Introduction: Forgotten Memories
Like the twinkling of a star, that illuminates the sky, so does that land of fire and ice. For it doth shine bright, that land of fire and ice. An eternal ember hidden under mother Earth's Ice. Hidden by misted vale in the minds of Dwarves and Elves, long forgotten from the mind of men. Forsaken by the Riders, that land hidden by rock and fire, never to be seen by mortal foes. So who dare enter that land where eternal death lies? Who would dare to face that blight, the darkness of the night, those forsaken by the light? They whom we fear, they who made the dragons' quake in fear, and the elves to tremble with fright. Who will retrieve that hidden by Earth, covered in Ice, and protected by Flame?
Chapter One: Feuding Allies
Darkness swirled, threatening to engulf the entirety of his being: whispers echoed out of sight. A dull beat resonated within the eerie stillness of the eternal night; the voices became distinct among the endless whispers of ghosts. Darkness shifted as a bolt of light penetrated the night, the focus blurred and pain erupted from the sudden shift in the darkness. A figure stood tall against the white light, silhouetting their frame, making it impossible to distinguish the person's features. Louder, rising above the restless whispers, yet soft like a gentle breeze; sweet like honey from the harsh loneliness of the night, the figure spoke, Darkness consumes us. Painful beats thudded dully, a feeling of suffocation overwhelming, Hatred breeds within our hearts, quivering filled the flesh as fear began to creep in, Sinful natures that we cannot deny, the painful beats quickened and the flesh began to prickle with gooseflesh, Condemnation awaits us surely, for we are creatures of Darkness, the feeling of suffocation grew greater, panic began to consume all reason, We are not meant for Light, we walk upon a road of sorrow, beside gushing rivers of innocent blood, The light flashed as if it was angry with the strangers words, and the darkness pressed in, Our souls blackened with sin, tainted with the Darkness within, the painful beats quickened, Do not deny your emotions, the figure walked closer, extending a hand. Spiky hair, long sweeping down on the sides, back, and front of his head; a cape resting upon his shoulders, and the handle of a sword resting on his side. A uniform like that of a soldier, yet his face was hidden in shadow.
Anger fuels us
Discord stirs among us
For we are
The Fallen
We are
Darkness
Eragon awake abruptly, his forehead rested against his arms, head down upon the table. The dreams never ended; in fact they only become more distinct, more realistic. Black encompassed his vision as his arms blocked out the light; he must have fallen asleep again. His breathing was slow and rhythmic, so none who watched him slumber were aware of the nightmare that plagued him. However the pain lingered within his chest; the feeling of suffocation was very real, and Eragon took deep drafts of air into his lungs. It was as if he had been held under water for too long, and yet here he sat very much alive. His heart contracted, aching dully, yet the pain was slowly receding. In the recesses' of his subconscious, the stranger's words lingered. But something new echoed in the turmoil of his thoughts, Join us. Fear gripped his heart, it was the third time the stranger had completed what he wanted to say. Extending a hand of friendship to Eragon, and yet it was the first time that the voice lingered within his mind.
Unease stirred within and conflicted with curiosity; what did it mean? Darkness, did it have a purpose? Was it truly something other than the night that came after the sun had set? However his thoughts did not remain fixed upon the matter for long, the table that his head rested upon was none other than that of the council's table. A meeting had been called in the middle of the day, and here sat Eragon once more falling into the clutches of sleep. Arguing surrounded him as did discontent, the man's words resurfaced Discord stirs among us. Saphira was distant from his thoughts, and therefore unable to sooth his jumbled emotions, and that meant for the time being Eragon was alone. The council was a selective group of people, consisting of Nasuada, Elva, Jormundur, Trianna, Jeod, Arya, Nar Garzhvog, Angela, Solembum, Orik, Roran, and lastly King Orrin. Only three of the gathered knew of Eragon's heritage, his shame; in order to prevent further demoralization of the Varden troops none but Nasuada, Roran, and Arya knew of this development.
"We cannot sit by as our enemies lick their wounds," King Orrin seemed to plead with those gathered, yet it seemed each had their own intentions.
"And what do you propose? Have we not our own injuries to take into account, or have you forgotten," Angela's voice was filled with frustration, her thoughts surely resting upon Elva's welfare.
"Hrothgar must be returned to stone whence we came, we must lay him to rest in the hall of his fathers, least we curse his eternal rest!" Orik's appearance was as disheveled as it had been after the battle had ceased. Worse in fact, is beard was almost completely unfurled from its braid, eyes sunken with lack of sleep, his complexion hallow and taxed. The lost of his foster father had taken a toll upon the dwarf, and set discontent flying among the ranks of the dwarves.
