For Alagaesia: 91. Edoc'sil

The birds and trees told them of a black dragon ridden by a man with even blacker heart fleeing towards the Spine. The passage of evil had left its mark on the land. And the land gave them the directions they needed. Alagaesia herself was set on getting rid of the disease by which she was afflicted in the last hundred years.

For the four creatures following the directions, it was time to repay. With the Menoa promising to bring with her the strength of Du Weldenvarden and with Kuthian assuring them that their powers from the vault of sacrificed souls remained undiminished, they were sure that they were on an even footing with Galbatorix.

The directions took them to the foothills of Ristvak'baen. Eragon smirked at the sight of the mountain. What was it if not a quirk of fate that brought Galbatorix to Edoc’sil? After all, it had been the scene of the fall of dragon riders half-dozen and a hundred years ago. It was where Galbatorix ended all that Eragon had started in his previous life. And this would be where he will have to answer for all the devastation he had caused.

Eragon placed a hand on Saphira’s neck and patted her, assuring that they would avenge the dragon race. Indra who was beside Saphira growled realising their location. ‘Is this where Umaroth and his rider Vrael were killed?’ He asked.

‘Yes, Indra. Killed and denied even a proper burial.’ Arya replied in a cold tone.

Without another word, the two dragons began to make the climb up Utgard. It was a climb that only a dragon could achieve and as such their riders were the only two-legs to have witnessed the peak of Utgard.

“Arya, I want you to stay with the dragons while they fight Shruikan,” Eragon requested, raising his voice to be heard over the howling wind. It wasn’t out of protectiveness that he was asking this. No. It was out of concern for the dragons’ safety.

Arya, who would normally bite him with the ‘helpless female’ analogy, never even frowned this time. She simply nodded, understanding his reason.

As the peak of the mountain came up, a steady murmur of the ancient language reached their ears. Eragon tried discerning the words but they were uttered much too fast to distinguish. They had been hearing it for the better part of an minute when suddenly it stopped and a clear, loud word was spoken: “Skjaldborg.”

Within a few seconds after the word was heard, spelt by Galbatorix’s voice, the steep and smooth slope of the mountain ended abruptly in a plain and clearly horizontal landing. The ruins of the grand old watch tower stared back at them sorrowfully.

Half finished, or as was more plausible half ruined, sculptures lay strewn on the ground - the handiwork of bored riders who had stayed there in another era. Among the ruins lay the skeleton of an enormous dragon that was nearly as big as Glaedr. Close by its head, with its hands around the face of the dragon lay another skeleton - that of a two-legged creature. Eragon’s heart wrenched at seeing them - Umaroth and Vrael. Killed and left to rot by Galbatorix.

But he did not have the time to linger on the tragedy of Vrael for Shruikan let out a ear splitting roar and launched towards Saphira and Indra. Seeing Galbatorix stay behind on the ground, folding and tying a book casually, Eragon freed himself from the saddle and jumped down, pulling Brisingr out of its sheath as he did so.

Once on the ground, Eragon turned his head up and saw Arya cut open a long gash on Shruikan with Shantiyastra. Feeling vindicated for having asked Arya to stay behind, Eragon walked towards Galbatorix who did not show any sort of urgency in putting the book back in a pack and pulling his black sword out of its sheath.

“So, you followed me like faithful dogs!” Galbatorix crowed.

“No. We chased you like a dragon chases his prey.” Eragon replied nonchalantly. Galbatorix’s forked tongue no longer had any effect on him.

“Chased me?,” Galbatorix exulted, his red eyes flashing, “I own the entire dragon race. The spirits and even the ancient language are my slaves. And you say that you chased me! Bah!!”

None could self-gratify better than King Galbatorix. Eragon had known that for a long while but this was a new low even by the standards of the man. Would someone brag about enslaving others forcefully as a virtue? But then for a man who could not or would not distinguish between power and honour, slavery indeed is a virtue!

