Prologue: Ora’s Peril
A beautiful young woman sat on her bed in her bedchamber, weeping. She had dark blond hair as well as brilliant emerald eyes. She was fit, but not grotesquely so. She wept for her brothers. Tears streamed from her bloodshot eyes, which were full of sorrow and pain. Murtagh, her eldest brother, had just returned from battle at The Burning Plains, or Du Vollar Eldrvarya, in the Elvin tongue. He was exhausted from battle, but Galbatorix still saw fit to “have a counsel” with her brother. The King’s “counsels” were just his words for torturing someone.
This was not all that saddened Tarmunora, for that was her name. Known to those who knew her well as Ora, and to those who didn’t as “Milady”, Ora grieved even more knowing that Murtagh had faced Eragon, who was her twin brother. Yes, Selena had been carrying twins when she had escaped from Morzan and fled to Carvahall. Eragon had been left in Carvahall with Selena’s brother, Garrow, his wife Marian, and their son, Roran. Tarmunora had been taken with her mother. Ora’s mother had known that Morzan would be even more enraged than he already would be if she left with child and came home no longer pregnant without a child.
Selena knew that neither Morzan nor Galbatorix would take any more notice of a little girl that of an annoying gnat.
After Selena had died and Morzan had been slain by Brom, Ora had fallen into the custody of the wicked, evil King, Galbatorix. Ora hated that man with every fiber of her being. Worse, if you wished to have a chance of living to escape, you had to bow to his wishes.
Another pain that she felt that night was her twin’s realization of their father’s identity and the unwilling betrayal of his own flesh and blood. Ora was blessed (or cursed) with the power of feeling Eragon’s emotions with him. Oh, how she burned to run to her twin, embrace him and comfort him, but she knew that that was impossible for the time being because of the leagues that separated her from him. Eragon was not even aware that she existed, let alone the pain she felt for him. Ora thought, “If I can’t be with him, I shall at least see how he’s doing”.
Tarmunora reached for the white porcelain pitcher and wash-basin that lay on an ebony table close to her green adorned bed. She carefully poured the water from the pitcher into the basin and waited for it to settle. When it did, she said the words “Draumr kopa” and the water shimmered, turned black, and then started to focus on the image of her twin. Eragon was leaning up against a wall; talking to someone she couldn’t see. In his deep blue eyes she saw anger, sadness, fear, determination, and strangely, a hint of joy. She gazed at Eragon thinking, “I will join you soon, brother, I promise”.
There was a loud banging on the door to Ora’s bedchamber that startled her and broke her concentration, causing her to knock to pitcher of water over.
“Who is it?” asked Ora.
“The King’s guards, open up! You are to join your brother downstairs,” said the voice. The door burst open, showing two muscular men who wore Galbatorix’s colors.
“You can tell the King to come get me himself,” Ora said calmly.
“Seize her!”
Chapter 1: Repercussions
Eragon shivered as he awakened. It was the day after he had learned the identity of his father, Morzan. The name left him with a sour taste in his mouth.
“Good morning, little one,” said Saphira through the mental link she shared with Eragon. It was light inside the tent that Eragon shared with Roran. Saphira had poked her head in through the flap that served as a door. Her eyes had both laughter and sorrow in them.
“‘Morning, Saphira,” Eragon mumbled sleepily. “What time is it?” thought Eragon to Saphira.
“It’s half past one and Lady Nasuada awaits you in her tent,” said the gentle voice of Saphira.
“Tell the lady that I shall be there at two. Where’s Roran?”
“He’s outside, pouring over his maps. He wishes to rescue Katrina as soon as possible,” replied the graceful dragon.
“I will be out in a second. Now, if you don’t mind, I would like to change my clothes in private,” said the Rider.
Saphira removed her head from the tent. Eragon searched through his few belongings until he found a soft, green tunic that he had gotten in Ellesmera while training with Oromis. He also put on the belt of Beloeth the Wise, sorely missing the weight of Zar’roc on his waist.
Eragon stepped out of the tent into the warm sunlight. This had only been his second major battle, and the sight of the bodies that surrounded the tent from a distance still made him taste bile.
“You look a bit green, Shadeslayer,” called Roran, a grin on his face.
“Not as bad as you. You are a nice shade of brown, from the sun, I suppose?” retaliated Eragon playfully. A change had come over Roran since the time Eragon had seen him before the battle. Eragon was concerned. Roran’s eyes were sunken in, they also had black circles under them, and he had grown a rather shaggy blond beard.
“I suppose, Eragon. When do we leave? Every moment you spend dawdling here is another minute closer we could be to rescue Katrina,” said Roran. All of the merriment had left his face when he reminded himself of his love. He
“We leave as soon as possible. I must meet with Lady Nasuada, Du Vrangr Gata, and Elva before we depart, and,” said the younger boy, “we must get provisions. Also, I find myself without a sword”
“Eragon, do you think me that stupid? I have everything we need aboard the Dragon Wing.
“I do not think you stupid, Roran, but I did not know. Besides, I no longer eat meat, remember. I need to buy bread.
“Do what you must, but don’t take long. I will be preparing for the trip.”
Eragon called Saphira and climbed onto her back.
“To Nasuada’s tent,” Eragon used telepathy to speak with Saphira.
“It is too short a distance to fly, little one, so I shall have to walk.”
“Very well, Saphira. Who do you think will ascend the throne in Hrothgar’s place?” asked Eragon.
“Orik, I assume. He told you that he was the heir to the ruling dwarfish clan, Durgrimst Ingeitum,” thought Saphira.
“Good point,” said the young Rider.
When Eragon and Saphira arrived at Nasuada’s tent, they were surprised to see who had been invited. There were Arya, Orik, Nasuada, of course, the Counsel of Elders, all of which gave him evil glares. He shrugged them off and paid attention to Lady Nasuada. Everyone sat around a round table. Nasuada stood and the room was silent.
“As you all know, yesterday we discovered many things. One being that Murtagh and the Twins were indeed, alive. Now only Murtagh stands thanks to Eragon’s cousin, Roran Stronghammer. But we also learned of a great misfortune. Another egg has hatched. It hatched for Murtagh and is a red dragon called Thorn. Galbatorix forced them to swear fealty to him in the ancient language, which, as you all know, you cannot lie while speaking in it. How he did this is that he knows the true names of Murtagh and Thorn. (Here a gasp went through the room and people started talking among themselves) Order! Order! Another matter is at hand which Eragon must be present for. Eragon is without a sword. I ask the dwarves that are present to forge him a sword that will lead us to victory.”
Here Orik stood and said with dignity, “Milady, we will do so right away” He spoke to a couple of his clan members and they departed to forge a blade for the newest member of their clan. Orik remained there.
“Now, to other matters. Winning one battle does not win a war. If we wish to see a free Alagaesia in our lifetime, we must give this war our all,” said the new leader of the Vardin.
The meeting carried on like that until Nasuada dismissed everyone. Eragon was the last to leave the room, besides Saphira and the Lady. He was about to make his exit when Nasuada grabbed him on his upper arm and said in a very commanding tone,
“Eragon . . . be careful. The Vardin can not afford to loose you and I refuse to have you killed by the King’s creatures, the Ra’zacs.”
“Yes, my liege lord. I will return to training in Ellesmera after I have avenged the man who was like a father to me. I wish he had been,” Eragon said.
“I know you will make good on your promise, young Rider. You may go, Eragon and Saphira.”
Eragon bowed and exited the tent, and Saphira nodded and did the same... They stepped into the strange light of the Burning Plains. Eragon conversed with Saphira as to what they should do next. Saphira replied,
“Let us gather provisions for the trip, and then we can remove the ‘blessing’ from Elva.”
“I agree. She has suffered far too long for my mistake,” said Eragon, ashamed of his actions at Farthen Dur.
Eragon was going to pay for some bread from the Vardin’s kitchen tent, but they refused to take money, saying that he and Saphira had done so much that it was they who should be paying him.
“Saphira and I both thank you deeply,” said Eragon to the cook.
“Now, to rid Elva of her curse,” said Eragon. They did not need to look a ling time for Elva, because she was at the kitchen tent, eating a bowl of porridge. Her black bangs covered the silver mark on her brow, and she looked like a normal child except for her bright violet eyes.
“Shadeslayer, you have come at last. You are here to rid me of my wretched curse, I assume,” came the adult voice through the small child’s lips.
As his answer, Eragon placed his hand that bore the gedewey ignasa on her brow and uttered some words in the ancient language that were inaudible. A bright blue light slowly surrounded her and she began to grow younger and younger. She went from being a five year old to a mere infant in thirty seconds. Her hair became shorter, showing that Saphira’s mark was still there. Elva gave a happy gurgle and then her caretaker came to fetch her from the chair on witch she laid.
“Thank you, Eragon Shadeslayer and Saphira Brightscales. She is now a happy child. Bless you both!” the woman thanked them again and departed from the tent to tell the good news to the whole camp.
While they were walking back to their tent to see Roran and depart to find the Ra’zacs, they came upon the dwarves’ forge. It was actually just a tent, but someone yelled,
“Shadeslayer, wait! Your blade is ready.”
Eragon turned to see a female dwarf carrying a blue velvet cushion with a silver broadsword on it. The new blade had a large blue sapphire embedded in the hilt and was perfectly balanced.
“It is a great honor to accept such a fine weapon. Who is the craftsman?” asked Eragon.
“I am Mithrim; and I am the craftswoman who forged this sword. It’s name is Valiant,” said the beautiful dwarf lady. She had long, brown hair that hung to at least her waist, rose red lips, and a pearly smile.
“Thank you, I shall treasure it, and Saphira also passes on her thanks,” said Eragon, blown away at the detail of the sword.
“It is an honor to make a weapon for you, Eragon,” said the dwarf.
Eragon slipped Valiant into his sheath, pleased to find out that it fit the hole Zar’roc had left perfectly. He nodded to the dwarf and returned to his tent, where Roran was waiting.
“Ready to go, Eragon?” said Roran, impatient to leave.
“I am ready to go, but are you? We will fly on Saphira to Helgrind, and then we shall avenge our father!” said Eragon.
“Let’s go,” cried Roran.
“I am ready, little ones,” said Saphira, her voice reverberating through both of the men’s heads.
They put the molded leather saddle on Saphira and tied their bags on behind it. Eragon helped Roran up and then mounted Saphira in front of his cousin.
“Uh, Eragon,” said Roran, “What do I hold on to?”
“Hold onto my waist and I promise you won’t fall off,” teased Eragon.
“Let us be off!” said Eragon, and at that Saphira took off into the air towards Helgrind.
Before I continue, Thanks to Olly, my sole reviewer. Please comment!
Chapter 2: Counsels
Murtagh lay on a stone table that was about three and a half feet off the ground. He was bound with shackles and chains by the wrists and ankles. Galbatorix had tortured him for hours since he got home, but had gotten nothing out of him. Murtagh had a gash on his forehead that was bleeding. Blood trickled down his face and into his black hair. He was covered from head to toe in bruises, and his left arm was broken. Galbatorix had made the gash with a sword, the bruises with his fists, and the wrist had been broken by magic. Pain coursed through Murtagh’s body. He had tried to escape, but Galbatorix was too strong. Now I can rest, at least until my next torture session, thought Murtagh. He heard the loud clank of the door opening, and he watched with horror as two soldiers walked into the room with a struggling Tarmunora between them. She kicked, punched, and bit the guards, but it was no use. They were stronger than she was. They shackled her to the wall nearest to Murtagh and left, the door closing with the same sound as it opened with.
“Murtagh! You look horrible!” said Ora.
“Nice to see you too, sis, “said Murtagh.
Tarmunora struggled against her chains, and, finding that her hands were still wet from the spilled water, slipped out of them. She rushed over to her brother and said,
“Thrysta!” The chains that held him broke, making a loud sound.
“Come, someone will have heard that,” she said to Murtagh, grabbing his unhurt wrist and helping him down from the table.
“You never cease to amaze me,” said Murtagh as they ran to the door. Ora unlocked it with a single word. They ran down the hallways of the King’s castle, searching for an escape route.
“Quick, in here,” whispered Murtagh to Ora, pulling her into an abandoned pantry. They closed the door and rested for a full 5 minutes, catching their breath. Ora broke the silence, exclaiming,
“You’re bleeding! Let me heal you.”
She placed her hands over his arm and murmured, “Waise heill!” She did this with all of his other wounds, too. After she had healed him, Murtagh spoke, a hint of sadness in his voice.
“Listen, Ora. It is time for you to go. The Vardin need you; the dragon inside the green egg needs you. You must go tonight. I can create an illusion so that Galbatorix won’t even notice the egg is gone for a few days. That gives you time to reach Helgrind, which is where Eragon and Roran are headed. Give the egg to Eragon. Eragon and Roran will need your help to kill the Ra’zacs. I love you, little sister.”
“And I love you, big brother, but how do I get the egg?”
“The King will be occupied torturing me for at least an hour tonight, and the throne room will be empty. That would be your chance.”
“No, I will not leave you to be tortured or have who knows what done to you! Eragon has been in the dark all of these years so as to me existing. He can survive a bit longer. The only reason I know the truth is because I found Mother’s note in her diary telling me all about it.
“Tarmunora, this cannot wait! You and I both know that Galbatorix will not kill me. Thorn and I are too valuable for him to dispose with either one of us. Besides, the Vardin need that egg!” said Murtagh, forcing a smile. “Now, you must go. It’s
Murtagh pulled a small drawstring purse from his pocket and placed it in her hand.
“Where did you get this?” she asked, praying that it wasn’t stolen.
“I have been saving it for you for years now. There are about forty gold crowns there, those are enough for your journey with some to spare. You must go. I will hide here until it is time. Take the passage.”
“Oh, Murtagh, how can I bear to leave you?” she sobbed, throwing her arms around her brother.
“You are much stronger than you think, Ora.”
“I love you, my brother, and may the stars watch over you.”
“I love you, too,” said Murtagh, a single tear rolling down his face before being swiftly wiped away. Tarmunora had never seen Murtagh cry, not even when he was little. She gathered her food and placed it inside a leather pouch that had been lying on the floor of the pantry, and then she pushed a shelf aside and crept into the secret passage that ran throughout the castle.
The passage was made of stone and was very moist, so there was a thick layer of slime on the walls. When she reached the door in the passage that led to her room, she opened it and climbed out. The door from the passage to her room was inside her wardrobe, where a small rectangle had been cut out to provide access to the room. She climbed out of her wardrobe and hurriedly grabbed a couple of blankets, her sword, Courage, and a necklace her mother had left for her. She stuffed all of this plus her clothing into the large leather pouch which held her food. There was still plenty of room for the egg.
While she waited for Murtagh to come out, she thought about her bond with Eragon. She couldn’t explain it, but she could feel what Eragon felt, whether it be emotions or physical pain. When his back had been cleaved open by Durza, She felt it. When he had been transformed at Agaeti Blodhren, or the blood-oath celebration, so had she. All of her scars vanished, and her ears grew slight points. She also gained extra speed, strength and wisdom. She also learned his lessons while he was being trained by Brom and Oromis. She had gained the ability to use magic during the transformation, and, in addition, had grown more beautiful. Why this happened, she knew not. It puzzled her that she felt his pain and he didn’t feel hers. He did not know of her existence, and Murtagh had promised Ora that he would not tell Eragon of her. She had made her edest brother promise this because she knew that Eragon would think it was a trick to throw him off or that Eragon would be distracted from his studies. She had imagined meeting him thousands of times, and now it was going to happen.
She heard an agonizing scream from her brother and knew it was time. Gathering up the leather pouch, she ran down the spiral staircase that separated the second floor from the first. She was forced to walk in the grand hallway because the King’s servants were walking to and fro doing their various chores. When she reached the door to the throne room, she put on her best girlish smile and cocked her head to the side. There were two soldiers guarding the door. They looked about 50 years old, give or take. She then said in a voice that was innocent and sweet,
“Greetings, loyal soldiers. I am Tarmunora. Would you be so kind as to let me inside the throne room? I left my favorite book in there, and I cannot live without it.
“Yes, Milady, but you must make it swift. The King will beat us if he finds out that we let you in at this hour,” said the first guard. The men stepped aside and opened the big double doors for her. She walked inside and they got back into their previous positions.
“The King certainly is wealthy,” thought Ora to herself as she gazed upon his solid gold throne inlayed with precious stones of all kinds. Next to the throne, on a white velvet cushion with silver trim, sat the egg. It was an emerald green color with veins of white running across it like many small rivers running over land. Timidly, she reached out, grabbed it, and gently placed in inside the pouch. She pulled a book out of the pouch and also a long black cloak that fastened together with a silver clasp in the shape of a dragon. She pulled the cloak on, leaving the hood down and carried the book in her hands. She knocked on the door to be let out of the throne room. The doors opened and there stood the guards.
“I found it,” said Ora, holding up the book. “Thank you for your kindness.”
“You are most welcome, Milady,” said the second guard.
Ora walked into the hallway. It was carpeted with rich red carpet, and on the walls hung numerous portraits of the King.
“Typical Galbatorix behavior,” she thought to herself, stifling a giggle. She turned left and found herself near the kitchen. She made her way among the maids who were cleaning up after the meal and exited the castle through the back door. Rain poured down from the heavens in great sheets, soaking Tarmunora within seconds. She reached the stable, saddled her coal black mare, Farah, mounted her, and galloped away in the night.
She rode non-stop for over four hours, then stopped to eat some bread and fruit, and then continued on. Like everything else she shared with Eragon, she also shared being a vegetarian with him. She was forced to slow to a walk because she could not risk overtiring Farah. After riding for two more hours, she stopped and made camp. The rain had stopped and the clouds had cleared, letting Tarmunora see a brilliantly starry night. She set up her blankets so that they made a reasonably soft bed, picketed Farah to a tree so she could graze, and flopped onto her makeshift bed to sleep. She didn’t dare to make a fire because the King’s soldiers would see the smoke and find her. Exhausted, she gladly let sleep take her.
3: Catching Up
Eragon and Roran soared above the Burning Plains of Alagaesia. The feeling of the wind on their faces was refreshing, but the odor of rotting bodies had risen with them. Roran had never flown before, so he was as delighted with the sensation as he was scared of falling.
“Hold tighter, Roran. Do you want to fall?” Eragon scolded his cousin playfully.
“Eragon, you know I don’t want to fall. It’s just . . . uncomfortable holding on to you like this,” Roran yelled above the noise of the wind.
“Don’t worry. Nobody’s going to laugh at you up here, Roran,” Eragon yelled back.
A chuckle exploded through Eragon and Roran’s minds at that moment.
“What?” Eragon thought, directing his thought to Saphira, but making it so Roran could hear.
“Nothing, except that it is funny to me that you humans think so much about what others think of you,” said Saphira.
“We do not,” screamed Roran above the wind, and to prove his point held Eragon’s waist a little tighter.
“Whatever you say, Roran,” thought Saphira in a teasing tone, “Whatever you say.”
Everyone was silent for a time, enjoying the beauty of the sky and the earth. Roran thought of Katrina in this time. Being around such beautiful things reminded him of her, because to him nothing held a candle to her beauty. He thought of her long, copper-colored hair, and how it felt as smooth as silk. He remembered when they had embraced after Sloan denied his daughter her inheritance. He thought of the way she smelled; like wildflowers with a hint of cinnamon. Roran could not wait to see her again.
Eragon thought of finally avenging Garrow by killing the Ra’zacs and their winged mounts. He had to defeat these villains and help rescue Katrina, for himself and for Roran.
Saphira thought about her future. Her race was dying, and unless the green egg hatched or Thorn was released from his bonds to Galbatorix, She would be the last female dragon in Alagaesia. She pondered this constantly, but would not allow Eragon to share her sorrow with her. “He has enough to deal with at the moment,” thought Saphira.
Eragon broke the silence by talking to Roran and Saphira with his mind.
“Come on Saphira; let’s show Roran how dragons fly!”
“With pleasure! Hold on!!” said Saphira, glad to do some real flying again.
Saphira flapped her wings harder, gaining speed. When they were going so fast that the scenery was a blur, Saphira folded her wings in and fell into a nosedive, just to open them again twenty feet from the ground. The graceful dragon the gained altitude and when they were at the height they had been at before the maneuver.
“Was that satisfactory, Roran?” Saphira said smugly.
“Satisfactory? Are you kidding? That was amazing! I would speak, but I haven’t caught my breath!” Roran thought.
“If you thought that was great, you should see her in aerial combat!” Eragon mentally said.
“No doubt I will someday,” said Roran, who had finally caught his breath. He couldn’t believe it! He was riding a dragon! This day was almost perfect; being with Eragon, riding Saphira, seeing Alagaesia from above. He was smiling for the first time since Katrina was captured. Things were getting better, Roran was sure of it. The sun was just beginning to set and the sky was filled with brilliant oranges, pinks, purples, and differing shades of blue and yellow. The sun was like an enormous yellow-orange ball suspended in the sky with invisible threads.
“Saphira, take us down for the night. I’m starting to get sleepy,” said Eragon. Before Saphira had a chance to answer, Roran interrupted,
“Can’t we just go on? I will wake you up if you fall asleep, and I want to rescue Katrina as soon as I can.
“I understand, Roran, but the Ra’zacs’ mounts come out after dark, and it is dangerous to fly then. We will come down and rest now, and tomorrow we will be refreshed and ready to kill the Ra’zacs,” said Saphira.
“Fine, fine, we’ll stop. I am a bit tired myself,” said Roran. He felt Saphira begin to descend and, finally, come to a landing on a dry, desert-like piece of land. Eragon dismounted and helped Roran down, and then they both worked on getting Saphira’s saddle off of her.
“Aaaahhhhh, that feels good, little ones.”
“I’m glad, Saphira,” said Eragon.
“As am I,” Roran chimed in.
“Now that that is settled, let us make a fire and start dinner,” said Eragon.
“I’ll get wood and matches, said Roran.
“Forget the tinderbox, just bring the wood,” said Eragon. Roran walked over to their bags and pulled out some fire wood. He also got some bread, vegetables, and for himself, some dried deer meat strips. The water skin came, too.
“What took you so long?” asked Eragon as he took the wood from Roran.
“I figured I would get the food out and save a trip. I also got the water.”
“Smart thinking, my man.” Eragon said.
“Just how do you plan on starting a fire without matches?”
“Watch and learn, Roran,” said Eragon, laughing at his cousin’s forgetfulness on his ability to use magic. “Brisingr,” said Eragon, watching as a blue flame began to burn the wood.
“Oh, I’d forgotten your abilities,” said Roran. Once they had gotten the fire going, Eragon roasted his vegetables, toasted his bread, and then began eating. Roran ate his dried meat, as well as some vegetables and bread. After dinner, the boys decided to spar for old times’ sake. Eragon used the protected edge of Valiant, and Roran used a blade he had gotten from Hoarst in Carvahall, also protected by Eragon’s magic. They stood facing each other and bowed, then started sparring. The sound of Valiant and Roran’s blade clashing together was heard for about five minutes before Eragon had his blade on Roran’s throat and said,
“Dead.”
“Best out of three wins,” said Roran, determined not to be beaten by a younger man. His determination was useless. Eragon beat him easily.
“Can’t win them all, can you?” said Roran, who was lying on his bedroll, out of breath.
“No, you can’t, but I’ve been training with an elf for months and you haven’t,” said Eragon. He did not say this to be smug, only to make Roran feel better.
“True. By the way, tell me about this elf,” said Roran, his curiosity getting the better of him. So Eragon told Roran all about Vanir and Oromis, and about Ellesmera and its inhabitants. This interested Roran very much and he thought to himself, “Katrina would love it there,”
“Roran, can you hear me?” said Eragon, who knew that when Roran had a dreamy expression on his face he was probably thinking of Katrina.
