Has everyone heard the wonderful, amazing, exciting, spectacular, incredible, awesome news? That the 4TH BOOK IS COMING OUT NOVEMBER 8TH? :D :D :D :D :D It's titled Inheritance (I think that's kind of lame, but oh well,) and it's going to make my life so much better. Maybe I'll be done with this fanfic by then. :) If you don't believe me, go to the Random House site or Shur'turgal.
Anyway, here's the improved link to my writing blog: www. rzhungryverbivore. blogspot. com . Sorry about the mess up the first time.
On reviews! You people are AWESOME! Someone asked what the Gala was- I'll explain it more in a future chapter, but for now, all you need to know is that it's basically Galby's massive annual birthday party. And Murtagh hates it with a burning passion. :P And , you asked how Murtagh knew about Maud, and I assumed that Galby had taught him about Ellesmera and mentioned Maud. Plus, Kidasku can't keep his mouth shut...
Enjoy the switch back to Eragon! :D
Chapter 14: The Light of Night
Brisingr felt perfect in his hand- the embodiment of balance and precision. Eragon could have admired it forever; he could have sat there and just gaped at the blue reflections it cast and traced the flame etched into the metal.
He denied himself the pleasure, promising it as a reward once he was free and beyond the magician's reach. Rather, he kept it in hand as he inched down the putrid corridor, risking a candle-sized flame to read the map. He was at ground level, far, far below the area he had been before when rescuing Katrina. The rock was dotted by entrances, all hidden with magic and locked, but with Aren, Eragon was sure he could escape.
He would. Failure was no longer an option.
This deep, Helgrind was nothing more than a black pit with scattered carcasses. No one had been there in years, which was why Eragon chose that route. Fat and Chunky would not know where they were going, unless they had another map, and their clamor would alert Eragon of their approach. Avoiding another heap of bones- missing an arm- the Blue Rider crept through the darkness and smiled as giddy joy washed over him.
The map said that the end neared.
Running, Eragon pulled at the door, a pile of rocks and a handful of roots covering the lowest entrance to Helgrind. He clawed away at the rubble and shoved the crude door aside, his hands opening a hole in the mountain. That hole grew, till he could fit his head through- his shoulders-
Scrambling, he tumbled out of Helgrind, Brisingr still in hand, and looked out to see an inky black sky. A million stars smiled at him from their heavenly abode, congratulating him on his escape. Go. The whispering wind told him. Go, before they catch you again. Go, before the soldiers find you. Go, before you are found.
Eragon took a great gulp of air, drinking the sweet taste of freedom. He was free-
Murtagh can only dream of this. He thought, realizing the truth of the situation. Murtagh cannot escape his prison.
Saphira.
The thought of her, rather than Murtagh, led the Blue Rider to sheathe Brisingr and take a little more energy from Aren. It was just enough that he could run till morning- and beyond, hopefully. If anything happened to her-
Wild panic spurred him forward, driving him through the darkness. He was at Helgrind, and the Varden was at...
Where was the Varden? Had they won the battle of Belatona, even without him? Had they retreated to Feinster? Had they been attacked? Had there been any battles? Was anyone else he knew dead?
How long had he been gone?
Eragon found himself slowing, trying to sort through the avalanche of questions and worries growing in his mind. The snapping of a branch underfoot caught him off-guard; he lept up and dropped to the ground. He wasn't the only one to notice.
"What was that?" Came a gruff voice.
"This place is giving me the creeps- that wasn't anything. Let's go, before we disturb the ghosts."
"I suppose you're right- this place is strange. Unnatural."
"Then let's hurry up!"
Grumbling and shooting glances over their shoulders, the two Empire soldiers returned by the way they had came, going the opposite direction.
Scouts.
A stone dropped into Eragon's stomach. If he wasn't careful, he'd run into one of those scouting parties, and then he'd have to kill them. He shuddered at the thought. Scouts meant that a larger party was close...
Helgrind was by Leona Lake.
Leona Lake was by Dras-Leona.
Leona Lake was beyond Dras-Leona.
The Empire camp was by Feinster.
The Empire was attacking.
Silent as the Death he courted, Eragon darted through the scraggly forest around Helgrind, diving behind trees and into shrubbery at the slightest hint of company. But with each stride his cover vanished as the small wood thinned, spike-like stumps standing out of the ground. Eragon took what energy he could from the dying trees, renewing his confidence-
Until he saw the army.
