Red fire lit up the eastern horizon with a rosy aura of flame, casting long shadows westward. The trees dotting the plain sent their stretched, shady silhouettes in the same direction across the craggy rolling hills, falling on the lone elf-women striding across the land.
In something like a trance, Arya wearily mounted the rocky knoll, making her way to the top so she might see out over the land she was still to traverse. Loose black locks blew freely about her head as she came to the peak of the rise, catching on the tips of her pointed ears. Before her stretched the hills of Dras-Leona, covered by trees and forest, though none of them were especially thick. In the distance, Helgrind knifed into the sky, its black spires dark and forbidding as they presided over the plain and its inhabitants. To the east, the Leona Lake was set aflame by the setting sun, turned a blushing pink, looking almost like the Isidar Mithrim-the Great Star Sapphire-in Tronjheim. In a distracted way, she once again felt vague remorse for her part in the destruction of the monument. Still, the emotion was quick and fleeting, irrelevant at that point in time.
It is twilight, Arya thought sorrowfully, looking out to the east as the blazing eye of the sun descended past the edge of the world. Helgrind, bathed on its eastward side by the reddish light, looked to be a strange tool of gray, half in and half out of shadows, mocking her all the while for her inability to arrive on time. Despite its malevolence, the black peaks looked strangely striking in the half light, terrible and beautiful at the same time, a contrary thing but undeniable. Still, it mocked her.
"I am too late," she whispered, a single tear streaking down her cheek. Eragon had been taken to that dark fortress in the distance and was most likely still imprisoned within. Were he not, he was no doubt en route to Uru'baen by way of Murtagh and his dragon, Thorn. Arya could neither hope to catch nor defeat the king's Rider, a fact that filled her with grief and hopelessness. What were the elves to do now? Galbatorix was now control of the new generation of Dragon Riders, born and unborn, tilting the already tipped scales in the dark king's favor. If Eragon were bound to serve Galbatorix, the Varden, dwarves, and elves could entertain no hope of emerging victorious from this war.
These were the reasons Arya gave herself, the excuses for the grief and pain wracking through her. Eragon is lost… she thought, wallowing in her despondency. Untold emotions-akin to the ones she had experienced when Faolin had been killed-washed through her anew.
Enough of this self-pity, she said to herself after several long moments, starting down the hill and heading north. I will accomplish nothing here, sitting idly in misery like a swooning human maid.
When this thought passed through her mind, she froze mid-stride, her back straightening as she stiffened. Is that what I was doing? Swooning? Am I so disturbed that I can do such a thing? The ridiculousness of it almost made her laugh, something she had done precious little of lately. Swooning over Eragon? The last thought had received no prompting, it had simply come to the fore of her mind, unwanted and impossible. She contemplated it for several moments, wondering at the truth of it.
I am distressed, she reasoned. It is causing me to think in ways that I would never normally.
Dismissing that whole line of thought, Arya continued forward, making for the forest surrounding Helgrind. For the sake of meticulousness-and her own sanity-she needed to confirm that Eragon had actually been taken to the Galbatorix… If he was still imprisoned in Helgrind, perhaps she could somehow free him, though methods of doing so eluded her. It was a slim hope, but it was all she had.
And while she went, she could not stop herself from thinking about Eragon, could not stop her thoughts from drifting back to him. It didn't seem a strange thing, for, after all, the young Dragon Rider was the sole object of her mission, but she found herself considering him in ways quite beside the point of what she was doing. As she ran across the hills, climbing and descending, she thought of the pain Eragon must be experiencing, and felt her own pain and sorrow for him raise in response. She thought of how his recent trials must have changed him. He is little more than a child… He can not endure such a thing with impunity. No one can… I shudder to think how he has changed.
It seemed a crime to dispel such innocence, for that was what Eragon was; innocent.
Running lightly, it took Arya only a brief time to reach the security of the trees, the miles melting before her feet. Under the cover of its branches, Arya felt more secure, more comfortable and at home. Even though she had spent the better part of her life ferrying Saphira's egg across Alaegasia, she had never quite lost her comfort within the cover of trees, remembering where she had been born and raised. Ellesmera had been, and always would be, her home, and that fact manifested itself in many ways, this not the least of them.
Glancing up through the shadows of the spidery branches, Arya saw that glittering stars were beginning to become apparent in the sky, and the red glow on the eastern horizon was beginning to fade, retreating and giving ground to the shadowy fingers of night.
I should set up a camp or shelter of sorts, Arya thought, thinking that, if she was to wait to see if Eragon had been taken away, she might as well have a base, per se, to rest and store food she might find. She could be weeks in this place, unattractive as that possibility sounded.
