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The Draconis Saga by SilverDagger
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The Draconis Saga

SilverDagger

Hey, people… Well, this is certainly out later than I had expected. I had a bad cold for a while which hampered my efforts to get this chapter written. I was surprised, to tell the truth. It's the first of even a common cold I've had in well over a year. It's a real annoyance that I had to get it now.

After that, I got rather wrapped up in reading a few other fics that I had found on Schnoogle.com. If I ever take this long to post again, go to schnoogle.com and search for the authors `Bexis' and `Joe6991'. Read their fics. Both are fantastic.

Nevertheless, I got it done in the end, and here it is. I hope you'll all excuse me for my erratic schedule. I would have had it out last week, but my self-appointed beta is travelling to Rome, so he couldn't do an edit. Sorry for any mess-ups.

By the way, I want everyone to join the Yahoo! Group set up for this fic. Go to:

groups . yahoo . com / groups / DraconisSaga /

Just take out the spaces in the URL. I had to put it there because FF and PK have a bit of trouble accepting URLs embedded in the text. I would appreciate it if all of you sign up for it. It's free and everything and it's easier for me to put out messages to you all and for me to get replies.

Besides that, thanks for all of the reviews. Some clues even I hadn't found were pointed out to me…

And we continue with…

--

The Draconis Saga

--

Chapter 9

Islanzadi

--

Lord Voldemort walked stiffly into his private chambers. Today, he thought, had been a bad day. None of his plans were going as they should. The Germans were making trouble over whether or not to gain muggle support. They thought it would be useful. He, however, did not.

Why would they want to ally themselves with that kind of trash?

They had their uses, though, he admitted. Everyone knew how close Grindlwald had been to succeeding if it hadn't been for that muggle-loving fool, Albus Dumbledore, and the Muggle nations of the British Empire, the Soviet Union, and the United States. That war had ended just over 50 years ago, and the world had learned its valuable lessons.

Tom Riddle would not make the same mistakes.

War would have to wait, though, for the time being. His supporters had not yet been fully mobilized, nor had his envoys to the various Dark Nations (a term used by the wizarding world to generally describe any nation of Dark Creatures) around the world returned yet. That would change, though. He would be back to his full might soon enough.

He was not pleased, though, by any stretch of the word. In order to gain full support of the Muggles he would have to ally with, he would need to grant them immunity from the purges he intended to start. It had benefits, though. Who else would rebuild the great cities of the world after the war was over?

Besides, he could always go back on his promises.

And he had work to do.

"Wormtail!"

---~*~---

The three Riders walked away from them after dropping them outside the office of the Sage. He was eager to meet with the person who had summoned him to Ellesméra, but his suspicions lingered even as he walked into the room, Murtagh and Arya following him.

They were quickly wiped away, however. The man behind the desk, working through a jumble of papers, dressed in the white robes he had seen in his dream; he was just as he remembered him. The rising sun glistened in through the windows, making the long white beard and robes of the Sage shine slightly.

He looked up as they entered, and gestured to them to sit down.

"I trust my friends found you in time?"

Eragon nodded. "Yes, they did. Thank you."

He smiled. "Don't thank me, thank them. I only asked them to go, after all. I hope you are all well after your journey?"

They nodded. "Well enough," Murtagh muttered.

The old Sage smiled. "Good, good. Down to business, then."

He pushed aside his papers and crossed his arms in front of him, leaning back into his chair as he did so. "Where do I start?" He sighed. "From the beginning, then.

"As you know, the King has started a covert war over the future of this world. He has possession of the last known two Dragon eggs. He is frantically trying to find the Riders for whom these dragons are destined. Until he does, he will not risk open war.

"The third egg he had had at one time is Saphira. As you probably know now, those three were not the last Dragons. Many years ago I was put on the trail of more, and, just over half a year ago, we found them. Eight more eggs were added to our side, courtesy of the long dead Rider, Forasmir, who died near the height of their power. He was an Elf, as all little ones old enough to go to school know, and his tomb was never found. Until recently.

"Using great magics that have been lost to all but a few, which we also located recently, we singled out the eight people destined to become those egg's Riders, we summoned each of them here. With the arrival of the three of you, we now have all nine Riders on our side here in Mal'daora. With each of their arrivals, we have trained each in the Riders' arts."

He stopped and looked at Eragon questioningly. He had been biting his lip in thought.

Go on, ask him.

Saphira's amused tone snapped him out of his reverie, and he focused on the Sage.

"Who are these people?"

