"We have to keep moving, Arya," Eragon said, his voice loud in her ear and his elevated breathing hot on her neck. Arya quickened her pace in response, limiting her speed so that Eragon could remain alongside her while the two continued on through the forest. Above them, sunbeams shone down from the descending angle of the sun, poking through the branches and occasionally blinding her for short moments. Branches and leaves snapped against her skin, all ignored in their flight.
What Arya couldn't ignore, despite the growing desperation and general peril of her situation, was the sensation that felt to be burning a hole in her skin: Eragon's hand. The Rider's hand was pressed firmly against the small of her back, continually-and quite unnecessarily-pushing her onward. Because of the movement, Arya was practically under Eragon's arm, something that both frustrated and calmed her. She felt that-for their own good, and particularly her own-she ought to push him away, but their current predicament rendered such a petty action both frivolous and illogical, for as Eragon had said, they had to keep moving.
The notion of which brought Arya's thoughts back to where they should have been all along: their flight. She scolded herself for allowing her mind to wander, particularly now.
"I am well aware of that, Shurtugal," she said stiffly, finding the necessary coldness to speak such all too easy in her distress. Eragon didn't respond, but merely continued to glance frantically about, his brown hair matted to his forehead with sweat. The bandages tightened around the many wounds on his arms and stomach were gleaming with scarlet blood, though, thankfully, not a drop bypassed them.
As it had done for most of the day, Eragon's mind brushed past her own as it expanded outward. Arya, aware of his reasons for doing so, shielded her own mind from his search. It was not out of a desire to shun his contact, but out of her need to keep how she felt for him a secret.
"On your right," Eragon said, his cheek brushing against the point of her ear. "A fox."
Arya nodded and looked off to her right, locating the red fur of the fox after a brief moment of searching. The animal was running low to the ground, leaping through the underbrush alongside them. In all reality, Arya knew that it could not have been there long, for the creature doubtfully could have kept pace with them.
It was then that the creature decided to attack, bounding out so it was running directly alongside her, it's head turned sideways so it could bite and snap at her legs. Arya, without slowing, kicked out with the side of her foot, wincing as the fox's forelegs splintered. The creature howled in agony as she continued on.
"Look up!" Eragon suddenly cried, his hand abruptly leaving the small of her back. Obeying his command, Arya craned her head skyward, sighting the lynx leaping down at her head from the branch just in time. Before the creature could so much as yelp-let alone move its legs to ward off her arm-Arya thrust her hand upward in a closed fist, catching the cat in the sternum and shattering its ribcage. The lynx thudded to the ground behind her.
As Arya grimaced at the death, Eragon's hand swept upward, abruptly brushing through her hair. Glancing up, she saw an angry raccoon writhing in Eragon's iron grip above her head, clawing open Eragon's wrist and showering Arya's head with droplets of the Rider's blood. Sorrow ripped as a sharp pain through Arya's heart as she beheld the sight of Eragon's blood pouring down his arm. Eragon, barely wincing, squeezed once and discarded the raccoon's corpse.
"Keep moving," he said again, cradling his bleeding arm to his chest and soaking up the blood with the bandage on his opposite arm. As they began to run once more, Arya met Eragon's gaze and saw the pain and fatigue in his eyes, the results of the rigors and injuries he'd sustained throughout the day. The Rider needed rest and healing.
"Let me heal you," Arya insisted once more, running alongside the Dragon Rider.
Eragon shook his head, biting his lip as he looked from side to side. A sapling branch lashed across his head, drawing blood. "No," he said, seeming not to take notice of the now bleeding cut stretched across his temple. "We would play right into Murtagh's hands."
Arya, not for the first time, grudgingly conceded the point. The chances were far too high that Murtagh would find them, were they to employ gramarye. For the moment, Eragon would simply have to endure, much as Arya disliked the prospect. It was a hateful sight to her now, Eragon in pain.
Glancing at the wounded Rider, Arya saw the oncoming hawk, but far too late.
"Eragon!" she cried as the avian raked its talons across Eragon's shoulders. Bellowing in pain and surprise, Eragon plummeted to the ground, rolling across the leafy bed and smearing it with blood. Arya, responding with all the speed and grace for which her race was known, stooped, seized a small, hand-sized stone that Eragon had kicked up, and cast it toward the hawk as it raced through the air for Eragon once more. There was a puff of feathers, an ethereal and briefly lasting mist of blood, and the hawk disappeared into the underbrush, its fierce cries abruptly fading into silence.
