There you are, Rider,โ said Grieve with heavy disapproval as he strode with a hurried pace toward Murtagh and Thorn. He made a bow so slight, it was more of a nod. โDragon Thorn.
Bachel will grant you audience now. The both of you.โ
Murtagh gestured at the temple. โDo you mean for us to go in there?โ โOf course. Bachel awaits you in her presence chamber.โ
Murtagh raised his eyebrows. โAlas, Goodman Grieve, Iโm sorry to inform you that the doors of your temple are far too small for Thorn to pass through. Unless you mean for him to break them apart.โ
The ๏ฌicker of irritation that crossed Grieveโs face was satisfying. โI do not,โ he said sti๏ฌy. โDragon Thorn, an atrium exists behind that will su๏ฌce if you will ๏ฌy to it. Thence you may access the presence chamber.โ
Murtagh hesitated, glancing at Thorn.ย Do you want to chance it?
The dragon growled and, to both Murtagh and Grieve, said,ย I will go so far as the atrium, but no farther. If Bachel wishes to speak with me, then she may come to me.
Grieveโs scowl deepened. โYou risk o๏ฌending the Speaker, Dragon Thorn.โ
Thorn sni๏ฌed.ย So be it. With a sweep of his wings, the dragon jumped into the air. His body blotted out the sky for a moment, and then he was above the temple, and there he hung, like a great crimson bat, before folding his wings and dropping out of sight behind the peak of the building.
In a mild tone, Murtagh said, โIโm afraid that no one can tell a dragon what to do, not even a Rider.โ
A grunt from Grieve, and he turned and walked with his lurching stride toward the templeโs shadowed entrance.
Alert and curious, Murtagh followed, hand on hilt.
Deep between the faceted pillars, a pair of blackened oak doors stood open. The wood was chiseled with runes and inlaid with threads of gold that traced the same branching pattern carved into the face of the temple. The air within was noticeably warmer and thick with the smell of brimstone. Murtagh felt moisture collecting on his skin, tiny droplets of sulfurous dew.
They moved through a short passage lit by oil lamps. Then the way opened upon the atrium. It was large and square, with four raised poolsโ overgrown with reeds and ๏ฌoating mossโat the corners, while in the center stood a giant sculpture, nearly as tall as the surrounding roo๏ฌine. The statue was made of black stone, and it was all angles and shards and misjoined edges, but when taken as a whole, there was aย shapeย amid the chaos. He felt as if he ought to recognize it, but the truth eluded him, like a name or a face that he couldnโt place.
Thorn had landed next to the statue and was looking at it as if he meant to knock it over with a swipe of his tail.
โWhatย isย that?โ Murtagh asked.
Grieve continued trudging on and didnโt turn to look. โA depiction of dream.โ
Unease made Murtagh pull his cloak tighter.ย What do you think?ย he asked Thorn.
An abomination.
Itโs a nightmare, thatโs for sure.
As Murtagh continued after Grieve, Thorn said,ย If they are so foolish as to attack you, I shall rip apart the building from top to bottom.
Murtagh smiled, comforted.ย Good.
On the other side of the atrium, another passage doglegged to the south. It ended at a tall lancet doorway large enough for Thorn to pass through.
Ironbound doors of dark oak stood open, and past them, a great space echoed.
The chamber seemed part throne room and part inner sanctum. In its center sat a brazier of hammered copper, ten feet across and laden with a bed of smoldering coals. From it, smoke and incenseโrich with the scent of sage, pine, and cedarโthickened the air, although they could not obscure the underlying taint of brimstone, which seemed stronger, more concentrated there within the temple. Beneath the brazier, a heavy cast-iron pipe joined the bottom of the metal pan to the ๏ฌoor.
An open-roofed pavilion, made of angled stone, ringed the brazier. From the pavilion uprights, sculpted dragon heads extended over the coals, like gargoyles on the cathedral in Dras-Leona.