As the Sage opened his mouth to speak, the door at the far end of the room opened jerkily, revealing a large, white and grey leopard, which loped into the room, shoving the door closed with its tail. It lay down under the large windows behind the Sage's desk, looking down onto the city below the fortress.

Eragon looked back to the Sage, searching for an answer, but the old sorcerer did not even bat an eyelid at what he considered a highly strange scene. Instead, the Sage went on as if nothing had happened.

"They are a diverse bunch. The first, of course, is yourself. The others include an Elf from the city of Nädindel, Feramir; a Dwarf - surprising, as he is the first of his kind to ever become one - named Thrän, from the city of Dalgon; Tristan, another Human from a place I will not say, as it is far to complicated to explain where the came from. Suffice it to say that he has come from a very far off place and will not betray our cause. Then, there are the three who went after you: Zorac, a renegade shade that was dissatisfied with their ways; Mathias, another Elf, this time from the city of Osilon; and Astyan, who travelled here with Tristan."

Murtagh frowned.

"That was seven. You haven't said who the other two are."

Arya, who had leaned forward in her seat, spoke quietly.

"Or, for that matter, what this Astyan is."

The Sage regarded her for a moment, before speaking.

"He is a Dexzaran."

Arya nodded once, as if expecting the answer, but Eragon jerked in surprise.

"How could he be! Their race is extinct! It is so far back that no one can even remember what they were capable of! It's turned to legend, the things of stories, it's so old!"

"Not entirely true. There have been four known Dexzaran in the last two centuries, two of which are still alive. There was Vrael, the Last Master of the Riders, who was killed by another, Galbatorix himself. Morzan, First of the Foresworn, was another. The most recent is Astyan. There is one other, though, who has been helping the Elves for many years. His name is not known by any beyond our borders. His name is Jackob. I believe he is originally from the city of Kuasta, a secluded port city in the Empire."

The Sage was silent for a moment. "Yes, Murtagh, your father was one of them. It was, I suspect, what made him such a formidable ally of the King. As for your question, I would have thought that was obvious."

Arya, spoke slowly, as though she could not believe what she was saying. "There are two of us here. Are we them?"

"You are. Behind me, I have the last two eggs in the Varden's possession. They will accept you if you accept them. If you do, you will be trained in the ways of Dragon care, in their methods of fighting, and any other skills you may acquire. After your Dragons are six months old, you will take the Trials, to prove you are fully trained and to achieve your rank as Rider."

Eragon was bursting with questions, and his mind raced through everything he had been told so fast that he began to loose his thoughts in the buzz. Finally, he asked the main question he had been mulling over.

"What sort of other skills?"

"Anything that might have come your way when you received the Ignasia. For example, you may have certain abilities, like being and animagus."

Murtagh shook his head, confused. "Ani-what?"

"Animagus. The ability to transform into an animal at will."

Again, Eragon threw up his arms in disbelief. "That's impossible! There aren't any words in the ancient language to transmute yourself! And, even if there were, it would use up tremendous amounts of power! You'd kill yourself in the effort!"

"It is quite possible." The Sage turned his chair slightly, and beckoned to the huge cat lying behind him. It looked at him grumpily and gave a grunt before standing, stretching lazily, and coming over to his knee, where it sat, looking at him sceptically.

Eragon, Murtagh, and Arya stood and looked down at it over the desk, glancing at the Sage in bewilderment. Arya raised a delicate eyebrow. "What does your cat have to do with anything?"

The Leopard, to Eragon's surprise, growled at her softly and showed a few teeth before shoving its paws up on the Sages lap and facing him. It looked him sternly and grunted again. It stood motionless for a second before glancing back at the three spectators and grunting once in question.

"It's about time you stopped hiding it anyway. I'm sure they have questions to ask you."

Before Eragon could grasp the concept of the Sage speaking to an animal that obviously wouldn't understand him, he was shocked to see the Leopard's body shift, transforming smoothly into the man, Astyan.

Harry was not pleased. Though many of the castle already knew what he was, he had never been eager to tell them who.

He shot the Sage a glare before turning back to the three newcomers and shift position to stand behind and just to the right of the Sage, his arms crossed. He frowned at the three in front of the desk, forcing them (with the exception of Arya, the elf, who had never opened her mouth in shock) to close their gawping mouths.

"Well, it's not as though you haven't seen me before," he growled.

The Sage gave them a moment to get back to the point at hand before speaking again.

"The fact remains that I have two eggs, each destined for one of you. Momentarily, I will perform a charm to discern which is yours. When the egg hatches in about a week, you each will be put through a four month training cycle, with the exception of Eragon. You will be trained for any talents you have during that time. Eragon will also be tested for any talents. If he has any, he will be trained for them."

