celestine sheathed her sword and said, “You really don’t know, do you? But if not one of you, then who?”

Celestine began to walk away when Eragon pointed his sword at her and shouted, “Hold! You think you can simply walk away without answering for your crimes?”

She glared at him and opened her mouth to speak, but she was interrupted. “Since when is it a crime to kill armed soldiers in battle during a war, Eragon? Or, if it is a crime, are you not equally guilty? Perhaps you should answer for the Battle of the Burning Plains? Or for Feinster?”

Eragon turned to see the man himself in imposing black armor, looking like a raven to Celestine’s dove. Only one word could escape his lips. “Galbatorix.”

“In the flesh,” he said with a mock bow. He then turned to Celestine and added, “It was dangerous to go alone.”

“I don’t think it’s here.”

“You could have waited a moment. I can sense nearby dragons,” he glanced at Eragon and added, “I cast that spell on myself a long time ago. Have you worked it out yet?” He looked back to Celestine. “Wherever he is, he’s not close.”

Celestine hung her head. “Oh.”

Eragon barely paid attention to what they were saying. Here was Galbatorix. His ultimate foe right in front of him. He couldn’t let this opportunity pass. Shouting “Brisingr!” Eragon swung his sword at the king.

Saying something in the original language, Galbatorix lifted his armored hand and grasped the fiery sword by its burning blade. He then placed his empty palm against Eragon’s chest and cast a spell that pushed Eragon away several feet. Brisingr remained in Galbatorix’s hand. He smirked to see that it was still aflame despite no longer being in Eragon’s grasp. He then muttered a few words and tossed the doused blade aside. “Impressive sword. Did an Elf make it?” he asked. “No, wait. Let me guess. An Elf made it, but used your body to do so.”

“How did you know?” Eragon asked before wondering whether it had been wise to confirm his suspicion like that.

“Because when you let an Elf craftsman use your body to create an object, a representation of your identity fuses with the object. Did they not tell you? Or did they pretend to be as surprised as you? I suspect your first spell was also brisingr, wasn’t it?” Galbatorix asked. Eragon remained silent now, but the king continued, “You’re like fire, Eragon.” Galbatorix sighed. “When it rages unchecked, fire is destruction. When harnessed, it bakes bricks, shapes metal—it is needed to build. What kind of fire do you want to be, Eragon? I’ll let you think about it while I find my dragon.”

He then walked away, Celestine following beside him. At one point, Galbatorix put his arm around Celestine’s shoulders. What was she to him? Saphira’s voice filled his head, Eragon, Arya and I are on our way to you. Are you all right?

I’m… They left. Galbatorix was here. He didn’t even deign to fight me. They just walked away.

Comment [9]

Chapter 10

Whispers in the Night

Celestine lay awake in bed. After returning to the castle, Galbatorix had assembled all of Lord Bradburn’s spellcasters—an easy task since it consisted of one rather portly fellow and his considerably thinner apprentice. Oddly, though, Kaelin was nowhere to be found. Galbatorix seemed unsure what to make of it. Celestine had insisted that the guards were murdered right as the battle started, which would eliminate Kaelin from suspicion. However, Galbatorix got her to admit that time of death could’ve been as late as the beginning of the victory celebration, and no one recalled seeing Kaelin there. Even after arguing for his potential involvement, though, Galbatorix then argued that he couldn’t have done it alone—not without the power of Dorias. Celestine was just happy when he finally let them all go to their rooms, but exhausted though she was from the battles and the late hour, she couldn’t sleep.

She closed her eyes and simply breathed slowly and deeply. She found herself in a green valley thronged by majestic mountains. It looked familiar to her as she walked around. She spied a nearby foal with its mother. A flock of black birds overhead. White seeds floating in the air. In the distance, a rumbling noise slowly grew louder. The animals looked up, startled, and bolted in the opposite direction. Celestine didn’t move. She knew.

Gavarian tanks and infantry swarmed the area, ignoring her as they always did. She looked to one of the nearby mountains—it was where death came from. The skies turned red. The clouds churned. Celestine watched as fire rained from the sky all around her, wishing she could close her eyes to the melting men and machines. And once the valley was littered with nothing but smoldering remains, the burning men pulled themselves to their feet, climbed out of their molten tanks, and walked towards her.

She also saw some of the Varden interspersed with the Gavarians. She could tell by their swords. They crowded around her.

She awoke wearier than ever. She conjured a light and left her room. A few times, she thought about turning around and returning to her bed, but she would be struck with a sudden fear that if she did turn around, she’d see dead men. Before long, she stood in front of a wooden door, knocking.

Murtagh opened the door—then scrambled to button his nightshirt. “Celestine? What’s wrong?”

“I… I can’t sleep. I thought if I had some company…” she said. “But I’m being selfish. I shouldn’t be disturbing your sleep.”

“No! No, it’s fine. Come in,” he said, opening the door wider. “I wanted to talk to you. I was going to wait until morning, but since you’re here…”

She entered his room. He motioned toward a cushioned piece of furniture—it was kind of like what Celestine would call a couch, but it wasn’t upholstered. “Have a seat.”

She sat down beside him. “So…” he began, “trouble sleeping.”

She nodded.

“It’s because of the battle?”

“I had a nightmare. Always the same one,” she said. “About that spell. The first time I cast it was against the Gavarians—they’re a fairly powerful empire southwest of my people. They invaded one of Syl’s outlying oil fields, far from the homeland. We happened to be in the area at the time, so the military ordered Captain Nash to help defend.”

“Is he your commander?”

“No, he doesn’t command me, and I don’t command him, but we have a mutual goal, so we work together. Anyway, he asked my sister and me to protect a valley. He said the Gavarians would engage the defense head on with the main army and send a division through the valley to flank them. He said he didn’t have enough troops to cover both the valley and the plains and air support was limited. If I didn’t and the Gavarians outflanked us, thousands would die and the oil would be lost to us, hampering our efforts to defend ourselves against them in the future, meaning even more could die as a result.”

She looked away. Murtagh waited for her to continue. “I made Angelina swear that she would only defend me—that she would leave the defense of the valley to me. We waited so long. I prayed that the Gavarians wouldn’t find the pass or wouldn’t try to make use of it. But they did. And no matter how terrible it got, they wouldn’t stop coming.” She pressed her open palms against her legs as she leaned over. “They sent more and more! They were very brave. And now I can’t seem to escape the fires I used to halt them.”

He put an arm around her shoulders.

She leaned against his chest. “I pray about it constantly.”

“Does it work?”

She looked up at him. “Dayus does comfort me. I don’t think I’ll ever be at ease with the people I’ve killed, but I don’t think I’d want to be. Does that make any sense?”

Murtagh nodded. “Would it work for me?”

“What do you need to pray about?”

“I have a problem. I… need to forgive Eragon.”

Celestine grinned a little despite her mood. “That doesn’t sound like a problem to me.”

“I mean that I need to, but I don’t think I can. Would prayer help? Dayus probably can’t even hear me here.”

“If I fly upon the wings of eagles to the furthest shore, there will he find me. Shall I ascend to the highest heavens? His glory fills them. Shall I lay down in the grave? Even there will he hold me fast in his arms,” Celestine said. “He can certainly hear you.”

“Hmmm. If you’re sure… Yes. Yes, that’s what I’ll do,” Murtagh said. “So, how does it… ah, how does it work?”

“I’ll start one for you,” she said, taking hold of his free hand and closing her eyes. “Dayus, we humbly approach your presence now, to praise your majesty and your power, and to lay our requests before you. We thank you that you gave us victory over our foes, and we ask that you comfort the families of the dead, and comfort us as we protect the people of the Empire from these invaders. Please grant that peace may be reached in this world and in mine so that there may be an end to the bloodshed.”

She lightly squeezed Murtagh’s hand. He cleared his throat and spoke. “Dayus, my name is Murtagh. I don’t know much about you, but Celestine tells me you can help with my problem. I have a brother on the opposite side of this conflict—Eragon. He has done me much wrong, but I need to forgive him. I don’t know how.”

As Murtagh considered his next words, Celestine’s head slowly slid down his chest and rested on his lap. She was asleep. And, since she could no longer hear him, he could speak freely. “Dayus, I need to change. Galbatorix has me under his thumb because he knows my true name. I must change my true name, and all I can think is if I could just forgive Eragon, that would do it. Then I could be free, and I could tell her. Dayus, he’s deceiving her, and I can’t tell her. Please, if not for my sake, then for hers. Just help. Of course, if you have any better ideas, I’m listening.”

Murtagh couldn’t move without rousing her, so he called a blanket over to cover her and closed his eyes.

“Murtagh.”

“Celestine?” he asked. “You couldn’t sleep?”

“Murtagh.”

It wasn’t Celestine’s voice. When it spoke, everything felt like it trembled—the stone floor, the wooden furniture, even the air. It reminded him of his father.

Murtagh was standing at the window.

He looked around, trying to find out where the voice had come from. “Murtagh.”

It sounded like Brom’s voice. “I’m listening,” he said. “Who are you and what do you want?”

“What do you see?”

Now it sounded like his mother’s voice. He also noticed that a quiet chorus sang a majestic song just underneath the voice when it spoke. “I see a cauldron in the northwest,” Murtagh answered. “It’s tipping over and pouring out boiling water all over.”

“You have seen correctly.”

Celestine’s voice.

Murtagh was sitting now with Celestine laying her head on his lap.

“What else do you see?”

Galbatorix’s voice. Murtagh looked at Celestine as she breathed deeply. When she breathed in, two small places on her back poked up against her robe, and he remembered the strange protuberances he’d seen amid the scars on her bare back. “I see Celestine,” he answered.

“Help her. Help, and do not hinder. She will need you before the end.”

Eragon’s voice. He said, “I want to help her, but I’m constrained. Break my restraints, and I swear I’ll do everything I can to help her.”

After a long silence, he asked, “Hello? Are you going to help me? Are you still here?”

No response.

Murtagh looked down at Celestine again. She seemed so peaceful. He tucked a stray lock of hair behind her delicate ear. She barely stirred. He then pulled the blanket up over her shoulders before closing his eyes.

The sun had been climbing the sky for a while when Murtagh awoke. Celestine was rousing. She mumbled, “You smell like a dragon, you know.”

“I suppose I would,” he replied.

“Hmmm, well I should get back to my room. Why is it so bright?”

Murtagh said, “You’ve been asleep quite a while. It must be close to noon.”

Celestine sat up quickly. “Noon! I slept here all night?”

“Yes.”

“Why didn’t you didn’t wake me?”

Murtagh frowned. “I thought it would be counterproductive to the entire ‘needing sleep’ situation.”

Celestine stood. “I just wanted to talk for a while before going back to my room!”

“How was I supposed to know that?”

“Murtagh! Only married couples should spend the night in the same room.”

“I understand, but we didn’t do anything except sleep,” Murtagh said, standing. “And it was more important for you to rest.”

“But people will talk!”

“About me? They wouldn’t dare.”

Celestine started poking his chest with her index finger. “And what about me? They’ll talk about me.”

Murtagh held his hands up. “I’ll defend your honor, Celestine, but listen, something more important happened last night.”

“What could possibly be more important than this?” she asked, still pointing at him.

“Dayus spoke to me last night.”

Celestine froze for a moment, mouth agape. Finally, she said, “You had a dream.”

“No. I mean, maybe, but even if it was a dream, Dayus spoke to me in the dream.”

Celestine’s hand dropped to her side. “Murtagh, Dayus doesn’t just speak to people.”

“But I prayed to him, and he answered. I thought that was the way it was supposed to work,” he said. “I thought you of all people would believe me. Why don’t you?”

“Dayus hasn’t spoken to anyone for the past 1300 years.”

“There must be some way of proving he spoke to me,” Murtagh said. “How about how his voice sounded? He kept using the voices of people I knew—my father and mother, Brom, even Eragon. And he whispered very quietly, but everything would quiver at the sound of his voice.”

“And that would mean something if I’d ever heard his voice!”

“Well, how does that book of yours describe his voice? Surely some of the people in there heard it!”

Celestine shook her head. “The sound of rushing waters! The sound of seven thunders! The shout of a mighty host! …A still, small whisper in the night.”

“There! See! But, I don’t understand what he showed me.”

Celestine slumped back down on the couch. “If it was Dayus, what did he show you?”

After Murtagh told her about the tipping cauldron, Celestine clapped her hands over her mouth. “What?” he asked. “What does that mean?”

“It means destruction,” she said. “One of his prophets saw a cauldron poured out on top of the city of Ashkaveh. Within one year, the city was so utterly destroyed that its ruins weren’t even rediscovered for five hundred years.”

“I didn’t see it pouring on a city, just the land. Maybe that means something different?”

“It means devastation will be poured out on the entire land. It will start in the northwest and spread everywhere.”

“Oh. Well. You said yourself, it was just a dream anyway. You probably got me spooked with that nightmare, and I just had one of my own,” he said.

Celestine jumped to her feet. “No! It’s more than that. It’s a warning. What else did he say? Anything else?”

“Nothing. I mean, nothing that I’m not already doing.”

“I see,” she said. “We need to go to the king with this news.”

He began, “That might not be—” when a soldier opened the door and told them the king wished to see them.

He led them to Lord Bradburn’s throne room. The king was there, sitting on Bradburn’s throne while the lord sat next to him on a plain wooden chair. As soon as they entered, Galbatorix looked up from the leather-bound book and said, “Ah, just the young lady I wanted to see. First, let me apologize.”

“What for?”

“I’ve been reading this tome, and the meat you ate from my table wasn’t from a clean animal.”

“Oh,” Celestine said, “well, I’m a Syllian and a proselyte. The dietary laws don’t apply to me. That’s in the book of Proselytes, near the end. The only thing that matters for us regarding unclean animals is that it’s not permissible to sacrifice them.”

“Ah, good. Glad to hear,” Galbatorix said. “Now, I noticed something that I’m concerned is a copy error. I thought you would be familiar enough with the original?”

“Probably.”

“As I read, I noticed that Dayus has all sorts of different titles. What’s strange is that when he’s called Lord, in some places only the first letter is capitalized while in other places it’s in all capital letters. Is that intentional?”

“Yes. In the Syllian translation, the all capital Lord is used as a placeholder for where his real name appears in the original text.”

“His real name, you say?” Galbatorix said. “So, what is his real name that the all capital Lord is put in place of? You know it, don’t you?”

Celestine fidgeted. “It’s not permissible to speak the Name.”

Galbatorix motioned to a nearby servant to bring her parchment and a writing utensil. “It’s permissible to write down—it must be if it’s in the original text. Could you write it in its original language?”

“I can,” she said, putting the quill to the parchment.

As Celestine wrote the first letter, Murtagh cleared his throat. She paused to look at him, but he only opened and closed his mouth a few times, saying nothing. She turned her attention back to the parchment and wrote the second letter and third letter. “Celestine, we had something we wanted to tell the king,” he said.

“I know. I’m almost done.”

As she wrote the fourth letter, he said, “Say, just out of curiosity, do you remember how magic works in our world?”

“Yes,” she said, handing the parchment back to the servant. “You learn the true name of something, which allows you to control it with your spells…”

The servant handed the parchment to the king.

“You cannot control Dayus!” she said.

Galbatorix looked at her intently. Her hands were balled into fists. “I’m afraid Murtagh’s question has your mind thinking in the wrong place. You misjudge me, young lady.”

“Do I?”

“Yes. I don’t know if you realize, but I’m quite a religious man,” Galbatorix said. “In my castle, I even have an altar to an unknown god. Thanks to you, I now know what name to inscribe on that altar. I merely wish to offer sacrifices and pray to Dayus, which is why I wanted to know his proper name first.”

“You can’t speak his name.”

“Yes, I remember you saying that, but I hadn’t noticed that command in here. If you could point it out?”

“It’s in the book of Returning during the first giving of the law. It’s repeated again in the book of the Renewal of the Covenant in the second giving of the law, and finally in the book of Proselytes in the third giving of the law.”

Galbatorix frowned as he turned the pages of Holy Writ. “Let me see. ‘You shall not misuse the Name of Dayus the All-Powerful.’ Is that the command?” When Celestine nodded, he asked, “What does it say in the book of Proselytes?”

“It says, ‘Be mindful of the utterances of your tongue, for Dayus will hold no one guiltless who speaks the Name for no good reason,’” she answered.

“So, if I speak his name in prayer, how could that be considered misusing his name, or speaking it for no good reason?”

“If you don’t use the Name at all, you never have to be concerned that you’ve misused it. If you never speak the Name for any reason, you never have to be concerned that your reason was good enough,” Celestine replied.

“While I understand your concern, I don’t think I’ll be violating any of his commands,” Galbatorix said, finally looking at the paper. “There’s something wrong with my translation spell. There are no vowels in this name!”

“Dayus’s chosen people didn’t write out vowels.”

“How could they read anything without vowels?”

“Try writing something and remove all the vowels. You could still read it. It’s not even that hard.”

Galbatorix frowned. “Bah, this conversation is going nowhere,” he said. “No matter. I have reports from my spies that indicate the dragon thief has fled to the island of Vroengard, possibly seeking something in the old capital of the Riders, Doru Araeba.”

Murtagh gasped. “That’s in the northwest.”

Galbatorix regarded him suspiciously. “Yes. Why are you telling me information we both know?”

“It was for Celestine’s benefit,” Murtagh said. “I wasn’t sure if she remembered seeing it on the map.”

“Murtagh, I thought we were going to tell him about the vision,” Celestine said.

“Vision?”

“Dayus gave him a vision last night.”

Murtagh said, “It was just a dream. Just a silly dream, and it didn’t mean anything!”

“What was the dream?” Galbatorix asked.

“Just a pot, it was in the northwest, and it was spilling water on the ground. See? Nothing more meaningless.”

Galbatorix turned several pages in the book. He began reading, “Behold, destruction is coming upon Ashkaveh. It will pour over the whole of Ashkaveh, and great will be the fall of that city. When it is done, the devastation will be so complete there will not even be enough dust for a man to have a handful. Every living thing within its gates will pass away—all that has within it the breath of life. Man and beast alike will perish.” He closed the book. “That was what Dayus said when Jehoel saw a vision of a cauldron pouring water on the ground.”

“It was just a dream. The voice wasn’t even Dayus; it was my parents.”

“Murtagh!” Celestine began.

Galbatorix stood and interrupted her. “My spies tell me that our dragon thief is headed to Vroengard, and you get a premonition of destruction from the northwest. That’s too much coincidence for me. Go at once, both of you. And remember what I’ve told you of that place, boy.”

“What of the siege, my king?” Lord Bradburn asked.

“Shruikan will be here before the day’s end. We’ll be sufficient to handle this siege.”

“One more thing before we go, your majesty,” Celestine said. “How goes the spell to return me home?”

“It’s been going quite well since you confirmed the book copied without error. I already have the other direction mostly worked out—only a few more things to… fine tune. I’m sure I’ll have it worked out by the time you’re done at Doru Araeba.”

Celestine nodded. When she turned to leave, she saw that Murtagh was grimacing as if in pain, and his hands were clenched into fists. “Are you all right?”

“I’m fine!” he said. “I’m going to prepare for departure. I’ll meet you in the courtyard when I’m ready.”

Murtagh then rushed out of the throne room. Celestine just stood there for a moment until Galbatorix asked, “Problems?”

Celestine shook her head. “Not that I’m aware of…”

Shortly after Celestine left the throne room, Galbatorix, inspecting the parchment, said, “This looks somewhat familiar for some reason. I need to return to Urû’baen.”

