Chapter Thirty-Four

The Meaning of Despair

The ceiling was white. It reminded him of a snowfield. Galbatorix had been staring at it for a long time. He couldn't remember how long. Hours? Days? He didn't care.

He sighed; a slow, exhausted sigh. It rattled in his throat and made his lungs hurt. But, then, breathing always did now. He'd had a powerful voice once. Deep and strong. Commanding. A King's voice. Yes. Silvertongue. That's what they'd called him.

His stomach was burning with hunger, and his mouth was dry. That was easy enough to ignore. He was used to pain and discomfort by now.

Maybe he could order them to burn him. That could work. The spell didn't make him invulnerable, and surely if his body was completely destroyed he couldn't recover from that. If there was nothing but ashes left…

No. That would kill Shruikan too, or send him insane. And they wouldn't do it, even if he could still speak in order to tell them so. They would think he was raving again.

But there had to be a way. If he could only get up, he could… do what? Bury himself? Find a river or a lake and throw himself in? Go North and let himself freeze? He'd be found sooner or later. The entire Empire would turn out to search for their King. They'd pull him out and bring him back. He hadn't managed to lose himself in the canal in Dras-Leona for very long. And there was always the chance that the wrong people could find him. If the Varden got their hands on him…

He smiled grimly to himself. The idea had a certain attraction. If the Varden found him in this condition, they wouldn't realise that he had the plague until it was too late. He imagined their leaders coughing and choking, moaning as the sores erupted all over their bodies, and then dying in agony, unable to breathe. Maybe then they would understand.

He wondered where Murtagh was now. Where was he trying to go? Was he planning to go into hiding somewhere, out in the wilderness? Was he, gods forbid, planning to join the Varden?

Galbatorix remembered what he had said to him in the dining hall. He'd thought it was best, at the time. It was a test, hadn't the boy understood? If he had agreed and gone and done as he was commanded, that would have proven that he was loyal and dedicated. If he had come back to see him and refused on the grounds that the idea was cruel and excessive, that would have demonstrated courage and compassion. But he hadn't done either of these things. Instead he'd run away, like a spoilt brat who didn't want to face up to his responsibilities. He'd betrayed the closest thing to a father he had, the one who…

Galbatorix groaned softly. Oathbreaker. That was what he was. He had promised to care for Morzan's son, promised it to himself and to Morzan. But he'd lost him. He'd driven Murtagh away, and now he was gods-knew-where, probably in mortal danger, to be either caught and dragged back to Urû'baen like a criminal, or killed by bandits or by the Varden. And the new rider, the boy, the one he had seen in the dream… he was out there too, and he too could be in danger. If the Varden got to him…

Galbatorix knew there was nothing he could do. Not now. He was utterly helpless. What happened to those two young men now was up to them, and to the gods. Please, he whispered internally. Bring them here. Bring them to Urû'baen, bring them to help me.

But there was no reply and there never would be. No-one was coming to help him. Not any more. He would have cried, but the sickness had robbed him of the strength to do even that.

The door creaked open, somewhere out of sight, and he cringed at the noise. No doubt the healers were coming back, to try and force him to eat. He lay resignedly and waited.

Someone appeared in his field of vision, so quickly and quietly that it made him start slightly. It was not one of the healers, and nor was it Lord Dirke. It was…

Galbatorix's eyes opened wide. Durza.

Durza had not changed since their last meeting, but that wasn't particularly surprising. Shades did not age. He bowed his head. 'My King… Galbatorix.'

Galbatorix tried to speak, but he couldn't. His voice had become nothing but a strangled rasp. He coughed weakly, staring at Durza.

Durza was watching him closely. 'You are very ill, Sire. I had heard something, but I did not know you were as weak as this.'

Galbatorix winced.

'I have probed the minds of the healers,' Durza went on. 'It would seem you have Firepox, Sire.' Suddenly he was much closer. 'Incurable, and fatal. At least, to ordinary mortals. But you have not died, have you, Sire?' he went on. 'The healers cannot understand why.'

Galbatorix tried to move away from the Shade, his breathing laboured and gasping.