He pause and addressed Eragon directly. "If you have any talents that need to be trained here personally, you will have one month. You will then be outfitted with weapons and armour before going through your trials. Astyan, who is just now going through the final stages of training, will do so at the same time. If you do not have any talents that need to be addressed, I will be helping you in the Ancient language. Again, you will share these studies with Astyan, who speaks the language almost fluently now, though there is still room for improvement."

Turning back to the other two newcomers as well, he bent his fingers into a steeple before continuing. "Before I give you your eggs, do you have any questions?"

Eragon nodded, as did Arya. The Sage nodded to Eragon to go first.

"I'm not saying I didn't welcome it or anything, as it provided distraction, but why did the Ra'zac think that Astyan's Dragon - I'm sorry, but what was it's name?"

Harry glanced at the Sage for a second, who nodded to him subtly. "His name is Ashrang."

Eragon nodded. "Well, why did the Ra'zac think that Ashrang was the King's Dragon, Shruiken?"

Eragon was surprised to hear Murtagh speak in answer.

"I suspect that the last time anyone saw Shruiken was many, many years ago. The King has not been out of Urû'baen in over a decade, with the exception of his visit to Dras-Leona recently. Being a member of the court-", he spoke bitterly, glaring at his boots, "Being a member of the court, I knew that the King's Dragon had not bee seen in over fifty years, but was in seclusion on the island, Sharktooth, just off of the coast of the Empire. I doubt even the Ra'zac were allowed to see him. As such, they probably forgot the sheer size that Shruiken would been now. They probably just took you as the King on site. Who else has a black dragon? Well," he said slowly, "Now they know."

The Sage nodded, more to himself it seemed than anyone else. He looked up after a second and nodded to Arya. The Elf woman did not speak to the sage, though, but to Harry. He soft melodic voice was not unfamiliar to him, and it did not surprise him. Many of the Elf women who resided inside the Fortress, being members of the Queen, Islanzadi's, court, and they spoke in the same manner.

"I have not heard of these talents before, and I am interested to know what they may entail, so I ask you, Astyan: Would you enlighten me as to what talents you are trained in?"

She spoke in the Ancient Language, and he replied in kind. "I am an accomplished Animagus, as you saw. I am also now well versed in the Arts of Occlumency and Legilimency, as well as that of Metamorphmagi. I am also a Dexzaran, as you know, giving me a few more, though I wish not to divulge that information until the times require it to be told."

She nodded once and flashed him a small smile. Eragon tilted his head, thinking.

"Occlumency? Legilimency?"

The Sage looked down at the papers on his Desk and moved one or two around. "The arts of protecting ones mind and invading another covertly."

He pulled a long metal rod out of a pile of parchments and turned to Murtagh and Arya. "Now, if we could progress to the eggs? Eragon, Astyan, you may leave, now. There is nothing left to concern either of you. I will contact you if such a thing arises."

Harry nodded and motioned to Eragon to follow him. Once they were out of the room, he turned to his charge. "It's early in the morning, and I don't suppose you have eaten anything for a while. I certainly haven't. Would you like to come down to the mess halls before I show you your quarters?"

Eragon nodded, and after going through a complicated set of right and left turns accompanied by a number of staircases, the arrived at the Mess. "Half of Mal'daora, that's the name of the Fortress is reserved for the Royal family and the court. That's the half on the other side of the cliffs. This side, though, is the base of the Elvin Militaries." He indicated the many soldiers seated at the five long tables in the room. "One table for each of what was once five Elvin Kingdoms, even though they're all one nation now. It's symbolic. I believe the Queen has a five pointed crown…"

They walked over to a counter set against the wall. Behind the counter stood a bored looking cook, who nodded once to them and gave them each a tray. Astyan thanked him quietly and took the tray to the nearest table, selecting a seat next to a large window overlooking the city below them. Eragon did the same, remembering that this was the first meal he had had in over a day. Just thinking about it made his stomach rumble.

He sat down across from the Animagus, sighing as he picked up he food. He cast his mind out for Saphira and found her in the forest with two of the other Dragons, eating a catch of deer with almost indecent gusto. He shuddered and went back to his food.

As he finished, he turned to the window, gazing down at the city below him. He watched as a cloud of wood smoke drifted up from the houses below, twisting into many shapes and symbols as it floated away and dispersed on the breeze.

He cast his mind out into the world again and found Saphira lying on the forest floor in a secluded spot for a rest. He sent her an inquiring thought and she sighed mentally.

I had a large meal, little one. Now, I nap. How goes the day with you?

You did wolf down a few deer, as I remember.