“But, my king,” Bradburn said. “The siege. You said…”

Galbatorix stood and clapped the man on the shoulder. “Have faith!” he said with a smile. “I told you I would handle the siege, and I will.”

* * *

The leaders were gathered in Nasuada’s tent. Eragon was also there. “What are our options?” Nasuada asked.

“Options?” Orrin said, the derision in his voice dripping off the word. “Let’s see, we couldn’t take the city even when it was just Murtagh, a Shade, and that sorceress protecting it. Now Galbatorix has arrived? We’re lucky to be alive to have this discussion!”

“Many men were lost in the battle. Many more have disappeared with the daylight,” Jörmundur said.

“Most of the deserters are Varden,” Orrin added. “My men are more disciplined.”

“Pointing fingers at each other will do us no good,” Arya said. “There must be some way. Perhaps if we could defeat Galbatorix here away from his stronghold.”

“A brilliant idea!” Orrin said. “You crossed swords with him, didn’t you, Eragon? You think you can defeat him now that you’ve gotten a taste of the power he wields?”

“I…” Eragon began. He then turned to Arya and said, “I need to find the Rock of Kuthian. I spoke about it with you just before Celestine attacked our camp. I’d spoken of it before, too, but you said you didn’t remember.”

“I didn’t remember… What were you just saying, Eragon?” Arya asked.

“He said,” Orrin started in irritation. “Said… Needing to find something. And something about Celestine. Oh dear, what’s happened to me?”

Enough! The disembodied voice rang through all their minds.

Glaedr! You’re speaking! Eragon replied. But no one else is supposed to know about you…

That doesn’t matter right now. Glaedr said. I’ve seen symptoms like this before. It’s obvious someone has placed a memory spell on the name of the place you need to go—probably to protect it. Since you can remember the name of this place, either you cast the spell—unlikely, to say the least—or the spell was cast with you in mind. You are supposed to find it.

But how can I find a place that no one else knows about?

“Perhaps I could help with that. Please pardon that I was listening in.”

Everyone turned to see the source of the voice. A cat that no one had noticed until that point was transmogrifying into a small, human shape. His green eyes were striking, but most curious was that he was missing two fingers on his left hand. “A werecat!” Eragon said.

“Grimrr Halfpaw, at your service,” he said with an over-flourished bow. “I am the Lord of the Lonely Places, Ruler of the Night Reaches, and—more importantly—keeper of the secret you seek.”

“You know where the Rock of Kuthian is?”

“Indeed, and we must move fast. I fear it has already been compromised.”

“How? Who?”

“I must be careful what I say in mixed company. I would also urge you not to say the name in front of everyone, else the spell will make the conversation very hard for them to follow.”

Eragon nodded his head. “Go on.”

“We werecats, as the most cunning of all races, were given the task of leading the new Rider to the hidden place once he was ready. Perhaps I should’ve come to you earlier—you just didn’t seem ready enough to me. Time is a luxury we had little of to begin with; now I fear we have none at all.”

“What do you mean?”

“All of the other werecats are gone. Last night, I was alone, scouting your battle. This morning, I returned to my people in order to recommend we lead you to the place, but I only found this.”

Grimrr held out a hastily scratched note. As Eragon read it, Grimrr said, “I recognize the writing of my mate.”

The note read: “We’re taking the Rider to the Rock. We must. Bring Era—”

“Who are they leading to… the hidden place? Surely not Murtagh or Galbatorix?”

Grimrr went down on all fours and arched his back. “No, they are still in the city.”

“Celestine said the green dragon had hatched, but… it would be so small, you could hardly consider whoever has it to be a Rider yet.”

Grimrr stood. “A mystery indeed, and there is but one place that holds the answers. It is in Doru Araeba on Vroengard. Meet me outside the camp with Saphira. I will get my traveling boots.”

Bring me, too, Eragon. Glaedr said as the werecat left the tent.

Orrin stood. “I’m going back to Surda. This is unsalvageable.”

“You can’t give up hope just because it’s unsalvageable! You have to hope even more!” Eragon insisted. “Whatever is going on… there… I will handle it, and I know I’ll return more powerful than ever! And I’ll defeat Galbatorix, Murtagh, Celestine, all of them!”

“What do you propose Eragon?” Nasuada asked.

“Meet me outside the walls of Urû’baen. I’ll get there by the time you do.”

Jörmundur said slowly, “What you ask is… difficult.”

“Difficult?” Orrin echoed, slamming his palm down on the table. “What he asks is suicide. March on the capital without securing the numerous strongholds along the way? We’ll be stuck outside the mighty walls of Urû’baen, surrounded by every Imperial garrison that we passed.”

“A very good point,” Murtagh said as he walked into the tent. “Brother, I need to talk to you.”

Before Eragon could say or do anything, Nasuada asked, “What did you do to my guards?”

“Guards? You call those guards?” Murtagh scoffed. “Please. I could’ve traipsed in here and kidnapped you at any time. Count yourself lucky I didn’t. I’m not here to fight anyway. I just want to talk to my dear little brother.”

“Here’s something I’ve wanted to tell you for a while. You can stop calling me brother, son of Morzan. My father was Brom,” Eragon said, and just so Murtagh couldn’t argue the point, he repeated his last sentence in the original language.

Murtagh just stared at him for several moments. Finally, he blinked and said, “I counted you a brother in adversity long before I thought we were brothers in blood. Do you reckon so little of me that you would throw me away for my father’s blood?”

Eragon only looked at him.

Murtagh shook his head. “Still, I’m happy for you, half-brother. Brom was a good man—aside from the adultery, I suppose. I hope that’s put your mind to ease regarding your parentage.”

“It has.”

“Good. Now for why I’m here,” Murtagh said, struggling at his next words. “We need to reconcile our differences.”

“Are you apologizing?” Eragon asked.

“Me apologize? For what? It’s you who should apologize!”

“Why should I apologize? I’ve done nothing wrong!”

“Done nothing…? You suggested I kill myself!”

“You’re working for Galbatorix!”

“I’m being forced to work for Galbatorix! I fought alongside you! I risked my life for you! And the best solution you could come up with was to let you kill me!” Murtagh stopped yelling abruptly and took in a deep breath. “No, we need to settle our differences, so let’s do that.”

“Why this sudden interest in reconciliation, half-brother? This has something to do with that strange monster, Celestine, doesn’t it? Does she think it will make me weak? Bring me over to Galbatorix’s side? Tell me!”

“Don’t talk about her that way. She has a kind and loving soul.”

“She’s bewitched you! And she is a monster. What kind of person can slaughter more than a thousand men in a single night?”

“Have you looked in a mirror lately? What looks back at you, I wonder?”

Eragon charged, throwing a punch. Murtagh blocked it and grabbed his half-brother’s throat. Arya stood and began to draw her sword, but Murtagh said something in the original language, plunging the entire tent in darkness. By the time Arya reversed the spell, Murtagh was gone. In the commotion, Eragon had received a bloody nose. He wiped the blood from his face and said, “I will find my destiny at the hidden place. I won’t let Celestine lead me astray as she has my half-brother. If any of you have the courage, meet me outside Urû’baen. That is all.”

As he stormed from the tent, he nearly ran into Angela. “Eragon!” she said. “Where are you going?”

“I’m going to the… hidden place. The one that Solembum mentioned.”

“Already? That wasn’t supposed to happen yet. It’s all going to pieces! Eragon, have you seen Elva at all?”

Eragon shook his head. “Not since the first time Celestine came to our camp. You don’t think she did something to her, do you?”

“Ugh, no, just… just go do whatever. Everything’s out of control. I don’t know what to do next.”

Comment [8]

Chapter 11

Separation Anxiety

Before taking flight, Murtagh told Celestine that they’d make a quick stopover in Dras-Leona for supplies prior to heading for Vroengard. She had asked why he’d been so late for departure, but he only said he’d tell her on the way.

I could have told you that Eragon would’ve acted that way, Thorn told him.

I just hoped… I don’t know. How can I forgive him if he won’t let me?

I only recently found out that there’s more to forgiveness than not eating someone. You should probably ask Celestine.

“You’ve been quiet,” Murtagh said, his voice raised enough for her to hear him over the wind.

“You said you would talk to me on the way,” Celestine replied. “I was just waiting until you were ready.”

“I tried to forgive Eragon before leaving.”

“I gather it didn’t go well?”

Murtagh laughed. “He said he did nothing wrong, started accusing you of bewitching me and trying to lead him astray. It went downhill from there.”

“I admit it’s easier to forgive someone that wants your forgiveness.”

“So, what should I do?”

“Hmm, so you are serious about this?”

“I… That is… It’s important.”

“Why?”

Murtagh didn’t say anything for a while. “I didn’t think I’d have to tell you why it’s important to forgive others.”

“You’re supposed to forgive him for his own benefit. If you do, then you’ll benefit, too. If you try to forgive for selfish reasons, then neither of you will benefit because you won’t really forgive him.”

“Sounds complicated. Surely you have some advice for me?”

Celestine rested her head against his back. “Imagine yourself in his place. What if you had just accused one of Eragon’s friends of trying to bewitch him?”

“I would never make such an unfounded accusation.”

“Not the point. How would you feel? You wouldn’t want him to hold it against you, would you?”

“I guess not.”

“If you don’t like it, don’t do it to others.”

“Is that in that book of yours?”

“Not exactly, but many of our wisest teachers say it is the summary of Holy Writ.”

“It does make some sense. Hard to put into practice in that situation, though. Is that how you forgave that slave trader?”

“I’m not sure my own personal reason will work for you.”

“Why not?”

“Because I actually believe in Dayus.”

“Oh that. I was trying to downplay that vision because of Galbatorix. You have no idea what he’s capable of, and I can’t even tell you the half of it.”

“So you do believe the vision?”

“I guess. I mean, is that the way Dayus usually acts?”

Celestine sat straight. “What do you mean?”

“Handing out bad news and not even answering what I was praying about?”

Did you…?

Something large and blue crashed into them from above. The saddle was cut in two. Celestine’s stomach lurched as everything solid came out from beneath her. She reached for Murtagh. He reached for her. Their fingertips barely brushed each other as she plummeted.

She hoped Thorn had been flying high—she would need time to cast this spell. Her hair whipped behind her until she wrapped a shield around her. She then placed a larger shield around that and a yet larger shield around that. That was all the time she had.

The outer shield struck the ground, obliterating instantly. The middle shield shattered when it hit the ground shortly thereafter. The final shield distorted her vision of the ground as it stretched, but it stretched too far. Once it broke, she hit the ground hard. She heard a cracking sound and screamed in agony. It was her right kneecap. Her arms and ribs were severely bruised, but the pain in her knee stabbed at her like needles. It must have broken.

Celestine rolled to her back, spitting out dirt and gasping. Each breath in was a sharp pain, and each breath out a dull one. She couldn’t see Saphira or Thorn in the sky—no way to tell how Murtagh fared. She looked at her knee, already able to see blood oozing from beneath the dented plate, and wished, as many healers had before her, that she could heal herself.

What was she going to do now?

She was within sight of a large lake on her left. Good thing she hadn’t landed in that—she probably would’ve drowned before she could get her armor off. The landscape was strewn with rocks of various sizes. To her right, there was a dilapidated wall that had probably encircled a small village ages ago. The rest of her armor had come through the fall better than her right knee plate. She reached to the pouch on her belt and pulled out her charmed twig. It was unharmed and her first thought was to use it, but Murtagh was probably still in the air. If he was unable to catch her again, she’d never survive another fall like that.

Looking ahead, she saw her sword had landed nearby and, in the distance far past it, she could see the mouth of a cave. She rolled to her stomach and focused on her sword. “Tendren des fortia,” she said, trying to pull her weapon to her. She had to concentrate and say it three more times before she could finally drag it to her.

When her sword reached her, she just lay next to it for a while, panting. “Dayus, watch over Murtagh. Keep him safe. Watch over me, too, please.”

She heard some small rocks tumble over each other and looked towards the partially ruined wall nearby. Several men were trying to conceal themselves behind it, but one had stumbled. Having lost the element of surprise, they were now coming out from behind the ruin. There were five men—three with swords, one with a blacksmith’s hammer, and one dressed as a magician.

Celestine began crawling to a nearby boulder to put at her back. As she did so, she prayed, “I thank you for blessing me with adversity to make me stronger, but if you don’t mind, perhaps next time you could go a little lighter on the blessings.”

She made it to the rock and pressed her back against it. The men were cautious in approaching her despite her condition. She weighed her options. It would be difficult to cast anything with this mind-numbing pain.

The one with the hammer stepped forward. “Surrender!” he yelled.

“It’s wise of you to surrender,” she called back. “I graciously accept.”

“Don’t play games, girl,” he replied. “Toss your weapon aside and surrender.”

“You thought I was playing?” she asked. “You could be right. I’m only lying against this rock because I can’t stand with a broken knee. But then… Perhaps I don’t need to stand.”

With that she floated almost a meter off the ground, two large fireballs in her hands, and lightning crackling around her. “Now! Surrender!” she yelled.

The man stepped back a bit, but the magician stepped forward. “I spoke with Arya Shadeslayer about her fight. If I may?”

“Go ahead, Carn.”

He spoke a few words and waves of force swept through the floating girl until she disappeared, revealing that Celestine was still sitting on the ground. “If you could float,” Carn said, “I doubt you’d be injured in a fall.”

“Aren’t you a clever one?” she said. “Too clever for your own good. I was trying to drive you off with illusions so that I wouldn’t have to kill you.”

One of the other men said, “You killed my best friend!”

“He also attacked me. Learn from his error.”

The man advanced toward her, but the one with the hammer, interposed his weapon, stopping him. “Wounded as she is,” he said, “she’s still dangerous.”

The man bowed his head. “Yes, Roran.”

“You sound reasonable, hammer man,” she said, “but you misunderstand. I’m not dangerous despite my injury but because of it. When I’m not distracted by blinding pain, I could handle a small group like yours—no casualties, no problems. Without fine control over my magic, though, it would be like taking the sword from a Makotan sword-hero and giving him… well, a hammer. Killing you would still be just as easy for him. It would be leaving you alive that would be hard.”

“She’s bluffing us, Roran,” the third man said, stepping beside him.

“Doesn’t matter either way,” Roran said. “We can’t win this war as long as she lives.”

“Something much bigger than this war is going on, Roran. Devastation the likes of which you can’t even imagine is coming, and I’m trying to stop it, so if you’d kindly leave me be…”

Suddenly, her hair and the golden highlights on her armor changed to more of a bronze hue before returning to their original color. “Carn…”

“Clever girl,” he said before casting his spell again.

The girl with her back to the rock disappeared; the real Celestine had been trying to crawl to the cave, but she hadn’t even gone ten meters. The last time she’d cast a double illusion had gone much better, but then she hadn’t been dealing with a broken knee, either. The men charged her. She drew her Forcecast and began shooting. She knocked two of them out, but when she aimed at the spellcaster and fired, he cast the same spell Murtagh had used in the bath. The projectile just changed course when it got close to him. She shot at Roran and the other man still standing, but Carn extended his protective spell over them, so the result was the same.

“Carn! What is that?” Roran yelled.

“Some kind of invisible projectile,” Carn said, wide-eyed, “but I have no idea how she’s silent casting them, especially in her condition. Her magic may be even more different than Arya indicated.”

As they spoke, Celestine continued firing, increasing the power with each shot, hoping that she could just make one strong enough to clip the spellcaster. None of them touched him. Desperate, she increased the power to a dangerous level. The shot was so powerful that when it warped around Carn and impacted the ruined wall behind them, the wall exploded, raining down chunks of ancient masonry on them.

A fist-sized chunk rebounded off the back of Carn’s head. He collapsed in a heap. Roran and the other man were both knocked down, caught under a large pile of debris. Celestine sighed heavily and crawled towards them. It took her several minutes to get close. They weren’t dead, and Roran and the man beside him were still conscious. The one that she didn’t know the name of started begging, “Please don’t kill me.”

“For the love of everything holy!” Celestine said with an annoyed edge in her tone. “Could you try using your head for something other than a helmet rest?”

“If she wanted to kill us, she could’ve done it at a distance,” Roran said.

Celestine appraised Carn’s condition as she spoke. “There’s something much bigger than your blasted war going on.” He seemed like he’d be out for at least a few hours.

“You aren’t worried we’ll report back to Eragon?” Roran asked. The other man shushed him, but then averted his gaze from Roran’s disapproving look.

“Of course I am,” Celestine said, “but what’s to be done about it? You’re disarmed and the battle is over, so I can’t kill you. I can’t exactly secure prisoners of war in my condition. I can buy myself some time, but that’s about it. When you do eventually report back to him, tell him everything I’ve told you. He’s more than welcome to help stop the destruction.”

Roran, however, had a nasty puncture on the side of his thigh. “Hmm,” she said with a frown. “That might bleed out before you could get back.”

“What do you care?”

“All life is precious, and none can be replaced.”

“So why did you kill all of those men?”

“Would you hush already? If you don’t know the answer to that question, I wouldn’t be able to explain it to you,” she said, extending her hands. She began chanting her healing spell in order to focus on it entirely. In short order, Roran’s bleeding stopped, but his leg was still badly bruised. Celestine let out a long breath and said, “Sorry, I think that’s the best I can do right now.”

“You can’t heal yourself?” he asked.

“Obviously not,” she replied. “Thank you, though, for your concern. It’s touching.”

Celestine spent the next ten minutes using the debris to form rocky restraints as well as a rudimentary cast and crutch for herself. She then hobbled toward the cave in the distance as quickly as she could manage.

That night, she sat in the cave, her armor carefully arranged beside the fire she had constructed for herself. Her cast was off for the moment. She considered the enchanted twig again. Surely Murtagh had fought off Eragon by now. But, was he flying around looking for her? Probably. That would be most efficient. If she teleported to him, would he be able to catch her before she fell? Just the thought of falling again made her heart sink in her chest. She shook her head. Maybe later.

Her rumbling belly reminded her how hungry she was. She hadn’t eaten since just before leaving Belatona—many hours ago. She had some rations packed, but if Murtagh didn’t make contact with her soon… There weren’t any animals in the cave that she considered edible. She could try some hunting tomorrow. The lake would probably have animals gather at its waters. Probably predators, too, but with her Forcecast, it shouldn’t be too much of an issue.

As she was thinking, she heard a soft noise from the mouth of the cave and saw a silhouette outlined by the moonlight. She picked up her gun. She couldn’t tell who it was just by the shadow, but whoever it was would be able to identify her easily in the firelight. She pointed the Forcecast and said, “Who’s there? Murtagh, if that’s you, you’d better tell me right now.”

No answer. She wasn’t taking the risk. She started firing, and the figure charged. Apparently, everyone knew the spell to deflect incoming projectiles because not a single one hit him.

He knocked against the shield she’d erected, but broke it down with his bare fists in mere seconds. She tried to club him with her gun when he dove at her. He batted the attack out of the way. She screamed as the impact jostled her leg. By the firelight, she could now see his face.

Eragon sat astride her, pinning one arm to the ground and pressing his sword to her throat.

“It appears I’m at your mercy,” Celestine said. “It remains to be seen whether you have any.”

“Why did you let them live?”

“What? Why wouldn’t I let them live?” she asked. “They were unarmed and defenseless.”

“Didn’t you realize that they would report back to me? That I’d find you?”

“Yes.”

“If you’d killed them, I probably wouldn’t have found you.”

“Would you have preferred I killed them?”

“No! Roran is my cousin—he’s like a true brother to me, unlike that traitor you’ve enchanted.”

“Then what’s your complaint? You didn’t want me to kill them, and I didn’t.”

