Prologue: The Witch and The Ruby
Clang.
Lucien's arm jarred with the contact of steel on steel, his crimson eyes narrowed in focus beneath the fringe of his short black hair upon his opponent for this session, a girl named Visenya, her eyes, partially veiled behind her long golden hair, returned his intent stare with lavender intensity. Born beyond the natural scope of accepted possibility, Lucien's appearance was a firm concoction of strong and defined human power, corded and well-toned musculature combined with a steadiness owed to his upbringing in Palancar Valley.
Another clash of steel saw his footing shift to accommodate impact force, a grunt of exertion escaping him at the raw power behind Visenya's assaults. Her frame showed the truth of her strength, though despite the toned arms, slim even with the corded muscle beneath her flesh, the girl – or rather, the woman – maintained a level of feminine beauty that no amount of calloused palms and strong musculature could undermine.
The training grounds around them rang with similar strokes of blades meeting with echoing, clamorous strikes, the magically dulled edges still more than capable of breaking bones and leaving serious injuries, should a combatant become sloppy. As it stood, Lucien had already received several nasty bruises along his body, and he suspected one of his ribs had been fractured, along with a sprain in his right wrist.
Visenya, for her part, held only an ugly purple mark on her left forearm and a hidden bruise that caused a hitch in her step, beneath the tight-fitting black leather of her breeches. Above them, the sun was obscured by mild cloud-cover, as well as the occasional passing shadow of a flying dragon. Though he knew that in Alagaësia, dragons were few and far between even with the rebirth of the Riders, such was not the same here in Shur'tuglars Breoal, or as it was known to them: Illaria, Dras-abr'Evarínya – Illaria, City of Stars.
Side-stepping what promised to be a lethal downwards slash, Lucien flowed into a swift counter-strike, pushing off his left foot and pivoting into a horizontal slice towards Visenya's exposed right side, which she met with a pivot of her own and a lightning snap of her blade to his.
A faint smile quirked her lips for a moment, as if in recognition of his attack, before Lucien once again found himself attempting to fend off a vicious wave of responding attacks, sweat trickling into the corner of his narrowed eyes, forcing him to blink rapidly in order to remove the obstruction to his vision. A sharp spike of pain lanced up his left side beneath his crimson tunic, and he cursed when he realized she'd struck home, no doubt inflicting yet another large bruise on his ribs.
What was more; Visenya had scored her sixth point with the blow, and won the match. Lifting his blade in a weary salute, Lucien acknowledged her victory, something that his partner took a moment to soak in, before responding in kind. He didn't fault her for the momentary basking; he was a good swordsman, he was one of the best amongst the students, but she was better – and beating him allowed her to maintain that superiority each time.
Lowering his blade, Lucien unbuckled his sword belt, wincing at the mixture of pain and relief the action caused. "I think you outdid yourself this time," he said with a sigh, "I'm going to be limping for the rest of the day."
"Only because you're terrible at anticipating an opponent," she replied primly, her voice a subtle mixture between a purr and accents of noble birth.
"I am plenty skilled at anticipation, just not at anticipating you." Where Visenya was elegant in her speech, Lucien was somewhat more masculine, having been raised as the son of a blacksmith. "Besides which, you cheated earlier."
Raising an eyebrow, Visenya turned to him, beautiful features haughty, "and how did you come to that solution, pray tell?"
Lucien grinned at her, despite the pain he was in, and spoke with a faint twinkle of amusement in his vermillion stare. "You smiled at me before the third hit."
Visenya opened her mouth, ready to retort, then snapped it shut with a click. Soon after, a flush suffused her cheeks and she sheathed her blade in her best noblewoman manner, nose in the air and jaw locked stubbornly. Despite her physical prowess, she had been born into a wealthy family in the heart of Ilirea, and her ingrained mannerisms were a hard thing to shed.
To Lucien, it was simply another reason for him to smile. Settling into a companionable silence, they left the training grounds, bowing to one of the elven sword masters observing the training, who acknowledged them with a critical glance and nod. Not all the teachers in Illaria were Riders, indeed the vast majority of them were simply volunteers from the Elves who had opted to help in the training of the new generation, as opposed to sit restlessly in Ellesméra, cut out from a new age of Alagaësia's history.
Walking together, they mounted the stairs on the far northern edge of the circular training field, ascending to the outer-ring of the twin-circle field, where the relatively small populace of Illaria would gather for the monthly tests of skill and prowess by each barracks. The tournaments, designed to foster a spirit of competition to excel within Riders, were in and of themselves encouragement enough even without being currently underway. Only the best from the three barracks, those students who passed their various tests and trials most astutely, were given the chance to win glory in the Shur'tugal Games.