Her elven eyes easily piercing the thickening darkness under the shade of the trees, Arya began to search for a suitable place to make camp, occasionally stopping to forage edible plants that she came across. As she searched, the creatures of the day returned to their homes and hiding places, and those of night began to wake, filling the darkness with the typical sounds of dusk. The noise formed a natural choir, composed of the chirping of crickets, the croaking of frogs and toads, the screeching of bats overhead, and the hooting of owls on the prowl.
Fortune smiled on her then, for she found a satisfactory shelter not long into her search, a simple but roomy cave, the entrance framed by two fallen and splintered trees. It was slightly damp for her taste, but this flaw was overshadowed by the fact that a stream ran through the back of it, which explained the moisture. It was not perfect, but it would do. Comfort is of no real importance, she reminded herself. Only security… She trailed off, despair filling her once more when she remembered that Eragon was sorely lacking in security at that moment… She imagined that he was hanging from chains, being tortured even at this point in time… The image didn't help her worry.
Nasuada should be made aware of this, Arya thought, thinking of how she had not been able to free Eragon before he'd been put outside her reach.
Depositing her gathered food on an upraised rock, Arya went to the stream and crouched down, putting her hands together to form a bowl. At her word, several streams of crystal clear water rose from the stream to gather in her hand. After a moment, Nasuada appeared within it, looking weary and stressed.
"Arya," Nasuada said, looking as if she had expected this encounter.
Arya bowed her head. "Nasuada. I hope you are well."
Nasuada waved the pleasantries aside. "Of course I'm not. I assume that the reason you have not yet returned is that you decided to pursue Eragon?"
"I did."
Nasuada smiled weakly, her white teeth gleaming against her ebony skin. "Much as I disapprove… I am glad you did. Please tell me you found him."
Arya drew from her years of experience as an ambassador to keep her voice and face emotionless. "That is why I have contacted you… Eragon has been taken into Helgrind by two new Ra'zac and their parents."
Nasuada's smile fell, her face turning grave. "There are more of those monsters?"
"It would appear so."
Nasuada slumped into the plump, red armchair behind her and put her face in her hands. "Can't you retrieve him?" she asked of her palms.
"I cannot. Helgrind is bare rock, steeper than even an elf can climb. Even if I could, it is doubtful that I would be capable of defeating the creatures." She was sure that she could defeat two Ra'zac alone, but much less confident of defeating the Lethrblaka.
Nasuada didn't move. "Has Murtagh shown his face?"
Arya shifted uneasily. "No, but it is only a matter of time. He could have already come and gone… I only arrived here recently."
Nasuada raised her head with a sigh. "What will you do, Arya?"
Arya, surprising even herself, lowered her eyes from those of Nasuada's. "I will remain here," she said quietly. "At least for a time. I wish to see for myself that Eragon is truly beyond our help."
Nasuada rested her chin in one hand. "Your help, you mean."
"Even so."
After a moment, Arya returned her gaze to Nasuada's face. The young woman was regarding her guardedly, dark eyes narrowed. "You look terrible, Arya."
Arya frowned. "Even elven women do not enjoy having such things said to them," she said. But then, she felt the corners of her mouth tilt up slightly. "It has been a long journey," she said, running a hand through her filthy hair. Small twigs and leaves were snagged in her black locks, and the hair itself was disheveled and frizzy. The state of her clothes were even worse; they were fraying at the cuffs, stained by mud and covered in dirt.
Nasuada's eyes flicked all about her face. "If you get the chance… Maybe you should clean up. It would be a shame for Eragon to see you like this… If you find him, that is."
Arya felt her eyes narrow. "I do not know why you would say such a thing, but I will do as you ask."
Nasuada smiled weakly before her faced returned to its haggard and dismal countenance. "Of course." She glanced away from Arya, looking off to the right. "It's late, Arya, and I need to sleep. It would be wise of you to do the same."
Arya said nothing, but simply favored Nasuada with a quick nod. Before Nasuada could leave, she asked, "Nasuada, I had thought, and rightly so, that Saphira would relinquish all responsibilities and ignore all perils to rescue Eragon were he in danger… Has she left the Varden?"
"No," Nasuada said, looking worried. "And that is what worries me most of all… Saphira has been suffering from… Tantrums. She hasn't flown in days."
Arya narrowed her eyes, greatly vexed by this news. "This is troubling news."
"Yes… It's been a headache. She's been roaring near constantly for days."
Uneasy, Arya said, "This is… Disturbing. But you are right, Nasuada. It is late." She began to release the spell.
"Wait," Nasuada said, holding up one dark hand. Arya looked at her as Nasuada lowered her hand. "Arya… If you think, at any moment, you can rescue Eragon… I know I was at first against it, but… You know better than I how important he is." A tear slid down her cheek. "He is our hope… Our only hope. We can do nothing without him."
Arya paused. "It is as you say, Nasuada."