Arya, assured that the threat was eliminated, rushed to Eragon's side to help him up and assess the seriousness of his new wound. To her surprise, the Dragon Rider was already on his feet, his newly mauled hand clapped over his left shoulder.
"Are you alright?" he asked, wincing in pain as he grabbed her arm and started off again.
"I intended to ask the same of you," Arya answered, noting that his hand shook as it clasped her arm.
Eragon jerked his head sharply to one side. "It's shallow," he said, lying, as Arya well knew by the amount of blood trickling down the Dragon Rider's back. "It's no more serious than the rest."
Arya failed to see the point in arguing with him-much as she wanted to-so she allowed the untruth to pass, hoping beyond hope that they would find shelter, and soon. Eragon couldn't keep this up forever. Not if he continued to insist on blindly shielding Arya every time he believed her to be in danger.
A muffled bellowing sounded off to the right, along with an inordinate amount of rustling and screeching. By the noises, Arya knew there to be an enormous beast moving toward them.
"It's a bear," Eragon grunted, already positioning himself between the beast and Arya.
"It is not necessary to fight every creature that assaults us," Arya said quickly, catching Eragon's pained gaze. "Leave it be. It cannot keep pace with us."
Glancing at her briefly, Eragon nodded and increased his pace, loosening his grip on her arm. The bellowing raged on behind them, but soon faded into the distance, forgotten. Elf and Rider ran on, fighting off the few creatures that were able to catch, keep pace with, cut off, or otherwise cross their path through the forest. After perhaps another quarter hour, Eragon suddenly tightened his grip on Arya's arm-causing her to cry out in pain-and veered southward.
Hearing her protest, Eragon contritely released her. "I'm sorry," he said regretfully, glancing at her.
Arya ignored his apology, focused as she was on their sudden change of course. As far as she knew, they had not yet circumvented the hills. "Where are we going?" she asked simply.
"We have to get out of the forest," Eragon explained. "The beasts are tearing us apart."
"They are tearing you apart," Arya corrected. "I have yet to sustain injury."
"And I'd like to keep it that way."
Arya bowed her head slightly in agreement. "You have yet to tell me where we are going."
Eragon nodded. "The sandstone hills… We'll cross them." A brief sorrow passed through the Rider's eyes, but faded just as quickly. Brom's tomb is in those hills, Arya remembered suddenly as she attempted to derive the reason for the pain in Eragon's expression.
"We will be too exposed," Arya argued.
"It'll still be safer than being attacked every minute or so," Eragon countered without even looking at her.
Arya was silent for a moment. "We can not visit Brom's grave, Eragon," she said softly.
Eragon snorted. "I'm well aware of that, Arya. Boy I may be, but I'm not so foolish as to do that."
"As you say," Arya said, enduring her own pain in silence as Eragon reminded her that he was nothing more than boy. Ignoring reason, she glanced longingly at Eragon's face, remembering without enjoyment all the reasons they could never be together. Reclaiming reason and priority, she once again turned her eyes before her. As the two ran, they began to approach a particularly massive oak.
It was then that Arya felt it.
She sensed a violent surge of energy somewhere in the distance to her left, the outburst so powerful that it seemed to echo in Arya's ears. Before she could even wonder what sort of magic could create such a swell, a bolt of fire crackled through the air before them, blasting through several trees-which toppled over as their trunks disintegrated-and colliding with the oak, cracking open the tree with a powerful, echoing concussion. Splinters and flames exploded outward from the tree, filling the air with splinters and tongues of fire. Arya slid to a stop-feeling Eragon do the same beside her-and shielded her eyes in the crook of her elbow as the blinding torrent of flame roared to life and then, just as suddenly, died away, leaving her ears ringing with the force of the explosion. Several bushes and trees were on fire when she looked up, and the oak, it seemed, had ceased to exist.
Just as quickly as the flames had come, Eragon was suddenly torn from her side, leaving Arya to cough for a moment as she breathed in the smoke, her eyes watering. Panicking, she dropped to a crouch and reached for her sword, reduced to swearing when she found that she was armed with little more than a knife. The cold fingers of dread began to grip her heart as she looked around for Eragon.
