Chapter 8
Saphira lay in her bedding, waiting impatiently. Sometimes she wished she could fit into the smaller buildings of the two legged races without causing them extensive damage, but only rarely. She would normally not think about it, indeed she would revel in her size and magnificence. But not tonight. Tonight she couldn't access the elves' library. And that was what she needed above all else.
Saphira had flown for days after leaving the Talita back to Alagaesia, desperate for any help. To say the friends she had felt behind were surprised was an understatement. They were equally surprised and discouraged when Saphira related her tale to them. But to Saphira's dismay, none of them knew what had happened to him. Jeod had been mystified, as had all of Nasuada's retinue. None among Orik's clan knew what had happened, although his priest from Durgrimst Quan had postulated that the beast was an enemy of Guntera or Sindri, and had stolen Eragon for that reason. Saphira would have laughed at the proposition had she not seen what had happened that fateful night.
As it was, the dwarves had no definite answer for her either. The elves had failed for the most part, as bemused by the story as any of the others. Saphira had even sought wisdom amongst the Urgals. Aside from a myth with a disturbing similarity to that of the Blood Thirster's tale, there had been no answers there either.
Disheartened, Saphira had flown back to Ellesmera, capitol of the elves. And here she was now, waiting for one of the elves' scholars to come to her. She tapped a claw impatiently, then tried to distract herself by looking about the room. It was not a successful endeavor. It was just as it had been last she had been here. Same bowl in the bedroom for her to rest in, same bed that faced the window out to the forest, same view of the forest. Saphira snorted, then stilled as she heard the trap door in the vestibule beyond the bedroom door open.
Finally she thought as the screen door opened and Illaya walked in. Her silver hair was shoulder length, her face as flawless as the rest of the pointy-ears-two-legs. She wore a rustic green tunic and brown pants along with her vest of office, colored black with gold stripes crossing the front.
Illaya was a librarian who had said she had some knowledge of the Grey Folk and had volunteered her time to investigate them further. She was a magician as well as a scholar, though a minor magician to be sure. She had never set foot on a field of war. Saphira didn't care at the moment. All she cared about was what she had found about Eragon's fate.
She looked at Illaya again and saw a mirror tucked under her right arm. To her left stood a person who looked like a feral human child, with shaggy hair, red eyes, and fangs that gleamed in the night. Beside him walked a short woman with curly brown hair. Angela the Herbalist strode into the room and said "Now why am I the last to know that Eragon has been kidnapped?"
Saphira looked at her in surprise, then remembered that Eragon had heard Angela say that she was going to the elves to avoid Nasuada's regime on magic.
I am sorry she said, hoping that the odd herbalist had some answer to her problem. Do you know what has happened to Eragon? She asked desperately.
"Of course not" Angela said, sitting down on the bed. "You haven't told me"
Saphira again told the tale of the sulfur-stench-serpent's attack, her heart giving a pang as she recited it. When she finished, she looked at Angela, who appeared to be surprised. Surprised and worried.
"Not good" she muttered.
Do you know where he is? Saphira asked.
"No, I don't" Angela said. "What I do know is that a creature like the one that attacked you, a daemon, should not have been able to enter this world"
A daemon? What is that?
Angela appeared to consider something, then said "Very well. A daemon is a being from the Warp, a realm that lies parallel to our own. It is chaos in its very essence. Whereas our universe is order, the Warp is disorder.
"The Warp is also what truly fuels magic. Even after the enchantments the Grey Folk, or Exodites as they were also known, placed it is the Warp that truly provides magic, from the weakest magician to your own Saphira"
Saphira would normally have had her world upended by such revelations. Judging from the look on Illaya's face, hers had been. But Saphira was interested in one thing: Eragon.
What would a daemon want with Eragon? She asked.
Angela's face darkened. "I'm sorry Saphira, but if a daemon has taken Eragon it can only be to use him. If it didn't kill him then it will have some purpose for him. A sacrifice maybe, or perhaps it will corrupt him to its cause"
Saphira wasn't worried about corruption. Eragon was one of the least corruptible people she knew. What did have her attention was the possibility that he would be sacrificed.
Sacrificed! Saphira yelled mentally.
"No, corruption is what that daemon had in mind" Angela said darkly. "It could sacrifice anyone it wanted, but to come all the way here it must have known about Eragon and desired him, maybe for a champion"
Saphira snorted, relieved for the moment. What will it do when it finds it can't corrupt Eragon?
"It will corrupt him. I'm sorry, but it will. It may take time and much effort, but if Eragon doesn't escape then that thing will eventually bend him to its will"
Saphira looked at the woman facing her. A thought occurred to her. How do you know this?
