Beneath What Sky-Chapter Two
Nasuada pursed her lips and brought her hands together, lining up her fingertips so that they formed five slender arches. A thin film of perspiration gleamed upon her brow, testament to the smothering heat. For a few moments longer, she stood by the window, somehow mesmerized by the hazy heat ripples that took shape upon the horizon. To indicate her mounting disapproval, she sighed wearily; then, putting on as demure a face as she could muster, turned to face King Orrin of Surda.
"Your majesty," she began, "I wish you to understand that I truly hold your advice in the highest regard. You are my elder, and I respect you and value your council. However, my good conscience cannot allow me to send Shadeslayer on this mission. It would be a dangerous venture, by all accounts, as well as a potential fiasco if something were to go wrong." She said all of this in a rush, eager to get it over with, eager to make him understand; she paused for a moment, seemingly to gather her thoughts. Orrin looked as if he might interject, but, before he was able, Nasuada resumed her entreaty.
"Your majesty, if we were to lose Eragon and Saphira, all of Alagaesia would succumb to Galbatorix's dominion. Look around you. There is none other than Eragon that could possibly defeat Galbatorix. We cannot afford to let him die for a fool's hope."
Orrin breathed deeply, keen blue eyes bent upon Nasuada. "My Lady Nasuada," he countered. "I have noticed, as I am sure you have, that Eragon and Saphira are not strong enough to defeat Galbatorix. Even with the help of thirteen powerful elvish spellcasters, he could barely fend Murtagh off! What will happen when Galbatorix flies out here to obliterate us with magic? Who will stand up to him? Eragon?" He scoffed at this. "I think not. We need to concentrate on finding another Rider."
Nasuada frowned. "And I wish to concentrate on keeping our current Rider alive! This errand you propose-storming Galbatorix's castle for the last dragon egg-is insanity! Do you not think that, if there were even the minutest vulnerability to the Black Lair, the elves would have exploited it before now? If the elves have not succeeded in this area, powerful as they are, do you think we shall stand a chance?"
"I do not have all of the answers," Orrin groused. "And I do not propose to send Shadeslayer knocking upon Galbatorix's front door. It would all be kept quiet. We have a man who, even now, is searching for weaknesses in Uru Baen's foul walls. Joed, I believe, is his name. If he found some small way, some nook or crevice of vulnerability, we could be the agents of Galbatorix's undoing! Think of it, Nasuada!"
Nasuada's eyes narrowed. "I understand your proposition, Your Highness. But, as of now, no secret passageway exists; we must put the idea out of our minds. If, in future, a way is found, then perhaps we shall see about sending in Eragon and some spellcasters. But, until then, we would do well to wait."
Orrin frowned in turn and, with a few curt words, took his leave.
As soon as Orrin had exited Nasuada's Borromeo office, Nasuada sighed dejectedly. This was the third time this week that Orrin had come to bother her about "storming the castle!" It was folly, the entire harebrained scheme. Still, she could not openly dismiss it and offend Orrin, for his approval was essential to her success as a leader. However, thoughts of wresting the Eldunari as well as the next dragon egg from Galbatorix floated in her mind. If a passageway could be found…
Unconsciously, Nasuada clenched her fists in anger, anger at life's complexities. As she did so, her arms stung, evidence of the wounds she had inflicted upon herself in the Trial of Long Knives. "Foolish…stupid…" Nasuada muttered to no one in particular. Absentmindedly, she walked over to the window and looked out upon the courtyard of Borromeo Castle. The day's heat was scalding; the sun in its merciless progress across the sky now hung perpendicular to the ground. Squinting, Nasuada could make out the hazy image of Aberon in the distance.
Allowing herself a rare moment of personal reflection, she gazed softly out over the city and wondered wistfully about what her life would have been like had he still been with her. They would be great friends now, to be sure, and perhaps more. She still remembered the way his long, dark hair fell across his eyes in that attractive, yet casual, way. But, as instantaneously as the image came, another filled her thoughts. This time, she saw a young man, face worn beyond normality, eyes soulless and red like the setting sun, yet cold as the distant stars.
She shuddered. Eragon's description of Murtagh chilled her to the bone. She wondered what it was like for Murtagh, sitting there everyday in Galbatorix's lair, in his presence, being instructed in black magic. An involuntary shudder ran her length; Murtagh, a good and courageous man in her opinion, had fallen to the dark persuasions of Galbatorix's magic. No one was above persuasion. If Eragon were captured by the black king, how long would he oppose him?
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Eragon whooped with glee as Saphira spiraled and somersaulted in midair. The air, crisp and refreshing, rushed about his exposed face and arms, an awakening to the current of living. There was something about being air-born, about flying above the clouds that gave Eragon a sense of childish elation. Saphira felt it too, for he could sense her giddiness. Like one dot in the sky, they tumbled on, Saphira throwing herself into every aerial maneuver she knew. Higher and higher she flew, with nothing above her now but the glorious sun.
