Saphira and Arya.
It took him a moment to comprehend what he saw.
The female spellcaster Eragon had been about to attack lay before him, slain by a single sword thrust. The spirits she and her companions had summoned were nowhere to be seen. Lady Lorana was still ensconced in her chair. Saphira was in the process of struggling to her feet on the opposite side of the room. And the man who had been sitting on the floor amid the three other spellcasters was standing next to him, holding Arya in the air by her throat.
The color had vanished from the man’s skin, leaving him bone white. His hair, which had been brown, was now bright crimson, and when he looked at Eragon and smiled, Eragon saw that his eyes had become maroon. In every aspect of appearance and bearing, the man resembled Durza.
“Our name is Varaug,” said the Shade. “Fear us.” Arya kicked at him, but her blows seemed to have no effect.
The burning pressure of the Shade’s consciousness pressed against Eragon’s mind, trying to break down his defenses. The force of the attack immobilized Eragon; he could barely repel the burrowing tendrils of the Shade’s mind, much less walk or swing a sword. For whatever reason, Varaug was even stronger than Durza, and Eragon was not sure how long he could withstand the Shade’s might. He saw that Saphira was also under attack; she sat stiff and motionless by the balcony, a snarl carved on her face.
The veins in Arya’s forehead bulged, and her face turned red and purple. Her mouth was open, but she was not breathing. With the palm of her right hand, she struck the Shade’s locked elbow and broke the joint with a loud crack. Varaug’s arm sagged, and for a moment, Arya’s toes brushed the floor, but then the bones in the Shade’s arm popped back into place, and he lifted her even higher.
“You shall die,” growled Varaug. “You shall all die for imprisoning us in this cold, hard clay.”
Knowing that Arya’s and Saphira’s lives were in peril stripped Eragon of every emotion, save that of implacable determination. His thoughts as sharp and clear as a shard of glass, he drove himself at the Shade’s seething consciousness. Varaug was too powerful, and the spirits that resided within him too disparate, for Eragon to overwhelm and control, so Eragon sought to isolate the Shade. He surrounded Varaug’s mind with his own: every time Varaug attempted to reach out toward Saphira or Arya, Eragon blocked the mental ray, and every time the Shade attempted to shift his body, Eragon counteracted the urge with a command of his own.
They battled at the speed of thought, fighting back and forth along the perimeter of the Shade’s mind, which was a landscape so jumbled and incoherent, Eragon feared it would drive him mad if he gazed at it for long. Eragon pushed himself to the utmost as he dueled with Varaug, striving to anticipate the Shade’s every move, but he knew that their contest could only end with his own defeat. As fast as he was, Eragon could not outthink the numerous intelligences contained within the Shade.
Eragon’s concentration eventually wavered, and Varaug seized upon the opportunity to force himself further into Eragon’s mind, trapping him... transfixing him... suppressing his thoughts until Eragon could do no more than stare at the Shade with dumb rage. An excruciating tingling filled Eragon’s limbs as the spirits raced through his body, coursing down every one of his nerves.
“Your ring is full of light!” exclaimed Varaug, his eyes widening with pleasure. “Beautiful light! It will feed us for a long time!”
Then he growled with anger as Arya grabbed his wrist and broke it in three places. She twisted free of Varaug’s grip before he could heal himself and dropped to the ground, gasping for air. Varaug kicked at her, but she rolled out of the way. She reached for her fallen sword.
Eragon trembled as he struggled to cast off the Shade’s oppressive presence.
Arya’s hand closed around the hilt of her sword. A wordless bellow escaped the Shade. He pounced on her, and they rolled across the floor, wrestling for control of the weapon. Arya shouted and struck Varaug in the side of his head with the pommel of the sword. The Shade went limp for an instant, and Arya scrambled backward, pushing herself upright.
In a flash, Eragon freed himself from Varaug. Without consideration for his own safety, he resumed his attack on the Shade’s consciousness, his only thought to restrain the Shade for a few moments.
Varaug rose onto one knee, then faltered as Eragon redoubled his efforts.
“Get him!” Eragon shouted.
Arya lunged forward, her dark hair flying...
And she stabbed the Shade through his heart.
Eragon winced and extricated himself from Varaug’s mind even as the Shade recoiled from Arya, pulling himself off her blade. The Shade opened his mouth and uttered a piercing, dithering wail that shattered the panes of glass in the lantern above. He reached out toward Arya and tottered in her direction, then stopped as his skin faded and became transparent, revealing the dozens of glittering spirits trapped within the confines of his flesh. The spirits throbbed, growing in size, and Varaug’s skin split along the bellies of his muscles. With a final burst of light, the spirits tore Varaug apart and fled the tower room, passing through the walls as if the stone were insubstantial.
Eragon’s pulse gradually slowed. Then, feeling very old and very tired, he walked over to Arya, who stood leaning against a chair, cupping the front of her neck with a hand. She coughed, spitting up blood. Since she seemed incapable of talking, Eragon placed his hand over hers and said, “Waise heill.” As the energy to mend her injuries flowed out of him, Eragon’s legs weakened, and he had to brace himself against the chair.
“Better?” he asked as the spell finished its work.
“Better,” Arya whispered, and favored him with a weak smile. She motioned toward where Varaug had been. “We killed him... We killed him, and yet we did not die.” She sounded surprised. “So few have ever killed a Shade and lived.”
“That is because they fought alone, not together, like us.”
“No, not like us.”
“I had you to help me in Farthen Dur, and you had me to help you here.”
“Yes.”
“Now I shall have to call
“We are both—”
Saphira startled them by loosing a long, mournful keen. Still keening, she raked her claws across the floor, chipping and scratching the stones. Her tail whipped from side to side, smashing the furniture and the grim paintings on the walls.
“Saphira, what’s wrong?” exclaimed Arya. When Saphira did not answer, Arya repeated the question to Eragon.
Hating the words he spoke, Eragon said, “Oromis and Glaedr are dead. Galbatorix killed them.”
Arya staggered as if she had been hit. “Ah,” she said. She gripped the back of the chair so hard, her knuckles turned white. Tears filled her slanted eyes, then spilled over onto her cheeks and coursed down her face. “Eragon.” She reached out and grasped his shoulder, and almost by accident, he found himself holding her in his arms. Eragon felt his own eyes grow wet. He clenched his jaw in an effort to maintain his composure; if he started crying, he knew he would not be able to stop.
He and Arya remained locked together for a long while, consoling each other, then Arya withdrew and said, “How did it happen?”
“Oromis had one of his seizures, and while he was paralyzed, Galbatorix used Murtagh to—” Eragon’s voice broke, and he shook his head. “I’ll tell you about it along with Nasuada. She should know about this, and I don’t want to have to describe it more than once.”
Arya nodded. “Then let us go and see her.”
SUNRISE
As Eragon and Arya escorted Lady Lorana down from the room in the tower, they encountered Blodhgarm and the eleven other elves running up the staircase four steps at a time.