The ceiling was lost in shadow. The ๏ฌoor glinted with pearlescent chips of a vast multicolored mosaic that swirled in ways Murtaghโs eyes found di๏ฌcult to follow. Blood-red banners hung from the walls, their edges tattered, the fabric mildewed and moth-eaten.
Opposite the entrance, on the other side of the brazier and pavilion, was a long double arcade with stone chairs set between the carved columns, empty save for dust and memories. The arcade ended at a wide altar of ashen stone, behind which ascended several steps to a high-backed stone chair, cold and grey and carved with arcane patterns.
And reclining upon that unforgiving throne was Bachel in all her stark, imperious glory. A single shaft of light illuminated her from aboveโthe beam ๏ฌltered through some cleverly hidden windowโand it rimmed her as if with holy radiance. Unlike before, she wore an elaborate headpiece of jade and leather that was black and polished to an oily sheen. Her dress was red and, again, sewn from strips of knotted straps. Rubies and emeralds glinted from the rings on her thumbs.
She was sipping from a cup of carved quartz, her eyes liquid amber in the glow from the brazier.
In every aspect, she presented an imposing ๏ฌgure, and a deep disquiet formed within Murtagh. It felt as if he were approaching a source of secret power; he could nearly taste the energy emanating from Bachel, as if she
were the physical embodiment of some enormous force. Even Galbatorix, he thought, would have hesitated before the witch.
Three acolytes were arrayed before Bachel and the altar, kneeling on the mosaic, hoods drawn over their faces, hands pressed together in prayer. A single grey-robed villagerโa dwarf seemingly of middle ageโstood in their midst, and he said, โโฆtwelve upon twelve, and the black swan burst into ๏ฌre over the ๏ฌeld of battle, andโโ
Bachel lifted a ๏ฌnger, stopping him. โYou have had another vision of victory, Genvek.โ
The dwarf tugged on his braided beard. โThere is yet more, Speaker.
After the swan, I sawโโ
โYou may tell me of it later, my child,โ Bachel said as Grieve arrived at the altar, with Murtagh trailing behind.
The witch, Murtagh noticed, seemed none the worse for wear after her indulgence at the feast. Bachel smiled, and her teeth shone translucent as polished cowrie shells in the pale light from above. โThis court has a guest that needs attending. Begone for the nonce.โ
Genvek the dwarf appeared put out, but he tugged on his beard again, bowed, and departed with a black glare directed toward Murtagh.
โCome now, Kingkiller,โ said Bachel, her voice proud and strong. โApproach that I may see you more clearly.โ
Murtagh obliged. He stepped between the acolytes and stood before them, though he hated to have anyone at his back.
Bachelโs smile widened as she studied him. Then she gestured at the temple in a most elegant manner, the gems on her ๏ฌngers tracing constellations through the air. โWelcome to the Court of Crows, Murtagh Morzansson. It has been over half a century since last a Rider stood here.โ
And was that Saerlith or another of the Forsworn? Or Galbatorix himself?
Murtagh wondered.
Before he could reply to Bachel, she said, โAnd welcome to thee as well, Dragon Thorn.โ
Murtagh turned to see that Thorn had stuck his head into the entrance of the presence chamber. The dragon did not dare more than that, but
Murtagh was still grateful to have him near.
Feeling somewhat more con๏ฌdent, he said, โI must admit, I see no crows, Lady.โ
The witch laughed, and her husky voice echoed o๏ฌ the shadowed ceiling. โLook closer, Kingkiller. There is much you do not see.โ
Murtagh hated being told that he didnโt understand something. And he especially hated when it was true.
Forcing an expression of polite blandness, he turned his gaze upward while also extending outward with his consciousness. Scores of tiny minds immediately appeared above him, as rings of candles set about a ritual space. Crows. A whole ๏ฌock of them perched along the underside of the ceiling, on cornices and carvings and beams of stone. Now that he knew what to listen for, he could hear the noises as they clucked and muttered and moved about on their tapping claws. And yet none of them cawed, and he saw no droppings on the mosaic below.
