For Alagaesia: 89. Sacrificial tendencies

“So, you came back with a means to defeat me, did you?” Galbatorix’s mocking voice rang across the city and its surroundings.

Neither Eragon nor Arya nor their dragons replied the unnecessary question. They were too shaken to do so anyway.

Having handed over the responsibility of looking after Murtagh and Thorn to Nasuada and Angela, they had gone to the Varden camp to find it in disarray.

It should have been disbanded long ago but most of the men still remained in the camp. As it turned out, Orik was planning on leading them to Uru’baen. Eragon had grown angry at his foster brother for such a breach of confidence. But what the dwarven king said, drained him and his companions of all the sense of hope they had harboured since meeting Kuthian.

According to Orik, King Orrin had turned on the Varden and had pledged fealty to Galbatorix and had told him all about the map and the plans of the Varden. And when Islanzadi, Roran and Orik were trying to get the men of the Varden to leave, Galbatorix had attacked taking the elven queen and the Varden’s leader captives and had tasked Orik to relay his message to Eragon and Arya.

The message being: “If you want your only relations to live, come to my city alone and without any special weapon you acquire in your journey.”

Orik was preparing to show Galbatorix that he was more than a mere messenger to the riders; that he was a true dwarven king who would sacrifice everything - including his life - for the friendship and duty by which he and his kingdom were bound to the Varden and the elves. It took them the better part of an hour to beat some sense into Orik’s hurt pride.

But once they made the dwarf king promise that he would lead the people of the Varden away from Uru’baen, they knew not what to do. How could they lose their special weapons when they themselves were the weapons?

Having lost one life on Galbatorix’s account, they did not want to lose their second chance to him. Scared and enraged at the same time, the four of them had resolved to either die or liberate their family and had flown to the city where they were thus being greeted.

“You didn’t then?” The voice said again. Determined not to fall prey to his instigation, the dragons floated in the sky, ready and alert for any lurking danger from the black citadel.

Besides, they did not want to showcase their much improved powers lest the coward king resort to hurting Islanzadi and Roran. The city below them was calm as ever - no marching soldiers and no war machines. Whatever the king planned on doing, it wasn’t traditional.

“I see… You got my message. Too bad because I wanted to compare how the greatest of pure magic stacks up against the greatest of black magic.” He said, making Eragon shiver.

Was the mad king talking about the name of the ancient language or was it something entirely different? Kuthian had been right about Galbatorix. This one should not be taken lightly.

But for all their fears and doubts, Galbatorix did not spring anything unnatural. Shruikan, the angry and domesticated dragon of the king rose into the sky carrying his master on his back. Galbatorix did not have any special instrument of torture with him except his black rider sword. He was dressed in his most expensive war attire and his shiny crown sat atop his head instead of the combat helmet that would have suited his remaining clothing.

A smile, the most charming one of the man, was playing on his lips. His entire demeanour indicated that he believed that he was in control of the situation. In short, the desolate streets of Uru’baen were the only indication that a battle for the ultimate control of Alagaesia was about to rage in its environs. Even the sun seemed to dismiss the ensuing battle as a no-show seeing as it wasn’t hiding behind the ominous clouds like it always does when such battles happen. It was happily shining over their heads.

“Ah! Relentless enmity! How sad it is to see you of the order that boasted of keeping peace in this land come eagerly to wage war on the capital!” Galbatorix mocked. Eragon sighed. Even if he wasn’t going to end up on the winning side, he resolved to cut that poisonous tongue off.

Seeing the resolute silence of his four enemies, Galbatorix stopped trying to induce undue anger and associated irresponsible action in them. Instead he went back to boasting about himself.

“It wouldn’t do for the king of Alagaesia,” said Galbatorix totally ignoring the fact that Du Weldenvarden and Beors were completely out of his control, “to fight his challengers from the back of a dull and useless dragon, now would it?”

So saying, Galbatorix directed Shruikan to land. To Eragon’s great relief, the great black dragon flew down to the plains outside Uru’baen and not into the city’s lanes. To be inside that city was so unpleasant a thought for him. He had faced the worst two months of his life confined in the underground chambers of Uru’baen.

Shruikan dropped Galbatorix in the plains adjoining Uru’baen and rose back up into the air. Saphira and Indra were wary of following the king’s plans and so remained flying in the air. They would not be parted from their riders. They wanted to protect Eragon and Arya with the last of their breath.

“Are you joining me or not?” Galbatorix asked sounding impatient. Eragon remembered what had happened to Thorn when Murtagh had thus left his dragon to fend off alone against Shruikan and resolved not to leave Saphira alone. One look into Arya’s eyes told him that she was of the same opinion as him.

“You are not.” Galbatorix sounded disappointed. After a pause of few long seconds during which Eragon and Arya along with Saphira and Indra grew more and more anxious of what the king was planning - but afraid of acting lest he injure his captives, Galbatorix said in a brighter voice, “So I will have to fight them.”

Eragon looked in the direction Galbatorix pointed his hand. There wasn’t anything there to interest him. But knowing Galbatorix and quite aware of Roran and Islanzadi’s state, he waited with bated breath for something to be revealed.