She found him quite quickly, as fate would have it. The Dragon Rider was grappling with a diminutive man on the ground, growling as tiny fists smashed into his wounds. The man, by Arya's estimation, appeared to be a werecat-presumably the same one they had fought earlier that day- as he was naked and his hands were tipped with cat-like claws. Arya darted forward to assist the Rider.
She stopped suddenly as she felt a presence behind her. It was a familiar presence, the basic feeling of it, but it was new, someone she had never met before. Heart fluttering in terror, Arya twisted around, already fully aware of what was approaching her.
Her suspicions were correct. It was a Shade, at least as far as Arya could tell. An astonishing seven feet tall, the Shade was shrouded from head to foot in a dark, ragged and torn cloak, armored in several places by what looked to be molded leather armor. A silver hilt protruded over his shoulder, and it was evident that several other weapons were concealed in the Shade's clothing. The Shade's hand was extended toward her, pale palm smoking as it extended past the sleeve of the cloak. Arya could only assume it was he that had cast the fire.
"Ah," the Shade said in an echoing voice that resembled several people speaking simultaneously. "The elf."
Arya decided that responding was both ineffectual and pointless. Instead, she drew back her arm, flipped her dagger over so she was gripping the blade, and hurled it toward the Shade, setting aside her fear for a time when she knew better what to do with it.
The Shade contemptuously plucked the dagger out of the air.
As Arya straightened in surprise, the Shade held the dagger before his cowled face, pirouetting the weapon to view it from every angle. A hissing noise filled the air, and it was only after a moment that Arya realized the Shade was laughing.
"You tried to kill me with this?" he said with another laugh, flinging the dagger at the ground. The knife sank blade first into the ground, firelight reflecting off its burnished steel surface. "I'm insulted. After all I have slaughtered, all I have killed, I should warrant a Rider's Blade at the least. But a dagger?" He laughed again, more darkly this time. "I don't think so."
With a ripple of cloth, the Shade lunged forward, moving so quickly that even Arya didn't have enough time to respond. Before she knew what was happening, the Shade's hand was wrapped around her neck, lifting her into the air. Arya's air supply was immediately cut off as the Shade's fingers constricted around her windpipe, leaving her choking and gasping for air. Panicked, she scrabbled at the back of his hand, drawing blood with her fingernails and crushing bones with her grip. It was for naught; the Shade's wounds healed as quickly as she dealt them. Arya's toes scraped the ground briefly before she was hauled even higher into the air, kicking ineffectually; the Shade's arms were longer than her legs.
His head still obscured by the shadow of his hood, the Shade cocked his head as he regarded her. "It's a pity that I'm not permitted to kill you."
Arya, ignoring this, reached out a hand and, with the last of the breath in her lungs, said in the ancient language, "Come!"
It was little more than a wheeze, but it was enough; the dagger wrenched itself from the forest loam and sped to her hand. The moment her fingers touched the hilt, Arya seized it and stabbed the immense Shade in the arm, driving the dagger in up to the hilt. Blood splattered over her hand as a wet snap echoed in her ears, alerting her to the fact that she had stabbed the Shade with such force that she had snapped bones with the sheer force alone.
Hissing in pain, the Shade released her, staggering back and cradling his arm to his chest. Arya collapsed gracelessly to the ground, dropping the dagger and quickly healing her own throat as she gasped for air. In the corner of her eye, she saw that Eragon was on his feet once more, engaged in hand-to-hand combat with the werecat, who was using his claws and small body to his advantage, pawing and slashing at Eragon at every given opportunity. Regrettably, it seemed that Eragon had received little training in unarmed combat, and was doing quite poorly, performing little more complicated than throwing quick punches. The werecat, it seemed, had the advantage in this regard, and seemed to be picking Eragon apart at his leisure.
Believing the Shade to be the more deadly of their foes, Arya rolled to her feet to confront the Shade, noting that her opponent had already healed himself.
"You will die for that," the Shade growled, flexing his hand and trudging toward her.
"I thought you were not permitted to kill me," Arya reminded him, lunging forward and slashing her hand at the Shade's neck. Impossibly, the Shade seized her hand with apparent ease and began hauling her into the air once more. Before he could do so, Arya twisted and slammed her heel into the Shade's knee, splintering bone. Staggering, the Shade grunted and dropped her. Landing lightly on the ground, Arya pirouetted and thrust the heel of her hand at the Shade's sternum, cracking several ribs. As the Shade bent over in pain, Arya slammed her elbow into his face. She felt the bone and cartilage of his nose give away under her blow.
