Hey guys! HAPPY FRIDAY!
Er, is it still Friday for you guys in the US? Gah, don't bother. I don't want to know.
Well, as promised, I have another chapter! And so does Tamerlain with his story Half Breed, so remember to read it along with Switching Lanes by Elemental Dragon Slayer! Damn, that's getting annoying
Oh, and speaking of the circle of circles, we are now a COMMUNITY! Check us out on...fanfiction. Er, where else did you think we'd be?
And, on another note, I am afraid to say that I am deleting Life, Alagesia and Everything. I'm not sure whether this will be big news to anyone because as far as I know very few people have ever read it, but if someone else did happen to, they would find lots of information that is now obselete. You see, that thing was written a long time ago and since then lots of things have changed with this story, which basically means I have decided that it is too hard to define everything and I'm just going to have to make up the finer points as I go along/leave them to the reader's imagination.
And, finally, thanks to everyone who has reveiwed this story! You guys really keep me writing-without you this thing wouldn't exist and I would have missed out on lost of fun writing it!
So, without further ado...
"King Orik!"
Arya opened her eyes slowly, hear ears ringing. Wondering if for some reason they were not functioning properly, she touched her hand to the side of her head and found it covered in blood.
"Waise Haeli." She said groggily, feeling a familiarly maddening itch creep across the right side of her head as the wound repaired itself. Blinking in an attempt to clear her blurry vision, she took in her surroundings.
She was in a large stone hall well lit by torchlight and full of short, stocky people. She was in a room filled with dwarves, all of whom looked very surprised to see her.
Arya's brow creased. Though her head didn't seem to be working very well at the moment, she was quite sure that their journey to Tronjheim was still underway and they certainly weren't anywhere near the dwarven kingdom. So where was she?
Then she remembered-she had been fighting that wraith and there had been some sort of flash of light, and now she was here-as if she had been transported there the same way she had transported Saphira's egg to Eragon. She could not, however, remember ever thinking to use that spell, and if she had she was sure she wouldn't have come out in one piece. Yet she was there. But if that was so, where was-
"Firnen!" she yelled mentally, immediately in a state of panic. How could she have forgotten? If she was really here in a dwarf-filled room, then there was clearly a lot of distance between her and Firnen, whom was where she had been several seconds before.
Arya stood up more quickly than she would have thought possible, looking frantically around. What she saw amazed her greatly: lying in a circle around her were Firnen, Murtagh, Thorn and Orik, all of them apparently unconscious. Once she got over the surprise of them being there, it hit her that Murtagh had recently made severe contact with an ethereal yet apparently quite effective mace, Thorn had been blasted with a bolt of dark energy and Orik had sent flying several metres into the air.
"Arya, what-where are we?" Arya felt a flood of relief as Firnen's mind touched hers, having previously been unconscious and unnoticeable.
"I don't know; there was a flash, and..."
Arya watched with concern as her Dragon stirred and began slowly to stand. She started to approach him, but her way was immediately blocked by several sword-bearing dwarves.
"Who are you, and what have you done to our king?" said the leader.
"Out of my way." Replied Arya angrily, grasping the hilt of her sword. The dwarves didn't budge.
"Speak, elf!" he yelled.
Another dwarf ran over to a lifeless Murtagh and gasped. "The red rider! It's the murderer and his dragon!"
"Seize her!" yelled another dwarf, and the guards moved in for Arya. Firnen roared.
Quick as a flash, Arya drew her sword. The dwarven guards did the same and tried to rush her, but she easily disarmed them, sending their swords spinning across the floor. They scrambled away as Firnen approached them, his jaws snapping.
Hearing the commotion, several more guards ran into the room. Their eyes darted between Orik and Murtagh on the floor, Arya and Firnen and the disarmed soldiers. With an angry roar, they drew their weapons and charged.
Firnen leaped up and placed himself between the dwarves and his rider. Rearing up onto his hind legs, he opened his wings to their full extent and let out a terrifying roar.
The dwarves came abruptly to a halt-pointing their weapons at the dragon and jabbing them at him threateningly but clearly at an agreement not to approach him any further.
Arya watched as more and more dwarven guards came streaming into the room, rushing to the aid of their comrades so they formed a half circle around Firnen, who was turning his neck and doing his best to make sure all of them were aware that it would not be wise to approach.
Arya felt reasonably confident that together Firnen and she could handle any number of dwarves, but knew that if it were to come to a fight blood was bound to be shed, and she couldn't see how that could end well, especially since they had no idea where they were or how to get out.
"We are friends, we mean you no harm!" Arya yelled in the ancient language, quite forgetting how that had gone for Murtagh in similar circumstances a day before. Apparently deducing that Arya was attempting to cast a spell, the dwarves charged.