Durza did not react to this. 'But you and I both know why this is so, don't we, Sire?'

'Don't… know,' said Galbatorix, his voice a barely audible whisper.

Durza moved back a little, his face expressionless. 'I know a lie when I hear one, Silvertongue. You know. And I know. I have known for a very long time. Since the day Ilirea was destroyed.' He kept his eyes on Galbatorix's face the whole time, unblinking and steady in a way no human's ever could be. 'You see,' he said, 'A Shade knows magic. Better than any elf, or rider, or dragon. We can… taste it. Sense it in people. When you returned after the fight in the elders' cave, I could see what had changed in you. I could sense the magic you had woven about yourself. Old magic. Dark elvish. You had taught me dark elvish magic, hadn't you, Sire? In return for my loyalty. Even though you knew I could not use it because I did not have the dark elvish blood as you did. That spell was one you never taught me. But I knew what it meant. I could see it in you and knew how it had changed you. I knew you were no longer human or elvish. You had made yourself into something else.'

Galbatorix's heart was pattering frantically. He tried to raise a hand, to gesture at Durza to leave him, but his arms felt pinned to his sides. And Durza would not leave.

'I knew then,' the Shade continued, 'That you had made the final step in the journey I had always knew you would make. When we first met, you were weak and sick, and wounded. You were near death, but you recovered. You found strength inside you when another man would have died – first in spirit, and then in body. What had happened to you had taught you something that few ever have the strength to learn: that the world is a cruel place and the hearts of men are corrupt beyond redemption. You had experienced true evil, and that would have destroyed a lesser man. But you dared stand up and face it, and you fought back. I knew then that you had the potential to do so, if you had the guidance you needed. I did what I could to help you, but I knew you would not be truly strong until you learned to shed the last of your weakness. When you cast the spell, you took that final step, as I had known you would do.' Durza's expression had not changed as he spoke, and his voice had remained flat. Shades rarely showed any emotion.

Galbatorix could feel the voice driving into his mind, refusing to stop, making his head ache. Filling him with despair. He wished he could sleep, or faint, but he remained awake. And Durza would not leave him alone.

The Shade was still standing by the bed and watching him, perhaps searching for something in his face. 'But I see now that I was wrong,' he said. 'You have not shed all weakness as I had hoped, and your illness is the proof of it.' He sighed. 'You went to Gil'ead, Sire. Lord Morzan told you about the plague, but you were not content to stay away. And now…' the barest hint of a smile played around Durza's mouth as he leaned closer, his breath icy cold on Galbatorix's face. 'And now you can see the price you have paid for your mistake. The trap you set for yourself without realising it… and now it is too late.'

Galbatorix closed his eyes. 'Go… leave… please…'

Durza withdrew, but not very far. 'You know it, Sire. Unable to die, unable to recover… you will spend the rest of eternity helpless and suffering, while your Empire crumbles around you.'

Galbatorix said nothing, but he shuddered softly and his eyes became moist.

'You wish to die,' Durza said softly. 'I can sense it in you, Sire. With every breath you long for it to be your last. You hear your heart beat, and beg for it to stop. You have lain here for days, refusing to eat, longing for death to find you, so that your suffering can finally end and your spirit set free of this prison. It is all you have left, Sire, this wish that can never be granted.' The Shade's eyes were blank and staring, filling his vision like two pools of gore set into that pale corpse face. 'That is your desire now, is it not?'

Very slowly, so slightly that it was only just perceptible, Galbatorix nodded. Just once.

'I know this,' Durza breathed. 'And that is why I have come to see you, Sire.' He straightened up, his voice suddenly returning to normal and losing its icy, hypnotic edge. But his eyes did not leave Galbatorix's face 'We have not met for many a year, Sire. I have kept my distance, for I sensed that I was not needed. But now the time has come when my services could be of use to you once more. I have come… to help you, Sire.'

Hope showed in Galbatorix's black eyes, and he raised his head slightly.