The roar from the overhead battle between dragons was the only sound for a moment. Eragon glanced up to catch a glimpse of Saphira and Indra press Shruikan between them. He felt bad for the majestic-looking black dragon but Galbatorix remained perfectly calm; uncaring of his dragon’s struggle.

“You may have enslaved great powers. But we were favoured by greater ones.” Eragon said with a sense of finality in his voice. He then went on to narrate how he and Arya were born again and how the whole forest of Du Weldenvarden was on their side. “Powers extracted forcibly can never equal those granted voluntarily,” concluded he.

“Test your theory, shall we?” Galbatorix asked and raising a hand towards Eragon said, “Kveykva!”

An electrifying bolt of lightning shot out from the outstretched hand, the brightness of which stunned Eragon for a moment. If he had to think of a counter spell, Eragon might have been fried alive before he cast one but as it was his ability to cast wordless magic came in handy. He closed his eye to ward off the blinding effect of the light and willed the bolt to curve away from him; which it did.

But the momentary distraction was enough for Galbatorix and he was on Eragon when he reopened his eyes. Eragon’s reflexes were tested to their limits when he jumped away from the slash that was attempted on his face. Galbatorix followed him with his black sword held aloft in his hand.

Eragon had settled into a defensive stance as soon as he landed and so was able to bring the flat side of Brisingr down in the path of the black sword which was on its path to stab him. Dancing away from Galbatorix, as the king tried to swing the black blade at his head, Eragon tried to get into an offensive position.

*************************************************

The big-black-slave-dragon was much too strong for either of them. He shook them away as they tried to squeeze him between them. Being stolen by and forced to bond with one who wanted the destruction of the entire dragon race, big-black-shruikan was not really adept at flying. It was clear in the way he held himself: stiff and concerned. The first lesson of flight that a dragon receives from an elder is of freedom. Even so, with all his shortcomings, the dragon was a force to reckon with. He was born to be a great dragon. ‘If only he had been let to follow his course!’ Saphira rued.

‘Don’t let him get behind you!’ Arya warned. Saphira took note of the black dragon trying to align himself behind her tail and somersaulted to avoid Shruikan from getting to her blind spot. The elf-princess was proving to most adept at aerial combat.

‘Let us divide his attention.’ Indra suggested. Saphira sent him an acknowledgement and by mutual consent, Saphira turned a full circle and tried to get to Shruikan’s blind spot, while Indra with Arya to protect him magically took on the black dragon head on.

*************************************************

“Hrið!” screamed the usurper as Eragon kept up his aggression. The howling winds near him told that an artificial storm had been created. He took a quick glance to his side to find a rolling hurricane moving towards him while Galbatorix advanced on him from the opposite direction.

The moving hurricane gained pace both within and without as the king neared Eragon. With no means to counter a hurricane, Eragon decided to take on the creator. After all, with enough distraction, a spell as powerful as that should prove too costly even for a man like Galbatorix.

He could not have made a worse assumption, as Galbatorix so effectively kept his concentration even though Eragon took the initiative and struck hard at the king even before the king reached him hoping to distract Galbatorix and weaken the hurricane. By the time Eragon was into the third strike, the storm got so close to him that his movements were hampered. He was being pulled into it.

Galbatorix’s eyes shone like a child who had found that he could walk like his father. He dealt a series of blows to Eragon while Saphira’s rider was too busy fighting off the storm which was trying to pull him into its eye. Eragon struggled to maintain a steady posture much less pose any threat to Galbatorix.

“Alagaesia may favour you, Eragon! But you forget something. I. Rule. Alagaesia,” Galbatorix bragged as he cut open Eragon’s torso.

Eragon tried to keep his calm. He knew his struggle would distract Saphira and Arya. At least for their safety, he had to put up a fight! He willed the air to constrict around Galbatorix: the wisest way to slow the king down thus bringing his speed on par with Eragon’s who had to contend with a roiling storm.

