A small ripple of smoke escaped Sahpira's nostrils as she stretched her wings. She was perched on the dock of the ship Eragon and the elves had taken from Du Weldenvarden. It was rather small, and it couldn't accommodate her very well. Blödhgarm had rationalized that a smaller ship would be much swifter, and if ever Saphira needed more time than usual sleeping or resting, the Eldunarí had more than enough energy to sustain the vessel. That was how it had been for a month at sea – her sleeping for several hours at night and then flying out in the morning to either hunt or simply free the ship from her colossal weight. She would occasionally return during the day for a brief nap or chat with Eragon, but the time she had for that never seemed adequate. She had no desire to expend the Eldunarí's energy in vain when it would potentially be needed for much more dire circumstances.
Now, however, she was content. She had already been on the dock for two hours. Ever since the day before – ever since the day they had been consciously aware of land ahead – Blödhgarm had given her permission to remain on the dock for however long she pleased. Knowing that there would be land in close proximity if anything went astray was the basis for the elves' and Eldunarí's unanimous decision to allow her extravagant periods aboard.
Her two-leg hatching lay nestled between one of her massive wings. On his lap rested Domia abr Wyrda, the book Jeod had given him so long ago.
A sad smile marked her hatchling's face as he softly brushed his finger along the line of her scales. He held up the brown cover of the book, its golden title rusty from age. Domia abr Wyrda. Dominance of Fate.
Saphira snorted softly. Funny, isn't it? Fate is so very dominant – much more than it should be.She sensed a sigh being released from her Rider. Like her, he too was thinking about them leaving Alagaësia.
Saphira's pressed her snout against Eragon's face, waiting for him to rub it. He did. But remember, little one, that Angela said our fate was at our own hands. Nothing – not even her supposedly infallible prophecy – could dictate it. If we can control our fate, then perhaps the whole concept of destiny is utterly meaningless. As the dwarves say: 'If a structure contains a flaw, it may just entirely collapse.'Eragon smiled. …
The furred elf bowed as he addressed Saphira. Greetings, Bjartskular. He then turned toward Eragon and inclined his head, even as he did the same. "And to you as well, Shadeslayer."
Blödhgarm still hosted an unparalleled respect for Saphira, as she was a dragon, but his lofty attitude toward Eragon had significantly diminished. In fact, he now held him in a newfound reverence. Aside from being a Rider, he had killed Galbatorix, was the master of the Eldunarí, and was the soon-to-be leader of the New Order. He was different, even in the eyes of Blödhgarm and his spellcasters. And being an immortal, the elves had more than enough sense to recognize that Eragon could very possibly become as prominent a figure as Vrael once was, if not more so.
The elf then addressed Saphira with his mind, though he projected his thoughts in order to allow Eragon to listen. I apologize for the abrupt intrusion, Bjartskular, but I must ask you to fly ahead of us and head inland. The Urgals will not take to it lightly if they have to greet us only to see an enormous dragon dropping out of the sky. No, it's best you go now. They may attempt an attack on you, no doubt, but with your accumulated wards and superior mental combating skills, they will never get the better of you.Saphira pawed the crumbled ground beneath her. She then moved her head in a motion which somewhat resembled a nod. I agree. She then gently lowered her arced neck until it was level with the elf. However, do not be so arrogant, elfing. Remember, it was an Urgal who slew Galbatorix's original dragon, and if that had never happened, history would have taken a much different route.Blödhgarm's lips twitched, if only for a second. He then bowed his head. I stand corrected.Saphira snorted. Good.
She then unfurled her wings; Eragon and the elves had to step out of the way in order to avoid crushed by them. With a roar and a gigantic stride, she leaped into the air.
Wind blew against Saphira's face as she battered her wings, trying to gain balance. Her muscular legs skimmed the top of the water in her attempt to gain altitude. She quickly ascended a dozen yards into the air. She had developed a paranoia of sea water ever since she had nearly been bitten by a Nïdhwal during her initial flight to Vroengard. Of course she knew it was foolish to fret about something was which a rarity to begin with – and would certainly not happen in the extremely shallow water she was hovering over – but nonetheless, her marrow chilled as she reminisced the massive creature and its ravenous, insatiable hunger.