Gradually, a smokescreen that Eragon had not been privy to earlier lifted and the objects of his fear became visible in the direction that Galbatorix pointed. Roran and Islanzadi stood in front of the mad king with their hands bound and mouths gagged like prisoners.

Galbatorix took his black rider sword out of its sheath and bowed to Queen Islanzadi in a most mocking posture. It hurt Eragon to see the regal queen of the elves and more importantly mother to Arya being treated thus.

‘Saphira…’ Eragon sought to ask his soul-mate’s suggestion, confused as he was in making a decision for himself. But before he could ask, Saphira had made a decision for him. She swooped down towards where Roran and Islanzadi were being humiliated and hurt by the king.

Indra, it seemed, had come largely to the same solution as Saphira. Both dragons raced to the ground together while Shruikan, unconcerned by all that was happening around him hovered in the sky lazily.

It was only when the dragons were too near to the ground did they make aware of their intentions to Eragon and Arya. They meant to lift the prisoners away from Galbatorix.

Eragon thanked the dragons for their resourcefulness but Arya seemed unconvinced. She had seen many traps and tricks of Galbatorix in her one century of existence to believe the task to be as simple as the dragons made it out to be.

With his much improved vision, Eragon noticed something peculiar in Galbatorix as they neared the ground. His eyes were too much bloodshot to be able to function properly. But, as it was, Galbatorix seemed to be in no apparent discomfort to see the approaching dragons against the sun. If anything, a sweet smile was playing on his lips as he did so.

Eragon shuddered thinking back at Galbatorix’s earlier taunt of the ‘greatest evil’. Could he have? Might it even be possible? Was he a…? He had no more room to think for Saphira slammed into a wall so impenetrable that she crashed into the ground so unceremoniously tearing a large part of her wing membrane in the process. Indra had likewise fallen although he had - owing to his smaller bulk - escaped considerable injury.

Eragon was thrown off Saphira’s back and landed right at the foot of the only person he hated with all his heart in Alagaesia.

“Tut…tut… I don’t expect my underlings to pay their respect so openly, Eragon. You can rise!” Galbatorix’s amused voice travelled to his ear.

Eragon rolled off from his position not so much from embarrassment as to be near Saphira. She was hurt and needed his attention. But Arya had beaten him to it and was healing his dragon.

“Ah! I see… So you did get the greatest of pure magic powers!” Galbatorix exclaimed like the maniac that he was. “It is time to test if imprisoning spirits gives one greater powers than a stupid old paper!”

Eragon unsheathed Brisingr instinctively at hearing the false king bark like a dog. But when he heard the words ‘imprisoning spirits’, his heart sank. A shade with hundreds of eldunari at his disposal! He almost lost heart. But the sight of Islanzadi and Roran being made to stand and watch like they were personal pets of the abominable creature gave him the inspiration he needed. It had to be ended. Losing heart was not an option.

He jumped from his position beside Saphira and with a speed he did not know he was capable of, attacked Galbatorix’s heart. But the king, as he had suspected had grown much faster. He now had the powers of the dragons and the spirits under his control and using them he brought down his rider blade in the path of Brisingr perfectly.

A flurry of blows and counter blows later, Arya joined them. She had taken her time to nurse Saphira’s wounds and for that Eragon was eternally grateful. She understood him like he didn’t understand himself. If Eragon had let any harm come to Saphira in his almost mindless attack against Galbatorix he wouldn’t have been able to live one moment of his life in peace.

When Arya joined the fray, the fighting became more even, with Galbatorix as much on the back foot as Eragon and Arya. Galbatorix swung and slashed like a bolt of lightning, too fast for anybody to understand that they were being hacked to death.

Somehow though Eragon and Arya were able to stand their ground. They could see the sword moving and although they felt that Galbatorix was impossibly fast, could keep up against his strikes.

But the added speed although an advantage also proved to be near-fatal at times. They often underestimated their own abilities which made them tripsy. But that was only the least of their concerns. They constantly underestimated Galbatorix’s power too which led them to collect a lot of scrapes and cuts.

The king seemed to be in no discomfort like them. He had embraced the unnatural power he had acquired while the rider couple had reservations about using their entire potential. Besides their eyes often had to be watchful of Islanzadi, Roran and the violent battle of dragons that was taking place in the sky.

Galbatorix seemed not to care for Shruikan at all. His only aim seemed to be decapitating the dragon riders. As the fighting progressed Eragon felt the need to improvise. Their limbs were tiring after nearly half an hour of swordplay. Fast they might be but their muscles were not as practised as their inherent power.

Galbatorix’s eyes and hair became increasingly red and the manic laughter that could only be associated with a shade began to ring from his mouth. “You wonder how my body keeps up to the rigours of this fight, don’t you?” He asked happily.

Although Eragon and Arya did not reply to him, they really wanted to know for they were tiring and their enemy hardly broke a sweat. Obviously, Arya being more accomplished in the art of rimgar could stand the test of endurance much better than Eragon. But even she had limits. But Galbatorix seemed to have none.