But then to his immense surprise, the spell simply did not work. Galbatorix moved as freely as ever even when the air around him was so dense. Eragon redoubled his efforts and could feel the dense air himself whenever Galbatorix came near him, but the king was as fast as ever.

Galbatorix let out a mocking laughter. “Didn’t I tell you? I own the ancient language. She casts the spells for me. I am immune to any magic you cast!” He said amidst bouts of laughter. But his cruel blade never stopped drawing blood from Eragon’s torso. For a want of better word, Eragon was defeated.

But he refused to accept it. With everything he had, Eragon worked on countering Galbatorix, never letting Saphira know that he was losing. That would distract her and put her in a position of danger against so powerful an enemy as Shruikan.

Although he was thoroughly beaten, he wasn’t going to lose control entirely anytime soon. The promise of unending energy from the vault of sacrificed souls and the Menoa were kept. He could draw from them all the energy he needed but with magic being useless against Galbatorix, he was at a loss for ideas except using Brisingr to end the usurper’s life.

“The laws of nature may be against me for enslaving its freest spirits,” said Galbatorix as Eragon laboriously brought Brisingr in the path of the black blade that was aiming to lop off his head. “But by enslaving them I have earned the right to set laws for nature!”

Eragon growled as his arms begged for rest forcing them to keep pace with his determination. His overworked legs cried for release having kept Eragon out of the raging hurricane and away from the reach of the black sword for a long while.

Eragon had to admit that the concentration power of Galbatorix was to be envied. Having tried everything from hurling huge rocks and throwing sand into the king’s eye, Eragon had concluded that it was better to keep his focus on being alive. For one, nothing affected Galbatorix as he had ordered the ancient language to form wards against any danger that came his way and for another, the king wasn’t even distracted from his aims of sucking Eragon into his hurricane and tearing his torso apart by the rocks and sands coming his way.

“Trees!” Galbatorix exclaimed as he dealt a bone jarring strike to Eragon’s elbow. “Lost lives!” Eragon’s thigh muscle was torn apart by the black blade. “You think those can stop ME?”

He had taken extreme measures to keep his pain to himself but it was too much now and it cried for release. Although he didn’t want to, his mind worked on its own and before he knew it, he let out a pained scream.

*************************************************

Saphira and Indra played out a perfect symphony. Having failed to make significant progress with the divide and conquer strategy of Indra, they had taken to this unite and confuse strategy of Arya.

‘What we are trying is so obvious that he is able to put in a pre thought out response,’ the brilliant strategist that was the elven princess had said. ‘We need to bait him first.’

Indra and she were in perfect harmony as they flew side-by-side towards Shruikan. The great-black-dragon fell for their ploy as he came towards them eager to knock them together out of the sky. When they were within striking distance of him, each of them performed a contrasting complex maneuver.

Saphira, being the better flier, did the cobra maneuver and was over Shruikan’s head in seconds while Indra dove below Shruikan. Arya who was seated in Indra’s saddle struck with Shantiyastra and cut off a huge talon from the great black dragon’s leg. Saphira meanwhile, dug out a few black scales from his back as she flew over him.

The black dragon roared in obvious pain and frustration. He had brute force and nothing else to go by while Saphira and Indra had use of their wits and importantly their companionship; not to say the brilliant strategies of Arya. They continued tormenting the black dragon further, finding new ways to push him towards defeat and death, every time he was able to figure out and respond to an older strategy.

Their latest plan was to break Shruikan’s wings by following a complex flight pattern. It would ensure that they finish off the black dragon and go to the aid of Eragon who seemed to faring poorly against Galbatorix. He was struggling. They could see it.

But the fool would not share his problems with her. When pressed he simply said, ‘I will be a distraction.’ But won’t he realise that he can’t ever be a distraction for them? That they would be distracted more by not knowing what was wrong with him? Apparently three thousand years worth of memories were not enough for him to understand all this.