"Don't kill them!" Arya yelled to Firnen. She could tell that he had half a mind to argue, but when the dwarves drew close he used his wings to sweep them aside. Arya felt a small spike of pain from him as one of the dwarf's spears pierced his wing. She was about to take a swing at the holder when Firnen rammed his head into the dwarf's side, sending him flying across the room.
A dwarf carrying a bow attempted to shoot an arrow at Firnen, but Arya quickly stopped it with a spell, making a mental note to place new wards upon him before they continued their journey any further. With another quick spell she caused the dwarf's bow to burst into flames, and with a yell of surprise he dropped it.
The dwarves who had not been knocked to the ground by Firnen's assault backed up hastily, yelling in dwarvish assumedly to attract the attention of more guards.
Knowing that they were running out of options, Arya tried desperately to extend her mind to Orik. It hadn't seemed like the wraith had hurt him as much as he had hurt Murtagh, and maybe she could bring him around...
"Orik, wake up!" Arya yelled to him, but he seemed to be out cold. Arya bought her mind in closer to his, mentally calling him all the while. He did indeed seem to be unconscious.
Meanwhile, the doorway was getting its share of use from both unarmed dwarves rushing to make an exit and armed ones coming to assist their comrades. If many more of them entered, Arya didn't think they could defend themselves without taking any lives...
"Orik!" Arya yelled yet more frantically. When there was no response, she resorted to forcefully ramming her mind into his in an attempt to make it stir.
Slowly, she began to feel him coming into wakefulness. Within a few seconds, she saw him begin to move.
Firnen rammed into several more dwarves with him head and they went down with particularly loud yells. Apparently finally sensing the commotion, Orik leaped to his feet. Seeing immediately that they were under attack, the dwarf grabbed Volund, which had been lying by his side, and ran at them with a roaring cry.
"I'll teach you not to mess with this dwarf again, you curs!" he yelled.
"Sire, what?-" said one stunned dwarf, who paid for his confusion when his shield was reduced to splinters a second later by Orik's hammer. It was when the dwarf fell to his knees with his arm hanging limply besides him yelling dwarvish profanities that Orik seemed to realize that something was amiss.
"Wait, what, who, STOP!" he yelled.
The other dwarves turned to face him with looks of great confusion on their faces.
"Stop fighting, they're friends!" Orik yelled, (or so Arya thought from what she could remember of dwarvish,) apparently now understanding what had happened. He glanced back at Murtagh and Thorn, who were lying unmoving behind them. "All of them." He said after a moment's hesitation.
After several seconds of stunned silence, the dwarven guards lowered their weapons.
"We're in Tronjheim." Said an unfamiliar voice in her mind. It took her a second to realize it was Orik. "In the name of the gods, how did you bring us here?"
"I didn't." Replied Arya. "At least, I don't think I did..." She had been thinking about getting to Tronjheim when that flash had occurred. What if she had once again inadvertently used that strange kind of magic?
"Wait-the elf's bewitching the king!" yelled one of the dwarves, clearly noticing the look of extreme concentration on Orik's face that any magician would know meant he was having a mental conversation. With angry exclamations, all of the dwarven guards pointed their weapons at Arya.
"No!" yelled Orik out loud, immediately breaking the mental contact and turning to the guards. "We were talking."
Slowly and hesitantly, the guards once again lowered their weapons.
A relatively tall dwarf wearing a trimmed beard entered the room, flanked by two more guards, each wielding a sword-staff of the same kind Arya had saw the witch Angela using during the war. That one she knew: Gannel.
"King Orik, what is-" his eyes moved to the red dragon and his rider lying on the floor and his face filled with hatred and rage. "What happened?"
"The red rider and his dragon are friends-or so I think, Gannel." Said Orik. "The elf and her dr—and Firnen are as well. We were fighting against..something, and both the red rider, Thorn and I were incapacitated, and the next thing I remember is waking up here."
As Orik said this, Arya began to check Firnen for injuries, healing them as she went. However, after a few seconds he stopped her.
"Murtagh and Thorn." He reminded her, and furious at herself for forgetting their plight, she turned and began to stride quickly towards them. Several of the guards made as if to stop her but Orik raised his hand and they immediately stopped. All eyes turned to Arya as she knelt beside the still form of Murtagh.
The Fiery mace had stuck him in the chest, and the clothes covering it were still smouldering. Arya quickly remedied that with a spell, but soon realized with a sinking feeling that this was the least of Murtagh's problems. If the impact of that mace had sent him flying so far, it must have completely crushed his rib cage.
Sure enough, the red rider was showing no sign of life, and if he was breathing she couldn't tell. With another muttered spell Arya split the fabric of the top of his tunic, feeling distinctly worried about what she would find underneath. Despite herself, she knew that a part of her liked Murtagh, and perhaps even understood him a little.