Saphira twirled in the air until her wings lay opposite its previous parallel positions. Extending the limb of her respective wings until their boundary, she allowed herself to drop about fifteen yards in the air, just before twisting back around and darting forward at a remarkable speed.
Even as she covered the last few hundred yards which separated her from the shoreline, she saw an Urgal's face contort in rage and shout something out, pointing toward her. Expecting such a reaction, Saphira flapped fervently until she was soaring higher and higher, away from any possible physical threat. Eventually, all that she heard around her was the rhythmic sound of her flapping and the howl of wind fluttering about her face.
Suddenly, a volley of arrows arced toward her, audibly whizzing through the air. She roared. Like she had told Blödhgarm before, the Urgals were not to be underestimated: the bows they used must have been far more powerful than the ones the humans in Alagaësia used to propel the arrows forward at such a great speed and intensity. Then again, the creatures shooting them were far stronger than the average human.
As the arrows flew at her, she realized she would never avoid them in time. So, instead, she loosened a deafening shriek and bathed the oncoming missiles in a torrent of hot-blue flames. The arrows instantly disintegrated on the spot.
She spiraled downward, knowing that she was more than capable of defending herself, and that she always had Eragon's wards as additional protection just in case. She pondered whether it was worth attacking the Urgals in return. If she did, she would inevitably provoke them. But if she didn't, they may just get the wrong idea that they could stir up trouble without receiving retribution, and she couldn't let that happen.
A cluster of Urgals saw her coming and roared, pointing their clubs at her and notching more arrows into their bows. Saphira had to give them credit: they were as brave and brazen as their reputation held them to be. As she descended, more arrows soared toward her, even as more and more groups of Kull and Urgals came sprinting to the shoreline from various locations situated further inland.
Saphira released another column of flames as more arrows came in her direction. She quickly realized that she could not solely take on the defensive until she came into closer proximity with them. More archers had joined in the quest to kill her, and arrows were flying at her from all directions. Already she had begun to feel the gentle sapping of her energy which indicated that her wards were being penetrated.
She hastily skirted off to the side, following a haphazard pattern of twists and swerves in order to avoid contact with the Urgals' arrows. When they seemed taken aback by her violent, sudden aerial jerks, she took advantage of their momentary surprise. In a wild frenzy, she loosened column after column of rippling flames, shooting them in all directions of the camp.
Masses of Urgals dove out of the way to avoid the flames. Some tents were alit, fire creeping up their sides. She saw a few Urgals twitching on the ground, their faces consumed with pain, and then they moved no more. Saphira felt an involuntary lurch kick her stomach. She had officially killed intellectual creatures – the first time since venturing out at sea. Besides, the Urgals were justified in attacking her; they had no idea who she was.
A pained wail rose from the camp below. Enraged, every Urgal standing on the shore drew back his bow as far back as he could and took aim at her. Saphira had only a moment to prepare. Myriads of arrows came speedily darting toward her, their shafts transparent shimmers in the air. As every arrow was released from its respective bow – all aimed at either her wings or exposed underbelly – she sprouted a flume of flames in front of her and then rotated her body exactly halfway, even as she had done when flying inland minutes before. Most every arrow either melted from her fire's intensity or harmlessly sailed by. She did feel a small pinch of energy being drained, however, as she felt a handful of arrows assail her wards.
Now it was Saphira's turn to attack. She spitefully gnawed her teeth, feeling flames fuel on her barbed tongue. When she waited long enough for the flames to reach their full potency, she shot them out, almost as if in a belch. The flames she had shot were not geared toward quantity as she had done before in her frenzy. These flames were a single stream, but if they struck, there would be no avoiding them. Havoc would be the only result.