Past magically sung trees and setting forth onto a magically laid path of limestone and marble, Lucien glanced once again at the greenery that surrounded them, blended so beautifully into the various buildings and sub-sectors of Illaria scattered across the city. Beside him, Visenya stirred from her silence, and he turned to heed her words.
"Let's not return just yet," she said with a hint of restlessness, "I want to visit the markets."
"You know that we aren't meant to deviate from our routine," Lucien responded with a raised eyebrow, surprised at her sudden departure from protocol.
"I know," she replied tersely, "but I have good reason for the visit, and besides, Sariphus-elda won't be overly cross – we did finish our session early."
A slight shake of his head displayed the mixed amusement and exasperation flooding Lucien's mind, but he acquiesced to his companion's request. Her logic was not without merit, but more than that, he too had been itching to visit the marketplace since he woke – with the money he'd saved from his allowance, he had a very good notion as to what he wanted to buy.
Veering from the gleaming walkway by unspoken consent, the pair stepped off to their right onto the soft green that extended from the tree-lined pathway, off towards the east, where the myriad shapes of the marketplace buildings held precedence over the sector. Though initially built as a single, large hall, Illaria had expanded in the decades since its founding into a moderately large city in and of itself. Elves, Dwarves, Humans, Urgals and even the occasional Werecat were known to populate its streets, drawn to the safety offered by the Riders.
More than that, however, they were inexplicably drawn to the man who made it all possible in the very earliest days. At times, Lucien found it daunting to even remember who it was that ruled the city, not out of fear, but because of the nervous awe that suffused every inch of his body when he allowed his mind to reflect long enough.
Eragon Shadeslayer, the saviour of Alagaësia. Both out of force of habit, and inexplicable need, Lucien's head turned towards the fortress that the city had been named for, Shur'tugalrs Breoal, built with magic as with everything in Illaria; the fortress was even still beyond normal reckoning. Dominating the skyline of Illaria at its highest point, the myriad turrets and inter-connecting walkways between the towers above the fortress walls lent an almost mythical quality to its existence, the dragon roosts and towering trees within and around it creating a beautiful reincarnation of natural formation.
High walls, unmarred by fixed weapon emplacements or unneeded barricades, surrounded the structures spaced neatly around the central building within, Shadeslayer Hall. Large enough for fifteen dragons to fit comfortably on each floor, and expanded over the years to include several levels and quarters for honoured guests; it was also the home of the Elder Council, the convocation of riders that served as the leadership of the Order.
Despite the option of the majestic spires that dotted the fortress, rising like glittering blade hilts from the walls and interior of the stronghold, Eragon himself had chosen to remain within Shadeslayer Hall, living in its highest level, undertaking the tasks required of the Riders' Grand Master. It was an occasion of great excitement and pride for the residents of Illaria, when they would see the massive, glittering form of Saphira soaring over the City of Stars, her blue scales reflecting sunlight like a thousand shining jewels.
At times, Eragon himself would take clusters of students for lessons, or give lectures and seminars on the duties and challenges of being a rider, but such instances were less common now than they had been thirty years prior. Not for lack of desire, but due to the large population the Riders now possessed. Numbering just over one hundred, it was impossible for Eragon to teach every student, to give lessons to each individual, unless he spoke to four of them a day – impossible, given his workload. Still, it was a tribute to his dedication that the Grand Master took time to host regular seminars, where any number of people – riders and citizens – could attend and hear his words.
"You're day-dreaming again," Visenya said abruptly, snapping Lucien out of his wandering thoughts. "Things like that are what make you terrible at swordplay."
"I am not terrible at swordpl-!" He cut himself off abruptly, realizing she had baited him. A long-suffering sigh was his response instead, and Visenya smiled victoriously, a slight skip entering her step. Smug as a cat with cream, she moved languidly across the green, blonde hair stirring in the air behind her.
Ahead of them, the sounds of trade and commerce filled the morning air, merchants hawking their wares with elaborate flourishes and mystifying description. Despite living in a city whose entire purpose was the training of Riders – the world's most powerful magicians – and knowing their lack of credence to superstition, the inhabitants of the sprawling marketplace never failed to add fanciful and impossible elaborations of mystery to even the most basic of items.
The most striking thing, of course, was the sheer diversity of the perusing customers and traders themselves. Every race in Alagaësia was represented in Illaria, despite its distance from their various homelands – trade lanes had been opened for those adventurous enough to pursue them and, for those who found themselves smitten with Illaria, opportunities for permanent settlement were many and easily accessible.
Moving casually through the marketplace, Lucien and Visenya smiled and nodded to the merchants who recognised the garb of riders, and the blades at their sides. In Illaria, only Riders and the staff that assisted them were permitted the use of weaponry. Any who wished to retain their arms were forced to submit them for a magical binding, which disabled their ability to draw or use their weaponry within the city or its outskirts.
