The Age of the Dragon 4: On Silver Wings

Chapter 11

Fallyn's eyes opened, and she was distinctly aware of Fang's absence in her thoughts. Her mind ran through everything she had experienced prior, and while she knew she should feel anxious about being captured, she maintained her calm.

Her eyes ran over the tiles that covered the dark, vaulted ceiling. Upon the tiles were painted angular patterns of red, blue, and gold: a complex matrix of lines that she found herself mindlessly tracing with her eyes.

After a while, she was able to pull her gaze away and cast her eyes around her. Somewhere behind her, an orange glow cast just enough light around the room to provide the shape of the octagonal room, though shadows still clung to the corners and edges of the room. She swallowed slightly, finding her throat dry. The surface she lay on was cold, smooth, and uncomfortably hard. The dull pain in her skull did not abate, and she moved to press a hand to her head, only to find that she was restrained - padded manacles held fast her wrists and ankles, and a leather belt held her head firmly against the slab, thus preventing her from lifting her head or looking around.

She tested them by straining against them and wiggling slightly, but they were strong and appeared to have been adjusted so as to hold her in place.

Relaxing and returning her gaze above her, she pondered her situation. Obviously she was to be interrogated - likely tortured.

What she didn't understand, was why Galbatorix had not begun his torture the moment she had arrived in his grasp. Surely it would have been best to wrest control from her and force her to submit to him while she was weak and unconscious, unable to fight back?

She considered calling out but doubted anyone would respond - if they could even hear her. She was also unable to tell how much time lapsed - the light source appeared to be magical, as it did not dim no matter how much time passed.

"Does he think making me wait will be torture?" she wondered idly. "I have waited a hundred years. What is this but more waiting?"

Hunger gnawed at her belly, and her thirst seemed to grow more poignant, but she continued to focus on songs and stories that she had heard and learned over the years. She avoided those that had the Ancient Language, focusing more on Thedosian tales and songs, so as to keep her jailers from learning anything by accident, if she was being observed.

Before long, she found herself chanting the Chant of Light. She had never been particularly religious, but she had considered the Chant beautiful nonetheless.

Maker, my enemies are abundant.

Many are those who rise up against me.

But my faith sustains me; I shall not fear the legion,

Should they set themselves against me.

She listened as her voice bounced lightly around her, deciding that she found the sound pleasing. She raised her voice slightly, allowing a slight echo to rise and fall with her.

In the long hours of the night

When hope has abandoned me,

I will see the stars and know

Your Light remains.

"How appropriate," she thought, with tired amusement. "The Canticle of Trials... Father, do you sit by your Maker's side? Or have you come to the embrace of my blood-father's Creators?"