Brom slowed Snowfire down to a gentle trot and held a hand up for silence. His senses were all focused and intensely acute from many years of fighting to survive. Each muscle was taunt, ready to spring as his hand strayed to the hilt of his sword. Eragon followed suit, holding the reigns' in one hand and Zar'roc in the other. Snowfire snorted, stepping cautiously in place. The forest was tense around them.
Eragon waited with dread for the attack. Rider or not he was still mortal and his abused body resented the impeding fight. Bruises still tattooed his skin from sparring each evening. Glancing on either side of the path he called Saphira to be on guard though she knew that there was little she could see from such great heights.
A sharp cry rent the silence, destroying the beauty of serenity. From the right five Urgals' came rushing at them. The horses whinnied in the sudden reality of blood shed. Zar'roc was poised and ready to strike before the first Urgal reached the path where Eragon and Brom waited. Eragon gave a cry as the first Urgal reached him. Metal struck against metal, sending sparks exploding in the air. Eragon could hear Saphira's warning him against magic. He had faced its consequences greatly in Yazuac and both Dragon and Rider knew the strain it would have upon him.
After slicing through the neck of the first Urgal, Eragon hardly had enough time to parry a thrust from a second. The third began to strike just as the second brought its blade back again. Eragon ducked and smashed Zar'roc against the other sword. In any honest battle Eragon was the better swordsman but the Urgals' nearly out mastered him due to brute force. By chance Zar'roc connected with flesh as both Urgals' fell around him. Panting the young rider looked up to see Brom wiping off his blade. The sight made Eragon feel slightly nauseous but he too cleaned his weapon before inspecting the bodies. He noticed that Brom had severed the heads of his opponents'. Sheathing his blade, Eragon examined the dead Urgals' that lay around his steed. All wore similar uniforms and both blades were wrought at the same rough skill.
"I thought Urgals' did not travel together?" Eragon asked his companion.
"They don't. Nor do they coordinate their clothing," Brom looked grim. "The work of Galbuhtorix, no doubt," he said bitterly, sheathing his blade.
"I wouldn't put that away so soon," Eragon warned. Sprouting from the forehead of one of the Urgals' was a well crafted arrow, its target found between the still open eyes. Brom and Eragon knew the same thing: they were not alone.
Saphira can you see anything, Eragon called quickly, hoping she could spot anyone moving in the forest.
No, the groundcover it too thick; be careful. She warned.
When am I not careful, Eragon demanded hotly; Saphira's silence was his only reply. Turning back to Brom he noticed his eyes were searching the forest or the unseen archer. There was an odd prickling on the back of Eragon's neck that filled him with unease. The forest had eyes that stared at him coolly. He wondered if he would ever feel safe again. Even if Galbuhtorix was over thrown by this mysterious Varden he would still be hated by many. There were those like the Ra'zac that would forever wish him ill. There were also the Urgals' whom so wandered the country unchecked, murdering all they willed. The innocence and simple minded peace of Carvahall was many leagues behind him and only pain and blood ahead.
The Varden or the Empire – the question lingered in his mind. Superficial peace or all out warfare. There was no safe choice, no easy way out.
Eragon glanced around the silent woods waiting for the Brom's advice. It seemed futile to wait for the other presence. Much wiser would it be to continue on as if nothing had occurred out of ordinary.
And get attacked from behind, Saphira asked, slipping into his thoughts. It would be better to simply wait then be caught by surprise from behind. Eragon admitted this was a logical point, though he only confessed it to himself.
What makes you think that whom ever it was wishes us ill? They shot and Urgal to help me, remember?
Perhaps they only missed in aiming for your head.
Then why –
All of us are in danger, Eragon! She reprimanded and he fell silent. He noticed in vague repulsion how the blood of the Urgals' stained the once pure earth. Even the blood of something so foul would cause the flowers to grow just as Garrow's body would. The Urgals' unseeing eyes disturbed him and reminded him of just how many he had killed. He was young, only a year into manhood and he had already killed so many. It made Eragon homesick just thinking about the past. So much was lost and nothing worth living for had been gained, nothing except for Saphira.
Eragon suddenly felt a presence behind him. Turning he immediately grasped at his sword; It was the Raz'ac! At first glance he was so sure that the solitary figure was one of the two desecrators encased in a thick, black cloak. The closer Eragon examined the more he realized it was not the fiends who had butchered his uncle. The figure stood with dignity, its shoulders squared with almost a regal quality. Brom was the first to speak.
"Who are you," he demanded in a low voice. In reply the figure drew away the hood with two gloved hands. Eragon noted vaguely that thought the gloves were worn and fingerless they did not hide a fate as weighty as his own. If Brom was surprised as to what creature was revealed he mad no sign but Eragon was not quite as prepared. The face behind the hood did not reveal a monster of Galbuhtorix's creation but a young woman strong and determined but undeniably fragile. Her hair was a deep brown, untamed curls wild against her pale skin. Her eyes were dark blue, that Eragon was sure would match Saphira's scales. The thought of Saphira and her warning reminded Eragon to close his mind to the stranger.
"My name is Tarja,' she said softly. "I mean you no harm," she said only captured in fragments by Eragon's limited understanding of the ancient language. Brom returned the greeting in the same foreign language.
"Are you traveling alone?" Brom asked again, his guard firm and unrelenting.
"No, I am traveling with my sister. Wither do you wander? Our company might linger a bit long if our paths continue along together." Eragon could sense the sincerity in her words behind her fortified mind and nature. Her entire being looked as thought she had never been free from fear and harm.
"Eventually to a friend to the south who dwells beneath the rose star." The young woman smiled.
"Then it seems our paths both lead to the halls of stone." Eragon glanced between the two without trying to look too hopelessly lost. Brom asked the young woman a phrase in the ancient language. She responded ina fluid sentence or two before Brom replied.
"Call your sister. We still have many hours of sunlight before us."