She harrumphed and repeated her question.

Alright, I suppose.

I see your troubles… Some of them plague me as well. I believe we should just ask him for the truth. Who is he, and where is he from, and why should we trust him? Ask him that, but don't call me for a while. I believe it's time for me to catch up on my sleep…

He voice died down and was silent. He turned back to the Rider across from him, and was surprised to see him leaned back in his chair, watching him lazily. He locked eyes with him for a moment, and felt a chill wash over him. He tried to shake it off, but found that he could not tare his gaze from the cat-like pupils in front of him.

Eragon watched as Astyan stood up from his chair, staring at him, calculating. Eragon could tell that the Rider was sizing him up, deciding what or if to tell him. But I haven't asked a question…

Astyan smirked, and the cold feeling washed over him again. A cold voice in the back of his head spoke, startling him. It was not, he realised with a stab of fear, Saphira's voice. Haven't you?, the voice chuckled. Never catch the eye of a Legilimancer, especially when you're practically broadcasting your thoughts…

Realization struck him hard, and he struggled violently to bring up his mental shields; to clear his mind. He searched frantically for a probe, but found nothing, though he could sense it still there. What resistance he could put up was quickly quashed with a speed and violent effectiveness that left him feeling helpless and ashamed that he had presented no hindrance. The Rider's skill was higher than the twins', higher even than Arya's, though Astyan did not try and crush his mind as they both had come close to.

Do not resist, Eragon, the voice, which he now knew to be Astyan's, said, I am not here to invade your memories, but what you ask of me is precious information, at the very least. I am a friend and an ally, yes, but I must know if you are worthy of such knowledge. I have read the minds of the others without their knowledge, and I have decided they will not know who I really am for now.

Tentatively, he reached out with a tendril of thought and touched the Dexzaran's mind. It welcomed him, but every avenue of thought was guarded from him except one. He moved forward through it, but found nothing. Cautiously, he spoke through the link.

What must I do?

Astyan laughed through the link. Simple. Show me your life, and I will show you mine.

He hesitated, not sure whether to agree or decline.

The Rider spoke again. Open your mind completely, and I will show you.

He paused, and then spoke a simple word.

Ok.

He heard a muttered incantation across the link, or from the Rider's mouth, he wasn't sure. Immediately after Astyan had finished, though, the world in front of his unfocused eyes swirled, and vanished.

Blinding, infinite whiteness assaulted him, and he struggled to see. He moved forward slowly, looking around while his vision returned to normal. He was in a void, or space, or something, but there was nothing. He was surrounded by never ending white blank-ness. He was walking on nothing, but still he felt the ground.

A voice chuckled and he whirled around. Astyan, the Black Rider, was standing behind him.

"Welcome, Eragon, son of Selena and…no. It is better I don't tell you. But welcome, human, to my mind…"

Eragon's voice cracked as he spoke, and anger welled inside him. "You know the name of my Father? Tell me!"

Astyan frowned. "It is not my place to tell you. Ask the Sage or your brother if you desire to know, but not me. I have brought you here because you wanted to see my past. I have seen yours and I believe that you are trustworthy with my secret. I want your oath, though, that you tell no one unless it is imperative."

"You have it."

"Then enjoy the show."

As soon as he spoke, Astyan vanished, and the world around Eragon shimmered and swirled, as if the surface of a lake had been disturbed. Colour blossomed out of nowhere and arranged itself into objects and people. All to soon he found himself inside another world. Images raced passed his vision at an impossible speed. Gradually, the images slowed until they stopped completely, except for the movement around him.

He stepped forward slightly, and moved around the room. He seemed to be in some sort of house, a fat boy was running up and down the stairs, pounding down on the wood with sadistic gusto.

"Come on, cousin! Get up! Come and see how many presents I got!" The boy gave a sneering laugh and ran down the stairs again.

A boy, no older than six or seven, poked his head out of the compartment under the stairs, but was violently thrown back in, the door slammed in his face, as the fatter one ran by, cackling. In a few long seconds, the boy attempted to come out again, and, seeing that the fatter one was nowhere to be seen, crept out, shutting it behind him.

He was a rather runty child, dressed in huge clothes and wearing cracked glasses. He walked timidly into the next room, where the fatter one was madly counting a mound of wrapped gifts set on the kitchen table.

"Forty-seven!" exclaimed the fat boy.

"That's two more than last year, Diddidums," said the women sitting at the table, obviously the obnoxious boy's mother. She turned to the small, scruffy child standing in the door frame, and her expression hardened into one of disdain. "Get the breakfast ready, boy, and be sharp about it!"

