Sorry, I'm a day late! I'm so busy and tired that I came home yesterday and fell asleep right away. But, here's chapter seven! I have 99 reviews, which has made me write with passion! On the topic of betas: I have looked over the people who have an intrest in being betas and I've picked two; requim17 and chupacabrita. To the two of you; I will send you the next chapter by Thursday of next week. Thank you for being so awesome! Anyway, here it is!

Disclaimer: CP owns the main characters, settings, ect. I, however, own everything else, including Kimerlun, Tariku, and other such beings. Ophelia's name comes from CP, but her character is mine.


"Yet from those flames no light, but rather darkness visible." -John Milton

Chapter Seven: Fire in the Dark

Cold… Eragon thought fuzzily. He was so very cold it felt at though his bones would crack and his skin would turn to ice. He longed for warmth, any warmth at all, even the flames that had burned his home. He was flying, or at least it felt like it, at great speeds. The wind yanked his hair and clothes, tugging at him like an impertinent child. His eyes were so heavy that he couldn't open them. Eragon was blind to the world that was trying to snatch him away. Underneath the haze, Eragon felt pain and a dull sadness. He shouldn't be here. Where was Saphira? She should be with him, he knew, but he couldn't feel her.

Saphira? He called softly. There was no answer, only a void. Eragon reached out with his mind, but the effort was too much, and darkness overtook him.

When he next awoke, Eragon was still blind and cold. He shivered weakly. Above him, he could here angry voices shouting and soft growls and hisses. A layer of city noise hovered somewhere far away, the calls of street traders, the cries of children, the sound of marching, heavy feet. Pain raged in Eragon's conscience, physical and mental. His side and shoulder burned, his hands stung, and his head throbbed miserably. A pang of despair lurked below the haze, wrapping its tendrils around the foggy stupor in Eragon's mind. The voices grew closer.

"Too dangerous… fighter…killed two… spellcaster… needs the drug…" A male rumbled. His voice was garbled and distorted.

"So weakened… wounds… kill him… King would be angry." Another argued.

"Just do it… waking up… now!" The first shouted. Eragon stirred, struggling to throw off the oppressive fog in his thoughts. Someone grabbed him by the neck and shoved their way into his mind, overwhelming his weakened defenses and taking control. His mouth opened and water was poured down his throat, accompanied by a sickly sweet taste that choked him. The rough hands let go and his mouth closed. Eragon slumped back to his former position, his mind whirling and spinning. He stretched out a hand to anyone who could help him, Arya, Saphira, Nasuada, Roran, anyone, but no one was there. Once again, Eragon vanished under the blackness, and he dreamed.

Blood splattered as Ophelia dueled no-name-red-scales-traitor, her claws slicing his treacherous hide. He would die, and his Rider too, for Austric was dead on her back, flopping limply as she fought. The red-traitor-egg-breaker bit her wing, snapping it like a twig, but Ophelia didn't care. Her wings strained to keep her aloft, her chest heaved with exhaustion. Her right eye was gone, torn away. She saw the outline of the enemy hurtle towards her, spurred by hate and fear. She roared in pain and blasted him with green fire-from-her-belly, but it was no use. Morzan-traitor-killer reared in the saddle and struck out with the red-thorn-sharp-pain-sword and drove it into her chest. Blood splashed down, steaming with the fire-of-her-heart. Seizing the chance, the nameless-red-traitor sank his fangs into her throat, crushing and crushing. The world was going black, dark and black. Ophelia kicked out weakly, the strength faded from her limbs. Austric was dead, dead and gone, like her sire and dam and four of her hatchlings. Ophelia felt the void yawn before her and she surrendered. Austric…

The yelling returned, with more fervor. The words were indistinguishable from the sounds of the city and the waves. The sea was close by, the sea, and in his haze, Eragon remembered walking to Teirm with Brom, his father. Brom and the sea were close by, Brom and the sea…

She could hear them above her, soft-scurrying-whisper- houghts, thoughts of sadness and fear. Where was Austric? Where? Her entire body hurt, but coolness swept over them as some creature relieved her pain with world-will-energy, soothing away the hurt. Her talons felt something near them, a long, thin object; a sword. Ophelia's talons closed over it compulsively. She felt traces of him on the blade. It was Erisdar, Austric's sword. Grief spiked up in her heart and she thrashed wildly, and then the blackness rose once more...

The wind howled like a dragon in pain, roaring as it swept over the land. The scent of the sea was gone, replaced by the dry, brittle odor of the plains. Eragon was flying again, bound hand and foot to something made of hard leather. He mumbled for Saphira, but the drug overtook him once again, pulling him back into the realm of dreams.

One of her hatchlings, bronze- scale-Glaedr-son-Deloi, nudged her gently. In his vast eyes compassion sparkled. He was wise beyond his years, Ophelia realized. It was he who kept the others from flying of in a panic, him and his two- legs- pointed- ears Rider.

Get up, Kindmother. He urged gently. Austric would have wanted it. He glanced at her paw, which was still clenched around Erisdar.

She growled at him, ignoring her name. The laughing-quick-tongued-elves had called her that; "Kindmother", because of her desire to watch over others. But Austric was dead, so what was the point?

