For Alagaesia: 77. Slaying a demon

Eragon thought he knew all about fear until they left the comforting confines of Du Weldenvarden. The smug confidence was, of course, because he had survived being exposed in mind and body to Galbatorix himself. The mad king had taken him to the brink of insanity and death many times when Eragon was his captive.

But he was in an entirely different situation now. He was not waiting for Galbatorix to come to him while he had no power to protect himself against the mad king’s onslaught. No. This time, Eragon was riding towards the usurper when he had all the power and right in the world to run and hide from him. In short, the acceptance that he had no other go than to face Galbatorix’s wrath was missing.

Now that he considered it, he could very easily veer away from his path towards Dras-Leona and go far into the south, following the Edda river beyond Alagaesia. Only the trading town of Hedarth would know of it.

As the thought of abandoning all that was his life till the day crossed his mind, his eyes fell on the three rings he wore: one presented by his father and belonging to the elves indicating that he was a friend of their race, one given by his foster-brother to signify his importance to the dwarven kingdom and another made by himself for his family. How could he abandon them all? His conscience would torture him for the rest of his life for such an act of cowardice.

‘Saphira would eat me alive if she were to ever hear of these thoughts crossing my mind’, Eragon thought meekly. That lack of fear was the reason dragons had nearly been wiped out of existence. When the elves and dwarves retreated and the humans accepted Galbatorix’s hegemony, the dragons –wild and bonded – fought till their death. They would annihilate or be annihilated. It was a choice he disliked but admired.

‘Eragon, we are coming up on the Leona Lake.’ Saphira informed. There was a measure of calmness in her mental voice. She had not spoken to him for the entire length of their journey after they left the evergreen forests of the elves, concentrating instead on overcoming her own mental demons. It seemed she had been more successful than him in the quest.

The Leona! Another two hours and they would be in Dras Leona, the city of Leona. Even when they had been fighting their worst fears, they had travelled at an enviable pace seeing as merely two days and three nights had passed since they left Ellesmera.

Saphira alighted on the Leona’s shores to rest her tired wings. As unbelievable as it was they had rested only twice during the last three days.

The Lake had crystal clear water, now that winter had given way to spring. The early spring blossoms, flowers of various kinds, covered the entire shoreline. It was an inviting setting, but Eragon was anything but interested in it. He cleaned himself of the grime that had settled on his body due to the constant travel and ate the last of the assorted dry fruits he had brought with him. When he drank from the Lake, the water tasted almost like honey. It really was a sweet spring that was spreading across Alagaesia. People would have a worthy harvest if the wonderful weather continued.

Shaking himself out of those useless thoughts, Eragon pulled out the heavy dwarven armour of Saphira out of her saddle bag. He had a hard time fitting it over Saphira’s huge torso, although he managed to compensate his puny size compared to her by using his inherent strength. Once he was entirely sure that Saphira was well protected from stray arrows and the such, he proceeded to fit himself into his own dwarven armour. The armour truly must have been made for some prince, he thought, seeing the intricate patterns on its breastplate as if for the first time.

The belt of Beloth, the wise to which Brisingr’s scabbard was strapped went around his waist and a helm of elven-make adorned his head. He slung his bow and quiver behind his back. His hunting knife, which had been his companion since his first hunting trip, remained strapped to his belt. It would be next to useless against Galbatorix, he knew, but it sort of made him feel complete.

‘Are you ready to take on the usurper, hatchlings?’ Glaedr asked in a sober tone.

‘Honestly, no master.’ Saphira replied, sounding calm even when she said it. It was her first admission to the fact that they were no match for Galbatorix during the trip. She might not be afraid of Galbatorix like Eragon was, but she was well aware of where they stood in a battle against the usurper.

‘I did not expect you to be,’ Glaedr consoled her, ‘Just remember that we only need to stall him for a while to let others escape.’ What he did not say was that they would probably not survive the battle. But they understood it.

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Of all times that they could have reached Dras-Leona, they reached the city at nightfall. Not that he was afraid of the dark, but it was always a comfort to have the spring sun overhead. From afar, the city looked like it was having just another calm evening, reminding him that nature cared not for the squabbles of men.

They kept their minds closely guarded lest the dark king catch them unaware. Eragon’s heart beat with audible thumps. He closed his eyes and breathed deep trying to find inner peace. But then it wasn’t any current or physical event that had clouded his mind. It was the memory of being brought within inches of being made a puppet of the evillest man ever to walk Alagaesia.