The six year old moved into the kitchen, and got the breakfast ready, though he had to stand on a stepping stool to do it. He couldn't reach the back of the stove properly, and stood on tip toe to get to it. When he overbalanced and threw his hands out, he caught them on the bottom of a hot pan. The adults didn't even bat an eye lid.

The scene shifted to what was obviously later in the week. Again, the child was being forced to make the breakfast, even though he could barely grip anything through his bandages. Tears streamed down his cheeks as the third-degree burns cracked, opening them to the air…

Again, the colour around him dissolved, rearranging itself into what had to be a small school room, though the runes being taught were not the kind he had learnt to read, their meaning was clear enough. Five runes were set next to a picture of an apple, and all of the children were copying it down onto peaces of white, lined paper. The fat boy, Diddidums, or whatever his name was, sat across from the little boy.

It seemed to be about a year later. The fat boy was, if possible, even fatter, and the little child had grown at least three or four inches. They were just moving on to the next word they were learning when the teacher came around and looked at their work.

"Very good, Harry. That's very nice penmanship for a seven year old. Keep up the good work." She turned to the fat boy and frowned. "Well, Dudley, that isn't right at all. Where do you see a `g' in `apple'? Try again."

The fat boy, evidently Dudley, annoyed at being outdone waited until the teacher was looking in another direction before lashing out at the little boy, Harry. Harry raised an arm to defend himself, but the force of the blow was too strong. His arm gave a sickening `CRACK', and the bone snapped, jutting out of the skin slightly. Blood poured down the boy's arm. Dudley showed no remorse…

"That took six months to heal."

Eragon jumped as he heard Astyan speak behind him. He turned around to face the Rider. "That was you?"

"Yes. That was just over ten years ago."

The colour around them dissolved into whiteness again. Eragon stood stock still, his mind racing. "Your name is Harry?"

The Rider gave a sardonic smirk. "Yes. My name was Harry Potter. I've left it behind. I am no longer."

The world around them burst once more into swirling colour, which arranged itself into a room in the house they had been before. Again, they were in the kitchen. Everyone, judging from height and greyness of hair (on the part of the adults), was about five years older.

They were eating breakfast at the dinner table, when the mail came through the slot in the front door. The large man with no neck, Vernon Dursley, Astyan had told him, his wife Petunia, and the two boys continued to eat until Vernon spoke from behind his newspaper.

"Get the mail, Dudley."

The fat whale didn't even look up from his plate. "Make Harry get it."

"Get the mail, Harry."

"Make Dudley get it."

"Poke him with your Smelting stick, Dudley."

Harry dodged out of the way of the stick Dudley aimed at him, and went to get the mail. When he returned, he kept one of them for himself, which Dudley promptly brought attention to. Vernon took it, opened it, gasped, and then put it in his pocket, despite Harry yelling that he wanted his letter.

The colour dissolved again, reforming into a small, rickety house parked in the middle of nowhere.

"Vernon tried to escape the letters, as they kept coming, and he didn't want me to see them," said Astyan, who was still standing behind Eragon, watching the memories with mild interest.

For the next few hours, Eragon viewed the memories of the Rider before him. When he was finished, Eragon found himself back in his body, still reeling from what he had seen of the life of the man in front of him.

"I am intrusting you with these memories because I need an ally in the Riders who knows who I truly am. I trust you will keep them secret from any living soul unless it is imperative they be known."

Eragon nodded, and looked around him. He found to his surprise that the light of dawn was just breaking over the mountains outside the window. Cooks were bustling around the dining Hall, getting things ready for what was obviously the day's breakfast. One or two Elvin officers ate at the tables, and a few scholars sat arguing in rapid Ancient at one of the alcoves on the other side of the room.

The relative peace of the room was interrupted as the doors at the end of the room banged open. An Elf, obviously one of the Royal servants that worked in the fortress, rushed over to them. He leaned on the table, panting. When he caught his breath, he addressed them urgently.

"Eka geyl eka yhen feasd ono! Ono drá tauthr eka! Ono aíre ethgrí eom Osthato Chetowä uri du Koígrá Scedrisr! [I am glad I have found you! You must follow me! You are summoned to Osthato Chetowä in the Royal Chambers!]"

They jumped to their feet, and the same thought crossed their minds.

This had better not be a disaster…

---~*~---

Andrew Evans moved the tractor into the barn with a masters hand, parking it within a fraction of an inch of the combine harvester. He flicked off the engine, took out the keys and jumped down from the cab. He walked towards the front door of the house. He was surprised to find a man in a dark cloak waiting for him at the front door.

