For Alagaesia: 78. Mismatch

Just when he thought he had secured an unthinkable victory, Galbatorix’s dread turned to an evil smirk. Yes, the air-spear hit the king squarely on the chest and yes, blood was oozing from the wound. But Galbatorix was laughing - his usual maniacal laugh.

Even as Eragon worked on pushing the spear into Galbatorix’s chest so as to pierce the man’s heart, the King inclined his head to the side and said, “Tsk.. Tsk.” The next moment, he vanished. It was as if Shruikan and Galbatorix had dissolved into the air.

With no target in sight, Eragon could not concentrate his efforts. He could feel the air-spear still impaled in Galbatorix’s torso. But it was harder - much harder - to keep control of the air which meant the king was far away from his reach. Not wanting to risk passing out, Eragon let go of the spell. Why had he thought that it would be that easy?

“Impressive! Impressive Eragon. Oromis taught you well.” Galbatorix praised in a sincere sounding voice. Eragon could not pinpoint where the voice came from. It was as if Galbatorix was everywhere and nowhere. “But, you and I, we are on different planes, you see. You may have mastered the art of manipulating your surroundings. But I... I can create them.”

Eragon heard something else being barked out right behind them. Saphira turned around hastily. But before she could do anything a strange blackness enveloped them effectively cutting off their sight.

When they recovered from the oppressing darkness, Eragon whispered a spell and lit a werelight. In front of them, merely few dozen feet away, hovered Shruikan with a satisfied-looking Galbatorix atop him.

“Welcome, home,” Galbatorix called prompting Eragon to take in his surroundings. The room - that was where they were, a room - felt eerily familiar. An involuntary shudder escaped Eragon despite his determination.

“I hope this does not cram you, Saphira for this will be your home going forward.” Galbatorix mocked.

Eragon’s hands twitched and his hairs stood on end. ‘No. This cannot be.’ They were back in the torture chamber of Uru’baen, only in a bigger version of it so that Shruikan fit in it.

“What have you done?” Eragon asked, only to find his voice trembling.

“So you do fear! I thought maybe you were beyond it.” The king observed.

“Anyway, we will have our privacy here. You won’t get rash ideas to try and destroy me and I won’t be interrupted by nosy elves.” He continued.

Panic rose in Eragon’s mind, consuming his entire being. This was what he had feared. Being in this room again with Galbatorix trying to gain control of his mind. He could not stand even a second of it ever again. Saphira tried to sooth him reasoning that it was only a trick of the eye and that they were still in Dras-Leona. But Eragon could not accept reason - not in his mental state.

Saphira growled at Galbatorix. ‘Let him be, usurper,’ she threatened the king.

“You need to work more on your ferocity if you want to scare me.” Galbatorix dismissed her. She tried to contact Glaedr for help but he was hard pressed to even keep his thoughts to himself, being attacked by hundreds of dragons simultaneously.

Eragon had difficulty being aware of the material world around him, falling deep within himself where he knew a world of his own awaited him: a world in which he could spend his time with Saphira and Arya and now possibly Indra. He was only vaguely aware that if he did so, his body would die for lack of food and water in a few days but the days he could spend with his dearest ones without worrying about Galbatorix was worth the starvation.

Saphira cried out in his mind, pleading him not to let go of hope. He tried to ignore her and opened the golden gates to his own private world filled with the pine trees of Ellesmera, the Igualda falls of Carvahall and his own renditions of Saphira and Arya.

‘Eragon, come back or I shall sacrifice my life right here.’ Saphira threatened. Her determination or rather stubbornness pulled Eragon out of the doldrums he seemed to be falling in. He closed his eyes and turned his neck sideways trying to ignore the fear that flooded his heart again now that he was out of the comfort of the depths of his mind.

Galbatorix raised his eyebrow at Eragon’s action, probably thinking of ways to scare him even further.

“Don’t give in. He can’t reach your mind. Fight him,” a feeble voice said from within the folds of Galbatorix’s cape, sending shock waves into Eragon’s heart. He became hyper-aware of his surroundings.

“Shut up, you little weasel.” Galbatorix thundered in anger and pulled out a gleaming black sword from his belt. The blackness did not make the blade dull as one would expect. Rather it gave the sword a shine even in the faint blue were-light that lit the room.