"Enough," Nasuada's voice was harsh; they had done nothing these past two days by argue. Nothing louder than a rough whisper, yet the single word brought the arguing to a halt. All had suffered from lack of sleep; Eragon's continual naps had been overlooked as he had over taxed himself continually as he healed the many wounded. Eragon lifted his head, hair disheveled, and a crease running the length of his left cheek from lying against his armored arm. Nasuada scanned the table, searching each face for something, resting lastly upon Eragon before she spoke again; unbeknownst to all the matter had already been settled.
"We will send a small group cross the Jiet River, to spread our accomplishment and encourage those who oppose the king to join," a small murmur arose but quickly died as Nasuada overrode them, "Then we shall establish ourselves in Aberon, reorganizing our defenses and plan of action. A small envoy shall travel back to Farthen Dur in order to return the late King to the hall of his fathers. All of this we shall do after we are able to tend our wounded and transport them safely, the king shall surely send his new Rider to attack again. We must defend against such tactics, and therefore we shall move the strength of the Varden to the one place that he fears the most."
Silence fell like a curtain, all those gathered held their breath, waiting for their chance to speak yet ensnared with her decisions, "The Spine," Instantly an uproar of discontent roared forward, Eragon and Roran were both sitting straight in their chairs now, staring with out understanding at the Varden's leader. The Spine, memories flooded Eragon's thoughts, bittersweet things that brought forth sorrow. It seemed when it came down to it, the Spine was the initial cause of everything. The lost of Galbarorix's dragon and the start of his madness, the death of Sloan's wife and the birth of his bitterness, and of course the destruction of Carvahall: Saphira.
The last thought was ugly yet in a small way it was true, the issue had been laid to rest of course. Though the pain of that loss made his heart heavy, and the stranger's words came back to him, We walk upon a road of sorrow, beside gushing rivers of innocent blood. Our souls blackened with sin, tainted with the darkness from within. Such dark thoughts seemed to govern Eragon's thoughts, ever since the shame of his heritage had surfaced. There was nothing to do, what had been could not be changed, and what was to be, would come to pass. Who Eragon's father was, could not be denied, only shunned. To the young Rider, Garrow would always serve as his father, and Roran his brother; Morzan and Murtagh would have to be another burden of sorrow, nothing more.
Roran was the loudest to protest, the only ones that restrained themselves was Eragon, Nar Garzhvog, Arya, Elva, and of course Solembum and the witch. It had been Arya that Nasuada had argued the fiercest with, for being fast friends they still did not agree upon everything. Nar Garzhvog sat patiently, he hailed from the Spine as did most Urgals, yet the Kull did not fully agree either. Galbatorix had good reason to fear the Spine; it was the birth of his madness, caused at the hands of Urgals. Elva did not care for the time being, Eragon was too exhausted to try his hand at removing her curse, and therefore it left the girl taxed. Both Solembum and Angela neither cared nor wished to protest on the matter, they were aware of what resided within the Spine. They had already advised Nasuada, Angela was only concerned with Elva's welfare at the moment. And of course Eragon, the young Rider was too confounded to argue or even protest the idea. He had been one of the few to transverse the Spine without fear.
The dream again little one, Saphira's voice broke the turmoil that was rising within his jumbled thoughts. Soothing his ill temperament, Do not dwell on this matter Eragon, for now it is nothing more than a nightmare.
Aw, but what if the nightmare comes to life, then what shall we do?
Then we shall confront it together,
Silently Eragon sent his gratitude to Saphira, as his attention was drawn back into the corralling of those around him. Then from the shadows of his mind the voice echoed, Discord is brewing among you, what shall you do? Eragon stiffened from the contact, the hair on the nape of his neck bristled with fear and his heart contracted. Pain erupted behind his eyes, momentarily making him blind. Quickly it passed, yet his heart ached with pain, as if slowly being squeezed. Eragon did not know what was happening, it had been the first time the voice had spoke to him; actually spoke to him! And it had resonated from his own mind, Saphira pressed on his mind yet he blocked her. If there was someone within his mind he did not want to expose her to them. Laughter, deep throated male laughter, bubbled up from his mind echoing in the stillness of his consciences.
