Author's Note: As I type this, I assume that I will be posting this this weekend, so yeah! Back on track! We're gonna have an awesome story here cuz I mapped it all out during my free period today! F*ck yeah! So here we go. BTW, these next few chapters are not in tight chronological order, but they all happen at roughly the same time.
Chapter Ten:
Wouldn't It Be Grand, It Ain't Exactly How You Planned
Part 1: Arya
Arya and Firnen soared over the massive expanse of the Hadarac Desert. Arya, still giddy from her and Eragon's moments together before they had left, smiled and spread her arms wide, feeling the wind whip her hair back and forth.
The four Riders had gone their separate ways, though Alex was accompanied by Murtagh to Ilirea. Each was off to a different capital of a different nation. Eragon had contacted a shaman of Nar Garzhvog's village and had located it. Vivian was off to Surda.
Arya replayed her moment with Eragon. The embrace, the kiss...it was so perfect. And to think she had denied him for so long. Until he had slain Galbatorix...she snapped from her romantic thoughts. Galbatorix. She shook her head. Trevor was so like him. Seeking ever more power. It was like Trevor was the second coming of that evil.
Evil? Was Galbatorix truly evil? Arya knew his story, of course: The death of his first dragon, the insanity that followed. So was Galbatorix truly evil? And was Trevor truly evil? Arya shook her head. What was one to truly understand evilness? How could one truly define it? Was it simply doing harm to others? Or was it malice? The want to do harm to others. Arya had been there when Eragon had forced Galbatorix to understand his crimes. The pain he had felt. He truly had understood. And he had never understood it before. So was he truly evil?
And what of Trevor? Vivian and Alex had told the story of what he had said during their duel with him in the branches of the Great Tree. How he had described the Dragon Riders as 'Power hungry'. His comments troubled Arya. It was true, Vivian had also spoken of how Volun had said, "Trevor sees that we are better." How could an order of peacekeepers, 20 years after revitalization, become a group of egotistical warriors?
She shook her head to clear her mind. She needn't be thinking of such heavy topics. All she needed to focus on right now was how she was going to convince the dwarves to side with Eragon. With Az Sweldn rak Anhuin exiled, she knew she would have an easier time of it, but if a Rider had already been there, it would complicate things. If a Rider hadn't reached Farthen Dur by her arrival, she would have hit a lucky break.
She sailed South, continually scanning the horizon around her for any sign of another Rider. She hadn't been alone in a long time, and she was still uncomfortable about it. She knew damn well that she could defend herself, but the solitude still made her uneasy. Firnen could feel her uneasiness and sent soothing thoughts across their link in an attempt to calm her racing mind.
Arya relaxed. There was nothing to be scared. Her highly logical mind told her that. None of the Riders would have any reason to be in the heart of the Hadarac. And either way, worrying about it wouldn't help.
They flew on, moving southward as fast as Firnen could carry them. They were more than halfway to the Dwarven capital, and had only been flying a day. Arya knew they could reach it by sunset of the following day, and told Firnen to land and rest. They came down in an empty stretch of desert, with nothing but sand to see for leagues. Firnen curled up and placed a wing over Arya to protect her from the harsh sun. She fell asleep and dreamed that Eragon was next to her.
The following day, Arya and Firnen rose together and took off within the hour. Arya ate in the saddle, and Firnen didn't need to eat for a few more days. The flew southward at a relaxed pace, and near midday, they saw the Beor Mountains on the horizon. Excited by their evident progress, Firnen sped up and within another hour, they were sailing between the great peaks.
They found the Beartooth River Valley and followed it toward the waterfall that served as the entrance to Farthen Dur. They crashed into the lake and popped out in the tunnels, where they were greeted by a Dwarf.
"Aye! Dragon Rider, we said we would be havin' none more o' yer kind pollutin' the minds of our good Dwarf folk against Eragon! Get! Begone!" the Dwarf thrust his arm out toward the waterfall.
