Chapter Fifty: Nyx Nox Night

"Explain yourself."

Mariah stared at Galbatorix, trying her best to ignore the huge black dragon to her left, blocking out most of the sunlight cascading out of the windows. "I told Kieran that I would try and convince him my way, I made no promises to her."

The princess huffed, her arms folded across her chest. Today, she was wearing long black dress with silver trimming. Her blood-stained armor was somewhere in her room being polished and cleaned by one of the maids.

"You disobeyed my orders to follow hers."

"I made no promises," Mariah repeated. "I did as I was told, I spoke with Roran and told him to come with us in the morning, yet he ran before we had the chance to get him to come along."

"You warned them."

"You have no proof of the matter," she said, shaking her head, "I did not warn them. I merely did as I was told. If Kieran had spoken with them, they would have done the same. The chances that they would listen to me were much higher, know that. They still decided to run, for fear of you. Most of the people fear you, Galbatorix, surely you know that." Mariah said to him.

He tapped his fingers against the arm of his chair and nodded slowly, clearly deep in thought. "Very well… you shall be punished later. For now, I need you to assist Kieran in training Murtagh. Since he is now a Rider, it's your duty to make sure he is properly prepared, since I am too busy to teach him myself. The two of you have only a few months. I intend on retaliating against the fools in the little rebellion they call the Varden soon enough… they will not so easily vanquish my army this time. Not when I have three Riders on the field against their one… no." Galbatorix stood and started across the grand hall slowly, moving to the double doors in silence, deep in thought.

Mariah stood still as he passed by, staring blankly at the wall to avoid any more attention. When he left she looked at Kieran.

"We better go find Murtagh then, father will be displeased if we wait too long to start training." She turned and started for the doors. "I must change. Find him and meet me in the court yards in half an hour." Kieran said, turning down a side passage towards her wing of the castle.

Sighing, Mariah started back towards her and Murtagh's rooms. Galbatorix is going to attack the Varden?

No, he is going to make you, Kieran and Murtagh attack the Varden.

I won't.

You'll have to darling, unless you figure out a way to break from this mess you've gotten into. They distrust you now more than ever, after allowing Roran to escape.

Do you think I was wrong to do so?

No, I believe you did the right thing. It caused more trouble for us, but you never would have forgiven yourself had you allowed him to be in harm's way. He is Eragon's cousin after all. You all are practically family.

Might as well call him that… she sighed and pushed open the door to Murtagh's room. It was empty. "Great." She walked in anyway and looked around, figuring he'd show back up soon enough. Browsing the bookshelf for a minute, she caught sight of a stray hand-bound volume. She popped it open and saw a swirling handwriting filling most of the pages. Mariah flipped a few pages, looking at a few simple drawings of flowers and the like. "This can't be Murtagh's." She chuckled a little, turning the page again and finding a poem.

Mariah started reading it silently, and then realizing the words sounded familiar, reading the words in a rhythm. As soon as she remembered it was something Mark had always hummed to her when she was little, she tried recalling where he'd learned it from. It must have been from Brom, she couldn't think of anyone else who would teach Mark a song that he would use so often. Walking over by the window, she continued flipping the pages, singing the song to herself quietly, finding comfort in the words and memories.

She flicked her head up at the sound of footsteps. Murtagh was staring at her, looking slightly puzzled. "Yes?"

"…how did you know that was a song?"

Mariah stared at him, "What?"

He shook his head, walking over to her and motioning toward the book. "That book was one of my mother's journals, so to speak. The words you were singing are written in it… like a poem, but she always sang it to me when I was younger."

"Oh," Mariah stared at him a moment. "…Mark used to sing it to me when I was little."

"He did?" He raised an eyebrow at her, "As far as I knew she made it up herself…"

"That is strange. Perhaps she couldn't remember where she'd heard it first."

"Perhaps." Murtagh nodded. "You sing wonderfully by the way."