Come up from the darkness. He encouraged. You haven't seen our new home yet. Little Konungr found it. It's a huge cave, where we can fly around, even you, and there are several smaller caves for us to nest in.

Ophelia raised her head sadly. How many did we lose? She asked. Out of the hatchlings we started out with, who died?

Kimerlun and Lilandria are the only ones. Deloi replied softly. And Austric.

Ophelia mewed in distress. Austric, Austric…

Come now, get up. If you mope, your heart will die. Deloi growled. He nosed her impatiently. Up, up! Come and see the cave.

Ophelia just turned her back on him and coiled around Erisdar, keening softly.

The world jolted sickening as Eragon descended rapidly, still bound and dazed. He could see the blur of something vast and dark, a city, maybe? It loomed ahead, still a ways off in the blinding distance. Eragon shut his eyes to avoid the light, and then he heard the roaring. Terrible, sorrowful, enraged roaring, the roars of a creature so angry it was beyond reason. Something tried to probe his mind, something warm and familiar.

"Saphira….." Eragon croaked weakly. He opened his eyes to see a huge blue blur hurtle from the sky, fire rimming the edges. But he was snatched away as whatever was carrying him lurched forward with incredible speed, tearing the words from his dry, cracked lips. His mouth was forced open by a cruel, gloved hand and the sweet water drenched his throat. Desperate and despairing, Eragon reached out, but the whirling was back, and he returned to his slumber, heedless of the shrieks and roars.

Ophelia tilted her head back and keened, the rocks above her cracked-spiderwebbed-splintered, showering her with sharp pieces. Austric, her partner for over a century, was dead. Why was she alive? Why must she continue to suffer among all those whose partners lived? She would join Austric in the cold-empty-void. She roared and keened again, causing the rocks to crack- break- fall, plummeting to the earth with their razor edges aimed at her. Ophelia closed her eyes and breathed, preparing to die, when something large crashed into her side and knocked her away. The rocks hit flesh with a sickening crunching squish, followed by a roar of hurt-pain-death. Ophelia opened her eyes and saw a familiar shape; Deloi. Sharp rocks punctured his bronze-scale-hide and he lay awkwardly, life spilling away with his blood.

Ophelia howled in horror. Why? She demanded. Why did you condemn yourself and your Rider too such a terrible fate?

Eragon came to with a yelp and bolted upright. Cold sweat drenched his face. Dark, oppressive gray walls loomed around him, the only light coming from a thin, barred window in a metal door. The air was frigid, so cold it drove most of the drug from Eragon's mind. He looked around, but it was so dark that nothing had shape. Shadows seemed to breath in the dank cell, living and growing like festering boils. Something cold was wrapped around Eragon's hands, binding him to the wall. He was on a cot of sorts, barely more than a chunk of wood with a blanket on it.

Saphira? Eragon called softly, hopefully. But there was no answer. Eragon frowned, confused. The drug had worn off, so why wasn't she responding? Eragon was vaguely sure he had seen here before, right before the last dream started. Or did he? He shook his head, confused. Dreams and reality blurred dangerously in his thoughts, making it hard to think.

The door creaked open and light flooded the dingy cell, revealing a tall silhouette. Instinctively, Eragon flinched back and growled softly, the raw rage surfacing again, despite the fog in his mind. This man was familiar, but in his pained haze, Eragon couldn't place him.

After his eyes adjusted, Eragon could make out a tall, middle- aged man with sharp features and fine clothes. Brown eyes gazed solemnly from sunken cheeks, framed by black hair. A scar patterned his nose and there was a nick in his left ear, but jewels flashed in his clothes, on his hands. His skin was a rich creamy brown, like Nasuada's. This was no ordinary warrior. He was from the wandering tribes, no doubt fierce, proud, and set in ancient traditions.

"Greetings, Shadeslayer. I see you have awoken." The man mocked, his tone familiar, horrible and familiar, burning at the edges of Eragon's very thoughts. Where was he from? Eragon remembered hate and pain, mixed with fear. Was it his fear, or this bejeweled man's? With his heightened sense of smell, Eragon picked up the scent of fire. His head throbbed as it tried to identify this man, to make sense of the entire scene.

"You have been out for quite a long time, you know." The man drawled. His brown eyes gleamed like one of his many jewels. "The King is most pleased that you are finally under his control."

Eragon peered at the face intently, his thoughts to muddled to reply. That face was so familiar, but he couldn't place it.

"Confused, little Rider?" The man mocked. "Don't you recognize me?" He spoke something in the ancient language and fire danced on his palm, red as blood. Eragon's eyes opened wide in surprise-shock-horror. That face was in a metal mask again, eyes glittering darkly, drunk with pleasure and burning. His hands torched Garrow's farm, his words set fire to everything. This was the man who led the false Riders.

"Who're you?" Eragon demanded, slurring slightly. His hate was burning away the drug like this man had burned away his childhood home.

"So you can speak." The man said, arching his eyebrows cruelly. "I was told the drug would keep you in a half- conscience state for days after you awoke. It looks like those damned magicians were wrong after all."