Eragon registered Galbatorix flourish his sword vaguely, his entire concentration vested on the terrorised and yet determined little girl sitting in front of the king. The lifeless violet eyes haunted him. If there was something he could do before Galbatorix killed him, then he would free the child of the misery he had put her through.

When he expected Galbatorix to attack him, the king seemed to be in no mood to launch a physical attack. With Glaedr protecting his mind, - he remembered his master’s promise after Elva made him aware of the fact that Galbatorix couldn’t reach his mind - the king resorted to casual conversation as if to one of his courtroom advisors. “Ingenious, isn’t it? What magic can do when you have the power to call it?”

When Eragon did not respond, he sighed as if an elder would do when a loved young one commits a blunder and asked, “Now, tell me, where is the egg you stole? Murtagh tells me that an incredible gift comes with it. Is it true?”

At the mention of Murtagh, the last vestiges of the fear that had consumed him moments ago was gone from Eragon’s mind replaced by a blistering anger on his half-brother and the evil king.

“Would your dog lie to you?” Eragon retorted, wanting nothing but to tear away the flesh off of Murtagh’s bones for divulging so much information about Indra.

“Yes, your brother does behave like a dog many times. If only he had not barged into the dungeons of Gil’ead on that fateful day when Durza had both you and your elven friend! I might have had three dragon riders under my wings now!” Galbatorix lamented as if for real. For all Eragon knew, Galbatorix could actually be lamenting over the fact that Murtagh saved Arya and him from Gil’ead. A cold shiver ran down his spine when he thought of Indra being in servitude. Knowingly or unknowingly, Murtagh had rendered him a help so great that Eragon would never be able to repay.

But then his thoughts turned to something else. Galbatorix sounded so sure of himself that he would have broken Arya. But could he? Will she break? “You will never be able to break Arya.” Eragon asserted proudly.

“I see that you have great regard for your lady friend,” Galbatorix said suggestively, “But you never know the effect a baby dragon has on his rider, dear boy.”

“You would use such a pure creature to make your ends meet? You really are disgusting.” Eragon spat feeling protective of the dragons. He knew Galbatorix was right. Even he won’t be able to stand the tortures Galbatorix would inflict on Indra, let alone Arya.

“You should ask that to your master Glaedr who has been ruthlessly killing his own kind for the past few minutes.” Galbatorix sneered. For once the king looked frustrated and out of sorts.

Those words drew Eragon’s attention to Glaedr. Sure enough, he was picking out Eldunari and snuffing the life out of them. He could feel the pain Glaedr went through as he was forced to kill his old friends and students. Yet Glaedr single-mindedly concentrated on what he was doing, not hesitating even a moment like Vrael had when he let Galbatorix hurt him.

‘I... am freeing them,’the golden dragon managed to say when he noticed Eragon’s mental concentration fall on him. Eragon understood. There were times when murder was merciful. Like Elva’s position. But he could not bring himself to follow Glaedr, maybe because he felt responsible for the state she was in.

“Let us not give your master time to kill any more of my minions.” Galbatorix crowed. He then waved his free hand at Eragon as if throwing something at him. Eragon was not able to hear the ancient language spell that Galbatorix used for the king merely murmured it.

He waited for the spell, whatever it was, to act on him so that he could form a counter-spell. When nothing happened for a few seconds, Eragon frowned and unsheathed Brisingr wary that Galbatorix was playing some game.

“You won’t be needing that.” Galbatorix informed him as if he read Eragon’s mind. As he swung Brisingr in his hands, Eragon noticed the mild resistance the air gave him. It was so mild that he would have mistook it for his sword’s weight if he was not entirely sure of it. As it stood, he was very well aware of his sword’s weight and so frowned at the unusual resistance in the air.

“You feel it, don’t you?” Galbatorix asked excitedly.

Anything that excited the king was bad news for him, Eragon knew. He tried swinging his sword again and Brisingr felt even heavier this time around. His frown deepened.

“You see Eragon... as much as I liked ploughing into your mind, you are not the one I want. It is her,” Galbatorix explained pointing at Saphira, “I was planning on using you to get to her. But seeing as she has come to me willingly, I have no further use of you. When you are gone, I can use her to breed a whole race of slave dragons. Of course, my overgrown lizard here will assist too.”