Mariah shook her head, "I do not. I think you are bias because of what I was singing. Oh… we're supposed to go down to the court yard with Kieran."

"When?"

"Now," she said, glancing outside. "She's probably wondering where we are."

Murtagh shrugged, "She can wait." He turned on his heel, walking out, carrying Thorn on his shoulder. She followed quickly, setting the journal on a table nearby before falling into step with him.

After the initial bout of pain from the scar across his back, Eragon recovered quickly, though was constantly aware of his movement, in order to avoid a relapse. The days they spent traveling up river were filled with training and teaching by Arya, Orik and the other dwarves.

When they reached the Edda River, they relinquished their raft for donkeys. Dwarves never used horses. Eragon was able to ride Snowfire for the first time in several long days. Arya however, insisted on running and she was easily able to outstrip the war horse without slowing her pace or becoming weary.

After four days of traveling, they were in sight of Du Weldenvarden. When they camped for the night, Arya stopped him just before he went to turn in, materializing at his shoulder. He jumped slightly and opened his mouth to speak when he felt her invade his mind, Follow me as silently as you can.

The contact surprised him as much as the request. They had shared thoughts during the flight to Farthen Dur – it had been the only way Eragon could speak to her through her self-induced coma – but since Arya's recovery, he had made no attempt to touch her mind again. It was a profoundly personal experience. Whenever he reached out to another person's consciousness, it felt as if a facet of his bare soul rubbed against theirs. It seemed boorish and rude to initiate something so private without an invitation, as well as a betrayal of Arya's trust, slender as it was. Also, Eragon was afraid that such a link would reveal his new and confused feelings for Arya.

Since they had started traveling together, he felt drawn toward her – it seemed that she understood him better than anyone else he'd met since becoming a Rider. Though, every time such feelings arose something told him it was wrong to think as such. Something told him he shouldn't pursue his feelings, He was embarrassed to say anything to her, and Saphira refused to advise him for or against it, telling him that it was his job to sort them out now. The fact she didn't outright disapprove was encouraging, but he still felt guilty for some reason.

He accompanied her as she slipped out form the ring of tents, carefully evaded one of the dwarves, who had taken the first watch, and passed beyond the dwarves' hearing. Within him, Saphira kept a close watch on his progress, ready to leap to his side if need be.

Arya squatted on a moss-eaten log and wrapped her arm around her knees without looking at him. "There are things you must know before we reach Ceris and Ellesméra so that you do not shame yourself or me through your ignorance."

"Such as?" He crouched opposite her, curious.

Arya hesitated. "During my years as Islanzadí's ambassador, it was my observation that humans and dwarves are quite similar. You share many of the same beliefs and passions. More than one human has lived comfortably among the dwarves because he or she can understand their culture, as they understand yours. You both love, lust, hate, fight, and create in much the same manner. Your friendship with Orik and your acceptance into Dûrgrimst Ingeitum are examples of this." Eragon nodded, although their differences seemed greater to him than that. "Elves, though, are not like other races."

"You speak as though you weren't one," he said, echoing her words from Farthen Dûr.

"I have lived with the Varden for enough years to become accustomed to their traditions," replied Arya in a brittle tone.

"As… So then do you mean to say that elves don't have the same emotions as dwarves and humans? I find that hard to believe. All living things have the same basic needs and desires."

"That is not what I mean to say!" Eragon recoiled, then frowned and studied her. It was unusual for her to be so brusque. Arya closed her eyes and placed her fingers on her temples, taking a long breath. "Because elves live for so many years, we consider courtesy to be the highest social virtue. You cannot afford to give offense when a grudge can be held for decades or centuries. Courtesy is the only way to prevent such hostility from accumulating. It doesn't always succeed, but we adhere to our rituals rigorously, for they protect us from extremes. Nor are elves fecund, so it is vital that we avoid conflict among ourselves. If we shared the same rate of crime as you or the dwarves, we would soon be extinct.

