Book Two: Prophecy (Erys: An Eragon Fanfiction - Slow Updates)

Prologue

Choices

The guards dragged the prisoner before the throne.  They threw him at their lord's feet and stepped back.  He stood slowly and made his way down the steep steps before him, the train of his embroidered robe trailing behind him.

"So?  This is the boy who lost me my prize?"

"Yes, Master."

He tucked a manicured finger under the prisoner's chin and forced his head up in order to gaze upon his face.  His sleeve fell back, revealing thick, well-muscled arms.  Black ink snaked further up his arm, disappearing under the rich red velvet.

"So young?  A child."  He turned to his guards with a mirthless laugh.  "A child nearly destroys the plans I've set?  Against the strength of my most prominent sorcerers?"  He hefted a vase and hurled it against the wall where it shattered against mirror, the rain of glass matching the shrillness in his voice.  "I needed her.  Alive!"

They trembled and lowered their gaze. The prisoner cowered at his feet, trembling for fear of more abuse.

"My lord, there was nothing we could have done," one explained.  "It was the boy who betrayed her."

"So it would seem, but not for us."  He turned back to the boy; the motion disturbed the blanket of jet black hair that hung past his shoulders.  "Why?"

"W-who are...you?" the prisoner dared ask.

A soldier kicked him cruelly and pinned him to the ground.  "You will address your lord and master as such," he commanded.

"Please."  Their master held up a hand.  A hint of a smile played at the corner of  his mouth.  "There's no need for violence."  He knelt and set a gentle hand against the boy's arm.  "You're going to tell me everything I need to know."

"Who are you," he asked, adding, "M-master?" for fear of another blow.

He smiled and spread his arms wide.  "The lord of this great Republic.  I have many names.  You may call me Ebrithil."

He nodded and bowed his head.  "Ebrithil."

He smiled and stood.  "Now.  You give me everything I need, and I can see to it that you're taken care of."  He motioned at the cloaked man to his right.  "I'd prefer not to use force."

The cloaked magician stepped toward him, reaching forward and setting a hand against the boy's head.  The magician's eyes flashed with malice.  A mental probe struck the prisoner's barrier; his head felt as if it were being split open.  A warning.

"I don't want to use force," he repeated.  "But we will if we have to."

"I can't!"

The lord's face lit up with grim amusement.  "Strong will makes things so difficult," he noted.  He turned to the magician and nodded.  "Break it."

He turned and ascended his throne. 

"As you command, Ebrithil."

The magician attacked.  The boy threw his head back, eyes wide, and screamed.  He gasped for breath.  He shook from the intensity of the attack; it felt as if someone carved through his mind. As the attack continued, he recognised the presence in his mind.

"You," he gasped.

"Stop fighting!"

The intensity of the attack increased, stealing away his ability to breathe.  It felt as if someone drove a stake through his mind.  Pressure surrounded him on all sides, threatening to press his mind until his skull split.  The attack pulled a strangled cry from the back of his throat. Spittle dripped from his lips, and his eyes rolled back in his head.  He curled into the fetal position, gasping and twitching so violently he could feel the strain.

"Please..."

The lord regarded his prisoner carefully.  He waved him off.  "Please, Kairrn."

Kairrn withdrew.  The boy panted heavily, scrambling to his knees.

"T-traitor!"

A soldier smashed the butt of his spear against his temple.  He went limp.

"You should look to yourself before you make accusations," Kairrn said, voice laced with derision.  "How long had you planned to stab your friend in the back?"

"It-it wasn't like that!"

"No, that's exactly what it was!  And now you'll pay for your treachery!"

"I have an ultimatum for you," Ebrithil said.  "Think of it as your redemption." 

He motioned for the soldiers to open the door.  A squad marched into the room, carrying a frail woman between them.  Scars criss-crossed her body so there wasn't an even patch of smooth skin in sight.  She was hobbled and bound.  But, even disfigured, he still recognised her.  He stumbled to his feet.

"Mother!"

Kairrn shoved him back to his knees.

"Make your choice boy!  Your mother or your memories!" Ebrithil demanded.

A sentry drew his weapon and stood beside her, blade raised above her head.  He'd remembered how the others of his village had died.  Beheaded with a dull blade.  Some had survived the first blow.

"Y-you can't—"

"But I can.  So tell me.  What force could make you betray your friend?" 

He returned to his throne, settling comfortably into the plush cushions. He gestured for the boy to be brought to him.  Two guards hoisted him to his feet and brought him to Ebrithil's feet. 

He leaned forward and whispered in his ear.  "Eirdain?"

Ebrithil grasped his wrist, the stump where his hand used to be.  The bandage was soaked with blood, but he seemed unfazed.  He tilted his hand to look at his palm and smiled, smearing the blood between his fingers.

"I might be persuaded to reward you," he offered, "if you serve me."

Eirdain looked to his mother and into the face of Ebrithil, and hung his head in despair.  Ebrithil dropped Eirdain's arm and reclined on his throne.

A demented grin overtook his features.  "Life's full of tough choices.  What's yours?"

A tear cleared a path through Eirdain's dirt smeared face.  He raised his eyes to his mother. 

"I'm sorry."