“What? Oh, yes, I’m here. Let’s get some rest. We have a big day tomorrow.”
“You’re probably right. Good night Roran.
“Good night, Eragon.”
“Sleep well, little ones.”
4: Vindr
Tarmunora awoke to the sound of hoof-beats. It was still dark outside, but there was a hint of gray on the horizon, suggesting that the sun would soon be up. She knew that the King was probably not after her yet, because the egg was still safe in his castle, as far as he knew. She had to resist the urge to panic as she rolled up her bedding and saddled Farah. Before she mounted her mare, she stole a quick look inside the leather pouch.
“Good, you’re still here,” Ora thought to the egg. The veins of white that ran across the egg shone in the early morning light. She knew that she would have to eat breakfast on the run, and pulled a hunk of bread from the loaf. She mounted Farah and they galloped away. As she rode, she took bites from her bread. Ora knew that she would have to travel the fastest she could and rest for only a few hours each night so that she might reach Helgrind the same time that Eragon, Roran, and Saphira did. Thu-thump, thu-thump, thu-thump. The constant noise of Farah’s hooves on the dirt path kept Ora awake. The sun was finally rising, casting a rich, rosy glow over the whole land. If you could call it land, that is. It was more like packed dirt with a stray weed here and there. At
This continued until the section became bigger and bigger, and then with a final Crack the egg burst and a baby dragon emerged. It was the same shade of green as its egg had been, and about the size of a medium dog. He, as Ora had found out, was beautiful. Tarmunora, who had been with Murtagh when Thorn hatched for him, braced herself and reached out to touch the dragon. A searing pain erupted through her right arm, spreading throughout her entire body. She writhed on the ground in pain, then as suddenly as the pain had come, it was gone. Ora glanced at her right palm and, as expected, there was a silver mark. “The Gedwey Ignasia,” thought Ora. “Me? A Rider? I guess it runs in the family.”
At that moment Tarmunora felt an overwhelming since of hunger. She was not hungry, but her dragon was. Since she knew all that Eragon knew, she already could speak with animals.
“I’m sorry, I don’t have any meat” said Ora to her dragon.
She soon found out that it wouldn’t be a problem. While she was looking through her bags for something to sustain the hatchling, she heard a squeal. Tarmunora turned around to find her dragon gobbling up the remains of a groundhog.
“Well, I guess you have to eat meat, even though it disgusts me. At least I don’t have to buy your food,” thought Ora, relieved. “I cannot keep calling you ‘my dragon’; we need to think of a name for you. How about
In response the small green dragon hummed deeply. A feeling of satisfaction washed over Ora from the mental link they shared.
“Vindr it is,” said Ora.
Suddenly, Ora thought of how long they had been sitting still.
“We have to move on, but how am I going to get you to ride Farah?” thought Tarmunora, wondering how on earth she was going to move on. Then she had a brilliant idea. She carefully unrolled her bedroll and placed the things that had been in the leather pouch onto the bedroll and rolled it up. Then, she picked Vindr up and placed him in the pouch. The pouch had two straps which she slipped her arms through, keeping the pouch in front of her. That way, Ora could ride and still watch Vindr.
With that settled she again mounted Farah and took of at a full gallop towards Helgrind.
They kept their pace for a full two hours, and then slowed to a walk for two more hours. This way, she did not ware Farah out and yet they were going at a reasonable pace.
They did this cycle two times and then stopped for the night. If all went well Ora would arrive the next evening at Helgrind. Ora fell asleep with Vindr curled up in the crook of her right arm. That night she has a strange dream, but it was so real it did not seem like a dream.
She was walking through a field of wheat. Thunderheads stirred above her, threatening to release a torrent of rain. Ora looked to the sky and there were three dragons, red, blue, and green. The dragons carried one Rider each, and all of them were laughing. Suddenly, a black dragon swooped down from above, carrying a Rider who was garbed in black. A laugh escaped from the black Rider’s lips. It was smooth, icy, and reminded Ora of a snake. The Rider was Galbatorix. He and his dragon came up beside the blue dragon, stabbing its Rider through the heart. The red and green Riders both screamed in anger and hatred for the man who had murdered their friend. Another dragon appeared on the horizon. This one was white. It carried a blonde Elvin Rider, whose long hair streamed in the wind. He joined the black Rider and together, they killed the other two Riders. The fallen dragons and Riders had fallen right in front of Ora. She rushed to the blue Rider and took off his helmet. “Eragon!” screamed Ora, staring into the unseeing eyes of her dead brother. She moved to the red Rider. When she removed his helm she found herself looking at her eldest brother, Murtagh. At last she reached the green Rider, and when she had taken off the helmet, she saw herself. Her face was splattered with blood and her green eyes were open.
At that point Tarmunora woke. She was covered in sweat and breathing heavily. She had to stop herself from screaming. Vindr was sitting on her belly, growling.
Ora sent a message to Vindr with her mind, telling him that she was okay. She lay awake for an hour before finally dropping back of to a blissfully dreamless sleep.
5: Flying
It was early morning when Roran awoke. The sun was rising, making a beautiful display of colors. Unlike the sunset he’d seen the night before, the sunrise was filled with colder colors: greens, blues, grays, and plums, while yesterday’s sunset showed pinks, oranges, reds, and golden hues of yellow. It was breathtaking. Roran watched as Eragon slept, covered with one of Saphira’s wings. Everything was completely silent, save for the gentle sound of Eragon and Saphira’s measured breaths.
He sat and watched; thinking of how much Eragon had changed since they said good-bye in Carvahall. His ears had grown points, and he seamed almost beautiful, but not enough to be an elf. Too fair to look human, and too rugged to look elfish, Eragon was a cross of two races. His hair was the same as before; shorter than Murtagh’s, but longer than a buzz cut. It was a dark blonde, as was Roran’s. His eyes were a deep, cool blue, unlike Roran’s chocolate brown ones. All of Eragon’s scars had vanished, only to have more inflicted on him at the battle on the Burning Plains. Roran found it hard to believe that this boy was the son of Morzan, first and last of the Forsworn. Roran shook the thought away. Eragon was as much Garrow’s son as he was. They were, as Eragon had once said,
“Brothers in all but blood.”
At that moment Eragon awakened, his eyes slowly opening. Shocked by the light, they quickly closed.
“Just a few more minutes,” mumbled Eragon, obviously not fully awake. At the sound, Saphira awoke, opening her great blue eyes as well. She did not close them again, though, because a dragon’s eyesight is far better than a human’s.
“Good morning, Roran. Rise and shine, little one,” said Saphira, gently nudging Eragon with her snout.
“I’m up, I’m up,” said Eragon, sitting up.
“Let’s have some breakfast and be on our way, Eragon. I want to reach Helgrind tomorrow morning,” said Roran.
“Aren’t we optimistic? It will take us at least until tomorrow evening to get there, Roran.”
Roran didn’t reply but tore a loaf of bread in two and tossed one half to Eragon. They ate in silence for about ten minutes, and then Roran asked,
“Saphira, why don’t you eat when Eragon and I do?”
“Dragons don’t need to. We hunt about once every few days and that sustains us.”
“Oh.”
After they had finished their meal, Roran and Eragon saddled Saphira and Eragon helped Roran up, and then he climbed up in front of him. This time, Roran hung tight to Eragon’s waist when they were taking off. Roran looked down at the ground below them and tightened his grip.
“I need to breathe too, Roran,” said Eragon, reminding his cousin of his need for oxygen.
“Sorry, I am just not used to flying yet, Eragon.”
“That is understandable, Roran. It won’t seem so strange when you have been doing it for longer.”
“I hope so, Saphira,” said Roran.
“So, Roran, how are the villagers from Carvahall?” asked Eragon, eager to hear about his hometown.
“They are well, that is, those who survived.” A shadow passed over the face of the man who was known as Stronghammer to the villagers. “Birgit plans to exact her revenge on me as soon as I return from killing the Ra’zacs.”
A chuckle escaped Eragon. Somehow he could not imagine Birgit exacting her revenge upon anyone.
“What?”
“Oh, it’s nothing,” lied Eragon.
“Yea, right,” said Roran.
They flew on for some time without talking until Roran broke the silence.
“I heard some of the men whispering the other day while you were getting the food. They talked of you being able to read minds. Is it true?”
“I wouldn’t call it that, but in some cases, yes. You know how I talk to Saphira with my mind? Well, it’s possible to establish a connection with humans or other animals and not speak, but be able to hear their thoughts. Not that this helps me, or anything. The people that it would be useful to use it on know how to guard their minds against other consciousnesses.”
“Really? Try me. I’ll think of something, and you tell me what it is.”
“Yes, really. Tell me when you think of something,” said Eragon, amused by his cousin’s curiosity.
“I’ve got it, Eragon,” said Roran, thinking, “Fluffy bunnies, fluffy bunnies, and fluffy bunnies.”
“Why, Roran, you are so manly. It takes a true man to think of fluffy bunnies. Try something else,” said Eragon.
“You are good. I have another one.”
This continued all morning, until Roran asked a question.
“Eragon, how do I guard my mind against intruders?”
“You concentrate on something. If you think only of one of Sapira’s scales, that is what the enemy will see. Go on, try it, Roran.”
They practiced this all afternoon and into the evening, until they stopped for the night. It was just like it had been the other night: They unsaddled Saphira, built a fire, and sparred. Eragon won again, but Roran lasted five minutes longer than he had before. They ate dinner, talked for a half an hour, and then went to sleep. Saphira was the only one who had trouble sleeping. She was nervous about the upcoming encounter with the Ra’zacs. The last time that they had met, Brom was killed and Eragon was hurt. She hadn’t been able to protect her Rider. After an hour of such thoughts, she finally dropped off to a restless sleep.
6: Murtagh
Murtagh was chained to the wall that faced the door of the dark, dank dungeon in Galbatorix’s palace. It was cold and wet and he shivered violently. He had expected to be taken back to the dungeon after he turned himself in, but he had not expected the torture to be so bad. After he had told the so called “King” that he would take his own life with a single word, taking Thorn with him, Galbatorix had tortured him for two hours. Those hours had been the longest hours of Murtagh’s life. First he had been chained to the wall, this time facing the wall. Then they had removed his shirt and whipped him with a whip that had sharp glass tied to the tassels. The glass had been dunked in seithr oil first to insure optimum pain. Each lash caused him unspeakable pain, and then the wounds burned from the oil. This had taken up a half an hour of his “quality time” with the evil snake. After that he was turned around so that he was facing the door. There were shackles on his wrists and ankles, but he had not been gagged. Galbatorix had explained that this was because he enjoyed hearing the painful screams of his victims. The next hour and a half had been spent using various torture techniques that are too horrible to write down.
It had now been two full days since Ora had left, and Galbatorix had yet to find out that the egg was missing. Tarmunora was not valuable enough to waste time and money searching for, in his twisted mind. Instead, he took his anger out on Murtagh. No matter what Galbatorix did, nothing could make Murtagh talk. He had starved the boy, and only allowed small sips of water to keep him alive. The dungeon was an invention of Galbatorix’s, and it kept Thorn from talking to Murtagh, and visa versa. That was the worst thing that he could do to the boy. Murtagh was thinking about this when the door opened with the usual clank and closed with the same sound. Murtagh turned his face away from the light that the figure who had entered carried. The person who came through the door was not the King, much to Murtagh’s relief. He or she wore a long, black robe and carried an oil lantern. The figure took a set of keys from the inside of their cloak and freed Murtagh from his chains.
“Who are you?” asked Murtagh, wondering if this was another of Galbatorix’s evil plans.
The figure pulled back her hood and shook down her long, dark blonde hair. There, in the darkest dungeon of the evil King’s castle, stood Selena.NOTE TO READERS:I WAS LATE POSTING TODAY, SO YOU GET AN EXTRA CHAPTER AS A CONSOLATION PRIZE! YAY!
7: A Mother’s Love
“Mother? It can’t be! I went to your funeral. You are dead, I must be dreaming.”
“I went to my funeral, too. It didn’t do me justice. This isn’t a dream. I’m real. Now, come, Thorn is waiting.”
After she said that, Selena grabbed Murtagh’s hand and pulled him up, since he had collapsed to the floor when his chains had been removed. She kept hold of his hand and pulled him swiftly through the castle. It was dark, and they could only see by the torches that were hung every six feet on each wall. They took a turn which led to the main hallway of the castle. Breathlessly, mother and son reached the main door of the castle. There were two guards on the night watch, but both of them lay on the floor, their snoring quite audible in the otherwise quiet castle.
“A charmed sleep,” thought Murtagh as they went through the double doors. Outside, it was exceptionally cold for an August night; Selena guessed that it was about forty degrees outside the castle. They walked to a sort of stable, but this barn held no horses or cows; it was the dragon hold where Shruikan and Thorn were housed.
Selena lead the way, once more pulling out her set of keys and unlocking the human-sized door that stood next to a dragon-sized one. They climbed the spiral staircase that led to the mighty beasts. Up, up, up it went, never seeming to end. Murtagh’s back pained him, but he pressed on, eager to get to his beloved dragon. He knew that Thorn could give him the strength to heal himself when he got there.
Finally, they reached the top of the stairs. It was dark in the dragon hold, and Murtagh could just make out two dragon-like shapes. Torches hung on the walls here as well, but they had not been light that night.
“Brisngr,” murmured Selena, a purple flame springing to life on one of the torches. The light revealed Thorn and Shruikan, each lying down on a dragon-sized mattress. Thorn was saddled, and carried perhaps a week’s provisions, as well as bedding.
“Are you ready, Murtagh? And you, My Lady?” said Thorn, eager to leave the wretched place behind them.
“I wish you a safe journey, young hatchling. I wish I could join you, but . . . we all know that can’t happen. Galbatorix knows that I hate him, so he cast a spell to prevent me from leaving here unless he is riding me,” said the black dragon, a look of sadness in his great, red eyes.
“I am sorry that it has to be this way, my old friend. You have helped me through many hardships. I wish you could come,” said Murtagh, disappointed that Shruikan could not accompany them.
“It is just as well, the three of you will have less chance of getting caught without me.”
“I know, but you have been my companion, my friend. You taught me everything I know,” said Thorn, regretful to leave his master.
“We must go. Shruikan, I am sorry,” said Selena regretfully.
“Go now, I understand,” said the noble dragon.
“What about the king? He knows our true names. We can’t disobey him,” thought Murtagh to his mother.
“No, he does not know your true names. He only thinks he does. I sent him a message as an elf, telling him that your true name was Vrangr Zar’roc, or Wandering Misery, and that Thorn’s was Vollar Skulblaka, or Burning Dragon. It was not right. If Galbatorix had studied longer with a master he would have known that nobody has those names that live. There is a myth that a dragon and Rider by that name can bring about the destruction of all who appose them. He thinks you are the legendary team,” said Selena in a matter-of-fact manner.
“Mother, you are a genius,” said Murtagh to Selena.
“Enough talk, we must fly,” Selena said aloud.
“Hadn’t someone better see to Murtagh’s wounds? He can’t ride like this,” Thorn pointed out.
“Waise heill!” murmured Selena, placing her hand over his wounds.
Murtagh’s flesh started to knit itself back together. The gashes on his back and shoulders began to close and come together, leaving no trace of the King’s torture, not even a scar.
“Shall we?” said Murtagh, taking Selena’s hand and helping her up onto Thorn. He then hoisted into the saddle in front of Selena. She put her arms around his waist, and with a final farewell to the black dragon, they took off into the cold, starless sky that surrounded Galbatorix’s castle.
8: Arrival
Tarmunora awoke the morning after her dream. She vividly remembered it. Ora could not get the lifeless faces of herself and her brothers out of her head. She kept seeing Eragon and Murtagh lying on the ground, pools of blood rapidly widening around them. “It’s just a dream,” Ora told herself, trying to get the horrible images out of her head. She felt Vindr try to calm her down through the mental link that they shared. She replied with a feeling of gratitude. The small green dragon was too young to speak in understandable words, but he understood her feelings more than she did. To keep her mind off of her terrible nightmare, Ora began to break camp. First she rolled up the gray wool blankets that served as her bed, then she pulled an apple and a hunk of bread from her pouch before loading everything but Vindr into it. Tarmunora sat and watched the sun rise with a glorious array of grays, blues, plums, and greens. It amazed her that one Creator put everything into place. One thing she did not share with Eragon was the elves’ belief that there was no God. She knew the truth; that He had set the sun, the moon, and the stars into their perfect motions. It felt so good to know that she was never alone, that she always had a friend who was watching her from above. Suddenly, she realized that the sun was nearly up and her breakfast was gone. She had to get moving if she wished to reach Helgrind by the time the sun set. Ora put Vindr in the leather pouch and mounted Farah. Well rested after a full night’s rest, Farah was eager to gallop. Ora had always loved riding. She was addicted to the thumpety- thump of her mare’s hooves hitting the hot, dusty ground. Farah’s long, onyx mane streamed behind her; a result of both the warm wind that blew towards them and the sheer speed at which they were propelling themselves forward. The beautiful horse’s flanks glistened with the sweat that poured down them. Ora slowed Farah to a trot because it wouldn’t do to tire her out this close to their destination. As they made their way along the dry, dusty landscape, Ora assessed her skills.
“I’m good with a blade, and as for archery my aim is impeccable,” thought Tarmunora. The last time she and Murtagh had participated in an archery contest, she had split his arrow in two. “But,” she thought, “There’s always room for improvement”
Hopefully, she would go with Eragon to finish his training with the elves after she helped to slay the Ra’zacs. The very thought of those creatures caused a mixture of anger, hatred, and disgust to course through her body. Across the mental link that Ora and Vindr shared, Tarmunora felt a feeling of curiosity from the emerald dragon. Anger and hate were emotions that he had never gotten from her before. She knew that no matter how she tried, she couldn’t describe the feelings to her dragon in words, but she might be able to explain using telepathy. Ora sent a picture of the Ra’zacs to Vindr, trying to show him who it was that she was mad at. Apparently, the young hatchling’s questions had been answered, because the wondering on his part ceased.
“I can’t believe a dragon hatched for me. Why me? Why would something as majestic as a dragon choose me?” wondered Ora. She was an abandoned child. Her father, Morzan, had been evil, and as a result of this was killed by a good man. On, how she wished that her mother was alive. Even though she didn’t remember her mother, she had seen portraits of her. She was beautiful, and Ora looked very much like her. Even when she knew she was going to die, she had made arrangements for her diary to be found and had left a beautiful silver pendent with a polished emerald in the middle. The silver was made into the shape of two dragons with onyx eyes. The dragons seemed to be staring at one another. Ora had found out that the necklace had been made in the Elvin city of
While Ora had been pondering her life, Farah had resumed galloping. The day had been passing faster than expected, and the sun was high in the sky. On the horizon, the girl could just make out the four towering peaks of Helgrind. They stood like four inverted stakes made of reddish-brown rock. A shiver went up Ora’s spine. She had heard that the religion of the local people was worshiping the great peaks, and that they often cut body parts off of their bodies in sacrifice to them.
“Cutting off fingers and toes for a rock seems a little extreme, but they are entitled to their opinions,” thought Ora. She knew to keep her thoughts to herself, though, because if she spoke her mind she could end up loosing a hand in “penance” to Helgrind for her disrespect.
Tarmunora felt her mind begin to wander. She was starting to think about how she would introduce herself to Eragon.
“I can’t tell him in the middle of battle or before, because it will rattle his concentration. I guess I will introduce myself as a fellow dragon Rider to begin with, and then tell him the rest afterwards.”
Tarmunora found that she had started to perspire. She had waited for over ten years for the moment that was rapidly approaching, and she didn’t wasn’t to mess it up with one stupid mistake. Ora didn’t want to lie to Eragon; Murtagh had already found out how well that worked out, but that didn’t mean that she had to tell the entire truth right away.
“I will tell him right after we defeat the Ra’zacs. He’ll understand why I didn’t tell him before,” thought the girl to herself. Suddenly, she became aware of the angry growling sound her stomach was making. She made Farah come to a halt and dismounted. It would not be good to faint while engaged in combat with someone with twice the speed and strength as her. Tarmunora hunted around in her pouch until she found an apple, a small loaf of bread, and her water skin. She drank thirstily from her water supply. The desert heat was blistering and she was parched. The apple was green, crunchy, and juicy. It tasted especially good because it had a cooling effect that the juice possessed. The bread was a couple of days old, so it was beginning to get crusty. Vindr, meanwhile, was finishing a tasty groundhog. The sight of the little tail disappearing into the hungry mouth of her dragon repulsed Ora, but she didn’t have a problem with Vindr eating meat. Since Eragon had made his decision she refused to eat it anymore. She used the leather pouch because there was nothing that she could do to save the animal it had come from, and she had needed something to carry her things in.
Farah had found a patch of tough grass and was contently grazing. As soon as the mare was finished, Ora re-mounted her with Vindr in the pouch. I was now mid-afternoon and a golden glow was cast on the cracked earth and everything on it. Tarmunora knew that she would have to make Farah gallop if they were to reach Helgrind in time to help Eragon and Roran.
“How am I going to get to the top of Helgrind? Vindr is defiantly not big enough; he is only six inches above my knee when he stands up. He won’t be able to carry a Rider for a month or so. I guess I will have to use magic to fly.” Ora was deep within her own thoughts and was startled by the sound of wings beating through the sky. She immediately looked up for fear that it was Galbatorix and Shruikan. Much to her relief the wings she’d heard belonged to a sapphire dragon.
“Saphira,” thought Ora.
She was in awe of the mighty beast that soared in circles above Helgrind. In the middle of the four peaks there was a flat place that was just the right size for a dragon to land on. Ora waved her arms and shouted, trying to get the Roran and Eragon’s attention. She knew that the flat place was an illusion and that it was the entrance to the Ra’zacs’ lair. She reached out with her mind to Roran, expecting his mind to be unguarded, and was surprised to see only the fabric of Eragon’s shirt.
“Barzul,” thought Ora, “Eragon has taught him to shield his mind.”
Try as she might, Eragon’s twin could not dig her way into Roran’s mind. Both of the men who rode the dragon did not take notice of Ora; they were too busy plotting how they were going to get inside Helgrind. Saphira was beginning to descend. She was coming closer and closer to the rocky plain that did not exist, her circles becoming smaller and smaller. If she tried to touch down, she would fall right through the King’s illusion and into the center of the Ra’zacs’ lair.
“Stop!” Desperately Ora shouted with her mind as the sparkling sapphire dragon’s front legs disappeared into the dark cavern where the King’s monsters resided.
Okay, sorry Olly for the cliff hanger, I just couldn't resist. This is Eragon, Saphira, and Roran's point of view as they arrive at Helgrind. This is a pretty big chapter, it took me three hours to write. I will post another chapter tomorrow if I can, so you won't be kept hanging for long, I promise. Please keep reading and commenting!
9: Entrance
It was sunrise, and Roran was again dazzled by the iridescent colors that filled the sky. Today, though, he did not hesitate in waking his brother up. Roran had made the decision to call Eragon his brother that morning before he had gotten off of his pile of blankets. Eragon and he had played together, worked together, and done everything together since Roran could remember. They had been as close as any pair of brothers could be, and Roran had made peace with Eragon’s part in Garrow’s death.
“Eragon, get up. We have to leave soon if we want to get there by late afternoon or early evening. The more time you waste snoozing is more time Katrina’s in those creatures’ clutches.”
Eragon sat up, a lot more alert than he had been the morning before. His eyes were wide open, and he looked like he had the energy of a five year old.
“Why are you so alert? When I wake up I’m usually groggy. Didn’t you used to be a heavy sleeper?” Roran asked, wondering how Eragon could be sleepy one morning and all too excited the next.