"There is a proper way to greet the sentinels in Ceris, certain patterns and forms that you must observe when presented to Queen Islanzadí, and a hundred different manners in which to greet those around you, if it's not better to just remain quiet."

"With all your customs," Eragon risked saying, "it seems as though you've only made it easier to offend people."

A smile flickered across her lips. "Perhaps. You know as well as I that you will be judged by the highest standards. If you make a mistake, the elves will think you did it on purpose. And only harm will come if they discover that it was born of ignorance. Far better to be thought rude and capable than rude and incapable, else you risk being manipulated like The Serpent in a match of Runes. Our politics move in cycles that are both subtle and lengthy. What you see reaches back millennia, and may have no bearing on how that elf will behave tomorrow. It is a game that we all play but few control, a game that you are about to enter.

"Now perhaps you realize why I say elves are not like other races. The dwarves are also long-loved, yet they are more prolific than us and do not share our restraint or our taste for intrigue. And humans…" She let her voice fade into tactful silence.

"Humans," said Eragon, "do the best they can with what they are given."

"Even so."

"Why don't you tell Orik all this as well? He'll be staying in Ellesméra, same as me."

An edge crept into Arya's voice. "He is already somewhat familiar with our etiquette. However, as a Rider, you would do well to appear better educated than him."

Eragon accepted her rebuke without protest. "What must I learn?"

"I don't think I'll ever move again," Murtagh said, muffled as his face moaned into his mattress.

Mariah shook her head, patting Thorn on the head, causing him to purr. "Don't complain, that was nothing. What little energy you used up today is nothing compared to what you'll be able to do when we're through teaching you what we know."

He sat up slowly, looking at her. "Why do you know so much already anyway? It's not like you were always a Rider, right? I'm pretty sure I remember you telling me it had only been a few months."

She looked toward the window, watching the huge black dragon circling around her own fiery orange one before turning back to Murtagh. Sitting next to him on the edge of the bed, she sighed a little, "Brom had always taught us everything he knew about dragons… and sword fighting… and magic. Magic isn't simply learned, not everyone can use it. You have to have some magic in your blood already in order for anything to come from using it, or you risk harming yourself. Obviously, since Brom was a Rider, we have it in our blood – me and Mark. I realize now that the reason he taught me, specifically, how to use a sword and fight, was so that I could protect myself in the event of Galbatorix finding him and attacking us." Mariah paused, then quoted her brother, "It's one thing for a young man to learn swordplay, another for a lady."

"My mother knew how to fight with swords-"

"Your mother was married to Morzan," she pointed out, standing back up and walking to the window to look outside.

"When I was healing you, earlier… I noticed something."

"What?"

He hesitated, "Your ears are quite pointed now… I mean… you're starting to look like Arya."

"Kieran's ears are far more pointed than my own," she said, looking in an embellished mirror on the wall. Mariah sighed, brushing her hair aside and blinked, "It's what happens when you're a Rider. Yours are going to do the same."

"It's so strange the effects magic has on people when they become Riders. It's like you turn into an entirely different person."

"Not entirely different," she insisted, letting her hair down again. "But it is strange, what happens to you, yes." Mariah agreed, sighing a little and tracing the lines along her arms. If Murtagh hadn't become a Rider while she was gone, she might have died from those wounds Kieran inflicted upon her. Mariah felt as though she owed him something now, for saving her life, however had yet to bring up the matter, and avoided the topic all together if she could manage.

"Have you spoken to your brother since we got here?"

"No." She said quietly, staring out the window.

"You can't… can you?"

Mariah shook her head, biting her lip as her throat closed up a little, "There's too much magic blocking my own. I can't scry anyone outside the castle grounds." Her voice dropped a little as she tried not to think about it. "I wish I could talk to him, make sure he's alright. I want to warn him, about what's going to happen… about Kieran and now you."

"Me?" Murtagh asked, puzzled.

"Bound to Galbatorix by an oath, and you're a Rider now… if he wanted to, he could have you kill them all."