She did not however find what she was expecting. Underneath his tunic was some kind of armour-a multicoloured scale tunic.
With a rush of understanding, Arya realized what the armour was. "Dragon scale!" she yelled in astonishment.
Orik, who had apparently been standing behind her, let out a small gasp of wonder. "It seems our friend Murtagh is full of surprises." He said, a note of grudging awe in his voice.
Murtagh's armour was comprised of many bright scales, apparently from several different dragons. There was a clear depression in the scales where the mace had made contact, but they seemed largely undamaged. The weight armour might also explain the fact that she couldn't see him breathing-maybe he was still alive.
Though she couldn't help but feel slightly relieved at this, that fleeting emotion quickly turned to anger. It was nothing, however, compared to Firnen's.
"He wears armour made of the skin of my race!" he said furiously. "How he could, how he DARES?" seemingly unable to contain himself, he let out a echoing roar causing the dwarves in the room to spin to face him, clearly terrified.
Firnen moved over to Murtagh, apparently desiring to see the armour with his own eyes. Arya's vision confirmed, he growled threateningly at Murtagh's still form, which predictably made no response.
"It's terrible!" Arya agreed. "So much for him regretting what he did under Galbatorix."
Several of the dwarves were now crowding around them, staring in wonder at Murtagh's armour as if it were made from precious gems. Arya had never felt more angrily towards the dwarf's love of material wealth in her life, and it took all of her self control to remain silent.
"Well, I can certainly see why he kept that hidden!"
Arya almost jumped in surprise. How could she be here? However, when she spun around to face the person who had spoken her suspicions were, amazingly, confirmed. Standing in front of her was the witch Angela.
"You!" blurted Arya, taken completely surprised.
"What the?" added Orik, apparently equally amazed.
"What are you doing here?" finished Arya, goggling at the herbalist's amused face.
"Well," said Angela brightly, "that's not generally considered a polite greeting. Still, I suppose I'm not one to talk, am I? To answer your question, I am standing here, or if you mean the question in the way all those other dwarves did, then I suppose the answer you are looking for is that I am here because I like to be where interesting things are happening."
And without another word she knelt down by Murtagh. Seeing the large depression in the centre of his chest, she frowned and turned back to Orik and Arya.
"Ah, I suppose that means you must have met our old friend Galbatorix then?" she said ruefully.
"Galbatorix—what?" said Arya, now even more confused.
"Ah, I see." Replied Angela as jovially as ever, apparently completely satisfied with this answer. "Well, that armour of his seems to have stopped some of it, but he's going to need healing, and soon. Orik, would you be so kind as to arrange for him to be bought down to my quarters?"
Without waiting for a stunned Orik to make any reply, she strode over to Thorn, examining him. Though Arya couldn't see anything on him that would suggest that the dragon wasn't merely sleeping, Angela's face darkened.
"Oh dear, this doesn't look good." She said gravely. "I'm going to have to at least try to stabilize his condition first. Orik, were you listening to me?" she said, turning to him with her hands on her hips.
Orik opened him mouth, but before he could say anything, Angela cut him off.
"Orik, this rider and his dragon are dying, and while I'm sure you have your reasons for being less than willing to assist them I am quite sure you are going to need them in the near future,so I would prefer it if questions were asked later! Now, will I have to get this man to my quarters by myself?"
"Now listen here, you!" said Gannel, the crowd parting as he approached them. "You have no right to be ordering the king around!"
"My dear Gannel, there is a time and a place for formalities and this is neither. Oh, very well. King, Orik, please arrange for this man's transport to my quarters. Now."
Both Orik and Gannel's nostrils flared, but after a few moments Orik turned around to the crowd of guards. "Sorin, Unroth, get a stretcher and take the red rider to the Herbalist's quarters. I assume you know where they are?"
The two dwarves nodded and strode swiftly off.
"The rest of you, get out of here. Go on, shoo!" said Angela. The dwarves didn't budge.
"Really, do you have to wait for your king's permission to do everything?"
Orik looked extremely agitated but nodded stiffly. At once, the guards left, leaving Arya, Firnen, Angela, Orik and Gannel alone with the still forms of the red dragon and rider.
Kneeling once more by Murtagh, Angela pointed at his armour and the straps instantly unfastened.
"Help me get this off him, will you Arya?" asked Angela, completely ignoring the incredulous look on Arya's face. She was sure Angela hadn't moved her lips; why would she cast a spell without speaking for such a trivial task?
The two of them were able to quickly free Murtagh of his dragon scale tunic, finding another layer of clothing underneath. Angela had been right-the armour had stopped most of the damage to his chest, but Arya assumed that he hadn't been hit my any ordinary mace.
