INHERITANCE: Memorandum Of Scales

MUSINGS OF A SHADE

The morning breeze ruffled Durza's maroon hair as he shined his magical blade beside the dying embers of his camp fire from the night before. The grunts of Urgals drifted to his ears as they rose from forced slumber, awakened not by their own natural bodies but by  evil enchantments of binding. The Shade, as beings of his kind were known, looked about him. They had camped far from where he had captured the elf and killed her two companions, closer towards the west into his own township, Gil'ead.

Galbatorix had gifted the area to him in an act of goodwill, and Durza went to work quickly. He built  a grand estate for himself and fortified the surrounding area with a crude wooden palisade.

He routinely hired mercenaries - Southmmen and Westmen to round out his forces. In addition to his Urgals and the men Galbatorix gave him, Durza's city was as well fortified as any under the King's rule. It also gave him a place to study. Durza was engrossed in the sciences of the human body- in addition to those of the Elf, Dwarf and Urgal. His experiments were focused on fusing the various beings, giving them traits not naturally born to them. A burst of excitement welled within him- With the Elf, he could continue his work. He had a never ending supply of Urgals and humans. Dwarves, while valuable, were not as needed.

But Elves proved elusive. He wished he had not killed her two companions, but that could not be helped. And that thought brought another one, one less savory.

Galbatorix would be waiting for a report on the egg. Annoyance and fear replaced his mirth, and Durza frowned, muttering softly as his blade vanished in a plume of black smoke. He rose to his feet, kicking dust onto the orange bits of fire that licked at the morning air in a valiant attempt to preserve its life. Durza could picture him now- a messenger, sent by Galbatorix, waiting at Gil'ead, with eyes like that of an eagle's and believing borrowed power was his own.

But at least he had the Elf. Galbatorix would be beyond fury, but if he told his King that he had  captured the faerie, maybe his punishment would be less severe. Galbatorix had always taken a bored interest in Durza's experiments, and the Shade hoped that-

STOP THIS! A voice growled within his mind. Durza's eyes shot open as he felt the other.

"You're weak Carasib. Placating to Galbatorix's whims like a dog." Durza frowned, turning his attention on the rousing Urgals as they carried out his orders like machines; gathering camp material, holstering their weapons, and containing their prisoner. They did all of this by command of the Shade, not a vocal order, but rather one heard in their thick skulls, an order that was unable to be disobeyed. They circled his tent, and he noticed the grass that they slept on stuck to the ground, their heavy bodies marking their positions that they had rested in.

"You were nearly a king once. Now look at you- you're nothing. A king of Urgals and flea ridden humans." Durza ignored the other. It had a habit of finding fault in everything he did, and was always quick to show its disapproval. It reminded him of Galbatorix.

"I am nothing like him!" A voice howled within Durza's mind. He smiled then, finding humor at the other's reaction.

"Pots...spots...mots...rots...blots...Pots..." Another voice began, and Durza's face fell even further into anger. This one did nothing, but repeat the same words over and over again, and then rhyming them- sometimes making up a word just so it fit into the pattern. The voice droned on and on, until it became a never-ending sound in the back of Durza's mind. The voices belonged to the spirits. A Shade could contain thousands of spirits- lost souls, both wicked and good, that never made their way to the afterlife.

Thick forests, a feature that the North was famous for, dwindling westard. Few trees surrounded them, even now,  as Durza looked ahead, past his Urgals, towards Gil'ead. He couldn't see it, not yet, but he knew as the land grew less sparse and more flat, more rocky and less abundant, he was close. He would have to endure Galbatorix for a short while, but then he could begin his work.

"But the egg? What will you do about the egg?!" The voices never stopped. Sometimes a voice would pipe up and comment on something, a voice that Durza didn't recognize. But regardless if he did or not, they were always there. It was the price of power.

The price of becoming a Shade.

Durza stepped from his hill and down towards where the Urgals were mindlessly massing. They smelled significantly better than they did previously, as Durza had marched them into a nearby river the day before. Some of them had drowned, but, as Durza smiled at the memory of one Urgal  simply floating away after it had lost the strength to resist the current- He guessed that was the price of cleanliness.

His mind returned to the egg.

Durza walked through the Urgals, each one about six feet tall, with curving horns and bowed legs. Gray skin covered massive muscle, and yellow eyes glowed from sunken sockets. Mouths hung open, revealing sharp teeth jutting from dark purple gums. They were a race built for war, built for plunder. What they lacked in intellect they more than made up for in battle skill and beast-like cunning. When his urgals fought, he sometimes allowed his powers over them lessen, so that they were partially free to fight however they choose.

Durza didn't micromanage.

The shade passed through them, like a wraith passing through massive towers of an old forgotten tomb. His horse, a black war beast with a thick mane that fell over its muscular neck- waited for him as he approached. He climbed up the saddle, and gently rode past the crowd of Urgals. He now towered over them, and he allowed his gaze to pass over the beasts for one last time before he returned his attention to the west.

With a flick of his wrists, his horse galloped ahead, thundering the ground as hard hooves pounded the earth. Behind him the urgals ran, heavy bodies plodding on stout legs. They would follow him to the end of the earth, into the flames of hell, and into a bottomless ocean if he ordered it. But as he was their master, he was also Galbatorix's slave. The thought of the King's face brought a grimace to his face as he rode towards his fate.