Nearby, two dwarves were arguing heatedly about the best way to forge a war hammer, gesturing angrily and shaking their fists at each other, beards quivering with rage. Visenya and Lucien struggled to suppress laughter at the display, and with the two dwarves nearly leaping in rage, it was quite the task.
The most intriguing attraction out of all the storefronts and less permanent stalls in the marketplace, however, was one run by a human woman, her hair greyed and her clothing of a fine cut. Wrinkles were prominent in her features, but the memory of beauty had not been forgotten; even with age, she presented a face to remember, equipped with two eyes that seemed to flash with sharp intelligence.
"I'm going to have a look at that one," he said out loud, glancing at Visenya.
"Alright," she replied after a moment, eyeing the woman and her stall. "I'll meet you at the barracks path in twenty minutes."
Lucien nodded his agreement, and she was gone, gliding away through the crowd, seemingly oblivious to it parting before her. Suppressing a smile at the sight, and eager to investigate the older woman's wares, Lucien made his way to her storefront, eyes raking the merchandise on the walls behind her. Various different items, ranging from good luck charms; to heater shields; riding crops and even some jewelled pendants.
It was the last that drew Lucien's eyes, his gaze roaming over the jewellery with a spark of desire. He had been saving for weeks to afford a suitable purchase, something that could serve as a means to grant him a much-needed boost in a desperate situation.
"You have an eye for gems, Rider." The woman said to him after a moment, her lips parted into a knowing smile.
"I've learned that gems have many useful traits, madam."
"An accurate statement and one I'd expect from a Rider. Aye, these beauties can serve many a purpose, when embraced correctly."
A flicker of confusion crossed Lucien's features, "what defines a correct embrace?"
Musical laughter preceded her answer, "love, Rider. Love what you hold, and it will be embraced in truth."
"Wise words, madam," Lucien said with a smile. "Do you offer advice to every customer?"
"Only to the ones who require it," she replied with another tinkling laugh.
Sweeping his eyes over the assorted pendants, Lucien settled his gaze on a large, diamond-cut ruby, his mind made up the moment he noted its presence. Wordlessly, he pointed to it and the shopkeeper smiled, as if she had known what his choice would be long before he made it. Bringing out the pendant, the woman placed it on the counter of her store, her eyes never leaving Lucien's.
"Twenty crowns and it's yours, Rider."
Lucien's throat constricted at the price, but even as he considered the steep nature of the expenditure, he could not break his gaze from the stone. As if calling to him, beckoning, it drew him in. He could not say no, for so long as it was within his capacity to purchase. Twenty crowns was nearly everything he possessed, but in his heart, he knew it was well worth the price.
"Twenty crowns," he said with a nod, pulling out his coin purse and placing it onto the counter. The woman didn't even bother to count, simply taking the purse and sliding him the amulet. "Do you wish to keep it on its chain?"
Lucien opened his mouth to reply, but before he could, she lifted a hand. "Wait; allow me to forestall you, Rider. I've a better notion." Turning, she bustled around for a moment, before producing a chain of obsidian links, culminating in an empty socket point shaped like the claws of a dragon. Taking the ruby, the woman removed it from its mounting and slipped it into the claw socket, a perfect fit.
"How much is the chain?" Lucien asked warily.
"Free of charge. Fashion has no price, Rider." Her smile was prominent again, her eyes holding a startling amount of insight. "Guard this stone well, young man. You will regret losing it, I think."
Nodding his agreement, Lucien slipped the amulet around his neck, tucking the chain and jewel beneath the fabric of his red tunic, resting it against the bare flesh of his chest. "Thank you, madam, for your generosity." His words were accompanied by a smile, and a wave of farewell. Turning away, Lucien stepped back into the milling throng of the Illarian marketplace and set forth at a casual pace, intending to pass time until his arranged meeting with Visenya.
Meanwhile, behind him, the grey-haired woman watched his departure with rapt attention, leaning on the counter of the storefront. As Lucien melted into the crowd, her silver hair changed seemingly without external motivation, turning thicker, darker and healthier until it was a deep shade of brown. Her height shifted only slightly, until she held a smaller stature and her lips curved into an amused smile.
From a curtain at the back of the store, a large cat with shaggy black fur and a pair of lavender eyes swayed out, leaping its large body onto the storefront counter and curling up lazily. Looking to it, the woman smiled conspiratorially, stroking it behind the ears. "Things are becoming interesting again, it seems. Don't you agree, Solembum?"
By way of response, the cat purred, shuffling slightly to adjust for comfort.
"Yes," Angela murmured to the Werecat, or perhaps herself, "Interesting indeed."