She and Indra flew side by side, their wings nearly tangling with one another at a speed that could only be rivalled by the hurricane that was roiling beneath them trying to swallow Eragon whole.

Shruikan, as always, found this to be the perfect moment to knock the three of them together out of the sky and was coming to meet them head on. Their plan was simple. But it required coordination and skill matching the best of the best dragons to ever have lived. They kept their flight path unchanged till their nostrils were close enough to Shruikan’s that if any one of them breathed fire, Eragon who was fighting below them would not be able to distinguish who did it.

Then they turned at right angles in counter clockwise direction so that they would confuse Shruikan by crossing each other while each reached one of his outstretched wings in no time whereupon they would have to tear it as best as they could and render him flightless.

It all went to plan till they heard him scream. Eragon was in pain and that confused them. Had something gone wrong with him? All three tried to steal a glance at their beloved friend. And all hell broke loose.

Saphira and Indra lost balance and collided with one another. The speed at which they had been travelling was so great that it knocked the senses right out of their heads. Shruikan, meanwhile opened his big maw and caught Arya’s shoulder within it, biting off a huge chunk of muscle from her body. She howled, trying to drown out the torrent of pain. Shruikan, with a glint in his mad eyes was coming for them from above.

*************************************************

An agonised yowl, uttered in his fondest voice, went off high in the sky, chilling Eragon to the core. Closely following it, blood fell on Eragon’s head and rolled through his face down to his chest. Eragon was shell shocked and stood frozen in place. The hurricane came whirling towards him but he moved not.

Slowly, the fear spread out through his body leaving him a trembling mess. “Ah! The effects of love!!” Galbatorix’s voice reached his ears from afar. “I love the weakness that it creates in people of perfect sense.”

Eragon did not hear anymore of the king’s nonsense. He didn’t care. All he wanted was an assurance that Arya was fine. Slowly, pushing all fear that asked him not to, he turned his face up towards the sky.

What he saw there took his breath away. Saphira and Indra were falling out of the sky. Arya, who was atop Indra was bleeding and flailing in her place. Drops of her blood fell over his face eliciting the most terrible emotions in him.

There wasn’t any meaning in continuing to fight death anymore. He could as well surrender to the hurricane that was at this very moment pulling him into it. Now, it didn’t feel like a torturous creation of Galbatorix. It was his gateway to peace.

“Why do you all love when you know it only creates weakness?” Mockery was written all over Galbatorix’s question. Yet there was also a genuine incredulity; of a lack of understanding. That sparked something in Eragon.

He remembered. He remembered how Murtagh had wanted to be killed when he knew Thorn was dead; the fear and disbelief that crossed Roran’s face when he realised that he had broken Eragon’s back. And he remembered Katrina waiting in Silthrim with her baby Weldhana expecting the triumphant return of her husband; the pain Glaedr was in when Oromis was killed; how Nasuada had sounded when she said that Galbatorix knew her true name; how much Orik cried when Hrothgar was killed; how gladly Islanzadi hugged Arya when she knew that her daughter had not died. 

Should he search for release in the form of death for his selfishness disregarding the hopes of all these friends? Was it what Brom and Selena expected of him when they birthed him? Was it how Garrow and Marian had raised him? What would Saphira, Arya and Indra think of him if he chose death?

All these people were different and many did not even know each other. But one thing connected them all: love. They all would do anything for the ones they loved. Was it fair to leave them to the mercy of a man who did not understand what love was?

More than anything he remembered the unending pain he felt when Arya lay on his lap, slowly dying before Menoa helped him out. If he died now, he would be damning hundreds of men to feel the same pain at the hands of the same man.

No. He would not die before he had freed Alagaesia of the cancer by which she was afflicted. He would die only after Galbatorix lived no more. The notion of saving the world from a man who knew not about the softest emotion of living beings invigorated him and gave him inspiration to fight off the king. Eragon leapt away from the hurricane that was now literally on his heels and the fast approaching blade of Galbatorix that had nearly impaled itself in his heart.