Terminating the spell and allowing the water to spill through her hands, Arya rocked back to sit on the stone, pondering what she had learned. Worry and fear spun through her, inciting rapid thoughts that had her mind thinking in circles through the situation. Why Eragon had stayed behind… How he'd been captured… What had happened to him… Where he was now. All whipped through her mind, giving her a headache for the sheer complexity and desperation of it. And Saphira was suffering… Eragon must have been tortured near constantly to keep Saphira on the ground. The thought sent a shudder down her spine.
I will not be able to rest like this, Arya thought, standing up. Resentful to her misbehaving thoughts, she left the grotto and began to drift through the shadows of the trees, noting that the sun had fully set and that all was darkness.
She may have been able to quell the restlessness of her body, but Arya was unable to calm her restless mind, and she continued to consider how hopeless everything looked now. With quick, silent steps, she strode through the forest, plunging in and out of the thoughts of random forest animals. Most of their minds were concerned with the trivial, such as gathering food for the night and caring for their young.
Suddenly, a swath of panic and fear swept through the forest, assaulting Arya's mind with mental screams and her ears with the frightened cries of the nocturnal animals. A collection of deer nearby crashed through the trees, prancing about the scattered tree trunks. Bats screeched as they fled from whatever it was that they feared, and owls-ever dignified-hooted disdainfully as they flapped away.
Unsure if whatever was sweeping through the trees was dangerous enough to warrant her fear, Arya delegated to err on the side of caution and crouched low within a nearby bush, peeking out through the branches. As she waited, wishing her sword was at her hip-she'd left it with the Varden-a pain shot through her ears, the result of a sudden spike in pressure. Foreboding stole through her when she realized what it was, and slowly, craned her neck so she was looking upward through the leaves of the bush.
Sure enough, a moment later, a dull thudding met her ears, the flapping wings of an enormous creature. Ruby red flashed across the sky and then was gone. Arya's heart jumped in her chest as she beheld the sight; it was Thorn, Murtagh's dragon.
Eragon might be on his back! The thought jumped to the fore of her mind, prompting her to quickly climb the closest tree, jumping upward from branch to branch, until she reached the top. With one hand on the uppermost branch, she leaned out over the field of trees, looking around in the dark sky for a hint of the red that was Thorn. Despite the darkness, the light of the stars and moon was strong enough that her elven eyes could easily make out the dragon flying toward Helgrind. Best as she could tell, there was only one passenger on the red dragon's back.
Still, she watched anxiously as it wheeled toward the fortress mountain, sure that Murtagh was retrieving Eragon from the Ra'zac's clutches. The thought was no comfort, for Eragon was in store for continuing misery if Murtagh were to take him…
Her fears were pointless; Thorn swept past the rock of Helgrind and flew beyond it, fading into the darkness on its other side. Arya, confused, watched the point where he disappeared for several long moments, and then, deciding that remaining there idly would achieve no purposeful end, descended from the tree and made her way back to the cave.
Contemplating Murtagh's behavior as she was, Arya's footsteps were distracted as she entered the grotto. She didn't immediately notice the figure following her into the cave.
But when she heard a branch snap behind her, she whirled around, her arm already cocked back with a dagger in hand. The creature within the entrance was shocking at best, gruesome and diseased. It wore trousers-that she could tell-and appeared to be covered with a strange, red and green fungus, like some kind of horrible skin rot. Still, she could tell that it was some sort of humanoid. Realizing this, she hesitated, her arm still holding the dagger that waited to be thrown.
The creature froze. As they stared at each other, Arya began to see past her shock and the gunk covering the creature's skin. She saw the brown eyes, the angled yet rugged build of his shoulders and face...
"I told you to stay away," Eragon growled.
The dagger slipped from her fingertips. "Eragon?"
"Am I someone else?"
Arya ignored this and stood, walking slowly to stand before Eragon. His brown eyes followed her approach. Wonder and disbelief filled her; she couldn't believe this was real.
Unsure of the answer to this, and unsure of why she did so, she reached up and touched his cheek, cupping his face in her hands. The dried blood matted to his face cracked under her fingers. Eragon's eyes were unreadable, their brown depths unfathomable. "The candle still burns," she whispered, repeating what she had said after the battle of the burning plains. He was, most assuredly, real as he was standing before her.
It was then that she noticed the dried blood that covered him, alternating red and green splotches. It was also then that she realized that she was touching his face.
Withdrawing her hands as if burned, she stepped back. "Where are you hurt?" she asked anxiously, stepping around him as she cautiously surveyed the layer of muck and cracking blood covering Eragon like a second skin.
"The blood isn't mine," he said, a strange note in his voice that she hadn't heard before. She didn't stop to consider it though.
"Unless I am much mistaken, most of it is," she said, pointing to a patch of green covering his shoulder. "The blood of Ra'zac and Lethrblaka is green," she waved her hand at the mass of red covering his back. "But the blood of humans and elves is red."