Angela gave a smile. "Spoilers" was all she said.
Saphira was about to question further, but realized that all Angela would do was give her another equally cryptic answer. In her current mood, however, she felt liable to attack Angela mentally. Only their friendship and Eragon's memories of Angela's mental prowess stopped her. Suppressing the urge, she asked hopefully Do you know how to use the arch that the daemon used?
Angela shook her head, her curls swaying with the movement. "No, I don't. I'm sorry Saphira"
Saphira looked down, her newfound hope ebbing. Illaya walked forward and said "Brightscales, if you wish, I could scry your rider. I found an improved scrying spell that should allow us to see his surroundings as well as himself, but I will need your strength as well as mine to use it"
Saphira's gaze fixed on the elf. Do it she said.
Illaya removed the mirror from under her arm and propped it against the wall. She recited the spell of scrying. The mirror turned white, then darkened as details began to etch themselves across the pane. Saphira, Angela, Solembum, and Illaya all leaned in.
Like the others, Eragon's heavy bolter was right up against the grate, ready to fire through it. His breathing was steady as he looked through the grate, but it began to quicken as he began to make out details of the two behemoths approaching him and his squad.
They were huge. They looked even bigger than ogryns, with their puffed, diseased flesh. They were a little like space marines. With a start, Eragon realized that these things were Astartes, but even more diseased than their smaller counterparts which they had encountered. Their armor was pitted and rusted, as were their bolt pistols and their chainswords. Folds of sickening flesh pushed out from between the crevices in their armor. Some folds appeared to have actually cracked the armor open and pushed through it in places. Their flesh was colored a rainbow of disgusting colors, especially on their exposed heads. Their features were horrifically distorted by boils, swellings, wounds, and other terrible symptoms.
Though their armor was ravaged, Eragon could still make out malefic sigils that seemed to swirl and distort sickeningly. Twice Eragon swore he could make out screaming faces that bubbled up from the armor. His mind extended forward, propelled by a morbid curiosity. To his horror, he found minds that had been ensnared in the armor, minds that snarled and hissed at his intrusion. Their thoughts were of nothing but spreading plague and mutation amongst men. Eragon's primal instinct rebelled at their very presence, and he instinctively knew that nothing good would ever come of these revolting beings.
Eragon retreated to his own mind and mashed the trigger on his heavy bolter, praying that the weapon would be enough to stop the abominations in front of him. Around him, his squad followed his example and opened fire. The tunnel flashed with the light of las shots and bolter fire. Eragon traced the shots to the figures that were rapidly closing with them. To his dismay the fire seemed to barely affect the charging abominations. Even Hotshot's head shots weren't stopping them.
The diseased Astartes barreled forward, heedless of the barrage leveled at them. It was terrifying the way they seemed to soak up fire with nary a stumble. Even as the bolts penetrated their armor and detonated inside of them they still continued their rush. The one in front raised its fist, and Eragon realized in intended to punch the grate down.
Korosov apparently had the same thought. "Back" he shouted. "Back!" Some of the squad did more than that. They turned and ran, throwing down their weapons and sprinting away. Korosov cursed and turned to fire on them, but was interrupted as the Astartes in front punched the grate down. It was smashed from its welded mountings and sent spinning forward, clipping Harker in the shoulder. He dropped his gun with a cry and fell, clutching his shoulder. Dirk stepped forward and slashed his knife across the diseased thing's neck. Its reply was to grab Dirk's head and crush it in its hand. Dirk's headless corpse dropped. Two more of the squad tried to run, but were gunned down by the Astartes' bolt pistols.
At such close range Eragon didn't need to worry about accuracy. He held the heavy bolter in one hand and drew his chainsword with the other. He held the trigger down, thumbing the activation rune on his sword, and watched as the roaring bolter punched through the front marine's armor.
The armor was holed by the impacts, but other than that all it did was to turn the attention of both the abominations to Eragon. Silently they turned to him, disgusting liquids running down their armor, eyes burning with rage at this guardsman who dared attack them. They started forward, chainswords held high. Eragon deflected one of the blows with his own chainword and dodged the other one. He swept the heavy bolter across one of the marines while slashing across the stomach of the other. Both of these actions only infuriated the infected marines even more. One of them actually grabbed Eragon's heavy bolter and ripped it from his hands. Eragon's response was to sweep his sword up and sheer off a part of the thing's head, exposing its brains.
This was all Korosov needed. He lunged forward, tackling the marine. The space marine staggered back, and Korosov used its distraction to point his bolt pistol at the thing's head and fire. The creature fell back, finally dead.