As the Shade staggered backward, blood spraying from his nose and mouth, Arya quickly retrieved her dagger with magic and lunged forward to stab the Shade through the heart.
It was already too late. Somehow, the Shade had already completely healed himself, and caught her arm with ease. The Shade angrily dragged her closer to him, so that their faces were inches apart. Despite the hood, Arya could see his face now, and couldn't help but flinch. The Shade's face was sharply pointed, almost painfully angular, and his skin was a strange mass of wrinkles and extremely prominent blue veins, which gave his face the appearance of a map. As with all Shades, his cropped hair was crimson, as were his eyes, and his filed teeth were red with blood.
"You are very irritating," he hissed, spraying Arya's face with a shower of blood.
Words are pointless, Arya reminded herself as a retort came to mind. With her free hand, she prepared herself to slam the Shade's nose back into his brain.
The Shade caught that hand as well, his grotesque expression twisted with contempt. "Treat others how you wish to be treated," the Shade mocked, drawing her back and hurling her through the air. The world turned to blurred lines and flashing lights as Arya flipped in midair, slamming into the ground with such force that the wind was knocked free of her and she could do naught but gasp for several seconds, scarcely able even to think through her suddenly pounding headache. Rolling unsteadily to her feet, Arya dropped to a ready stance and turned to face the Shade.
Blinding pain shot through her skull as the Shade backhanded her, splitting open her lip and sending the world spinning in and out of focus once more. The salty taste of blood filled Arya's mouth as she crashed back down to the ground, blinking blearily. Spitting out blood, she painfully pushed herself up off the ground and slowly got to her feet.
Before she even straightened, the Shade struck her again, slamming his fist into her stomach with such force that Arya's body curled around his arm. The blow threw her into the air and smashed her onto the ground once more. Gritting her teeth against the pain, Arya instinctively curled in on herself, wrapping her body into a tight ball.
Get up, Arya, she said to herself, determined not to be captured in such a way. Mastering the pain, she slowly climbed to her feet and glared at the Shade with defiance.
The Shade cocked his head at her. "Good. You got up."
That being said, the Shade stepped forward and proceeded to strike her once more.
Arya tried to fight back. She really did. But it didn't seem to make much of a difference. The Shade took little notice of her defenses, bypassing her guard with lightning speed, striking her with impunity. Skilled as Arya was in unarmed combat, the Shade continued to bludgeon her with hands and feet, over and over until all Arya wanted to do was make it stop. All she wanted was release from the pain. Her mind was in a haze of pain and desperation as she attempted to ward of the Shade's blows, all for naught. Faded memories, long suppressed, began to spin about behind her eyes, the recollections of another time when she had suffered such pain at the hands of a Shade.
Suddenly, the blows stopped, and a hand tightened about her throat, lifting her high into the air. "Are you unconscious yet?" the Shade mocked. Arya's mouth gaped open as she attempted to draw in breath, but none was forthcoming, and the pain in her neck was becoming unbearable.
Not again, Arya thought in a burst of clarity. Using the last of her strength, she drew back her leg and lashed out.
A sense of triumph filled her as her toe connected with the Shade's chin, knocking it backward on his neck with a sharp snap. The Shade's head rocked backward at an impossible angle, nearly parallel with his back, but still the Shade held her high above the ground.
A ripple of energy shook the air and the Shade's head suddenly righted itself with a series of sharp pops and snaps. The Shade's lip curled back over his pointed teeth as he regarded her with fury.
"I never swore not to kill you," the Shade spat. Metal rasped against leather as the Shade pulled free a long, wickedly curved dagger from the depths of his cloak. "And that was the last straw." The Shade drew back the dagger.
Arya barely had time only for a single fleeting thought; Eragon…
A muted thud echoed in Arya's ears as the knife forced itself into her body, filling her chest with blazing, white hot pain. A drained sensation coupled with the violent agony as the Shade pulled the dagger from her chest, freeing it with a cascade of crimson blood. A whisper of breath escaped her lungs, but none rushed forward to fill the void left by it.
"Now die," the Shade growled, dropping her body to the ground.
Arya was in too much pain to comprehend the fact that she was obeying the Shade's command to the letter. At that point, she no longer cared. She just wanted the pain to end, wanted her heart to cease its mindless beating so that she might escape.
Unfortunately, it stubbornly continued to defy her wishes.