By beak and bone
Disclaimer: I don't own Eragon or Blagden.
Author's note: Every chapter with be a part of one of the many prophecies that have to do with Eragon. This one is Blagden's and is about the first line.
By beak and bone
Wyrda…
Fate in the ancient language. Wyrda was my first word.
I am Blagden, but that is not my true name, to find that you would have to look elsewhere.
I am Blagden, with my pearly white feathers, intelligence, and long life gifted to me by Evandar.
Coal black eyes peered out from a maple tree coolly surveying the surrounding area. They watched as a being stepped out of the trees into the clearing. A soft breath of wind ruffled the being's brown hair revealing sharp pointy ears. Deep green eyes flickered about as the being moved swiftly across the clearing, a silver dagger clutched in its hand. A regal white horse stepped into the clearing, following the first being. Another being rode on the horse's back. It wore shiny armor, that reflected the sunlight hurting the raven's eyes, and the being had a regal look about it. It moved an arm and the white horse was joined by many more as the procession moved forward, out of the clearing and into the beyond. The raven let out a caw and followed silently on wings of air. It knew that this procession was a signal that a battle was approaching, and that meant one thing. Food.
A few days later the battle began. The smell of blood and fresh meat wafted high into the air attracting birds of all kinds; the raven was one of the birds circling high above the scene. Swords clashed sending flashes or light and sound up to the birds. The raven swooped lower and surveyed the scene of destruction. A coarse shout brought his attention to a place where a pointy eared being fought with a tall muscular horned being. The swords flashed and the raven watched as the pointy eared being nimbly jumped out of the way reminding him of a rabbit. The swords flashed again and the pointy eared being gave a yelp of surprise as its foot caught in a hole in the sandy ground. It plummeted to the ground, and landed with a thump. When it landed its sword flew out of its hand and landed imbedded in the ground three feet away. The horned being raised its sword high above its head for the final blow, and bellowed in anticipation.
Something in the raven clicked an instinct it had never felt before caused it to fly over, each wing beat bringing it closer and closer to the horned being. Once it was within striking distance the raven attacked. It sunk its razor sharp beak into the unprotected eyes. The soft tissue gave way before the unforgiving beak, and a strange fire awoke in the raven. Again, and again it struck with merciless precision. The horned creature gave a howl of anguish as the light left its world, and blindness settled in. It dropped its sword and raised a massive hand to crush the raven, the reason of its misery. A sword flashed and the horned creatures head was hewn off. While the raven was attacking the pointy eared being had scrambled to its feet and rushed to its sword. The pointy eared being smiled at the raven crouching on the skull and began to whisper softly, sounds that made no sense to the raven's primitive brain. Suddenly, the color began to drain out of the raven's feathers, ebony gave way to a pearly white, and as the black slowly disappeared so did the confusion in the bird's mind. Intelligence blossomed and the rave focused on the being that it now knew was the elf-king Evandar. Evandar bent down and extended his hand, with a hop the now white raven perched on it. Evandar raised it to eye level and paused waiting for the bird's full attention. The raven noticed the horned urgals fleeing before the elves and in a flash realized that the urgal Evandar had killed must have been the Herndall, or chief urgal. It turned back to Evandar and fixed its coal black eyes on Evandar's cool green ones.
"Why did you attack, raven?" Evandar asked softly, puzzled. The raven made a hoarse sound as it cleared its throat, and uttered a single word.
"Wyrda!"
I am Blagden. I can see certain events in the future, almost like the dragon knuckles that predicted Eragon's future.
The minute the dragon bones where cast, the pearly white shafts tingled with power and the carvings flashed with magic. The dead dragon's power tapped into the energy of the world and focused on one thing. Eragon's future. The bone's tumbled and showed but a part of what can and is to be.
When I spoke to Eragon I revealed but another piece in the puzzle of his life, the great adventure that he has embarked on.
Author's note: Please review! If you review I promise I will try and make the next chapter longer!