With every inch they moved closer to the city, he felt his mind being crushed by a strong force, until he could bear no longer to hide his anxiety from Saphira and Glaedr. He opened his mind to them hoping they would be able to grant him peace.

‘The past belongs in the past, little one. Don’t let it cloud your mind. Not now.’ Saphira spoke comfortingly.

‘But he is so near. He could do it again to me.’

‘Not with me around,’ she snarled.

‘Don’t fear, young one. He will have to wrangle his way through my mind before he gets a chance to even touch you.’ Glaedr comforted him.

That gave him a sense of security. He knew how powerful Glaedr was. During his time training under Oromis, he had tried blocking the golden dragon and had not succeeded even once. He could keep even Oromis at bay, but Glaedr always found a way into his mind.

A huge mass of black that was blacker than the night sky caught Eragon’s attention as they neared the city. He knew it was Shruikan, the dragon he had never seen before. Now that he saw him, he wondered if Galbatorix kept the dragon locked up all the time in a secret chamber for such a magnificent creature would never go unnoticed by people of the Varden.

His gut clenched at the sight of the golden dot that sat on the back of the black mass. That was him; the one they had come to fight: Galbatorix. His hairs stood on end and his limbs trembled – the mad king was there. The torturer was there. He was waiting for him. Fighting the giddiness that threatened to overcome him, Eragon kept his focus on Shurikan.

The great black dragon was lazily hovering in the sky, Eragon could tell, for there wasn’t anybody around him – neither the Varden nor the empire’s soldiers. The fighting was going on somewhere else deep within the city. As they came a bit closer, he saw that Shruikan was easily as big as Glaedr maybe a few inches shorter but he was stouter than the golden dragon.

When they were near enough to discern who was on whose side and the Varden realised that their last hope had finally showed up a booming laughter tore through the entire city. He knew that laughter well. It was one that he had grown to hate; and determined to fight against. Any fear he had felt was now gone replaced by the same determination that had helped him endure two months of torture by the owner of the manic laughter.

“So! Finally!! I was beginning to think that Islanzadi-elda had decided to shelter the egg thief and his lady accomplice in her forest,” Galbatorix said in that sugary voice of his, “Burning it down would have been a shame because that forest has actually grown closer to my heart over the years, you know... peace of mind and all.”

There was a slight pause and then the king continued, “Anyway, where are my manners?! Welcome thief, welcome back to my empire. I thought you had run away like your one time liege-lord… Nasuada was she? I was told she was a strong woman. No matter… this happens far too often.”

“We are not cowards like you to hide behind powers far greater and purer than yours, usurper.” Eragon replied in a similarly magnified voice. He had heard enough of the mad man’s taunts.

“Eragon!…  how nice it is to hear that voice of yours without the pained whimper with which I have come to associate it,” Galbatorix replied. Although he sounded smooth, there was an unmistakable sneer laced in his voice.

The anger that suddenly coursed through Eragon, when Galbatorix brought forth the topic of Eragon’s tortures at his hands, was too great that he balked from it even though he knew it came from Saphira. She roared her challenge to Gabatorix daring him to try anything with Eragon with her around.

“Ah, you!,” Galbatorix sung in response to Saphira’s anger, “You really are ferocious, dear. I will give you that. But I have serious matters to deal with now. I will come to you later.”

The way he spoke of Saphira as if she was some plaything angered Eragon to no end. He growled expressing his anger but refrained from making any reply. He surveyed the ground situation. It was, speaking mildly, a scene of massacre. None of the Varden remained cohesive. They ran amuck trying to hurt the empire soldiers while the empire’s men systematically decimated the Varden.

Only the elves had any semblance of coordination. And that was because their commanders remained alive, if not in fighting condition then at least in a condition to give orders. Eragon realised, with rising revulsion, that Galbatorix had reverted to his favourite way of dismantling an army: take out its leaders.

He was anxious for a moment unable to find Roran among the ground warriors. He was relieved only when Saphira pointed Roran out for him, flanked by Blodhgarm and others of his guard.

“Tut tut, Eragon… don’t be so worried. All your friends are alive and well. I took care of it personally.” Galbatorix bullied in a mock-consoling tone.