After much thought he said, “I don’t understand why you would let them live when they were a danger to you.”

“So, should I kill you?”

Eragon blinked, stunned. He said, “You can’t.”

“Not the point. If you honestly think it’s right to kill those that could be a danger to you, then killing Roran and the others and you would be right. Do you believe that?”

Eragon shook his head. “You’re just trying to trick me. We’re never going to win this war as long as you support the Empire.”

“Have you even started asking yourself whether there should be a war or not?”

“I have to kill you,” he said. His sword trembled against her neck.

“I’m hardly in a condition to stop you,” she said. “Consider, though, that I’m trying to save your own homeland from imminent destruction. You may need my help to stop it. If you kill me, you may doom everyone you love.”

“And if I don’t kill you, Galbatorix may win and continue to oppress everyone.” A small trickle of blood ran down her neck as he pressed harder against her.

Without warning, something threw Eragon off her, dark and fast like an avenging angel. Celestine sat up in enough time to see Murtagh storming out of the cave after his kin. She was stunned for a moment, but soon thought he might need her help. She retrieved her gun and began the slow process of making her way to the mouth of the cave. Murtagh returned before she was halfway there.

“Hold still,” he said. “What are you doing?”

He knelt beside her, took her by the shoulders, and gently rolled her to a sitting position. “You’ll make your injury worse,” he told her as he lifted her robe over her knee, exposing the hideous wound to the cool night air. “Just relax,” he said as he cast his spell and placed his hands on her knee.

Warmth and comfort permeated her knee, traveling down to her toes as well as up her thigh. “Where else?” he asked.

Celestine raised her arm. Murtagh gently caressed it, the healing suffusing her limb. “The other one, too?”

She nodded and again he attended to her.

“Anywhere else?”

She pointed to her side. “My ribs,” she said quietly.

As she began to lift her robe higher, Murtagh stayed her hand. “I don’t need to… look to heal,” he explained.

She nodded again as he slid his hands under her robe and lightly touched her ribs, healing them as well. She took in a deep breath, free of soreness. Then, he noticed the thin red line on her neck and sealed it without a word.

Finally able to move her leg without pain, she stood and walked around and said, “Thank you.” She turned back to him and saw that he was sitting down with his elbows propped up on his knees and his face buried in his hands. She rushed to his side. “What’s wrong?”

He shook his head.

She pulled his hands away from his face and repeated, “What’s wrong?”

His face contorted in sorrow. “Forgive me, please,” he whispered.

“Forgive you? For what?”

“I forgave him and let him go. I should’ve killed him for what he did,” Murtagh said, “but I forgave him. I don’t even—”

Celestine pressed her lips to his with force and passion. She felt such a rush that she kissed him again, cupping his face with her hands. By the third kiss, she was starting to worry about how to stop herself when Murtagh suddenly grabbed her shoulders and held her at arm’s length. “Thorn!” he said, jumping to his feet and running towards the cave mouth. “Hurry, we must stop him!”

Celestine rushed after him, wondering what was going on. Was Eragon attacking Thorn with Saphira? When she exited the cave, Thorn was clawing the ground and writhing in pain while Murtagh shouted, “Fight it, Thorn! Fight it!”

“What’s going on?” Celestine asked, unable to determine the source of Thorn’s pain.

“I’m free of the oath,” Murtagh said. “Galbatorix gave us strict orders. If either of us broke the true name oath, the other is supposed to inform him right away. Thorn is trying to fight his orders, but he won’t be able to much longer.”

“Oh, Thorn. Oh, Thorn, I’m so sorry,” Celestine said. “I only know one way to help. Valos esetem.”

Thorn froze in place. “Celestine!” Murtagh yelled. “Stop doing that!”

“You said we needed to stop him, and I did. I may be able to change his true name with these dragon words, but…”

“But what?”

“This word I know, it’s like a reset. His mind will revert all the way back to how it was when he first hatched, and all of his memories will be gone. He’ll have to relearn everything.”

“No. Don’t do it.”

Celestine heard Thorn’s voice in her mind. Do it.

“Thorn! No!”

It’s the only way. I’d rather have my mind erased than betray Murtagh. I’d rather die than betray my friend! At least this way I can live and become his friend again.

“Thorn… No,” Murtagh said. “Celestine, please, there has to be another way. Isn’t there anything else you can think of? Anything at all?”

Celestine paused to think. Finally she said, “Well… I don’t know if it would work, but there is another command I know. It makes just a small change—it changes his word, but perhaps that would be enough?”

“We can at least try.”

Celestine, promise me. If it doesn’t work, don’t allow me to betray Murtagh. Do what you must.

I understand, Thorn.

“Valos derata. Terak ba ji sol.”

She heard the new word: Truos.

“Here goes everything,” Celestine said. “Truos etuhet.”

Thorn began moving again. He walked in a circle and looked at the sky. “Thorn?” Murtagh asked. “How are you?”

Thorn looked at Murtagh first and then Celestine. It worked! I’m free! For the first time in my life, I’m finally free!

Thorn nuzzled Murtagh and even wrapped his tail around Celestine. Thank you, he said repeatedly. You two are the best humans I’ve ever known.

The rest of the night, Thorn remained vigilant at the cave entrance while Murtagh and Celestine found shelter inside. As they sat near the fire, Murtagh said, “Now that I’m not under Galbatorix’s orders any longer, there’s much I need to tell you. He’s deceived you.”

Celestine repeated, “Deceived me? About what?”

“He can’t send you home.”

“But… the book of Holy Writ… He got it from my world. Surely he can reverse the spell somehow?”

“That’s not the problem, Celestine. It’s the energy required,” Murtagh said. “The way he explained it was that he didn’t actually get the book from your world. He brought its information over into our world. The information contained in that book required about as much energy as running half a mile. He said he could convert your body into information and send you back, but the amount of information was mindboggling. He said imagine a library shelf that held 1,000 copies of Holy Writ. Then imagine a library with 1,000 of those shelves. Then a city with 1,000 of those libraries. And, finally, imagine about 270 of those cities. That’s how much information your body contains. The energy it would take to transmit it from our world to yours would be impossible. He’s been stringing you along so that you’ll help him get his dragon back.”

“I see…” she said. She sat down near the fire and hugged her legs close.

“Celestine, I’m sorry,” Murtagh said. “If I could’ve told you any earlier…”

“I know.”

“One other thing. He’s not a religious man—I’ve never seen a single altar to any god in the entire castle.”

Celestine laughed lightly. “Honestly, I kind of suspected that. For his own sake, though, I hope he doesn’t try trifling with Dayus. I don’t expect that would end well. So, does he really want peace with the Varden, or is that just another lie?”

Murtagh shrugged. “Hard to say. He’s so good at lying, it’s difficult to tell when he’s sincere.”

“I’ll want to speak with him soon.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea. He’ll just take control of me again.”

“I wouldn’t let him do that.”

“I’m not sure you could stop him.”

“There’s a lot you don’t know about me.”

“True, but there’s much you don’t know about Galbatorix. He’s cunning beyond anything I’ve ever seen. I guarantee he’s figured out more about you than I have.”

“How?”

Murtagh sat back. “In addition to reading Holy Writ, he’s read my memories of everything we’ve been doing. Some of the things I don’t understand, I’m sure he’s surmised.”

“And what haven’t you understood?”

Murtagh shook his head. “I wouldn’t even know. He finds value in details that no one else would find important. I’d wager he even knows what those bumps on your back are.”

“You saw those? In the bath… I knew you saw too much!”

Murtagh held up his hands. “I said your modesty was intact. The rim of the tub came up to your waist and you had your back turned to me. When you turned around, I honestly only saw your eyes before I went tumbling.”

Celestine crossed her arms and frowned.

“Anyway, what are they?”

Celestine looked away. “Just something I inherited from my great grandfather. Everyone on his side of the family has them.”

“I promise you, Galbatorix already knows what it is you don’t want to tell me.”

Still not looking at him, Celestine said, “Well, if he does, he should know not to trifle with me, either.”

Murtagh sat closer to her before leaning in for a kiss.

Celestine placed her hand against his chest. He took hold of her hand and continued to lean in. “No,” she said.

“But…”

She looked him in the eyes. “I’m sorry I kissed you. Murtagh, we can’t… Murtagh, I’ll only break your heart.”

“Celestine.”

“Murtagh, I’m leaving! You know that! We can’t be together.”

“I already told you that Galbatorix can’t send you back.”

“Then I’ll find another way. I was sent here by an Elf. Maybe the Elves here know a way to send me back.”

“And what if you can’t? Would it be so bad to stay?”

“It’s not that. You just don’t know what will happen if I don’t get back.”

“Because you’ve never told me about it. What happens if you don’t get back?”

“Millions dead. Billions forced into servitude. Maybe worse.”

“How… do you prevent that from happening?”

“The normals in my world have discovered how to use the non-magical forces to create amazing things—machines that can fly faster than a dragon, machines that can launch projectiles at targets kilometers away with pinpoint accuracy, machines that can fly across entire continents and explode with enough force to obliterate cities. But now there is a magical artifact—a mirror—that drains the power that normals use for all but the most basic technology—technology like your non-magical people use. I’m trying to destroy it.”

Murtagh sat back. “Why?”

“The normals want it destroyed. The Mages want it to remain. Even now they wage war that grows larger every day. The war will cost millions of lives until the mirror’s effect covers the whole planet. Once that happens, the Mages will return normals to their place as our servants—after eliminating the undesirables, of course.”

“I can sympathize with the desire for freedom.”

“If I destroy the Mirror, I destroy the main reason for the war, and I take away the power that would subjugate the normals again.”

“Can’t someone else destroy the Mirror? Does it have to be you?”

“I don’t know. It could be me; it could be my sister; it could be Eve.”

“Eve?”

“My… other sister. The point is, I believe it’s me.”

“There you go again, keeping me in the dark.”

“I don’t want you to get attached!”

“I’m already—!” he began. “Suppose you find another way back to your world. Maybe I can go with you.”

“You ought to stay in your own world,” she said.

“Why would I want to? My only living relative has rejected me. Roughly half of the world wants to kill me. The most powerful man in the world wants to enslave me. I’d rather live in your world than mine.”

“We’ll see,” Celestine said, lying down. “What do you think we should do tomorrow?”

“Let’s continue to Dras-Leona as planned. We’ll get our supplies and head on to Vroengard.”

“What about Eragon? And Galbatorix?”

“I’m more than enough to handle Eragon. I’d wager you are, too, now that you’re healed. As for Galbatorix… Once we stop whatever is happening in the northwest, I intend to stay far away from him as long as I live.”

Celestine lay on her side, facing the fire. The soft light outlined the curves of her body with a diffuse, warm glow. She said, “I want you to be happy. You should find a nice young woman. Get married. Raise lots of fat babies.”

She soon drifted off to sleep. Murtagh lay down, keeping the fire between them. Quietly, he said, “I’ve already found a nice young woman.”

Comment [3]

Amid the Ruins

When Murtagh awoke, Celestine wasn’t in the cave, but her armor was. He walked outside. Thorn, where’s Celestine?

She went to the lake to bathe.

I see.

You want to keep an eye on her.

I already made that mistake once. Still, Leona Lake isn’t quite as safe as Galbatorix’s bath. Perhaps you should keep watch on her. I don’t think she would mind that.

Thorn turned to comply. Before he could take to the air, however, Celestine approached. “Welcome back,” Murtagh called out.

“Thank you. The lake was lovely in the sunrise.”

“Any troubles?”

She shook her head, her wet hair tossing water droplets about. “None at all. Just a very good morning.”

Thorn told them both, I don’t know how long it will remain good. There’s the smell of smoke in the air this morning. We should be able to see more from the sky.

Murtagh saddled Thorn while Celestine put her armor on. They ate a quick breakfast and soon took off. When they gained altitude, Murtagh saw a column of smoke rising near Belatona and pointed it out to Celestine.

“Is the city on fire?” she asked.

“I’m fairly certain it’s coming from outside the city,” Murtagh said. “Galbatorix said he’d handle the siege. I suppose he did.”

Looking forward, however, Murtagh saw something much more concerning. Large plumes of smoke were billowing from Dras-Leona. “I doubt he did that, though.”

Celestine looked where he was looking and gasped. “Is that where we’re going?”

“Yes.”

“Eragon and Saphira?”

“Probably. It would take the Varden more than a day to move an army here, but Eragon could’ve made it here before us.”

“Is there any chance it could be the green dragon?”

“There’s no way it could be grown enough to fly or breathe fire. Do dragons grow so quickly where you come from?”

“No, I just thought I’d ask.”

“Let’s find out what he’s done,” Murtagh said.

They landed amidst utter devastation. Though many buildings were ruined, the bulk of the destruction centered around what must have been a very tall black building. Even the rubble piled up more than thirty meters. There was a man nearby, wearing ornamental robes, wailing.

Celestine ran to him. His head was bleeding and his body badly burned. As she continued checking for injuries, she noticed that his right arm terminated in a fleshy stump at the wrist. It wasn’t bleeding, though—he must have lost it sometime before the attack on the city. He continued wailing as she began healing him. “Gone! Gone! He’s stolen them! Oh, they’ve been taken from us!”

“Who’s taken what from you?” Celestine asked as the bleeding stopped.

Before he could answer, another richly robed man crawled towards them. Similar to the first man, this one had also lost important body parts well before the city was torched—in this case, his right arm up to the elbow and his legs up to the knees. He shouted, “Hush, you fool! The boy with her is Murtagh—he reports to the king!”

“What does it matter anymore?” the other wept. “He’s stolen our gods! How can you tell me to hush? What else do we have?”

Celestine paused. “Idolaters?”

Murtagh looked in the distance. “What do you mean your gods are stolen? The mountains are still there.”

“We don’t worship the mountains. That’s only what we let outsiders believe,” said the man with the fewest limbs, apparently persuaded by his friend’s words. “We worship the Ra’zac.”

Murtagh looked at him. “The Ra’zac are dead. Eragon killed the last of them.”

The first one said through his sobs, “We had two eggs left, but he’s taken them.”

“Celestine, are you going to keep healing him?” Murtagh asked.

Celestine looked at him. “Yes, of course,” she said, returning to the task. “Who has taken the Ra’zac eggs?”

“I heard him say his name was Durza.”

“Impossible,” said a familiar voice behind them. “Durza is dead. I killed him myself.”

Murtagh turned to see Eragon approaching from a ruined alleyway. He drew his sword and asked, “Brother. Where is Saphira?”

Eragon displayed his empty hands—his own sword still in its sheath. “Out of range of the words this sorceress gave you,” Eragon said. “Or did you not think I would figure out where you’d gotten them?”

Celestine ignored him. “Are you sure the man said he was Durza?”

“Yes, he said he was Durza and then Dorias… I think. It was hard to hear over the roaring fire.”

Celestine stood. “Dorias is also no more. I exorcised his spirits myself, leaving the man alive,” she said with a reproachful glance at Eragon.

“That’s what I heard!” the one-handed man insisted. “I had hidden myself, and I couldn’t see anything, but I heard our High Priest ask, ‘Who are you?’ To which a sinister voice replied, “Me? I was Durza. I was Dorias. And now, I’m the one to kill you.’”

“He said his name twice?” Celestine asked.

“Yes. I’m sure he said Durza first and Dorias second, but maybe he said the same name twice.”

“What could it mean?” Celestine asked.

Murtagh kept a wary eye on Eragon as he replied, “If Kaelin was a powerful enough sorcerer, he could’ve called the spirits back to him, I suppose, but I don’t know about Durza. Dorias and Durza were different men, had different spirits. That makes no sense.”

“Did you see the man?” Celestine asked.

“No. He and his dragon killed everyone that saw him. The only ones who survived were those that took to hiding.”

“This man had a dragon?” Eragon asked. “You saw it?”

“I saw nothing!” he repeated. “I heard it! I know what a dragon sounds like.”

“No eyewitnesses at all…” Celestine said. “I don’t like this. If Eragon didn’t do this, then who?”

“If Galbatorix had learned of the Ra’zac eggs, I might suspect him, but announcing himself as Durza or Dorias? There’s no reason,” Murtagh said. “Celestine, is there any way in your world to accelerate a dragon’s growth?”

“Dragons in my world are cast creatures. If you were far more talented at magic than I, you could do it,” Celestine answered. “What about here? Wouldn’t saying so in the original language make it grow?”

“I suppose, but the amount of energy… That would be a formidable spellcaster indeed,” Murtagh replied.

“You’re from another world,” Eragon said. “I think I’m beginning to understand.”

“Good. So, are you going to help us save the world?” Celestine asked.

Eragon shook his head. “I’m going elsewhere. Maybe later.”

“If there is a later.”

“There will be, sorceress. Count on it.”

Celestine looked around. “Where are your cousin and his men?”

“I sent them back to the Varden,” Eragon said. “Were you expecting a surprise attack?”

Celestine nodded. “I still am. After all, I’m a danger, right? That’s all the reason you need to kill someone.”

“You’re wasting my time. I’m leaving.”

As Eragon walked away, Celestine called out, “I do hope you’ll change your mind. We may need your help. I forgive you for trying to kill me.”

Eragon paused but only for a moment before he continued wordlessly on his way.
Murtagh put his sword away and said, “We shouldn’t tarry here long. Let’s get our supplies and move along.”

“Murtagh!” Celestine said. “These people have just had their city destroyed. They need their food much more than we do.”

“We have a long way to travel and not much left in the way of rations. What do you propose?”

She shook her head. “I don’t know. What’s the closest town on our way?”

“Teirm.”

“Could we make it there on what we’ve got?”

Murtagh looked at Thorn. “No, but if we did some hunting around the lakeshore before we get to the mountains, we could make it. That would add some time to our journey.”

“Dayus punishes those who snatch bread from the hungry, but rewards those who give even when it hurts.”

“Very well,” Murtagh said. “Let’s set off. All this smoke in the air is starting to bother Thorn anyway.”

Before getting up in the saddle, Celestine turned once more to the wailing priest and said, “You shouldn’t worship something that can be carried off in a man’s hand. It leads to disappointment.”

* * *

Outside the city, Eragon watched as Thorn flew off to the northwest. Grimrr licked his whiskers and said, “They are going in the same direction we need to go.”

“Are they?” Eragon asked.

Would that I still had jaws so I could wrap them around that miserable whelp.

Before Eragon could respond to Glaedr, Roran asked, “Why did you call off the attack?”

“They suspected it,” Eragon said. “I don’t think it would’ve gone well.”

“Gone well?” Roran shouted. “It was probably our best chance!”

“Cousin, I want you and your men to go to Urû’baen with the rest of the Varden. I’ll need you there when I get back.”

“What of Celestine? And who burned the city anyway?”

“I don’t know who burned it. A witness said the man identified himself as Durza and Dorias—worse than nonsense, I fear it keeps us from knowing who really did this,” Eragon replied. “As for Celestine, I’ll handle her and my half-brother when the time comes.”

Roran looked doubtful, but he led Carn and the rest of his group away as Eragon requested. Once they were gone, Eragon asked Grimrr, “What do you think of this Durza/Dorias man that has the green dragon? Is he the one forcing your people to take him to the Vault? And what of Murtagh and Celestine? They seem to be going where we’re going, talking of imminent destruction.”

Grimrr shrugged. “The questions you ask are all answered in the same place. I suggest we move quickly.”

* * *

In the late afternoon, Murtagh and Celestine landed to let Thorn hunt for food. They were near the end of their own rations and resolved to kill a deer. Once the meal was taken care of, Celestine said, “I want to talk to Galbatorix now.”