Do not run from your wydra Malik
Eragon's vision shifted, the room coming back into focus as he blinked, had he fallen asleep again? Angela sitting near at hand glanced at him, anger mixed with pity for a moment before she was swallowed back up in the arguing. Saphira hovered in his mind, restless and irritated. You must rest, falling asleep in the middle of a conversation Eragon, if you continue there will be nothing left of you. Her over worrying reminded him of his aunt when him and Roran, as she put it, played too rough. It comforted him, yet the worry of the voice echoing in his dreams frightened him. Something had to be done; sleep would not come, for the nightmares prevented Eragon from resting. In fact, the pain still gripped his chest and that more than anything scared the young Rider.
Still they argue on Nasuada's decision, Saphira sensed his fear and did not wish to dwell on such dark matters.
Still they argue, was Eragon's ragged response.
They are acting like senseless hatchlings, a snort filled Eragon's mind, marking Saphira's clear disapproval. He imaged flames had accompanied that one, a small smile tugged at one corner of his mouth at the thought. I shall be there soon; this field of fire and death produces no life making it difficult to feed.
Did you find anything to satisfy your hunger dear dragon?
I did, I would share, except for your new found diet
Clearly you still disagree, laughter permeated their link, Eragon never ceased being amused at Saphira's actions.
Clearly my Rider has lost his senses, was her dry reply.
Are we being facetious?
Silence was the dragons rely, making Eragon laugh silently to himself. To laugh aloud would be a mistake. The atmosphere of the room was tense enough to slice with a knife; currently it was Orik verses Orrin as they debated over traveling, specifically to Farthen Dur. Angela kept eying Eragon as if he would run off at any moment, Elva kept to herself fighting the urge to protect, Arya sat like a silent sentinel unmoving, Nasuada listened patiently, and Roran continued his boisterous protests. The rest remained quiet in their seats, some risking a glimpse at the young Rider to see if he was awake. Eragon felt awkward, since his transformation he had not once slept as he had before. But now, drained of his strength, he could not help himself and the nightmares seemed to just drag him into the realms of sleep.
"Enough on this idle prattle, it has been decided whether you agree or not," Nasuada cast a harden look around the table, "we shall meet this evening to discuss who shall travel over the Jiet River, to Farthen Dur, and how exactly we shall establish our defenses. Nar Garzhvog, Eragon, Trianna, and Jeod if you will remain behind, the rest of you are dismissed," King Orrin, hesitated for a moment, yet there was no arguing with a woman bent on what she was doing. The others were defeated, and the tent dwindled till all that remained was the Urgal, the Rider, the Sorceress, Jeod, the Changeling, and the elf. Eragon heard Arya murmur beneath her breath, "Atra nosu waise vardo fra eld hornya,"
Nasuada looked worn, her eyes dulled with wariness as did the others, "Eragon I hope you shall stay awake for this," a small smile curled the corner of her mouth, yet soon faded as she addressed the others, "We are in need of allies, our troops are no matched for that of the Empire. Galbatorix recruits his men at a young age, they have spent most of their lives training for war, and his magicians trained by the king himself. There is no denying that we are likely to loose this campaign." Eragon was shocked at her words; surely Nasuada would not give up?
Do not underestimate her, Saphira's voice swept into his mind, reprimanding his thoughts of defeat.
"Surely you do not mean to surrender my lady?" Trianna stumbled over her words, dismay evident in her voice.
"To surrender after directly assaulting the king, what a brilliant idea sorceress," Elva's adult voice made those gathered uncomfortable, her mocking as evident as the sorceress's dismay. A scowl twisted Trianna's face, but the chatter was cut short as the trill voice of the elf broke in.
"We intended to fortify our defenses, and rally those who believe in our cause to our side. The chains that have bound Alagaesia for almost a century are ready to fall under the rule of freedom, surrender is not an option," Arya did not even lift her gaze to face the others, addressing them all yet seeming to speak to herself.
"Aye, now as Arya said, we must rally those who share our cause to our side. That is where those who will cross the Jiet River come into play; they shall spread the word of the Varden through out the land. Currently our agents are already doing this, however we need more, appealing advertisement you could say. First we must pay respect the fallen king Hrothgar, for he was truly our ally and friend. Those unable to journey to Farthen Dur shall pay their respects before he is returned to the home of his fathers. In the mean time we shall continue tending our wounded and those than can shall begin moving our defenses to the capitol Aberon. Once we establish an army there, the main force of the Varden shall move through the Beor Mountains, up the Az Ragni River, and through the Elvin domain. In the cover of the mountains and forests of Du Weldenvarden, the king's new Rider will be hard pressed to assault us while we're on the move.