“Since I was transformed, I don’t need sleep. A trance-like state replaces it. Because I am not completely Elvin, I am in a deeper trance than most elves. I need to be more alert.” Eragon explained.
“That explains it,” said Roran. Eragon never ceased to amaze him. First, becoming a dragon Rider, then killing a Shade, and finally, being changed by the elves. Roran thought about how much the two farm boys’ lives had changed in the past eighteen months. Their world had been confined to Carvahall, the Spine, and occasionally a visit to other small villages. The highlight of their year used to be when the traders came to Carvahall. Now, that life seemed like a distant memory to the two boys.
“Well, we best not tarry, Shadeslayer. Here, Eragon,” said Roran, handing his younger cousin a piece of fruit and a hunk of bread. Roran couldn’t see how Eragon could live without meat. He knew he couldn’t. He bit into his bread and fruit. On this trip he had decided that he would eat what Eragon ate. He wanted to get to know the new Eragon. The blue eyed boy had changed a lot, and not just in body. He was more mature and serious, and Roran hardly knew him from the happy kid that he had lived with on the farm.
When the two boys finished their breakfast, they broke camp. Eragon began to saddle Saphira and pack the blankets and food. Roran doused the remnants of the fire and then helped Eragon with the saddle. When they had finished, they mounted Saphira.
“How did you sleep, Roran?” Saphira asked.
“I slept better than I have in a long time. How about you, Saphira,” answered Roran.
“I slept well, Roran. We are almost there. If all goes well, we will have rescued Katrina and be moving back to Surda by tomorrow at sunrise.”
“If all goes well. . .” Roran thought to Eragon and Saphira.
“It will, my brother. Soon we will have avenged our father,” Eragon said, turning to look at Roran. At that moment Saphira took off, leaving the dry, cracked desert ground far below them.
“You could have given me a little warning before you took off, Saphira,” Eragon teased.
“Shall I warn you every time I take a breath?” the dragon teased back.
After this they flew on in silence for five minutes, appreciating the view of the land from above. The
“Great,” Roran thought sarcastically to himself. “That’s just perfect. Rain is all we need.”
At that moment Eragon noticed the enormous thunderhead. The same thought crossed his mind that had crossed Roran’s.
“It’ll be fine, Roran. We will be sheltered by the inside of Helgrind before the rain starts.”
“I hope you’re right, Eragon,” thought Roran, “I hope you’re right.”
“What exactly is your plan for entering this massive rock formation?”
“She’s got a good point, Eragon. How are we going to get into the Ra’zacs’ lair?”
“I can reach out with my mind and feel the space that is empty and, besides, the Ra’zacs have flying mounts, so they probably enter from the top. All we have to do is find the entrance, kill them, and rescue Katrina.”
“You make it sound so easy, Eragon, but this is a trap. We already know that. Why else would they take her?”
“Then the best thing to do is fall directly into their trap. They will not underestimate you again, so they will expect you to find another clever way in. If you do what they don’t expect, we’ll have the element of surprise.” Saphira’s gentle voice reverberated through Eragon and Roran’s heads.
“We have no idea what Galbatorix’s plans are. We will just have to use the entrance and hope for the best.” Eragon mentally stated.
“Hope for the best? This is my betrothed’s life we are talking about!”
“Roran, that’s not what Eragon meant. He meant that we will have to wait and see. We have no more control over the situation than you do.”
“I guess you’re right, Saphira.”
“Trust us, Roran. We will do anything and everything we can to rescue her.”
“I trust you, I’m just worried.”
“You have a right to be, but do not let it distract you. You are no good to Katrina dead,” Saphira said sensibly.
“That’s true,” Roran said, making his thought audible to both Saphira and Eragon.
Since their course of action was decided, the rest of the afternoon was passed enjoying the flight, with occasional small talk to liven things up. Suddenly, a thought occurred to Roran. Eragon had been gone for so long that Roran wouldn’t know if his younger cousin had a girlfriend or not. He knew it was kind of rude to ask, but his curiosity was overpowering. Finally, Roran gave in and asked the question,
“Eragon, are you courting someone?”
Eragon seemed to prickle at the remark. His cheeks began to turn a nice shade of crimson and there was fire behind his eyes.
“I’d hoped to be, but it didn’t work out,” Eragon used telepathy to talk. There was an edge to his voice that was sharper than his new blade. Roran took the hint and dropped the subject, knowing that the wound in Eragon’s heart was still fresh. He wondered to himself who his little cousin was in love with. Was she a human, a dwarf, or an elf? He had seen many elves at the Burning Plains, but the one Eragon had looked at was called Arya, if he remembered correctly. She was an Elvin princess, and her beauty was stunning to most men, but the place in Roran’s heart was filled. The princess had treated the young Rider in a cool, almost cold, manner. She had been civil, but that was the extent of her hospitality towards Eragon and Roran. Roran was deep within his thoughts and didn’t notice that it was getting later. It was mid-afternoon, and the sun had cast a warm, golden glow over everything in sight. A growling noise brought Roran back to reality. It was his stomach. He had not eaten in over six hours and was famished. Eragon reached into a bag that was fastened to the saddle on his right side and pulled out bread, cheese, and a small flask of wine. He was able to carry food with both hands because he had a tight grip with his muscular legs.
They ate in silence for a few minutes, and then Roran broke the quiet by asking a question (this was becoming a habit).
“Eragon, this wine is excellent, but I don’t want to be drunk when I rescue Katrina.”
“You won’t be. The elves squeeze the juice from the grapes that grow wild in Ellesmera. They don’t believe in intoxication, so they use spells to remove the alcohol and keep the flavor.” Eragon said, amused that his cousin thought that he would really get him drunk before a battle.
“The elves are truly wonderful people, Eragon.”
“I agree. They are complex, but wonderful.” Eragon replied. There was a sort of softness in his voice that let Roran know that he had been right about the elf.
Knowing about the wine, Roran was able to enjoy it more. It had a delicious flavor that was sweet and cool, and it reminded Roran of the taste of the grapes from whence it came, but it was far better than any grapes that the young man had tasted. Eragon was used to the wine, but it never seemed to get old. The cheese was just plain, salty and yellow. The bread was oat bread from the Vardin’s kitchens. It had a slight honey flavor and was moist. Eragon had wrapped it in a damp piece of cloth to keep it so, and it had worked.
They continued to travel, an occasional conversation erupting. Eragon was so glad to be with Roran again. He had missed his cousin terribly while they had been separated, and it was great to know that Roran accepted him. There had been a tiny section of Eragon’s mind that was worried that the older boy wouldn’t accept his Elvin form and his status as a Rider. That section had been silenced as soon as they had talked after the Burning Plains battle.
While Eragon and Roran ate and thought to themselves, Saphira had kept to herself. She had been lost in her own thoughts. Saphira was overjoyed to see Eragon and Roran together again at last. She had known that Eragon had felt guilty about Garrow’s death and about leaving Roran to bury their father alone. He hadn’t imagined that the Ra’zacs would come to Carvahall and take Katrina. It had been her pain as well to see her Rider suffer. Roran was a noble young man and Saphira had immediately liked him. Part of that was due to the fact that he had smashed the twins’ heads in with his hammer, and the other part was for Eragon’s sake. Of course, she would have liked him even if he hadn’t been Eragon’s nest mate because he was a good man. She also was mourning that Thorn was imprisoned by the King, and the other egg might never hatch. Her race was dieing, and she could do nothing about it. Would she ever find a mate?
Saphira was absorbed in these thoughts and flew automatically towards Helgrind, only aware of the sky. The big thundercloud was directly above Helgrind. It was about to let loose a torrent of rain. She didn’t even look down, because she knew she would just see more desert.
“Saphira, land on that flat place on top of Helgrind,” ordered Eragon. They were so close to getting their revenge, to rescuing Katrina.
“Yes, little one,” replied Saphira, circling the mountain. She began to descend, preparing to land.
“Here we go,” said Roran, taking a deep breath. He would rescue Katrina in a matter of minutes. He gripped Eragon’s waste tighter to prevent falling off of the sapphire dragon.
“Here we go,” Eragon and Saphira thought together.
The dragon was twenty feet above the rock face and getting closer. Saphira prepared for the feeling of warm rock on her claws.
Suddenly, Roran felt a presence in his mind. Quickly, he concentrated on the back of Eragon’s shirt to block the presence. It stopped, seeming annoyed and angry.
They were now ten feet from landing. Eragon prepared for the jolt of landing. It never came. Instead, Saphira’s front legs began to sink through the rock.
“Stop!” A voice inside Eragon, Roran, and Saphira’s heads yelled as they fell into complete darkness.
Okay, Everyone. This is a really long chapter, and a really good one, I think. Please Enjoy and comment. I really hope you like it, because it took me all day to write, and I had sereious writer's block. I am only 12, remember that, and this is my very first fan fic.
Chapter 10: Justice
Eragon was engulfed in complete darkness. Even with his keen Elvin eyesight, he couldn’t see a thing.
“Is anyone there?” Eragon mentally asked, searching for the consciousnesses of his dragon and cousin. The rock face had been an illusion, and they had fallen through it. Fortunately, there was only a ten foot fall from the “rock face” to the flat, moss-covered rock that they had landed on.
Eragon knew immediately that the stone ground that he had landed on was covered in moss, because it felt soft and sponge-like. He was extremely grateful for the moss, because it had cushioned his fall.
“Is that you, Eragon,” answered the mental voice of Roran. He too was glad of the wet mire that he had landed on. He sat up and stretched his arms in front of him, feeling for a wall. His fingertips felt cool, hard rock that was covered with slime. Roran scooted over so that he could rest his back against it.
“I am here, little one. Is anyone hurt?” A note of concern was audible in Saphira’s gentle voice.
“I’m fine, Saphira. What about you, Roran?”
“I will be, once we rescue Katrina.”
“Then let us go and find her,” thought Eragon. He too had found a wall and began pulling himself to his feet. When he was standing, he took a breath and whispered,
“Bjart brisingr!” a bright blue light appeared above his now visible palm. He looked around, getting a feel of his surroundings. They were in a round room. There was a path to his left that led away from the room that he stood in. Roran was to Eragon’s right, leaned against the wall that Eragon’s back was to, and Saphira was to Roran’s left, her large head facing Eragon. The blue light from the young Rider’s palm cast a bright blue light on Roran’s face, showing the look of determination he wore.
“We should speak with our minds in here; he don’t want to alert the Ra’zacs of our coming before we have to,” Eragon told Roran.
“I agree, but don’t you think they probably heard us fall? We need to find Katrina now, or the Ra’zacs may try to take her some place else.”
“Good point, Roran. Let’s go,” said Eragon, giving Roran his non-flaming hand. Roran took it and stood up. The roof of the cavern was high, almost twelve feet in the place they were in. Eragon led the way to the doorway on the left, his palm glowing brightly. By the blue flame Eragon could see that the tunnel that they had entered was just as dark and dank as the room before it. Water dripped from the roof onto his head, and it did the same to the others.
As they made their way through the twists and turns of the tunnel, each member of the party was ready for an attack. Roran gripped his hammer with his right hand, and his left rested on his sword hilt. Eragon wore the belt of Beloeth the Wise, which held Valiant in its sheath. Saphira’s teeth were bared, and her razor claws gleamed in the light that Eragon provided. Quickly and silently, they crept through the tunnel. It seemed that the dark, damp passage went on for eternity, but in reality it was only minutes. When they were beginning to think that they would never reach the end of the tunnel, they saw a faint light to the front of them. The faint yellow light became brighter and brighter as the party moved closer and closer to the end of the path.
Finally, they emerged into a large, square room that had been cut into the rock. Now it was apparent that this place inside Helgrind had been made especially for the Ra’zacs. A candle burned dimly on a shelf that had been cut into the rock. That was the light that they had seen. The candle only lit about half of the room; the other half of the room remained dark. Roran stepped forward and grabbed the candle by its silver holder. He held it out in front of him, searching for his love. Since they now had a way to see without Eragon using magic, the Rider severed the hold he had on the magic and let the light he provided go out. The cave was silent as they walked farther into the big room. As soon as Roran had taken five steps forward, he gasped.
Twenty yards in front of him, shackled to the wall, was Katrina. Her copper hair was matted with blood and dirt, and covered the majority of her face. A small rock platform that had served as a bed was to her left. She groaned as Roran rushed forward and kneeled at her side. He brushed her hair from her face and embraced her. Her eyes opened and widened as she saw her fiancé’s face. She began to laugh and cry at the same time, struggling against her chains.
“Eragon! Eragon, get over here!” Roran cried, tears of joy streaming down his face. Eragon ran over to his cousin, about to say,
“What is it?” but stopped in mid-sentence when he saw Katrina. Quickly, he looked the chains over. They were strong, but they could be easily broken with magic. He would have plenty of strength for a fight with the Ra’zacs because he had stored energy in the belt of Beloeth the Wise. He gathered the energy from a large diamond and then set about freeing Katrina. He searched his mind for the bump that was magic and harnessed it.
“Jierda!” Eragon watched as the shackles that held Katrina broke with a clank that echoed throughout the cave. The exhausted young woman collapsed and would have hit the floor had Roran not caught her in mid air. He picked her up gently. Her legs were slung over his left arm and he supported her shoulders with his right. She looked up at him, a look of complete happiness on her face.
Eragon stood beside Roran, enjoying the spectacle. He was happy for Roran. Anyone could see that they were perfect for each other. Roran looked down at his love, overjoyed to finally be reunited with Katrina.
“Katrina, my love, we will be out of this wretched place soon. I missed you, more than you could know.”
“I missed you, too, Roran,” Katrina said, relaxing for the first time since her capture. They were absorbed in each other, and each took notice only of the other. Eragon now carried the candle, for Roran had his hands full with Katrina. His plan was to place Katrina on Saphira and let her ride out of the cavern because she was weak with hunger and thirst, and Eragon and Saphira agreed that it was the best approach. Roran was standing next to the place where Katrina had been chained, holding her. The inside of the cavern was silent but for the occasional sound of a drop of water landing on the cave floor. This worried Eragon, because if the Ra’zacs weren’t with their captive, where were they? He didn’t have to wonder for long. A paralyzing screech echoed throughout the cave.
“Roran, the Ra’zacs approach,” Eragon whispered urgently. The older boy wasted no time in setting Katrina down on the platform which has served as a bed. Roran drew his hammer and planted his feet in a fighting stance. The shrieks of the lethrblaka grew louder. Eragon set the candle down and drew Valiant. The light of the candle shone on the silver sword, causing the blade to gleam. The young Rider delved into his mind, searching for the magic. He found it, grabbed it, and released with the words,
“Hljodhr lethrblaka!” Eragon’s gedwey ignasia began to glow, and the shrieks of the lethrblaka were no longer audible.
“What did you do?” Roran asked.
“I silenced the Ra’zacs’ flying mounts. Now they cannot immobilize us,” Eragon answered.
“Thank you, Eragon. I couldn’t have done this without you.”
“We haven’t done it yet, Roran.”
“But still, it’s nice having you around,” Roran insisted.
They would have gone on talking, but four dark forms appeared in the doorway. Two of them looked like men, but both Eragon and Roran knew better. They were the Ra’zacs, the creatures that Eragon had hunted since Garrow’s death.
Roran immediately charged the creatures who had murdered his father. He was almost to the nearest Ra’zac when it jumped with super-human agility and landed behind him. He whirled around and struck the beetle-like thing on its head with his hammer, causing a blood-like liquid to pour from the wound. The Ra’zac didn’t seem hindered by its wound at all and attempted to bite Roran. As he bent backward to avoid the Ra’zac’s deadly beak, he caught a glimpse of Eragon, who had sent a ball of blue flame hurling towards the Ra’zac he was fighting. Roran darted to the right and straightened, causing the Ra’zac to lunge at the place where he was just been standing. Roran took advantage of his enemy’s weakness and inflicted another blow with his hammer, again hitting the creature’s head. This time the Ra’zac staggered and fell, giving Roran the opportunity to draw his sword and plunge it into his opponent’s chest. He placed his foot on to the Ra’zac’s abdomen to hold it down and, using his sword, cut the enemy’s head from its body.
While Roran had been battling a pupa, Saphira had been busy with the lethrblaka. As soon as Roran had charged, she had fallen upon one of the Ra’zacs’ flying mounts. The creature had tried to use its scream, only to find that Eragon’s spell had silenced it. Infuriated, it had attacked Saphira’s wings with its sharp teeth and claws, ripping holes in them. With a viscous roar Saphira snapped her head around and bit the lethrblaka, tearing a large chunk out of the creature’s side. It turned so that its back end faced Saphira’s side and pushed off of her, launching itself into the air and throwing Saphira against a stone wall. She snarled and regained her balance, pursuing her enemy. The wound she had inflicted upon the lethrblaka was slowing it down. It landed, unable to fly. The dragon was waiting. As soon as it landed she used her right front leg to hold it down while she got a good grip on the lethrblaka with her mighty teeth. The sapphire dragon closed her jaws on the creature, causing an audible crunch to echo throughout the cavern as the lethrblaka was crushed.
As soon as Eragon had slain the pupa he had been fighting, he had been attacked by the second lethrblaka. The bat-like creature was both swift and clever, and the Rider had a hard time getting close enough to inflict a wound upon the creature. The ancient animal had managed to back Eragon into a corner, unable to move. The lethrblaka would swoop down and scratch Eragon, making deep gashes on his body, retreat to the air, then attack again before Eragon had time to move out of the corner. After the creature did this two times, Eragon gripped his sword and prepared to stab the creature through the heart the next time it came to scratch him. The young Rider saw that the animal was doing the maneuver again. It was flying towards him, and getting closer. As soon as it was within reach, he swung his arm, preparing to strike. The lethrblaka saw what its opponent was doing and knocked the sword out of Eragon’s hand, leaving him helpless. Eragon was weak from battle, and didn’t dare use magic for fear of using all of his strength and entering the void. The lethrblaka again swooped down, this time coming in for the kill.
Eragon crossed his arms over his face to protect his head from the vicious beast, anticipating the feeling of teeth and claws raking over his skin. It never came. Instead, he heard a voice scream the words,
“Letta Du Lethrblaka!”
Eragon removed his arms and was amazed to see the creature held in mid-air. Quickly, he grabbed Valiant and thrust the blade into the creature’s heart. The animal fell to the floor, blood spurting from its wound. Eragon finished the creature off with a swift stroke of his sword.
He looked around and saw that Roran had slain the other pupa, and Saphira had taken care of the other lethrblaka. A figure in a dark cloak with a hood was standing in the doorway. He or she was completely soaked. The mysterious person removed her hood, shaking down her wet, blond hair and said,
“Hello, Eragon.”
Okay, Everyone. This is a long chapter, but I enjoyed writing it. Next chapter is coming soon!
Chapter 11: Reunited
“Who are you?” Eragon asked, staring at the figure that stood before him. She looked familiar, but he couldn’t place her. She had beautiful, green eyes that were as vibrant as a dragon’s scales.
“My name is Ora, but I hardly think this is the time for introductions. The woman you rescued needs food and drink, and possibly to be healed. Let us get out of this place, and then we can properly introduce ourselves,” Ora said, pushing back her hair and revealing pointed ears.
“I agree. Saphira can fly Katrina, Roran and me out of here, but how will you get out? The exit is fifteen feet above the ground, and, no offense to you, my lady, but I doubt you can jump that high.” Eragon questioned, wondering how in Alagaesia this young lady had gotten to the entrance of Helgrind without a dragon or flying mount. As if reading his mind, Ora answered,
“I will get out the same way I got in; by magic. I am a competent magic user and can fly down. I also have a horse waiting for me to take me where I need to go, so you needn’t worry.”
“That is good to hear. Now, let us leave this wretched place.” Eragon said, mesmerized by this young woman’s clear head and knowledge of the Ancient language and magic in general.
Everyone immediately began doing what they needed to do before departure. Eragon wiped Valiant on some moss and sheathed the sword that had proven its worth. It was not as good as Zar’roc, but it would have to do until he could get another weapon. As he was doing this, he had a private conversation with Saphira. He knew how she had reacted to Arya at their first meeting, and didn’t want it to happen again.
“Saphira, do you think we can trust her? I feel a connection with her, as if I know her from a dream, or a dream of a dream.”
“I do not know what will happen in the future, little one, but I sense no desire to do harm to us in her heart. All the same, be careful around her. We will give her a chance and see what happens.” Saphira said wisely.
“Yes, let’s give her a chance. She seems like a good person, and a valuable ally. Her knowledge of magic and the Ancient language is great, and she did save my life.”
“That she did, little one, and for that I am grateful to her,” Saphira told Eragon through the mental link that they shared. Eragon got back to work getting ready, ending the conversation.
Roran picked Katrina up again and lifted her gently onto Saphira, then climbed up as well to keep her from falling off. The former prisoner was unconscious from exhaustion and lack of proper nourishment. Ora set about healing the wounds on Saphira’s wings, for Eragon was weak from battle and the blue dragon needed to be healed before flying. She repeatedly placed her hands over Saphira’s wounds and said,
“Waise haill!” The membrane of the sapphire dragon’s wings began to knit itself back together. She healed the large wounds that would prohibit Saphira from flying but the smaller ones would have to wait until later. Ora had to save her energy for the flight down Helgrind.
As soon as the different members were done with their respective tasks, they began to walk back through the tunnel to the room where they had first entered. The path was the same as it had been before the battle, but it seemed to everyone that they could finally breathe knowing that the Ra’zacs were no more. Ora had grabbed the candle from the big room, so she lead the way followed by Eragon and Saphira, who was carrying Roran and Katrina.
As they made their way through the winding path of the tunnel, Ora thought about how she was going to tell her brother the truth. She knew she must be completely honest with Eragon, but yet not overwhelm him. Finally, she decided to tell him about her being a Rider and take it from there. Ora would show him her gedewey ignasia. That would be the easiest way.
When Ora emerged from deep within her thoughts, she was surprised to find that the group was almost to the end of the tunnel. The candlelight flickered off of the cave walls, showing the different varieties of moss and lichen that grew there. After about a half a minute more of sloshing through the pathway, the group arrived at the entrance room. All of the conscious members of the party began to look up. They saw what appeared to be a roof of solid rock above their heads. The illusion that Galbatorix had made was very thorough, covering both the inside and the outside of the rock. To the unknowing eye the stalactites that hung from the “ceiling” of the cave would seem solid, but the group that stood staring at it knew better.
“I think that you should go first, Ora. Your flight will be much more difficult than ours, I know.” Saphira said to the young woman, allowing her words to be heard by Eragon and Roran.
“Tell Saphira that I am grateful for her courtesy and kindness, Eragon.” Ora told her brother. Eragon was again amazed by her knowledge. She knew that it was impolite to talk to a Rider’s dragon without his blessing.
“She says that you are welcome. We will meet you at the bottom, my lady,” Eragon said, acting as Saphira’s mouthpiece.
“I will see you there, Rider. Oh, and another thing, please call me Ora,” said the girl as she prepared to take off.
“As you wish, Ora,” Eragon said, thinking that her name was as beautiful as she was.
Tarmunora closed her eyes and began searching for the bump in her mind that contained the magic she wanted. She found the bump and dug into it, harnessing the magic that it contained. She released the magic by saying,
“Up,” in the Ancient language. She began to steadily move upward, and Eragon noted that her flight was stable, unlike his first time flying without Saphira.