Murtagh scuffed the ground with his foot. “That’s not a good idea, Celestine.”

“Please just do this for me.”

“You can’t do it for yourself,” Murtagh said. “That’s why you need me to do it. Maybe you could call him, but without your kind of magic, he’d be unable to answer, right?”

Celestine nodded. “Don’t be afraid of him. We’re safe together.”

Murtagh thought in silence for a long time. Finally, he said, “Very well. I only hope this turns out as well as you hope.”

He inhaled deeply and exhaled slowly. Then he cast the spell.

Murtagh? You have a report for me?

Actually, he called you at my behest.

Ah, Celestine. I want to thank you for your information. It’s proven quite useful in my studies. Why have you called?

I called to tell you that I don’t appreciate being lied to.

There was a considerable pause. What have I lied about?

I know you can’t send me home.

Yet. I can’t send you home yet.

I know how much power is needed for the spell. I know it’s an impossible amount of power.

Have you already forgotten what I told you? Power is not an issue for a learned magician. I can get you home, and I will.

I would have more confidence if I had learned about this directly from you. Even so, I want you to know I’ll still get your dragon back. It was partly my responsibility to keep the egg safe, so it is my responsibility to get it back to you.

I thank you. I also assume Murtagh must have changed his true name in order to tell you about the spell. I thank you for that, too.

Murtagh interrupted, What do you mean by that?

I told Celestine before you left that I hoped she could change you for the better. That’s all the oath ever was—to get you to become a better man than you were.

You lie.

You can ask her if you don’t believe me.

“He did tell me that,” Celestine said aloud.

And I certainly do hope, Galbatorix added, that you have indeed changed for the better instead of for the worse. Now, anything else?

Are you at Belatona? Celestine asked.

No, I left last night. I recently returned to the capital. Why?

There was a column of smoke outside the city this morning. I wondered what happened.

Simple. I told Bradburn I would handle the siege, and I did. I gave the Varden an ultimatum—leave by sunset or be caught in the fires when I burned their camp. They scattered quite quickly. Truthfully, I think many had left even before my ultimatum.

Do you know what’s happened to Dras-Leona?

No. What?

It’s been destroyed by the green dragon’s Rider. Someone calling himself Durza and Dorias. Also, they were harboring Ra’zac eggs, which the Rider took.

There was another considerable pause. None of that makes any sense or portends anything good. I fear you may have too much to handle in Vroengard. I will meet you there.

Comment [3]

A Chance to Reflect

Eragon, Saphira, Grimrr, and Glaedr had been flying at a brisk pace the last two days—and they were only halfway to Narda where Grimrr said they would rest up for the final flight to Doru Araeba. The mountains of the Spine jutted up underneath them like cruel daggers of bone. They hadn’t seen Thorn, Murtagh, or Celestine since leaving Dras-Leona.

“Perhaps they’re not going where we’re going,” Eragon said.

Perhaps they’re ahead of us, Glaedr remarked.

Not at the pace we’ve been going, Saphira said.

“Perhaps they are not taking the most direct route,” Grimrr offered.

Eragon continued in silence for a while. “Do you…” he began. “Is it wrong to kill those who oppose us?”

Why are you asking? Saphira asked.

“After I told them that I killed Durza, the priest mentioned Dorias, and Celestine gave me a look as she said she’d exorcised Dorias’ spirits without killing him.”

“What sort of look?”

“It was just like the ‘Why doesn’t he know better?’ Arya gives me all the time.”

Her own conduct indicts her—she hardly held back at Belatona, Glaedr said.

“Did she? She spared Roran and his men when it would’ve been better for her if she’d killed them. Given how much power she demonstrated in her fights with Arya and even while injured against Carn, who’s to say she couldn’t have killed far more at Belatona? Perhaps she could’ve killed everyone.”

What are you trying to say, Eragon? Saphira asked.

Eragon shook his head. “She told me never to take a life lightly because lives are easy to take but impossible to return. I assumed she was lying to me after Belatona, but after the mortally wounded soldier outside the camp, and after Roran… Maybe she meant it.”

“And if she did mean it?” Grimrr wondered, licking his paws.

“Then how does she decide who to kill and who to spare? It’s not based on what’s beneficial to her, or Roran would be dead.”

Why are you wasting time on this chasing after the wind? You’ll only bring back the nightmares, Saphira told him.

Eragon shuddered, but he said, “Maybe I’ve killed people I shouldn’t. There was that Imperial soldier—just a boy—he was unarmed, trying to run, begging for his life. But if he’d gotten away, Arya and I might’ve been caught, so I… But when Celestine had the chance to kill Roran, knowing if he got away, he’d report back to me, she let him live. One of us must be wrong.”

How would it have done any good if you and Arya had been caught and killed? Saphira asked.

“So, it would’ve been right to kill Roran? They have to either both be right or both be wrong!”

Eragon, Roran is your cousin, close to you as a brother. That boy was just some faceless, nameless soldier of the Empire.

“No! He had a face and a name! And just as surely as Roran and I have each other, that boy had parents, maybe brothers, maybe a young woman that loved him, hoped to wed him!” Eragon shocked himself into silence. He could’ve easily imagined those words coming from Celestine’s mouth.

Grimrr yawned. “Perhaps you were wrong then.”

“Perhaps… But I don’t understand why.”

“She may kill when there’s no other choice. Consider Belatona. She made promises to its lord to protect his people, and she only killed when it was attacked and stopped killing as soon as the army fled. The mortally wounded man outside the camp, then. She healed him because she could; he was no threat to her life. The same with Roran and his men.”

“But they were a threat to her life,” Eragon insisted. “They got back to me with information on her position and direction, enabling me to track her down. In her weakened state she stood no chance against me.”

“Yes, a better way to say it would be to say that they were not a direct threat to her life. After all, she did let them live, yet she did not die. It seems she did not see the risk she was taking as worth killing over.”

Eragon nodded his head. “What would’ve happened if I’d spared that boy? There’s a chance we would’ve gotten out of Imperial territory before he could’ve even warned anyone, I suppose. Even if he did tell anyone, unless it was Murtagh, they probably couldn’t have caught up to us or overpowered us if they had. Even if it was Murtagh, Arya and I could probably have defended ourselves.” Eragon bowed his head. “It wasn’t worth killing him.”

Arya agreed that you did the right thing, Saphira reminded him.

“Arya isn’t necessarily right all the time,” Eragon replied. “There’s something else. Murtagh said he forgave me. The way that I’ve been treating him…” Eragon looked off into the distance, but there was no answer in the skies. He thought of when he’d first met Murtagh. “Maybe I needed his forgiveness.”

There’s nothing wrong about how you’ve treated Murtagh, Glaedr said. Even his disembodied voice growled as he said it. He’s your enemy, and you’ve treated him as an enemy.

“He wasn’t always my enemy. Once he was my friend. And he didn’t turn against me by his own choice—he was made to,” Eragon said. “That night, outside the cave, I thought he’d try to kill me. Thorn had Saphira pinned. After what I’d just done to Celestine, I was sure I had a fight on my hands, but instead he told me that if our situations were reversed, he wouldn’t want me holding a grudge against him, so he wouldn’t hold a grudge against me. If you don’t like it, don’t do it to others. I should forgive him, too.”

Are you going to go the whole way and forgive Galbatorix as well? Glaedr demanded. Did we train you for nothing? Did Oromis die in vain?

“No,” Eragon said. “I’ll forgive Murtagh, but not Galbatorix. He’s the one who’s behind this anyway. He’s the one who set Murtagh against me, and he probably did the same to Celestine.”

Do what you will. As for me, I’ll never forgive Murtagh.

After further thought, Eragon suddenly announced, “I was right to kill Durza.”

Are we back on Durza, now? Saphira asked.

“Sorry, I was just thinking about it,” Eragon said. “I wasn’t as powerful then as I am now. Even now I’m not sure I could defeat someone like Durza without killing him. So, I had no other option. I was right to kill him.”

Are we going to go back through everyone you’ve killed now?

“Maybe we should,” he said. “The trouble is there’s too many to remember… Maybe that’s the point. Maybe I should’ve been thinking about this before I killed anyone.”

* * *

It had taken them two and a half days to reach Teirm and restock. It was a picturesque city with buildings that grew taller the closer they were to the center of town. Celestine imagined that would make it fairly easy to run from rooftop to rooftop. She stayed with Thorn while Murtagh got the supplies. When he returned from the warehouse district, she helped attach the packs to Thorn. He handed her one of the satchels. She went over to the saddle and manipulated the leather strap. “Like this?” she asked.

Murtagh glanced over and nodded. “Yes.”

“This should last us until get back from Vroengard?”

Murtagh nodded again. “Should.”

They flew for the rest of the day, setting down in a relatively flat clearing as the sun began to dip below the horizon. Celestine prepared the fire. After dinner, Murtagh sat in front of the fire, his elbows propped up on his knees. He’d hardly said anything to her since… She took in a deep breath. “Forgive me, please,” she said.

Murtagh looked her in the eyes, his expression unreadable. Was it sorrow? Disappointment? Vague surprise?

“I abused your affection for me,” she continued. “I used your emotions for me to make you call Galbatorix against your strong preference not to. I was wrong.”

“What’s done is done,” he said before adding, “I forgive you.”

Celestine brushed some loose strands of hair behind her ear. “There’s more, isn’t there?”

Murtagh nodded again, looking into the fire for a time before returning his gaze to her eyes. “We don’t know what we’re facing in Vroengard except that it isn’t good. Galbatorix is going to be there. Maybe he’s the force of destruction that needs stopping.”

Celestine shrugged. “I suppose that’s possible.”

“And Eragon says he’s going elsewhere, but he doesn’t know where we’re going. What if he’s going to Vroengard?” Murtagh grinned and said, “He could be a great force of destruction.”

Celestine grinned along with him. “Don’t be so mean to your brother. Honestly, I think a part of him wants to do what’s good. When he was deciding whether or not to kill me, I could see the two parts at war inside him—one wanting to do what he thought he had to and the other wanting to do what was right.”

Murtagh’s expression grew somber again. “The green dragon Rider, Galbatorix, maybe even Eragon—we could all end up at the same place. What a glorious mess that would be.”

“Do you fear death?”

“Don’t you?”

She looked down at the ground. “I’ve had time to think about it,” she said. “I’ve… I’ve known for a while that whoever destroys the Mirror will die in the process.”

“You’re going home just to die?”

Celestine walked over and sat beside him. She leaned her head against his shoulder. “One of my earliest memories was at worship when I was six. When the priest slit the bull’s throat, I pressed my face against my mother’s shoulder. She whispered, ‘Don’t dishonor his sacrifice. That creature is giving its life for our sins.’ And, besides,” she added, “if I don’t do it, then it will either be Angelina or Eve dying. So, I don’t think of it as going home to die. I’m dying so that others can live.”

“What, then, if you die before you get home? If you oppose Galbatorix, he may kill you.”

“I’m not particularly concerned about Galbatorix,” she said. “What concerns me is this mystery Shade who took the dragon. I like to have a better idea what I’m facing.”

Murtagh draped his arm across her shoulders. “I know exactly how you feel.”

“Murtagh… The battle may grow quite pitched. I want to ask you a special favor,” she said, turning her face towards his.

“Anything.”

Her left hand went to her chest, lifting her necklace up just a little. “My brother made this especially for me. It has a very powerful protective charm on it. Please, don’t let me be separated from it.”

“If it’s such a powerful protective charm, I’m surprised that fall injured you so badly.”

Celestine shook her head. “It doesn’t protect me. It protects everyone else.”

* * *

Two days later, as they were approaching Narda, Murtagh said, “That’s… odd.”

“What is?” Celestine asked.

“We’re approaching Narda, but I’m barely sensing any living things at all. Thorn can see it in the distance, but he can’t discern any battle damage.”

“Then, what happened to all the people?”

Murtagh shrugged. “I suppose we’ll have to find out on the ground.”

As they approached for a landing, Thorn and Murtagh easily spotted Saphira. They landed nearby and walked towards Eragon. He looked pale. “Brother,” Murtagh said, “what has happened here?”

Eragon shook his head. “I don’t know. We’ve been all over the city. There’s no one. Listen. Do you hear that?”

They listened carefully. Finally, Celestine said, “I don’t hear anything.”

“That’s right! There’s nothing. Not even a dog barking!” Eragon said. “All I’ve been able to find are these etchings,” he said, pointing to one scrawled on a wall. “There are dozens of them. Maybe hundreds.”

The words carved in stone read: “If you go to the island, you will find Pain. If you run, Pain will find you. Pain is inevitable.”

Goosebumps ran down Celestine’s arms. “We should stay together.”

“I think—” Eragon began.

I will not ride with Murtagh! Glaedr’s voice resounded in their minds.

Glaedr… Eragon began.

Glaedr! Murtagh said. You’re alive? Ah, of course; you must’ve given Eragon your Eldunarí. I’m glad you survived.

Spare me your sentiments, whelp.

“I’m sorry,” Celestine said, “what’s an Eldunarí?”

“A dragon’s heart of hearts. I’m sure you have several, Murtagh. You haven’t shown her yet?” Eragon asked.

“Never really came up before,” Murtagh said, drawing a gem slightly larger than a man’s fist from his leather pouch. “Here’s one.”

Celestine gasped. “It’s magic!”

“Of course it is,” Eragon said.

“No, you don’t understand,” she insisted, bending down to peer at the jewel-like object. “It’s densely packed, solid magic of the sort I’m used to. It’s like… well, it’s even more like the dragons from my world than I’ve seen here before.”

“You mean to tell me that looks more like a dragon in your world than that?” Eragon asked, pointing from the Eldunarí to Saphira.

“Physically, Saphira looks more like a dragon, but I also see magic, and magically, that heart of hearts looks more like a dragon than any other magic I’ve seen in this world.”

“So, dragons in our world have a heart of magic?” Murtagh asked. “I wonder how such a thing came about.”

They heard a loud shout of “You!” Celestine looked up to see Angela sprinting at her, raising a transparent blade. Celestine ran to the side to gain distance as she heard Eragon yell, “Angela!”

The fortune teller was undeterred. As she swung, Celestine rolled to the side, barely missing the blade’s edge. She rolled to her knees and said, “Isblaed.”

Three razor sharp blades of ice crackled through the air, heading towards Angela. The woman just smirked and with three swift swings knocked all of them away. “I’m tired of your meddling. It ends here. Maybe then we can get the right story back on course,” she said.

“And I’m sick of you not making sense!” Celestine said, gathering nearby magic lines around her and shaping them into invisible spirals. With a flourish, she sent them cascading towards her opponent, turning into electricity in the air.

Angela ran towards Celestine. She intercepted the lightning attack with her sword. Celestine’s eyes widened. Whatever that sword was made of, it was non-conductive. Just before Angela could reach her, Eragon stepped in front of the girl and again yelled, “Angela! Stop this!”

She stopped her slice just shy of Eragon’s shoulder. She stood there, dumbstruck, for but a moment before sitting down and tossing her sword aside. “Oh, it is too late, then!” she said. “You’re on her side now.”

Eragon shifted uncomfortably. “It’s not like that. You know that Murtagh was forced into serving Galbatorix. I believe he’s also been manipulating Celestine into working for him. It’s not right to fight either of them—the true enemy is the king.”

“This has gone so far off the rails, I don’t even know who the true enemy is anymore! Now that Galbatorix has been given reasonable motivations, he’s much more likely to become some kind of antihero—the green dragon Rider should be enough villain for one story. Why couldn’t you have kept it simple? Good versus evil! Good wins! Boom! Done!” Angela said. “But, no, you have to let these characters live their lives instead of making them fit the narrative. And what happens if they ruin the narrative, hmm? Ever think of that?”

“Angela, are you feeling all right?” Eragon asked.

“No, but nothing’s going to help that now. It’s all changed. Even if I kill her, there’s no getting back to where we were going from here. Just go on to Vroengard. We’ll all just have to see what happens from there. Or don’t go! We don’t even know yet what you’ll decide,” Angela said, tossing her hands in the air.

“We have to go,” Celestine said. “Or at least I have to. I was supposed to keep the green egg safe, so dealing with the repercussions of losing it is my responsibility.”

“Right, of course,” Angela said. “That deep sense of personal responsibility is a defining character trait.” She looked at Murtagh, “And you changed your true name for her, so I guess we can expect you to follow her come hell or high water.”

“Come what or high water?” Murtagh asked.

“You’ve changed your true name?” Eragon asked. “You’ve broken free of Galbatorix’s control?”

Murtagh nodded. “It was when I decided to let go of those negative feelings I had towards you. So, in a sense, I owe my freedom to you as well as her.”

“Brother, I…” Eragon began. “It’s not right to say I forgive you because I see now that you’ve never done me wrong.”

“And I suppose that means you’re going.”

“I have to anyway,” Eragon said. “They’re going where Grimrr has been leading me.”

“I almost forgot about that old werecat,” she said. “Where is he anyway?”

“Listening in,” Grimrr said, softly padding out of a dark alleyway.

A wistful half-smile spread on Angela’s face. “I still remember when we met, I was going to say, ‘Cheep, cheep!’ There’s not much point to it now, is there?”

“No, there is not,” he said, licking his whiskers.

“Isn’t it delightfully eclectic, though?”

Celestine rolled her eyes. “That’s one word for it at least.”

Thorn said, Let’s go ahead and go.

“Right,” Murtagh said.

Did you not hear me before? I will go nowhere with those two that killed my Oromis!

“Oh, now there’s a conundrum!” Angela said. “They’re all supposed to be protagonists, but Glaedr has quite a legitimate complaint against Murtagh and Thorn. What if he insists on staying? Or even if they carry him along against his will, what if he refuses to help? Even all of them together stand such a slight chance against the green Rider, what if his refusal is the tipping point? Would you let them die—Eragon, Murtagh, even precious, little Celestine—to let Glaedr behave as he wants to?”

Celestine tugged on Murtagh’s arm. “She’s really creepy. Can we just leave?”

“Yes, of course,” he said, helping her into the saddle.

Glaedr… Eragon began.

The old dragon interrupted. I… will go with you because of the threat of the green Rider. I will protect you, Eragon and Saphira. But I will not protect Murtagh or Thorn. They can die for all I care.

And Celestine?

I would gladly let her die, too, knowing how much it would hurt Murtagh.

Angela watched as Thorn and Saphira took to the air, diminishing to the size of glimmering red and blue dots in the distance. She whispered, “Oh brother, what would you think if you saw what they’ve done to your magnificent story?”

Comment [7]

Wages of Sin

The flight to the island took the better part of the day. Eragon and Saphira flew within sight of them, but kept to themselves. After a while, Murtagh said to Celestine, “I was wondering something about how your magic works.”

“Yes?”

“You said it was based on will? That you move magical energy with your mind?”

“Yes.”

“So, what’s the purpose of the hand gestures? And the incantations?”

“Oh, I see. It’s technically possible to cast any spell without moving or saying a thing,” she explained. “The gestures and words only serve to focus the mind to the spell at hand. If I were better at magic, I wouldn’t need to rely on them so much.”

“Ah.”

When they were almost to the island, Murtagh cast a protective spell on the three of them, which he had learned from Galbatorix. “Vroengard has some kind of invisible poison in the air that kills very slowly,” he explained. “It’s related to some explosion that occurred on the island during the Riders’ final stand.”

“That sounds like radiation. When did your people get nuclear bombs?” Celestine asked.

“I’m sorry; some of those words didn’t translate. I’m not sure what you mean.”

“Never mind. It’s not important. Shouldn’t you let Eragon know?”

“Indeed.”