"I wouldn't."

"You may not want to, but you would have to, bound by an oath taken in the Ancient Language. There are no escapes from something like that."

He sighed, "I'm sorry-"

"Don't be, you didn't have a choice," Mariah insisted, walking back over to him. "I would have done the same in your position."

"No, you wouldn't have. I don't think you would have. I'm sure there would have been something, some way for you to get out of it."

She smiled a bit, "I'm not as clever as that… to fool the king."

"I know of only one person who is clever enough to fool the likes of Galbatorix," Murtagh said, "And you remind me very much of her."

"Who?" She asked, blinking.

"Kendra," he told her. "Kieran's twin sister. Kieran's much nicer, saner, twin sister," he added. "She supposedly escaped and is hiding. I hope she's headed for the Varden."

"You really think she would? I mean, she still is Galbatorix's daughter after all."

He nodded, "I know, you probably think she'd be insane for thinking the child of the Varden's worst enemy would be welcome by them. She probably wouldn't be and they would probably hate her and mistrust her. However, she would be a valuable asset to them. I'm sure, with enough time, they would be willing to listen to what she had to say. It's always been a secret dream of hers to overthrow Galbatorix and give the people a proper ruler."

Mariah smiled, "She sounds a little insane."

"I think it runs in the family." He smirked a bit and chuckled.

It was nice to hear a laugh, she thought, after everything being so awful here. "What's she like then, Kendra?" Mariah asked him, anything to keep him in a better mood. It made her feel happier as well.

"Where should I start?" He leaned back on his hands and looked at the ceiling, petting Thorn absently. "Well, she's a princess. Through and through. Hates when you call her that. Kieran on the other hand, if you do not address her as "Princess Kieran" she might have your head swiped clean off your shoulders. Kendra, however, would much rather be a soldier. Where Kieran likes fighting for the fun of it, to see blood and cause pain, Kendra enjoys fighting for the sport. It's the skill and honor of swordplay that makes her fight… the rush that you get while in a battle."

"I know that feeling all too well now," Mariah nodded.

"She likes animals, especially dogs and horses. Her dog… well, it's not a dog really, it's a wolf." He shivered a bit, "Awful creature sometimes and enjoying biting the hell out of my ankles. Found it as a pup in the woods one day while she was out hunting. When she came back with a baby wolf instead of a buck, I thought she'd gone mad. She holds it up to me and beams like she's holding a newborn baby, 'Isn't he the most adorable thing you've ever seen?'" He imitated a girls' voice, causing Mariah to laugh. "Oh, it was dreadful, because the only thing I could do at that point was agree and say nothing, right?"

Mariah wiped at her eyes, "Yes, of course."

"But I didn't. I protested and told her that it was going to bite her and kill her in her sleep. She slapped me across the face and kept it anyway. Oh, and how he hates me. I'm positive she trained him to nip at me just for fun." Murtagh shook his head, "Named him Nyx, because he's all black and gray."

"What else haven't you told me about her?"

Murtagh paused, thinking, "I don't know what else to tell you… honestly. I haven't seen her for months… I am a little worried about her."

"A little worried?"

He chortled slightly, "Alright, a lot worried. It's just so dangerous to go anywhere alone now, with this rebellion starting against Galbatorix. And she's the princess… the likelihood of her getting kidnapped or killed is ten times higher than any other woman and on top of that the king has his men out looking for her. If she's still alive now, it's because she knows how to keep herself hidden and survive in the wilds. She's a brilliant hunter and an excellent swordsman-"

"Swordswoman," Mariah corrected him.

He chuckled, "Swordswoman. I'm sorry. And she knows how to use magic, better than Kieran does for sure…"

"A little frightening from the sound of her."

"Oh, she is. Terrifying." He chuckled, "You wouldn't think that from the looks of her though. You know how deceiving Kieran looks? Well, Kendra doesn't have that crazy look in her eyes, so her deception is almost worse."