"Calm yourself, friend," Arya said lightly. "I am Arya, and I come here to speak in the name of Eragon."
"Oh. I be beggin' your pardon, Shadeslayer. I did not realize it was you up there m'lady," the Dwarf apologized.
"Think not of it," Arya replied. "However, you could repay your fault by guiding me to Tronjheim."
"I'll be seein' you there, then," the Dwarf replied.
He did just that. He spoke to her on the way, telling of the Riders and how they had come trying to shame Eragon's name, and how King Orik had turned them away and publicly rejected their statements. This pleased Arya, for it meant that at least the Dwarves would stay loyal to their cause for the most part.
After hours in the tunnels, they suddenly burst forth into the enormous main chamber of Farthen Dur, with Tronjheim visible a ways away. Arya thanked their Dwarven guide, and Firnen took off, landing at the gates several minutes later. Arya dismounted, and strode purposefully into the great city. She navigated the tunnels until she made her way down into the throne room. Orik smiled when he saw her.
"Aye! Well would ya look who it is? Is Arya, queen of the fair-folk. And here, before me in the throne room of the Dwarves!" he laughed. "What is it I can be doin' for ya, old friend?"
"I am here to act as the mouth of Eragon," Arya said.
"Aha! So my foster-brother has finally decided to call out to us! Bein' a good thing, too. Them Dragon Riders was startin' to get into the heads of some of the younger folk!" Orik said.
Arya noted how much Orik's speech had changed. He sounded much more like the rest of his race. "I must win the support of your people if we are to defeat the Dragon Riders, Orik," Arya said. "How can I do this?"
Just then, a messenger ran into the room. "Sir! There are more reports of rebel groups gathering in the city," the messenger said. Orik pounded a fist against one of the stone arms of his throne.
"Blast! We must not allow this anti-Eragon mindset to spread!" Orik said.
"There's more, sir! They are rallying as one now. And they are rallying under the name...Az Sweldn Rak Anhuin."
"What!?" This surprised Orik and Arya both. That clan had been exiled long ago. The fact that an anti-Eragon movement would rally under it was appalling. Especially since the clan had been anti-Dragon Rider as well.
"The group wishes for us to remain neutral and stay out of the conflict, and they are growing in numbers fast."
"This will not do," Orik said. "This resistance must be put down!"
"I agree," Arya said.
"This is none of your concern, elf," the messenger said sharply. "You should leave at once."
"You do not give orders here," Orik said to the messenger. "Especially not to a guest as highly esteemed as this. She is a Rider loyal to Eragon and the queen of the elves!"
"I know exactly who she is!" the messenger challenged taking a step toward Arya, halving the distance between them. "Which is why I must do this!" A dagger appeared in the messengers chest and stabbed into Arya's stomach with a cry of, "The Riders will fall!". She gasped and made a squelching sound as the knife was withdrawn. Before it was all the way out, Orik was off his feet with his massive hammer, Volund, crashing it into the assassin's head. Orik would have made more of a point of it had it not been for the dying elf in front of him.
He yelled for his guards, and before they ever got there, he scooped the light figure up in his arms and charged out of the throne room, outpacing his bodyguards easily. He sprinted all the way to the healers' quarters. "Help!" he cried out as he came through the door.
The healers scurried about, and before long, Arya was in a bed being attended to by several dwarven women, using various herbs and liquids. There was a single magician among them that used magic to identify any poisons. The news was ill.
"The dagger was poisoned," the magician reported to Orik.
"Then use yer magicky whatnot to fix her!" he said angrily.
"Unfortunately, it's not that simple," the magician said.
"What do you mean?" Orik asked.
"I mean they've got anti-magic wards on the poison. It can only be cured through physical means."
"Then do it!" Orik threw his hands in the air.
"Also not that simple," the magician said. "There's only one herb in Tronjheim that can cure it. And that's been stolen by a group of rogue healers that have joined Az Sweldn Rak Anhuin."