The man was tall and thin. He had short, closely cropped blond hair, and grey blue eyes. Mr. Evans placed him at about twenty-five years of age.

"Can I help you?"

The man turned to him.

"Andrew Evans?"

Mr. Evans nodded stiffly. "Yes."

"My name is Julian McLaggan. I am a former Unspeakable. I'm currently holding the post of Defence Against the Dark Arts at Hogwarts. I have a message for you from Albus Dumbledore."

Mr. Evans eyed him for a moment before opening the door.

"Come in, then."

They entered, and Mr. Evans called down his wife, who sat down with him, looking at the visitor expectantly.

"Is this about Tristan?" Mrs. Evans said, a look of hope glinting in her eyes.

McLaggan nodded. "It is. We have investigated all leads we have, and have looked into a Prophecy made the day he disappeared."

"Prophecy?" Mr. Evans said sharply.

"Yes. We believe that it predicted your son's disappearance along with another boy his age. We believe that it also predicts the date of his return. It also alludes to the outcome of a conflict in our world."

"When?" Mrs. Evans said simply.

"The date is about a year from today…March 28, 1998. The Headmaster told your other son, Mark, at Hogwarts this morning."

---~*~---

Vernon Dursley sat on the sofa in the living room of Number 4, Privet Drive with his wife, watching the evening news.

"This is the BBC World News at 6 o'clock," said the announcer. "I'm Alistair Jameson. Thank you for joining us tonight.

"In our leading story tonight, six people have been found murdered in their home in Leeds. They were discovered in their house by a neighbour early this morning. The victims, who the police have not yet identified, were taken to the crime Laboratory at Scotland Yard for autopsy and evidence examination. A cause of death has not yet been released, and Police have said they have no new leads as of this hour, though they are investigating all possible avenues. Jonathan Harrison went to find out more…"

Vernon turned to his wife, who was reading an article in that months issue of People Magazine.

"Odd thing to happen, don't you think, Petunia? You don't think it has anything to do with their lot, do you?"

"Vernon!" said Petunia, glancing at the cracked window in the corner of the room, as though she expected Mrs. Number 6 to be pressing her ear up to the glass.

"Sorry, dear," he said, lowering his voice, "But, do you?"

"No, I don't. At least…" she paused, frowning, "I dearly hope it doesn't."

They turned back to the television.

"Astronomers across the globe have reported that the planet Mars has been unusually bright this season, and that it has been getting brighter still over the past month. Mars, which can be seen in the night sky quite clearly, is named after the Roman god, Mars, god of war. Analysts are stumped by the strange brightening of the planet, and are investigating the phenomenon. The last such occurrence was in the year of 1937, just over fifty years ago…"

---~*~---

As they rushed down the hallways in the Royal Wing of Mal'daora Fortress, the servants stood out of their way, some bowing as they flew past. Harry sensed the urgency in the face of the Elf servant who had come to find them, and he quickened his pace. Eragon, who followed him a step behind, did so as well.

As they rushed around the corner and into the main Royal Hall, the guards stood stiff in salute. The two guards manning the huge golden doors at the end of the hall, pulled the doors open before them without a word.

The room they rushed into was a large round one, set in the top floor of the tallest tower in the fortress. Rich green carpet covered the floor. Strange patterns woven into the carpet with golden thread made the floor a tapestry of scenes, colours, and words of many languages. The circular wall was lined with book shelves, except the quarter behind the throne, which was lined with tall windows, overlooking the vast and powerful kingdom that was ruled from this room. On the shelves stood many hundreds of old books, and still more hundreds of small jars, pots, and other priceless small possessions. About ten feet into the large room from all sides stood thick columns of white marble, positioned in a large circle around the throne, one every six feet or so. In the center of the ring stood the throne, a great work of intricately carved wood, gold and jewels of untold worth. Behind it was a long, wide desk of the same design.

They slowed to a brisk walk as they entered the room. The elf servant hurriedly withdrew, and the great gold doors snapped shut behind them with a soft thump.

In front of them, the Sage sat at a chair pulled up to the side of the desk. Around him on his side of the desk sat many elves, some in military dress, others in the uniform of the Queens advisors. Behind the desk, though, was the Queen, Islanzadi.

She looked up as they entered, obviously midway through speaking to her Council, and smiled at them. The Council all did the same, some smiling, some frowning, others with no expression at all. Harry kneeled in a bow, and Eragon, slightly hesitantly, followed suit. After a second, they looked up. The Queen smiled at them and beckoned.

"Come and sit with me," she said, her voice soft, warm, and harmonious, "I have been wondering when I would meet you both. Osthato has told me much of you."