Eragon, during a brief rest from the twists and twirls, smiled contentedly and patted Saphira's neck. It was good to be together again.
After another few minutes, Saphira, with a contented sigh, began to spiral downward, back to Borromeo Castle. As she descended, Eragon reflected briefly upon the events of the past few days.
Nasuada's decision to regroup back in Aberon had surprised him. He had supposed, as had everyone else, that Nasuada would immediately go on the offensive after their success at Feinster. It seemed foolish to back track. Eragon shrugged. The Varden was hers to lead.
On the elvish front, a great, but costly victory had been won at Gilead. Even now, Islanzadi's forces were emptying the city of all who professed devotion to the Black King. However, despite the elves victory, the city burned. Somehow, Galbatorix's magicians had concocted an unquenchable fire that ran rampant throughout the city. The elves had since tried every method they knew, magical and physical, to extinguish the fires. However, their efforts were to no avail. Gilead glowed red- perhaps the flames were a symbol of the blood that had been spilt over the past few days.
Katrina's pregnancy had been formally announced. From what Eragon had been able to surmise, Eragon gathered that the women of Carvahall were flooding Katrina with advice: good, bad, and ridiculous. Roran, part of the squadron sent to clean up Feinster, had been absent for several days. Briefly Eragon wondered how he was faring.
He then thought of Arya, and of her lips upon his cheek. He had never believed she would be so…open, so friendly. With a frown of concentration, he thought about their relationship.
In truth, it had changed since Feinster. Something had happened there, something he was at a loss to explain or understand. There was some strange camaraderie that came from fighting and defending together. Biting his lip, Eragon mused over what was and what might be. Saphira's rough landing jolted him out of his reverie.
Daydreamer, Saphira teased.
Eragon rolled his eyes. Need I remind you that I put up with your mad ramblings about Gla- he froze, unwilling to deal with the pang of guilt that flashed through his mind as he thought of his fallen teachers. Remorse washed over him. "I should have been there," he whispered.
Saphira too became subdued. Little One, she murmured, do not blame yourself. There was nothing you could have done. After a few moments of respectful silence, she resumed speaking. Now come, what were we talking about?
Arya, Eragon answered.
Saphira chuckled. Oh yes, Arya. She seems to be on your mind quite a lot these days, hmm? I do not mind, though. Of all of the women in Alagaesia, she is the only one I would have you love.
Eragon frowned. You seem to be quite chummy with her lately. I'm not sure I like it.
Jealous? Saphira prodded.
Eragon blushed and nodded. It's strange for me to feel as I do about Arya, yet be jealous of her because of your affection towards her.
Now, now, little one, Saphira teased, there's enough of me to go around.
Eragon laughed. I know. But I want you all to myself.
Saphira hummed happily. I am glad.
Eragon smiled. I suppose I'd rather you like her. I remember what you did to Trianna. That was sticky.
Only because you get yourself into the very stickiest of situations, little one. Now dismount and let me see if I cannot find some occupation for you that will keep you OUT of danger.
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Arya sighed for what seemed like the umpteenth time that day. She had never particularly enjoyed filling out forms and signing propositions, and today her dislike was heightened by the omnipresent heat. Picking up a loose parchment, she fanned herself in an attempt to cool off. However, the attempt was futile, and she soon resumed drudging through her work.
The next report to be read was one on the activities of Surda's building and fortifying forces. In a rather diffuse way, it described the efforts of Aberon's citizens to fortify the city's defenses. Arya smiled as she thought of Arrin, the young boy she had met earlier who was himself a part of the building effort.
Distractedly, she wondered what would befall him. Chances were, she mused morbidly, he would be killed in an upcoming battle. He was twelve or thirteen, old enough to be recruited to bring water to the soldiers. Arya shuddered as she thought of the gruesome fate that most likely waited for Arrin, of the certain death that awaited all of those boys called into the service. However, once again, she felt helpless to stop the inevitable.
Deciding to take a small break from her tedious task, Arya rose from her seat and made her way over to the window of her room. Pensively, she gazed out over the city, wondering whether or not she should tell them all, Nasuada and Eragon and Orrin. It would be dangerous, to be sure. But perhaps it was the only chance they had. It had to be done properly, though, or the entire scheme would fail. It was her command. Failure would be unacceptable. Her mind worked quickly to sort out what was necessary to succeed. For a while, she struggled with the petty details; but then, slowly, her mind began to form a picture of just how the thing could be accomplished. She smiled as another bright idea came to her mind. Perhaps she could save Arrin from the fields of battle after all.
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"My Lady," Arya murmured as she approached Nasuada.