'I have the cure that you need, Sire,' said Durza. 'I have the power to save you from this… this pointless suffering, this pain you do not deserve and have never deserved,' he gestured at him briefly, almost dismissively. 'Should this be your reward, Sire, after all you have done? After all you sacrificed for the good of your people? To lie here, robbed of your strength, with your friends dead and your Empire failing while traitors and terrorists seek to tear this city apart and take your throne away? No. What you have done… your power, your courage, your unfailing strength, deserves better than this. Your people have no gratitude, Sire. Again and again you have stood between them and chaos, made yourself the shield that protects them, just as the rites declared when you were crowned so long ago. I have not forgotten that day. "May you be judge and warlord, master and protector, may you care for your people above all else, may you live long and shield us from misfortune". But how can you protect them, when they are allowing themselves to become the very thing they once despised, when they turn against you as they have done? A shield cannot stand when it is struck from both sides. This treachery cannot be tolerated. The rebels must be crushed, and quickly, before it is too late.'

'Yes,' Galbatorix managed.

Durza nodded. 'Yes. You know it as well as I, Sire. And you despair because you know you can no longer do for them what you must. All the long years of your life have beaten you down and reduced you to this state – all for them, and all for nothing.' Durza blinked, seemingly for the first time since he had entered the room. A slow, lazy blink, like a cat or a lizard. 'But I can help you, Sire, as I helped you once before. I can take away your pain, if you will let me.'

The word did not want to come. It caught in his throat, dry and rough and ancient. But it came, just. Barely audible. '…how…?'

'I will show you,' said Durza.

Galbatorix lay and watched him. The Shade moved away, to stand with his back to the wall. Then he closed his eyes, and took in a deep breath. And then…

It started slowly, almost imperceptibly. Galbatorix felt a strange coldness in his body, taking away the burning heat of the Firepox. He shivered and coughed. But it did not end there. The coldness seeped into his mind, little by little, and then…

In an instant the room was snatched away from him, and he was lying on the ground, surrounded by whiteness. Snow. It was snow. The air was freezing with a powerful blizzard-wind, blowing white flakes over and around him where he lay.

'I can set you free,' Durza's voice said. It was coming from everywhere at once. 'I can take away the pain. Your body will be healed, and will become invulnerable. Your mind… will be free to rest forever.'

'Where am I?'

'You are at peace,' said Durza. 'In the place where your life ended long ago. My King… you wish to die. I can grant you that wish.'

Galbatorix started to tremble. The cold was needling at him, making him go numb all over. 'Durza, stop it-,'

'Let me into your mind, Sire,' said Durza. 'Only let me in. Your body is no use to you any more, Sire. Give it to me. The Firepox will be cured, and your suffering will be over forever. You shall die painlessly, and at peace, as if you were asleep forever. I can grant you this gift, Sire.'

The snow was mounting higher, burying him amid the whiteness. The cold was taking him. 'Durza, please, stop it. Why are you doing this?'

'I am doing nothing,' said Durza. 'The snow is your own creation, Sire. Wake up from it, if you wish.'

Galbatorix tried to get up, pushing the snow away from himself, but then he suddenly realised that he couldn't. There was no snow.

He blinked, and found himself still in bed, staring at the white ceiling. He had not moved an inch in any direction, and Durza was still there.

'Let me into your mind, Sire,' the Shade said again. And then his voice was inside Galbatorix's head, whispering softly. 'Only let me in…'

Galbatorix found his own mental voice. 'But if… if I did that…'

'You would be dead, Sire, as you long to be,' said Durza. 'I would take care of the Empire for you.'

Horror showed in Galbatorix's eyes. 'But… but…'

'It is the only choice you can make now, Sire,' Durza said gently. 'If you were to give your body to me, it would save both yourself and the Empire. The people need a strong leader. Civil war is breaking out. The Varden grows stronger all the time. Soon they will attack the Empire directly. You cannot lead the fight against them, Sire, but I can.'

As Galbatorix lay there, his mind full of the Shade's voice, he saw something. A vision, wavering before his eyes.