The second one used Eragon's distraction to pin Eragon against the wall of the tunnel. It snarled, enraged that so puny a man had aggrieved it to this point. Eragon struck helplessly with his chainsword, scoring wounds that would have killed an ordinary man a dozen times over. But the infected thing in front of him was no ordinary man. Reveling in its victory, its own arm went back, ready to deliver a killing blow. Eragon, desperate, reached out with his sword hand and shouted "Thrysta!"
A wave of force exploded out from his hand and impacted on the diseased thing in front of him. It staggered back, the expression on its face one of surprise. Eragon further breached the barrier in his mind. Concentrating, he gripped the thing in front of him magically and pulled. The thing's armor and flesh resisted, and Eragon was forced to pull more energy out of his mind. The voices of the daemons howled and shrieked in his mind, and his vision started to blur. Still he persisted, and the thing in front of him was finally torn in half.
Eragon collapsed, fighting a desperate battle within his mind to expel the daemons that sought to possess him. He snarled mentally. He was not about to lose his body to these things after so narrowly avoiding death. Reciting the Litany of Purity, he finally managed to drive them shrieking back to their realm.
After the expulsion, Eragon opened his eyes. The first thing that he noticed was the pain in his eyes. He wiped them, then looked at his hands. With a start he saw blood on them, and he realized that he was crying blood. He blinked the drops out of his eyes and saw Korosov watching him warily, bolt pistol in hand.
Eragon got up from where he had fallen. He looked over to where his heavy bolter had fallen, on the other side of the tunnel. He moved over to pick it up, all the time watching Korosov. Korosov seemed to be deciding whether or not to shoot Eragon. Eragon extended his mind, ready to defend himself, then relaxed in relief as he saw the commissar holster his weapon. Eragon picked up his gun and looked around. Korosov was the only one still standing. The rest of the squad was dead or had fled.
"What do we do now?" Eragon asked. Korosov was about to speak when they heard a chorus of wailing war cries. Eragon turned and saw a mob of infected rushing at them. They were still far away, but shots rang out as they fired autoguns at them.
Korosov's reply was "Run!" They turned and ran as shots whizzed past. Considering they were running, their opponents' shots were none too accurate. Still, the sheer volume of fire was worrying. Sooner or later one of them would hit.
Korosov and Eragon continued their mad dash, desperately hoping that they wouldn't be hit from behind. Ahead, they could see a ledge where the water rolled off in a cascade. They stopped, panting.
Now what? Eragon thought. Korosov growled in frustration. He looked back at the rushing infected, then at the waterfall. "Jump" he said.
"What?" Eragon yelled.
"Jump or I will shoot you myself!" Korosov roared.
Eragon looked at the waterfall, then jumped.
Eragon! No!
Saphira couldn't believe it. Eragon, her partner-of-heart-and-mind, had jumped. Now she could only hope that the water below was deep enough to protect Eragon from the fall.
Her limbs were shaking now from the exertion of the spell, but still she persisted, desperately hoping that Eragon would survive the fall.
He did. With a gasp Eragon's head emerged from the filthy water, followed by the head of the loud-shouting-man who was with him.
"That's it" Illaya panted. "I can't keep it up any longer"
The image on the mirror faded. It turned white, then cleared to reflect the faces of all that were looking at it. Angela was the first to speak. "Well" she said, "It could be worse"
Worse? How? Saphira asked, growling.
Angela turned to her. "He could be in the clutches of the daemon that stole him away. Then he would well and truly be doomed. I wonder how he escaped."
Saphira would have paced if there had been room. Instead, she contented herself with growling. Every time he's away from me something happens. I have to get to him.
How? Solembum said, speaking for the first time.
Saphira's heart sank. She had tried everything she could, and no answers had been yielded. Everything but…
Murtagh she breathed.
"What?" Illaya said in surprise.
"You heard her" Angela said. "Murtagh, the red rider"
"Galbatorix's apprentice? Why on earth would you go after him? After all the atrocities he committed?"
He did them against his will Saphira snapped. He was privy to the lore that Galbatorix hoarded. Maybe he knows how to open the arch. Saphira could feel her excitement building. Maybe, just maybe, this would work.
"I'm going" Angela said. Saphira looked at her.
"Brightscales, face it, there is no way I am missing out on an adventure like this"
Saphira considered for a moment, then nodded. Angela was odd, it was true, but she was a potent warrior and possessed knowledge that Saphira had never guessed at.
"Very well" Illaya conceded "I wish you luck in your quest, though what good it will do I do not know"
