Flight Night
Lyra shivered, wishing that she could share the warmth of the fire that her two captors were gathered around. Despite the wind that threatened its existence, the flame still continued to dance through the cold October night. Her entire body ached from traveling through harsh landscape, becoming dragged forward whenever she became too tired to walk. She was being taken to Urû'bean where her father, King Galbatorix, was waiting. He had ordered his bounty hunters to locate and capture his fugitive daughter before she arrived at the Varden.
The fire crackled and popped, the smell of meat wafting around the camp, making Lyra's mouth water. With a growl, her stomach announced its need for food and nourishment. Her mouth was also dry from the lack of water she received, her lips cracked and sore. Rolling the sharp rock in her hand, Lyra debated whether or not she should start cutting the rope that bound her to a tree.
Earlier that day, she had tripped, scraping her knee against a jagged rock. There were smaller rock littered around the large one, and forming a plan, Lyra had grabbed one while her captors argued over directions. She did not know where she would go; all she knew is that she had to get away.
The leaves swirled around as a gust of wind swept through the camp, howling. Of all the nights she could have planned her escape it had to be on the spookiest. Still, she was convinced that the weather would be to her advantage; the dark, cloud covered night would make her hard to see, especially since she was wearing a black dress. Then, the wind rusting the leaves would make it hard for her captors to hear her leave, and can help cover her tracks.
Lyra heard one of the men burp. For the past three days, she had to endure their rude, arrogant, and appalling behavior. Even so, they left her alone in fear of her father; Galbatorix wanted the pleasure to torture her himself. Rolling her eyes, Lyra began to cut through the rope.
Her task was difficult. The limited mobility of her hands made the process slow and painful as the opposite side of the rock pressed against one of her palms. She bit her lips, forcing herself not to cry out. Near the fire, the men began to unroll their bedding. The taller one, a man with tousled brown, green eyes, and an un-kept beard, announced that he was going to keep first watch. Silently, Lyra cursed. He was more observant than his companion and she had hoped that he would take the second watch, as usual. Already engaged in her plan, Lyra had to continue forward.
Blood trickled down her fingers making the rock slippery. The rope was only halfway cut, discouraging Lyra. Fifteen minutes had passed before she had finally reached her goal, the ends of the rope hanging limply against the tree. Already tired from her first task, she took a few deep breaths to calm her thudding heart. The tall man was smoking his pipe, staring into the fire. Aware that any movement would alert him, Lyra waited, glad that at least the rope was cut making her next step easier.
At least a half hour had passed before the man stood up. He put away his pipe and exited the clearing. Assuming he had to urinate, Lyra unraveled the rope and darted off in the opposite direction. Only a few feet into the thick forest, she fell. The dark night would make it hard for her captors to see, but the same went for her as well. The dirt stung her blood stained palm, a hiss escaping her lips.
On her feet once more, she trudged onward with her hands outstretched to feel her way through the trees. Her pace was slow, her eyes darting around looking for an unusual place to hide. Planning ahead, she knew she could not outrun the men, but she could outsmart them. There were bushes and thick tree roots to hide under, but those were too obvious. She thought about climbing a tree, but thought better of it.
In the distance, she heard the tall man yelling. The sound made her quicken her pace. Left with no other options, Lyra dodged under a blackberry bush. She weaseled her way to the very back where there was a small decline in the land. Ignoring her newfound cuts and bruises she listened intently to her surroundings. An owl hooted in a tree nearby, a sound barely audible above the rusting of leaves.
A twig snapped.
"Keep looking," said one of the men. Lyra held her breath as the men approached her general vicinity. They searched high and low trying to find her, but to no avail. Unrelenting, they made their way closer to her location. Her heart began to race, a noise she swore the men could hear as they decided to look under the bush she was under.
Unwilling to face defeat, she maneuvered herself into a position where she could leap out and run one she was exposed. The bush swayed as she shifted, the men nearly upon her.
Suddenly, a rabbit hopped out, making the men jump back. "Blast it; it was only a rabbit!" The men cursed their ill luck as Lyra heaved a sigh of relief. Where the rabbit had come from, she had no idea, but she was grateful for her good fortune. The men headed in another direction and once they were completely gone, she exited her blackberry sanctuary.
The night was still young and she wanted to get as much ground covered as possible. In her head, she visualized the map of Alagaësia. Urû'baen was northwest of her current location, Lake Tüdosten on her right. The nearest charted city was Furnost, but that was much too far north. She was only at the lower half of the woods, closer to the Surdan city of Petrøvya, the destination she decided upon. She headed back to the abandoned camp and stole some provisions before heading on her way.
She trekked through the woods, a sense of accomplishment settling over her. With her growing confidence, she did not pay full attention to her surroundings, though hoof beats were hard to go unnoticed. Lyra stopped in her tracks, unsure what was going on. A blood-curdling scream sent goose bumps down her spine as she recognized the voices of the two men. Scared, she began to run.
To her dismay, the hoof beats became louder. The dark night failed her this time as the men on horseback had torches, spotting her within minutes. "Kill her!" cried one of the men. Lyra's heart sank as she heard the twang of an arrow.
Embedding itself in her side, she fell to the ground, motionless. "Take the satchel."
Lyra was not dead, but she pretended to be so that no more arrows would protrude from her skin. The men did not seem to notice her slow breathing, concerning themselves with their prize. "It's here!" She was confused what the man was talking about. "The pearl is here!" The men cheered and steered their horses away from the woman, the forest becoming quiet once more.
