Disclaimer: I do not own the Inheritance Cycle.
A Glimpse of a Past
The faceless one walks not alone
to fight the foe as strong as stone
Sword and spear of no avail
but bravery will end the tale
Golden scales and starborn steel
together face the darkest zeal
Together two must fight as one
or victory will come for none
With the day coming to an end, the people of Teirm began to turn in for the evening. Men, finished with the days labor, went to the local taverns for a few well earned drinks. Terrance, a seaman, was enjoying a mug of his favorite mead when he recognized a friend of his enter the tavern.
"Hello there, Carl!" He shouted over the din of the tavern and waved his friend over.
"Evenin' Terrance, back from 'nother voyage?"
"Aye, that I am. 'Ow's that family o' yours?"
"Oy, that missus of mine'l run me ragged 'fore my time."
The two men laughed and Terrance bought a round of drinks.
"Don't think I've forgotten 'bout your promise." Carl said as he drank.
"Promise?" Terrance said with mock innocence. "What promise might I 'ave made?"
"Ya, promised to tell me one of yer sea tales next time you 'ere in port."
"Oh, yes, I 'member that. Well, let's see." The older man rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "Don't know which one to tell."
"Ya once said ye sailed with Redwave. That's a tale I'd like ta hear." Those nearby silenced at the name of the near sea captain-hero of the rider war. His name was well known in the port cities. The City-state of Teirm was no exception.
"Did I now? Well I suppose that's as good as any." Terrance leaned back in his chair and drank the rest of his mead. "Redwave… only the bravest of souls sailed with the faceless seaman. Fiercest warrior as I've ever seen, with the exception o' Eragon. 'Ated the empire with a vengeance I tell ya! We plundered the false king's navy we did. Made a fair bit o' fortune too. Captain never kept much for 'imself though, gave the lot ta us that sailed with 'im. Now, the fiercest scrap he ever got us into was during the Battle of the Burning Plains…"
A peaceful sleep evaded Arya, queen of the elves. She found herself on the deck of a ship, hidden in a cove on the sea. She stood beside a man clothed completely in black. His helm, the same color, sat atop his head. where his eyes and the rest of his face should have been visible was nothing but a black void. On his hip was a red scabbard, one that Arya was certain that she had seen before. A voice called out behind him causing the man to look behind him. The voice belonged to a woman, fully garbed for battle in light leather and a bow slung across her shoulder.
"Captain, three ship are coming from the north, they bear the symbol of Galbatorix on their sails."
Arya expected the voice of the man to be shade-like, the kind to induce fear. But when he did speak it came out surprisingly normal, like any other person.
"I have seen them, set the sails and prepare the ballistae." The voice sounded young, yet tired, like a young man that has seen far too much bloodshed in his time. The woman ran to carry out his orders, but he remained and turned his attention back to the coming shipst. His own ships sails were quickly set and moved to intercept. Their prey was three imperial warships, armed and loaded with armed men. His ship was merchant ship outfitted for war, not as large as it's foe, but built for speed. For several minutes there was naught but tense silence, then the captain raised his hand. Those manning the ballistae near the center of the ship aimed the deadly weapon. The man's body occasionally twitched, the telltale signs that he battled a wizard. One finger on the man's raised hand dropped downward. On cue, the ballistae fired its projectile at the lead ship. The bolt struck right at the waterline, a killing blow. As the ship sank the crew reloaded the weapon. The other two ships closed the distance with murderous speed. Now within arrow distance, the enemy crews launched several deadly volleys, many crew fell.
"Fire."
The second shot was true, striking the starboard side of the second ship, dooming it and its crew to the sea. The merchant ship shook as the last enemy boat came alongside them. Boarding planks and hooks latched on to them. The captain spoke in a roaring command as he drew his sword.
"Prepare to repel boarders!"
The battle was a fierce and bloody contest. The captain's crew was badly outnumbered, but fought valiantly. But it was the warrior captain that turned the tide in their favor. The enemy magician on the ship was no match for him. As his head rolled on the deck the captain pointed his hand at the boarding ship.
"Seint líða du karfi!"
Arya could only imagine the drain on the captain's energy from such a spell. But slowly, the opposing ship began to move away from his own. Once at a safe distance, he shouted two more commands.
"Endir seiðr! Brisingr!" A ball of flame shot from his hand and struck the imperial ship, setting it ablaze. The captain sunk to his knees, weary from the effort, but not as weary as an imperial soldier thought. Seeking revenge the destroyed ship and now trapped on the merchant ship, the soldier charged the captain with a battle cry and a raised axe. The captain whirled and plunged his sword into the the soldier's gut. Their ship now destroyed, the remaining soldiers were fairly easy to mop up. The battle won, the captain slumped against the railing of the ship.
"Take that Galbatorix!" A sailor yelled towards the capital. "You're reinforcements ain't coming!"
