INHERITANCE: Memorandum Of Scales

ISLANZADI'S CURSE

Arya stiffened as her mother glared at her from her throne.

Islanzadi sat in Arya's Father's seat, a resplendent ebony chair that seemed to loom over all others in the royal chambers. The seat itself was nearly twelve feet high.

Long thorns bristled from the black wood as Islanzadi's white hands curled over the polished arms, fashioned in the likeness of panthers. Jade green eyes lustered underneath a luminous golden crown with curling horns that traveled upwards, above her head.

Aurulent hair traveled down to the bottom of her breasts, which were covered by a midnight shaded tunic, red embroidery as dark as blood etched onto the stomach of the dressing, fashioned in the sigil of her House, the red raven of Valbhorethlian.

Her legs wore a similarly colored blouse, and her feet were wrapped in silver silk, resting on two thick thorns that were placed conveniently below them.

At the foot of the throne, an armored Elfman stood, a large great-sword in his hands. Gloved hands wrapped around the hilt, the sword raised over the left side of his breast. They were completely alone, and the silence that came from Islanzadi seemed suffocating.

"Have you no thoughts of my decision?" Arya questioned, dressed in a white tunic and leather trousers. Her black hair was long, nearly to her waist, with streaks of white running through it. Like her mother, and all of her people, long ears poked from the side of her head, curving upwards elegantly. Islanzadi's gaze hardened.

"You are to bow when you address your queen." She said coldly.

Arya swallowed her annoyance, lowering herself to one knee. Islanzadi sat quietly as she regarded her daughter, and then waved her hand, signaling Arya to stand.

"I have thought about your decision. It is madness . . . how could you be so selfish?" Islanzadi asked. Her voice was melodic and light, but anyone could tell that a great inferno of anger burned behind them.

"They need me. You heard their cry for help. It is the only way." Arya could not believe her mother.

Evander would be riding out himself, an entire host behind him. But Islanzadi prefers to fester in Du Weldenvarden . . .

"The plight of the human lords is none of your concern. None of our concern. You know the price for meddling in their affairs . . . Your Father rode out to fight their wars, remembering tales of old, and where are we now? Half of our empire destroyed and your father lies dead. "

"This is not a matter of humans, Mother. They have retrieved the egg . . . they are fleeing towards us. I have told you previously, a small group, perhaps fifteen could meet them, and escort the egg back here."

Islanzadi scoffed bitterly.

"So the fools have an egg. Do you think that the egg is a hope? If so, you are as vapid as the humans. An egg means nothing if it will not hatch."

Arya reddened. How could she be so stubborn?

"There is a chance . . . " She began, but Islanzadi cut her off with a buffet of laughter.

"A chance? Yes, once you have the egg, simply parade it around Du Weldenvarden, give it to everyone, let everyone have a chance at hatching it. If all else fails, we can host a tourney in the human lands, let everyone attempt to hatch it. Hopefully Galbatorix will not notice."

"I will not let them get a hand on the egg. Regardless of what you think, there is hope. If you haven't noticed, dozens of our own have been flocking to the Varden under the cover of night. It is time to rouse the Houses sworn to us by right, and march down on the Empire, and retake our lands."