"Who're you?" Eragon repeated, his words becoming clearer.

The man chuckled darkly and surveyed Eragon like a cat with a mouse. "I am now the Earl Tariku-no-Nashuwar, the King's Black Hand and first of the new Order of Riders." His brown eyes flashed with pride.

Tariku… Eragon tried to place the name to anything he had read before. He could remember a scrap of scroll he had examined that spoke of Nashuwar and Tengurlan, the founders of their clans, fighting a great battle long before the Fall of the Riders. But other than that, Eragon could not recall ever hearing about a man named Tariku, or even the Nashuwar clan.

"Where am I?" Eragon demanded. He reached for his magic, but the drug was still strong enough to keep him from touching it. Frustration simmered in his thoughts.

"Oh, I think you know." Tariku said smugly.

"Uru' baen." Eragon said quietly. His heart plummeted. No one but Saphira could reach him here, and if she came, then Galbatorix and his new monsters would focus all their energy on capturing her, and against the King, she stood no chance.

"Yes. We expect your dragon to appear within the next few days. We left a clear trail near Dras Leona." Tariku sang, grinning maliciously. "She fought bravely, you know, but my Tresia and her brothers drove her away."

"You hurt Saphira?" Eragon growled. He strained against the heavy shackles, struggling to reach the man who stood in the doorway, his eyes all cruelty and hate. But the chains where too heavy and he was too weak.

"Battle scars are a sign of bravery, Shadeslayer." Tariku taunted. "I'm sure your dragoness knows that. She probably looks at her new scars with pride."

"Scars?" Eragon snarled. Red flared up in front of his eyes as he glared at the magician. The drug still moved in his body, shrouding his magic, but at least he had rage. This burning hatred that he had never experienced before would suffice for killing this man. It would shred this man from head to foot, tearing him into little ribbons to be fed to the dogs. Red wreathed Eragon's vision and he growled, lowly, menacingly. The man took a step back, a touch of fear entering his face. "You gave Saphira scars?" Eragon snarled, his voice distorting as it plunged deeper and deeper.

The man reached into the folds of his fine clothes, searching for something as he watched warily. Eragon strained against his bonds again, struggling madly to reach the man who hurt his Saphira. He growled again, his teeth bared in fury. The chains creaked and groaned loudly under the weight of his struggles, popping with each spasm of his limbs.

Tariku pulled a round object from his pocket, but Eragon was too focused on killing him to notice. The bolts that held the chains in the wall groaned loudly one last time in protest and popped free, letting Eragon lurch forward and close his hands around Tariku's throat. The man gurgled inchoherently, possibly saying "stop, stop," but Eragon didn't care. He despised the man who scrabbled weakly against his vice- like hands, clawing feebly at death. Eragon didn't notice the pain of his wounds anymore, not the throb of his side or the burns on his hands. He wanted to kill the tribe magician, to burn him with his dark fiery hate and cast his ashes to the wind. The dragon was back, snarling his hate for those who dared to harm his kin.

"My, my, Tariku, you seem to have gotten into quite a mess." A deep, rich voice whispered. Eragon turned blindly, searching. The voice was in the walls, the doorway, in the very air itself, filling Eragon's ears with toxic poisonous thoughts and black things, slimy, crawling, killing things. "And as for you, my young guest…." The terrible voice paused, seemingly gathering its thoughts. "Welcome to Uru' baen."

Eragon felt magic so dark and black that it threatened to extinguish his fire surge inside the cell. He instinctively reached for his own magic, but the drug was still in place, blocking out the arcane flow of energy. He hissed angrily, hiding his fear behind a façade of rage.

"Ah, so bold. I have heard a great deal about you, Eragon Shadeslayer. Do not disappoint my expectations." The voice rumbled in a way that man the hairs on the back of Eragon's neck stand up. He still clutched the weakening Tariku's throat, determined to squeeze the life out of the man.

"Slytha." The voice boomed. Eragon reeled back, his defenses overwhelmed, and released Tariku. With every fiber of his being he resisted the spell, drawing on the dragon to shield him, cloak him. "Slytha!" The voice ordered again, and Eragon was swept away by the magic, thrown of his feet and onto the hard floor of the cell. The world flickered dimly; the open door, Tariku gasping on the ground, the chains twisted around his body like so many metal snakes.

"Tariku…" The voice spoke as Eragon faded.

"Yes, Master?" Tariku wheezed.

"Make sure our guest is properly re- chained. Such a fire can only be tamed through slow starvation and enclosure. If he got loose now, there might be no recapture. We don't want such an uncontrollable blaze in our palace, now do we?"

"No, my Lord."

"Then see to it that he is locked up securely."

Eragon's eyes closed again, for what seemed like the hundredth time since his capture, and his bright fire dimmed against the dark.


Well, there it is. I have to say, I for one am repulsed by Tariku's character. And I created the guy. Anyone else feel the same? I origanlly intened for him to play only a small role, but he demanded a larger part, and I enjoy villians... heh. Thanks for reading! Please review! The button's gray and green now. So, go click that green/gray button, yes?

Edited: June 7, 2009