He saw… he saw a vision of himself. But himself as he had never been. His face, his black hair, his beard and robe, and the crown glinting on his forehead. But the eyes were not his eyes. They were the colour of blood. A Shade's eyes. He saw himself… no. He saw himself as a Shade, his body under Durza's control. Saw the Shade-King in command of vast armies. Saw him ride Shruikan into battle, and crush the Varden. He saw what Durza wanted.

'I would be a good King,' Durza whispered.

'But the Empire…'

'The Empire would be safe, Sire.'

'Shruikan-,'

'I would be kind to him. Sire, there is nothing else you can do now. Nothing but what is best. Give me what can no longer serve you. It will be your last sacrifice, and the easiest.'

'But…'

There was a strange smile on Durza's face. It was full of unquenchable hunger. 'Only let me in, Sire…'

'NO!'

The word burst out of him, loud and awful, almost a scream. Galbatorix jerked violently, trying with all his might to get up. He thrust Durza's presence out of his mind with all his strength, and then shut him out. His psychic defences, stronger than any other, held out against the Shade's mental probing. Durza fought back, his calm suddenly vanishing, trying with all his might to force a way through. But Galbatorix had not lost the strength that was in his mind, and the Shade could not get in.

Durza retreated, suddenly uncertain. 'Sire, I meant no harm, I only-,'

Galbatorix's hand came up, pointing at the door. 'Go,' he snarled, his voice low and guttural and barely his own any more. 'Get out. Never – never come – back, Durza…'

In a split second, Durza's calm mask disappeared and his face twisted into a snarl of pure, white-hot fury. 'You will regret this,' he spat. 'On my word as a Shade you will regret denying me my reward. You broke your oath to me, Sire. When I swore myself to you, you said that you would grant me dark elvish powers in return. You lied! You did not tell me I would not be able to use those spells without dark elvish blood!' he advanced, his hands clenched. 'I need your body! Your blood! Your power! You promised them to me!'

Galbatorix bared his teeth in a defiant snarl, and he pointed at the door again.

Durza moved as if to attack him, but did not. He had sworn an oath of obedience to Galbatorix, and not even a Shade could break such an oath. He calmed down abruptly.

'So some part of you still wants to live, half-breed. It seems I was wrong to think you had lost the last of this foolish belief that you are invincible.' He stopped in the doorway, his breathing low and harsh. 'You cannot resist me forever, Sire,' he said. 'I have waited too long to be denied now. If you still think that you have hope left… if you think there is any other choice for you… then you still have not learned.' His eyes gleamed. 'I will teach you the true meaning of despair, Sire,' he promised. 'I will find this new rider, and I will turn him against you. He will join the Varden and they will come for you, and all your power will be lost. And when that day comes and you see Urû'baen in flames as Ilirea once was… I will be waiting.'

And then he was gone, closing the door quietly behind him and leaving Galbatorix alone.

Galbatorix lay still for a long time, his chest heaving as if he had just run a mile. The effort of fighting the Shade had exhausted him, and he fainted briefly; sliding into a dream haunted by Durza's cold eyes and whispering voice.

He woke up abruptly, a short time later. Durza was gone. It was too late to stop him. Too late…

And then, and then… as he lay there, helpless, trapped in a prison whose name was sickness and whose bars were pain, something escaped from him. Something that had been inside him for a hundred years, endlessly striving to escape… something escaped.

Galbatorix began to scream.

'HELP ME! HELP! PLEASE, HELP!'

He screamed it again and again, his ruined voice filling the room, louder and louder, on and on, heedless of pain, heedless of dignity… he screamed.

The healers came soon enough. They had to restrain him in the end, and they forced him to drink a potion that made him sleep. But he screamed on, in his sleep, day and night, on and on without rest, as if he were not aware of his surroundings any more, or of anything.

Servants, passing the infirmary, hurried on, almost running to get away. Lord Dirke, when he ventured near, felt his blood run cold and could not enter. He retreated, fleeing back toward his own rooms, the King's cries still echoing in his ears.

Before long, everyone in the castle had heard it.

The people in the city could hear Shruikan, and see him too, raising his head toward the sky and howling endlessly, as if singing a dirge for the partner some claimed was long dead. And when night came and the moon rose high overhead, shining and silver and perfect… King Galbatorix Taranisäii screamed.