They flew closer, and Murtagh reached out with his mind, explaining about the poison. Glaedr responded with a brusque I already know and have told Eragon. You can mind your own mind now.

Very well, Murtagh responded, saying to Celestine, “They know.”

Shortly thereafter, Saphira landed, and Thorn set down nearby. Grimrr pointed off to the north. “The rock is that way. We’re very close,” he said.

Celestine took a deep breath before whispering a traditional Syllian prayer:

“Soon I tread on battle’s yard.
I pray Dayus my soul to guard.
But if I die in battle’s wake,
I pray Dayus my soul to take.”

“A prayer to your god for our battle?” Eragon asked.

“Yes. It helps me focus, though, reciting children’s rhymes,” she said.

“Isn’t that a bit morbid for a child’s rhyme?” Eragon asked.

“Is it? I never thought so,” Celestine replied.

They grew quiet as they approached the area. Obliterated pieces of rock were strewn in front of a tunnel large enough for a dragon to enter, leading deep into the ground. Two tall, hooded figures peered into the gaping maw. Not far behind them stood a man with his back turned to Eragon and the others. As they approached, the man looked up then turned to face them. “Eragon,” he said. “I’d say it was good to see you again, but we both know that would be a lie. Oh and you,” he continued, his red eyes shifting to Celestine, “so your god can throw us out, but does nothing to make sure we won’t get back in? What’s the use in that?”

“It’s up to the man to fill his own house,” Celestine said. “You look just a little bit different Dorias. And where’s your dragon?”

The hooded figures moved to flank him. He said, “My dragon? Oh, what a treat you’re in for, dear.”

The sky grew dark above as something tremendous cast a great shadow on the ground. They looked up, swords at the ready, but it was Shruikan who landed. Galbatorix dismounted. “You will explain yourself, Shade,” he said.

He gave a grandiose bow and said, “Your majesty, the King! Didn’t like my little side army of Urgals, did you? It took us a long time to convince Carsaib to rebel against you—the spells that bind us spirits require Shades to resort to the most elaborate forms of suicide, you know.”

“Durza did rebel against you?” Eragon asked.

“This is not the time, boy,” Galbatorix said. “Let us have a truce for now.”

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you? I defeated Durza and the Ra’zac once. I can do it again,” Eragon said. “And then I’ll defeat you.”

“Eragon, honestly now is not the time,” Murtagh said.

“Brother, Celestine, we can defeat them all together,” Eragon said. “Don’t you want to be free of him?”

“Eragon, listen to your brother,” Celestine said. “Focus on one enemy at a time.”

Galbatorix ignored Eragon for the moment. “Where’s my dragon?” he asked the Shade.

“I’m confused. Is it supposed to be your dragon or mine?” he asked. He then wagged his finger and said, “When it was an egg, it was yours, but now that he’s hatched, he has a new owner.”

“Shade, I will give you one last chance to answer my question. Answer willingly or pain will persuade you.”

He laughed a full, hearty laugh. “Pain? Ha! Why do you need me to tell you when you already answered your question? Ha! Did you hear? I said he’d already answered his question.” The man became serious again and said, “Yes, very droll. This is why we don’t let you talk. Yes, oh king, Pain is very persuasive. But hark! Pain approaches!”

They, too, heard footsteps growing closer, emanating from the tunnel mouth. A large green head poked up from under the earth and roared as it looked about. It then burst forth from the tunnel. Atop him sat his Rider, proud as the dawn star—first to shine and last to dim. Her hair was black as a moonless night and violet eyes as piercing as the sword of a god.

Eragon fell to his knees and said, “Not you. Anyone but you.”

“Who is she?” Celestine asked. “I saw her once in the Varden camp.”

Galbatorix frowned. “She is the witch-child, Elva. She was inadvertently cursed by Eragon.”

“Inadvertently?” Celestine asked.

“I tried to bless her, but I messed it up,” Eragon said, his face contorting in agony. “I meant to shield her from pain but instead made her feel others’ pain to try to shield them. And I tried to fix it! I couldn’t fully remove the effect, but I did make it so that she could ignore the pain.”

Elva closed her eyes and breathed in deeply as a smile of utter contentment spread across her face. “Oh, Eragon,” she said, “your pain is the sweetest. Do you like my gifts to you? You can relive some of your greatest victories! Here is Durza and the Ra’zac.” She looked at Celestine. “Oh, and I brought back Dorias for you—to thank you for telling me where the green dragon egg was.”

“I didn’t!”

“You don’t shield your mind very well. Does it pain you to know that I got the green dragon egg from your open thoughts? Mmmm, I can feel that it does.” She leaned forward and patted the dragon’s neck. “Still, I love my Suffering, so there’s your present. I hope you don’t mind sharing a gift with Eragon; I guess I could’ve used two different people, but what’s done is done.”

Grimrr asked, “Where are my people?”

Elva sat up straight, her eyes glistening. She looked like she’d been waiting for that question. “Well, I only needed one, didn’t I?” she asked. “You can look for most your kin in the belly of the Ra’zac.”

“Monster!”

“What? They were hungry. And I did say I kept one, didn’t I? Here she is,” Elva held up a white werecat in her hand.

“Shadowhunter, my mate! Are you all right?”

“Wait for…?”

Elva tossed the cat in the air. Suffering snatched her midair with one quick snap of his powerful jaws, devouring her whole. Grimrr let out a pitiful strangled yowl as he writhed on the ground. “Yes!” Elva shouted. “Yes! Oh… Now that. Mmmm, I wish I was a poet. I don’t have the words.”

“Elva!” Eragon yelled, standing. “Stop this! I wronged you, I know. Whatever I can do to make it up to you, I’ll do it.”

“Stop calling me Elva. That is no longer who I am. I am Pain!” She focused on him and her eyes narrowed. “When the last of your loved ones lay bleeding at my feet and you weep until your eyes melt and your heart sinks so deep it refuses to beat even one more time, when you begin to grow cold as the sweet hand of Death comes to rescue you from me and the last image in your heart is their dead eyes and my smiling face, then we will be even, Eragon.”

“Galbatorix, we have a truce, but for this battle only,” Eragon said.

The king nodded in response.

“Elva,” Celestine said. “This hatred will do you no good. Let go of it, and let us help rid you of this curse.”

The girl’s eyes turned on her. As she spoke, each syllable seemed to resound in Celestine’s very core. “You will never leave this world alive, and when you die, bleeding from a thousand wounds, you will know that your sister will die in your place and still fail because it was supposed to be you. And the nations of your corrupt world will burn each other until nothing is left but ashes so that the paltry survivors will eventually turn on each other for food—even the mother will hold no love for the child at her breast, but roast him in the flames for naught but a few days of agonizing life. Just before you die, you will see that and know that it is all your fault.”

Celestine covered her mouth with her empty hand. Her body shuddered.

“Stop listening to her,” Galbatorix said. “She’ll talk you into an early grave. Murtagh, you and Eragon handle the Ra’zac. Celestine, the Shade is yours. I will handle Eragon’s mistake.”

“Please don’t kill her,” Eragon said.

“If I can help it…” Galbatorix replied. “Celestine! Are you all right?”

She shook her head, but said, “Fine. I’m fine. The Shade is mine.”

“Very well then,” he said. “Attack!”

Suffering rose high into the air, Shruikan taking wing to give chase. Both hooded Ra’zac drew leaf-bladed swords and stepped between Celestine and the Shade as the three youths moved in.

* * *

Celestine drew her Forcecast in her offhand and fired at the Ra’zac. They shrugged off the impact and breathed a black fog at her. Murtagh cast a wind to blow it away. The Shade gestured as though casting a spell at Murtagh, but Eragon said something in the original language, which made the Shade scowl. Before he could try anything else, Celestine shot at him repeatedly. She knew it would only prove distracting, forcing him to divert her projectiles, but that was all she needed for Murtagh and Eragon to close in on the Ra’zac and drive them out of her way.

“Good luck,” she said as Murtagh and Eragon passed by. They nodded in return.

She returned her Forcecast to its holster. Thorn and Saphira ran behind her on their way to back up their Riders.

“Don’t try to get close, dear,” the Shade said, smiling. “Kaelin knows what you can do, and he won’t let you cast us out again.”

Celestine nodded. “I figured as much. Kaelin has only seen a fraction of what I can do, though.”

“Clearly you can’t exorcise at a distance or you’d have done it by now,” he said, adding with a smirk, “Guess I’ll have to be surprised by whatever else.”

The way he didn’t even try to hide the sarcasm stuck in the back of her mind, but was it arrogance, or did he know something she didn’t? Celestine decided on a cautious approach. She flung several spells his way—fire, electricity, kinetic force—before charging in, sword raised.

After he batted aside her sword with his, Celestine backed away, invisible, while her illusion continued to press the attack. Kaelin had disappeared before her fight with Arya, so he didn’t know about invisibility and illusions. As she would expect, he remained focused on the double. But was he pretending in order to give her a false sense of confidence, or was he truly fooled? She continued to study him as she walked in a wide arc across from him. He gave no indication that he could see through her artifice.

She heard Saphira roar in pain and looked over. Thorn was standing between her and the Ra’zac. Murtagh and Eragon were trying to fight them with swords, but it didn’t seem to be going well for them. She needed to wrap this up quickly.

She traced a six-pointed star on her palm and walked behind the Shade. She leapt at his back. He whirled suddenly, his sword striking her side in midair with unnatural force. Celestine sprawled on the ground a few meters away.

She rolled to her back and gasped. Her hand went to her sore side. The abdomen was one of the places protected by mesh instead of plate to keep the weight of the armor manageable. Anselmo had done his job well—despite the extraordinary force of the blow, the armor had held—and Celestine thought, not for the first time, that it had been worth every bit of money she’d paid him.

She struggled to her knees only to be greeted by hundreds of jagged rocks hurtling at her. She cast a shield as quickly as possible, but it was overwhelmed. Many of the rocks pelted off her armor, making sharp cracking sounds. Some cut through her upper arms, which were only protected by her robe. She fell backward with a scream. She rolled to her stomach and struggled to her hands and knees. Blood soaked through her clothes. It was happening. She was going to die here. Angelina was going to die at the Mirror—maybe Eve, too. Her world would destroy itself in a war to end all wars.

She shook her head. No. I’ve lived my life for the glory of Dayus, and my death will be equally glorious. She glanced over her shoulder and saw the Shade levitating more rocks. Her only chance was to let her necklace activate, so she gave herself over to the desperate thoughts. Just as the second volley hurtled towards her, the necklace flashed, and the dissipating force knocked them all away.

She pulled a bloody rock from her arm. Her blood dripped down to the ground, giving her an idea. She stood. With more rocks incoming, Celestine ran away before turning abruptly and rolling forward. So, how had he seen through her illusion?

She prepared a shield as the Shade tore more jagged rocks from the earth. She ran across the field again, her injured arm still trailing blood behind her. When she stopped, the shield was ready. He couldn’t have Magesight, could he? No, he’d given no indication whatsoever of noticing her until the last moment. So, what was it? She held aloft her sword and charged with a yell. The shield survived many of the projectiles, but one broke through, tore a cut into her other arm, and bounded along the ground behind her. She retreated as the Shade laughed. “What kind of attack was that?”

Elva’s curse… She could sense when something would cause pain, which would make her an expert both at inflicting it and preventing it. Celestine turned and faced the Shade. What if Elva were able to share that information with her minions?

Celestine ran across the field again to avoid more rocks. This time she built a much stronger shield.

Perhaps he was receiving information from Elva. Celestine hadn’t intended him any pain just by studying him, and the illusion certainly wouldn’t hurt him, but when she had leapt at him to press the star against him and release his spirits, that would’ve stung. He was warned at the last second and was able to counter with something that hurt her. And if the Shade was getting that kind of information, then the Ra’zac must surely be getting it as well.

So then, you had to defeat them without hurting them? Not easy. “You won’t win,” she shouted “It’s not for me to die here.”

Something that didn’t hurt until it was far too late… It was a start at least. “You may not have a choice in the matter,” he said, using a spell to bounce his sword off her shield and return it to his hand.

She drew her Forcecast and shot at very high power levels. He deflected them as she expected, but she hoped it would be like Carn and the wall. Start with something that wouldn’t hurt and follow with something that couldn’t be blocked even with foreknowledge—that would be her best bet. She put away her Forcecast and ran away.
The Shade threw more rocks her way, adding fire to them, but she deflected them all. Celestine chewed her bottom lip. He was just standing there. Maybe she could use pain avoidance to her advantage. She conjured up a much smaller version of the fire cloud she’d used at Belatona and dropped a tremendous orb of fire where he stood.

The Shade leapt away, nimble as a cat. “An impressive spell, dear, but I’ve already seen this trick,” he called, leaping away from another drop. She panted with the effort of trying to create enough columns at once to leave only one avenue of retreat. He danced amid the flames on the field of battle, and flung a large rock through one of the fireballs, hiding the attack until the last possible second. It knocked her down, and hands made of stone burst from the ground, restraining her arms and legs.

She looked at him and yelled, “Kaelin, you coward! Are you man enough to put a sword through my heart with your own hand?”

“Careful what you ask for, dear,” the Shade said, striding forward. “What happened to not dying here? Or did you mean right here?” he asked as he stepped to the spot where Celestine had said that.

Celestine cried out, “You have touched the Seal of the Ancient Kings of Dayus, and, moreover, are in contact with my blood.”

“What? I haven’t!”

“By the name of Dayus, power of powers, god of gods, you are commanded to leave this man! All of you!”

“No! I’ve touched nothing!” he said, staggering backwards, his body stiffening. “I’ve touched no seal! No blood!” But when he looked around, he saw light emanating from the ground all around him—a six-pointed star she had bled onto the ground as she had dodged his piercing rocks. He stumbled forward, trying to leave the seal, but he fell over.

“Leave! Now!”

Writhing and struggling, the Shade arched backwards, little glowing orbs flying out of his body until the man lay still. When Kaelin came to himself a few moments later, Celestine was still trying to free herself from the stone hands. He screamed at her, “You damned girl! You’ve done it to me again!”

He lurched towards her, sword in hand. “Fret not about your heart, girl. It’s the final place I’ll put my sword.”

* * *

When Shruikan took off after Suffering, Eragon heard Glaedr’s voice in his mind, Do you think he’ll even try to keep Elva alive?

I hope so.

As they approached, the Ra’zac moved to keep Celestine away from the Shade. She shot them with her ranged weapon, but their exoskeletons, hidden under their robes, absorbed the impact easily. They breathed their evil black fog at her. If it enveloped her, it would cloud her mind and make her incapable of casting any spells.

Murtagh reacted quickly, saying, “Vindr ganga fram,” and blowing the fog away.

As they moved in to engage the Ra’zac, the Shade pointed at Murtagh and said, “Malthinae.”

Eragon countered, saying, “Losna.”

The Shade scowled at him, but when Celestine began shooting at him, he had to divert his attention to her. They now had their opening, crossing swords with the Ra’zac and driving them back. She bid them good luck as they passed. Eragon nodded at her, as did Murtagh.

“They were eggs just a few days ago. How do you suppose they grew so quickly?” Eragon
asked.

“Probably the same way she accelerated her dragon’s growth—however that might have been,” Murtagh replied.

Eragon kept pressing his opponent back as Saphira circled around and approached from behind. She took a swipe with her claws, but the Ra’zac ducked underneath without even looking before rolling to the side to avoid Eragon’s downward slash. He had enough experience with Ra’zac to know that they were strong and agile as Elves, but that dodge seemed preposterous.

He fought on with his utmost skill, but it still annoyed him. Even if their growth could be accelerated, surely their training could not? How had they become so skilled with the sword? Saphira often angled herself to attack from behind or the side, and the Ra’zac always avoided her attack often without a glance.

“Does yours seem… unusually skilled to you?” Eragon asked.

“A bit, yes,” Murtagh said. “Yours too?”

Without warning, Saphira tried to claw the Ra’zac again, but he spun and slashed, carving a deep gouge where her arm connected to her body. She roared and backed away. Thorn barreled towards her, slashing furiously as he went. Both Ra’zac leapt out of his way, then rushed to flank Eragon and Murtagh—their blades moving so fast as to be a blur.

“An understatement. But how?”

Murtagh shook his head. “Accelerated like their growth?”

“I don’t think so…”

They heard a sharp crack followed by Celestine’s yell. He hadn’t seen the hit, but Celestine was sprawled several feet away from the Shade, who was calling several nearby stones to levitate. Murtagh grimaced and renewed his attack with vigor, but the first attack that he made that left even the smallest opening, the Ra’zac exploited. Murtagh backed away, trying to recover his defense, Eragon had to help cover him, but that caused him to open up his own defense. His opponent slashed his forearm.

Saphira! Fire! Eragon thought as he rolled away.

Murtagh must’ve had the same thought because both Saphira and Thorn breathed fire as they rolled out of the way. The Ra’zac also moved away well beyond the range of the blast even before the flames poured forth.

“Elva’s curse,” Eragon said. “She can sense pain. She knows what will cause it and how to prevent it. Maybe she’s also able to convey that information to the Ra’zac.”

“That would explain how they can avoid damaging hits without even a glance,” Murtagh said. “So, how would we defeat them?”

“Maybe some kind of attack that would defeat them without hurting them,” Eragon said.

“Seems unlikely. What about an attack that—though painful—was impossible to prevent?”

“That also seems unlikely.”

“It seems less unlikely at least.”

Eragon scoffed. “And how, precisely, do you quantify different levels of unlikeliness in this case?”

“I would think—” Murtagh was interrupted as the Ra’zac were hit from behind with a blast powerful enough to pitch them forward, arms pinwheeling. “Now!”

Eragon and Murtagh simultaneously stabbed at their opponents’ vitals. The Ra’zac tried to block, but off-balance as they were and quick as Eragon and his brother were, it was impossible to prevent entirely. Murtagh’s managed to deflect the sword away from his heart, but it sunk into his thorax. Eragon’s avoided being stabbed in the throat only to suffer a terrible wound to the shoulder.

“All right,” Eragon said. “I concede that’s it’s now more likely to defeat them with unpreventable attacks, though they cause pain.”

“Thought you might.”

Eragon pressed his attack, favoring strikes to the Ra’zac’s left side where its injured shoulder made it harder to defend. Murtagh backed away from his, letting the creature come to him, its life sapping away with each heartbeat. Eventually, Eragon slipped a slice through his enemy’s underdefended left side and took his head clean off. He turned to aid Murtagh, but his foe had already fallen to his knees, bleeding profusely, feebly trying to crawl to him with one last attack. Murtagh stuck his sword into his back, ending his suffering.

Once their enemies lay broken at their feet, Murtagh pointed and said, “To Celestine!”

They ran towards the man—for Eragon could see that he was a Shade no longer, lacking the distinctive red hair. When he looked their way, Eragon saw that he also lacked the red eyes. When she’d claimed to have cast out spirits, Eragon had wondered if she truly had.

Kaelin was halfway between them and Celestine when he saw them coming, and he fled with a scream rather than face them. Murtagh set about healing Celestine while Eragon took hold of the stony hands that gripped her and crushed them. He offered his hand and asked, “Should we pursue?”

Celestine took his hand and stood, saying, “We have someone much more dangerous to deal with first.”

Eragon hung his head. He could only hope that Galbatorix wouldn’t kill Elva. Everyone always said he was so powerful. Surely he could manage it. Then, maybe, Elva could be helped.

Celestine placed her hand on his shoulder. “It’s appropriate to feel shame when you’ve done wrong, but now is not the time to dwell on it. Let’s help Galbatorix restrain her.”