"How long does she have?" Orik asked.
"Twelve hours," the magician replied.
"Then I'll get you yer herbs," Orik said.
Six hours later, Orik stood at the head of half the dwarven army. The half that remained loyal to him. The group watched and waited outside the Az Sweldn Rak Anhuin campsite that had arose just outside Tronjheim. Orik shook his head. So many traitors. A messenger had arrived earlier stating that if the Orik loyalists wanted battle, they'd get it. Now the army waited as their opponent's advanced. Orik had only informed a small strike force of their true goal: the herb. He'd gotten the specifics and now he was going to carry out a very dangerous plan.
The armies stood across from each other. The time had come. Orik had nine hours. And he charged. The fighting was brutal. Dwarven steel rang out. Death was everywhere. Orik cut his way through the opposing lines, bee-lining for the opposing camp, surrounded by his strike team. Orik crashed opponent after opponent, but still there were more. Someone in his team went down. Against his nature, he pressed on. He had to get to the herb.
They cut through the throng of warriors for near four hours, as they were forced off course often. Slowly, Orik's strike team dwindled, until the dwarf king was left alone. He smashed Volund into another dwarf. The situation saddened him, but even so, he had no choice. He bashed through the lines of Az Sweldn Rak Anhuin, and inch by inch, he crept toward their base. It took him another hour to break their lines. When he did, he had an hour to spare.
He bolted into their camp, trailed by the back line of Az Sweldn Rak Anhuin. He turned on them and bashed in several skulls when out of nowhere, and dagger dove into his leg. He cried out. Time slowed down. A hammer came in. Orik thrust Volund out in a block and a counter blow that ended his opponent. Again. And again. Another dagger. In his hammer arm this time. Volund fell from his hand. A sword came in. Orik caught the attacker's wrist and dislodged the sword before driving it into the offender's gut.
Orik fought hard, but the knife-wielding foe eluded him somehow. He cut down all his opponents, when suddenly another blow drove into his wrist and removed the sword from his grip. Then he was there. Orik gasped. It was him. Vermund.
"Foolish," Vermund said. Orik swore. So this was his attacker. The exiled Grimstborith of Az Sweldn Rak Anhuin. "I want you to remember me, Orik," he said. "Because I will kill you slowly." The knife dove for Orik's lung, but Orik twisted his body and put Vermund off balance by his overextended arm. He then scissored his arms, driving one arm down on Vermund's wrist, and the other up at his elbow joint, snapping his arm and removing the knife from the game. Orik tackled Vermund then, and wrestled him to the ground. They exchanged blows and eventually Vermund came on top of Orik. Orik retaliated and managed to heave Vermund off him.
Orik lunged. Vermund went too. Orik hit the ground. He scrambled forward. Vermund grabbed him. He pulled Orik back. Orik kicked him in the nose. He reached out. He closed his hand. And whipped around and sent the knife flying into Vermund's eye. Orik had less than an hour left. Orik clambered to his feet and staggered toward the medicine tent of the camp. He stumbled in and scattered the contents of the table. Then he saw the herb. He grabbed and charged out of the tent. Where Firnen was waiting.
"Let's go, dragon," Orik said. Firnen leaped off and grabbed Orik in one claw. He swooped into Tronjheim and dropped Orik on the appropriate landing in the main chamber. Orik limped down the hallway as fast as he could. When he reached the healers' room, he merely handed the magician the herb and passed out.
Orik awoke with a friendly dwarven face staring down at him. "'Ello there," the dwarf said. "'Bout time you woke up. Our elf friend wanted to thank ye." Orik turned his head to the side, where Arya sat.
"Thank the Gods, Arya! You're alive!"
"Thanks to you, Orik," Arya said.
Author's Note: Probably rushed, and sorry it took so long. I've been swamped with projects lately, so just be happy it's up. Also, wasn't quite sure what to do with this chapter. So anyway.