Mariah smiled, "From what you've told me about her, I'm sure Kendra is just fine. I don't think you have anything to worry about."

"I hope you're right Mariah," Murtagh insisted, "I really hope you're right."

"Nasuada, I think we've reached the border." Mark said, catching up to her in their procession line, Aluora's hooves clattering against the underground stone passageway.

She looked up ahead and smiled, her black roan charger, Battle-storm, nickering and tossing his head back at the sunlight. "It appears so. Surda is only a little farther away now."

"It's my opinion that we camp for the night at the entrance to the tunnels… in case there's any trouble, we have an escape route."

"That would be a good plan, yes," Nasauda nodded to him. "Inform the commanders."

"Yes m'lady," he said, turning his she-horse around and racing her back down the tunnel, informing everyone of their camping site for the evening. When he'd finished, he returned to Nasuada and dismounted Aluora. "King Orrin of Surda will be pleased to see you."

She sighed a little and sat on the tunnel floor, splaying her skirts. "He was not too intent upon supporting the Varden before the battle in Farthen Dûr."

"That was before however, now, he should realize that Galbatorix is likely to cause trouble for him. If he doesn't assist the Varden now, it will cost him much later. His own army, combined with ours may be enough to overthrow Galbatorix and turn the tide of this war." Mark said to her, kneeling down, blinking at the young woman.

"I dearly hope you're right," she said. "King Orrin is very involved in his own scientific experimentations however, so I don't know how much time he will spend planning out war strategies."

Mark shook his head, "We can figure out our own strategies if need be. As long as he gives us his permission to use his army, we can win this war. All we need is his support. If he wants to lock himself inside and act like an alchemist, let him. I believe you have more important matters to attend to."

"Indeed." Nasauda nodded, looking up as Angela strode to them. "Ah, Angela, is there something I can help you with?"

"Trianna and her magical troupe of troublemakers are causing a fuss. They keep insisting they're trying to practice but they are causing more harm than anything else."

Mark stood, "I'll take care of them. Angela, if you would be so kind as to show me to them – Nasuada, I shall return shortly."

"Very well then, see that they are put back in their place."

"You can count on it," Mark said, striding after Angela. "So, where is it they're causing the trouble at?"

"What trouble?"

He blinked at her, "Trianna…"

"Trianna's not causing any trouble." Angela said simply.

"Then… what's the problem?"

"There is no problem; I was quietly and carefully pulling you away from Nasuada."

"…because?"

Angela paused in a small hollowed out area in the side of the tunnel wall, "You seem a little stressed."

Mark blinked at the short, curly-haired witch, "You're joking."

"I most certainly am not." She insisted, "You seem a little stressed, so I thought I should pull you away for a moment to allow you to reflect on this idea."

Staring at Angela, he couldn't believe she was so insane. Mark heaved another sigh and folded his arms, thinking. He was a bit stressed, with moving the Varden to Surda lately. He'd been tense, readied for yet another fight with Galbatorix's armies. There had been no word from his sister, Eragon or Arya and it was starting to worry him. Not to mention the last time he scried home to Carvahall, there had been flames blazing everywhere in sight. "Let there be a day when I don't have something to worry about."

"Today and that day have many in between," Angela said. "When we arrive in Surda, I suggest you make preparations."

"For what?"

"Doom," she said, throwing her head back and cackling. "For your doom!"

"I'm leaving," he announced to her, turning and heading back toward Nasuada.

"Mark!"

He spun on his heel, growling a bit under his breath and spotting Trianna. "Yes? What is it?"

"You've been busy as of late. I was just wondering if you'd thought any more about my… offer…" she said, stepping up against him and setting her dainty fingers on his chest.

"No," he said flatly. "I have some things to attend to now with Lady Nasuada, excuse me." Mark pulled away from her and strode back to the head of the convoy. Greeting Nasuada, he said, "We shall ride into Surda tomorrow morning, and it will take but a few days to reach Aberon. I'm going out to explore and make sure there are no threats to the Varden for tomorrow." He waited until she nodded, then mounted Aluora and clicked his tongue, trotting her out of the tunnel and into the morning sunlight.