Eragon’s eyes widened as realisation dawned on him. The madman was going to capture Saphira to breed! Like cattle!! Fear, anger, disgust and dejection raced one another in his mind. ‘No. Not her. Let my Saphira go. Do anything to me. Let her go!’ He wanted to scream. All he ended up doing was shake violently, words failing him when he needed them.

“You capture those emotions so well my boy. If not now then when, eh?” Galbatorix asked smugly.

Saphira sent soothing emotions to his mind asking him to refocus on attacking Galbatorix. Eragon embraced her mind, not wanting to leave it ever again. He latched onto her consciousness making sure that she would not leave him at any cost.

Saphira let him meld his mind with hers and when their consciences became indifferentiable, they flew forward with one and only one aim: kill or be killed. It was Saphira making the choice for Eragon as she knew he would never come to such a decision when it came to her.

Galbatorix merely shook his head dismissively at their action. “There is nothing I can do for you if you insist on quickening your own death.” He said, sounding sad as if Eragon’s death would aggrieve him.

As soon as Saphira was close enough to Shruikan, who did not at all respond to their aggression in any way, Eragon swung Brisingr at Galbatorix. He was woefully slow as Galbatorix easily dodged under the sword. The king seemed to be playing with him, merely swaying away from Eragon’s line of attack, never once countering with his black sword.

Eragon clenched his teeth in frustration. His sword grew heavier in his hand, each and every time he tried to land a stroke on Galbatorix. It was becoming unusually hard for him to wield the sword he forged for himself. Galbatorix’s sinister smile grew into a full blown mockery as he taunted Eragon in the worst possible ways. The king insulted Eragon’s age, experience, intelligence and strength in the most tormenting ways. The man really had a tongue that rivalled his black magic.

Saphira was the first to notice that it was not just the case of Brisingr getting heavier. Eragon, on the whole, seemed to be slowing down with every move he made on Galbatorix. When she made Eragon aware of her finding, he too felt it. He had to put in more and more effort to move than he usually did. Most of the times, he was excruciatingly slow as he was not used to the resistance that the air offered.

That was it! The air was resisting him as if it had a life of its own. Eragon frowned not understanding why it was so. Did Galbatorix hold sway over non-living things too?

“Thank goodness, I was beginning to think it would never strike your thick head that the air constricts you more with every finger you move.” Galbatorix taunted seeing Eragon hesitate.

‘What? That was the spell he used against me?’

“Yes, my dear boy, you heard me right,” Galbatorix replied to his unasked question, “Every single movement you make, even if it is to utter a word, the air around you will crush your soft bones further than it does now.”

Now that he was aware of the curse Galbatorix had put on him, Eragon could feel the air pressing against his skin, ready to crush him to a pulp if he moved.

Galbatorix advanced on him with an evil smirk and brought down his black sword at Eragon’s helm. Instinctively Eragon brought Brisingr up to guard his head, hyperaware of the pressure being exerted on his body by the air around him. Galbatorix became aggressive thereafter exhibiting how good a swordsman he really was. It didn’t help that the suffocation Eragon was feeling already was aggravated as he was forced to block Galbatorix’s blows.

Saphira tried to fly away from Shruikan in a bid to save Eragon from the suffocation but the movement only served to increase the constriction. Besides there was only so much she could do in the closed space of the room. There was barely enough space for her to turn a full circle in the room.

‘Cast a counterspell Eragon,’ she urged him. But Shruikan did not give Eragon the luxury of finding words to counter such a complex spell. He followed Saphira with a vengeance, seemingly wanting to enjoy Eragon’s death. Galbatorix dealt blows like the blackest cloud would rain. Eragon barely had time to defend against the king much less form a spell to free himself. In his eternal quest for survival Eragon lost all count of time. For all he knew an era might have passed in the world outside. The suffocating effect of the air only made things even worse.

“You are not a bad warrior with the sword Eragon,” Galbatorix screamed in between his attempts to hurt Eragon. “I could have used you if only you were more cooperative when we had the time.”