He raised an eyebrow. โThe ๏ฌoor is very clean.โ
Bachelโs smile grew mysterious. โThe crows are my kin. I speak to them, and they answer. I command them, and they obey, as do all of my children.โ Then she raised a hand and said,ย โCome,โย and he heard magic in the word: a compulsion that nearly caused him to step forward before he mastered himself.
With a soft gale of ๏ฌapping wings, the crows descended in a black cloud and settled upon the back and arms of Bachelโs throne and on the dais surrounding her. As one, the dire ๏ฌock ๏ฌxed their ghostly eyes upon Murtaghโwhite irises stark and staring in the chamberโs gloom.
Bachel chuckled and clucked fondly at the birds. One of them hopped close to her, and she scratched it on the head and under the beak while the bird closed its eyes in apparent bliss.
โYou see, Kingkiller,โ she said, โSpeaker I am, but also am I the Queen of Crows.โ
There was an unreality to the image of her sitting regnant amid the murmuring multitude, a specter-like quality that made Murtagh feel as if the world had shifted sideways and he was no longer in a place where the
familiar rules of nature held sway, but rather an older, wilder sort of reasoning.
He heard Thorn release a low hiss at the front of the chamber.
Murtagh made a small bow. โThe extent of your power is truly impressive, Lady Bachel. It seems even the common crow recognizes your authority.โ
โCrows are far from common,โ said Bachel. She cooed at the bird she was scratching. โDid you know, my son, that the Urgals believe crows carry the souls of the dead to their afterlife?โ
โI did not.โ
She nodded. โThe sight of the crow ๏ฌlls an Urgal with immense dread, but an Urgal will also go to great lengths to help a crow in need or to avoid hurting one, for they think that if they anger the crows, the birds will refuse to carry them to the ๏ฌelds of their ancestors once they die.โ
โAnd what do you believe, my Lady?โ
Bachel lifted an eyebrow. Then she said,ย โGo,โย and her voice rang with power. The birds took o๏ฌ in a ๏ฌurry into the shadows above. โI believe that crows are hungry and they have no scruples as to how they sate their appetite, which is why you will always ๏ฌnd them gathered on the ๏ฌeld of battle to feast on the fallen.โ
Murtaghโs lip curled with revulsion. โA grim reckoning and an unpleasant habit, my Lady.โ
The witch sipped from her cup, unconcerned. โYou cannot fault them for their nature.โ
โNeither do I have to praise them for it.โ
Bachel inclined her head. โThat is true.โ Then her eyes narrowed, and the amber in them darkened. โTell me, my child, did you rest well last night?โ
โWell enough.โ
Her gaze further sharpened. โAnd did you and Thorn dream? You must have. All creatures in this vale dream, even crows.โ
She asks most eagerly, said Thorn.
That she does. Murtagh toyed with the ruby set in Zarโrocโs pommel as he considered. He didnโt want to tell Bachel anything too personal, but he was curious how she would interpret their visions. Whatever she said could reveal more about the Dreamers than he would reveal about himself.
So he told her, leaving out but one detail: Nasuadaโs appearance in his dream. Thatย wasย too personal, and Murtagh had no intention of dissecting its meaning with a stranger.
โAnd what of you, Thorn?โ asked Bachel. โWhat saw you?โ Thorn growled softly.ย I saw much the same.
Then the witch tilted her face to catch the beam of light that broke upon
her brow, and she let out a long sigh. โAh, such beautiful visions, Kingkiller. I can feel their promise, like the warm touch of dawnโs ๏ฌrst rays.โ
โI would hardly call them beautiful.โ
She lowered her gaze to him. โThat is because your sight is blinkered, my son, limited by your senses and the con๏ฌnes of your mind. As is true of all of us, even you, Thorn.โ
โBut you can see the truth?โ Murtagh asked, not hiding his disbelief.