As his mare counted in the gravel, he smiled and took a deep breath of fresh air, closing his eyes. The air filling his lungs felt cold and crisp, exactly what he would have expected to wake up to in Carvahall. Mark patted Aluora's neck and spurred her onward, looking around the open countryside of Surda. After parting from the rocky foothills onto a flattening plain of grass, he whistled. The white mare shot off like an arrow, running flat out as fast as she could with her rider lying low against her back, kicking up dust as they went. It had been so long since he'd been able to run with her he'd nearly forgotten how the wind felt rushing through his hair. The trees whipping past them blurred into the background before dropping beyond his field of vision. After several long minutes, he gripped the reins and pulled her into him. She snorted and pulled her head up, jumping into a canter. Mark smiled and surveyed their position.

They had made it far from the mouth of the tunnel and had entered into a mildly populated area. He was getting ready to turn his she-horse back around to make a perimeter search when an arrow whipped past them. Aluora barely flinched.

"Who goes there!"

Was that a question? Mark blinked and flicked his eyes toward the sound of the voice. "Show yourself!"

A man stepped out of the woods, carrying a bow in his hand, a quiver on his hip. He was wearing a dark green outfit that blended well with the surrounding forests. His cuirass portrayed a white embellished horse head. The helmet he wore had a similar horse motif hammered into the sides. It was apparent this man was wearing a uniform of sorts, likely the crest of a nobleman that owned these lands. Why else wear such obviously ornate armor? "State your name and business."

He relaxed a little, Only a guard. Mark responded, "Marcus. I'm traveling to Surda."

"No one travels to Surda from the Empire without passing through the checkpoints. Where are your papers?"

"Who do you work for? King Orrin or someone else?"

The guard blinked, clearly not used to being questioned. "My orders come directly from Lord Breezewood."

"May I speak with him? I'm here on business to the capital of Aberon."

He stared at Mark until Aluora nickered. The guard snapped to attention and said, "Follow me, Sir Marcus."

Clicking his tongue, Aluora trotted after the man while Mark sat in his saddle, smug and pleased with himself. After riding through the small village and gaining much attention, they arrived at a large gated estate. Mark dismounted and set his hand on Aluora's nose, telling her silently to stay. She counted in the grass and bobbed her head as the guard led Mark up the stairs, inside.

"What is the meaning of this? Who is this? Arriving unannounced?"'

Before the guard had a chance to speak, Mark stepped ahead of him, "My sincerest apologies, Lord Breezewood. Please, allow me to explain."

"Go on." The short, balding man said, looking up at Mark curiously.

"First, I must ask: do you know anything of the Varden?"

"The Varden? Why would you ask me such a thing?" He shifted his weight uncomfortably. "I have no need to know about them."

"I mean you no harm, please, speak with me honestly."

Lord Breezewood looked at him suspiciously for a moment, before responding, "I know of the Varden. My land is situated on the border of the Beor Mountains where the dwarves dwell. The Varden is allied with them, of course I know about them."

"Do you know of their actions as of late?"

"Actions? If you are referring to that awful war they had with the Empire's forces, then yes, I am well aware. I pity any who were involved in that skirmish, though I suppose it can't be helped."

Mark relaxed slightly, "I've heard that King Orrin is preparing to assist their efforts now that it's come to such a situation."

"Yes, yes, I have been made aware of King Orrin's intentions. I believe he should have assisted them long ago, who am I to argue with the king, eh? My small village here grows some of the food that is sent to the Varden. They need every assistance we can afford to give them."

"I am pleased to hear it."

The man nodded, "Now, if you would so kindly explain why it is you've come here unannounced?"