She rose, getting higher and higher by the second. At last she reached the roof, and she began to slip through the illusion. To Eragon, Roran and Saphira it looked as if a pair of legs was hanging from the top of the cave. At last Ora had gone completely through the King’s illusion and the rock ceiling again appeared normal. They waited for her to tell Eragon by thought that she was safe on the ground. Meanwhile, Ora was having a most interesting flight. When she had gotten through the ceiling, Ora saw that night had fallen. Stars shone brilliantly in the night sky, and the young woman could easily see the Lion and the Queen, familiar constellations in Alagaesia. Ora flew two feet over the illusion until she reached the cliff that led to Farah and Vindr, and then she began her descent. The sensation of flying by herself delighted Ora, and she reveled in the weightless feeling of defying gravity. It was like she was freefalling, but standing up. Ora felt like her stomach was floating. She concentrated on controlling her flight, correcting herself when she went off course and slowing herself when she went too fast. It seemed to Ora like the flight was too short, like she could have stayed in the air forever. She was approaching the ground. She was ten feet above the ground, then five. At last she landed, feeling extremely heavy after seeming to weigh nothing in the air.
“Eragon, it’s safe. I am at the base of Helgrind with my horse,” Ora thought to Eragon.
“Thank you, Ora,” Eragon replied, relieved that her flight had turned out well.
“Ora has landed. She says it is safe and to come down when we are ready,” said Eragon, relaying Ora’s message to Roran and Saphira.
“I’m ready, Eragon.” Roran replied.
“As am I, little one.” Saphira said, stooping so Eragon could mount her. Once he was in the saddle, Saphira prepared to take off.
“Roran, you must hold on to Katrina and me at the same time. She can’t stay on Saphira otherwise,” Eragon instructed Roran.
“I will, Eragon.” Roran responded.
“Then let us be off!” Saphira said, opening her large wings and taking off. They passed through the ceiling and gained altitude, soaring over the vast plains that surrounded Helgrind. There was evidence of a rainstorm, which explained Ora’s hair being wet. Saphira glided, riding the drafts of warm air that radiated from the ground. Even at night the area around Helgrind was uncomfortably hot and humid. The great dragon circled the air above Ora and her mare, slowly descending. Saphira prepared to land. Her circles became smaller and lower by the second. At last she landed, coming to a graceful stop directly in front of Ora.
“We have much to talk about, Eragon, but first we must help the Ra’zacs’ latest prisoner.”
“Her name is Katrina, and I agree,” Eragon said, running to Saphira’s side. Roran gently placed Katrina in Eragon’s arms. He didn’t want to let her go at all. They had been away from each other for so long that he never wanted to part with his love ever again. Eragon held her securely as he walked over to Ora. The newest Rider quickly spread her blankets on the ground to provide a place for Katrina to sleep and pulled some wood from a saddle bag. She set to work building a fire as Eragon set the wounded girl on the blankets. Roran dismounted Saphira and began to remove her saddle. After he had done that, he searched through Saphira’s saddle bags until he found a water skin, then he returned to the others. Roran saw that Ora had gotten a nice, bright fire started in the middle of their camp. She was now sitting next to Katrina inspecting her injuries. Roran sat down by Katrina’s other side and took her hand.
“Roran, we need to wake her so she can drink. I think you should be the one to do it. It will be comforting to her to wake up and see you,” Ora told Roran. He nodded and began to wake her.
“Katrina, wake up. You need to wake up now. Come on, Katrina,” said Roran, shaking her gently. Katrina groaned and then slowly began to open her eyes.
“Roran, where am I?” The girl questioned, looking up at the muscular shape of her betrothed. Her voice sounded cracked and tired, and she tried to sit up. Roran stopped her and replied,
“You are at the foot of Helgrind and need your rest. I couldn’t bear to loose you again.”
“Roran, dear, I’m not going to break. If I can endure a stay at the creatures’ lair, I think I can manage sitting up” Katrina said, a sparkle in her eyes.
“I know, but at least have something to eat and drink. Does your head hurt, my sweet?” Roran asked, brushing her copper hair from her face.
“A little, dear, but it will soon heal. As for food and drink, I would love some.”
Roran handed her the water skin and she drank. The cool, clear liquid felt so good going down her throat. It was the first sip of clear water she had gotten since her capture. She corked the water skin after she drank, set it aside, and pulled Roran into a warm embrace. It felt so good to be in his arms again, to know that everything was going to be okay. Katrina felt like she could face Galbatorix himself when she was with Roran.
Their moment was interrupted by Eragon, who was carrying a half a loaf of bread and an apple.
“And who are you, fair Elf?” asked Katrina, wondering who this mysterious stranger could be.
“It’s Eragon, Katrina. I know I’ve changed a lot since the last time we met,” said Eragon, amused at Katrina’s reaction to seeing him.
“Eragon, is it really you? Why do you look like an Elf?” Katrina questioned, hardly believing that this was the farm boy she’d grown up around.
“Yes, it’s me. I have a lot of explaining to do, but you must eat first to regain your strength,” Eragon replied, smiling at his cousin’s fiancé’s curiosity.
“Thank you, Eragon,” said Katrina tearing a hunk of bread off and eating it. She was famished, for she had not eaten in three days. The Ra’zacs had kept her on short rations during her stay. After she had finished her bread and apple, she began to look at her surroundings for the first time. She looked at the fire, crackling merrily and casting an orange glow on everything near. Tending the fire was a young woman who Katrina guessed to be sixteen or seventeen, Eragon’s age. Her long, blond hair shone in the firelight. The strange girl pushed her hair behind her ears, revealing pointed ears. As if reading her mind, the stranger spoke.
“Hello, Katrina. My name is Ora. How are you feeling?” Her voice was gentle, and her emerald green eyes looked kind.
“I am feeling a little achy, but fine. It is a pleasure to meet you, Ora.”
“The pleasure is mine,” Ora said, placing another piece of kindling on the fire.
“Now that you are feeling better, I might as well explain myself,” Eragon said, moving a little closer to Katrina.
“Go on,” said Katrina, eager to find out what had happened.
“Well, first there’s someone I’d like you to meet. Saphira, meet Katrina, Katrina, meet Saphira.” Katrina couldn’t tell who Eragon was talking to for a moment, and then a figure stepped out of the shadows. Katrina gasped. There, opposite her, was a dragon. Its scales were a brilliant blue, the same color as its eyes. Katrina was startled to hear a voice speak to her in her head. The voice was not aloud, but it was talking to her inside her head.
“I am Saphira, and Eragon is my Rider. It is nice to finally meet you. Roran speaks highly of you,” said Saphira, inclining her head.
“You can speak?”
“Apparently, or else you wouldn’t be asking that question,” said the dragon.
“I- I’m sorry, Saphira. I have never seen a dragon before,” Katrina said, stuttering in surprise.
“It is understandable, Katrina,” said Saphira.
“Is she the reason you left Carvahall, Eragon?” Katrina questioned.
“Yes, she is. It all began when I was hunting in the spine. . .” Eragon told his story from start to finish, with Saphira interjecting occasionally to tell her part of the story. When Eragon had finished, Katrina was stunned. She quickly recovered and said,
“As crazy as your story is, it explains everything. I had heard tales of a new Rider in Alagaesia, but dismissed them as gossip. And to think, you were the Rider!”
“Yes, it is crazy, but it’s true. Your capture was my fault, and I take full responsibility. I never dreamed that they would come after you and the villagers,” said Eragon, a hint of remorse in his voice.
“It isn’t your fault, Eragon. You couldn’t have known, and besides, you were quite young. I’m sorry to hear about Brom. I always enjoyed his stories and company.”
“Thank you, Katrina. Now, may I ask you a question?”
“You just did, but yes,” She replied.
“Where is your father? Roran said that they took him, too. We searched the Ra’zacs’ lair high and low, but he wasn’t there.”
A shadow of sadness appeared on Katrina’s face, and then she replied to Eragon’s question.
“A few days after we got to Helgrind, they decided that they didn’t need him anymore and,” her voice wavered and she began to cry. Roran tightened his grip around her shoulders as if to shield her from pain. She continued, “They murdered him.”
“Oh, Katrina, I’m so sorry. If only we could have been their sooner.” Eragon said, feeling terribly responsible for Sloan’s death.
“It’s not your fault, Eragon. I’m glad you got there when you did,” she said, wiping her eyes.
Katrina’s strength and forgiveness amazed Eragon. How could she comfort him? The thought puzzled him. He knew he could never make up for her father’s death, but he could heal her wound.
“When I became a Rider, I acquired the ability to use magic. I can heal people’s wounds now. Would you like me to heal you, Katrina?” Eragon asked, praying that she would say yes.
“You never cease to amaze me, Eragon Shadeslayer. Yes, please heal my wound. It hurts more than I like to let on,” she replied, mesmerized.
“Where are you hurt, Katrina?”
“I hit my head when they dropped me onto the cave floor. Luckily, I think I only have cuts and bruises otherwise,” she said, glad that the pain in her head would soon stop.
Eragon responded by placing his palms over her head and saying,
“Waise heill!” His palm glowed, and Katrina could feel the pain of her head wound going away. When Eragon’s palm stopped glowing and he sat down where he had been before, Katrina cautiously reached up and touched the spot where her wound had been. She found only hair. Her wound was healed!
“Thank you, Eragon. The pain is gone, and I feel like I need some rest. Good night, everyone,” said Katrina, lying down and snuggling into the blankets that she lay on.
Roran was feeling tired, too, and unrolled his bedroll near Katrina’s. He wanted to make sure that nothing bad happened to her. With a “Good night” to everyone, he too went to sleep, leaving only Ora, Eragon and Saphira. For a long while they just watched the fire burn, and then Ora whispered to Eragon,
“I told you we had much to talk about, Eragon, and we do. Come with me, so we won’t wake the others. Saphira needs to come, too.”
“I agree, let’s go,” Eragon said, watching as Ora took great care while shouldering a leather pouch. They walked together into the night, until they were out of hearing distance of the others, then Ora said,
“Eragon, Saphira, there is something I must tell you.”
AUTHOR'S NOTE: THIS CHAPTER IS REALLY SHORT, I KNOW, BUT THE NEXT ONE WILL BE LONGER, AND POSSIBLY ABOUT MURTAGH AND SELENA. READ AND COMMENT! THANKS-ARGETLAMGIRL12: Twins
“Yes?” Eragon said, speaking for himself and Saphira at the same time. He was eager to learn more about the girl who had saved his life.
“I promised you a proper introduction, Eragon and Saphira, so I shall begin by telling you a bit about myself. My proper name is Tarmunora, after the first official dragon Rider. I am seventeen years old, and I used to live in Uru’baen. There are many similarities between us, Eragon. We were both named after early Riders, we both want to see Galbatorix dead and the Empire destroyed, and we both,” Ora said slowly, “are Riders.” She removed her right glove, turned her hand palm up, and revealed her gedewey ignasia. Eragon gasped, staring at the silver oval that adorned her right palm.
“If you are a Rider, where is your dragon?” Saphira questioned. The thought of a new member of her race sent a feeling of euphoria surging through her body. Even the idea of a possible mate caused her to shiver with delight, but she couldn’t trust this girl until she met her dragon.
Ora opened her leather pouch and pulled the emerald dragon out, setting him down in front of Eragon and Saphira. Vindr looked around, accessing his new surroundings. He walked over to Saphira, sniffing curiously. The azure dragon brought her great head down to his level and stared at the newest member of her race, overjoyed. Eragon had remained speechless through this whole ordeal, scarcely believing what he saw. Regaining his composure, he asked Ora,
“How did you manage to get your hands on the last dragon egg?”
“His name,” said Ora, “is Vindr. And I used to live in the castle of the snake-king, Galbatorix. I couldn’t stand it, and I couldn’t wait until I came of age. My plan was to take Vindr’s egg to you so you could take it to the Vardin, but then he hatched.”
“Why me? Why not take the egg to the Vardin directly? And why, Ora, did you live in the King’s castle?”
“I had a motive to meet up with you. I needed to tell you something, and this was the way to do it. To answer your other question, my father was killed and my mother disappeared when I was a baby.”
“I’m sorry.” Eragon said with his eyes cast downward.
“No need to apologize. You and I share the same plight, the exact same plight, down to the last detail.”
“How do you know of my family?” Eragon asked, bristling.
“I know of my family, Eragon, and you, as my brother, are my family,” Ora answered, holding her breath.
“You must be mistaken. I have only one sibling, and he has turned on me.” Eragon said bitterly, avoiding his sister’s gaze.
“Murtagh had no choice! If you had seen his body broken over and over again by that man, you’d understand. He is tortured, constantly, relentlessly for letting you go. He loves you, Eragon, as do I. I am your twin, no matter if you wish to believe it or not.” Ora stared at Eragon, her emerald eyes looking pleadingly into his sapphire ones. Finally, he said,
“If we really are twins, then why didn’t our mother leave you on Carvahall as well?”
“She couldn’t very well show up at the castle without a baby and no longer pregnant, could she? She knew that the King and our father would be easy on me, and they wouldn’t with you,” She explained, glad that he was showing some signs of believing her.
“I guess not, but still. . . Why didn’t Garrow tell me about you?”
“He didn’t know who our father was, and he had no idea where Selena had taken me. I guess he thought it was no use telling you if we could never meet,” Ora answered patiently.
“Do I have any other siblings that I don’t know about?” Eragon asked, his mood changing into a playful one.
“Not that I know of, only Murtagh and I,” she answered.
“How are you going to get trained? My master, Oromis does not have time to teach you everything that he has already taught me and still resume my training. I’m afraid he is ill and doesn’t have much time left,” Eragon stated regretfully. He had become close to Oromis, as close as he had been to Brom.
“There is no need. By some strange miracle, the same thing happens to me that happens to you. That’s why I look like an Elf, because I was transformed the same way as you were. I felt your pain when Durza cut your back, and I still feel your pain now. I already know what he has taught you and Saphira.” She answered in a matter of fact tone.
Since seeing Vindr Saphira had remained silent, absorbed in her new friend. She had been listening, but felt that the conversation was between her master and his sister. Now she felt the need to say something.
“If what you sat is true, then why can’t Eragon feel what you feel?” The blue dragon asked.
“I don’t know the answer to that myself. Look, Eragon, you need rest, especially after that fight.” Ora told her brother, suddenly noticing that the stars were beginning to fade, a sign that morning was near.
“I am fine, but if you insist, we can go back to the others. Oh, by the way, how are we going to tell Roran and Katrina about Vindr and everything else?” Eragon asked, feeling that Roran would be slightly surprised to wake up and find a baby dragon in their camp.
“I do insist, and we can tell them in the morning, my brother.” Ora said, delighted to say those words to Eragon at last. Ora picked Vindr up they all walked silently back to their camp, pondering what had just occurred. When they reached the fire, they noiselessly crept to the blankets that served as beds. Ora laid down with Vindr beside her and thought to herself,
“I did it. I finally told him the truth, and he listened. I only hope he shows the same courtesy to Murtagh.”
Meanwhile, Eragon was having thoughts of his own. He was thinking to himself, but allowing Saphira to listen in.
“ I have a sister, a twin sister who is a Rider none the less. Can my life be turned upside down any further? It seems that yesterday I was a mere farm boy, who was totally alone. Today I am a Rider with two siblings who are also Riders. Who knows what tomorrow will bring?”
“I do not know what tomorrow will bring, little one, but I do know that we will always face it together.”
“Aye, we will always face it together. Good night, Saphira. Good night, Ora.”
“Good night, little ones.”
“Good night, Saphira. Good night, my brother.”
OKAY! SORRY THAT THIS CHAPTER TOOK SO LONG. HERE IT IS! THANK YOU ALL FOR READING, IT MEANS A LOT TO ME.
13: An Explanation
Murtagh savored the feeling of the wind on his face, a luxury that he hadn’t experienced since the Burning Plains. His dark hair blew in the wind, and he smiled for the first time since Thorn had hatched for him. The feeling of being free was overwhelming, as was the news that his mother was alive. He couldn’t believe it! He was finally free of Galbatorix, and he could finally begin to atone for the atrocities he’s committed by Galbatorix’s hand. He worried about Ora and Eragon, wherever they were. Battling the Ra’zacs was beyond crazy, but maybe, just maybe Eragon and Ora could defeat them. After all, they now had the strength, speed and senses of an Elf. Had Eragon not been tired, he would have had a chance of beating Murtagh in battle. He was nigh impossible to beat with a sword, but he was no match for Murtagh’s magic. The eldest brother thought guiltily of the sword that hung on his belt. Zar’roc was his inheritance, but he had been cruel at the battle of the Burning Plains.
“It’s not like I had a choice. Even though the King doesn’t know my true name I still swore fealty to him. I had to say what he wanted me to say.” Murtagh thought to himself. He allowed his thought to drift across the mental link that he shared with Thorn. He was trying to convince himself that what he’d done wasn’t his fault.
“That’s true. It wasn’t our fault, but I have a feeling that we will have to pay for it anyway,” the ruby dragon told his master. He felt Murtagh’s pain, and he also had some of his own. He’d been forced to fight his only possible mate, Saphira.
“Aye, we will. Mark my words.”
“You know, my son, you really should be more careful about guarding yourself while you converse with Thorn. I heard every word,” Selena thought to Murtagh.
“Sorry, Mother.” Murtagh thought to his mother, glad that his mother was again there to scold him.
“I don’t want to scold you, my boy; I was merely pointing out a fact. I shouldn’t call you a boy anymore, Murtagh. You are almost twenty-one years old.”
“I know, Mother, and you can scold me any day. It’s good to have you home,” thought Murtagh.
“It’s good to be back, though I wouldn’t call Uru’baen home. I missed you, my son. How are Eragon and Ora?”
“Last time I met Eragon Galbatorix forced me to tell him the truth about our father. That snake made me act like him; cruel and ruthless. I haven’t had the opportunity to scry him since the battle. The Elves have somehow transformed him, because he now has the strength, speed, and power of one of the Fair Folk. Ora is . . . well, Ora. She was also transformed, and has grown all the more beautiful for it. She bested me at archery last time we had a match, and she is becoming an accomplished swordswoman. I can hardly believe that she is my little sister anymore. Your daughter is both brave and cunning, Mother. I heard that she used the old ‘I lost my book’ excuse. It’s no surprise the guards believed her. She is related to me, after all.” Murtagh thought to Selena, thinking about how much his little sister resembled him in heart. In appearance, though, no one could guess that they were related. Murtagh with his brownish-black hair and dark features and Ora with her dark blond mane and piercing green eyes were as different as night and day.
“The last time I saw her she was a newborn, and now she is seventeen. It’s been a long time, Murtagh. I must apologize for leaving you. I had no choice, but I have regretted it every day for the past seventeen years.”
“We think alike, my mother. ‘I had no choice’ was what I said to Eragon when he confronted me. How do you know about the legend of Vrangr Zar’roc and Vollar Skulblaka?”
“Like you,” said Selena, “I used to read many books, most of them being about the days of the Riders. The myth appeared in a book about Riders and the training they received. Two years ago I was thinking of you; thinking of a way to help you and your sister when I began to remember that old tale. I knew that the King would jump at the chance to keep the most powerful Rider of all under his thumb. I know it can’t be you, my son, and for that I am grateful. A poet once said, ‘One whose intentions are good may be easily swayed by the image of power’. I tend to think of you as stronger than that; as someone who lives above the influence of evil. Besides, according to the myth, Vollar Skulblaka is to be a white dragon.”
“I’m glad you hold such strong hopes for me, Mother. I will not let you down. I know of no white egg or dragon that is in existence. Do you?” Murtagh asked, curious of the knowledge that his mother had acquired in her absence.
“Such things shall not be discussed here. We’ve already been foolish, and, as you know, Galbatorix has eyes and ears everywhere.” There was a certain edge to Selena’s voice that told Murtagh to back off. He began to let his mind wander to other things like where they were going. Apparently, Selena had already told Thorn. He would ask his dragon, but they should be silent until they were far from Uru’baen. While her son was pondering their destination, Selena was having thoughts of her own.
“What if she doesn’t remember me? It has, after all, been seventeen years. Who am I kidding? Of course she’ll remember me. She probably thinks I’m dead . . . or worse. Either way, she certainly will be surprised to see me.” Selena turned the ring that was on her right hand. The stone was a beautiful shade of violet; the same shade of her magic, and it had an Elven symbol on it. The band was made from pure silver and was studded with tiny diamonds.
The only sound that broke through the silence of the night was the swooping sound of Thorn’s wings. The scarlet dragon had many questions himself. Hatched into captivity, Thorn had dreamed of freely roaming the skies with Murtagh, and eventually settling down with a mate. He had hoped that Saphira might be this mate, but how could that be possible now? He had been forced to fight her at the Burning Plains. How could she forget a thing like that? The answer: she couldn’t. Thorn knew that dragons’ memories stretched as long as time itself. Saphira thought of Thorn as a traitor who had betrayed her race, and he couldn’t deny it. He hadn’t done it willingly, but a deed is a deed as far as dragons are concerned.
As dragon and humans were lost in their respective thoughts, the bright stars that studded the heavens began to disappear, leaving the sky a dull gray color. A strip of light appeared to the east, a sign that the party was heading north. Murtagh was so used to the silence that he jumped when he heard his mother’s voice inside his head.
“We should stop now and get some rest, Murtagh. I am weary and I know you are, too. We have distanced ourselves enough from Galbatorix that he can not hear our thoughts.”
“As you wish, Mother,” Murtagh said, glad to get a chance to sleep. His stomach seemed to flip inside of him as Thorn began to make his descent. Would he ever get used to that feeling? The crimson dragon’s scales shimmered in the new sunlight. The sunrise was a spectacular show of colors that ranged from bright pinks to deep blues. Selena sighed with content. Finally, she was with her eldest son again and would soon be with her other children. Thorn’s circles began to decrease in size as he got lower. Finally, after what seemed like forever to an exhausted Murtagh, the great dragon touched the ground. His sharp talons gripped the soft earth that they landed on, stopping the dragon completely. They were concealed from ground level by a bend in the
Murtagh dismounted and offered his mother his hand. She took it gladly and let him help her down from Thorn. Selena pulled a loaf of bread and several pieces of fruit from a saddle bag and offered half to Murtagh. He gladly accepted, enjoying the first real meal he’d had in days. Selena finished quickly and set to work filling the water skins in the river. She’d brought four, so Murtagh suspected that they would be crossing the Hadarac Dessert. While she was doing this, Murtagh set about removing Thorn’s saddle. He unbuckled the main clasp and began the task of lifting the sixty pound saddle off of the dragon with both hands. Struggling with the saddle, he twisted in an attempt to pull the massave thing off of Thorn. Immediately, searing, burning pain coursed through Murtagh’s back. He dropped to the ground, writhing. He again felt his father’s sword slicing through his back. Murtagh’s consciousness began to fade. The last thing he remembered was Thorn’s voice yelling his name before he drifted into sweet darkness.
Alright, so here is a chapter about Galbatorix and Skruikan. I hope you all like it. I enjoyed writing it.
14: A King’s Madness
Galbatorix sat on his onyx throne, fuming. A vein pulsed in his left temple, showing his speeding heart rate.
“How dare he disobey me? Morzan’s worst mistake was producing that fool! I daresay I would go mad with fury if it wasn’t for you, my dear friend.” The King stood up and walked over to Shruikan. He stroked the
“Your anger is just, young one, but we must wait until the right moment. Trust me, as I love you most of anyone.” Shruikan rumbled to Galbatorix, trying to appease the old man. He hated saying those words, but it was necessary to give Murtagh and Selena enough time.
“I do trust you, my noble friend, but I hate waiting. First his beastly little sister, and now Murtagh! What is it with his family and running away?” Galbatorix asked Shruikan, a mad gleam in his black eyes.
“I do not know, oh my master, but I do know that you are weary. You trouble yourself too much.” The black dragon said, a hint of fake concern emanating from his rumbling voice.