They walked to the desk, and, seeing that the only unoccupied chairs were on her side of the desk, on either side of the throne, sat down on either side of her. Some of the advisors expressions turned to either bewilderment or jealousy; Harry could not tell.

"Perhaps you would like to hear why your are here?" said the Queen, slowly.

"Please."

"Osthato, if you would, then."

The Sage looked at them sadly. "Eragon, Arya and Murtagh are mostly loyal to you, as they have not yet met the others. Astyan, you, on the other hand largely hold the loyalty of Zorac, Mathias, Tristan, Thrän, and Feramir for much the same reason.

"Thus, by meeting with you, the rest will quite likely follow your Orders later. The reason were all here is a serious one. Spies in the Empire have reported that the King has ordered four thousand of his troops to go to Ceunon, and ten thousand Urgal troops to move down from their nations in the north. Scouts on the borders have noted this, and it seems that they have arrived at Ceunon already. These fourteen thousand troops have been amassing at the border. We suspected before now that the Empire may be amassing the army to attack Du Weldenvarden.

"We were proved correct. We received an urgent report from our spies in Urû'baen with the information that the King had a Council of War today, something he hasn't done in over twenty years. They have also noted that messengers were sent out to Gil'ead, Ceunon, and Belatona, where the majority of the Empire's Army is kept. It is clear what is happening. Galbatorix is planning on invading Du Weldenvarden and Surda any time now.

"We must decide what to do. It is that simple."

One of the Elves sitting at the table spoke slowly and quietly, "As I was saying, we must send messages to our allies. Surda, and the Boer Empire must know at once, and I'm sure that the Zelarians would appreciate knowing what is happening in the Empire."

Many of the people around the table nodded, others stayed impassive. Another Elf, this one in a military uniform spoke. "I agree, but the main problem is closer to home. What are we to do about the threat to our borders?"

One of his colleagues, also in military dress, spoke next. "The answer is obvious. We must mobilize the troops at Osilon. They will be enough to bring an invasion to a standstill if they are mobilized in time. If they aren't we will only be able to stall it. If the Enemy gets past the Pass of Jade and Kii'l Roth, we will only be able to slow it down."

The Queen spoke. "Is there any more we can do? I will not willingly take Du Weldenvarden to war unless there are no other options."

"There aren't any," said a stern Elf in the fortress uniform. "War is the only way we can survive. Peace is out of the question, and a continuation of the status quo would only lead us farther along the road we've been on for over a century, and if we do that, the only possible outcome it the eventual decline and destruction of our race."

The Queen sighed, and suddenly she looked far older. "Then so be it. To war we go, then. But how? We haven't the strength to destroy the entire Empire's Army, and the Urgal nations as well."

Harry, who had been listening with his chin in his hand, spoke. "Then don't stall them until we can gather the forces to fight back."

The elf who had spoken last before the queen, looked at him thoughtfully. "The spies we have in the Empire have said that the total troops there number just over eighteen thousand. The Urgals are another story. As far as we have been able to gather, they have something in the order of eighty thousand. You know them-everyone in the entire nation fights, but only some of them join their army. These are the only ones willing to fight for the Empire, though. Only three of the fifteen clans have joined the Empire. The rest have just opted to stay in the North."

The Queen spoke softly, "What is our current force?"

One of the Elves in military dress spoke. "We currently have twenty-four thousand soldiers based in various places. Ten thousand are based in Osilon. Eight thousand are based in Kirtan, two thousand in Sílthrim, and four thousand in Ilia Fëon."

The Sage nodded. "And our allies? What of them?"

"Surda is currently at ten thousand. The Boer Empire is at sixteen thousand. Zelaria, though, has more than all of us at sixty-seven thousand. They may not want to interfere, though. Not unless we can persuade it's worth their time, or the Empire attacks them."

Islanzadi looked at each of them before speaking. "Very well. We must hold off an invasion until we can rally our forces and contact our allies. That is, of course, if the Empire does decide to invade. All of you are dismissed except the three of you."

She indicated the Sage, Eragon, and Harry. They others nodded, stood, bowed, and made their exit. When they had, she looked over at the Sage. "On to other matters. How are our Riders coming?"

The Sage opened his mouth to speak, but Harry cut him off. "We are doing well. Training has almost finished for myself. Eragon will be tested tomorrow to see if he has any talents that must be trained. If there aren't, then he and I will take our Trials in two weeks. If there are, It will be set back to another two weeks afterward. The others will be finished in about three months."