A shake of her head swayed her headpiece. โNo. I do not claim such wisdom. I am merely a conduit for understanding. An interpreter, if you will.โ
โThen interpret.โ
The corners of Bachelโs mouth curved. โVery well, Kingkiller. I shall.โ She closed her eyes, and the acolytes bowed in rhythmic fashion and began to chant in an unfamiliar tongue, and Grieve lowered his head until only his widowโs peak showed. Sparks ๏ฌared in the brazier as Bachel uttered several low words in the strange language, words that lingered in the air longer than was right. For a moment, the chamber seemed to dim as if a shadow pressed in on them from without.
A chill crept into the heated air.
Murtagh held his place, but all the hair on his body stood on end. He felt as if he were in an open ๏ฌeld during a heavy thunderstorm while lightning threatened.ย How very theatric, he commented to Thorn. Nevertheless, he couldnโt deny the e๏ฌect the ceremony had on him.
When Bachel spoke, her voice had an eerie, hollow timbre: โBeholdโฆas it was, so it shall be. See you now the center of all things, the king on his throne, the snake in his lair. See you now past sorrowsโinjustices unrevengedโand future triumphs. The cleansing sword, the son freed of his father. See you this now, and know it to be true. As it is dreamt, so it shall be.โ
Icy dread coiled within Murtaghโs core, and his whole body tensed at the wordย father, the response as instinctual as pain.
Bachel slumped slightly. Then she opened her eyes and, in a tired
manner, gestured at the acolytes. They ceased bowing and chanting, and the chamber again fell silent.
Murtagh fought to remain impassive, though his muscles were as taut as so many weighted cables.
The witch straightened upon her throne. โThere now, Kingkiller. I have said my piece.โ
โThe Speaker has spoken,โ Grieve murmured.
โAnd yet,โ said Murtagh, โI understand no more than when you started.โ
Bachel replied: โThat is because I have yet to explain the explanation. Be not so bound by convention, my fair princeling. You must learn to see with more than your mortal vision.โ
Murtaghโs frown deepened. โWhat is it you want, Bachel? Why have you seeded your servants throughout Alagaรซsia? To what end? And why is it you say Thorn and I are to be the saviors of the land? How? And from what?โ
โDo you recognize the shape of this sanctum, my child?โ Bachel asked, indicating the chamber about them.
Caught o๏ฌ-guard, Murtagh fumbled his reply. โNo. I donโt.โ
โYou should. It has a sister beneath Urรปโbaen: the Hall of the Soothsayer.
I believe you are well familiar with it.โ
For a moment, Murtagh grew weak, and he nearly sat. He trembled slightly.
He glanced around. The witch was right. If he ignored the arcade and the pillars and the open pavilion, the general layout of the space was similar,
if not identical, to the Hall of the Soothsayer. And the ashen altar, that hateful slab of stone, was no di๏ฌerent from the one where Galbatorix had kept Nasuada chainedโฆ.
Bachel leaned forward, hawklike. โThe sacred vapors that emanate from the ground here likewise once emanated from the rocks and stones beneath Urรปโbaen. Then too a Speaker dwelt in that hall and breathed of them and dispensed the wisdom of dream to those wise enough to consult her.โ
Had Galbatorix known the truth about the Soothsayer? He had claimed ignorance regarding her origin, but if there was one thing Murtagh had learned over the years, it was that the king lied, and he lied well.
Perhaps Bachel also lies, said Thorn.
With some di๏ฌculty, Murtagh found his voice. โYou claim the same mantle as the Soothsayer?โ
โWe are of the same lineage, in beliefs and observance, if not blood.โ
Murtagh glanced back at Thorn, feeling lost. Everything he had heard of the Soothsayer of old had spoken of her uncanny foresight, and there were more than a few stories of people who had ignored her adviceโor sought to contravene itโto their inevitable sorrow.
