Luminescent (Inheritance Cycle and Beyond)

Chapter Fifty-Six: Brilliant

The black dragon lay curled on the floor with his head close to my throne, the bulk of his massive body forming a wall too steep and too high for any to climb without magic. His scales had not the radiance of Saphira's, the iridescence of Alethea's or Thorn's brightness but rather sparkled with a dark, liquid brilliance.

Shruikan opened an eye and looked down at me before looking at Eragon. His iris was a pale blue-white, the color of a high mountain glacier, and it appeared startlingly bright amid the black of his scales.

Both Saphira and Alethea growled, and the scales along their back rippled and lifted like hackles. In response, jets of fire appeared in the yawning pits of Shruikan's nostrils, and then he

growled as well, drowning out Saphira and Alethea, filling the chamber with a rumble like that of a rockslide. On the dais, the two children squeaked and curled into balls, tucking their heads between their knees.

"Peace, Shruikan." My father said, and the black dragon grew silent again. His eyelid descended, but it did not close completely; the dragon continued to watch them through a gap a few inches wide as if waiting for the right moment to pounce.

"He does not like you," My father said. "But then, he does not like anyone ... do you now, Shruikan?" The dragon snorted, and the smell of smoke tinged the air.

"How is it you can do this?" Eragon shouted.

"I would like to know that as well," Arya said. Galbatorix's eyes seemed to gleam beneath the dark eaves of his brow.

"Can you not guess, elfling?"

"I would prefer an answer to a guess," she replied.

"Very well. But first, you must do something so that you may know that what I say is indeed the truth. You must try to cast a spell, both of you, and then I shall tell you."

When neither Eragon nor Arya made to speak, my father gestured with his hand.

"Go on; I promise that I will not punish you for it. Now try. ... I insist." Arya went first.

"Thrautha," she said, her voice hard and low.

"Brisingr!" Eragon growled, but the blade remained as it was, glittering dimly in the dull light of the lanterns.

"The answer must be obvious to you now, elfling. It has taken me most of the past century, but at long last, I have found what I was searching for: a means of governing the spellcasters of Alagaësia. The search was not easy; most men would have given up in frustration or if they had the required patience, fear. But not I. I persisted. And through my study, I discovered what I had for so long desired: a tablet written in another land and another age, by hands that were neither elf nor dwarf nor human nor Urgal. And upon that tablet, there was scribed a certain Word—a name that magicians throughout the ages have hunted for with nothing but bitter disappointment as their reward." My father lifted a finger. "The name of all names. The name of the ancient language."

"With this Word, I can reshape spells as easily as another magician might command the elements. All spells shall be subject to me, but I am subject to none, except for those of my choosing."

"I shall use the name of names to bring every magician in Alagaësia to heel, and no one shall cast a spell but with my blessing, not even the elves. At this very moment, the magicians of your army are discovering the truth of this. Once they venture a certain distance into Urû'baen, past the front gate, their spells cease to work as they should. Some of their enchantments fail outright, while others twist and end up affecting your troops instead of mine."