“You are right, my friend. I need rest, but it worries me to keep the egg in the throne room. I shall move it to my chambers,” stated the King as he walked over to the cushion that had held the egg. Galbatorix reached out his hands to grab his most prized possession, expecting to feel the cold, hard surface of the emerald egg. He didn’t. Instead he felt only empty air between his fingers. The illusion had vanished, leaving only an empty cushion with the King’s hands hovering above it. The pale hands with long, sharp nails tensed and closed into tight fists Slowly, Galbatorix turned about. An expression of pure hatred filled his face as he beckoned to a nearby servant. A small, scrawny man kneeled before the King’s feet, shaking from fear.
“Y-yes, Your Majesty?” The man said, obviously fearing for his life.
“Arise, filth, and bring me the Elf,” spat Galbatorix.
“As you wish, Your Highness.” The servant replied, scrambling to his feet and rushing through the large wooden doors that barred him from the safety of the hallway.
“What do you plan to do with this Elf; this Faomere?” The
“He, my friend, will lead us directly to Ellesmera,” Galbatorix said, his voice like that of a snake.
“That is the city where Eragon trains?” Shruikan questioned.
“Aye, my dragon. We will use this Elf to find our feisty friends.” The King replied, anger surging through his body. A large bead of sweat appeared on his forehead, gradually making its way down his face. His bald head made his pointed ears more noticeable, and it was sickening that this evil man resembled an Elf in this way. Shruikan was thinking of this as they waited for Faomere to arrive.
“What is taking so long?” Galbatorix growled, exposing his even, white teeth. At that moment the Elf was dragged into the throne room by two soldiers. The servant followed behind. The Elf had long, raven colored hair and sharp features. His cheekbones were high, and his ears had a more pronounced point than the King’s. His brilliant green eyes looked at Galbatorix with contempt. For a moment, the two stared at each other; no sound escaping from either of them. The room was completely silent save for the measured breathing of the King and Faomere.
“Leave us,” ordered Galbatorix to the guards and servant. They dropped the Elf, bowed, and exited the room. Faomere lay on the floor where the soldiers had dropped him. With great effort, he pulled himself up, standing tall and making no sign of bowing. Galbatorix’s cold, snake-like laugh echoed through the room. He was amused that his prisoner would not bow, but he expected as much.
“So, snake, what torture do you have planned for me next?” Faomere asked in a mocking tone.
“You will not speak to me like that, young Elf,” said the King cruelly.
“Or what, you’ll throw me in prison? You’ll kill me? Death would be a sweet relief, if not to escape your wicked face,” shot the Elf, his gaze unwavering on the King.
“You’re young, aren’t you? Just over twenty, I guess. You will be most useful to me, Faomere, son of Eaomere. Tell me, who was your mother?” The King asked, clearly entertained by the Elf’s anger.
“You will get nothing from me, dragon murderer.” Faomere answered.
“Oh, but I will. You are to be released tomorrow, and you will go directly to Ellesmera,” Galbatorix said, once more on his throne.
“What makes you think that, oh serpent? I will stay far away from my family forever if need be.”
“You have such bravery for one who mourns his brother, Faomere.”
“I do mourn him, and soon I shall have my revenge. You, not the Urgals, are responsible for the death of Faolin, son of Eaomere. I know about how you manipulated them, my leech.”
“Oughtn’t you to say ‘my liege’, Faomere? Your safety is important to me,” the King said venomously, drumming his fingers on the arm rest of his throne.
“Why? I prefer not to lie, if I can help it,” replied Faomere, fire behind his eyes.
“You will do as I wish, my friend. Let us see if another night in the dungeon will tempt you otherwise before you are released. You may not go directly to the city, but you will go sooner or later. Your late brother’s love needs to be comforted, and you need to do it. You know deep down that this is true,” said Galbatorix in a fake fatherly voice.
“I will die before serving you,” spat the Elf as the guards marched in at the King’s command.
“Even in death you shall serve me, oh fair Elf. Seize him,” Galbatorix ordered, watching as his prisoner was dragged out of the room. A smile was on the mad man’s face as he stroked Shruikan’s nose.
“Even in death he will serve me, Shruikan, even in death.”
ALRIGHT, EVERYONE. SORRY FOR THE WAIT. I WILL NOT BE ABLE TO UPDATE WHILE I AM TEACHING CAMP, BUT HERE IS A CHAPTER! THANK YOU, OLLY FOR YOUR COMMENTS BOTH ON HERE AND ON THE CONVERSATIONS PAGE!
15: A Good Morning
Ora awoke from her trance-like state early. She wanted to be up before the others; to be ready to explain things to Katrina and Roran. Tarmunora watched the others sleep, with only Vindr for company. He wasn’t able to talk yet, but the emotions she felt from him were getting stronger, as was the bond they shared. The sun was beginning to rise in the east, casting a display of colors on the party. Ora looked around her and saw Eragon to her left. He was lying on some blankets and was nestled under Saphira’s left wing, snoring softly.
“Someday I’ll be able to do that, Vindr,” Ora thought to her dragon, staring into his captivating emerald eyes. A feeling of happiness came across the mental link that they shared, causing Ora to giggle in spite of herself. She wasn’t used to the sensation of having another mind so connected to hers.
At the melodious sound of his sister’s giggle, Eragon awoke. He was trying to remember why he was so happy, and then the previous night’s memories came flooding back to him. He tapped Saphira’s ribs, trying to wake her. She stirred and lifted her wing, turning to look at Eragon.
“Good morning, little one,” Saphira crooned, her voice echoing in Eragon’s head.
“Good morning, Saphira,” replied Eragon groggily. He tried to sit up, but burning pain wracked his chest and stomach, causing him to lie back down. Ora rushed to his side, a concerned look on her face. She knelt at his right side and gasped. Her brother’s once white tunic was now crimson with his blood. It was torn so much that it appeared no more than a rag.
“Eragon, you stupid boy! You’re covered with the lethrblaka’s scratches! Why didn’t you say something last night?” Ora hissed, keeping her voice low.
Eragon chuckled, sending pain throughout his body. A playful twinkle was in his eyes.
“I just forgot. Between fighting for my life and my sister springing something on me, I hadn’t the time to remember.”
“Oh, hush and let me see,” Ora ordered, forcing herself not to laugh.
“Yes, Ma’m,” Eragon replied, saluting and placing a stern look on his face. This time, Ora couldn’t help it; she broke out laughing. When she finally stopped, Ora looked at Roran and Katrina, hoping she hadn’t woken them. She hadn’t. She lifted Eragon’s tunic off of him and gasped at what she saw. Eight vertical scratches stretched from his upper chest to his lower belly. She had a hard time seeing the wounds because blood covered them, and was still oozing from some.
“That bad, huh?” Eragon asked anxiously. He stared at the sky, not wanting to look down at his wounds that he was sure were nasty.
“Nothing I can’t heal, but I will be tired when I get through,” said Ora in a calming voice. The last thing she needed was Eragon panicking.
“Wake the others. I will still be weak after you heal me, and you’ll probably need Roran to catch you.” Eragon already cared for his sister and knew how it was being drained from magic.
“I don’t think I have to,” Ora laughed. Saphira stood above Roran, breathing her warm breath on him. Roran’s eyes opened, widening when he saw Saphira standing over him. He groaned and sat up, a sleepy look in his dark brown eyes.
“What?” He asked grumpily.
“Eragon is wounded. Ora’s going to heal him, but both she and Eragon will be very, very tired. We need you to catch her. Wake Katrina up; there is something we need to tell you after Eragon is healed,” Saphira projected her thought into his head. Her voice was gentle but firm.
“Fine, Saphira. Good morning,” replied Roran, curious about what he and Katrina needed to hear.
“Good morning, Roran. Hurry,” Saphira said before walking back to Eragon and Ora. There was an edge of concern in her voice that Roran had never heard before. He glanced at Katrina and smiled. Her beautiful face wore a peaceful expression and her copper hair was a bit messy from sleep. Roran marveled at the fact that she had agreed to marry him, of all men. He didn’t have time to think much longer, because he felt Saphira prodding him to hurry with her mind.
He touched Katrina’s shoulder to wake her up. At his gentle touch Katrina’s eyes fluttered and opened, blinking as they adjusted to the bright morning light. She smiled dreamily and sat up.
“Good morning, Katrina,” said Roran, pulling her into a bear hug. She savored the feeling of being safe in his arms again. The girl enjoyed hugging Roran for a moment, and then pulled away, saying,
“Yes, Roran, it is.”
“When you two are done . . .” Saphira interrupted with a dragon grin on her face.
“Oh, of course,” Katrina replied, blushing slightly. She got up and walked over to Saphira, accompanied by Roran. The great blue dragon was near her Rider, watching over him. Roran and Katrina approached Eragon. Both gasped when they saw his wounds.
“Good morning to you two, as well, “Eragon said, trying to hide his pain that he was going through.
“Good morning, Eragon,” replied Roran, concerned for his cousin. Katrina didn’t reply but fetched a water skin from Saphira’s saddle bags and knelt beside Ora, examining Eragon’s wounds.
“She might be able to heal you with magic, but we need to cleanse it to see it. This will hurt, Eragon, but it needs to be done.” Katrina said, ripping a piece of cloth off of her blue dress and soaking it with water.
“Do it.” Eragon said, bracing himself for the pain to come. Saphira prepared to lend her Rider her strength, and to shelter him within herself if need be. Ora gripped his right hand, and Roran took his left. As quickly as possible, Katrina mopped the blood from Eragon’s wounds, cleaning them.
Eragon hissed in pain, squeezing Ora and Roran’s hands so tightly that his knuckles turned white. The water felt like fire to Eragon, fire that seared his whole torso. He felt Saphira lend her strength. After what seemed like hours to Eragon, but in reality was mere minutes, Katrina was done. He breathed a sigh of relief, as did everyone else. Cleaning the wounds had revealed that Eragon’s eight parallel wounds were fairly deep, and Ora could see muscle. She winced with Eragon’s pain.
“Are you ready?” Ora asked everyone else, preparing to heal Eragon. Eragon and the others nodded. This time Katrina stood back to give Ora some space, but Roran remained to catch Ora. She closed her eyes and searched her mind for the place that her magic was contained. She found it after searching through her thoughts, memories, and emotions. Ora delved into it, immersing herself in the magic. She opened her eyes and concentrated on Eragon’s wounds. Her brow furrowed and her eyebrows made a V as her gedewey ignasia began to glow under her glove. Ora placed her hands over her brother’s wounds and uttered,
“Waise haill!” The flesh that had been torn from Eragon’s chest by the lethrblaka began to be replaced by new skin. Ora felt her strength being sapped from her, making her weaker and weaker. The new skin strengthened by the second until there was no outer evidence that Eragon had ever been wounded. As soon as Eragon’s wounds were healed Ora severed her connection with the magic. Under her cloth glove her gedewey ignasia faded. Exhausted, she collapsed into Roran’s arms.
Eragon sat up carefully. He was still very sore, but it was nothing compared to the pain he’d felt before. He looked over at Saphira first. She was standing over him, humming softly with relief and happiness.
“How do you feel, little one?” Saphira projected her thought into Eragon’s head.
“I’m fine. A little sore, but a lot better,” He answered with a smile. Saphira’s concern was comforting. She reminded him of what he suspected his mother was like. Suddenly remembering his sister, he glanced at her. She was conscious, but still too weak to sit up. She lay in Roran’s arms, breathing heavily with exhaustion.
“Wow, Roran. Women are literally throwing themselves at you!” Eragon joked, watching with pleasure as Ora, Katrina, and Roran’s faces turned interesting shades of scarlet.
“If I weren’t holding your girlfriend right now I’d hit you,” Roran retaliated. At the exact same time, Ora and Eragon burst out laughing. Roran and Katrina looked on with puzzled expressions. A dragon laugh erupted from Saphira, who seemed to share this private joke.
“What’s so funny?” Katrina asked, curious. As soon as she said this both of the gigglers stopped, again at the same time.
“There is absolutely no chance of that happening, Roran. What we needed to tell you guys was . . .” Eragon’s voice trailed off. He looked at Ora, who had gained the strength to sit up. He seemed to be asking her something with his eyes. She nodded, smiling. He took a deep breath, and then proceeded.
“. . . That I have a sister.”
“Eragon and I are twins,” Ora stated, getting to the point.
“How in Alagaesia . . . ?” Roran muttered, confused. How could this be true? Selena had left Eragon in Carvahall; why didn’t she leave Ora? As if reading his mind, Eragon told Roran everything he new about Ora and what had happened to separate them. He also told them about Vindr, and about Ora’s being a Rider. Ora interjected when Eragon got a fact wrong, but for the most part, the story was told by Eragon. When he was finished, both he and Ora waited for Katrina or Roran to speak. After about five minutes, Roran spoke up.
“Wow. I can’t believe that I have a cousin I didn’t even know about, and that she’s a Rider. This is too much.” He rubbed his temples, trying to comprehend this new information. Katrina remained quiet, also processing what she’d just heard.
“You’re having a hard time? Try being me when Vindr hatched. I couldn’t have been more surprised,” Ora said, laughing.
“If you are a Rider, where’s your dragon?” Katrina asked slowly, still having a hard time wrapping her mind around the whole thing.
“His name’s Vindr, Katrina, and here he is.” Ora pulled the baby dragon out of her leather pouch and set him in front of Roran and Katrina.
Vindr looked at these new people, sniffing the air around them. He walked over to Katrina and cocked his head. His emerald eyes stared into her sapphire ones, and Katrina laughed as he moved on to Roran. He seemed to be fascinated by his Rider’s cousin, and rubbed up against him, begging to be petted. Roran smiled and reached out, stroking the green dragon’s small head. Satisfied, Vindr began to hum.
“Is there anything else my future wife and I need to know?” Roran asked, smiling with pride when he said “my future wife”.
“Not that I know of, but if another family member decides to meet me, I promise I’ll keep you informed,” replied Eragon, also smiling. Little did he know that he would soon have to honor his promise.
16: The Beginning of a Journey
“This is great news, you two, but Saphira can’t carry four, plus Vindr, can she?” Roran asked, wondering how they would solve the transportation problem.
“No, Roran, I can’t. I don’t think I can carry four, at least for any distance at all, but Ora has a horse. You humans could take turns riding that. She is slow and stupid, but we aren’t in any hurry, are we?” Saphira directed her thought to Roran, but projected her thought into all of the humans’ heads.
“That could work, Saphira. We could take turns riding Farah, and I can carry Vindr in my bag. He is still small enough, though I doubt he will be for long,” Ora said, patting the small green dragon’s head lovingly. Vindr hummed happily, his dragon joy showing plainly. Eragon grinned, remembering when Saphira had been that small. He looked up at her now, realizing that she was no longer a hatchling. Everyone relaxed for a moment, enjoying each other’s company. Katrina was lying down, her head on Roran’s lap. She was content. At last she and Roran could be married, and perhaps start a family. Katrina looked into Roran’s eyes and he looked into hers. He had always loved her eyes. They were piercing and loving, a combination of fire and sweetness. Behind those gray eyes was the same look that Roran now wore; a shadow of sadness that slightly softened the joy.
Eragon, too carried that shadow, but his was much more noticeable. He had seen many things that should not trouble a seventeen year old boy. Men had been slaughtered before his very eyes, and he’d been betrayed by his own brother. He was still mad at Murtagh, but he would try to be civil to him if they ever met again. Not because he would want to, but for Ora’s sake. He thought of his sister. The thought was still alien to him. He had family now, someone who cared about him. He knew that Roran cared, but that wasn’t the same. Ora was his double, a person who understood him, and how he felt. Sure, Saphira loved him, and their bond was strong, but she wasn’t human. Eragon thought about this. He wasn’t sure he was human anymore. He looked like an Elf, and he fought like an Elf, but he could never feel like one. Eragon still felt human. He still had the thoughts and impulses that he’d had all of his life. A loud growl interrupted his thoughts, followed by the laughs of Roran, Katrina, and Ora. Even Saphira snorted, releasing a plume of smoke from her nostrils.
“What? I’m hungry. I haven’t eaten since last night, and I’m always hungry after being healed,” Eragon said, defending himself.
“If you didn’t get yourself hurt, Eragon, then I wouldn’t have to heal you!” Ora exclaimed, reaching for Farah’s saddlebag that lay nearby. She rooted around until she found half a dozen apples, two loaves of bread, and a water skin.
“This is all that I have left. We’ll need to buy more supplies in Melian, or I will, at least,” Ora said, tearing the two loaves in half. She handed one piece to each person, and then passed apples around.
“You don’t have to do this, Ora. We have our own food,” said Roran, beginning to object.
“I know I don’t have to, but I want to. Besides, it’s my thanks to you for getting rid of the Twins. They were horrible, and I was betrothed to one of them before the battle. That was another one of Galbatorix’s great ideas. I guess the King figured that it was the perfect solution to get me out of his lack of hair.” Ora said, uncorking her water skin. Eragon stifled a giggle at his sister’s comment and also began to eat.
“It was not a problem, not at all. I will gladly get rid of any future suitors for you.”
“Thank you, Roran, but do ask me before you hammer my next fiancé, please.” Ora said teasingly, a glint in her eyes.
“As you wish, my lady,” Roran replied, bowing fancily. A burst of laughter exploded from the rest of the group as Ora replied,
“Thank you, my lord.” She curtsied properly, and something told Eragon she’d had plenty of practice.
“Give it up, Roran, you’re no match for her manners,” Eragon teased playfully.
“I yield.” Roran stated, sitting back down next to Katrina. He knew when he was beaten. He began to stroke his fiancé’s long, copper hair that glistened in the sunlight. Everyone had finished breakfast, and they were lying down on blankets that had been spread on the hard ground. After about ten minutes of luxury, Eragon got restless and stood up. He rolled up his blanket wordlessly and began stuff it into one of Saphira’s saddle bags. It was obvious that he wanted to depart for Surda soon. Reluctantly, Tarmunora sat up and stretched, yawning. She stood up and brushed the dirt from her forest green dress. It was ankle-length, and the material was soft and light. Eragon noticed that the dress made her eyes more vivid and was very becoming. He hadn’t noticed the dress before, as it had been covered by her black cloak. Ora rolled her blanket and secured it to Farah’s saddle with some rope. She then saddled the mare, crooning softly to the horse as she worked.
While Ora was saddling Farah, Roran and Katrina were also getting ready to depart. Roran put away his bedding and collected the water skins. He placed them in the saddle bags that would be easy to reach while they were flying and secured the tops of the bags. He glanced over at Katrina, who was folding blankets. She smiled at him lovingly, and then returned to her work. To Roran her radiant smile was a light in a world of darkness, like a single star shining brightly in a black sky. He grinned in return, content. It wasn’t long before every task but saddling Saphira had been completed, and Roran stepped forward to help Eragon.
“Can I help? Vindr will be big enough to ride in a couple of months, and I will need to know how to saddle him,” asked Ora. She wanted to begin learning how to do things. Sure, she had Eragon’s experiences, but it wasn’t the same as doing it herself.
“By all means, go ahead. You need practice, and I could use a break.” Roran said, stepping back.
“Eragon, ask Saphira if it’s okay, please. That is, if it’s fine with you,” Tarmunora asked politely. She knew the proper etiquette for being around dragons. Rule number one: you don’t speak to a dragon directly without the dragon or Rider’s permission.
“You can talk to me directly, Ora. You are Eragon’s kin, and that makes you family to me, as well.” Saphira answered, projecting her thought into Eragon and Ora’s heads.
“Thank you, Saphira,” Ora answered gratefully. For the next fifteen minutes Eragon instructed Ora on the proper placement of various straps, as well as how to adjust the stirrups and the straps that held her hands in place while Roran and Katrina looked on. At first Eragon had had some concern that Ora wasn’t strong enough to help lift the saddle, but his doubts were short lived. She easily lifted her half of the weight, her toned arm muscles flexing as she worked.
“Are you two done yet?” asked Roran impatiently. He wanted to leave as soon as possible.
“Yes, Roran, we are,” answered Eragon as he finished and stepped back, making sure that the saddle was straight.
“Thank you, little one, thank you, Ora. Now, if you don’t mind, let us be off!” Saphira thought, impatient to feel the wind beneath her wings and the warm sun on her back.
“Aye, Saphira, let us be off,” Roran said, surprising Katrina by picking her up bridal-style and placing her on Saphira. She giggled with delight, smiling once again. Once she was settled, he climbed up in front of her, smiling as she wrapped her arms around his muscular waist. Eragon lingered for a moment looking at Ora.
“Go on, I’ll be fine. After all, I’ve got a fierce dragon to protect me. Isn’t that right, Vindr?” Ora stated, affectionately patting aforesaid dragon’s head.
“Alright, I yield, but let me know if something is wrong,” Eragon said, patting his right temple with his first two fingers.
“I will, I will, little brother,” Ora said in a fake tired voice. She loved being able to remind Eragon that she was older than he was, at least by five minutes. With that she mounted Farah and took a sip out of a water skin in preparation for the journey ahead. Eragon mounted Saphira, sitting in front of Eragon. Once her Rider was settled, Saphira launched herself into the air, opening her enormous wings.
“Catch me if you can!” The sapphire dragon playfully called to Ora. She was gaining speed and altitude, becoming a dark speck in the sky.
“Hya, Farah, Hya!” Ora urged the horse, slapping the reigns lightly against her mare’s neck. Farah broke off into a break-neck gallop, charging after Saphira and the people that rode her.
Sorry, Everyone that this chapter took so long to post. One thing after another happened, but now it is up! Chapter seventeen, here we come!
17: Pain
The first thing that Murtagh saw when he awoke was a star-filled sky.
“Thorn?” Murtagh asked, sitting up.
“Yes, I’m here. You have been unconscious for many hours. How do you feel?” Thorn’s voice rumbled across the mental link, strong but concerned.
“Like someone sliced my back open, as usual. Where’s my mother?” Murtagh replied, somewhat cranky. This was normal after a seizure, so Thorn thought carefully about how to reply. Finally, he spoke.
“She’s asleep now, but she said to wake her if you awoke.”
“Fine, I will, but you still haven’t answered my question of where she is, Thorn.”
“She is on my other side. I guess she finds it comfortable,” Thorn returned, glancing over at his Rider’s mother. Murtagh stood up slowly to prevent another seizure and walked around Thorn to where his mother slept. She was lying on her back, and Murtagh could see that she was grasping her sword hilt even while she slept. He knelt beside her and placed his hand gently on her shoulder.
“Mother, I’m up.”
Selena audibly groaned. Her eyes flickered from behind her eyelids and then opened, focusing on her son’s face. The corners of her mouth twitched, then widened into a smile. She began to laugh, and Murtagh was struck at how much Ora and her mother sounded alike when they laughed.
“What’s so funny?” Murtagh asked, wondering why his Mother had suddenly gone from groaning to laughing.
“When you were a little boy, you would say ‘Mother, I’m up’ when you woke up in the morning, as if to say that the sun could rise and everything could happen as soon as you were awake.” Selena smiled, remembering when her eldest son had been small.
“I don’t remember that,” said Murtagh, frowning slightly, then smiling that his mother remembered the little details about him that even he forgot.
“Or course you don’t. That was before Morzan . . .” Selena’s voice trailed off as she thought about what her husband had done to Murtagh when he was but a small child. She shuddered at the idea.
“It wasn’t your fault, Mother. Morzan did it; you didn’t.”
“I couldn’t stop him, and that is just as bad,” she insisted.
“No, it isn’t. When do we leave?” Murtagh questioned, eager to change the subject. He brushed a piece of brown hair from his face and assumed a commanding expression.