The mass of red and black spread out before him like the horizon, fires flickering on the shore like the moonlight danced on the gentle waves of the lake. He could hear the drunken guffaws of the soldiers, the whinnying of horses, and the music of blades sharpening and sparring. The army never slept- never rested. Eragon wondered if the Painless Ones ever felt the need for sleep, but he pushed the thought aside.
He had to get out.
He may have been free, but he was not safe. Not yet.
Donning a spell of invisibility, Eragon crouched down in the scraggly shrubbery, scanning his surroundings. And then he ran. Bolting out of the forest, he charged across the rocky terrain, scrambling and leaping over rocks while attempting to be quiet. He could not be seen, but he most definitely could be heard; his greatest fear just that- that some lonely guard would notice the scattering rocks and the puffs of dust and call for aid.
But he still had the advantage of invisibility, better hearing, greater speed, and sight. And his magical ability, of course. Giving the camp a wide berth, he crouched at the slightest noise and bolted as soon as the coast was clear, his spurts of speed leaving him heaving for air. How long had he been in Helgrind? What happened to his stamina?
"Playing hide-and-go-seek, are we?"
Eragon skid to a grinding halt, falling backwards at the shock of hearing that voice.
For one, horrifying moment, it sounded like Murtagh, the hiss that Eragon remembered so well. That voice once so strangely emotional, then so violently furious, echoed in his head as he darted the other way- 'I see you hiding behind Nasuada's skirts! Come and fight me!'- that what his brother- half brother- had cried.
But it wasn't Murtagh.
"Cat and mouse, my friend!" Chunky laughed. "You will suffer for this!"
How had that fat magician gotten out of Helgrind- gotten ahead of him- found him? Eragon cast a glance over his shoulder as he fled and realized that he had been tricked, just like Chunky.
The magician couldn't see him.
He had been guessing, and he guessed right at the precise moment necessary. Chunky peered into the darkness, eyes squinting, his hand holding a flame- but too far to Eragon's right. Smiling, Eragon realized what he could do- what tricks he could play on that cursed servant.
A mere word sent a pile of loose stones scattering across the ground, but opposite him, so Chunky whirled around and sent a blast of light that way. Eragon took the opportunity to send chains around his ankles and wrists, and darted away as the magician howled. Eragon heard the blast of the chains breaking and reacted by increasing his speed.
"What are you doing, you blubbering idiot?" Fat howled, his words echoing as Eragon sped away. "You worthless fool, you lost him!" A series of curses too vulgar to put on paper followed Eragon farther and farther away, making the Blue Rider smile with triumph.
Saphira groaned as the boils and welts across her back seared with pain, increasing their cries as she shifted position. The chains around her snout and legs wailed as she moved, blood oozing from the too-small fetters. All of her being ached; from the tip of her snout to the end of her tail every muscle in her body lamented their depraved state, screaming for her to stop moving, to let them rest.
And the fury grew hot within her belly; the anger of what those magicians had done to her, what they may have done to Eragon-
Her lips voluntarily curled into a snarl as she thought of those fat two-leggeds; of what atrocities they had done to her, of what prize they planned on getting from her-
She would kill them.
She would begin by pinning them down, like they had pinned down her; then she would burn them, like they had done to her. Then she would take her claws and rip them apart, like they had done to her; then she would torch those wounds, like they had done to her. She would bite off parts of their body, though they had not yet done that to her, but she would chew them and spit them out again, and make them scream like the pathetic infants that they were, and wail for mercy, and beg for forgiveness, and promise her anything she wanted-
And she would reply that she wanted three things. The first, of course, was her Rider. The second, her revenge, and the third, obviously, was their deaths. And then she would catch them up in her mouth and use her teeth to take the life from their frail forms, and chew them up and spit their carcasses out again, because it was below her to let such evil things into her system. She would leave their heaps to rot in the sun for the carrion to eat, and let the stench of their evilness bury itself into the mind of any who saw it, and let the sight of their formless masses imbed itself into the mind of any who saw it, forming a concrete memory of disgust.
And all would learn from their example: never anger a Daughter of the Sky.
She would have her revenge, and she would be happy.
P.S.- Sorry the update took so long; the fanfiction site was having problems. I'll update again tomorrow... hopefully?