"Of course," Mark said, "I am Lady Nasuada's personal guard. As the leader of the Varden, she has sent me ahead to scout for trouble and I thought I would bring word to you that the Varden will shortly be arriving and traveling through your lands."

He blinked, "Shortly?"

"Tomorrow," Mar corrected himself, "I thought it wise to inform you, so that you don't believe you've come under attack by bandits or the Empire."

"Yes. Thank you for… informing me. King Orrin knows of your coming arrival?"

"He does. It was by his word that my Lady chose to bring the Varden to Surda. It's at this juncture due to the recent developments in the Empire. Their attack on Farthen Dûr was a turning point; we've decided this has become a full rebellion."

"I see…"

Mark nodded, "By chance, do you have a courier that I might be able to send a message with to Aberon? I would like to send word ahead to King Orrin that we shall be arriving in the capital shortly."

"Oh, yes, yes, of course." The short man nodded, looking at his guard, "Fetch me Dravin." A few moments later a young man of thirteen or so appeared, blinking at Lord Breezewood. "You are to take a message from Sir Marcus to Aberon. The message is going straight to King Orrin, make sure no one else is shown the letter before then."

The boy nodded and looked at Mark.

"I'm afraid I haven't a written letter. Would you mind?"

"No, no, of course not. Please," he waved a hand toward a desk nearby.

Mark strode over and hurriedly found a piece of paper and a quill. His handwriting quickly filled the page, fluid letters seeping into the paper. When he finished, he ran his finger along the edge, muttering under his breath. "Mor'amr wiol Könungr Orrin. Skölir thornessa kvaedhi frá haina." He looked up at the boy and handed him the paper. "Please make sure it arrives into King Orrin's hands safely." Mark smiled at the boy.

"Dravin, take the fastest horse in the village, get it to Aberon quickly."

"Yes m'lord." He bowed quickly and shot out of the room.

Mark turned to the lord, "Thank you again for all your help."

"It's no trouble. I am pleased to assist the Varden. Tomorrow, be sure to stop in again with your Lady. I will be grateful to have her in my home."

"Consider it done." He nodded. "I should return to her now however. Thank you for your assistance. Tomorrow, expect to see the Varden on your horizon at dawn." Mark inclined his head in a small gesture of a bow and walked himself outside again, climbing on Aluora's back and wheeling her around. She nickered, rearing back for a moment before sprinting off the lord's ground and charging back towards the mountains.

Mor'amr wiol Könungr Orrin. Skölir thornessa kvaedhi frá haina. - Open for King Orrin. Shield this letter from harm.

QUESTION: Is there anything that you don't like? Anything that you want to see? Anything you think you want to happen? Please, please, give me feedback, without it I have very little direction aside from the books.

I've done my best to try and make everything purposeful. The parts with Eragon are still a good way to keep track of what's going on. I think the next parts are going to have to speed up a bit, because in the book, aside from Eragon's training with the elves, it's all Roran. And since no one's with Roran, I'm not going to be writing everything out about his journey.

Nyx – Kendra's wolf's name, a Greek Goddess

Nox – The Latin translation and equivalent of Nyx

Night – Which both Nyx and Nox mean, the Goddess of Night or just Night

Title Explanation: It's night time during most of this chapter… see what I did there? I'm so clever. Haha… ha… no.

I do apologize for how late this chapter seems from the others, but I've been self-reflecting a lot lately on top of being extremely busy.

Writing this story is fun, though time-consuming. I love seeing everyone that reads this story come back for every chapter. The updates I receive on my e-mail are always so encouraging and I have been feeling slightly guilty about not posting a new chapter for a while.

Hopefully, this won't happen again where there's such a large lull. I'm planning on working and going to school however, so it might be a while between chapters. For the rest of the month though, I'm going to try my best to get five chapters up. My goal was to get through Eldest by the end of summer – that didn't happen. But it's okay. We'll get there eventually.

So, thank you to everyone for reading and following. I really do appreciate all your support.

With Love, As Always,

Mariah