“As soon as we can. I finished saddling Thorn for you, and everything else is ready. Roll up your blanket, and then we can go,” Selena ordered, standing up. She walked over to Thorn and made sure the saddle was tight, and then she mounted the mighty dragon.
“Thank you, Mother,” Murtagh said, stuffing his blanket into a saddle bag. He made sure that everything was in order, placed a foot in a stirrup, and climbed in front of his mother. Thorn, who had lowered himself to make mounting easier for Murtagh and Selena, arose and prepared to take off. His large talons kneaded the earth beneath them, gleaming in the light of the full moon. With a great leap, the ruby dragon launched himself into the air. He flapped his wings hard, gaining altitude by the second. Soon he was high in the air, all of Alagaesia far below him. The balmy night air felt delicious on his scales, and the feeling of using his wings again was magnificent. He loved flying, and now he could do it freely. No longer would Galbatorix control him and his Rider. No longer would he need permission to fly. No longer, thought Thorn, would he be forced to fight Saphira.
While Thorn was deep in thought, Selena and Murtagh were just enjoying the sensation of flying. The breeze picked up, and Selena tightened her grip on Murtagh’s waist. The feeling of the wind in her hair and the gentle movement of Thorn below her was amazing to Selena. She reveled in the leap that her stomach gave whenever Thorn decided to pull into a sudden dive. This is it. This is what I have been waiting for for seventeen years. Selena thought thoughts like these as the trio soared through the air. Several hours passed, and the bright stars began to disappear one by one. The black sky faded to a dull gray, and Murtagh knew that dawn approached. He suddenly became aware of his thirst, realizing that he had had nothing to drink since they had taken off. Murtagh reached for a saddle bag with his right hand, holding one on Thorn’s neck spikes with his left. He uncorked the water and let a long, cool draught pour down his dry throat. He corked the water skin and passed it to Selena, sensing that she was also thirsty. She drank gratefully, replaced the stopper, and returned the water to Murtagh. He placed it back in the saddle bag.
Five minutes passed with nothing but the whoosh of Thorn’s wings breaking the still silence of the night. Finally, Murtagh’s curiosity got the best of him and he decided to ask his mother a question.
“Mother, this friend of yours must be very powerful for you to think that she can breakthe bonds if mine and Thorn’s oaths.”
“Aye, she is very powerful, Murtagh. I’ve known her since about the time you were born.”
“Around the time that you became aware of the extent of Father’s cruelty,” Murtagh said, looking over his shoulder at Selena.
“Yes, my son. I was blind, very blind, and fell for Morzan’s charms. Garrow tried to warn me, and now I wish I had listened to him.” A look of sorrow covered Selena’s face, but was gone in an instant as she tried to hide it.
“You know of Garrow and Marian’s deaths, then?” Murtagh asked gently.
“Aye. You know, Murtagh, you ask as many questions as Brom does.” Selena said, chuckling as she thought of her dear friend. She had told Murtagh of Brom in her diary, telling him to run to the old Rider if trouble arose.
“As many questions as Brom did, Mother. He died . . . about a year ago,” Murtagh’s voice was sorrowful as he informed his mother of her friend’s death.
“How? Selena asked, holding back sobs. She couldn’t believe that Brom was gone. He of all people, taken from her as Garrow had been. Tears filled her eyes, threatening to spill out. Quickly, she wiped them away.
“He was murdered, by the Ra’zacs. Eragon and I were with him in his last moments, and gave him a proper burial. He rests in peace.” Murtagh’s voice was filled with hate at the beginning of his statement, but toward the end it softened, revealing his sorrow as he remembered that dreadful day.
“Thank you, it would have meant a lot to him.” Selena replied, still emotional. She looked away, preferring to concentrate on the landscape rather than her sorrow. The sun was rising, illuminating the barren land below. She could see that they were getting closer to Du Welden Varden, the forest of the Elves. It had been many years since Selena had last visited the Fair Folk.
After about thirty more minutes, the sun had risen and warm updrafts radiated from the hot desert ground, making it easier for Thorn to fly. He glided gracefully, his deep red scales glittering in the bright sunlight.
“Murtagh, we need to make up for lost time. We both had a nice, long rest yesterday, so I think we can fly without stopping until night. Can you?” Selena asked, aware of her son’s fragile condition.
“I have endured Galbatorix, Mother. I think I can manage being a trifle tired.” Murtagh replied, smiling at Selena’s concern for him.
“I know you can. You are, after all, my son,” Selena joked, returning his smile.
“That I am, Mother. Strength runs in my family, on side of it at least.”
“Aye, my boy. Your grandfather, Cadoc, was the bravest man I have ever known, and he was skilled with his bow, as well. My father once hit a deer from thirty yards away. The man had been without food for three days, too!” Thus Selena began to tell Murtagh about all of the great women and men that were her ancestors. Murtagh was amused by this, and was eager to learn more about his family. When Selena was in the middle of telling her son about how Eridor the dragon had chosen her great uncle to be his Rider, a thought suddenly came to life in Murtagh’s head. I have Rider blood on both sides of my family. No wonder both of my siblings were chosen.
When he relayed this thought to Thorn, he was surprised with the dragon’s answer.
“We dragons choose our Riders partially by blood, yes, but it relies mainly on what kind of a person the potential Rider is. I chose you because you are valiant, courageous, and because my egg was becoming crowded.”
“Hey!” Murtagh mentally shouted to Thorn, who was humming deeply in amusement.
Thus, the day passed, and Murtagh went to sleep that night content, for he had finally escaped the prison that had been his life before.
Sorry it took so long, but chapter 18 is up! Happy reading!
18: Women
After Eragon had been healed, the day had gone smoothly for Ora, Eragon, and their party. The group had traveled far that day, slept well, and they had started anew the next morning. It was now afternoon. The dry, dessert landscape had now changed to fertile soil, moist from the
“Sure, living with good old Uncle Galbatorix was no picnic, but the worst part was worrying about you and Murtagh. I was powerless, and I resolve to never be that way again. That’s why I practiced swordplay and archery every chance I got. A while back, you broke your right wrist, so I had to practice with my left.”
“Uncle Galbatorix?” Eragon asked, his dark eyebrows raised. Ora burst out laughing at his facial expression. When she had regained her composure, Tarmunora replied.
“Yes, Uncle Galbatorix. He made me call him that, for some reason. That thing is deranged. We are of no blood relation to him, thank goodness.”
“But you are related to one of his servants,” said Katrina, who had remained silent through the whole flight, lost in thought.
“Regrettably, yes. My biological father’s name was Morzan, though Tornac was more of a father to me than anyone I have ever known. Besides Brom, I mean,” said Ora, a look of hatred disturbing her face at the thought of the first and last of the Forsworn.
“You never met Brom, so how could he be a father figure to you?” Katrina pressed, eager to obtain more information about her fiancé’s strange family.
“I knew him through Eragon, and through Mother’s diary,” replied Ora.
“Oh,” Katrina said, seeming satisfied with this explanation.
“This Tornac, he must have been a great man. He was the one who taught Murtagh to sword fight, am I right?” Eragon asked, remembering his brother talking about Tornac.
“You are right, about both things. Tornac was the only man in the palace that was kind to me, growing up. He was kind, good, and steered me right in life. I would have made a lot of bad choices, if it weren’t for him.” Ora said, wiping tears that had not yet come to her eyes.
“Garrow was like a father to me, as was Brom. They both were taken from me, and now I have gotten justice for them. I promise you, Ora, that we will get justice for Tornac, as well as for the countless others that Galbatorix has taken from us.” Eragon said, his hands clenched tightly on one of Saphira’s neck spikes.
“Thank you, Eragon. I hope to have the pleasure of beheading him myself.” Ora replied, forcing a tiny smile. The conversation ended there, as none of the party wished to speak. The group carried on, stopping once before they reached the outskirts of Melian to let Katrina off of Saphira and Roran on. Everyone was eager to reach Melian. Their supplies were exhausted, and they were eager to get fresh food. The Jiet river was close by, so they did not need to worry about water.
Several hours later, the group approached the outskirts of Melian, and were then mulling over the question of who would buy the food. The sun had just set, and a blanket of gray covered the sky.
“You two are way too noticeable. Everyone has seen the notices for your arrests, and many people would not hesitate to turn you in for a few extra coppers. You can’t go.” Tarmunora insisted, staring hard at Eragon and Roran.
“She’s right. You two are either revered or hated throughout the Empire, and I have a feeling that the latter applies here. This town is mostly populated by citizens loyal to the King, or by people who are too afraid of Galbatorix’s wrath to do anything,” Katrina said, backing Ora up. She too stared at her fiancé and his brother, her gray eyes insistent.
“I don’t want you to go into town alone, Ora. It is too dangerous,” Eragon said, remaining firm.
“She won’t be alone; I’ll be with her,” Katrina reminded Eragon.
“I still am not comfortable with it. What if the soldiers attack you?” Eragon asked, beginning to pace.
“Then I will kill them. We aren’t helpless, Eragon. I seem to remember that the last time it was you who needed saving.” Ora smiled, grabbing Eragon’s shoulder.
“Give it up, Eragon. You and I both know that what they say is true. Besides, who would suspect two young women at the market?” Roran said, siding with his love. He wasn’t comfortable with the idea of them going alone, but he knew he could never win.
“Fine. But at the littlest inkling of trouble, contact me.”
“We will, we will,” and with that statement Ora and Katrina both turned on their heels and began to walk toward the city of
“Women,” said Eragon, shaking his head.
“Women,” Roran agreed.
*********************************************************************
While Eragon and Roran were discussing the evils and wonders of the opposite gender, Ora and Katrina were swiftly making their way towards Melian. The town was small, but rather busy. There were guards at the gate, and Katrina and Ora each took a deep breath and remembered their designated story.
“Who goes there?” A big, burly guard asked, holding a lantern in front of him to better see the faces of the women who approached.
“I am Felda, and this is Yenta. We are here to buy cloth, for we are seamstresses from Dras-Leona.” Ora replied, looking at Katrina.
“Cloth, huh? Isn’t it a bit late for two ladies such as yourselves to be out?” The guard questioned, narrowing his dark eyes at the women.
“Please, sir. We have been traveling for days, and we need to return to our city soon. Summer is our busiest time.”
“Very well, then. You may enter. When you leave the city tell the guard that Horton let you in,” the man replied, unlocking the gate.
“Thank you, sir,” said “Yenta” as the women entered the city. Light shone from the windows of thatched houses, casting a warm yellow glow on the dirt road. To their right was a tavern, judging by the loud music and drunken men’s voices coming from within. As they walked in silence, Katrina and Ora searched for a food shop. Ora was the first one to spot a sign that said “Market” hanging from a large building.
“Yenta, look.”
Katrina saw that the market was lit, and she also saw that it was empty, save for a young man standing behind the counter. She looked at Ora, and the younger woman nodded. Together, they walked into the shop.
I am eternally sorry for the wait. This chapter is extra long, and took me forever to write. I got sick, and life happened. Please enjoy!
19: A Long Awaited Arrival
Murtagh awoke to the smell of approaching rain. The sky was a blanket of gray, and the sun was enshrouded with dark, churning clouds.
“Great,” thought Murtagh as he sat up. “Just what we need at a time like this.”
“Good morning to you, as well,” Thorn rumbled, licking his lips.
“You’ve been hunting, haven’t you?” Murtagh questioned, stroking the hard scales that covered the crimson dragon’s neck.
“Yes. I have to eat, too. And no, I didn’t bring you back anything. Hunt your own prey.” Thorn answered Murtagh’s second question before it left his lips. The Rider grumbled and was about to make a comment on Thorn’s earlier statement when he was interrupted by Selena’s voice, warm and cheerful.
“Good morning, Murtagh. I am glad you’re up, because we have much distance to cover if we are to reach Ellesmera by nightfall.”
“Are you serious? We are only near Marna. We haven’t even entered Du Weldenvarden yet!” Murtagh protested, still grumpy.
Selena began to saddle Thorn. She lifted the heavy piece of leather onto Thorn and began to secure it.
“I know it seems like a long way, but I know a clearing near Ellesmera where Thorn can land. We won’t have to walk, and that will shave hours off of our traveling time.” Selena said this as she cinched the strap that went around Thorn’s abdomen.
“She just thinks of everything, doesn’t she?” Murtagh projected to his dragon.
“You say that like it is a bad thing, little one.”
“It can be.” Murtagh was intent on being disagreeable that morning, it seemed.
“Oh, cheer up, Murtagh,” said Selena, a smile on her face. “You are grumpier than Galbatorix when he hasn’t had his nightly mead!”
This statement forced a chuckle out of Murtagh, for he remembered how the old king loved his evening liquor. Oh, how that old man did bellow if he didn’t have his drink to create a pleasant buzz in his head!
“It’s always good to have something in there!” Thorn, who had overheard Murtagh’s thought exclaimed. Murtagh couldn’t resist and laughed at Thorn’s joke. Somehow the ruby skulblaka always had a way to make him laugh.
“What’s so funny?” Selena asked, cocking her head to the side.
“Just something Thorn said. Nothing, really,” replied Murtagh, obviously in a better mood than before.
“Very well then, Murtagh,” said Selena, handing her son a chunk of bread and a few strips of dried meat. Murtagh nodded and began to gnaw on a piece of meat.
After they had finished a rather quiet breakfast, Selena, Thorn, and Murtagh set off for Ellesmera.
Today Thorn seemed to fly with renewed vigor. Murtagh sensed that the scarlet dragon was excited and eager to reach the Fair Folk’s capital city. Soon he would meet up with Saphira again, and maybe she’d forgive him. Thorn couldn’t wait to reach Ellesmera, but Murtagh was having different thoughts. Not wanting his dragon to sense his nervousness, Murtagh kept his thoughts private. He was hated throughout the Empire; known as a traitor and deserter. Would he be hated in Ellesmera as well? The thing Murtagh most feared was to be caged and helpless, a slave. He vowed to never let it happen again, even if he must die to prevent himself from being a captive.
“Murtagh, I need to tell you something.” Selena’s voice broke through Murtagh’s thoughts, shattering the trance-like state that he had been in.
“Yes, Mother?” Murtagh replied, glancing over his shoulder.
“Listen carefully, my son. The elves have strange customs and ways. You need to learn them before you enter the city, and it is very important that you do exactly as I say.” Selena’s voice was firm and serious, and Murtagh immediately straightened.
“What are these ‘customs’?” Murtagh asked as he looked over his shoulder.
“First, the Elves greet each other by placing their first two fingers on their lips to indicate that ‘the truth will not be distorted during this conversation’. Then, the Elf or human with lower status says, ‘Atra esterni ono thelduin,’ or May good fortune rule over you.” Then, the other person says, “Atra du everinya ono varda’ or ‘May the stars watch over you’. If you are being very formal, then the first to speak would reply, ‘Un atra mor’ranr lifa unin hjarta onr.’ That means, ‘And may peace live in your heart.’”
“Why do they say these phrases, instead of ‘hello’ like everyone else?” Murtagh laughed, after practicing the greeting ten times and learning how to tell who had greater status than himself.
“Murtagh, of I had a reason for half of the things the elves did, I’d be a happy woman. These particular phrases were extracted from a blessing that was made by a dragon when the Elves and dragons first made a pact to establish the Riders. It went:
Atra esterni ono thelduin,
Mor’ranr lifa unin hjarta onr,
Un du evarinya ono varda.
“That explains a lot.” Murtagh said, his curiosity on this matter resolved. For the next three hours, Selena educated her eldest son on the proper manners and ways to speak while among the Elves.
“There’s so much to remember, Thorn. As I said before, why can’t they just use normal greetings and names?” Murtagh projected into Thorn’s mind. His head hurt from learning so much in a span of only three hours.
“I’ll help, you, Murtagh. The Elves have their culture, and you humans have yours, just as we dragons have ours. It is how things are.” Thorn rumbled back, trying to soothe his Rider’s prickly outlook on life.
“Well, I don’t like ‘how things are’.” Murtagh snapped, returning to his grumpy attitude.
“Glad to see you’re looking on the bright side of things. Your bright and optimistic outlook on life is blinding me,” Thorn replied, sarcasm filling his deep, throaty voice.
Murtagh rolled his eyes and blocked Thorn’s mind out. The last thing he wanted right now was a sarcastic dragon’s voice in his head. Instead, he concentrated on his surroundings. The party was now flying high above Du Weldenvardin, the Elven forest. Below him the forest stretched for leagues, creating an endless green carpet. Gray, almost black clouds churned above, and Murtagh could feel the hair on the back of his neck standing up. The air was hot and heavy, and the humidity of the approaching storm made Murtagh and Selena uncomfortably sweaty. All was quiet but for the sound of Thorn’s enormous wings moving massive amounts of air.
“The calm before the storm,” thought Murtagh to himself. It seemed almost like the weather was depicting what was happening in Murtagh’s life. Now, all was calm, but when he arrived in Ellesmera would it remain so? Murtagh could only hope. At that moment, like a message, the sky opened up and released a torrent of rain. The warm droplets came in sheets, soaking Murtagh, Selena, and Thorn thoroughly in seconds. Water dripped into his eyes, making Murtagh squint to see even Thorn’s head. Selena’s grip tightened on Murtagh’s waist, and the Rider gripped Thorn’s neck spike fiercely to prevent falling off of the skulblaka. His knuckles were white from holding so tightly. The rain soaked every bit of Murtagh, from his sopping hair to his water-logged boots, making him miserable.
“Miserable, brother of Misery. What have I become? All I do is cause pain to the ones I love!” Murtagh exclaimed to Thorn, anger and self-hatred lacing his words.
“You, Murtagh, are a mere human man. You cannot be expected to carry the weight of the world on your shoulders, muscular though they may be. You were forced to do what you did, and it is not your fault, nor is it mine. It is Galbatorix’s, and justice will be brought upon him. Besides, you love me and I haven’t turned out so very badly, have I?”
“You haven’t turned out so badly, but still, if it weren’t for me, you could be with Saphira right now!” Murtagh returned, comforted a small bit by his dragon’s words.
“Oh, yeah, Murtagh, I’m sure that I could really spend some quality time with her from inside my egg.” Thorn replied, sarcasm once again present in his deep voice.
“Where did you learn sarcasm from, anyway?” Murtagh knew the answer to this very well, but enjoyed teasing Thorn, so he kept on.
“A rather mean, nasty child if I remember correctly,” rumbled the dragon, starting to hum in contentment.
“I wasn’t that bad, was I?”
“Yes, you were! You didn’t talk to me until a week after I gave you the gedewey ignasia!” Thorn insisted, a dragon grin spreading on his wet face.
“I was scared. I thought that if I didn’t talk to you, then you would go away and be spared from my fate, captivity. I was young and stupid!” Murtagh retaliated, a smile also gracing his pale face.
“I agree with the ‘stupid’ argument, but it has only been a half year sense I hatched! It does seem like a lot longer, but my guess is that time drags on when you live with a madman.”
“Hey! I’ll get you for that later, but you’re right; time does drag on when you’re living with Galbatorix!” Murtagh exclaimed, maintaining his rare grin.
“No doubt you will little one. No doubt you will,” chuckled Thorn happily. Even in the midst of a rainstorm, Murtagh still threatened him.
While Thorn and Murtagh were having their little conversation, Selena was holding onto Murtagh’s waist, feeling the warm raindrops hit her skin. The water was almost soothing to Selena, making her relax. Her long blond hair was soaked through, as was every other part of her, and she was almost falling asleep because of the rhythmic, calming sound if the storm. She was thankful that this storm had no lightning or thunder, and that it was not cold. It seemed almost like a tropical bath; warm and soothing. Selena looked down at Du Weldenvarden, shocked to see that they had nearly reached their destination. The forest was like a green blanket that stretched for miles below them; a green blanket with a large hole that was a clearing.
“There it is, Murtagh. Prepare to enter the land of the Elves.” Selena’s voice was almost breathless in Murtagh’s mind, like she couldn’t believe that she was returning to the Elven capitol.
“I’m prepared,” replied the dark haired boy, trying to sound calm, even eager, to reach Ellesmera. Selena knew better. Murtagh hid his feelings well, but the blond haired woman had a way of exposing what her eldest son really thought and felt.
“Don’t worry! You’ll be fine, and soon, my son, you shall be free of Galbatorix.” Selena reassured Murtagh, trying to calm the fears that coursed through his mind at a hundred leagues a minute.
“I hope that you’re right, Mother, for mine and Thorn’s sakes.”
Thorn began to circle the clearing, loosing altitude as his circles became tighter and tighter. The mighty dragon approached the wet, muddy earth, his massive talons eager to feel the ground beneath them. Tucking in his enormous wings, the scarlet skulblaka landed. He gave a snort, and even in the midst of the rain, a faint plume of smoke rose from his nostrils.
The jolt of landing was welcome to Selena, and she eagerly climbed off of Thorn, careful not to slip. She beckoned to a hesitant Murtagh, and at last the Rider dismounted his dragon, sending a thought across the mental link that they shared.
“And so it begins, my friend.”
“Aye, my Rider. And so it begins.”
“Come, you two. It is important that we speak to the Gatekeeper before nightfall.” Selena urged her son and his dragon, tilting her head to indicate that he should follow her silently. Murtagh nodded, pulling the hood of his dark cloak up to cover his sharp features.
Selena walked to the far edge of the clearing, Murtagh and Thorn close behind her. She hesitated for a moment, as if in fear, before entering the wild forest that surrounded Ellesmera. There seemed to be no path to Murtagh, as if his mother was merely making her way between the trees. Selena, however, had regained her solid composure and confidently led the way.
The group trudged through the wet forest, listening to the sound of warm raindrops filtering through the verdant trees. The party had been slogging through the forest for about a third of an hour when Selena suddenly stopped, her blue-green eyes keenly scanning the wood that surrounded her. Something was different, but Selena could not put her finger on it.
The rain had stopped. That was what had changed. No more tiny droplets were falling from the heavens, though they dripped through the leaves of the tall trees of Du Weldenvarden.
“This is a good omen.” Thorn’s deep, throaty voice entered Selena’s and Murtagh’s minds.
“I don’t believe in omens. I do, however, believe in relief of this constant wetness,” replied Murtagh, also speaking with his thoughts.
“Ever the optimist, aren’t we?”
“Well, whether it be a good omen or no, we needed the rain to stop.” Selena broke into the conversation, her voice taking a peculiar tone that Murtagh didn’t recognize.
The dark haired boy didn’t have time to ask questions, for just then a single beam of sunlight broke through the clouds and trees, revealing a tall, willowy figure garbed in flowing white robes. A circlet of silver adorned his brow, and his face showed many years of wisdom, as well as a serenity that Murtagh could not comprehend.
Selena stepped forward, revealing her right hand to the Elf. A look of shock and surprise graced his face as he eyed the amethyst ring that bore the yawe. Unexpectedly, he, too, stepped forward, holding out his thin arms in a joyful embrace. The two hugged, wide smiles on both of their faces. They stepped back from one another, looking like they were conversing silently, which they were. Selena returned to Murtagh’s side and pushed him forward, so that he stood squarely in front of the Elf. Nervously, Murtagh held out his hand that bore the gedewey ignasia. The noble Elf smiled and nodded, indicating the path behind him. He also nodded to Thorn, who had been watching the spectacle with silent reverence.
Selena stepped around the Elf. Murthagh and Thorn followed his example. The young Rider looked over his shoulder, and to his surprise the Elf had vanished, along with the beam of light that encased him.
“How did he do that, and who is he? It is nearly nightfall, and yet he summoned a beam of light?” Murtagh was mesmerized by this strange being, and his curiosity was sparked.
“I do not know the Elves’ secrets. His name is Gilderien the Wise, Prince of House Miolandra, weilder of the White Flame of Vandil, and guardian of Ellesmera since the days of Du Fyrn Skulblaka, the Elven war with the dragons.”