Eragon didn't meet her eyes; she noticed that his hands were trembling. "Fine, most of it is mine, but I'm not in any danger."
She stared at him for a long moment, her mouth open with a thousand questions on her tongue. She wanted to ask so many things; why he had stayed behind, what had happened, how he had escaped. The ensuing conversation would likely take some time.
Instead, she said, "There is a stream in the back… Wash the gore from your flesh and than we may talk."
He looked at her, his eyes warm but still unfathomable, a dark, hard undertone to his gaze. This confused her, for never before had she seen such a thing in Eragon's eyes.
The Dragon Rider bowed his head, "As you wish, Arya Drottningu." There was a bitter, sarcastic note to his voice, another thing she had never heard from Eragon. It unnerved her.
Arya watched as Eragon went to the stream, noting that his shoulders seemed broader than she could remember, his head higher than before… He had grown since last she'd seen him. It was not much, but it was evidence that Eragon was at last growing into the full measure of a man.
Eragon looked up, meeting her eyes. "Arya?" he said.
She sat up. "What is it?"
"Bathing tends to imply a semblance of privacy."
Arya jumped to her feet, slightly embarrassed, and left the cave, allowing a small laugh to escape her as she left the cave and leaned against a tree, staring up at the stars. Her amusement was quickly quelled by a myriad of other emotions as she ran over Eragon's arrival in her mind.
Her initial feeling was relief. Eragon was safe! The Varden, elves, and dwarves could continue to fight the Empire, though it was still a hard pressed war. There was hope, for, as Nasuada had said, Eragon was their hope.
Her second was joy. Her hope had returned with the young Dragon Rider, and she felt lighter and free with his escape.
Her third was surprise; how in the world had Eragon escaped? She had thought the circumstances would be near impossible. Imprisoned a mile above the ground in a fortress that was impossible to climb, held captive by creatures far beyond the strength of humans… Arya's curiosity was certainly aroused.
Fourthly, horror. Eragon had been covered in blood, most of it his own… What had happened?
Fifth was confusion… Eragon seemed different, slightly bitter. Perhaps he was withdrawn because of what he had experienced, but it was not entirely the Eragon she knew… The Eragon she knew was a child. He was darker than that child.
Last was anger; Why did he have to stay behind and create this mess? she asked furiously of no on in particular.
"I'm decent," Eragon called from within.
Her heart skipped a beat as she straightened. Taking one last glance at the night sky, she reentered the cave. Eragon was standing bare chested in the center of the grotto, looking around with interest. The dried blood had been washed from his skin, which glistened with moisture, and his hair was dark for the water that dripped from it.
As he turned to look at her, she couldn't help but notice that, while Eragon certainly possessed most of the features of an elf, he could not be taken for a pure-bred one. His face was rougher, and his shoulders broader. A faint blush-she didn't know why, she'd seen such things before-covered Arya's cheekbones when she saw that Eragon was also more muscular than most elven men. He was lean by human standards, but by elven, he was quite large.
"Is something wrong?" Eragon asked after a moment, water dripping across his bare chest.
Arya blinked, raising her eyes from his chest to his eyes. Anger still radiated through her as she walked toward him. "Are you hurt?" she asked, suppressing her fury.
"No."
"Good," Arya said shortly, her anger suddenly spiking. Before she knew what she was doing, she had swept her hand back and, hair whipping about her head, slapped Eragon across the face.
When he turned his head to look at her, he held a hand over the cheek she had struck, his eyes darkening. "What in the blazes was that for?" he demanded.
"For staying in the Empire," she snapped, rigid with rage. "Have you any idea what you risked by staying?"
He furiously opened his mouth to respond, but stopped when Arya held up her hand. "Stop. I have no wish to hear your excuses, and I have no desire to hear you speak the tale twice."
He opened his mouth again, his eyes confused.
She cut him off once more, "You will contact Nasuada and tell her what happened." She turned away from him, the tips of her ears burning. "I should think that her reprimands will be a punishment in themselves."
Eragon was apparently too surprised by her rage to answer, but Arya could not be sure as to the reason of his silence. She could not see his face.
To anyone else, she would have given reasonable, logical reasons for being angry at Eragon, and if they persisted, she would say that she didn't know. But she would be lying, and, inside, she knew it.
For she knew the real reason for her anger.
She was not angry that he had left; she was angry that he'd left her behind, that he'd plunged so blindly into danger.
The misfortune and irony of it struck at her core, the response of the realization that sank into her, filling every fiber of her being. It was something she neither wanted nor needed, something she knew was wrong.
Her face suffused with blood, burning with the intensity of her blush.
I love him, she realized, dazed and not at all pleased by the realization of exactly why she was so angry. The truth clicked within her, reverberating in her heart and setting itself like stone, impossible to ignore, irrevocable and undeniable.
Barzul.