For a long time the captain didn't move, it took Arya a moment to realize that he had fallen asleep. Warily, a soldier walked up to him and nudged him awake.
"Captain… Captain!"
"Zzzz.. eh?.. wha?"
"I didn't want to wake you sir, but, it's Ellon, she's lost a lot of blood due to an arrow and…"
Before he could finish the captain lept to his feet and ran to the other side of the ship where the wounded woman lie. Ellon, the woman that had alerted the captain to the incoming ships, had been shot in the early volley by an arrow. The missile had struck her leg and severed an artery if the great amount of blood around her was any judge. Several bandages lie around her, witnesses to the futile attempts to stem the bleeding. The captain knelt down, next to the dying woman.
"Why wasn't I told of this?" He demanded from those around him. Ellon answered.
"No… time…" Her breath was shallow and ragged.
The captain placed his hand on the wound. "Waíse heill." The wound closed, but that was all that he could do. The effort drained his already sparse supply of energy. His shoulders slumped visibly.
"Have I… served well?" Ellon asked him.
"Yes, you were my best quartermaster."
"...Have one wish?" She managed to say between a cough.
"Yes, anything I will grant if I am able." The captain's voice began to choke.
"Might… I see…" She coughed again, but he knew what she was asking.
"Of course." He silently signaled for all others to turn away, and none dared disobey. He uttered a few unintelligible words and removed his helmet. His face was angular in appearance, his eyes were brown and matched his hair. Among men, and some elves, he would be considered handsome. What surprised Arya most was that he appeared barely past twenty. A band of cloth he wore on his head, which covered his forehead and the tips of his ears. His face bore several scars which diminished his looks somewhat. Ellon smiled then gave one last gasp and lay still. Solemnly, the captain, uttered several words in the ancient language, the void that covered his face returned and he placed his helm back on his head. Without warning, he reared his head back and cried into the sky, like an animal wounded in a field. The cry echoed across the sea.
Arya woke suddenly, sweat beading down her forehead. Firnen, her dragon, was looking in her window, too big to fit his head inside.
Are you alright, Arya?
Yes, I think so… did you..?
I saw it as well.
Arya laid back onto her bed, she could almost hear the man's cry in her ears. She didn't know who the man was or where the battle on the seas had taken place. But she swore she had seen the sword and the man before.
Far to the east, Eragon stayed up late that night, pouring over a scroll. Saphira yawned and rested her head on the ground.
You should really get some sleep little one. It is late and you've been staring at that piece of paper for too long.
Eragon sighed. He knew she spoke truth, but he felt this puzzle needed to be solved.
The faceless walks not alone… to fight the foe… Bah! He threw his hands up in the air. It makes no sense.
A low rumble escaped Saphira, which Eragon knew was a laugh.
Prophecies, if it really is one, aren't supposed to make sense. And you found it etched into the side of a cave. Parts could be missing, or it could be the scribbles of a madman, either way it shouldn't rob you from sleep.
You're right. Goodnight Saphira.
Good night little one.
Eragon made his way to his room on the Ey abr Shur'tugalar, Island of Dragonriders. On the island he, the elves that had gone with him, and the new riders that had come in the past ten years, had built a massive fortress-city built specifically for them. The city was built circularly, with a great wall defining its border. In the center was a great hall, built that both dragons and riders could come in and out with ease. Within the walls were many homes for riders and dragons. The houses were large, the lower levels big enough to house a dragon twice the size of Saphira, and the upper levels were devoted to the riders themselves. Upstairs Eragon sat on his bed and looked westward, like he did every night since he had left Alagaësia. His heart yearned to return, but his duty held him back. He laid down in his bed and closed his eyes, exhaustion taking hold of him.
A man, clothed entirely in black, walked the plains north of Ilirea. Even in his cloak, the cold bit sharply against his skin. He was tired, but he didn't stop to rest, only moved forward, like an unseen force pushed him onward. The force was his own, but he walked with the stride of a man who seeks a death. But what death was known only to him. He had no purpose: it had left him ten years ago. The empire was gone, and the betrayer with it. The sun rose in the east over the Hadarac desert. He looked towards the sun, but its warmth did not seep into his body. A void covered his face from view even in the morning daylight.
The sound of metal against metal caught his attention: the ominous sound of battle. He turned to the direction of the noise, it was some distance to the west. Without a moment's hesitation he sprinted in its direction, his hand on his sword.
Ancient Language
My skill in the ancient language is limited at best. Feel free to send me a pm to correct my atrocious ancient language grammar.
Líða vëoht du karfi!: Slowly move the ship!
Endir seiðr: End spell
Brisingr: Fire
Waíse heill: Be healed
A/N: I have returned for another story. This one set in the realm of the Inheritance series. I don't know how often I will be able to add new chapters since I'm already working on one. I started this one to help keep my writing fresh. Feedback is appreciated, hope you enjoy.