The sun was scorching hot. It beat down mercilessly on the beach and the cliffs beyond it. The forest of strange, spicy-scented trees was dry and still, full of the click and buzz of insects. Down on the beach, the deep-blue waters of the sea glittered before they turned to white foam when they merged into the surf which crashed and hissed onto the sand.

Further out to sea there was a storm. A dark mass of cloud hung threateningly low on the horizon, decorated with vivid flashes of lightning. But it would not reach the shore. It never had, even after hundreds of years.

Skade knew that as she sat crouched on the beach, watching the sun on the water. Storms never came to this country, never disturbed this land. They could not. A power greater than theirs held them at bay.

It was hot on the beach. She sighed and relaxed, letting the sun warm her through. She often came to the beach on sunny days. It was a good place to relax. And the chances of being disturbed were low.

She glanced up, and saw a dark shape circling overhead. It was high above her, but she could see the glint of its silver scales. Skirnir, she thought. Always restless. He was probably missing Balisong. She had gone inland to explore, and had not been back in a long time. She had probably found a good place to live for a time. She would be back. They always came back. There was nothing anywhere in this land that could be dangerous to a dragon.

Skade looked out over the sea, toward the storm, and sighed again. Every day she would look out toward it and see it still there, dark and threatening. Her father had said it was there to protect them from anyone trying to invade his shores, but she knew it was there for more than just that. No-one had ever tried to land here even once in the long years since she had arrived.

'Skade.'

The voice sounded in her head without warning. It was deep and rumbling, and ancient.

Skade stood up. 'Yes, Father?'

'Come to me.'

'I will.'

Skade stretched, and unfurled her wings. They were huge, the membranes the colour of moonlight. She had always been very proud of them. They lifted her easily, and she flew up and over the forest and toward the cliffs. She could see Lifrasir and Katana down there, apparently dozing. Further inland, though, there was the mountain. It would have taken hours for a human to walk that far, but Skade reached it in a few wingbeats.

The mountain was massive, rising out of the forest until all vegetation disappeared from its craggy sides. The stone that formed it was pale grey, for the most but. But partway up it abruptly changed to pitch black.

Skade landed on the mountainside, on a rocky spur, and sat on her haunches, using her tail to balance. 'I am here, Father.'

For a few moments nothing happened. And then the mountain moved. The part of it that was black shifted slightly, sending chunks of stone tumbling down the mountainside. Her father, Lord of the land over the sea, raised his head and stared at her. 'Skade.'

Skade bowed her head. 'Father.'

The mountain trembled slightly beneath her as the massive black dragon slowly got to his paws. He was so large he blotted out the sky, so large that even she, a century old, looked small beside him. Every part of him was black; his scales, his wing membranes and his talons. Only the six cracked horns, each one the size of an ancient oak tree, were white. His eyes were gold. 'Skade,' he said again. 'Are you well?'

'Yes, Father,' said Skade.

He peered at her. 'You have been on the beach.'

Skade shifted slightly. 'It is… comfortable down there.'

'You were watching the storm,' he said.

'I like to watch it, Father.'

The black dragon growled softly. It sounded like thunder rumbling in his enormous chest. 'None may pass through the Storm of the Night Dragon. You know this, Skade.'

'I do, Father.'

His tail twitched. 'You are… not happy here.'

'It's my home, Father.'

'And yet you do not wish to stay.'

'Father, I-,'

'You wish to leave me,' he said, his voice low and threatening. 'You desire to abandon me.'

'No, Father. I would not do that in a hundred years. I have stayed with you here for most of my life, and so have my children.'

'Skade,' said her father, almost plaintively. 'Why do you wish to leave? I cannot understand. What did your birthplace hold for you but for pain and misery and danger? All your life you faced persecution because of me. You suffered hideous punishment for it. If you were to return, death would find you.'

Skade bowed her head. 'I know, Father. But…'

'So you do not deny that you wish to return there,' he said.

'No,' she said softly.

He brought his head close to her. 'Skade,' he said, 'I waited here for you. I spent a thousand years alone, longing for my loneliness to end. You found me, you fought to find me, and I protected you. And yet you would throw this away?'

