Beta-reader: Dragonblooded
The dawn after the battle a courier came to fetch Eragon for Nasuada. Now, he stood by her side in her tent, glaring across the table at King Orrin and a young girl, whose face was mostly hidden behind her long raven hair. Right in the middle of the table lay a thin short white sword.
"So, Orrin," Nasuada said carefully, evaluating every word, "This is the girl who managed to chase away the red dragon?" The king nodded eagerly, obviously pleased with himself.
"Yes, she is my close friend's daughter, and half-elven. As a child, she demonstrated quite a talent for spellcasting, and now she is under my protection. As for the sword, it was a gift from her father, made of some rare metals we mined in Surda," explained Orrin. He looked toward her. "Don't be shy. Show them your face."
The girl brushed her hair away. Eragon studied her thoroughly. She was a pretty girl, according to human standards, but he couldn't see many elven features on her, except for her slightly pointed ears. They looked a bit like his, before he had been changed by the dragons. For a while, he didn't believe the claim of her improbable heritage. But then he remembered Marzanna and smiled bitterly. She was improbable, too. Even his own story was quite unlikely. Perhaps I shouldn't judge her so quickly.
Nasuada nodded, acknowledging what Orrin had said. Their situation was not in their favor. Eragon knew she would understand how she needed to proceed: carefully. "May we examine the sword?" Orrin suddenly grew wary. He reluctantly nodded.
The Varden leader then gestured towards Orik, who was standing on her other side, specifically for that matter. He looked tired and beaten, but prepared to do anything to avenge his adoptive father. He reached for the sword and inspected it thoroughly. He was not an expert in weapons, but as a dwarf, he could recognize metals and composition. When he was finished, he returned the sword on the table.
"It is mostly silver-laced steel, I'd say, covered by a thick layer of platinum and rhodium. It is certainly fine and delicate work. Must have cost a fortune. But I don't see how a sword like this could pierce through dragon's scales," murmered Orik. "Anyway, my lady, thank you for doing so."
Nasuada stopped to think. There was heavy silence in the tent. Eragon pondered the same thing. If a sword like this could slay dragons, it would be an expensive creation, but a far better option than spells alone. Damn spells, Eragon could almost hear Nasuada think. He smirked for a moment. "Lady… Malvolia was it?" When the girl nodded, Nasuada continued. "You are not a battlefield spellcaster. How did you find yourself there?"
"I am appointed as a healer, m'lady. My father wouldn't allow me to fight in the battles, but when I saw the red dragon, I had to do something. So I ran to the west part of the battle and hid behind the rocks. When I had the chance I used my spells to throw my sword through the air and into the dragon."
"I was informed that the sword was fired from the east side," said Nasuada with a smile. King Orrin suddenly slammed his fist on the table. The sword rattled from the impact.
"Are you suggesting we are liars? After we saved your greatest warrior?" shouted Orrin angrily. He reached for the sword to move it closer to them.
Nasuada looked at him calmly. "Forgive me, King Orrin. I did not intend to insult you or Lady Malvolia. I am just compiling my facts."
When no one spoke, Malvolia piped up. "I assure you, I am not offended. It is hard to tell which side it was fired from, considering it is subjective to the spectator." The Varden leader nodded.
"Alright, I understand. Would you be willing to share your spells with us? It might be the difference between winning or losing." Malvolia wanted to speak, but Orrin started first, quieting her in the process.
"I won't allow that, Nasuada. You have Eragon, because he swore an oath to you. The dwarves have Eragon, because he is a member of their clan. The elves have Eragon, because he needs them for his training. I have had nothing until now. You keep the Dragon Rider, and I will keep the Dragon Slayer. "
This exclamation made Eragon's blood boil. "What? This is important. How am I supposed to defeat Galbatorix when you deny me the knowledge of how to do it? And she hasn't killed a dragon, yet. Murtagh healed Thorn – his dragon." Nasuada gave him a stern look and Eragon took a step back. He shouldn't have spoken.
"Ah, and will you share all your elven knowledge with us, if we give you this information? They train you, not us, " said Orrin smugly. "Now, I believe our conversation is finished, I have important matters to take care of." He got up and gestured for Malvolia to follow.
There was a silence in the tent. Nasuada sagged in her seat. She looked ten years older, as though anything she did would tire her. "I think you should both go," she said softly, "Tomorrow will be the funeral of the fallen. It would be good for morale if you made an appearance."