“Oh.”
The trio walked on for another quarted of a mile in silence, then they passed under two trees that had grown together to form a natural arch. Beyond the trees was a glade, which was filled with flowers of all kinds. Bluebells, lilies, roses, and other blooms decorated the land, as if they were heaps of rare jewels. A single figure walked toward Murtagh, Selena, and Thorn gracefully. She seemed like an Elf, but much human was also present in her. A sweet, melodious voice came from her mouth, sounding much like the trilling if birds.
“I am Lenalei, and welcome to Ellesmera.”
I know this chapter is short, but I am having writer's block. Thank you for reading, and comment me lots:)
20: Supplies
The dirt floor was soft under Ora’s feet as she timidly walked into the shop. She fingered the coin purse Murtagh had given her with one hand, while the other rested on Courage’s hilt. Katrina secretly grasped a dagger that Roran had given her.
The two young women walked up to the counter that the man stood behind. He was absently wiping the counter off with a cloth, obviously his mind was elsewhere.
“Excuse me, Sir. We know it is late, but we are in desperate need of supplies. We have coin, if you will only spare us a moment of your time.” Katrina spoke earnestly, making her voice sound pleading and innocent. The man turned around, a startled look in his hazel eyes. He regained his composure quickly and stood up straight.
“Of course I have time for two ravishing ladies such as yourselves. Whatever you need, I have.”
Katrina hated this man’s flirtatious spirit, and was about to say something when Ora spoke.
“Oh, thank you. We are in town to buy supplies, and then we shall return home. On behalf of her fiancé, we thank you, Mr. . . .” Ora’s voice trailed off as she realized that she hadn’t found out this man’s name.
“Folks around her call me
“I believe we need ten loaves of bread, two pounds of cheese, and a dozen apples,
“Very well then, ladies. May I ask why you are getting so much food?” The quantity of supplies that the women had ordered puzzled
“We have a rather long journey back home, and I’m sure my companion longs to return to her dear Evan, doesn’t she?” Katrina teased, laughing inwardly at her skill of trickery. After all, Evan was Eragon’s alias; therefore, Katrina was not lying.
The shopkeeper’s expression flickered sour at this statement, but returned to businesslike in a flash.
“Oh, in that case, here are the supplies you requested, ladies.”
“That will be three gold crowns, please.”
“Thank you,
Soon the women would be out of the small town and back to Eragon and Roran. All was going well, and lively music from the tavern filled the night air. The harpsichord was a merry sound to Ora’s ears; it brought back memories of happy balls at Uru’baen. Oh, how much fun it was when Murtagh and Ora would slip away from the hustle of the dance and stand out in the court yard, listening to the music. Yes, the King had dances. They were required for him to keep an eye on his underlings; many of which were all too eager to stab him in the back.
Ora stared wistfully at the tavern. She did not wish to be accompanied by drunken guards, but the music was healing to her soul; a way to forget the troubles that faced her and to become one with the music. Katrina noticed Ora’s hesitation, and gave the younger girl’s hand a reassuring squeeze.
The two fugitives walked swiftly through town, and within five minutes had reached the gate. A guard stood with his back to them. Katrina could tell that this man was not Horton; he looked stronger and seemed almost rigid in his stance.
The women moved silently through the night, their footsteps soundless on the packed earth. When they were a few cubits away from the guard, Katrina stopped and Ora stepped forward.
“Good evening, Sir. We need to exit the city and have made arrangements with a guard. His name was Horton, I believe.”
Quickly, the guard spun around so that he faced Ora, and looked at her critically. The guard scowled at the women, and he looked as if he was, or had recently been, drunk.
“Horton, eh?” His voice was rough and scratchy.
“Yes, sir, his name was Horton.”
“Your companion wouldn’t happen to be called Katrina, would she, Lady Tarmunora?” A twisted form of glee filled the man’s face, and, swiftly, he drew his blade. Before the guard could react, Ora had drawn Courage and hit the guard over the head with the hilt of her sword. The blade cut into her hand, but the resounding crack on the man’s head had done its job: to render him unconscious.
“Why didn’t you kill him?” Katrina hissed, scanning for any sign that someone had heard the noise.
“Because,” said Ora, “I can make him forget he ever saw us, and I wish for as little bloodshed as possible. I’ve seen too many men die, and I don’t wish to see more.” Ora bent down to check the man’s pulse. It bean strongly, and his head would didn’t bleed. Ora inhaled deeply, concentrating on the task at hand.
“Erasi Memator!” Ora’s gedewey ignasia began to glow under her glove that she had hurriedly replaced when she’d cut her hand. An emerald spark leaped from Ora’s hand to the man’s forehead, before quickly fading to darkness.
“Will he be okay?” A hint of concern entered Katrina’s voice.
“His head will feel like it had a one ton boulder dropped on it in the morning, but other than that, he’ll be fine.” Ora’s voice was low as she grabbed Katrina’s sweaty hand and pulled her into the darkness that surrounded Melian.
So sorry that I didn't update, but you get two chapters today, as well as a promise that I will do better in updating!
Chapter 21: Memories
Squirrels chattered, the stream bubbled, birds sang, but Murtagh did not hear them. Petals from cherry blossoms danced in the wind, but the Red Rider did not see them, nor did he feel early spring’s cool kiss on his exposed face.
He was focused on one thing, and one thing only: the maiden before him. Her perfect, softly rounded face was angelic to him. Her soft blue-green eyes bored straight into Murtagh’s soul, making him feel as if he’d been burned by ice. He tingled with invigorating chill, yet a fire consumed his very being, eating away at him.
The shame in Lenalei’s eyes was overwhelming, but Murtagh recognized it. His brown eyes depicted his unwilling betrayal, while her ocean-colored ones showed that she had done something horrible.
But nothing else mattered to him but drinking in every detail, every miniscule element of this woman. Her forehead was too small for traditional beauty, but it fit her heart-shaped face perfectly. Long, curled lashes formed feathery curtains around the deep pools that were her eyes, while her eyebrows were also dark. They were rather broad, but this, too suited her.
Her nose was petite and softly curved, while her full port red lips formed a heart by themselves. Her chin was sharp and stately, forming a nicely squared jaw line.
She was a rosy maiden, rounded yet slender. A simple black tunic with long, flowing sleeves adorned her body, while a circlet of eucalyptus leaves was worn in her upswept auburn hair. Her mane was wound into a simple knot at the nape of her long neck, while curly wisps of it framed her flushed face.
Around her waist, a silken crimson rope formed a belt. It was tied in a simple square knot. Her feet were bare, and they, too were rosy. Tiny blades of grass licked at her toes, swaying in the crisp breeze.
“Atra esterni ono thelduen,” Lenalei murmured, her fingers touching her lips softly.
“Atra du evarinya ono varda,” Selena returned, imitating the gesture.
“Un du mor’ranr unin hjarta onr.” Lenalei then turned toward Murtagh, her cheeks assuming a little more color than was normal.
She said the greeting, which Murtagh responded to appropriately. After she finished, Lenalei turned about, beckoning to the two travelers that they should follow.
Her feet moved across the ground soundlessly; no twigs cracked under her feet. Murtagh moved the same way, his steps muffled against the lush carpet of grass beneath him.
Selena was silent behind her; her thoughts were in the past, focused on an era long gone, but still treasured in her heart.
Her love, the reason she’d lived for so long, was dead. He’d died protecting her son, which was a noble death. But that did not take away the invisible dagger that twisted through Selena’s heart, mangling it beyond repair, or so it felt.
Her breath was strained as she remembered the night she had said her final farewell to her love.
FLASHBACK
The sky was a black sheet, endless and filled with despair. Thunder rumbled in response to a lightning strike that hadn’t yet been seen by the only two people out on the dark, stormy night.
Brom, a Rider of old, along with Selena, past wife of Morzan, stood on the outskirts of Carvahall as they said their final good-byes. They would never again meet.
The thunder crashed, the lightning struck, and water poured from the sky. Streams and rivers overflowed under the deluge, while the sheer electricity in the air made the figures’ hair stand on end. Misery hung over the night like a blade poised over the neck of a traitor; unstoppable.
But above the misery, the darkness, and the despair, there was love. Love, unbreakable and true; love, a beacon in the night, love, which conquers all, so is said. But even love, whose bonds can not be easily broken, could not keep this ill-fated couple together.
“I’ll never see you again.” Selena’s voice was unstable, breaking twice as she said the simple sentence. But her voice was not the only thing that was broken; her heart was shattered. Tears and rain mingled upon her cheeks, leaving trails as they ran down her filth-ridden face. She reached out to caress the face of the one she held most dear, and the one she was being forced to leave.
“Aye; we shan’t ever be together again, but I will dream of you. Every night as I lay down my head to rest, I will be happy, for I’ll know that I’ll see you. And every day, as I look upon the face of the child, I will see you in him. I will always see you, Selena, even as I lie on my deathbed. I’ll see you.” Selena could not deny the pure sincerity that rang from Brom’s deep, smooth voice.
She took a little solace from his vow, but the pain was almost too much for the woman to bear. In her twenty years of life, Selena had never felt such agony. She’d endured torture, even the pain of leaving her own child in the hands of a murderer, but nothing had ever struck her very soul like this did.
“And I you,” she replied, stepping forward. As the mayhem within Selena reached its peak, she leaned forward and kissed her love like never before. As the two shared their final embrace, Selena felt a sense of peace; for the last time for a long time, she felt whole.
END FLASHBACK
Coming back to the real world was an unwanted experience. Selena wanted to stay in the past, to be forever incased in the arms of Brom. But there are many things that people wish for that they never acquire, and many things that they wish away that come to them anyway.
As she trudged silently through the woods, followed by Thorn, Selena studied Murtagh’s movements. His hands were balled into fists at his sides, his movements awkward and sudden. It was as if he had been possessed by a demon, and Selena knew exactly who. Some called her Venus, others Aphrodite, and men of the sea knew her as Calypso. But either way, Murtagh, son of Morzan and Selena, was experiencing puppy love for the first time; Selena was sure of it.
Thorn’s mind was also on Murtagh and his feelings, but this was much more intense. Thorn had felt something like this only once; when he’d first laid eyes on Saphira. But this wasn’t personal, nor was it impersonal; this was something else.
Part of the red dragon longed for this elf as his master did, and yet another part disliked Lenalie with burning intensity. He loved her because of Murtagh. He hated her for the same reason. If this elf felt the same way as his Rider did, then Thorn would be discarded like a child’s old toy. He would simply become another thing that Murtagh owned, while this child, this Lenalei, would be the sole object of the Rider’s affections. Not that Thorn needed affection; he was perfectly fine on his own. And yet, Murtagh was his companion, his very best friend. Murtagh understood him in a way that none but a Rider and dragon can even hope to comprehend.
As his claws kneaded the soft earth beneath his massive feet, Thorn, dragon of Murtagh, vowed that he was not to be defeated by a mere hatchling. He would stay the main thing in his Rider’s life; Thorn would make sure of it.
Chapter 22: Ambushed!
The blanket of dark, damp, chill that surrounded Roran was beginning to get to him. He had lost feeling in his toes an hour before, but he didn’t dare tell Eragon. Saphira had offered to cover his with one of her wings, but he’d refused politely.
I may be a human, but I am not going to be defeated by an overgrown iguana. Roran rubbed his arms, trying to warm himself with the friction. He closed his eyes, gathering his thoughts. At least they weren’t in Uru’baen, as Eragon had informed him they could have very well been after attacking the King’s creatures. The whispered stories of the King’s treatment of prisoners were enough to strike fear into the heart of a dragon. According to the tales, the King never left any survivors. But where, wondered Roran, did the stories come from?
His breath was a cold cloud as soon as it left his chapped lips. Out of habit, Roran licked his lips, feeling the cracks on them with his tongue. The saliva was warm on his mouth at first, but after only minutes, it became cold and aided the frosty night in robbing Roran of his warmth.
Shrugging, Roran got up from the saddle bag he’d been using as a chair. He reached his arms skyward, stretching his clenched muscles. He eyed Farah, Ora’s jet black mare. She was munching on the last of the oats in her nosebag, trying creative techniques to get the very last bit of the food.
The mare stomped the frozen ground under her hooves when she realized that there was no more. Suppressing a chuckle, Roran strode over to his cousin’s horse and removed the bag from her face. She snorted, but when she caught Roran’s familiar scent, allowed him to stroke the soft hair on her face.
As his fingers moved over the sleek mare, Roran remembered the time Eragon was thrown from Ginny, Horst’s mule. Eragon had been sneaking around, trying to mount the animal. He’d never ridden anything, but young Eragon was determined, and could not be deterred by anyone, not even his beloved Aunt Marion.
So one day, when the animal was tied to the hitching post outside Morn’s tavern, Eragon had tried to climb onto poor Ginny’s back. Terrified, the mule bucked, throwing Eragon over her ears and into the fence she was hitched to.
The sight of ten-year-old Eragon, bruised and bloodied against the fence had been both frightening and comical to Roran. Of course, he was only twelve then and had no sense to speak of. But Roran wasn’t so sure that he had any sense at nineteen, either. He’d moved the entire village to a foreign country, fought like a madman in a battle, and watched his evil cousin and his good cousin beat each other to a pulp in that battle. But now he had what, or who, he wanted: Katrina.
When Katrina had been taken, he’d felt as if a part of him had been stolen. But now, he felt whole once more, and eager to fight to keep the ones he loved from harm.
“What are you thinking about?” Eragon’s voice shattered his cousin’s reverie, bringing him once more into the hard, cold reality of life. Roran hadn’t really heard Eragon’s words, only a babbling.
“What?” His fingers were combing Farah’s silky, obsidian mane, but he his face towards Eragon.
His cousin was wearing his usual uniform; a tunic and breeches. The tunic differed in color from day to day; today it was a sky-like shade of blue. Around his waist, the belt of Beloeth the Wise hung, as well as Valiant in Zar’roc’s scabbard. Around his ankle, Roran knew, a small dagger was strapped. His bow was in the saddle bags.
Roran only carried his hammer and the flimsy blade the Varden had issued him.
“What are you thinking?” Eragon repeated, running a hand through his mud-and-blood caked hair.
“Oh. I was just remembering when Ginny threw you against that fence.” Roran chuckled, covering his mouth with his hand as the chuckle deepened into a coughing fit. The cough ripped at Roran’s chest, making him feel as if he’d been impaled by an unseen projectile. Tears clouded his vision, unbidden but present just the same.
Breathing in and out slowly, Roran eventually recovered from his coughing fit, reaching for the water skin that hung freely from Farah’s saddle. He took a small sip of the water, letting it run down his parched throat on its own accord. He was afraid that if he swallowed, he would trigger more coughing.
As soon as he’d finished drinking the water, he corked the skin and returned it to its former position. When he turned around, Eragon was there, holding a small, silver flask out to his cousin.
Roran took it instantly; he knew the liquid that was inside. Unscrewing the cap carefully, Roran took a tiny sip of the faelnirv. It burned his throat going down, and he almost started coughing and sputtering again. But when the stinging stopped, it was as if someone had lit a flame within Roran’s body, warming him. His fingers and toes felt alive again. No, Roran realized, it was more than that. He felt new; refreshed. It was a feeling that could not be expressed in spoken words.
“Thanks, Eragon,” Roran rasped, clearing his throat as he handed the tiny bottle back to his cousin.
“Thank the elves; they are the ones who brew this magnificent liqueur,” replied Eragon, placing the flask inside one of the pockets of his breeches. He folded his legs, sitting criss-cross on the cracked earth that surrounded Melian.
“I don’t think I’ll get the chance, Eragon. You said yourself that the elves only let people who have a purpose for being there enter their cities. Although I wish it weren’t so, Katrina and I will probably settle somewhere in Surda. That way, I’ll be able to fight for the Varden when need be, and hopefully Katrina and I will be able to raise our children in peace.” Roran was solemn, almost contrite as he told his cousin of his plans.
“You think too much, Roran. I’m sure I can gain entry to Ellesmera for you and Katrina. After all, after fighting in battles, risking my life, and loosing almost everything important to me, you’d think that the Fair Folk would grant me something, wouldn’t you?” Eragon smiled grimly, but his expression soon turned to one of alarm.
Holding a finger to his lips, Eragon pressed his ear to the ground, listening. He heard hoof beats. These were ordinary horses; their sound was simply brisk. If the source of the noise were warhorses, the sound would be much more thunderous.
Even so, the sound worried him. They were close; perhaps a league away, and Eragon, Roran and Saphira were still waiting for Katrina and Tarmunora to return. Farah whinnied, tossing her head nervously.
Roran, knowing that something was afoot, gripped the hilt of his sword. Eragon got up without a word and picked up one of Saphira’s saddle bags, making his way to the azure dragon. He fastened it to the molded leather saddle, and turned to get another. In his mind, he heard Roran speaking to him.
What is it, my brother? Enemy soldiers?
I’m not sure, but we should be prepared to leave. Roran nodded, and picked up speed. He lifted the saddle bags as if they were nothing. Eragon noticed that his cousin’s muscles were very well developed; Roran had grown much, much stronger in the year that the two hadn’t seen each other.
Within ten minutes, Eragon and Roran had gotten Saphira completely ready for takeoff.
I smell torches, Saphira commented, holding her head high to sniff the chilly breeze.
This is good. If it were Galbatorix who had sent these people, then they would not be carrying torches or making such racket. I make no promises, but I think that this army isn’t of the king’s making. Eragon thought-spoke to Roran and Saphira, making certain that nobody else would hear their conversation.
After this, everyone was silent, even Farah, who Eragon had calmed with his mind.
Even as the hoof beats grew closer, the night remained still, save for the breeze that stirred the atmosphere and the morose song of a solitary cricket. Without a sound, the two men who had grown up as brothers came to stand back to back.
Fingering Valiant’s hilt, Eragon looked over his shoulder at his comrade and nodded. Eragon drew his blade, separating sword from scabbard in an elegant maneuver. He rested the flat of the blade against his forehead, feeling a tingle as the cool steel of the sword came into contact with the beads of perspiration on his furrowed brow.
Not to be outdone, Roran grasped the handle of his hammer and drew it in a fluid movement, twirling it once before bringing it to rest in a battle stance. He felt his heart beating against the wall of his chest, the adrenaline racing through his veins. His eyes scanned the area. He saw nothing unusual, only the lights of Melian to the west and the cracked earth all around him. Out of the corner of his eye, Roran spied a fearsome sight.
The light of the full moon gleamed off of Saphira’s razor-sharp teeth, making them seem even more lethal. Her talons kneaded the tough, packed dirt beneath them as her wings twitched nervously. They wanted flight, but the rest of Saphira craved fight. She yearned to feel the fear of those who saw her, to watch the terror in their eyes as they caught their first and last glimpse of Saphira, Daughter of Vervada and Iormungr.
Eragon was keeping Farah from fleeing, but anyone could see that the horse was frightened out of her mind. She pawed the earth; her ears were back, her teeth bared.
Roran’s head whipped about, almost of its own accord, as he recognized the sounds of footsteps. Tensing his muscles, he kept his eyes on where the newest noise was coming from. He could make out two dark shapes. They walked on two legs and wore dark cloaks which obscured their faces. In their hands, there were cloth bags.
“Who goes there?” Roran asked, his voice normal in volume. The two figures pulled off their hoods, exposing that it was none other than Tarmunora and Katrina, returning from Melian.
They wore grim looks as well. They had heard the hooves, too. Wordlessly, they dropped their bags and went to retrieve their weapons.
Ora drew Freedom, gripping the hilt with both hands. She squared her shoulders, holding her head high.
Katrina pulled up her skirt to reveal two long daggers tucked into the folds of a thin petticoat. She drew them, holding one in her mouth as she smoothed her dress back into position. She took the knife from between her teeth and crossed the daggers together, uttering a silent prayer to the gods.
Ora held her sword as Eragon had done, placing the flat against her brow. She, too was praying, but to only one god. She prayed to the God, the one who had granted her eternal salvation. In her mind, she recited,
“I am with you and will watch over you wherever you go . . .” It was a verse she had committed to memory, from the book that the Lord of all things had written through many men. The Book of the Dawn, chapter 28, verse 25.
And the group certainly did need someone to watch over them, for at that moment, a wave of men atop horses washed over them.
They all carried torches, which burned orange, yellow and blue. The eerie scent of burning pitch filled Ora’s nostrils. It was spicy, and yet a sickly sweet and smoky odor.
But the thing that assaulted the senses of the travelers was the noise. The mysterious group made their horses gallop so that they made a ring around the smaller group. The sounds of hundreds of hooves striking the ground, as well as the angry shouts of an army were deafening.
The sea of men parted as a single man atop a sleek, pure white horse made his way towards the travelers. He pulled back a hood, revealing a face so beautiful and so terrible that it is the very essence of nightmares.
Hey, all, sorry that I haven't posted much as of late. It's just been really hectic and I haven't had the time. I do, however, have a few chapters for you to read! Tis the responsibility or Ellera, Olly, Zshet and a very special set of twins who got me to write again. You know who you are, my friends. Without further ado I present the next chapters!
Chapter 23: Released
Faomere of Kirtan awoke from his trance-like state to the dark, dank confines of the dungeon he had learned to call home. His emerald eyes scanned the room, searching for any sign that morning had come at last. There were no windows in his tiny cell, only a tiny crack of light that entered the room under the solid iron door.
The light flickered and pulsed; it was coming from a torch. It was either early morning or still night, which, Faomere did not know. He sighed, sitting up on the stone slab that served as his bed. His bare feet touched the cold, damp cobblestone floor, but Faomere did not recoil as he had for the first two months of his detainment.
He was used to the cold. Everything in the king’s dungeon was freezing. Even the castle cellar was warmer than the prisoner’s cell. His long, raven hair was matted with oil and bodily filth, and Faomere longed to bathe. He hadn’t had a bath in three months, and that was how long he had been detained.
It was his fault that he’d been captured; he had willingly walked into Uru’baen. He had come for a purpose; to avenge his brother, and to put an end to the suffering of millions.
Unfortunately, Faomere had been captured before he had laid a finger on Galbatorix. He, like countless others, had underestimated Galbatorix.
Feeling around in the dark, Faomere soon found the crude, wooden bucket of dirty water that he had been drinking from for the past week. It had once had a handle, but that was now serving another purpose. There was no dipper; he had to use his hands to bring the foul liquid to his parched mouth.
It tasted awful; metallic and dirty, with small pieces of grit swirling in it. Faomere hardly noticed it anymore, but instead drank greedily. Some weeks, the guards forgot to bring any water and the elf was forced to lap water from the puddles on the floor of his cell.
Sometime in the night, one of the guards had slipped a tray into the room. Faomere knelt to examine the food. There was a rock-solid cake of sea biscuit, and a mug of cold broth to soften it in. This was a good meal; most days there was no broth.
Faomere almost dug into the food regardless of the fact that Galbatorix ordered poisons to be added to the elf’s food at random intervals. The only thing that held him back was the feeling of cool metal against his Adam’s apple.
Faomere carefully unclasped the necklace from around his neck, holding it up to the dim light so he could see it. It was black metal, but it wasn’t painted. The person who had forged the necklace had discovered a new way to heat steel. Using their method, the smith could make dull steel a shiny onyx.
The chain was very intricate, its links weaving in and out of each other. The links themselves were made from an old suit of chain mail, and had been fastened together patiently by hand. A solitary charm hung from the chain, lonely yet beautiful. It was a tiny horseshoe, in perfect detail. There were tiny holes in the charm where nails would go, were it a real horseshoe.