“I have use of them, you see,” he continued ignoring the fact that Eragon was not at all caring what he was saying, “They will serve as examples of false hope. People will learn from them not to revolt against their king ever again.”

“You should focus on your king when he speaks to you. Didn’t Oromis teach you that?” Galbatorix said coolly when he saw that Eragon was still concentrating on Roran and others of the Varden.

At the mention of Oromis, Glaedr’s mind riled up like a huge storm brewing in the seas and he assaulted Galbatorix’s mind with a stinging attack. Eragon saw with rising admiration for his master, the sweat that began to gather on Galbatorix’s face as he tried to stave off Glaedr.

Just when he thought that maybe the dark king would fall to Glaedr, Eragon felt the attack of a thousand insane minds converging on the golden dragon. Glaedr withdrew into his own mind in a hurry and the maddening attack receded instantly.

‘That fool is playing with powers he does not understand.’ Glaedr grieved over the fate of the Eldunari. ‘The dragons will not let him live. They will not stand for it beyond a level,” he said, sounding more angry than reasonable.

‘So, Glaedr-elda… you are here too. I wasn’t expecting you to be back so soon after the unfortunate demise of Oromis-elda,” Galbatorix cooed literally, “I am sorry for what happened to him. I really am.”

For a second Eragon actually believed that Galbatorix meant those words. Such was the mastery of Galbatorix over his tongue. Glaedr did not reply to the taunt. He was trying to focus his mind for the coming battle that would surely need concentration matching the regularity of sea-waves that hit Kuasta’s coast.

“Anyway, enough with the useless banter,” Galbatorix said, “Now, give back the dragon egg you stole from me, thief. I hear that a gift comes attached with it now. Your lady accomplice, isn’t she? Durza used to enjoy his time with her.”

He knew he should be angry for what Galbatorix said, but he only felt like laughing. The honey coated poisonous tongue of the man no longer had any effect on him. And so he did. Eragon laughed loud and clear. “That tongue of yours is wasted in a tyrant like you.” He said in between bouts of laughter.

A darkness clouded Galbatorix’s face, the like of which he had never seen in anybody else. For the first time, Eragon saw clearly the madness that Oromis saw when he refused a new egg to the would-be tyrant of Alagaesia. He shivered. It was THAT with which he had to fight.

The terrible look on Galbatorix’s face did not last though, only to be replaced by an even more amused demeanour. He let out a laugh of his own – the manic laughter that said he was not a normal being – and revealed something that was covered in his cloak.

The instant the veil was removed, frightened tiny violet eyes met with his. He was shaken to his core at how much pain the eyes conveyed to him. The child whom Eragon had cursed to eternal pain sat in front of Galbatorix looking as if she wanted nothing but to die that very moment. His heart went out to Elva. It was he who had brought this upon the child. His ignorance had caused unending pain to a mere child. Nothing he could do would ever right this wrong.

“Let her go, Galbatorix.” He said, with an eerie calmness in his voice.

“Hah! How fatherly?!’ Galbatorix crowed. “I do not think I will.” For the king it was a battle of wits – one which he had won baiting the child. But for Eragon it was the life that was destroyed because of his incompetence.

“She is far too useful as you can see.” Galbatorix continued oblivious to the fact that Eragon was preparing to attack him. “I am having quite a bit of fun with her help. I could, with no effort at all, pick out each and every captain of your army.”

‘I have heard enough of him extolling himself. Let us get this done with.’ Saphira urged.

Eragon nodded feeling the weight of a hundred dragons on his shoulder. As they prepared to launch on Shruikan, a mental prod at the fringes of Eragon’s defence threw him into disarray. He brought up his vice like defence that had served him well in Urubaen in a hurry only to be calmed down by Glaedr who identified the contacting person as Queen Islanzadi.

‘Your majesty.’ Eragon acknowledged the queen.

‘Shurtugal.’ The queen said back. They spoke nothing else as the two of them were well aware of the situation facing them: total annihilation.

‘Hatchlings, the queen and a few other capable elves will be connected to my mind and I will be a bridge between you and the outside world. You do not have to worry about your minds being attacked.’ Glaedr informed to the two of them.

Saphira thanked their master for his help without which they would be crushed to pulp in seconds by Galbatorix.

Seeing Saphira fly towards him, Galbatorix mocked, “Bold boy!”