"Eragon, you shall be our key component; you shall be our messenger between the Spine, Du Weldenvarden, Beor Mountains, and of course Surda. The Urgals will inhabit the border of Surda, guarding against any attempts at a small force invasion. With a system of runners to inform us of any attempts or signs of warfare, the dwarves in the mean time have agreed to allow some to remain to fortify the castle of Aberon further, and then they shall fall back to their stronghold to mourn the lost of their king. In the mean time they shall choose another to rule them, I can only pray it is someone in our favor; the elves have granted safe passage, and upon arrival we shall receive a group of magicians that shall meet us in Farthen Dur. Do any of you reject this?"
Eragon glanced around the room his gaze falling upon his cousin; he had already discussed the complication of Katrina being captured by the Ra'zac. Nasuada had devoted her resources, yet until it was confirmed Eragon was commanded to take no action on the matter. If his cousin wanted to run headlong into a battle he could not win, then he could, but Eragon was bound by his duty. Eragon half wished that Katrina was not in the hands of the Ra'zac, even in the hands of the king seemed more merciful than those beasts. Even in the hands of the king she had a chance, those monsters preyed upon the flesh of humans, the mere thought caused chills to run the length of his spine. Recently Eragon was going through yet another change, with each dream something seemed to shift within. It was as if some ancient gears within were beginning to stir, coming to life as if for the first time.
His perfect vision that had developed after his transformation had become, if possible, sharper. Night became second nature, while sleep tried to claim him, when the sun dipped beneath the horizon. And the moon and the stars littered the sky, Eragon felt rejuvenated. Darkness, change, dreams; it all came together in a scandalous mixture. Yet now was not the time to dwell on such dangerous thoughts, in the mean time the room was quiet. Roran sat mute like stone, face unreadable: Angela sat irritated, yet distracted: Arya was distant and uncaring: Nar Garzhvog was completely unreadable: Trianna and Elva seemed to be in a staring contest: Jeod sat mindfully, uncaring, almost out of touch: Nasuada kept her fierce eyes upon them all, yet her wariness apparent: and then Eragon, dark circles surrounded his eyes, red tented the whites of his eyes, a ragged scratch ran from his right cheek to beneath his chin. His left arm was bruised from the impact hammered down upon his shield, hair disheveled, and clothing ragged and torn. Out of all of them, the young Rider had devoted himself to healing the wounded and burying the dead.
Self punishment of sorts; night and day he had been out in the field, neither sleeping nor resting. At all times Eragon carried food with him to replenish his strength, and when magic was out of reach he devoted himself to physical labor. Pushing his body to the brink of complete exhaustion; it was his punishment. The shame of his heritage plagued his thoughts every time his mind began to wonder. Memoires of Murtagh filled his head, and bitter regret and hatred flooded his heart. Betrayed, humiliated, and most of all sorrow; each emotion plucked the strings of his heart, creating a song of mourning for that was what he felt. He felt as if he had lost his friend all over again, this time his brother. Saphira worried immensely over Eragon's self destructive behavior; feared the nightmares that continually plagued her Rider. Saphira dared not inform him that she too had similar dreams also.
"Are you in such a desperate need of allies that you will resort to calling upon them?" For the first time, Nar Garzhvog spoke; his thick, guttural accent a stark contrast to the trill voices of the elves. In fact, it reminded Eragon slightly of Glaedr, the gigantic golden dragon bonded to Oromis the remnants of the old Riders. "Lady Nightstalker, they are a fickle group, we of the Bolvek tribe are the few to have dealings with them." Uncertain of his words, as if the Urgal still doubted his status among the group, yet Nasuada had spoken. The Urgals were to be treated with respect; any who inflicted injury upon an Urgal would be punished as if they had attacked their own.
Curiosity buzzed, the hard fact of the matter was that the Varden lacked physical means of warfare. Their ranks had suffered greatly from the battle three days ago, the stench of the dead mixed with the acrid smoke of the field. If one were to approach, they would gag from the noxious fumes. Carrion birds plagued the field, greedily snapping up rotten flesh to fill their bellies. Flames licked the earth, escaping from the open vents upon the plains; the fires of battle had been ignited almost a century ago. Still the flame of hatred burned brightly within the people, rebellion stirred the coals of hatred, and soon enough the wheel of revolution would begin.
"We haven't a choice; it is the one thing that Galbatorix fears the most, that is why I asked for you to stay Nar Garzhvog,"