He swung Brisingr expertly and stopped yet another attempt from the surprised Galbatorix to incapacitate him. Then he struck out pouring in all his emotions into his slash. Galbatorix barely had time to block Eragon’s attack. Being thwarted by the usurper, Eragon growled and renewed his attack not giving Galbatorix the time to strike back.

The king ducked and parried, swayed and leapt, huffed and puffed but did not have answers to Eragon’s inspired and purposeful attack. Galbatorix fancied himself powerful for having under his command vast sources of energy and a way to escape any magical attack. But he was blind to the power that only love could bring. It was that power which was driving Eragon now.

A quarter of an hour’s intense sword-fight later, Eragon wanted nothing other than to shave off the head from Galbatorix’s neck. He felt no sympathy for the badly bleeding king. The sense of justice that had given him wings against the storm (which was now all but dead) was pushed back to be replaced by anger and a thirst for vengeance. The hopelessness he felt earlier had transformed into a feral anger.

He let the instincts of a dragon that had been imbued in his being by Saphira’s constant presence take over his mind and body. He no longer had control of his limbs. They moved of their own accord with the sole purpose of ending Galbatorix’s life.

*************************************************

Arya had enough sense, even when injured, to cast a spell to stop their descent to the ground. If they fell at the speed they were descending not even bones would have remained of them.

‘Arya! Are you alright?,’ Indra asked in panic.

‘I will cope.’ Arya replied although she sounded weak. Saphira glanced at the elven princess to find that she was looking down at Eragon. She felt warm in her heart for a moment, finding how much the princess cared about her rider.

But the feeling lasted only for a fleeting moment as she heard the roar of Shruikan above them and the clang of metal below them. She followed Arya’s line of sight and found that Eragon had suddenly turned violent and was having the upper hand.

Suddenly a barrage of emotions hit her brain and she realised that she was once more privy to Eragon’s thought process. He was fighting for the love of everyone in Alagaesia! He was fighting to avenge the dragon race and to repay the sufferings they had gone through when Arya was nearly killed trying to save him. But most of all, he had unblocked her. That in itself gave her new vigour.

Even Arya, with her severely injured shoulder, seemed ready to face Shruikan when she saw Eragon consistently slip through the defenses of Galbatorix. But the black dragon had reached too close to them already that they had not the time to escape the impending collision.

Arya raised her hand calmly at the black dragon and he too like them stopped in air like being suspended by a rope. He roared in annoyance at being thwarted and sent down torrents of fire at them but Arya managed to keep every single flame away from their bodies.

Shruikan tried every trick he knew to break away from Arya’s spell but Arya was staunch. She held him in place while lifting Indra and Saphira high into the air.

‘Get ready to fly.’ Arya said sounding spent. Saphira steeled herself to beat her wings without knocking Indra and Arya out of the sky. Their wings were tangled with one another by virtue of their closeness while Arya stopped their fall.

‘I am below you, Indra. Beat your wings as soon as Arya releases the spell. You will bat me down but don’t worry, I will steady myself.’ She assured Indra.

‘But…,’ the green dragon started to protest. She silenced him saying she knew what she did and asking him to trust her. ‘Besides, Arya’s injury is bad. We must not let her over exert herself.’ To that he agreed, although he was still reluctant.

‘Release the spell, Arya.’ she requested the princess.

Arya asked entry to her mind and she gave the princess entry without question. Since the three of them were mentally connected to one another, Indra was able to beat his wings the moment Arya released the spell and Saphira still had ample time to regain her balance before she hit the ground.

How Arya maintained such control of her mind, Saphira would never know. The princess was hurt badly and yet managed to coordinate the three of their actions while also maintaining the spell to keep Shruikan motionless.

The things thus settled, Arya pushed Shruikan towards the ground. He resisted, as seen from Arya’s constant twitching, a by product of the black dragon attacking her mind. But the princess managed to pin the great black dragon to the ground. He emanated pure anger but could do nothing against the power of Arya especially since he had no support from Galbatorix who was busy saving his head from Brisingr.