'I would return,' Skade blurted. 'Father, I swear. I have no wish to go back to Alagaësia, not to live there. This is my home. But…'

'You feel you must return briefly?'

'Yes, Father. I must. I cannot bear it any longer. I have tried to forget, but I cannot.'

'Why?'

'I left…' Skade's tail twitched and she looked away, unable to meet her father's gaze. 'I did something I should not have done. Even now the guilt will not leave me alone.'

'What was it, Skade?' the black dragon asked.

Skade looked up. 'My children had a father,' she said simply. 'I loved him with all my heart, and I still love him. I left him behind and in terrible danger, and I… I think about it all the time. I should have brought him here with me, I should not have left him. He did not even know that I would bear his eggs.'

'Skade,' said the black dragon, 'Skade, please. This is folly. Dragons do not mate for life, and the father of your young will not remember you any more, even if he still lives.'

'No,' Skade said sharply, almost fiercely. 'He swore to me. He took an oath that he would never take another mate, and that he would love me forever.'

The black dragon straightened up. 'An oath he will have broken,' he said dismissively.

'No. Not him. Never.'

He turned away. 'Nevertheless… I cannot allow you to leave. You will remain here. If your mate loved you as much as you claim, he would have come here to find you himself.'

'But Father-,'

'No, Skade. My word is law. Calm yourself. Go and speak with your children. They would not want you to leave. They love you. As I do.'

Skade knew there was no argument with him. 'Yes, Father,' she mumbled.

'And stay away from the beach,' the black dragon added. 'It does you no good to brood like this.'

'Yes, Father.'

Defeated, the silver dragon flew away. Her father had already lowered his head and gone back to sleep. He was rarely awake during the day. The night was his time. The Night Dragon. That was what he had named himself, long ago, when he was young.

Skade did not feel like going to the clifftop where Katana and Lifrasir were. She flew Northward instead. The cliffs went a long way, following the coast. Further North they melded into a cluster of strange, high formations – full of crags and arches and caves eroded by the wind. There were other beaches here – small and secret, ringed by stone. Skade came here very rarely. It was a strange place, and she didn't like it much.

Nevertheless, she stopped there and perched on a tall rock formation thick enough to support her. She was not the first dragon to use it. The stone was marred by deep claw-marks, and where her scales brushed against it there were patches that had been worn smooth.

She rested there for a while, listening. The wind, blowing inland from the storm out to sea, made eerie moans and howls among the hollows of stone. It sounded like a dirge, and Skade did not like it. Most of her children stayed away for the same reason, but…

She looked up when she heard wingbeats from overhead, but did not move. A large black dragon was coming from the same direction she had used. It was not her father.

Skade jumped from her perch and landed on a piece of clifftop which was relatively flat. The other dragon landed nearby and came to her. The two of them nuzzled each other, growling.

The black dragon sat back. 'Mother,' he said. He had a powerful voice; rich and deep.

Skade blinked. 'Hello, Vidar. Why were you down South?'

'I was looking for you,' he replied.

That surprised her. 'You were? Why?'

Vidar paused. He looked strikingly similar to his grandfather, but was lighter and slimmer. 'I wanted to talk to you,' he said.

'You did?' said Skade. 'Why?'

Vidar glanced over his shoulder. 'Katana said that you had been to see Lord Ravana. What did he want?'

'Nothing. Only to ask after my health.'

Vidar growled softly. 'Are you well?'

'I am. And you, Vidar?'

'Well enough. But I am… troubled.'

Skade watched him curiously. Vidar had always been the most thoughtful of her children. He wasn't exactly dreamy, but he was solitary, and while she had always found the place they had dubbed the Singing Crags unsettling he evidently liked it, since he had chosen to live there away from his siblings. But she had never known him to come to her for help since he had reached maturity and become independent. 'What is it, Vidar?'

'Mother…' Vidar was avoiding her gaze. He looked genuinely distressed. 'I cannot… what do you know about dreams?'