"Then the times of old are finally fast coming from the future. I have not met a new Rider for over a century. It will be an honour to host the next generation here in Du Weldenvarden."

Eragon looked up. "Brom always said that the Varden were always fighting over who would control us. Aren't you as well?"

The Queen smiled sadly. "Brom was right. There are people of the court here that would desperately love to control a Rider, and the same goes for the other nobles and lords of the other countries that are members of the Varden. I am not one of them, though. I am much older than I look, and I remember the Old Ways. I know what the oath you take after the Trials states. I do not meddle with that.

"It is my belief that after you are trained, and the Empire defeated, if we can manage that, then it will be time for the countries to unite again, and for the Old Ways to come back. I will help you in any way I can. Firstly, Vroengard must be restored to its former power. Then, just maybe, we can move into another Age of prosperity, without the mistakes we made in the past."

She sighed. "I get ahead of myself, but I have awaited the time when that could happen most of my life. When I was much younger, I met Vrael, and the sense of peace he gave us all, and the power his Order held that kept use safe and happy were extraordinary. When I became Queen of the Elves not too long afterward, he was present at the coronation. He spoke to me afterward, and made me promise that whatever happened to me, I would always strive to keep the Riders' Order in power, so that the peace and prosperity would always continue. I will keep my promise."

---~*~---

The Dark Tower

Bulgaria

March 31st, 1997, 6:30 pm, Zulu

The room was made of black marble; the long table and chairs of dark alder, and with the exception of the moonlight, streaming through the window at the end of the room, it was pitch black. A lone figure stood at the end of the room, his hands on the window sill, watching the night below him.

At the other end of the room, two high doors of the same wood as the table opened, and three men walked into the room to stand at the end of the table, looking at the lone figure at the other end of the room, who did not move.

The figure spoke in a soft, deadly voice. "Report, Andrea."

"It has been done, my Lord. Germany and the others are yours to command."

The figure turned slowly around, and waved his hand lazily at the room around him. Candles set in brackets along the wall and in candelabras along the table erupted to life. Their black flames illuminated the room in evil, tainted light. The figure's face was lit up, revealing the scarlet, slitted eyes, the snake-like nostrils, the pale, scaly face. Lord Voldemort smirked.

"See that they are…"

"Yes, my Lord."

The man turned to leave, and the Dark Lord turned back to watch the dark night outside, his eyes fixed on the road that lead to the fortress walls.

"Andrea."

The man turned back to face the cruel joke of a man near the window.

"Yes, my Lord?"

"See that our new arrivals have the proper…accommodations…"

"Yes, my Lord."

The Death Eater swept from the room into the torch lit hallway beyond it. The doors slammed shut behind him. Lord Voldemort, terror of over 33 years, bane of the Wizarding world, turned back to the window, and looked down. Below him, the Fortress teemed with activity. The Fortress covered an entire small mountain, built into the side of the rock, with catacombs running throughout the giant natural monolith. A Lake spread out on all directions from the Mountain, It's water, black as the night around it, lapping up at the base of the tainted stronghold built above it.

A single, wide bridge, of the same stone of the fortress spanned the distance between the Fortress and the Lake side. Lord Voldemort watched as four hundred trolls began to cross the bridge. No longer were they the stupid excuses for animals they had been for so many years. Now, they were cunning, smart brutes; the brawn of an army the world had not seen in over two thousand years.

The Darkness had taken hold of the world once more, and everyday, it washed like a sea over the world, beginning to cover all it came across. It lapped at the feet of them all. It gave no visible threat. How, after all, could you drown a civilization in an inch of water? This they said and brushed the threat aside.

But every day, the tide rose a little bit more, and one day, it would drown all it found.

Lord Voldemort laughed into the night…

---~*~---

A/N: That, ladies and gents, was Chapter 9. I hope the wait was worth it. I had meant to put this out last Friday, but I ran into a bit of a clinch with a plot item that just wouldn't work with the rest of the fic, so I had to edit it out a bit. That is why it's up today.

Now, I have nothing much to say, really aside from the fact that I want everyone to join the Yahoo! Group for this fic. I mean Everyone, by the way. No exceptions. Again, the URL is:

http:// groups. yahoo. com/ groups/ DraconisSaga/

Just take out the spaces. I had to put them in because FF.net and PK.org won't accept Links. Besides that, I want feedback from all of you willing to give it. It helps. A lot.

Chapter 10 will be out as soon as possible, and I will work on it as fast as possible. In the mean time, read, review, and do it again.

Until the sun sets upon a broken world…

Regards,

SilverDagger

Last Modified - [Monday, March 14, 2005]

Total Words in this Chapter - [7,956]


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