Eragon growled, anger getting the better of him. This game that Galbatorix was enacting disgusted him. If the king was a normal magician, even if he was an elf, his powers should have waned by now and the spell he had cast should have killed him. But the king seemed fresh out of a good bath. Throwing all caution to the air, Eragon flexed his muscles wanting to make Galbatorix bleed.

With renewed vigour he fought not caring what his movements were doing to his body. If he was to die, then he will do so bathing in the madman’s blood. In a distant corner of his mind, he knew it was Saphira’s influence that made him think and act as he did, but he was glad to have it. He understood why the dragons never quit fighting Galbatorix.

Eragon parried an attempted blow to his neck and retorted, using all his force, by swinging Brisingr so fast that Galbatorix had no time to balance himself back. Brisingr, true to its name, burned through Galbatorix’s wards with its blue flames and caused a deep gash and burn in the king’s shoulder. Galbatorix yowled in pain as the smell of burnt flesh wafted in the air. Eragon tried to injure Galbatorix further when the king was incapacitated by the injury he had caused, but felt the air around him restrain his movement greatly. It seemed that he had used up all his opportunities to freely move around. He ended up causing a shallow cut across the king’s sword hand.

Shruikan backed up from Saphira at the behest of Galbatorix. The king raised his hand again at Eragon, this time uttering one word, loudly and clearly, “Jierda!”

Eragon felt his wards give way before the immense power of Galbatorix. He heard a cracking sound as the bones in his wrist broke. With that Galbatorix ended all aggression and waited for things to explode on their own.

Eragon doubled over as the stinging pain from his broken wrist overcame his senses and dropped Brisingr. To add to his woes, the pressing air began stopping his lungs from releasing air. He calmed his nerves down a bit and cast a spell to try and keep the constricting air in abeyance. Instantly he felt his energy drain away and knew he had it wrong. Without knowing the source of Galbatorix’s spell, he could never counter it with brute force; not when Galbatorix had hundreds of Eldunari at his disposal. But the pain was getting the better of him. Tears began gather in his eyes and his brain became clouded. 

“Speak what you want with your dragon now, Eragon. Soon the pain won’t allow you.” Galbatorix adviced like a father would to his ailing son.

Fighting to move, Eragon slowly bent down and rested his face on the crook between Saphira’s neck and torso. With his hands he wrapped about her neck, expending the last of his strength in doing so. He was having difficulty breathing and every second felt like an epoch without the flow of air in and out of him. Saphira roared in agony feeling Eragon’s pain. ‘You will pay, usurper.’ She pledged and sent a roiling blue fire from her maw at the king.

The fire wrapped around Galbatorix harmlessly and disappeared. The king’s eyes shone as if years of penance he did had finally been answered.“Yes, feel the pain that I felt. You will all feel it!” He cackled.

Eragon felt horrible not because of the agony seeping through his bones but because of what he was putting Saphira through. He knew she was scared like she never was in her life because she felt the life being squeezed out of him. And he hated to think of how she would live without him to protect her. ‘I... Sorry... Promise me... promise me... you won’t get captured... Protect Arya... Indra for me.’ He stuttered, not able to form words even using his mind.

A sudden blast of anguish hit Eragon’s mind as Saphira let go of all restraint and showed how much she hurt because of Eragon’s pain. Overcoming his weakness, Eragon patted Saphira lightly asking her silently to prepare for a life without him. Bending her neck around, Saphira touched him with her snout. Hot tears from Saphira’s striking blue eyes fell on his face. ‘Eragon, please... nothing will happen to you.’ She tried to reassure herself. Suddenly remembering Glaedr, she reached out to him, ‘Master, help Eragon!’

But the elder dragon was in no shape to do anything but fend off attacks on his mind. Galbatorix was ready to pounce on him, if he let his guard down even a moment.

All was lost. It was a matter of cruel waiting before Eragon, the last hope of the free people of Alagaesia, breathed his last in the hanging grave built by Galbatorix.

Author's Note:

While the last chapter ended with Galbatorix's death, this one ends with Eragon's. How fast the tide turns! Honestly, the last one, this and the next chapter were all supposed to be a single chapter. But the length and the incredible slowness with which I write makes me break the chapter over and over again. Hope you liked it. Yes, it is depressing. But Eragon did fight valiantly. Against Galbatorix this is great showing I would say. Have any queries? Do ask me in the review!