"Arya! You're just in time," Nasuada called out from the far end of the room. "I was hoping to have you come by, but I didn't want to intrude upon your work. Have you finished?"
Arya shook her head. "I decided to forsake my toil for a time and come here. I have something I must say that requires the greatest secrecy."
Nasuada frowned for a moment, then immediately waved the guards away. When they were alone, Nasuada turned to Arya. "Very well, you may-" she waved her arm to indicate that Arya was to put a ward against unfriendly ears.
Arya smiled briefly and whispered a few words in the ancient language. Within seconds, their entire conversation was set to be completely confidential.
"Have a seat, please," Nasuada directed. Arya inclined her head and sat in a chair opposite Nasuada. For a moment, she considered forgetting the whole scheme; but the feeling soon passed. She looked Nasuada in the eye.
"I have not mentioned this before, because I wished to protect innocent lives from being taken. Also, I wished to protect Eragon from being sent on a mission that could claim his life. However, now that it is fast becoming apparent that this war will not end quickly, I feel I must break my silence." She paused, giving Nasuada space to comment. Nasuada, however, remained silent and motioned for Arya to continue.
"Uru Baen is not impenetrable." She let her words stand for a moment, giving Nasuada the chance to absorb them. "There exists a secret tunnel, a very ancient tunnel that leads into the very heart of Galbatorix's grim fortress. I assure you that Galbatorix knows nothing of this passage; nor do any guards stand by it. It is a perfect opportunity for our purposes, if handled with care."
Nasuada eyed Arya with suspicion. "Tell me. How do you know of this?"
Arya sighed softly, eyes upon some distant object. "Forgive me, Nasuada, but that is one thing I cannot do, not yet. In time, perhaps it will become apparent. But now…now revealing such information could prove disastrous."
"And why," Nasuada queried, still unconvinced, "have you not spoken of this before? You have heard Orrin's plan. Why did you keep silent then?"
"Because I have only known of this tunnel for a short while. And because Orrin cannot know of this, not until it is done. He is an able ruler, but his tongue wags too much for my liking. It would be best if this information were kept confidential."
"And what of Eragon and Saphira?"
"They shall know soon. We must tread carefully, for if the slightest whisper of our doings reached the wrong ears, we would be doomed." Arya looked Nasuada directly in the eye. "Tonight, you, Eragon, Saphira, and I shall meet here. I have a few ideas I would like to share with the three of you."
Nasuada returned Arya's gaze solemnly. "I believe this is the hope we have been waiting for."
Arya rose from her seat. "And I," she murmured, making her way to the door, "believe it may be our undoing."
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Queen Islanzadi stood among the ruins of Gilead. The city, which had been taken two days ago, still smoldered with fires that the elves' magic had failed to quench. The sun blared in its sphere, casting its light upon the surface of the city. A long sigh escaped the Queen's lips. The past few days had been full of death and grief. Oromis was gone, and Glaedr lived only through his Eldunari. Murtagh and Thorn had flown through the city, pillaging and killing as they went. They had wreaked considerable damage upon her armies already. In her heart, Islanzadi believed that, had Murtagh and Thorn not been called back suddenly to Uru Baen, the battle would have ended very differently.
Her thoughts were heavy with the weight of the dead, but his words hung heaviest of all. She had acted upon them, true. But had she done the right thing? Had she used wisdom in her judgments? What if they went to their deaths because of her command? And Arya…what would become of her? Worry ate at her like parasite, leaving her hollow and incapable of feeling. For a moment, she closed her eyes, willing herself to be calm. Then: "Your Majesty!" Her eyes flew open.
"Yes?"
One of her captains, Captain Revdathain, approached. "We have taken sixty of Galbatorix's soldiers captive. Do you wish for us to examine their minds or shall we first concentrate on putting out the fires?"
Islanzadi pondered the question for a moment, then: "I shall examine their minds. Separate your soldiers into groups of ten and see of you cannot find some way to stop the burning."
"Yes, your Majesty." Captain Revdathain bowed. "The prisoners are toward the front gate." Turning gracefully upon his heel, the male elf departed.
Islanzadi sighed yet again. Off to pry into the minds of another set of humans.
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Islanzadi raised her eyebrows as she sifted through the memories of one of Galbatorix's foot soldiers. As of yet, all of the memories had been rather routine. His father had been one of Galbatorix's soldiers and he himself had been recruited at sixteen. Galbatorix's army was the only life he had ever known. Deciding that he held no information of interest, she extracted herself from the mind of the soldier and waved for the next one to be brought up.
Closing her eyes, she delved into the next man's mind. At first her findings were ordinary enough- parents, siblings, daily life. She sifted through memories of his service and travels. Then she came to several memories of Gilead, and of the prison there. One cell kept coming up. At first the cell was empty. Then occupied. Then empty again. Then an image flashed past her, an image of a dark-haired green-eyed woman: Arya. Islanzadi's pulse quickened. Her throat tightened. She went through the memories more slowly now, with much more care. Memories of Arya became more frequent. It became apparent that this soldier had been in charge of guarding her cell.