Eragon nodded and together with Orik departed from the tent. Orik followed him to his tent. The dwarf looked pale, almost a little haunted. At every loud sound he fidgeted, looking behind himself.
Maybe you should ask him about it. We can't afford to lose his friendship. It must have been hard for him to lose Hrothgar, Saphira said to him mourningly.
"Orik? Are you alright? I am sorry about King Hrothgar. He was a good king, and always pleasant to me. If it wasn't for him, we would never have been brothers. I appreciate his gesture even more now."
"Thank you, Eragon. That is kind of you to say. I will always miss Hrothgar. He would have wanted to die in battle, axe to axe, not by a lousy spell. This will bring so much other trouble with it. I will be leaving soon for Farthen Dûr. The new king must be chosen, and my clan needs me," complained Orik, as if forgetting for a moment why he was so inconvenienced. It was only a few seconds before the haunted look returned to his face. "Eragon, I… I don't know how to say this."
Eragon knew they had touched the core of Orik's troubles. "You know you can trust me."
"I do, but this is not a matter of otho. It is an affair of safety. I saw something...on the battlefield...something no one was probably supposed to see. If it was revealed somehow - what I know - I would be in terrible danger. I may already be. I do not want to endanger you as well. It is…."
He went silent as Nar Garzhvog approached them. He looked mournful, but as intimidating as ever. Orik growled quietly and clutched the handle of his axe.
"Nar Garzhvog," said Eragon respectfully, "I mourn for your loss, too. But I heard you fared well in the battle. You should be proud of yourself."
The Kull nodded. "Thank you, Firesword, but I cannot take credit for it. I was not the strategist." A wistfully nostalgic smile appeared.
"Do you have any idea what happened to her? I heard she was nowhere to be found. There is still a chance she is lost and alive."
"Some urgralgras believe she ran away at the sight of the red dragon. But that is a lie. I have known her all my life and she never ran away from a battle, no matter the odds. She had faced worse than an army with a dragon." The Kull then shook his head, his horns reflecting the sun before it hid behind a large white cloud. "I had my spellcasters look for her amongst the minds still living, but they could not feel her. Either she is dead or too far away."
Eragon paused. "What about her unit? She sounded so proud of it."
"As she should be. My men bicker and fight amongst themselves over who will lead her unit. But her men refuse to fight each other for leadership, and refuse a new leader as well. It is creating tension in my camp. Kulkarvek's children – as her unit calls herself – were given three days for either her to appear or for them to choose someone else who will fight for them."
"Will you attend the funeral tomorrow?"
Garzhvog shook his head. "No, but my second-in-command Uzghar will be there with two others. They want to honour your dead ones as well, but from afar. Your race fought well. We can admire that," explained the Kull, "It is what I came to tell you. I know of some of your mind tricks and I did not want you to be surprised by their presence tomorrow."
"Thank you for informing me."
As Eragon watched the Kull leave, Orik leaned toward him. "I don't trust him, them...Let someone guard your back before they stab you in it."
+BREAK+
Eragon was standing next to Saphira's front leg, Arya standing behind him. Nasuada was a few feet away. Elva was out of sight. The pain of the grieving was too great for her.
It troubled Eragon greatly seeing so many men dead, because of a battle started in his name. Most of them had been stripped of their armour and weapons. They would have no use for it. Those who were left in their armour had been crushed into it beyond the point of removal. The blacksmiths had too much other work to do.
Eragon didn't really listen to the eulogist, telling the crowd their loved ones had died for a good cause and how they were now fine in a better place. He no longer believed that quite as much as he once had.
Yet, he still made a silent prayer for their souls. He closed his eyes and reached out with his mind, wishing the dead ones a safe journey in the afterlife, if there was any.
As his mind reached forward, he felt nothing from the fallen soldiers. As the elves believed, there was nothing in their bodies. No shining energy. Just blackness.
Suddenly, his eyes flew open with shock. A gasp escaped him. Arya looked at him, alarmed. A man approached the wood on which the bodies lay. "Stop the fire!" Eragon shouted. Everyone looked to him in surprise, some even scandalized that he dared to interrupt.
Eragon blushed under all the gazes. "What are you doing?" Nasuada asked nervously. This certainly wasn't helping morale. But the Rider ignored her and ran forward, alongside the dead bodies.