In her haste, Lyra had failed to notice a small pearl hidden in the satchel, obviously stolen. She figured the theft happened earlier while they passed through a small village on the outskirts of the woods, a village she wanted to avoid. Rolling over and sitting up, Lyra examined her wound. The arrow was deep. Tears streamed down her face as she carefully pulled out the arrow. The pain was excruciating, and she feared that it may have punctured one of her internal organs.
Covering the wound with one of her hands, she pressed on. She somehow managed to make it through the night before she collapsed against the cold, leaf strewn forest floor, the sun rising in the east.
Saphira swooped down, heading into a small clearing in the woods. Nasuada had sent them on a mission to scout out Galbatroix's troops near Surda's borders. There was talk that the King's soldiers were amassing around Petrøvya. To wrestle fact from fiction, Nasuada sent Eragon and Saphira to make sure. So far, they have not spotted any army, but to make sure they were not gathered farther north, Eragon had Saphira fly into the Empire. It was risky, but they needed to know.
Few towns lay between Petrøvya and the woods near Lake Tüdosten, but to be safe, Eragon had Saphira fly over the glittering blue lake, masking the large dragon and her Rider. Tired, Eragon had Saphira land. In the morning, they would head back to the Varden and report what they had seen.
"I am going to collect some firewood," Eragon said, as Saphira lied down.
You be careful, these woods could be teeming with danger. Grabbing Brisingr, Eragon ventured out of the clearing. He had collected quite a few branches before his eyes fell upon the woman. She had black hair, reminding him of Arya, and she wore a black dress. She was unconscious on the ground, or, was she dead? Eragon immediately dropped his bundle, running over to the lifeless body.
He noticed that dried blood coated her hands, her wrists chafed and bloodied as well. As he examined her, he realized the wound on her side. Drawing his own conclusions, Eragon figured she was captured by a slave trader and was shot down as she tried to escape. Thinking she was dead, she was left to the wild. Eragon placed two fingers on her wrist and was startled to discover that she was in fact alive.
He lifted her bridal-style and carried her back to camp. "I found her lying on the ground and I could not leave her. She's alive, but barely." Saphira growled at the thought of another joining them, but knew Eragon was doing the right thing. Her main concern was that she may hinder their travel speed, and speed was of the essence.
"Watch over her while I pick up the firewood I dropped." When Eragon returned he started a fire, then, he grabbed a small bowl from his pack, filled it with water, and spoke in the Ancient Language to make the water boil instantly. Using a rag, he cleaned off the woman's wounds.
Who do you think she is? Saphira asked, as she watched her Rider heal the woman.
"I think she was taken by slavers and tried to escape, though, if she lives, we will have to ask what really happened."
She looks so young.
"Aye, I reckon she is around my age. Well, that is all I can do for her. I wish I knew her name, that way if she passes into the void during the night, we can give her a proper burial."
That would be a shame. Saphira closed her eyes and hummed a melancholy tune. This is why Galbatorix must be slain; innocent men, women, and children are slain each day. We have to end this injustice.
"I know," Eragon sighed and began to make dinner. He did not eat much, saving food for the woman if she ever awoke. Not long after he ate, she finally began to stir.
Her brown eyes fluttered open and saw a fuzzy outline of a person peering over her. As her eyes adjusted to the orange light provided by the fire, she could see that the man was young and very handsome. He had blue eyes, sandy blond hair, and a fair complexion. "Who are you?" Lyra croaked, her throat sore and dry.
"Here, drink this." Eragon handed her a canteen. Skeptical, the woman ignored the offer. She sat up and observed her surroundings. Upon seeing the sapphire dragon, Lyra froze.
"What are you doing outside the Varden, Eragon Shadeslayer and Saphira Bjartskular?"
Eragon had to fight the urge to grab Brisingr as her formal question startled him. "That is none of your concern. Who are you?" He hated to sound rude, but he could not reveal that information to her without knowing who she was first.
"I am Princess Lyra," she said, in the Ancient Language. This time she grabbed the canteen that was offered to her as Eragon's eyes grew large.
"What are you doing out here, away from safety?" Eragon only knew a little bit about Princess Lyra, the King's rebellious daughter. He knew that she supported the Varden and that she resided in a secret location with her aunt.
"My father discovered my location and I was forced to flee. My aunt is dead and a few days ago, I was caught by my father's bounty hunters. Last night, I attempted an escape. I had easily eluded my captors, but not the soldiers who pursued them after they had stolen a rare pearl in one of the villages we passed through. It was one of the soldiers that wounded me with an arrow, and I am glad they did not recognize me."
"You had some night, and I am glad you are all right. I assume you were heading to the Varden?"
Lyra nodded.
"Well, you are safe now." Eragon handed her some food. "Eat, you must be starving."
"Thank you." She began to scarf down the food, realizing how hungry she had become.
It is an honor to finally meet you, Princess Lyra. You are very brave to have openly opposed your father. Having you as an ally will strengthen the Varden. Saphira dipped her head in respect.
"That means a lot to me, Saphira." Lyra bowed her head as well.
Lyra finished eating, enjoying the warmth of the fire. She reflected back a night ago where she was tied to a tree, freezing. Looking around, the forest did not seem as menacing as the tree's swayed lightly in the breeze, leaves falling lightly to the ground. From the fires glow, it was a pretty sight to behold. Soon, she closed her eyes and fell asleep knowing that everything was going to be all right.