‘Heal your shoulder.’ she said to Arya softly when Shruikan was safely pressed against the ground near the skeletons of Umaroth and Vrael.

Arya nodded. She looked pale from the loss of blood and mental exertion. She placed Shantiyastra back into its sheath and pressed her other hand over her injured shoulder. Slowly, the muscles reformed and the skin flowed over.

While Arya healed herself, Saphira looked at Eragon who seemed to be noticing the goings on with satisfaction while Galbatorix did not at all seem to care that his dragon was utterly defeated. He was too focussed on himself.

“Eragon is distracted too much by us. Let us end this.” Arya said and looked to Saphira and Indra who were holding the outstretched wings of Shruikan to the ground keeping him pinned to the ground.

Saphira nodded her head slightly. She actually felt bad that a dragon of Shruikan’s magnificence should die and that too during a time when the dragon race was nearing extinction. But she knew that there really wasn’t any other option.

Arya seemed to be looking for confirmation from Indra as well. He stole a glance at her during which she turned away from him not wanting to influence his decision. Then slowly he bobbed his head as well.

Arya nodded as if confirming to herself that she was doing the right thing and raised Shantiyastra above her head. The historic sword with its diamond lined blade shone brightly in the sun.

Arya backed a little and then leapt a dozen feet into the air keeping Shantiyastra aloft in the air. Shruikan let out a clearly frightened roar knowing that his life was at an end. But he did not struggle. It was as if he accepted his fate. Saphira closed her eyes not wanting to see a dragon’s life being taken.

A long while passed but there wasn’t any movement from the black dragon indicating the inevitable pain before he died. She opened her eyes to see Arya leaning on Shantiyastra which was impaled in the ground near Shruikan’s face.

“This sword will not take another dragon’s life.” The princess said when Saphira sent down  a questioning glance her way, alluding to the time of the Du Fyrn Skulblaka to which she belonged originally. “I… can’t kill a dragon in good conscience. Not again.” She continued speaking about the time when she had killed Kialandi and her dragon.

Shruikan was watching Arya with an eye of caution mixed with respect. But she could not linger in the moment for a earth shattering noise came from where Eragon and Galbatorix were fighting.

*************************************************

The king was feeling the heat and that could be seen in his wide eyes. They displayed an emotion that they had rarely displayed: fear. Galbatorix had not the time to think of a spell to distract Eragon, occupied as he was in saving his head.

Eragon’s anger did not abate even when his initial fears of the imminent death of his companions proved to be unfounded, cultivated as it was on Galbatorix for taking Arya to the brink during their fight near Uru’baen. If anything it only grew manifold as he noticed that Galbatorix did not even care to help Shruikan.

Numerous injuries, large and small, occupied Galbatorix’s body and yet he was fighting with vigour. Eragon, despite his anger, had to admit that the king was resilient. But he wasn’t any less resilient than Galbatorix. He would outlast the king even if it took a whole hundred years to wear the usurper down and put a sword into his chest.

Galbatorix might not care for Shruikan but Eragon could not keep his eyes off Saphira and Indra for long. They were going through trying times and he was grateful to Arya for taking care of Saphira along with Indra. If not for the elven princess, the two dragons might already have been defeated by Shruikan.

Arya somehow had concentration enough to withstand the weights of three dragons one of which was rebelling against her spell. And to think that she was doing all this through pain! Her shoulder was completely torn off and blood still escaped from the ferocious wound. She looked pale but her exhaustion did not show in her actions.

Eragon renewed his attack taking inspiration from Arya. If she could do something, he too could. This time he innovated as his anger had slightly subsided and a calm had settled in his mind. After a series of particularly complex moves, he saw Galbatorix’s arms flailing and his posture slacking. Unbeknownst to Eragon, a smile found its way to his face. Long had he waited for this moment. Much had he sacrificed for this moment. He prepared himself for the final onslaught; to end what had started three thousand years ago.