Murtagh pointed to the sky and asked, “What’s that?”

“It looks like one of them is falling…” Celestine answered.

Eragon looked intently. It was definitely a person, but so far up, he couldn’t see clearly. He didn’t even have a comparison of scale so that he would know if it were Elva or the considerably larger king. “I can’t see who it is at this distance.”

* * *

Suffering took to the air. Shruikan surged after him. I’ll catch up to that whelp in no time! he said.

We must tread carefully with this one, Galbatorix warned, and I don’t mean simply because we’re to try to take her alive.

You must think you’ll win Eragon over if you keep her alive.

I sincerely believe she won’t allow herself to be taken alive. If we’re not careful—even if we are—I may have to rely on my back-up plan.

Shruikan snorted. Ludicrous. You know the Name of Names. What can she do against that?

What indeed. We will find out soon. There she is.

“Do you want to know how well your puppets down there are dancing on your strings?” she called out. “It must be gratifying to be in charge of your fate—something that you didn’t have back when Jarnunvösk was alive. Does it pain you to hear her name? I know it does.”

Shruikan bellowed, launching a blast of fire at Suffering. I am not second best!

Keep calm. She’s doing it to get a reaction from you. Galbatorix told him as Suffering dove under the attack.

“You’re not in charge of your fate anymore, though. I am. But you can have an honored place in my own design,” she said.

Galbatorix cast a spell to stop her heart, but she countered it and continued, “Don’t you understand what I’m doing? I’ve lived my life steeped in pain. I know pain. And now, I am become Pain.”

What are you doing? Use the Name of Names! Make it so she can’t cast spells and then she can’t counter you.

Trust me. It’s important to determine the extent of her power first. I know how Eragon cursed her—there were numerous witnesses to that—but none of my spies had access to how he ‘fixed’ her. I’ll not risk her curse enabling her to counter the Name of Names. And besides that, I’m still not sure how Celestine will react if she hears the Name.

“But my experience made me realize something. Life is pain. You must know that, too. After being freed from the fixtures of the curse, that was when I thought why should everything have to live in pain? If I kill something, it no longer hurts. I’m doing it a favor.”

Galbatorix cast a spell to paralyze her, but she also countered that. She grinned, “It pains you that I can counter all of your spells, doesn’t it? I know that it does. I make you a simple offer. Join me as I rid the world of pain, and you can be the fifth last to die.”

“Fifth last, eh? How do you figure?”

“I would spare you the pain of losing another dragon, so you would die before Shruikan. Shruikan your death would follow so quickly after his that you would have no time to mourn. I have always loved Saphira dearly for giving me some of her magic—unknowing though it was—so she will be the last living creature I kill. Then, in a world with no more pain and suffering, it shall become a world with no more Pain or Suffering.”

“A world without pain because it’s a world without life? No, child. I hold my pain close. I cherish it. It makes me who I am. I wouldn’t want to be without it even if it didn’t mean death.”

“You mock me? Are you sure of your choice? Would it affect your choice to know that your charges below are in pain?”

“If they can feel pain, then they’re still alive,” he said. Shruikan, get above them!

Shruikan’s powerful wings quickly lifted him above their enemies.

Now, dive! Clip his wings!

Shruikan obeyed. As he dove near, he slashed out at Suffering’s wings, but the green dragon spiraled away and raked his claws down the great black dragon’s belly as he flew past. Shruikan roared. I had him! He didn’t see me coming at all!

It’s as I feared. Not only does she know what will cause pain before it happens and what can cause pain in others, but her bond with her dragon allows her to share that knowledge with him. She may even be able to share it with that Shade and the Ra’zac below.

Then we must finish this quickly. There’s no way Celestine could hear from this distance. Use the Name of Names.

No, she’s been countering every spell. If she counters this, though, she could then use it against me…

Counter the Names of Names? It is impossible.

Impossible… Perhaps, but I know something else impossible for her to counter. I hope Eragon will understand. There’s no other way.

Galbatorix cast a spell to crush her with force on all sides, and he used the power of ten of his Eldunarí. The only possible counter was to oppose it with equal force, which was more power than she possessed. If she cast the counter, it would kill her. If she didn’t cast the counter, it would kill her.

Yet when she cast the counter, she had enough power to survive, and she grinned at him and laughed.

There’s no way she could have that much power, Shruikan said.

Unless she has Eldunarí of her own…

But where…?

They both thought at the same time. Beneath the rock!

Galbatorix continued, The Riders must have hidden away some Eldunarí as a failsafe. They may also have saved some eggs!

“At the very least, you can’t say I didn’t give you a chance,” Elva said.

She cast a spell to slay Shruikan. Galbatorix cast the counter. Elva cast a counter to his counter. Galbatorix also countered that, but when she again countered him, he had run out of ideas. He only had one choice now: use the Name or Shruikan would die.

He cast the spell to counter all of her efforts, sealing it with the Name of Names. When he spoke it, the very air reverberated with its power. It worked. He had canceled her spell and saved Shruikan’s life. If the protection he cast on the Name held, she wouldn’t be able to remember it even after he’d just spoken, so she couldn’t use it against him.

She sat stunned in her saddle for a moment. “Amazing. You learned the name of magic itself. The Name of Names,” she said.

An uneasy feeling settled in Galbatorix’s stomach.

“It would cause you so much pain if I remembered the word you just spoke, wouldn’t it? No, don’t answer. I already know that it would.”

Shruikan, charge.

As the dragon flew forward, Suffering turned away to keep the distance. Shruikan was faster and gained on his target. Whatever happens, when he turns, hit the saddle. There will be no chance for her to dodge.

What do you mean, ‘Whatever happens?’

Whatever happens!

He already knew the next spell she would cast even though they couldn’t see her at the angle her dragon was flying. She spoke using the Name, and he no longer could recall the Name. Shruikan drew ever closer. Elva cast again, and all the wards that Galbatorix had spent a lifetime devising to protect himself from every possible attack disappeared in an instant. He drew a hand axe from his saddle and threw it at Suffering.

The dragon turned to avoid the blade, and Shruikan blasted the saddle the moment it entered his line of fire. Suffering roared, but the saddle was empty. Elva had slid down to the tail that, with a quick flick, sent her hurtling, sword ready, directly into Galbatorix.

Pierced through the gut and falling through the air, Galbatorix heard Shruikan’s resounding, Father!

Wind hurtling past his ears, scenes of his life paraded through his memory. His father told him, “Son, one day you will be a great man. Great like no other.”

Vrael told him, “I see strength in you like no other Rider. You were born to be a leader, Galbatorix. Born to save the weak.”

Morzan said to him, “The king is dead now, and who will lead these people? They need you now or the nations of the Empire will descend into bloodshed and chaos. Only you can save them.”

The ground would soon be upon him and his own thoughts said, Dayus will hold no one guiltless who speaks the Name.

Murtagh’s shouting pulled him from his thoughts. He was yelling, “Eragon, I can’t slow him! My spell isn’t working! Help me!”

It soon felt like he was falling through tree branches—thin at first, but growing thicker as his descent reduced—but he saw nothing around him. He then hit the ground hard.

* * *

When he hit the ground, Celestine rushed to him and began healing. He regained consciousness as Celestine worked. Shruikan soon landed behind them. Elva and her dragon landed opposite him not long after. “I’m sorry, I’m not able to heal you better,” Celestine said. “I’m trying, but the magic is resisting me.”

She looked at Elva and saw an impish grin spread across her face. Celestine whispered, “But how?”

Murtagh approached the child. “Elva, please,” he said. “Eragon did you wrong, I know. He treated me ill as well, but I forgave him. It’s so much better to forgive than to hold on to your anger. I didn’t think it would be, either, but it’s true.”

While Celestine redoubled her healing effort, Eragon whispered to her, “Perhaps if we attacked her with something that couldn’t feel pain. Can you make more of those rock creatures you used against Arya?”

“I used one golem against Arya; the others were illusions,” she replied. “But I could if I hadn’t used my last breath-of-life stone.”

“You can’t make more?”

She shook her head. “It takes at least six days even for the most skilled.”

Galbatorix took her by the arm and stood unsteadily. “Celestine,” he said. “I hoped it would not come to this, but I know what you are, and we both know what you must do now.”

“You don’t know what you ask for.”

“I know better than you think I do,” he replied. “This is our last chance. She means to kill everyone and everything—her and her dragon included—” he glanced at Eragon and added, “to free us all from pain.” He took her by the shoulders and looked her square in the eyes. “Eragon is right. We have to attack her with something that cannot feel pain. Don’t we?”

“No, I won’t.”

“If you don’t, we have no chance of defeating her.”

“There are worse things than death. Do you honestly want to see one?”

Murtagh cried out in distress. Eragon and Celestine turned to look. Even from several feet away, Elva had cut a gash on his thigh.

Galbatorix said, “Celestine, the true question is: Do you?”

Celestine picked up her sword and walked towards Murtagh.

“Do you want a turn next?” Elva called out.

Celestine stopped beside Murtagh and said, “You told me once that Galbatorix was cunning beyond anything you’d ever seen. If he had a plan, called it our last chance, but you thought it foolish, would you follow it?”

“No matter what I thought, I’d follow his plan. He’s the man that brought down the Riders though hopelessly outnumbered. I’d assume he knew something I didn’t.”

“Then I will trust you. And I will trust his plan,” Celestine said, taking off her necklace.

“Celestine? What are you…?”

She pressed it against his chest. “Take it.”

“But you told me not to let you get separated from this.”

“Don’t listen to what I said! Listen to what I say! Just take it,” she said. “And back up.”

Murtagh took the necklace and shuffled backwards as Celestine turned to face Elva.

“Eragon,” Galbatorix said, “whatever happens next, don’t say or do anything.”

Eragon nodded and swallowed the lump in his throat. A shadow grew above Celestine—deep blackness tinged with red, like a storm cloud in the early morning. A powerful gale whipped about, swirling the loose rocks all around them, and the ground trembled beneath their feet. The sky grew dark, revealing that the moon had turned red as a drop of blood. Elva fell silent as the shadow coalesced into the shape of wings outspread from Celestine’s back. As the wind calmed, the winged figure turned and looked at all of them in turn. The strands of hair that lay uncovered by her helm shone like the noonday sun, and her eyes were blue as the midday sky—even the whites and pupils. Elva remained completely still.

Eragon leaned close to Galbatorix and, in a hushed voice, asked, “What is she?”

Celestine’s attention snapped directly on him and she flew at him with preternatural speed, her sword aimed directly at his heart.

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Chapter 15

The Ultimate Pain

Galbatorix drew his sword and knocked Celestine’s away less than an inch from Eragon’s heart, yelling, “Eragon, four parts fool!” He pushed him away and ducked under a lethal slice, adding, “I warned you not to speak!”

Eragon shook off the shock enough to begin defending himself as Celestine pressed the attack against both of them. It was all he could do to keep up, though she seemed to be splitting her effort equally between the two of them. “I’m sorry, but why is she attacking us?”

“No time to explain. Have to plan. Ask her if you want.”

“Celestine! What are you doing?”

She said nothing. He remembered what Elva had said about Celestine being poor about shielding her mind, so he reached out with his own. A mighty chorus blared in her consciousness—sung in her voice, but in words that Eragon couldn’t fathom. And yet, the more he listened to it, the more he could feel what it meant. It was an odd sensation—like seeing a sign written in a foreign language but knowing precisely what it indicated. In it, he heard that there was no sorrow or fear or, as Galbatorix had alluded to earlier, pain. In it, he also heard the withering condemnation of unrighteousness.

That was all he managed to get before Saphira broke in. Watch out!

He blocked at the last second, but the force of the blow was still enough to send him sprawling. Without even realizing it, the song had been lulling him—calling him to lay down his burdens and rest. Saphira roared and spewed flames at Celestine. Her attention turned from Eragon to his dragon, and she sped through the fire and grabbed Saphira by the neck with her empty hand.

Eragon scrambled to his feet as Saphira tried to swipe Celestine with her claw. She blocked the attack, pulled Saphira’s head closer, and whispered in her ear. Eragon! Eragon, I can’t move! She’s going to kill me!

Eragon rushed towards them, but Celestine backed away. Without warning, a dome of rock swallowed her. He looked at Galbatorix, who cast a spell on Shruikan that would prevent him from hearing Celestine’s voice.

He then looked at Thorn as the red dragon roared. Galbatorix shouted, “No! I need you and Murtagh to defeat Elva.”

Murtagh had been watching everything in stunned silence, but Thorn’s roar and Galbatorix’s words brought him out of it. “What? But you couldn’t defeat her. You think I stand a chance?”

“You’re our only chance now,” Galbatorix said. “That won’t hold Celestine for long.” Even as he said it, a loud crash bespoke a large crack that formed in the shell. “I’ll have to handle yet another of Eragon’s mistakes.”

“Hope you handle this one better than the last,” he said.

“Let’s further hope you stop making such spectacular mistakes,” Galbatorix said as another fissure spread from the top of the dome to its base.

“Don’t kill her,” Murtagh said.

“Eragon, get over here,” Galbatorix shouted. “Murtagh, you worry about your own task.”

Eragon and Galbatorix mounted Shruikan and took to the air as the earthen cage finally shattered. “So, what is she?” Eragon asked above the noise of the black dragon’s powerful wings.

“Based on what she told Murtagh and what I’ve read, she’s part angel… or demon. I admit I’m not sure which,” he said, looking below them. “Try not to distract me—I need to keep track of Murtagh.”

“He’s right there,” Eragon said, pointing. “Why do you need to know?”

“Tactics and strategy, boy,” he muttered. “Watch and learn.”

Celestine soared above them.

“She can fly? She couldn’t fly when she fell off Thorn!”

“She can now. Pay attention, both of you,” Galbatorix said, “This is what I need.”

Eragon’s head filled with angles and lines and distances. Galbatorix wanted them lined up in a particular way, with little margin for error. He heard Shruikan say, It won’t be easy.

It never is. Eragon said.

Galbatorix and his dragon both laughed as the black beast began to maneuver. In the air, Celestine preferred diving attacks, soaring above them and swooping down for a strike. Galbatorix and Eragon kept him protected with their swords and spells. The fifth time Celestine got above them, Eragon heard Shruikan lament, Not quite.

Eragon pointed his finger at Celestine and yelled, “Brisingr!”

He wasn’t sure he would get enough power for it with Saphira unable to contribute, but Glaedr unexpectedly added most of his strength to it, and a blazing orb seven times hotter than dragon fire hurtled at the girl. She dodged to the side and dove.

Galbatorix stood in the saddle and readied his sword. He deflected her blow, but his sword went spinning out of his hand in the process. “Be ready,” he said, jumping off after her.

Celestine turned to climb once more, but Galbatorix grabbed hold of her hand as he hurtled past, then, speaking the Ancient Language to add as much force to the throw as possible, flung her towards the ground. Eragon could hear the very air booming as she fell far into the distance.

Shruikan caught the king, and they all landed as a cloud mushroomed up in the distance. “Who would’ve thought I’d live to see two of these here?” Galbatorix said to himself.

“Is she…?” Eragon asked.

“Alive? Most certainly,” Galbatorix said. “Now pay attention. There’s not much time. Hide behind that rock and, this time, do not intervene no matter what she does. Do you understand?”

“Yes, yes, I promise,” Eragon said, running behind the boulder.

Celestine arrived shortly thereafter. She paused for only a moment, assessing the situation, before charging Galbatorix. The king spoke the Ancient Language with every move he made, casting spells so fluidly that Eragon could barely follow half of them. He caught spells to increase strength, augment armor, add force to an attack, and Galbatorix blended them effortlessly while fighting unarmed against his sword-wielding opponent.

Every block produced a clap like thunder against his gauntlets. Every punch or kick would knock Celestine back several feet before she moved back in, undaunted. Once, Celestine leapt several feet above him and dove with a slice. Galbatorix grabbed her by the wrist and used her momentum to throw her over his shoulder with such force that the impact left a small crater in the ground. Soon, however, Eragon noticed something was wrong. Galbatorix was weakening, slowing down, growing tired.

Surely not. He must be trying to trick her. Lull her with a false sense of confidence to get her to make a mistake. He would wait for an opening and then exploit it with unexpected vigor.

Celestine swung down. Galbatorix reached up and grabbed her wrist once more. This time she stepped one leg behind his and slammed her open palm against his chest with such force that he bounced when he hit the ground.

It was wrong. It was all wrong! It couldn’t be part of the plan. What kind of plan involved dying? He had to do something. If Galbatorix died, Celestine might very well kill everyone. And if she didn’t, Elva would. But just before he burst from his hiding place he said to himself, No. No more mistakes. Galbatorix knows I’m here. If he needed my help, he would say so.

Celestine drew back her sword. Galbatorix coughed and said, “Pay attention, girl. Don’t miss what’s right in front of you.”

Celestine looked to where he was pointing, and Eragon followed her eyes. Murtagh was down on one knee, breathing heavily, and propping himself up with Zar’roc. Suffering was keeping Thorn at bay, and Elva raised up some sort of fiery whip, saying, “Well, you’ve been a fun plaything, but it’s time to put you away.”

Elva, as if sensing that she had been noticed, looked up to see Celestine staring at her. The child’s mouth dropped open and she said, “Oh, bloody murder,” just before Celestine charged her, leaving Galbatorix forgotten on the ground.

Galbatorix—slowly and with great effort—joined Eragon at the rock. “She’ll kill Elva,” Eragon said.

“Possibly.”

“Then she’ll kill the rest of us.”

Galbatorix chuckled. “Will she? You have much to learn.”

“She once asked me if I knew about angels, but I hadn’t heard of them. What are they?”

“Some type of being made by Dayus to serve him.”

“How do you know about this? Did she tell you?”

“Tell me? No. I read her book.”

* * *

Even as she methodically took Murtagh apart, Elva had felt every pain Celestine had inflicted on Galbatorix during their fight, but she’d felt no pain from Celestine—not even when the king cast her to the ground with a mighty throw. Fighting her would be problematic. She could still anticipate every pain that Celestine would inflict on her, but she had no idea how best to attack her. It also left the unsettling question in her mind: if nothing could hurt her, could anything kill her?

She would have to be clever. What if she attacked Celestine in the way she would attack Galbatorix? Surely if something would damage the king, it would damage his hireling. And the first thing she had done was remove his magical wards.

She spoke the spell, ordering the magic to dissipate under the order of the Name of Names. Celestine broke off her charge in order to slash at the departing lights, obviously not understanding that they had been her wards. Without them, Celestine would be vulnerable to any spell she cast. No longer distracted by the disappeared wards, Celestine looked at Elva. Elva spoke the spell to stop her heart. It had no effect. Celestine resumed her charge.

Elva frowned. Why no effect? She had no wards left; how could she have stopped that? She had to do something fast, so she reached for the utmost destruction possible. She commanded Celestine to cease existing and sealed the spell with the Name of Names.

Celestine stopped, stunned, as the air reverberated with the power of the Name. Celestine, however, did not cease to exist. Instead, she stared at Elva, and a knowing smile spread across her face. Elva’s eyes widened and the color drained from her face. Celestine charged once more.

Elva spoke, and lances of air sped towards her foe. The first two missed as Celestine weaved her way towards her, but one hit her square in the chest. It knocked her back a few feet, but she charged forward and the rest of the lances spiraled off an invisible shield. So, it appeared her spells couldn’t affect Celestine directly, but could still have an indirect effect. Elva spoke again, and spikes burst from the ground. Nimble as ever, Celestine avoided most of them, but one cut her arm and still she felt nothing. Despite that, however, Elva grinned with a small twinge of triumph, recalling the old adage: If it can bleed, it can die.

