of a practiced orator, and their tone was deceptively friendly. “Long have I thought that the elves might be hiding a dragon or a Rider from my sight. It is gratifying to have my suspicions confirmed.”
“Begone, foul oath-breaker!” cried Oromis. “You shall not have any satisfaction from us!”
Galbatorix chuckled. “Such a harsh greeting. For shame, Oromis-elda. Have the elves forgotten their fabled courtesy over the past century?”
“You deserve no more courtesy than a rabid wolf.”
“Tut-tut, Oromis. Remember what you said to me when I stood before you and the other Elders: ‘Anger is a poison. You must purge it from your mind or else it will corrupt your better nature.’ You should heed your own advice.”
“You cannot confuse me with your snake’s tongue, Galbatorix. You are an abomination, and we shall see to it that you are eliminated, even if it costs us our lives.”
“But why should it, Oromis? Why should you pit yourself against me? It saddens me that you have allowed your hate to distort your wisdom, for you were wise once, Oromis, perhaps the wisest member of our entire order. You were the first to recognize the madness eating away at my soul, and it was you who convinced the other Elders to deny my request for another dragon egg. That was very wise of you, Oromis. Futile, but wise. And somehow you managed to escape from Kialandi and Formora, even after they had broken you, and then you hid until all but one of your enemies had died. That too was wise of you, elf.”
A brief pause marked Galbatorix’s speech. “There is no need to continue fighting me. I freely admit that I committed terrible crimes in my youth, but those days are long past, and when I reflect upon the blood I have shed, it torments my conscience. Still, what would you have of me? I cannot undo my deeds. Now, my greatest concern is ensuring the peace and prosperity of the empire over which I find myself lord and master. Cannot you see that I have lost my thirst for vengeance? The rage that drove me for so many years has burned itself to ashes. Ask yourself this, Oromis: who is responsible for the war that has swept across Alagaesia? Not I. The Varden were the ones who provoked this conflict. I would have been content to rule my people and leave the elves and the dwarves and the Surdans to their own devices. But the Varden could not leave well enough alone. It was they who chose to steal Saphira’s egg, and they who cover the earth with mountains of corpses. Not I. You were wise once before, Oromis, and you can become wise once again. Give up your hatred and join me in Ilirea. With you by my side, we can bring an end to this conflict and usher in an era of peace that will endure for a thousand years or more.”
Glaedr was not persuaded. He tightened his crushing-piercing-jaws, causing Thorn to yowl. The pain-noise seemed incredibly loud after Galbatorix’s speech.
In clear, ringing tones, Oromis said, “No. You cannot make us forget your atrocities with a balm of honeyed lies. Release us! You have not the means to hold us here much longer, and I refuse to exchange pointless banter with a traitor like yourself.”
“Bah! You are a senile old fool,” said Galbatorix, and his voice acquired a harsh, angry cast. “You should have accepted my offer; you would have been first and foremost among my slaves. I will make you regret your mindless devotion to your so-called justice. And you are wrong. I can keep you thus as long as I want, for I have become as powerful as a god, and there are none who can stop me!”
“You shall not prevail,” said Oromis. “Even gods do not endure forever.”
At that Galbatorix uttered a foul oath. “Your philosophy does not constrain me, elf! I am the greatest of magicians, and soon I will be even greater still. Death will not take me. You, however, shall die. But first you will suffer. You will both suffer beyond imagining, and then I will kill you, Oromis, and I shall take your heart of hearts, Glaedr, and you will serve me until the end of time.”
“Never!” exclaimed Oromis.
And Glaedr again heard the clash of swords on armor.
Glaedr had excluded Oromis from his mind for the duration of the fight, but their bond ran deeper than conscious thought, so he felt it when Oromis stiffened, incapacitated by the searing pain of his bone-blight- nerve-rot. Alarmed, Glaedr released Thorn’s leg and tried to kick the red dragon away. Thorn howled at the impact but remained where he was. Galbatorix’s spell held the two of them in place — neither able to move more than a few feet in any direction.
There was another metallic clang from above, and then Glaedr saw Naegling fall past him. The golden sword flashed and gleamed as it tumbled toward the ground. For the first time, the cold claw of fear gripped Glaedr. Most of Oromis’s word-will-energy was stored within the sword, and his wards were bound to the blade. Without it, he would be defenseless.
Glaedr threw himself against the limits of Galbatorix’s spell, struggling with all his might to break free. In spite of his efforts, however, he could not escape. And just as Oromis began to recover, Glaedr felt Zar’roc slash Oromis from shoulder to hip.
Glaedr howled.
He howled as Oromis had howled when Glaedr lost his leg.
An inexorable force gathered inside of Glaedr’s belly. Without pausing to consider whether it was possible, he pushed Thorn and Murtagh away with a blast of magic, sending them flying like windblown leaves, and then tucked his wings against his sides and dove toward Gil’ead. If he could get there fast enough, then Islanzadi and her spellcasters would be able to save Oromis.
The city was too far away, though. Oromis’s consciousness was faltering... fading... slipping away...
Glaedr poured his own strength into Oromis’s ruined frame, trying to sustain him until they reached the ground. But for all the energy he gave to Oromis, he could not stop the bleeding, the terrible bleeding.
Glaedr... release me, Oromis murmured with his mind.
A moment later, in an even fainter voice, he whispered, Do not mourn me.
And then the partner of Glaedr’s life passed into the void.
Gone.
Gone!
GONE!
Blackness. Emptiness.
He was alone.
A crimson haze descended over the world, throbbing in unison with his pulse. He flared his wings and looped back the way he had come, searching for Thorn and his Rider. He would not let them escape; he would catch them and tear at them and burn them until he had eradicated them from the world.
Glaedr saw the red-shrike-dragon diving toward him, and he roared his grief and redoubled his speed. The red dragon swerved at the last moment, in an attempt to flank him, but he was not fast enough to evade Glaedr, who lunged and snapped and bit off the last three feet of the red dragon’s tail. A fountain of blood sprayed from the stump. Yelping in agony, the red dragon wriggled away and darted behind Glaedr. Glaedr started to twist around to face him, but the smaller dragon was too quick, too nimble. Glaedr felt a sharp pain at the base of his skull, and then his vision flickered and failed.
Where was he?
He was alone.
He was alone and in the dark.
He was alone and in the dark, and he could not move or see.
He could feel the minds of other creatures close by, but they were not the minds of Thorn and Murtagh but of Arya, Eragon, and Saphira.
And then Glaedr realized where he was, and the true horror of the situation broke upon him, and he howled into the darkness. He howled and he howled, and he abandoned himself to his agony, not caring what the future might bring, for Oromis was dead, and he was alone.
Alone!
With a start, Eragon returned to himself.
He was curled into a ball. Tears streaked his face. Gasping, he pushed himself up off the floor and looked for
