The Herbalist's Apprentice

by the Lady of the Mists

Chapter Four: Preparing for Battle

Sandry was brushing out her brown hair quietly as she heard Angela brewing one of her potions in the next room. She had confessed her vision about the battle and Angela told her that there was probably going to be battles raging all around them very soon; after all, she had seen with Eragon's future great battles raging around him, so now that he was with the Varden, it made sense that battles would be erupting very soon.

Still, that didn't make her vision any easier to stomach. What was the point of seeing the future if it was never unalterable? To see it and not be able to do anything about it . . . that was worse than not being able to see it at all. What if she had seen something unimaginable? Like the death of someone she cared about? What then?

As Sandry pondered this, she straightened suddenly, feeling a presence within the caverns of the Varden. It was a presence that was almost familiar, yet she was certain that she had never felt it before. Leastwise, not while she was awake. When she was asleep, she had felt this presence stretching across distance to her, coming to her in her dreams.

He had never spoken to her there, only smiled at her and watched Sandry carefully while she tried to find him in the mists. But they were kept apart, always kept apart, because he was trapped. Trapped and unable to get to her, until he was free.

But how could he be here? She had always thought that he was just a dream, part of a vision that she longed for. A brother, she thought now. She had always wanted a brother, even though she knew that was the reason why her father had left. Because she was the daughter that he didn't want.

Standing up, Sandry was out the door before she could even realise what was happening. Angela called after her, but she ignored her teacher and kept running, ignoring the startled Varden as she rushed past them, sensing the deep pain that ran through her, feeling the pain of her brother as if it were her own.

She froze as she saw a blond man being led away by one of the dwarves, his face determined and calm, not betraying any emotion. It was him, she realised. She knew him at once, recognising the same determination that ran through her own veins. And she saw straight into his blue eyes, eyes that were in the image of her own.

But he was not being taken a prisoner, she realised now. No, if he were a prisoner, then he would be led by weapons, not a short guide who only bore the axe that was aimed not at him, but held uselessly at his side. Sandry frowned slightly, then brightened. He had come to join the Varden!

Wanting to see more of her brother, Sandry stepped forward but was alerted by some dwarves coming from their own caverns. She gasped in surprise at the sight of the battered and injured one supported by his fellow dwarves, hurrying forward.

"I need to see Ajihad," one of them told her. "At once; it's an emergency."

"You'll have to speak with one of them," Sandry told him, pointing towards the Varden. "I'm only a healer."

He brightened at once, realising what she meant. Instantly, he instructed the men to take their injured friend back to the caves, with Sandry accompanying. While they obeyed, he left to go speak with the Varden leader about whatever had happened. Which, whatever had, was serious. Sandry could see that even without the Sight.

Thankful that she had brought her healer's bag along with her, Sandry knelt down beside the dwarf, tending to his injuries. They were severe, but she had seen far worse when Urgal attacked villages nearby and they had come to Teirm for help. The dwarf was luckier than perhaps he realised.

It didn't take long for her to take care of his injuries. She soothed and calmed him when he got agitated and by the time that the other healers had arrived, he was sleeping peacefully, his injures well taken care of.

The head healer took one look at him, then glanced at Sandry carefully, as if trying to place her. "It would've been too late by the time that we got here," he replied. "Thank you, milady. You have saved this dwarf's life."

Sandry smiled respectfully and said, "I had a good teacher." Angela would've beamed if she'd heard that, but she was undoubtedly still in their chambers, no doubt fretting about her.

"Ah," the head healer said, still looking sceptical. They were no doubt going to overlook her presence due to the situation. But Sandry had the feeling that this was the beginning. "Well, let's move him to the infirmary, all right?"

Looking around, Sandry asked, "What's going on? What happened to him, anyway?" She directed the question towards one of the dwarves, who now looked at her with respect in their eyes. Saving one of their own, she realised, must have gained her great respect with them.

"He was attacked, my lady," the dwarf replied, shaking his head with some sadness. "There is an army of Urgals on the way, maybe day's march from here. That is what pursued him." He muttered some words in the dwarf language that Sandry didn't understand, but was able to get the general idea of what he was saying. "We thank you for saving him, my lady."

"Sandry," she offered her name as a token of friendship. "My name is Sandry, daughter of Morgance."

He bowed to her. "Alaric, son of Aílan," he responded with a small smile. "I pray that you remain safe in this battle, Lady Sandry."

"You and your people as well, Alaric," she said softly. They both shared sad smiles as Sandry rose from where she'd sat and headed out from the dwarves' kingdom. It was time to stop running and hiding; it was time to prepare for battle.