The spikes blocked Celestine’s forward progress. She backed away and reconstituted her shield. A fiery cloud formed above Elva’s head. Incoming pain—from above.

She ran to Suffering. “To the air!”

Guided by her sense, Elva avoided two large drops of fire. A third one was too large for her to avoid, and she had to cast a spell to deflect it. Soon, she was mounted, and her and Suffering rapidly rose above the cloud.

Incoming pain—below now. Possibly leery of a repeat of Galbatorix’s power throw, Celestine changed her method of air attack. Instead of getting above to dive down, she now rose from below, slashing on her way up. As Celestine neared Suffering, Elva cast the same spell Galbatorix had placed on Shruikan—he wouldn’t be able to hear Celestine’s voice.

Using the sense he shared with Elva, Suffering avoided all of Celestine’s opening slices. However, she followed up with something that hadn’t hurt at all. She gently grabbed hold of his tail. He whipped it as violently as possible, but couldn’t shake her off. Slowly, Celestine made her way up the tail, grabbed hold of the hind leg, and swung to the foreleg. Incoming pain—the wing. Suffering’s wing twitched as Celestine reached up, almost casually, but he had no way to stop her from crushing the hollow wing bone where it connected to the shoulder.

I can’t fly! Going to crash! said Suffering as he dropped rapidly.

Don’t worry, I’ve got you.

Elva cast a spell to cushion the fall. Incoming pain—from behind. Celestine wouldn’t even give her a moment’s breath, but pressed the attack. Elva summoned a sword and let her sense guide her swordplay. At least Celestine now appeared to be ignoring the grounded dragon.

“What are you? What are you!” Elva screamed.

Celestine’s movements were so fast that if she didn’t know where they would land beforehand, Elva would’ve been cut to ribbons within moments. Each motion was so powerful that Elva had to cast spells to empower every deflection. As immense as the power store was that she had looted from beneath the rock, it wouldn’t hold out for much longer. Then, out of the corner of her eye, Elva saw Eragon slowly approaching. She had one last idea.

She pushed Celestine as far back as she could with a spell before dropping her sword and sprinting towards Eragon. “Help me!” she cried. “She’s going to kill me! I yield! I yield!”

Eragon put his own sword down and held his arms open. “I’ll protect you,” he called back as she neared.

“I know you will,” Elva said, using her sense to draw her dagger in such a way that he wouldn’t see until it was too late.

Incoming pain—the ankle. Elva jerked her foot away in just enough time to avoid a small thin sword wielded by that stupid werecat that had lain forgotten on the battleground this whole time, his misery a ceaseless melody in the background of the battle’s symphony. Avoiding the strike caused her to lose her footing, though, and she fell face first to the ground. Before she knew it, she was rolled over in Eragon’s arms, looking up at him.

She looked down to find her dagger. It was lodged in her chest. With some surprise, she thought, How odd. That didn’t hurt at all.

She sensed one last opportunity for pain, however, and muttered a counter to the healing spell Eragon tried to cast. She let the sensation wash over her—shock, confusion, regret… Pain. She smiled.

“Elva…” Tears streamed down his face. “Why did you…? Why?”

She coughed, blood trickled from the corner of her mouth. “I’m going through a door, Eragon. Do you know what’s on the other side?”

“No.”

Elva shook her head softly as she closed her eyes. “Neither do I. It’s… terrifying.” She shuddered then lay still.

* * *

Murtagh told Thorn, Stay back. I’m going in.

It’s too dangerous! She’s out of control!

That’s why I’ve got to do something. I may be the only one who can. I was told I would she would need me… before the end.

Before the end of what?

I don’t know. Maybe everything.

His chance came rapidly. Elva forced Celestine back before fleeing towards Eragon. Murtagh ran to intercept as Celestine recovered and pursued. She didn’t even seem to notice as he ran towards her, so when he got close enough, he grabbed her by the wrist to make her stop. She swung her sword around but stopped it at his neck. “Celestine…”

She said something, and though he didn’t recognize a single word she had said, he understood her meaning perfectly, “Release me.” It was an odd sensation. She pulled her hand free and turned to continue after Elva. Murtagh grabbed at her wings, but his hand passed right through them—they were just shadows. Undaunted, he wrapped his arms around her waist and lifted her feet off the ground before she could speed off. She twisted in his grasp until she faced him. She said something else, “Do not hinder the doom of the wicked,” before breaking out of his hold through sheer force.

“I won’t let you kill her!” Murtagh yelled, dashing around Celestine to obstruct her path. “It’s not what you want.”

She put the tip of her sword to his throat and said, “Move.”

“No. You’ll have to kill me,” he said, “but perhaps you’d rather…” He held up her necklace. “This. You want to wear this again?”

She looked at the necklace, but didn’t move her sword.

Slowly, Murtagh reached with his free hand and pushed the blade to the side. She didn’t resist. One step at a time, he walked up to her. She looked from the necklace to his eyes. “Murtagh,” she said, letting her sword hang at her side.

He didn’t know how the necklace worked, or even if it would do what he hoped it would do, but no sooner did he clasp it around her neck than a tremendous wave of force knocked him flat on his back. When he looked up, the shadows were gone. Her eyes were a regular blue, and her hair no longer glowed. Celestine had returned to normal.

She blinked several times. Then she rushed to his side. “Murtagh! Speak to me!”

He groaned. “What should I say?”

She caressed his face. “Did I do this? Did I hurt you?”

“You don’t remember? The necklace knocked me down. The rest of this was Elva’s doing.”

“Where’s Elva? Did I kill her?”

“No, she ran off…” he pointed weakly, pausing when he saw Eragon weeping over Elva’s prone body. “Oh… She was alive when I interrupted your fight.”

Celestine rushed over to them. She realized quickly that Elva was beyond healing. “What happened?” she asked, stifling a sob.

“She acted as though she wanted me to save her from you. She meant to kill me. I didn’t even see her draw the dagger,” he said. “Grimrr tried to stab her as she ran past. She jerked her foot away… Fell…” He added with sudden ferocity, “I tried to heal her! She stopped me. One last twist of the knife, I suppose.”

By then, Galbatorix approached slowly, wearily. Suffering lay on the ground, snorting and moaning, rubbing his face in the dirt and clawing the ground. Galbatorix said, “It is never easy for a dragon to lose a Rider—even when they’d only known each other for days.”

“Will he be all right?” Celestine asked.

“In time, perhaps. Not all who suffer loss remain mired in it.”

“Will you be all right?” she asked, looking at Eragon.

“Why should she suffer for my mistake?” Eragon asked. “Shouldn’t it have been me?”

“I don’t know. All I know is that you must do what is right with the life you have left.”

Eragon nodded and said nothing.

Murtagh limped to her. As she healed him, she said, “Thank you for stopping me. I know it couldn’t have been easy. I’ve seen what I look like in that state. Facing down a demon can be… terrifying.”

“You once told me angels and demons look the same, but it doesn’t matter how they look. You know them by what they do.”

“Indeed,” Galbatorix interrupted, “and all that remains is to know what you all intend to do next.”

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Chapter 16

The Long, Winding Road

After they buried Elva, Celestine said a prayer. As she stood, Galbatorix approached the site. Eragon looked his way and asked, “Is Suffering…?”

“Coping,” he said. “However, I am optimistic about his future.” His look grew even more serious. “What’s even more important, though, is what will you do now?”

“I intend to meet up with the Varden. I’m sure they’re outside the walls of the capital now,” Eragon said, trying to meet his eyes directly. He wavered, looking away for just a moment. “Unless you’d rather fight me here.”

Galbatorix frowned. “I had hoped that after fighting side by side—after saving your life—I’d have earned some goodwill.”

“You have earned my gratitude, but my fight against you wasn’t just for myself. I was fighting for all of Alagaësia. I will tell them the truth of what happened here, though. I owe you at least that much,” Eragon said.

Galbatorix nodded. He then took Celestine by the elbow and drew her aside. When they were out of earshot, he whispered, “Celestine, you put your faith in me, and we won the battle. Now, I just need a little more faith for a little while longer. I have some tasks that need doing here. Meet me back at Urû’baen. I won’t be far behind.”

“Thank you, your majesty,” she said.

He then called out, “Murtagh, I swear I will never compel your obedience again. I ask you now, as a freeman: defend the capital until I return, and help me rebuild the Riders.”

“I will,” he said. “Celestine, will you need a ride to Urû’baen?”

“Yes, thank you,” she said.

“Could we all fly together?” Eragon asked. “I want to discuss something with you both.”

Murtagh nodded his assent.

“Let’s ride out, then,” Celestine said. “The day drags on, and I don’t want to be over the ocean at night.”

“As you say,” Murtagh said. As he saddled Thorn, he added privately to Eragon, Whatever else you do, please let Celestine return home before continuing the war. Her own world needs all the help it can get.

I bear her no ill will—I vow to let her return if it’s possible—but are you sure you don’t want her staying here?

I would be thrilled if circumstances dictated that she had to stay here. But, if she could return home… It’s what she wants, and I wouldn’t keep her from it.

Eragon nodded. I understand.

Once they were several hours out to sea, Eragon reached out to them with his mind. He discussed many things with them. At first, he sought to know what they intended to do with respect to the Varden, but after Celestine made a passing remark about the results of the war in her world in which normals used technology to assert their independence from Mages, Eragon plied her with all sorts of questions about the governments of her world.

The conversation lasted them until well after they had passed over the sea. By then, it was time to land and set up camp for the night. After a meal and a night’s sleep, Eragon said that he needed to mull over his thoughts and wanted to travel at a slower pace, suggesting that Murtagh and Celestine go on ahead. After a brief breakfast together, they all soon departed. Thorn asked Celestine, What do you think Eragon will do?

I think he’s going to try to make peace with Galbatorix. I hope that peace can be obtained.

As do I. If there were peace between us, I would be able to spend more time with Saphira.

Celestine smiled. I noticed how protective you are about her. I thought you might like her.

What’s not to like? She’s beautiful, she has bright scales, and she has a huge wingspan.

She blushed. I see. That’s certainly interesting to know what you look for in a female. What does Murtagh look for, I wonder?

Oh, that’s easy! It’s—

Thorn, he interrupted, there’s really no need to get into that. She probably already knows anyway.

“But it’s nice to hear it sometimes,” she said.

“Let’s stay focused here,” he said. “Even if Eragon does try to reach peace with Galbatorix, what of the Elves and the rest of the Varden? They may not be keen to follow that path.”

“I doubt they would pose any problem without Eragon on their side.”

“You think not? I doubt Eragon will be on any side that fights against Arya.”

“That Elven princess? Why would he…? Does he like her?”

Murtagh laughed. “A bit more than that, I’m afraid.”

“So he’s smitten with her.”

“Smitten. Yes, that’s a word for it.”

“I hadn’t considered that complication. But I meant what I said. I won’t let Galbatorix send me home before there’s peace here.”

“Look on the bright side,” Murtagh said, glancing back at her, “with their army outside the walls of Urû’baen, whether they want peace or war, peace will come quickly enough once Galbatorix returns.”

Celestine shivered.

By the end of the next day, they all arrived at the capital. Murtagh and Celestine landed behind the tremendous walls and waited in the castle. Eragon landed less than an hour later.

* * *

Celestine went up to the walls after dinner the next evening. The Varden were camped outside, their numbers bolstered by a large army of Elves. Still, they didn’t appear to be doing anything significant. Presumably, Eragon was relating what had happened on the island. Perhaps he was winning them over to the idea of peace. Hopefully Galbatorix was as amenable to the idea of peace as he suggested. She eventually wandered to her room and prepared for bed. When she was ready, she knelt before the open window, raised her hands toward the sky, and gazed at the void between the stars.
Before she could begin her prayer, though, she was interrupted by the sound of someone knocking. She simply said, “Be with me,” before slipping her robe over her nightclothes and padding softly to the door. On the other side was one of the castle’s soldiers. “Follow me, m’lady,” he said. “Galbatorix wishes to speak with you.”

“He’s back?”

“Arrived less than an hour ago, I think,” he said. “Went straight to the library. Then sent me to get you.”

Celestine nodded and walked behind the young man as he led the way. “Did he seem… unhappy? Pleased?”

“He seemed the same as always, m’lady.”

“I’m not a noble. My country never had nobility aside from a brief kingship.”

“Then I don’t know what to call you.”

“You could call me Celestine. Or Ms. Faber if you prefer to be formal.”

“We’re almost there, Ms. Faber.”

When they arrived, Galbatorix dismissed the soldier and beckoned Celestine over. “Yes, your majesty?” she asked.

“Over here,” he said, leading her down a set of stairs in a dark corner of the library. It led to some dingy lower library. He retrieved a large stone slab and set it on a sturdy oak table. He gestured to it. “Can you read that?”

She stared at it under the torchlight. “No… What’s this about?”

Galbatorix sat down and cradled his head in his hands. Celestine sat next to him and placed her hand on his shoulder. “What’s wrong?” she asked.

“I had hoped that Elva’s spell on me would end with her death or, barring that, that I’d at least be able to read it again. It would appear that spells cast using the Name of Names have quite a bit of ontological inertia.”

She looked at the stone once more. “That is the name of magic?”

He produced a parchment from his belt. “I had that tablet for forty years, but it’s not written in the language of Elves, Dwarves, humans, or even Urgals. It wasn’t until you gave me this that I figured out how to say it.” He looked up at her. “Are you certain you can’t read it?”

She didn’t give it another glance. “Even if I could, I wouldn’t.”

“I planned on using the Name to give me the power necessary to send you home. Do you still refuse to read it?”

A few tears meandered down her face. She sniffed and said with conviction, “I would rather be stranded here than rely on blasphemy to get me home.”

Galbatorix stood suddenly, pointed his finger at the stone, and growled, “Jierda.”

It broke into thousands of tiny pieces.

“Of course you would.” He then committed the parchment to the torch fire. “At any rate, it’s too dangerous to let anyone else learn it.”

“Elva did this world a service by taking that knowledge to her grave.”

Galbatorix stared at her for a few moments before standing and walking away. She followed along behind and asked, “So… am I then? Stranded?”

“I hoped to use the Name to alter the power requirements for the spell. Now that I can’t… There’s no one with enough power to send you back.”

“Dayus has all power.”

Galbatorix paused at the top of the stairs. “Then you must take up your case with him. I do not.”

* * *

In the morning, Eragon approached the wall and requested an audience with Galbatorix. They arranged a meeting place, setting up a large tent outside the walls as well as some distance from the Varden camp. Galbatorix attended, Shruikan and Thorn nearby, with Murtagh and Celestine. The Varden delegation included Nasuada and her general, the Surdan king and his general, the Dwarf king (who was his own general), the Elven queen and princess and eight of their generals, and, of course, Eragon.

Galbatorix sat down and removed his helmet, saying, “This day has been a long time coming.”

Islanzadí considered him through narrowed eyes. “Indeed it has.”

After introductions were made, the Elves immediately demanded that Galbatorix recount what led to the Rider War and to do so in the Original Language so that he couldn’t lie. Celestine couldn’t follow the language, but she presumed he told them the same things that he told her: how he lost his dragon, how he petitioned for another, how he was unjustly denied, how his friends had helped him get close to the eggs, how Shruikan had hatched for him, and how Vrael had accused him of forcing Shruikan to hatch for him and vowing to hunt him and his friends down. Some of the Elves’ expressions changed from anger to astonishment. Others grew visibly angrier until one of them pounded the table and said, “He may believe what he’s saying, but that cannot be the truth!”

Half of the Elven generals stormed out.

He grinned without mirth at Islanzadí. “Will you leave, too?”

She considered him for a moment. “No,” she said. “No, I don’t think I will, but answer me this: why did you not tell your side of the story to the other Riders as you have for us?”

“Why do you think I didn’t? I did! But Vrael was as convinced that I had used dark arts to force Shruikan to hatch as I was that I hadn’t—he could even say it in the Original Language,” Galbatorix said. “So, with his truth against mine…” He gestured toward the tent exit. “Well, you’ve already seen how most of the Riders reacted.”

“Perhaps we should ask Shruikan why he hatched for you?” Arya suggested.

“A fine idea,” Galbatorix said, reaching out to Shruikan with the request.

Shruikan’s voice filled their minds. I was indecisive as an unhatched. I knew I wanted someone great, but I had a hard time committing. My unhatched brothers and sisters and I always communicated with each other, talking about what we wanted in a Rider. In fact, the day Galbatorix was presented to our clutch, I almost hatched for him then, but I was indecisive, and my sister hatched for him instead.

Eragon interrupted. Jarnunvösk was your sister? I never knew.

Few did. As the years passed, all of my brothers and sisters hatched for others, but I could never bring myself to choose. Eventually, they placed me in other clutches, but it wasn’t the same. I grew so lonely, knowing my kin were all gone and fearing I may never find a Rider. Then, one day, I was brought into Galbatorix’s presence once more. He was different this time. I could feel his loneliness, his sadness, and his yearning for someone that understood him, and I knew that they were my own feelings, too. That is why I hatched for him. He is my father, my brother, and myself. I do not know how else to explain it.

“Galbatorix,” Eragon asked, “do you still want peace?”

“You know that I do. In fact, allow me to disclose a new discovery. Elva uncovered a cache of eggs and Eldunarí hidden by the Riders. They are now in my possession, so as it turns out, I do not need your help to rebuild the Riders anymore,” he said. “That I am here despite that fact should be proof enough that I sincerely want this war to end with no further bloodshed.”

Eragon shifted uncomfortably. “I was going to offer peace and to rebuild the Riders.”

Galbatorix prodded him. “But?”

“But I had terms.”

“And now you’re concerned that I won’t agree to your terms because you have no leverage?”

Eragon nodded.

“Well, tell me what they are so we can proceed.”

“First, I wanted to be sure that you acted honorably in your dealings with the other Riders. I’m satisfied on that point. As far as I can tell, you were falsely accused and reasonably defended yourself. Furthermore, you dealt with me honorably in our struggle against Elva. You’re a better man than many.” Eragon cleared his throat. “We must consider, though, that if we rebuild the Riders, as the centuries pass, what is to keep them from becoming again what they became in your time? Surely you don’t wish to reclaim the Rider’s noble heritage only to fear that long after your death it may again see corruption.”

“I don’t. What do you propose?”

“My second term is that the Riders must be split into three Houses—one led by you, one by Murtagh, and one by me. Once there are enough Riders, each House needs to be led by a Council of several—perhaps five or seven—Riders that will vote on the decisions of the House. The Council members themselves would be voted to the position by all of the Riders of the House. Furthermore, the Houses must be kept as equal in power to each other as possible,” Eragon said. “To that end, every Rider must forsake any position of governance in any nation.”

Galbatorix rose. “You seek to depose me from the Empire? Before I took over, all there was was chaos! Do you wish to see the land descend into darkness once more?”

“You have maintained order,” Eragon said, “but there must be someone you can appoint to succeed you! And the land won’t descend into darkness—not with three Houses of Riders to keep the peace!”

Galbatorix shook his head emphatically. “No. No! I will not—cannot!—forsake my people. And you have nothing to give that I need.”

He walked out of the tent.

Murtagh looked back and forth a few times before turning to leave. Eragon said, “Murtagh?”

He looked his brother in the eye. “I thought your idea had merit. He holds all the cards, though.”

Celestine poked Murtagh in the ribs. He jumped and asked, “What?”

“Follow him!”

“What do you expect me to do?”

“Add your voice to Eragon’s. Reason with the king.” When Murtagh looked down, she added, “You have to try.”