The question was asked in a rush. Skade refolded her wings nervously. 'I don't understand, Vidar. What do you mean? Dreams are dreams.'

'Yes, but… do they mean anything?'

'Not as far as I know. Someone once told me they could be messages, but… I don't think so.'

'Yes…' Vidar sighed. 'I thought you would say something like that. I have been trying to convince myself of the same thing.'

'Why?' said Skade. 'Have you been having strange dreams, Vidar?'

'I have always had strange dreams,' said Vidar. 'Ever since I was a hatchling. I chose to live out here because… when I was younger and wondering where I should go, I had dreams where I saw magical stones that sang to me and whispered secrets. When I explored and I found this place, I heard the voice of the stone here and I felt as if I had been here before. So I decided I would live here, because I hoped that the stones could help me understand.'

'Understand what?'

'My dreams,' said Vidar. 'I have spent most of my life trying to see them more clearly, but I have never succeeded.'

'And what did you dream about?' said Skade.

'Many things. I could not understand them. I saw things I had never seen while I was awake. I did not want to talk about them, because I was afraid you would tell me I was mad.'

Skade moved closer to him. 'No. I would not say that, Vidar. Never. What did you see?'

Vidar closed his eyes. 'I saw a place that was like six dragon horns made from stone, pure white like bone. It was burning. I saw an egg that hatched, and it was full of shadows and the smell of rotting flesh. I saw a great dragon wake up from a hundred years of sleep. I saw a sword made from ice and covered in blood. I saw you buried in a mountain.'

Skade stared at him. 'Vidar…'

Vidar opened his eyes again. 'I know!' he half-shouted, suddenly rearing up a little on his perch, as if he were going to attack. 'I know it makes no sense, I know it's all nonsense, but I saw it and I knew it was…' he subsided again, refolding his wings. 'I saw them and they would not leave me alone, and I know… I know they mean something. But I do not know what.'

'And what happened then?' said Skade.

'And then I had another dream,' said Vidar. 'It was a few days ago. And I knew I must speak with you, and ask you.'

'Ask me what?' said Skade. 'What was the dream?'

Vidar fixed her with a direct golden stare. It was almost stern. 'Who was my father?'

The question caught her off-guard. 'What? Vidar, I don't-,'

'You must tell me,' said Vidar. It was half a plea and half a command. 'Please, Mother. I am not a hatchling. I have asked you so many times, but you would not answer me clearly. You would not say what his name was, or what he looked like, or how you met him and why you left him behind.'

'But what does this have to do with your dreams, Vidar?' said Skade.

Vidar settled down. 'It was a different dream. Different than the rest. The others… I dreamed those only once. But this one…'

'What did you see, Vidar?'

'I saw a dragon,' he answered. 'A great dragon. His scales were black, and so were his wings. But he was not me, or Lord Ravana. He was of a different shape. Smaller. Slimmer. But I knew he was old. He had black eyes, unlike any I have ever seen, and he was…' Vidar's mind, touching hers, suddenly tasted of fear and worry. 'I saw that dragon lying on the ground. His wings had been broken, and he was in chains. He was trapped in a cage. He was weak and sick, starving to death. There were shapes there, all around him. Enemies. They were hurting him, trying to get at him through the cage. I could see blood on him… he was hurt, bleeding, suffering. And they could not hear him, but he was screaming out for help, begging to be set free. And I knew I must help him, but I could not reach him.' Vidar's eyes met hers. 'I believe that dragon was my father,' he said. 'But I must know. I must be certain.'

Skade hesitated. 'Vidar, it was a dream.'

'No. It was real. Tell me my father's name.'

'He was…'

'Where is he?' Vidar persisted. 'What does he look like? Is he alive?'

'Yes,' said Skade. 'Yes, your father is alive. He must be. I would feel it if he was dead.'

'Then where is he?'

'He is in Alagaësia, where I was born.'

'Why did you leave him there, Mother?' said Vidar. 'Why did he not come here with you?'

'I wanted to bring him,' said Skade. 'I asked him to come, but he said no. He had enemies still to face there, and he stayed to fight them. He begged me to stay with him, but I… I would not. I said I must find my father, but I swore I would return. I swore it on my heart.'