Faomere flipped the necklace over, examining the back. Engraved by a shaking hand, the words “pain” and “death” had been etched into the metal with a sharpened, white-hot rod. He smiled; the friend who had made the necklace for him had embossed the back of the charm with those words to remind him to return home safely.
FLASHBACK------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
In a forest, deep within Du Welden Vardin, two best friends said good-byes to each other. One was going on an epic journey, from which he would return a changed elf. The other wept for the second time in her fifteen years of existence as she embraced her very best friend.
“Calm down, El. I’ll be back before you start to miss me, I promise,” Faomere soothed, wiping the tears away from the girl’s eyes. The early morning light filtering through the trees cast shadows on her face, making her features look sharper than they already did. Her eyes were shining from the tears in them, but he could still make out the unusual colors within them: the black centers, wide to take in as much light as possible; the red-brown that surrounded them, the dark green rings around that, and finally, the smoky gray that rimmed the very edges. The whites of her eyes were snaked with red streaks, but this was from her crying.
“I miss you already!” She wailed, burying her face in Faomere’s chest. He wrapped his arms around her, murmuring reassurances to his best friend.
“Not possible; I’m right here,” he said pointedly, and the girl smacked him across the face. Faomere just grinned as he rubbed his tender cheek. This was his best friend as he knew her; strong and hostile.
“Hey, that didn’t hurt as much as normal. Are you getting soft on me, El?” Faomere was rewarded by another stinging blow to the face.
“Never,” the girl answered, “I simply wanted you to live so you could go and exterminate Galbatorix. Now, shut up and take your present.” She produced a small, woven pouch and deposited it in the palm of her friend’s hand. It was embroidered with a simple “F” in forest green, but there was something inside the little bag, Faomere knew.
With a sigh, he unknotted the tiny drawstring and overturned the bag. A chain made of black links poured out, with the charm falling onto the elf’s palm with a thump.
He held the necklace up to the dim forest light to examine his gift. He recognized the chain at once; it was his old chain mail! He looked up at his friend, who was putting on an expression of only mild amusement. She’d doubtlessly spent hours over the tiny necklace. She’d sweated gallons over her tiny forge, heating the steel, working for a minute, and then once more waiting for the metal to reach red-hot.
Faomere didn’t miss the purple-black blood-blister on her right thumb; she’d struck herself with a hammer by accident.
The tiny horseshoe that hung from the intricate chain glinted in the early morning light, reflecting Faomere’s face. He flipped the charm over, revealing the carefully written words.
“Death and pain; that’s what awaits you if you don’t come back,” El said, crossing her arms as Faomere turned to her. He laid his hand on her shoulder so lightly that, had she not watched him place it there, she never would have noticed his touch. The she-elf was winding a piece of her blond hair around a finger absently as she bit her lip.
For a moment, she reminded Faomere of the innocent child he had come to know in his past, when they were both young. The five years that separated them were of no consequence to the two; it was as if they were two halves of a whole being, united by chance and bonded by love.
He chuckled. “I’ll remember that. I’ll remember you.”
Timidly, gently, the she-elf lifted her hand to Faomere’s cheek, which was still quite red. Her touch was cool to Faomere’s flesh, and he welcomed it.
"When will you return?”
"When the wind blows me back to you," Faomere answered, his voice a smooth whisper in the hush of the forest. The wind shook the branches above the elves, making pine needles rain down upon the couple. Many of the sharp, dagger-like needles fell upon El’s hair, creating a splendid contrast of green and gold.
"Why do you have to talk in riddles all the time?”
"I DO have to go, El," Faomere said pointedly removing her hand from his face with one of his own.
“Must you go? Faomere, I . . . ." The elf’s voice trailed off into silence, and for three long seconds, no sound but that of the trees was heard in the woods.
"El, we’ve gone over this time after time, I must go. And now it’s time to say good-bye.” She swallowed, blinking. It was taking all of her strength to hold herself together.
Unbeknownst to his friend of ten years, Faomere, too felt as if he were being torn apart. It was as if he were being stabbed in the heart by his own hand. This was his fault; he’d caused his friend’s pain. But he had a duty, and his own wishes would wait.
"Good Bye; I….”
“Love you." Faomere finished El’s sentence for her in a murmur. As if by its own will, one of his callused hands wandered to her cheek while the other in-twined itself in her fingers, pulling her tightly against him.
The breath flew from her lungs in shock, but she had no time to react before his face was within inches of hers, his sweet breath warming her face. El closed her eyes and subconsciously, she narrowed the gap between them, pressing her lips to his.
In that moment, it was as if the world had vanished and all that remained was the unearthly feeling of pure euphoria. It was as if everything in the world was insignificant, unimportant compared to this.
All too soon the perfect moment perished, and the two stood staring at one another, their faces as scarlet as the sun when it sets.
He looked away from her, embarrassed, but when he stole a glance back at her, she was standing there, still holding his hand, smiling.
He smiled back as he gave her hand a light kiss and then strode off to mount his horse. He mounted, and horse and rider trotted into the morning fog as Faomere gave one last smile to the one person in Alagasia who gave him complete joy.
END FLASHBACK!!
Faomere was sucked from his sweet delusion by the ominous clank of the heavy metal door opening.
“Get up.” The guard spat at Faomere, the clear liquid landing on the prisoner’s face. Instantly, it turned cool in the icy cold of the dungeon. Regretfully, Faomere replaced the cool metal around his neck and pulled himself to his feet.
He looked longingly at the broth and bread; he hadn’t had time to eat before the guard came. The soldier was a big, bulky man, who seemed gleefully aware of the fact that his muscles bulged underneath his breastplate. It was steel, with the twisting red and black flame that was Galbatorix’s coat-of-arms.
“Hurry, dog. The king’s waiting.” The guard’s voice was scratchy yet high, like an angry coyote. That was what Faomere called the man in his thoughts: Coyote.
Faomere bristled, clenching his fists. He knew he could kill Coyote easily. A well-placed strike with one fist was all it would take. No one would hear anything, and Faomere could be long gone by the time anyone would find the man’s crumpled body. But something held him back, something unexplainable yet present. It was as if he could hear his brother’s voice, once again pounding the ways of the elves into his younger brother’s head.
“We do not kill unnecessarily; what sets us apart from other races is our courtesy.” Faolin’s voice was clear in Faomere’s mind. He could hear the smooth, baritone qualities as well as the slightly scratchy, sandy components.
Faomere held himself back for his brother, silently vowing once more to avenge his brother.
Coyote grabbed Faomere’s upper arm roughly, his fingertips digging into the soft flesh. Faomere didn’t even wince. He could hear his heart pumping blood throughout his body, some of it no doubt pooling beneath his skin to form a hand-shaped bruise.
Coyote grunted as he pulled Faomere through the cell doorway, locking it behind him with a ring of skeleton keys. He watched the elf as he did this, his keen hazel eyes never leaving Faomere’s body. The elf stood still obediently- he wasn’t going to try anything until he was alone with the king. Then, he could put his plan into action.
Faomere felt the smooth, sharpened bucket handle hidden up his long sleeve. The dirty metal was warm from being near his flesh. Coyote’s eyes scrutinized the elf, but they did not detect anything in his hand. To Coyote, it looked as if Faomere’s hand was simply swinging at his side.
The castle corridors were dark; only every other torch had been lit. The flames made pools of orange light in the darkness. They illuminated the slime-ridden walls enough for Faomere to see each stone, and the color differences between the stones themselves. His eyesight was far better than a human’s. For the past months, he wished it hadn’t been. He had seen too many things- things that would make a hardened soldier call for his mother. He’d seen men lead off to have their eyes gouged out, and watched them as they stumbled back to their cells afterwards. He’d heard the cries of pain as a woman was whipped for bringing the king the wrong color of grapes.
All of this added to the pot of boiling hatred that simmered within Faomere, fueling him to keep up his charade. As if sensing that something was soon to go wrong, a cockroach scuttled across the wall, seeking safety on the floor.
Only a second later, Faomere heard the crunch as Coyote’s boot came down upon the unsuspecting insect. The elf shuddered as he felt a flame of existence snuffed out carelessly.
They had made many twists and turns, winding through many corridors and halls until they reached the king’s dining room. Massive, mahogany double-doors separated the elf from the vengeance he so desired. Two men stood guard at the doors, and, with a nod from Coyote, the gateway to the king’s room was opened.
There was a long table, decked with platters, flagons, and goblets of the richest food. Every two feet, there were gold candlesticks that matched the huge chandeliers hanging above the table. There, at the head of the table, sat Galbatorix.
“Leave us,” he commanded his guards lazily with a hand gesture. The two door guards immediately marched from the room, while Coyote hesitated for a moment. He opened his mouth, as if to say something, but was silenced when a knife buried itself in his heart.
The golden hilt, elaborately carved, stuck out of his chest. The guard grabbed his chest, his fingers touching sticky, red blood. He stared at his hands for a moment, and then his lifeless body crumpled to the floor.
Faomere’s gaze flickered to Galbatorix, who was holding a stem of grapes. Unperturbed, he plucked a round, juicy purple grape and bit into it. The sound of his teeth breaking the skin of the grape sounded throughout the room. Faomere looked from the corpse on the floor to the king, awestruck.
“Oh, forgive me, my guest; would you care to dine with me?” The king spoke to Faomere as if he were an old friend.
“No, thank you. I’ve lost my appetite,” the Elf replied, the sharp edge of his voice cutting through the thick pretence that Galbatorix was using.
“Surely that didn’t disturb you? He was a useless guard, anyway. He didn’t even see the weapon that you hold in your hand this very moment!” Galbatorix took a drink of wine, daintily wiping his mouth with a napkin.
Faomere was taken aback. How could the king have known?
“My boy, are you not familiar with the process called scrying? It is amusing to watch you in my spare time. I must give you credit, though. I never would have thought of sharpening a bucket handle on a stone ledge. Very creative,” Galbatorix complemented, nodding his head.
“I’m supposed to be released today.” Faomere’s voice was as hard and cold as a glacier. He watched the king’s black eyes, searching for any trace of the king’s plans.
“So you are, my friend, but first, I would like to introduce you to someone.” Galbatorix stood, turning. Behind him was another set of double doors. He jerked them open, and whistled loudly. Two guards walked in, a struggling girl between them. She couldn’t have been more than twenty years old.
“Faomere of Kirtan, meet Gwendolyn of Uru’baen.”
Chapter 24: Shattered Soul
Knotted wood; it’s much like I am, Thorn. Twisted, mangled, and often mistaken for something it isn’t.
So thought Murtagh, son of Morzan as he studied the curious throne upon which Queen Islanzadi sat. Her tunic was the color of ripe holly berries; bright and beautiful. It matched her plump red lips perfectly, and nicely accented her light green eyes. Above those eyes, her dark eyebrows were furrowed as she studied the boy before her.
Murtagh’s black hair reached his chin, brushing against his strong, squared jaw line. His skin was unnaturally pale and as smooth as porcelain. The red Rider wore all black, from his puffy sleeved shirt to his black leather breeches. His deep brown eyes were hard and cold, as if he already expected to be ridiculed and had made up his mind not to care.
The brows above his eyes were thick and dark; they reminded the Queen of Murtagh’s younger brother. This was only the beginning of the similarities between the brothers, Islanzadi decided. She sensed in Murtagh the same pigheaded compulsion to be headstrong as she’d found in Eragon.
Thorn stood behind his Rider, scales gleaming in the light filtering through the windows that were cut into the wooden tree house. He was a fine dragon, with sharp teeth, perfectly curved talons, and a will to protect his Rider. He gazed upon the Queen, his scarlet eyes alight with something akin to jealousy.
Vaguely, Islanzadi wondered what the dragon was jealous about, but her inquisition of the matter ceased when a petite figure garbed in a black cloak stepped out from behind Murtagh.
With tanned hands, the cloaked person pulled back her hood to reveal a sight that Islanzadi had never expected to see again.
There, standing in front of her, was the Queen of the elves’ closest friend: Selena. Her blond hair, green eyes, and perpetual smile had not changed in seventeen years. In the time they hadn’t seen each other, the childish beauty of a young Selena had matured into the wise grace of an established, strong woman.
A gasp escaped Islanzadi’s lips as she realized the wonderful truth: Selena was alive and standing before her.
Rising with fluid grace and speed, the Queen rushed to embrace her friend. Selena’s arms welcomed her, wrapping around the Queen in a friendly hug.
Lenalei, who had lead the travelers to her queen, stood at Islanzadi’s right, ready to fulfill every order given her.
With one hand, Queen Islanzadi bade her handmaiden to come closer so only Lenalei could hear what she had to say.
“See that a room is prepared for Selena in my home, and see that the chamber chosen for her is close to mine. We have much catching up to do. Also, inform Oromis-elda that he is to have a houseguest.” Her voice was low and urgent, but Lenalei could hear the smile in the queen’s voice.
“Aye, my Queen; it will be done. Is there any other way I may help you?” The queen thought over this for a moment, weighing her options and their possible outcomes.
“Not yet, but when we’re finished here, you are going to be needed.” Lenalei nodded and curtsied, exiting the room. Islanzadi saw that Murtagh’s eyes followed the girl, and knew that her plan would work perfectly.
“Selena, you haven’t an idea how it fills my heart with joy to know that you’re alive.” Islanzadi’s smooth voice was rich with sincerity as it echoed off the walls of the tree house.
“Thank you, my Queen. It’s a comfort to see that you are well also,” Selena replied, nudging her son discreetly with an elbow. Murtagh stepped forward, pressing the first two fingers of his right hand to his lips in the Elven symbol.
“Atra esterni ono thelduen,” he mumbled, the oaken floor beneath his feet becoming all the more interesting as he felt the Queen’s keen eyes scrutinizing him.
Murtagh’s words hung in the air, disrupted only by the twittering of birds as they conversed in the treetops above. Murtagh wondered what to do. Had he recited the greeting incorrectly? Or, even worse, had he accidentally insulted the most powerful woman in Du Weldenvarden?
His worries were shattered, however, when Islanzadi responded in the traditional Elven way.
“Atra du evarinya ono varda.”
“Un du mor’ranr unin hjarta onr,” finished the Red Rider, his eyes finally rising to meet the Queen’s. In them, as fleeting as a shooting star, he saw a flash of sympathy. However, it was soon replaced by the cool, impassive glare he’d seen before.
Islanzadi stepped closer to Murtagh; if he’d exhaled sharply, his breath would have touched her face. But, of course, that was not a very pleasant thing for the Queen of the Elves to smell.
“You may be trying to gain redemption, trying to scrub your hands clean of the evils you’ve committed in the past, but sometimes when blood is spilt, it stains both the victim and the defendant. You have murdered using tricks, the very tricks taught to you by a serpent of evil.
“The blood that runs through your blood is tainted by darkness, just as your body is tainted by the bearer of darkness himself.
“Murtagh, how can you expect others to show you compassion when you’ve ripped out pieces of their hearts, slaughtered the ones they hold dear? You cannot, and I can force no one to be kind to you.
“I can order and enforce civility; I can guarantee that you will not go to sleep one night and wake up to the sounds of your own dying screams. But, as to a single person showing you a drop of the kindness you spared none of as you stole lives that were not your own, that I cannot promise.
“You must strive with every power of your foul being to clean yourself of this evil. You must use every skill, every thought to help the Resistance. Every breath that goes into your lungs, each time your heart beats, every time you bring your sword down upon the head of your enemy, that enemy must be the one with whom you allied yourself. Heed my words, Murtagh, son of Morzan, and there just may be hope for your shattered soul.”
A/N: Alrighty, here's the next chapter! I've updated it and will probably have another chapter for you all within a few days. I've gotten back into the groove of writing this again! This is set in Galby's castle, and if you have questions they will be answered in due time. This chapter is for my bestest e-pal Olly, who is the most awesomest friend a gal could ask for! Go Olly!
Chapter 25: Useless Human!
“Please, I’ve asked you to leave thrice already! Just go, elf, go and tell the Vardin. Don’t worry about me; my death is of no consequence, and I will gladly die if by my death the freedom of others is granted. Go!” For the past five minutes, Gwendolyn had been trying to persuade Faomere to leave without her.
They sat across from each other at Galbatorix’s dining table, each shooting piercing glares at the other.
Plates of uneaten food littered the table; everything from succulent venison to plump, red grapes was there, and neither the human nor the elf had taken a single bite or sip of the banquet before them.
Faomere felt a pull to save this girl, but it seemed as if gravity were pulling him away, and back to his love. As he grappled with himself inside his mind, Faomere studied Gwendolyn’s appearance.
Her long, auburn hair was shiny and smooth, falling in slight waves to the bottoms of her shoulder blades. Despite being ruffled from her struggling, it reminded Faomere of silk. Of course, he now preferred blonds.
Her eyes were a piercing green, almost the same color of his. They reminded him of the evergreen trees of his home.
“I will not leave you to this despair! Do you not see by my haggard face that I know what happens to prisoners? Can you not tell that I am weary of life after but three months here? I will not leave you!” He repeated, raising his voice. Gwendolyn’s face was a mask; calm, impassive and smooth. She had self control, something that Faomere had not, and never would, acquire.
He growled, a throaty, feral sound in the back of his throat, and then launched into naming the many reasons why he could not leave her.
“You are not trained properly, and even if you were, I still would not leave you. Do you not know what Galbatorix does to women? Surely you must be quite simple not to realize the danger you are in right now. Every second you spend in this place is another second closer to your death!”
Gwendolyn listened not to the words that escaped the elf’s rapidly moving lips; she concentrated on the waves of anger and frustration that she could almost see roll off of him. It quite reminded her of early morning fog gathering in a valley.
“I will address your concerns in but five words. Let. Me. Come. With. You.” She annunciated each word as if to a baby, speaking slowly. His eyes were wide and seemingly innocent, but Faomere knew enough about women to never trust their eyes.
“You’re mad! First, you ask me to leave you in this pit of danger and despair, and now you ask to come and be slaughtered? Do you wish for death?” she did not hesitate to reply,
“Yes; Galbatorix’s.” Faomere growled yet again and pushed his chair away from the table, paying no heed to the sound of wood scraping on a stone floor. He stood and paced the length of the table, his hands behind his back.
“If you were to come with me, where would you go?” The corners of Gwendolyn’s mouth turned upward; the elf would certainly give in.
“To Surda, to track down the remainder of my army.” Faomere stopped in his tracks, turning to Gwendolyn with his mouth agape.
“Your army?” He asked incredulously, narrowing his eyes. “Do you care to explain why you failed to mention this before?” The human shrugged her shoulders, making the brown fabric of her simple dress move with the slight motion.
“I would have, had you not been listing the reasons why a human female is entirely useless. Let me introduce myself properly; the snake is not good with remembering titles. My name is General Gwendolyn, and I am not of Uru’baen. I was a nomad, living with my parents in the hills near Aroughs before I decided to fight.”
A nomad, thought Faomere skeptically. From what he’d heard of the nomadic tribes that wandered Alagaesia, he’d judged them as barbaric beings with little or no regard for others’ lives. If this girl was telling the truth, she would prove him wrong.
“What are your skills?” He asked, wondering if she was trained at archery. He could handle sword-to-sword combat alone, but when approached by a fleet of Urgals, there was no hope for a single archer.
“I can move silently, stay undetected for hours. Animals do not fear me, but larger men than you have fled from the wrath of my bow. We haven’t the time to stand here, elf. What say you?” Faomere was shocked by the impatience behind her words. It reminded him of a friend, a friend who was waiting patiently for his return. Without hesitating, he nodded firmly, the look in his green eyes resolute.
“Aye,” said Faomere, rather unnecessarily. Gwendolyn’s face broke into a small grin, her ruby colored lips framing straight teeth.
A loud clank echoed through the room, rousing Faomere and Gwendolyn from their introductory stupor. Wasting no time, Gwen sprang from her chair and began stuffing small loaves of bread, red apples, napkins and knives from the table into a green cloak. Unbeknownst to Faomere, she also slipped in two salad forks before tying the makeshift bag with some fabric ripped from the edge of the white table cloth.
“What are you doing? If we must go, then let us leave quickly!” Faomere’s voice was gaining an edge that Gwendolyn did not like.
“Oh, yes, let us leave without provisions! Maybe we can call upon the magical fairies of the wood to bring us food. If fact, why don’t you just scramble us some dragon eggs for breakfast?” The sarcasm that dripped from her words was as thick as honey on a winter’s day. Faomere raised his eyebrows and gave a small huff before he began wrestling with the axe that hung over the fireplace. It was a fine battle axe; no doubt it had been the spoil from a fine dwarven warrior. Numerous clanks and pings filled the stone room as Faomere tried nobly to release the axe from the nails that attached its wooden handle to the mantle made of cherry wood.
“We haven’t the time!” Hissed Gwendloly, and the elf had to suppress hysterical laughter.
“The time? I was waiting on you!” Faomere returned, bracing his foot against the grimy wall. With a sigh, Gwen dropped the bag that she was carrying to the floor.
“Allow me,” she muttered, placing a gently hand on Faomere’s shoulder. A silver flask gleamed in the dim light as Gwen drew it from the depths of her earth-colored dress.
“What is that?” Gwen did not answer but merely uncorked the liquid, pressed the tattered hem of her dress to the mouth of the flask, and overturned it. Once she could feel the cool dampness of the liquid on her pale fingers, she turned the bottle right side up and set to work scrubbing the rusty head of a nail with the alcohol-soaked fabric.
As Faomere watched, she cleaned off the heads of all ten nails with her dress, stopping frequently to add more alcohol to her hem. She motioned for Faomere to step back and gripped the axe handle firmly. With a tug and the sound of metal against stone, the axe slid out of the wall. The nails that had held it crumbled into rust-colored dust, leaving no traces of their existence save for the holes in the axe handle and the mantle.
Faomere’s disbelief was evident in the way he stroked the wall, wondering what the fluid in the flask had been. How could alcohol do this?
As if in answer to his question, Gwendolyn smiled. “It’s called yava, elf; it’s made from the fermented juice of the Lulithae blossom. I’d advise you not to drink it if you wish to keep your wits about you.” She smiled fondly, remembering a time long passed.
“Come!” She exclaimed, grabbing Faomere’s hand in hers. He smiled crookedly before squeezing her hand in return. Gwendolyn began to run, towards the door, into the main hallway of the castle.
As the rich, red carpet gave underneath Faomere’s feet he wondered why the numerous guards in the hallway were not questioning a pair of escapees, one of which was carrying an axe, as they raced through the halls of Galbatorix’s castle.
“You are mad!” The dim light of torches cast a warm glow on her sparkling green eyes, drawing Faomere’s attention to her face instead of where he was going. At the last minute, Gwendolyn made a sharp turn, tugging Faomere through a small doorway. The room was completely dark to Faomere’s eyes; as he waited for the ability to see, he felt Gwendolyn’s hand leave his.
Suddenly, a warm glow was set inside the room, illuminating the slimy stone walls. Faomere looked around for Gwendolyn, wondering where she could have vanished to. The room was filled with crates of supplies, and as the elf ran his fingers over a crate as fine black powder appeared upon his fingers. He lifted his hand to his nose, sniffing the powder. It smelled sour and acrid, making Faomere grimace.
The warm glow that Faomere saw was a lonely candle on the stone floor. The white wax was molten and twisted, with only inches until it reached the crude wooden candlestick that held it.
“Gwendolyn?” He called, lifting his hand to his nose as he sneezed. He caught a flash of copper in his peripheral vision and turned about swiftly.
All he saw was the top of Gwendolyn’s head peeking out from a trap door, and this soon disappeared into the dark depths of a trap door.
“Gwendolyn?” He repeated, calling into the abyss that had swallowed his companion. The only answer that he received was the hiss of the candle extinguishing, leaving him alone in the dark.