With the help of Saphira, he followed a small flickering light. It gave off a signal much like as a flower would, but he could tell this was much more. He felt his heart thump louder, beating with the adrenaline flowing through his veins.
Despite the weakness of the mind, he could recognize it, its burning feeling and bitter spikes.
There, almost in the middle of the pyre, he found them. She still wore some parts of her armour on. A helmet was squeezed so tightly under her jaw that it could not be removed. Eragon turned and gestured to two men standing near him. "Come help me! This one is still alive." Behind the rows of the Varden, Eragon noted three Urgals, watching him nervously.
When they managed to wrestle her carefully from the weight of the other bodies, Eragon murmered, "Losna." The steel of the helmet became pliant under his hands. What he saw under it made him gasp. Eragon didn't understand what had happened, and how she still was alive.
He looked up to Nasuada. "It is the elf, she is alive, for now." Nasuada nodded in understanding, allowing him to leave. Then, she regained the attention of the Varden, so the ritual could continue.
Eragon lifted Marzanna bridal style, leaving the helmet behind. He left quietly, trying not to draw attention. Saphira remained there. He wanted to break into a run when he was stopped by the three Urgals.
"Firesword! Thank you for saving one of us," an Urgal - Eragon believed he was Uzghar – said, "But we will handle this from here. You needn't trouble yourself with her any more. Our healers will look out for her."
Eragon, still connected to Marzanna's faint mind, felt immediate distress from her. "Do not worry. It is no trouble for me to take care of her. In the end, I believe I am more qualified in treating elves than your healers," said Eragon. Without looking back, he ran away at his heightened speed. They certainly struck him as suspicious.
He couldn't deposit her with the Varden healers. She would not be treated properly. At the advising of Saphira, he headed toward his own tent. Keep her alive. Arya will arrive shortly to help you, Saphira said to him.
Eragon lay her on his bed and started wrenching away the rest of her armour and clothing, looking for more injuries.
A plate of steel was squeezed around her ankle, which had shattered the bones inside of it. He would have to be extremely careful there. There would be lot of nerve damage to repair. There was a huge bruise forming on her thigh, seemingly from a heavy, hard impact. Her lower abdomen had been pierced by an arrow, which did not cut completely through. It seemed to have been stopped by her pelvic bone, complicating the situation. Five of her ribs on the right side were shattered. A dagger had probably struck under her clavicle, where a deep cut sat. Her left hand was lying at an odd angle, and she had some shallow cuts under her jaw from her helmet. And lastly, to Eragon's horror, the points of her ears had been cut off.
Eragon started chanting the long spells he had learned in Ellesméra. He didn't understand what he said. He just knew they were necessary. Arya arrived part of the way through and immediately started helping him.
They weren't even halfway through when they needed to stop due to their own exhaustion. They ensured she wasn't in danger of succumbing to her wounds before they stopped.
"How.. how could she survive that? Anyone else would have already bled to death," Eragon said with a tired huff as he offered a piece of bread to Arya, who accepted it thankfully.
"She did what I did in Gil'ead. It is a self-induced comatose state. But she slowed down her metabolism more than I did. She may never wake. Her heartbeat is almost non-existent. It saved her from bleeding out, but it might be fatal for her in the end." Arya paused for a moment, looking uncomfortable. "She cannot stay here. She is not safe here, and you are not safe here with her."
"What? Why?" asked Eragon, outraged. He was confident he could take care of himself and her.
"Eragon, we both know these wounds weren't inflicted in battle, army to army. Don't tell me you believe that a King's soldier took the time to take her helmet off, cut off parts of her ears, then put her helmet back on and clamp it to her head. Someone is after her. Someone with great strength, based on how deformed her armour was."
"I am not abandoning her. If you would be so kind as to go to Frederick, he may have her sword. It was not on her. You will recognize it. It is elven work," Eragon told her grumpily, turning his back to her.
He then continued to heal the minor injuries for which he had the energy. Eragon regretted that he hadn't start collecting his energy inside the diamonds in his belt. He could have used it now. Once he had finished as much as he could, he looked at her undressed form and suddenly blushed, her nakedness not striking him before.
Eragon forcibly tore his eyes from her. Saphira, who had arrived from the funeral, watched him in slight amusement with her head through the flap of the tent. What? Asked Eragon, irritated.
Nothing, Little One. You have done a great job, but you need to rest. We must be prepared at any moment for an attack. Murtagh overpowered us, and we cannot afford that again.