Many of the Urgals' eyes narrowed in fear as they saw the oncoming flames. Some of them ducked behind their shields, but they knew it was pointless – Saphira saw it in their eyes. However, a single Urgal – actually, based on his looming height and distinct war helm, a Kull – remained calm and shouted an order to an Urgal standing nearby. The Urgal nodded. Even from her position atop the roaring flames, Saphira heard the Urgal shout: "Letta!"
Saphira roared, her sapphire eyes wide in surprise. The flames she had sent at the Urgals had frozen midway, its curved surface resembling a crashing wave. The Urgal seemed immune to the drained magic's pressing demand for energy. How can he maintain that spell for more than a few seconds? She thought weakly.
The Urgal screwed his bushy eyebrows tight, mustering his energy. A moment later he had shouted yet another spell. "Thrysta!"
The flames compressed, and it increased tremendously in intensity. Then, they swirled in the air and flew in the opposite direction, toward her.
Saphira growled. How dare he use my conjuration against me? She dove out of the way as the rebounded flame came her way, but she was too late. Well, at least partially. The flame had missed the center of her torso but it had nipped her right wing. She howled in pain as she felt the wards protecting that part of her body give way. Reluctantly, she turned her head to look at her scorched wing. She flinched. A dozen or so of her previously gleaming scales were now completely dulled, their prior sparkle replaced with a dead blackness.
Hating to do it but knowing she had no choice, Saphira retreated. She furiously flapped her wings for a minute until she was certain she was out of harm's way, even from the Urgals' arrows. She doubted any of the Urgal magicians could reach her mentally, but if they did, her wards would alert her and then she would crush them.
She then felt an urgent consciousness press against her own. Clumsily, she tried blocking her thoughts, until she realized that the person contacting her was Eragon. What? She cautiously asked, though she feared she already knew the answer.
Her hatchling's mental voice came out rushed: The elves and I just exited the ship and were attacked by arrows and spears from the Urgals. Our wards protected us, and even now we have conjured magical defenses, but we cannot stay like this forever. One of Blödhgarm's spellcasters has killed two of them immediately after the attack, but I forced her to stop the assault as I felt like something has gone astray. I do not believe that the Urgals offered us peace only to lure us into battle. Saphira, what has happened?
Saphira avoided answering for several moments, even as she sensed a barrage of artillery crashing into Eragon's defensive spell. She had no worries; he was aided by the Eldunarí, and stopping Urgal attacks would not prove difficult for quite some time. Then she slowly answered. Little one . . . this is my fault. The Urgals, not knowing who I was, attacked me, and instead of waiting for you to come ashore and clarify, I was too rash and decided to attack myself. I have killed several of their warriors.
She sensed indecision circulating throug her Rider's mind. Like her, he did not know what to do. He felt that the Urgals had not truly stirred up the trouble, but once provoked – especially after negotiating with an enemy – an Urgal would never accept an apology. Anyhow, he was altogether reluctant to engage in war after his hiatus from violence.
Saphira's tail swooshed back and forth in anticipation. No matter what, Eragon would eventually have to retaliate physically. No matter how much energy he had from the Eldunarí, he could not make his wards infallible to vigorous, never-ending attacks.
Then, like when she had found a sudden burst of inspiration to create Brom a tomb many years ago, an idea came to her. Eragon!
Her Rider didn't respond verbally, but she knew he was keenly listening.
She paused, trying to figure out how to word her new idea. Then: As much as you'd hate to admit it, we both know that we won't be able to gain sympathy with the Urgals, no matter how much we rationalize with them that they could never hope to defeat us. They are too stubborn and consumed with rage. You must somehow find a way to alter their memories of what has just transpired.
Eragon seemed to consider her plan for a few tense moments; then he related his feedback. This will prove difficult, no doubt, though it certainly isn't impossible. Galbatorix had done something similar to Nasuada when he had tortured her, and what he did was much more complex: he changed her perception of reality with accurate details based off various Eldunarí's memories. I do indeed hate to admit it, but I feel that it is the only choice we have.