Shruikan who was easily three times as big as Saphira launched straight for her setting himself on a collision course. The speed at which he was flying towards them said that he cared not for what would happen to him if they collided much less to Saphira.

‘Dive under him!’ Glaedr commanded seeing the scene using his mental eye.

Saphira complied, baiting Shruikan to come as near to her as possible and then dived down, Eragon’s head missing Shruikan’s talons by mere inches. As they passed by Shruikan, a vast wave of anger hit their minds making each one of them, including Glaedr, to baulk away from it.

The majestic black dragon overshot the mark and stumbled for balance as he had been bracing for the collision that never came.

“Stupid lizard of a dragon!” Galbatorix screamed in frustration. Eragon flinched hearing the undignified way with which the king treated Shruikan. No dragon would hear such insults and still stay with a person. That was when the realisation hit him: the simmering anger that they had felt when they passed by Shruikan; it had come from him. He was not serving the king willingly.

A wave of sympathy for the regal black dragon rose in his mind. But he had to oppress it lest he tone down his attack on Galbatorix. Besides an angry being would vent their frustration on whomever they can.

Saphira did not give Shruikan the time to rebalance, pouncing on him as a lion would on a deer if it falters even a little. But her best effort was for nothing as she slammed hard at an invisible force instead of on Shruikan’s body. Reeling under the effect of her full body slam, Saphira saw Galbatorix smirk at her.

None; absolutely none had the power to block such an attack. A full body slam performed by a dragon was the purest form of brute force. To counter such power one had to be unnaturally strong – strong enough to withstand a howling storm.

As Saphira tried to balance herself back, Eragon felt the battery of crazy dragon minds launch an aggressive mental strike against Glaedr. But he was given no time to admire the utter confidence with which the elder dragon confronted his attackers for Galbatorix barked something in the ancient language and a great black ball of energy came screeching his way.

Instinctively, Eragon put up a spell to tighten the air around him so as to slow down the magic ball coming his way. His spell worked seeing as the ball began to bend away as it neared him. Eragon barely had the time to draw an enchanted arrow from his quiver, nock and release it on the energy ball before it broke through his magic. When the arrow hit the magic ball it burst in blazing colours momentarily blinding him.

Before Eragon could recover from the effects of the magic ball, a column of fire burned its way towards him from Galbatorix’s hand. He looked down at the Leona over which they were hovering, bracing for the fire to make its impact on his wards. An idea flashed in his mind and he called upon the waters of the Leona for his aid.

The great column of water that rose from the lake obstructed the way of the black-flamed fire. Galbatorix kept up the spell for so long that Eragon began feeling the strain of the spell to lift all the water required to douse the fire.

He remembered the advice his father had given long ago: it wasn’t about being stronger; it was about being smarter than your opponent. Galbatorix might be stronger but his over-confidence could be used against him. Improvising against him could be easier.

Waiting for Galbatorix to end his spell was foolishness. The king could outlast Eragon by millions of hours.

‘Could you move closer to them?’ Eragon asked Saphira.

Sensing his thoughts, Saphira warned him, ‘Sustaining two spells simultaneously is suicidal.’

‘I would prefer that to being killed by him.’

Sighing, Saphira obliged. She flew straight as an arrow towards Shruikan, causing Galbatorix to smirk. ‘You never learn.’ He said.

She halted a few dozen feet away from Shruikan where she knew the protective energy was. Galbatorix frowned at the action. Eragon gave the king no room to adjust to their new strategy. He cast a spell to shape the air around them into sharp spears and hurled the invisible spears at Galbatorix using the water he was drawing from Leona as a ruse.

As he had expected the air spears easily dodged the energy surrounding Shruikan and flew straight towards their target. With rising elation, Eragon continued to direct the spears towards Galbatorix cautious not to give a clue to the king of his actions. He all but jumped for joy, when the spears impaled themselves into Galbatorix’s chest earning a dread filled expression from the king.

Author's Note:

How is that for a chapter ending? Galbatorix, the invincible being killed by a column of air shaped like spear! Hope you enjoyed it. But to be honest, I am really not convinced that Eragon would be as coherent against Galbatorix after his encounters with him in Uru'baen. But this was how I planned the story to be nearly three years ago (Has it been that long?!) when the plot came to me. So you can expect some changes to Eragon the next time around.