Murtagh left without a word.

Galbatorix hadn’t gone very far from the tent—he was about halfway to the dragons and seemed to be waiting as Murtagh approached. The king spoke first. “Three Houses of Riders, an elected Council for each—I see her hand in this.”

“On our way back, she talked a lot about her world and the governments in it. Separation of powers, elected leaders, yes, and it was almost entirely at Eragon’s prodding,” Murtagh said, “but, she never suggested this idea to us. Eragon put it together on his own.”

“Do you betray me? For her?”

“Betray? What? You once told Celestine that you never wanted to rule the Empire, so why cling to it so fiercely now?”

“I told her the truth,” Galbatorix said, leaning in close. “I was the only thing that stood between the people and a complete breakdown of social order.”

“Yes, you were,” he said, “and you kept things running. The Empire owes you its gratitude. And now, you have the ability to transition the people into a period of peace and freedom like they’ve never had before. But forget the messenger for a moment and just consider the idea on its own merits, would you?”

Galbatorix stood straight once more. As he considered his words, a sudden motion caught their eyes. The king turned as a spear pierced his armor and thrust into his side. Its wielder was one of the Elven generals that had stormed from the tent. Murtagh moved forward, reaching for his sword, but another Elf came from behind him, picked him up by the throat, and grasped his right wrist.

Galbatorix crumpled backwards, but kept a firm grip on the shaft of the spear to prevent his assailant from pulling it free. Murtagh kicked furiously at his own attacker, landing several hard blows to his chest and armpit before he was flung into the city wall. He bounced off and collapsed in a heap.

By that time, Galbatorix saw at least a dozen more Elves approaching now that their leaders had opened with a debilitating surprise attack. Galbatorix placed his palm against the Elven general’s chest and spoke, flinging him back several feet. He heard Shruikan in his mind, I’m almost there! And I’ve told the others, but they’re not as close. Just hold on!

Galbatorix couldn’t respond. Though he had deprived his attacker of his spear, the Elf drew his sword and closed in with a powerful swing. Galbatorix pulled his sword from its scabbard and blocked in a single motion, but the shock agitating his bleeding wound. Pain spiraled up his chest and down his legs. He gritted his teeth and swung, but the Elf leaned just out of reach before thrusting for his throat.

As he tried to bring his sword back around to block, it was as if time slowed down for him. His blade wasn’t moving fast enough, but it didn’t matter anyway. Murtagh’s opponent was closing in on his prone body. The other dozen Elves would be on him soon. The enemy sword point was inches from his throat when time snapped back into place.

Something knocked the blade away at the last second. “Traitors!” Arya landed amongst them.

Murtagh’s attacker stabbed at the unconscious young man only to have his sword knocked away at the last moment as well. One instant Celestine wasn’t there; the next, she was—sword in one hand and some sort of short, carved tree branch in the other. “Back away from him if you know what’s good for you,” she said, her voice brimming with barely restrained anger.

As he took a few wary steps back, his co-conspirator shouted back at Arya, “You have the nerve to call us traitors? Is it not you and your mother who have betrayed us to him?”

“How did it—” Galbatorix gasped. “—through my armor? My magic?”

Arya glanced at it. “A Dauthdaert. You used a Dauthdaert?”

“Exceptional times call for exceptional measures,” the general who had wielded the weapon said. “Now, stand down. This is a victory for good!”

“Good?” Celestine asked. “You ambush a man returning from a peace talk, and you call it good?”

“If the end is right, what matters the path?”

“How can the end be good when the path is evil?” Celestine said with a sour frown. “Does the wolf bleat or the lion low? Just as you know an animal by its call, you know a man by his deeds.”

“Stand down!” Arya shouted. “You may still receive clemency.”

“Brothers, finish the king. We will ensure the females don’t interfere,” he said, “and worry not: the queen’s daughter will not be harmed.”

“You should worry more about yourself,” Arya said, attacking.

As the one general parried, the other general moved towards Celestine, but she held out the stick in her hand and screamed, “Shruikan! To me!”

All of a sudden, the great, black dragon loomed over them. The Elves advancing on Galbatorix quailed as the creature loosed a terrible roar. Their swords trembled in their hands. “Quickly!” the general shouted. “Don’t let it be for naught!”

“It’s already for naught,” Celestine whispered, her sword moving deftly through the empty air and slicing an intricate pattern.

Shruikan opened his mouth and flames billowed forth. The mob backed away even as Arya kicked her opponent to the ground. The soldiers looked to their leader, ready to rally at his command, but as his eyes looked to the sky, he asked, “What… what is that?”

Three dragons were flying, nearly upon them—black, red, and blue. “The real Shruikan, I’d wager,” Arya said, “and Saphira and Thorn as well.”

“The real…?”

Arya smirked. “That female is quite adept at illusion, though I suspect the fire was no artifice.”

“Fall back, men! This fight is lost!” he yelled, scrambling away.

Eragon arrived shortly after the dragons landed. He and Arya worked to heal Galbatorix while Celestine tended to Murtagh. When he regained consciousness, she tapped the complementary branch that hung from his belt. “You kept it,” she said.

“Of course. You gave it to me,” he said. “Did the Elves hurt you?”

“Ha!”

Eragon called out, “Celestine! We could use some help.”

She hurried to them. Eragon explained, “The spear is anti-magical—but your magic should still work. Keep him stable while we remove it.”

She nodded, stretching forth her hands and exuding therapeutic power. Eragon and Arya had already healed the worst of the injuries despite whatever impediment the spear had presented. Celestine was sure her involvement was superfluous, but she appreciated their gesture of trust.

Once Galbatorix had recovered enough to stand, Murtagh asked, “What now, your majesty?”

He shook his head. “War follows me everywhere even when I flee from it.” He looked at Arya. “I will return to the castle—to consider my response.”

“Very well. I must return to my mother,” Arya said. “She needs to know of this conspiracy.” As Galbatorix turned towards Shruikan, Arya added, “And, king, for whatever it may be worth, I thought the idea of three Houses of Riders was worth considering.”

* * *

Hours from sunset, Queen Islanzadí called for Galbatorix to meet right outside the main city gate. Her army was behind her with several dozen Elves, unarmed and on their knees before them. Arya and Eragon stood just behind the queen. Galbatorix had brought Murtagh and Celestine with him. He said, “What is the purpose of this, O Queen?”

She motioned to one of her generals. The woman walked two men partway between Galbatorix and the queen before shoving them back down on their knees and slowly walking back. Islanzadí asked, “Those are the two who ambushed you?”

“Yes.”

She motioned to others on their knees behind her. “These are their co-conspirators. I’m fairly certain we found them all.”

“I have no doubt of your thoroughness. The point?”

“Justice. They are yours now. What will you do?”

Galbatorix nodded, but said nothing for a while as all eyes were on him. Finally he said, “Justice. A lovely word, but often an ugly business.” He looked at the Elf that had stabbed him. “What was your goal? To slay a monster? It’s a noble goal, sirs, and I applaud you for it. But, you were mistaken; what you attacked was not a monster, and I intend to prove it. Step forward Eragon.”

When the young man did so, Galbatorix continued, “I accept your offer—if it still stands. There will be three Houses of Riders and, when possible, a Council of Seven for each. All Riders must forsake all other positions of power. Not only will I step down as king, but I will go one step further. All of the vassal kingdoms of the Empire are now freed to be led again by their own nobles. The Empire is no more.”

“You’re sincere, O King?” Islanzadí asked.

Galbatorix grinned and said with a bow. “I’m no longer a king, your majesty. As for these men, in light of their intentions, I deign to mitigate their punishment. I remand them back to your custody unharmed; if you wish to punish them, it is your right, though I respectfully request that you pardon them as I have.”

“Galbatorix…” Eragon said.

“You almost look surprised, boy!” he said. “For a long time, all I wanted was the return of the Riders. I knew sacrifices would be necessary, but I’m pleased. What I’ve given up is far better than a sacrifice of blood, don’t you think?”

“Yes,” he said. “Yes, I do.”

Murtagh stepped forward. “Riders, hear me. I have a suggestion for our first act.”

“Speak and be heard,” Galbatorix said.

He motioned to Celestine. “This young lady has done a great service in helping bring the war to a close. Though she was a stranger to our lands, she helped us. I believe it is time for her to return. Galbatorix knows the spell. Let us vote on whether we will send her home.”

“Murtagh, there is no way we can gather enough power to cast that spell. There’s no point to vote. It’s impossible to send her back.”

Eragon stepped forward. “We could at least vote to send her home if possible—vote on our intentions and then determine whether it truly is impossible or not afterwards.”

“Fine,” Galbatorix said, removing his helmet and producing some scraps of parchment. “Have it your way then.” He handed one to each of them. Placing his helmet on the ground, he said, “Mark yea or nay, then place it in the helm.”

He tossed his vote in and stepped aside. Eragon was next, marking his after some consideration. Murtagh was last. He stared at the parchment for a long time, aware that Celestine was staring at him. Finally, he marked his vote and set it with the others.

Galbatorix said, “Eragon, read the votes if you would.”

Celestine walked forward as Eragon retrieved the helm. He checked the parchments several times before loudly calling out, “The decision is unanimous. Yea.”

Celestine stopped and considered Murtagh. “Unanimous? You voted to send me home?”

“I did. Surely you’re not unhappy with the vote? I’m sure we won’t send you if you don’t want to go.”

“It’s not that,” she said, “but I was certain I knew how you’d vote. So… why?”

“You already know I’d rather you stay. It’s just I thought…” He trailed off.

“Go on. You thought what?”

“I thought if I’m going to lead a House of Riders, I need cast my votes not based on what I want personally, but on what’s the right thing to do.”

Celestine wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him full on the lips. She then drew back and said, “I’d wonder why you weren’t born in my world, but I can see it’s obviously because you’re needed here. If you maintain that heart, you will be a blessed leader.”

“Thank you.”

“No, thank you. Murtagh…” she said. “I don’t know if I can ever return here, but if I can, I will. And, if I can’t, I promise to find you on the other side of life. I will be with Dayus. Find me there.”

Galbatorix approached. “We voted to send you back if possible. I’m not convinced it is. I will share my spell, but I will not cast it if there’s not enough power behind it.”

Celestine nodded. “I understand.”

Eragon spoke up. “I will try to get as many involved as possible—Elves, Dwarves, Varden. Even if it’s just to donate their energy.”

“I will, too,” Galbatorix said. “There are many among the Eldunarí that will wish to contribute, I’m sure.”

Islanzadí said, “I wish to dispose of this wretched Dauthdaert. I can think of no more fitting end for it than to be broken down into energy and used for the spell.”

* * *

That night, before Eragon began recruiting volunteers, Celestine drew him aside and asked to speak privately. He led her to his tent and asked, “Is this important? I need to gather as many people as possible to help you.”

She nodded. “I know, and I thank you. This is important, and I’ll be quick about it.”

“All right. So what is it?”

“I understand you have feelings for Arya. Do you love her?”

Eragon’s eyes widened. “I… yes, I do. Why are you…?”

“Stay with me on this. What does that mean to you?”

“That’s changed a bit. At first, I was attracted by her beauty. I thought that was love. Then, I came to respect and admire her personality. I thought that must be love. But now… I just want her to be happy, and since she doesn’t seem interested in me, I guess that means I let her be. I mean, if she’s not happy with me, then…”

“If she did love you in return, though, is there anything you can think of that would make you leave her?”

“No. Well… It would have to be greater than our happiness. Lives would have to be at stake. That’s all I can think of. Celestine, why are you asking me these things?”

Two tears escaped the corners of her eyes. “I have to leave Murtagh tomorrow. I just needed to know I was doing the right thing. It helps to hear it from someone else.”

“You love Murtagh.”

“Lives are on the line in my world. If I don’t destroy the Mirror, people will die.”

“I understand. I’ll do the best I can to rally everyone to your cause.”

“Thank you, Eragon. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

When Celestine exited the tent, she noticed Arya standing some distance away, talking with another Elf. She thought she caught Arya glance towards the tent, but she wasn’t sure.

* * *

Early the next morning, everyone that was going to contribute gathered outside the city gate where the vote had been cast. Carn was among the volunteers—he’d been so enamored with the cleverness of Galbatorix’s spell that he couldn’t help but be a part of its casting. While everything was being organized, he found Celestine and said, “Anyone having a spell cast on them ought to know its full implications, but this one is so complex. Do you realize even if it works, you probably won’t remember what transpired while you were in our world? Perhaps not ever?”

“What must be, must be. I’ve made many sacrifices already, and still have more to make. If I can’t remember this place, it will have to be yet another precious thing placed on the altar.” Celestine glanced to where Murtagh was talking to Galbatorix before looking back at Carn. “Besides, even if my mind doesn’t remember, my soul will never forget.”

“I wish you good fortune, girl from another world.”

She grinned. “You can just call me Celestine.”

The old man laughed. “Very well. Celestine.”

She noticed that Eragon had joined Murtagh and Galbatorix, and none of them seemed particularly pleased. She excused herself and walked over to them.

“Is there a problem?” she asked.

“There’s not enough power,” Galbatorix said.

“Not enough?” Celestine echoed. “But there are so many here!”

“Yes, I estimate we have enough here to convert you into information, transmit you to your world, and get you about halfway reassembled,” he said, “which is more power than I ever thought I’d see in one place, frankly, but reassembly is the most power intensive part of the spell—and that’s saying a lot. I won’t cast it.”

“Celestine,” Murtagh said, “you have a lot of power. Perhaps you could contribute some with your own magic?”

“Bah!” Galbatorix interrupted. “Have you forgotten that she’s the one being disassembled?”

“I may be able to help with that, Galbatorix,” Carn said. “Begging everyone’s pardon, but I couldn’t help but overhear.”

“Go on,” Galbatorix said. “How do you think she can contribute?”

Carn produced a parchment on which was written Galbatorix’s spell. “Well, I was thinking, if you cast the spell as written, she would disappear here—” he pointed to a part near the beginning “—and reappear in her world here,” he said, pointing to the end. “But say we reword this a little,” he said, quickly writing his thoughts onto the parchment, “like so. It’s still the same spell, but she would disappear here and reappear in her world just after.”

Galbatorix scrutinized the revised spell. “Hmm. Interesting use of the future perfect tense. Have you used that in a spell before?”

Carn nodded with vigor. “Oh, yes, I have. Just to test it, I once cast a spell to cook an egg and remove its shell. I spoke the portion of the shell removal first in future perfect, then the part that cooked it. Needless to say, it all happened in the order intended—not spoken.”

“If that is so, then it would allow her to contribute as much power as she possibly can, but the amount we lack is still far beyond her capabilities,” he said. “This is not a spell—it’s a suicide. I won’t cast it.”

Celestine’s protest was cut short by Murtagh’s sudden declaration. “I’ll cast it.”

“Don’t be a fool, boy,” Galbatorix said. “All you’ll manage to do is kill yourself and her. How many times must I reiterate that we don’t have enough power?”

“We don’t, but Dayus does,” Murtagh said. “Doesn’t he?”

“But we don’t have his name,” Galbatorix said.

“We don’t need his name. He said she’d need my help before the end. I thought that meant our fight with Elva, but now I’m sure he meant I need to help send her home—she needs me to send her home before the Mirror’s end.”

Galbatorix paused for a few moments before asking, “How can you be so sure Dayus will help?”

Eragon asked, “Celestine, does Dayus ever provide signs?”

“He has been known to, yes,” she said. “He’s done so many different things over the ages. I wouldn’t know what to expect. So… maybe look for something you’d never expect would happen?”

“Something we’d never expect? Anything more specific?” Eragon asked.

Celestine barely opened her mouth to answer when Angela arrived, “Well, I’m here. Might as well help send you back. I’ve been trying to get you out of here since we met, after all—only fitting I should be here now.”

“Let’s get this started,” Murtagh said.

While Eragon and Murtagh coordinated the crowd, Galbatorix and Carn conferred with Celestine on the best way for her to contribute. They settled on a large contraption of Carn’s devising that was able to store direct lightning strikes. Celestine would conjure the lightning—as much as she was able.

When everything was ready, Celestine stood in the middle of the field, surrounding by friends and former foes alike. Murtagh walked over to her and asked, “Are you ready?”
She nodded. “I am. Before I leave, you should know. I wish I could stay,” she whispered.

“I know,” he said. “I want you to know that I wish you could stay, too.”

Celestine nodded again, wiping some tears from her cheeks. “I know.”

They shared one last kiss before Murtagh walked away to stand between Galbatorix and Eragon. Galbatorix said, “You’ll be handling a lot of power, Murtagh. Don’t let it intimidate you. You won’t lose control as long as you cast the spell correctly.”

Dark clouds gathered in the skies as Celestine called up a storm. Bolts of lightning lanced through the air, striking the metal rods that fed the device. Murtagh let Celestine supply the machine for a long while until she nodded to let him know she was growing weary. “Dayus please let this work,” Murtagh said under his breath.

He began drawing on the energy around him—more than he’d ever handled before, more than he’d even dreamed was possible. And yet it kept coming, threatening to overwhelm him. Taking a deep breath, he began to cast the spell. When he spoke it, however, the drop in power was beyond belief—as though he had just watched a mountain range blow away like leaves in the wind. And still the spell demanded more power. One by one his sources of power were cut off from him as the donors reached the point of total exhaustion. First, the children and the elderly of the city. Then the other humans. Then the Elves and Dwarves. Then Eragon, Galbatorix, the Eldunarí, the dragons. Thorn would’ve given to the point of death, but Murtagh had to cut him off. He began drawing on the energy Celestine had stored, but even that great amount was like dropping pebbles into a bottomless well.

Murtagh finally reached the part in the spell where Celestine disappeared. Islanzadí turned the Dauthdaert into energy, which Murtagh channeled into the spell, but it was like a river pouring into the ocean for the ocean is never full. Soon, even Angela had to break away. Murtagh stood alone, speaking the last words of the spell.

With that, the yawning chasm gaped to receive the energy due it—all of his energy. Tears flowed down his face; his throat tightened. She’s gone. If I fail now, she dies. I can’t fail now. He fell to his knees; his skin grew cold. Please! Don’t let me fail! He grew lightheaded; small white spots appeared in his vision, growing in size and brightness until all there was was white. Far off in the distance he could hear Eragon calling his name, and then he knew no more.

* * *

Murtagh groaned, turning to his side.

“It’s a miracle you’re alive.”

Murtagh squinted as his vision adjusted. He was in a bed. Eragon was sitting in a chair beside him. “What happened?”

“I was hoping you could tell me,” he said. “You collapsed at the end of the spell. You’ve been unconscious for the last three days.”

“Three days?”

Eragon nodded. “And Thorn’s been asking after you every single one of them. …I thought the spell killed you.”

Murtagh sat up, still listless. “No, I’m alive…” He had a sudden burst of strength. “I’m alive! The spell must have worked!”

Galbatorix entered the room. “Perhaps, though with a spell that complex, it’s possible that when your life force waned, it cut off the last portion of the spell without actually killing you. It’s been known to happen,” he said. “Don’t let it bother you, Murtagh. There was no way to get enough power for that spell. You did the best you could.”

“No, I’m sure it worked. Celestine is alive,” Murtagh said.

“Whatever happened, I’m glad that I don’t have to bury you, too,” his brother said, helping him stand.

Murtagh embraced his brother and said, “Thank you for keeping me anchored. The last thing I remember before losing consciousness was you calling my name.”

Eragon looked puzzled. “I don’t understand. I gave so much of my energy, I blacked out before Celestine even disappeared. Whatever you heard, it wasn’t me.”

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