It was at this moment that he noticed Arya leaping high in the air with Shantiyastra held aloft in her hand. Shruikan was pinned to the ground by Saphira and Indra. He keened but did not put up any fight. He had accepted his fate. Something about it deeply saddened Eragon.

He paused his attack for a moment, wanting to give Galbatorix a breather; wanting to allow Galbatorix the time to assure his dragon that he had been a worthwhile partner; that he would be missed.

As he watched Arya reach ground level he shut his eye not able to see what was about to happen: an elf killing a dragon. Three millennia ago he had travelled far and wide across Alagaesia deriding that very practice. And now his beloved Arya was being forced to do that very sin.

While his eyes were closed, his sword was, quite unexpectedly, batted away from his hand. His eyes shot open to find Galbatorix holding his black sword against his neck ready to strike.

He was confused. Why would Galbatorix be interested in him at this moment of great distress? Even he could not digest the fact that Shruikan was about to die. How could Galbatorix even think of anything other than his dragon at this moment?

“There. That is what I am talking about. The weakness of love. What is it to you if that lowly creature dies? Why do you care?” Eragon’s blood boiled at the outrageous talk. But Galbatorix was not finished. He went on thus, in the most shameless voice Eragon had ever heard him use: “Join Vrael, Evandar and all others who were capable of beating me but failed because they cared too much; introspected too much. Join them in the afterlife and curse me for eternity while I rule your beloved Alagaesia.”

Something snapped in him at this point. He wasn’t Eragon anymore. He was the dragon that blessed him with elven features during the Agaeti Blodhren. He was the sum total of all the anger Alagaesia and her people had cultivated against Galbatorix over the past century. He was Kuthian. He was Menoa. He was Saphira. He was Arya. He was everyone in Alagaesia and yet he was Eragon. And his destiny was to end Galbatorix.

Within the span of the millionth of a second, faster than a lightning could strike, Eragon ducked under the black blade and raised his hand towards where Brisingr lay. The blade shone and tongues of blue flames engulfed it as it flew to his hand.

Galbatorix had by now realised that Eragon was no longer at his black blade’s mercy and turned around as fast as he could towards where he perceived Eragon was. But the mysterious thing - which Eragon could explain only as Alagaesia - that had given him the power of a god propelled Eragon even faster.

By the time Galbatorix had turned around to where Eragon had been a second ago, Eragon was behind Galbatorix. He swung Brisingr in a fine arc, the blue flames lighting up the path of the sword. When Brisingr had completed a little more than a quarter circle of swing from its initial position above Eragon’s shoulder, the red of blood combined with the blue flame to show Brisingr’s trajectory.

By the next second an unbelieving howl left Galbatorix’s mouth. His headless body swung around and was about to hit the ground while his head rolled high and far into the air. But before the body hit the ground it dissolved along with the head that was in the air. Galbatorix, the terroriser of freedom was gone.

Eragon became aware of his surroundings only a few seconds later when he heard Saphira’s elated cry. Arya was watching him curiously and Indra matched Saphira with his own roar of happiness. Eragon felt all his anger melt away as Saphira embraced his mind and shared all her feelings with him.

When he found that Shruikan had not been killed, he could not stop the little smile that found its way onto his lips. Arya had felt the same as him: that she should not kill a dragon however dangerous he was to them. Arya returned his smile albeit a little more guardedly. He understood why. She was yet to escape the effects of the intense mental battle with herself over killing Shruikan.

‘I can’t thank you enough.’ a deep and hard voice spoke in his mind. For a time he was confused because the tone in which the words were spoken was so different from anything he had heard before. The closest thing to it was Elva’s biting sarcasm. It took him a few dozen seconds to realise that it was Shruikan.