'But you never did return.'

'No. I wanted to. I have wanted to all my life.'

'But you could not pass the storm,' said Vidar.

'No. I tried, once. It nearly killed me.'

'Why did you not ask Lord Ravana to let you through?' said Vidar.

'I did. He refused. He will not let me leave, and his storm keeps me here. Vidar, it is hopeless,' said Skade. 'We cannot leave this land. If your father is alive, he is unreachable.'

Vidar looked thoughtful. 'But what is his name? What does he look like? Was he like the dragon in my dream?'

'He was…' Skade hesitated. She had not described him to any of her young, not properly. She had not even spoken his name except when she was alone. Now, when she tried, it made a terrible ache arise in her chest. 'He…'

'Tell me,' said Vidar. 'Please, Mother. You owe me the truth.'

'He was dark,' Skade said at last. 'Dark all over.'

'A black dragon?'

'He had black eyes,' said Skade. 'I remember them so well. Even now. Black and bright, like jewels. And he had… he had sharp features, and he was light and slim. He could move without making a sound, as if he were a shadow. He was graceful.' She closed her eyes, savouring the image in her mind. 'And he could dance…'

'Dance?' Vidar sounded puzzled.

'He had a voice that sounded like… like it could make the future become whatever it said,' Skade went on, ignoring him. 'It was deep and dark. Like yours. You sound like he did, a little. He was a leader. I never saw him lead, but it was all over him. So powerful I could nearly taste it. And he was persuasive, like no-one else I had ever met. He said that others called him "Silvertongue". And when he… when he told me he loved me, I… I did not believe it at first, or understand it. But he looked into my eyes as he said it, and we… I could not forget it. I ran away from him, but it stayed with me. I couldn't understand it, why I could still hear his voice in my ears, and feel his touch. It hurt me, inside, as if he had cursed me, or trapped me in some way. But when I saw him again, I…' she sighed. 'I knew the moment I saw him. That we were meant to be together. Always.'

Vidar sighed. 'I wish I could understand that, Mother. I have wanted a mate all my life. More than once I thought of leaving here to find a place where there were other dragons, but somehow I never did. But you have not answered my question, Mother. Did my father look like the dragon I saw in my dream?'

'Show it to me,' said Skade.

Vidar showed her a brief image from his memory. It was indeed of a dragon; a thin, sinewy dragon whose black scales were loose and dull on his flanks. He was lying on his belly, gasping for breath, pinioned by chains and hemmed in on all sides by the bars of the cage that imprisoned him, so small that it had rubbed away the scales and exposed raw, bleeding flesh underneath. His eyes turned mutely toward her, and the instant she saw them she recognised them. Black, glittering eyes, full of mute appeal.

She shuddered as the vision faded away. Vidar must have sensed her thoughts. 'So I was right,' he said. 'That was my father.'

'Yes,' Skade whispered. 'Yes, Vidar. That is your father.'

Vidar stood up tall, his wings twitching. 'Then I know what I must do,' he said. 'There is only one more thing I must know. What was his name? Tell me my father's name.'

Skade looked at him. He was so strong, so certain, his great muscles radiating confidence, his voice full of certainty. He was so like his father in that moment that it made her want to cry. 'His name was… Galbatorix.'

Vidar paused, looking down at her. 'Galbatorix? That's… a strange name.'

Skade's eyes were shining with tears. 'Yes. But it was his name. Galbatorix.'

Vidar's uncertainty disappeared. 'Then I know all I must know,' he said. 'Thankyou, Mother. And goodbye.'

Skade started up. 'Vidar, where are you going?'

Vidar turned to look out over the ocean. The storm was still there; a great, huddled mass, flashing with lightning. 'I have been honing my skills,' he said. 'My command over the storm is complete. I can make it subside, briefly, to let me through.'

'But Vidar-,'

'No. Be calm, Mother. I know what I am doing. This is what the dreams have been trying to tell me.' Vidar sighed deeply. It was a sound of gentle and passionate relief. 'I will go to Alagaësia,' he said. 'And I will find my father.'