Dagny: An Inheritance Cycle Fanfiction.

11. The Plots of Traitors

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Arne dreamt of war. Lines of bleak soldiers, interminable lines of men with steel armour and pitiless eyes. They marched, on and on, a neverending parade trampling the green earth, crushing it underfoot and staining it red.

He dreamt of a stone room lit by cold fire and a man with wild, fanatic eyes, who leaned close and opened a mouth full of serpent's fangs and a serpent's forked tongue, to whisper:

"And they said you'd go mad when your dragon was killed."

He dreamt of a woman cringing on the ground, the fire in her gold eyes gone out, extinguished by the tears that ran down her face. A man he didn't know stood over her and laughed, and ordered his men to hurt her again.

He dreamt of the queen, young as when she first took the throne, seated on a high dais with condemnation in her eyes.

"You swore an oath to protect my crown! You swore it, and you have failed!"

Arne woke gasping, the dark of the castle closing in on him. Láine was there, her mind surrounding his. He could hear her thoughts on all sides, a fiercely protective clamour.

I'm fine, he told her, before she could ask. I just...

He couldn't find words. He let the sentiment hover unsaid and she understood.

Was it a fore-dream?

He scrubbed his hands over his face, and climbed wearily from his bed. The long drapes over his window were closed. He opened them, pushed open the glass frame, and leaned his elbows wearily on the sill, breathing in the cold air.

It felt like it. He thought of the soldiers he'd seen and the image of King Jasem with snake's fangs and a forked tongue.

Láine's thoughts hovered around the edges of his mind, stinging like hornets. She was distracting him, fraying at his fragile calm. His dragon vibrated with tension and the need to lash out.

What does it mean? Her thoughts kept up an agitated, frantic tempo. That Jasem is a snake-tongued liar and he can't be trusted? We knew that.

And that he's brought soldiers into the Broddring Kingdom, Arne thought, but they had known that too.

It was late, still. The sky was still dark, the relentless black of true night only slightly tempered by the blue that comes with dawn. The sunrise was no more than a faint tinge of fire-orange on the horizon to the east.

What did he say? Láine asked, after a moment of quiet. That part's not clear...

She meant the dream-figure of Jasem. Arne reached for the memory, but it was dimming already, fading into vague impressions and an unsettling feeling. I can't remember.

The rest, he remembered all too clearly. His mind lingered in agonising detail over the picture of Dagny, lying broken and bleeding on the ground, and Queen Nasuada's maddened shrieks.

"You swore it, and you have failed!"

We have not! Láine's obdurate fury hit him with force, defying the queen's yet-unspoken accusations, defying the crushing sense of defeat that seemed to weigh on his heart.

Not yet, Arne answered her, weariness echoing in the thought.

Not ever!

Láine snarled. On the roof, above him, she paced furiously, her long claws tearing at the slate tiles of the roof, shattering them, sending them spinning down to the palace courtyards. The violent action eased her frustration infinitesimally.