Angela smiled. "I can see why he chose dragon scale armour." She said, and Firnen growled. Completely unfazed, she continued. "Incredibly light and strong, and it allows almost complete freedom of movement; nobody would ever suspect he was wearing it.
"Wise one," said Arya uncertainly, "The thing that injured Murtagh and Thorn...it was some kind of wraith. The mace-"
"I'll bet you were surprised when it appeared out of thin air, weren't you?" said Angela with a knowing smile, leaving Arya completely dumbfounded.
With Murtagh now free of his armour, Angela stood and turned her attention once more to Thorn.
"I'm not sure what it—he—did to him." Arya said. "There was some kind of bolt of dark energy..."
"Yes, I know." Said Angela. "I am sure that you have many questions, but they will have to wait until I am finished with these two. Orik, I am quite sure you and Arya will be needing rest after your ordeal. I am afraid there is nothing more for you to see here, and you will get nothing out of me until I am finished. Don't look at me like that, I thought we had established you're going to need their help to find Eragon? I trust you will be able to arrange quarters for Arya? Good. Well then, I must ask you all to leave. Yes, you as well Gannel. I expect I shall see you soon."
And after several moments of stunned waiting, the three of them grudgingly turned to leave.
Several hours later Arya found herself in a huge room comprised entirely of black stone. Whether it was a hall or a cavern she couldn't say, for a strange sort of mist or fog swirled around her, making the wall of the building hard to see.
Ahead of her stood a spiky, angled throne made of the same black rock that comprised the rest of the hall. There was little extraordinary about it except that it was far too big for a human or elf or even a kull to sit upon without looking quite small and out of place.
The throne however did have an occupant-and he was another wraith, just like the one she had been fighting hours before. She took a look at him and gasped. It was him-the one who she had seen in her previous nightmares, the one who planned to meet her in Tronjheim. And on his face was a look of utmost fury.
"I am disappointed." He said in a voice of forced calm that did not at all match the expression of pure rage which adorned his features.
Arya stood completely still, trying her best not to make a sound. The last time she had stood here, he had discovered her-she knew she couldn't let that happen again.
"Forgive me, my lord." Said another man, who was standing in front of the throne. With another gasp she realized that this was the wraith she had been fighting. The idea that he would call the man in front of him lord horrified Arya more than anything she could remember. "I merely thought-"
"Thought that you should disobey my orders? COUNTERACT MY PLANS?" roared the man on the throne, his previous control and calmness rapidly slipping away.
"N-no, my lord..." said the other wraith, clearly terrified.
"Then, in the name of the master, what did you think?"
"My lord, she is dangerous..."
"So you were afraid that I would be unable to handle her then?" said the first wraith, now sounding even more livid.
"NO! No, my lord, of course not, I merely meant..." said the other wraith, his voice now full of panic. "She...she is...lord, if she reaches Tronjheim, she may be able to acquire help, and who knows what...certain individuals could teach her? She could become a great threat!"
The first wraith's eyes narrowed. "Help from whom?" he said, his voice now soft but full of threat.
"From the order, lord!" said the second wraith.
The first wraith laughed. "The order? The only ones left are Angela and her crackpot master. Or," he said, his voice becoming even softer, "so I was led to believe..."
The second wraith opened his fiery mouth to speak and then closed it again. The first one's expression turned to one of dawning comprehension and then one of terrible fury. "There are more of them, aren't there? AREN'T THERE?" He got to his feet.
The second wraith shook his head quickly, looking absolutely terrified. "No! No, lord, I would never imply-"
"Do you know what I think?" asked the first wraith. "I think you were unable to eliminate the others, and so you decided you had to stop the Half Breed from finding them and bringing them out into the open. So, to make sure I wouldn't discover your little deception, you told your beasts to get rid of her quietly when I sent them to find her. And then, when your little plan failed and you realized she was going to reach Tronjheim, you decided you had to silence her yourself instead."
"My lord, no, I would not dream-"
"GALBATORIX, YOU LYING, CHEATING SCUM!"
The first wraith was on his ethereal feet now. Within a few seconds he traversed the distance between them and grabbed the second wraith by the throat, lifting him into the air.
"No, my lord...mercy..."
In response, the first wraith hurled him across the hall and he fell to the ground in a heap.
The wraith called Galbatorix raised his arms, as if to ward his master off. "Please, my lord...I made a mistake, I know..."
"INDEED YOU DID!" yelled the first wraith, raising his hand.
"No! Please! Please lord, I will serve you faithfully..."
"Oh, yes you will." Said the first wraith, his voice now silky soft. "You will indeed, in a few centuries or so. That is, if your soul has the strength."
A blindingly bright beam of fire shot from the first wraith's palm and Galbatorix was blasted into nothingness before another word could escape his mouth.
Arya woke with a start.