“You see… I control,” Galbatorix explained amidst a dangerous swipe at Eragon’s head under which Eragon ducked with much difficulty, his knees protesting the exertion they were put into, “the spirits in my body. They are… my slaves. Much like your Lady Nasuada is.”

Eragon began to grunt everytime he swung his sword, his elbow and wrist begging for the therapy of rest. Knowing that he had not much time left, Eragon threw his mind around the land to look for something that could be of help to them. There weren’t many trees as they were so near the Hadarac and the only thing that seemed to be in abundance was soil.

With the will of his mind, Eragon shaped the soil beneath Galbatorix’s foot into hard spears. He made sure not to disturb the sand on the surface lest the mad king get an inkling of his plan.

With their constant to-and-fro motion many times Eragon found Arya standing on his spears and even he himself was sometimes over the spears. Not letting the danger get to his nerves Eragon kept the sand spears intact and underground, ready to call upon them when needed. But the need to stab in the centre of Galbatorix’s heart - the only way to kill him - made every idea that came to him seem silly.

The red-eyed and red-haired Galbatorix who retained the other pleasing features of his unlike Durza and Varaug who were both more monsters than men in form as well as in heart, laughed as if over a dinner party and shook his head. Some vile scheme was forming in the madman’s head - Eragon could feel.

Eragon tried to anticipate the possibilities but nothing could have prepared him for what came. The prisoners were released and Islanzadi and Roran reached for their respective weapons that were still on them.

There was an oddity in how the two acted and Eragon found why soon enough. They tried to hack and crack each other to death, the war hammer of Roran and elven blade of Islanzadi moving in their owners hands against their will.

“A pretty good puppet show, aren’t it?,’ taunted the sadist king while fighting off Eragon and Arya’s desperate attacks.

Roran and Islanzadi, the strong leaders that they were, were not even in control of their limbs. Their eyes showed it. The horror and dejection they felt at what their hands were doing was in full view in their eyes. They could say nothing as their mouths were gagged but their eyes told Eragon all he wanted to know.

The sacrifice he and Arya had done thousands of years ago seemed useless now. They could have lived a contented life and died and never have reborn to see all this happen. They might not have loved Islanzadi and Roran as they did now. But this wasn’t time to think of what might have been.

Galbatorix, for all his powers of concentration, seemed to be losing his footing. There were more than one openings in his stance that Eragon could exploit. Only that he wasn’t capable of it, his attentions solely focussed on the forced fight between Roran and Islanzadi.

But Arya did not lose focus like him. She was quite ready to take the weaknesses and use them against Galbatorix. But the truth was that Arya was too tired to inflict any real damage to Galbatorix other than anger him. Even the power of the ultimate sacrifice - that of a heavenly happiness - could not stand against the anger of spirits robbed off their freedom.

The cuts and bruises that Galbatorix collected bled profusely. But the king did not tire as would be expected when blood is lost; his eyes grew redder than the blood oozing from his body. Eragon feared in his angered state Galbatorix may cause some irreparable injury to Arya, tired as she was. Contrary to his expectations - not the first time in the day - Galbatorix resorted to a nefarious solution.

Roran, who had been on the receiving end till now in the staged fight between him and Islanzadi suddenly gained the upper hand. Pushing the queen down to the ground, he raised his hammer above his head as if to crush the Queen’s head.

Eragon saw only one thing here: Arya’s grief if her mother died. And so he threw himself on top of the queen, in the way of the hammer. The hammer came down hard on his back. A searing pain told his brain that his spine might be broken. He turned and fell to the ground dropping Brisingr.

Galbatorix who had not anticipated Eragon to go to the rescue of Islanzadi seemed sweetly satisfied. He bailed out of Arya’s attack quite easily and with his black sword raised above his head, jumped into the air intent on plunging it into Eragon’s heart and ending his life.

Eragon, in the torrent of pain he was in, could not move at all. Saphira who had felt the situation in her mind roared her agony but was held back by an aggressive Shruikan.

Eragon closed his eyes as he saw the sword draw near accepting that he had failed in the only aim he had had since the last five millennia: that of the downfall of Galbatorix.

But when soft hair that was wetted by sweat fell on his face, he was forced to open his eyes again to the most horrible scene he had ever witnessed. Warm blood fell on his chest from her body. She fell on him next. She, for whose sake he had accepted absolute defeat, fell on him lifeless; the black sword of Galbatorix protruding from her back.

She, whom he had wanted to shield from the agony of losing one’s mother, had taken it on herself to sacrifice her life for him. She who had left her country and family far far away to be with him so long ago had left him. Arya who was his only reason to live had given herself up for his sake.

Author's Note:

I am terribly sorry for the long wait. I tarried idly for a few days although I have the excuse of work coming in my way. The truth is I was so engrossed in the world of Jane Austen. Pride & Prejudice, like everyone else I had read long ago. But the others like Northanger Abbey and Persuasion I read in these days. Anyway, what do you think of this chapter? Predictable? Bad? Just okay? Not epic enough? Shoot away in the comments section.