As she came to a particular set of memories, Islanzadi felt the man retract them and try to hide them from her. Like a vulture, Islanzadi went after the memories and latched onto them. With dry throat and fast-beating heart, she pried them from him. Her findings horrified her as nothing else had.
His memories showed her daughter lying in her cell, blood dripping from her brow. The soldier stood by the door with a group of three or four men. After a few moments of silence, the Shade appeared. His long red hair swayed as he walked. All of the soldiers straightened, fear preeminent in their eyes. As the Shade opened the door to Arya's cell, he chuckled. "Are you conscious, elf? Shall we begin now? I have brought my whip, this fine piece of leather. Nice spikes on the end. I have my branding irons. If you like, I could even take you to the rack."
Arya made no move to respond; indeed, she seemed too weak to do so. Durza smiled at her weakness. "I think, today, we shall begin with a good, old-fashioned beating." With the wave of his arm, he motioned for the soldiers to enter. For a moment, all was silent. Then: "You heard me. Beat her!"
Without hesitation, the five men stepped forward. Brutally, they swung at Arya's helpless form, kicking her from her cot to the unyielding stone below. She cried out in protest. Kicks and blows rained upon Arya. Blood flowed from wounds that had reopened under the soldiers' fists and boots.
The Shade laughed maniacally. "Harder! Beat her harder! She doesn't feel it yet!" After a few moments, he cried again, "Tell me elf! Where is your city? What have you done with the dragon egg, the King's possession? Why do you continue to resist? Do you still hold out hope for a rescue? Do you think your people will come save you?" With a sneer of contempt, he spat upon her. "Hope is dead. And you are all alone." He turned to his men. With a look of demonic cruelty he screamed, "Show her no mercy!"
The soldier to whom the memory belonged smiled at Durza's words. Without hesitation, he strode closer to Arya and kicked her directly in the face. Arya screamed.
At this, the men laughed and beat her harder, ignoring her cries of pain.
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The memory ended soon after, though it was followed by more of similar content. As Islanzadi withdrew from the soldier's mind, she shook with rage. "Where are your companions?" she hissed.
"Dead," the soldier spat.
His eyes did not lie. Islanzadi whirled about to face a circle of elves who had clustered about her in concern. "Finish searching the others' minds. I will deal with this one myself."
Murmurs of "as you wish" followed her words. The elves stepped demurely, and fearfully, out of her way. Islanzadi then bound the man and grabbed hold of his chains. "I shall show you the meaning of no mercy," she whispered.
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The walls of the Gilead prison pressed inward, making Islanzadi slightly claustrophobic. Still she pressed downward, towing the now-trembling soldier behind her.
Guided by the soldier's memory, she descended downward until she came upon the cell. The cell. The cell where her daughter had suffered. With magic, she split the bars of the cell to afford an opening into it. "Enter!" she commanded.
The soldier reluctantly obeyed.
Islanzadi followed after him, scanning her surroundings as she went. It was a small space, no more than fifteen or so feet in width. There were no windows, no sources of light. But for the small cot in the corner, there were no furnishings. As the soldier waited to the side, not daring to escape, Islanzadi proceeded to the cot. With tears in her eyes, she knelt. For a moment, she remained there, motionless. "Arya…" she whispered. She ran her hands over the cot. Arya's scent still lingered upon it, even after all those months. The tears spilled form her eyes as she caught sight of the stains of blood upon the fabric.
Suddenly filled with an uncontrollable rage, her face hardened. "Do you remember this cell?"
"Yes," the soldier whispered.
"And do you remember what you did here?" She rose and turned to face him.
"Yes," he answered again.
A whip hung upon a hook just outside the cell. Islanzadi appraised it for a moment, then, deciding it would suit, picked it up. She faced the soldier again. With a spell, she immobilized him. "Today you answer for it."
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Two hours later, Islanzadi emerged from the dungeons of Gilead. Breathing deeply, she tried to rid the stench of the prison from her mind. She strode through the city's streets feeling oddly empty. It had been a long time since her temper had flared like that. The soldier's face flashed before her eyes, clear as crystal. The fear in his eyes…Islanzadi shuddered. Flecks of the man's blood covered her armor. Another stain upon her soul.
As she made her way back to the front gates, she beckoned to one of her captains. "Captain Havai, a dead soldier lies in the prison's fiftieth cell. He was punished for…certain heinous crimes against our people. I would like you to clean up the mess. Bury him in an unmarked grave…" she paused. "Then spit upon it."
Lifting her head in her queen-like manner, she continued toward the gate.