Murtagh had never been able to bring himself to believe that the future was set. Like Thorn, he hated the idea that some impersonal force dictated the shape of his life. The very concept sapped all motive and responsibility from his choices. And yetโฆif Bachel were an oracle in truth, then he needed to know what she predicted for him and Thorn, if only that they might take a stand against it.
The witch seemed to read his thoughts, though he felt no touch upon his mind. โI will say this to start, my son: it was Fate that brought you here. You could no more have resisted the urge to ๏ฌnd Nal Gorgothโand me within itโthan a moth may resist the lure of a nighttime ๏ฌame. The threads of destiny may be plucked by those who know how. Plucked, and severed. Nal Gorgoth and places like it have endured for longer than you can imagine. No dragon or Rider or elf or any other creature in all the history of the land has ever succeeded in clearing our redoubts or snu๏ฌng our faith.โ
โNot even Galbatorix?โ said Murtagh in a ๏ฌat tone.
Bachelโs smile widened, showing more teeth than was normal for a human. โNot even the dread dragonkiller himself, Rider. He tried, once, and soon realized the magnitude of his mistake.โ
Fear and frustration broke Murtaghโs control. โWhoย areย you?โ he cried, allowing some of his power to enter his voice. He could use words to control and command just as easily as Bachelโand he had a dragon backing him to boot.
His voice resounded o๏ฌ the walls of the chamber, and Grieve and the white-robed acolytes sti๏ฌened. โSpeaker!โ said Grieve, the word coming from between clenched teeth.
Bachel seemed una๏ฌected. She waved a hand at Grieve. โPeace, my child. You are as nervous as a spring rabbit. Our guest means us no harm.โ The muscles along Grieveโs jaw bunched, yet he held his peace.
Murtagh was not about to do the same. โBut my patience grows thin. You promised me answers, Bachel, but so far, all I have are more questions.โ
Her nails tapped against the arm of her throne. โDo you doubt my word?โ
โNo, my Lady, only the timing of its ful๏ฌllment.โ
She eyed him with a hooded gaze, her headpiece and shoulders haloed with pale radiance from above. โWalk among us for a day and a night, you and Thorn both. See what we are and how we live, ere you seek to pass judgment on us. Dream once more in Nal Gorgoth, and let your mind wander wide and deep.โ
She was being evasive. That much was obvious, but at the same time, the o๏ฌer was tempting. So much about Bachel and the Dreamers was di๏ฌcult to explain, and Murtagh felt it was desperately important to have a better idea of what they were and what they wanted. Especially if Bachel had the same powers of prophecy as the Soothsayer. They had to learn more. For himself. For Thorn. And for Nasuada.
What say you?ย he asked Thorn.ย One day more is no great price.
Lifting his chin, Murtagh said, โIf we do, will you forgo your riddles for plainer speech?โ
The witch made a gracious gesture with her hand, as if inviting him to bow. โIf you do, and you strive to see but truly, then yes, Kingkiller, I will explain my prophecy and more besides. I will lay bare the threads of fate, and you will understand both the role you have played and the role you shall yet play. A great storm is coming, Kingkiller, one that shall shake the very foundations of Alagaรซsia, and we must all choose where to cast our lots.โ
โA storm has already ravaged the land. Another might destroy it.โ
Fire replaced the honey in Bachelโs eyes. โThen destroyed it shall be, and a new and better world will rise from the ashes!โ Fast as ๏ฌowing quicksilver, her expression softened. โBut not today, Kingkiller.โ She stood then and descended from the throne, and the acolytes parted before her. โCome now. If you are to stay with us, Kingkiller, I have arranged a most amusing diversion.โ
Wary, Murtagh said, โAnd what would that be, my Lady?โ
She swept past him, the train of her dress trailing across the ๏ฌoor. โThe sport of kings, my fair princeling. A boar hunt!โ