--

Sandry wasn't questioned as she stepped through the ranks of men preparing themselves for battle, dressed in a battle dress with chain mail peeking out underneath. This dress was not meant for comfort, but for battle. Her healer's pack was wrapped around her waist in case she needed it and a sword was on her other side.

Resting her hand on the sword, Sandry looked around at the men. Some were fearful, others were determined, and others looked as though they were going to their deaths. And some of them were, she realised. Some of them would not make it back to see their wives or children. For some, this would be their last day of their lives. But they were giving it in return of something greater: peace. And hope that their sacrifices would not be in vain.

Hearing someone call her name, she turned around, wondering who it was that could possibly know her name. A smile blossomed across her face as she saw Eragon heading towards her, looking less like a farm boy and more like a Rider than she'd ever seen him.

"Well, they certainly turned you into a hero," she told him lightly. Eragon chuckled, looking down at himself. "You look handsome. Except . . . hold on," she said, reaching up and straightening his collar. "There you are. Now you're ready to take on an army."

"I don't know about that," Eragon admitted. "But you look beautiful. Fit for battle," he added, surveying her. Sandry blushed scarlet, looking down at herself. "Are you going to be out there?"

Sandry looked at him severely. "I'm not the kind of woman who's going to sit back and let people fight the battle for her, Eragon," she told him. "If there's going to be a battle, then I'm going to in it. Besides," she added. "They may need a healer out there in the battleground."

Eragon nodded once. "Well, if there's anyone who can save them, then it's you," he replied. "I heard about that it was you who saved that dwarf who was attacked earlier."

Staring at him, Sandry shook her head in confusion. "How did you hear about that?" she wanted to know.

"The dwarves know everything," Eragon responded in a resigned voice. Sandry giggled slightly and he grinned. "Well, if you get into trouble, just call me, all right? I'll try and listen for your thoughts."

"I don't know," Sandry admitted. "The only . . . being that I've ever been able to communicate with thoughts is that bloody cat of Angela's."

With a snort, Eragon smirked at her, about to say something else when someone called him over. "All the same," he said as he walked away. "Be careful. Wiol pömnuria ilian," he added as she looked around at him in surprise, her mind buzzing around the words. Although she had been studying the ancient language with Angela, she still wasn't a master of it. In fact, it frustrated her how slowly her training was going compared to Eragon's.

Oh, well, she thought as she joined some of the men who were going to battle. Some of them appeared no older than her. By morning, it may not matter. By morning, she could be dead.

Her thoughts drifted back to her brother, whatever his name was, and wondered what had happened to him. Was he imprisoned, even now in the beginnings of a battle that they could use his help in? She hoped not; she couldn't bear the thought of her brother being a prisoner. Hopefully, they would let him fight.

She still didn't understand how it was possible that she had a brother, when her own mother dead and her father vanished when she was three. Her brother was at the very least the same age as she was, maybe older. But she had seen it with her own eyes, felt his presence within their connection. Perhaps it could be true.

Scanning the crowd quickly, Sandry felt disappointment fill through her as she saw no sign of the golden-haired brother that she had caught a glimpse of earlier. Was he waiting for some other time to reveal himself to her? Or was he afraid of her reaction?

Turning her attention back to the matter at hand, Sandry could've sworn that she heard something coming from within the tunnels.

Suddenly, she wished Angela were here. Angela would not be afraid of what was coming, what would be emerging to attack and/or kill them without mercy or warning. She took her teacher for granted sometimes, she thought. Never again.

Reaching for her sword, Sandry slowly slid it out of its sheath, seeing other soldiers do the same. Holding it lightly in her hand, Sandry let out a deep breath, waiting for the signal. Even if this was the last battle that she ever fought, the last day that she would ever live, at least she would die fighting for something she believed in.

"You all right, lass?" Sandry glanced at the man who spoke. He was watching her carefully, concern in his eyes. "No place for a young girl, this."

"I'm here of my own free will," Sandry replied. "Same as you, same as everyone here. I'm not going to go hide like a coward. It's different for some; they have reasons to go hide, if they be mothers or wives. But I'm neither, you see. And I'm capable of fighting and defending myself. There's no valid reason why I shouldn't fight."

The man chuckled, almost amused by her speech. "Certainly have a mind of your own, don't you?" he remarked.

"Aye," Sandry agreed, returning her attention back to the tunnels. She felt a tremor run through her, but swallowed her fear.

Let them come, she thought, raising her chin defiantly. Let them come, because we will fight. And they will die.