‘When Thorn told me of you all, I never believed that there could be such people in the world. But now that I have experienced your charity, I can’t deny anymore. Most of all, I must thank you Eragon for freeing me from the influence of that bastard. And you Arya for allowing me to breath this free air.’ The two of them bowed respectfully to the majestic dragon.

Shruikan walked away from Arya and the other two dragons and towards Eragon. Nobody questioned him or doubted him. The feelings emanating from his mind were more than enough proof of his transformation: gratitude and joy.

When Shruikan was a few steps away from Eragon, he put Brisingr down as a mark of trust and respect and raised his hand towards the dragon. The black dragon lowered his enormous head and allowed Eragon to touch his brow. At Eragon’s touch the whole body of Shruikan vibrated.

‘How different is your touch!’ The great black dragon said softly. Eragon could hear the baby dragon stolen by Galbatorix in it.

He had lost a hundred years of his life - a great span of time even for a dragon. He had been denied the equal part every dragon played in a dragon and rider relationship and yet he was a true dragon in his core. That could be seen in his walk: majestic and calm. Of all creatures that had faced the cruelty of Galbatorix, Shruikan was the most affected. He had borne the brunt of the false king’s evil.

Even as Eragon was reveling in the knowledge that they had helped free a dragon from utter agony, Saphira cried out in shock and surprise. Simultaneously, Arya squealed and shut her eye while Indra pounced forward from where he was like a possessed creature towards Eragon.

Instinctively, Eragon turned around. Merely two feet behind him, he saw Galbatorix whole and devoid of any injuries. The only differences between the usurper he knew and this thing (for it couldn’t be called a man anymore) were in its eyes that were a dark maroon, its hair that was bright red and its tooth that were sharp like a carnivore’s.

The only thought Eragon had at the moment was that of Durza. In a flash, he understood why Galbatorix had dissolved and not just fallen down dead: he was a shade for all practical purposes. And shades die only when stabbed on their chests.

He had not the time to pick Brisingr up to protect himself and Indra would never be able to reach him in time. The other two of his companions were too shocked to respond in any cohesive manner. Why did it come to this? Was it all a false dawn?

Everything slowed down. His whole life, in fact both his lives played out before his eyes. His sole purpose had been harmony between the races and now he was leaving without snuffing out the greatest danger to that harmony. He was going to die without curing Alagaesia of the worst disease she had ever contracted.

Before the feeling sunk into his brain, a velvety black thing pushed him down and leapt over him. Confused, he looked up to find Shruikan sinking his talons into Galbatorix’s heart and Galbatorix pushing his black sword into Shruikan’s chest.

An explosion tore through the mountain throwing Eragon several feet away. Red, green, blue and white lights shot forth from where he had stood moments ago and the sound of: “Ver elrun ono,” reverberated across the sky.

Saphira was upon him within moments and Arya followed closely. He was too dazed to acknowledge either of them. Tears of relief poured from their faces. Indra too had been thrown off by the explosion as he had already come close to him when the death of Galbatorix set off the blast. Eragon could only mouth a rather unnecessary “Thank you” for their powerful love.

When their emotions cleared, they went looking for Shruikan. He lay in the midst of rubble near Vrael and Umaroth having accomplished the very thing that the senior dragon and rider had failed to achieve a hundred years ago.

The black dragon had proved that he was a free spirit. He had ensured that his freedom meant freedom for Alagaesia. And the four companions felt proud to have played a part in securing that freedom for Shruikan. It had been their purpose all along.

Author’s Note:

And thus ends the era of Galbatorix, killed by the one he had tortured the most. Hope you liked this chapter. Sorry for the late update… I typed and deleted and typed again quite a few times while I began this chapter. I could not decide the best course for this chapter at all. But then finally decided to settle to this one.

There shall be two post war chapters to conclude everything and I may still have one last surprise… lets see how it comes along. For now, tell me what you thought.

Ancient language translations:

Skjaldborg - Protect

Kveykva - Lightning

Hrið - Storm

Ver elrun ono - We thank you