Chapter Twenty-One.

March of the Varden.

Eragon dodged a farmer herding a flock of geese to a covered wagon and looked around. Aberon city's main street had been transformed from a bustling marketplace to a courtyard of warfare. Men shouted, carrying armour and weapons, yelling at squires to bring this and that; smiths were busy at work, shoeing the last of King Orrin's cavalry and the sturdy cobs and draughts that were going to pull the wagons.

Women said goodbye to husbands and young men, brothers and fathers alike. Others carried clothing to store, bandages and salves, herbs and such exotic mushrooms that Eragon suspected Angela's involvement.

Children cried, stallions, giddy with all the excitement, broke out of rank and danced round the square, scattering people as they went; food, strange things that Eragon would have never guessed to be food was being loaded up, relatives of the soldiers sobbed, but to Eragon, it was good to be on the move.

Surda was hot and dry; he pitied the poor people of the Varden that were staying behind; he could not wait to see green pasture, blue water and tall trees again. Or even mountains, the Spine and the Anora Falls ... Eragon sighed. He really was far from home.

Eragon, Horst is with your healer from have Carvahall, and a small blonde woman. Oh – and Angela.

Eragon's heart leapt. Angela? Oh, and Gertrude – I wonder where the baby is?

With Aunty Katrina, I imagine. Who, by the way, is on her way to Horst as well.

And Albriech and Baldor?

Hitching a team to a wagon; Horst has just shoed them.

Anyone else?

Roran is coming over to coo over the child.

Is Nasuada in the courtyard yet? She said she would be arriving with Roran.

Ah, I see her; she is having an argument with the thin man from the Council of Elders.

Him! Where is she?

She is by the sheep pens. What will you do?

He will find out.

Eragon navigated the sheep pens and found Falberd, a member of the council of elders he remembered from Tronjheim, talking to Nasuada in barely controlled anger. She was calmly listening to him, watching his face passively. Before he could finish, Eragon strode up.

"Is there a problem?" he asked calmly. Nasuada did not look at him, but kept her eyes on the furious Falberd.

"The ... Nasuada is taking women! She has all her household with her! And for what? To fasten her pretty dresses?" Falberd was apoplectic with rage.

"I have fought in more wars than you, Falberd! Where were you when my father was betrayed by the very people you had recruited? Where were you when the Red Rider emerged from the smoke? Where were you when the scouting troop was cornered by Fanghur?

The women I bring with me are capable nurses and trained in swordsmanship and archery; I chose them to come with me, out of the many who asked to come. When you are bleeding and ill, who will look after you? Your men, trained in only the basics? It will these women that travel with me. This is my final word, Falberd, and if you do not like it, then you do not have to come to the Empire with us; I am sure there is a nice place in the kitchens that would suit you well."

Falberd stared at her, incensed, then crumpled. "You are making the wrong decision!" He said, hand on his broadsword, then turned and stormed off; Nasuada watched him go without regret.

"He has no sense of dare," said Nasuada with a smile, then she turned back to the sheep. "Yes, the lightest ones would be best."

"Yes, m'Lady." mumbled the farmer, and started shoving a flock of sheep into a different chute for her.

"You are taking women?" asked Eragon, wanting to confirm it.

Nasuada turned to him, almond eyes intent. "Yes, Eragon, we are, for the reasons that you heard me tell Falberd. But I would like to know what you think about it."

Eragon thought of Nasuada; she was a formidable warrior, better even than some of Galbatorixs' elite and she had fought in both major battles that he and Saphira had fought in as well. Then his thoughts turned to Birgit: Birgit would quite happily try to take on the whole of Galbatorixs' army by herself, and there was no doubt about her fighting ideas; also, Eragon knew that, despite the hundreds of thousands that would march on the Empire, they still paled in comparison to the Empire. That meant that, even if they did win, there would be much work to do and not all of it man's work. "Yes, Nasuada, you are right and I agree."

She smiled. "If truth be told, Eragon, I can not go against you , whether I would or not."

Ah, my Lady, but I would not go against you."

"I am glad to hear that, Eragon." she said softly. "But there is something you should know ..."

"I am going with the army." Someone said from behind him; he spun quickly. Katrina's copper hair was tied back underneath a large kerchief; she was wearing tough trousers and a large, cotton man's shirt.

"What?" said Eragon, shocked.

"I am going with Nasuada." she said firmly. "They need nurses."

Eragon looked at her. She was a very imposing figure, stern and quiet. He did not want her to endanger herself, but then, they were all in danger; it was up to her how she would spend her life. "Have you told Roran?" he asked her.

She relaxed slightly at his response. "I have not; we have been busy ..." she smiled brightly, "Elaine has had girl! And she is the sweetest thing, Eragon!"

"I'm glad," he said lightly, "have they named her?"

She nodded. "Her name is Netta – you know, after the winter flower."

"It's beautiful." The Netta flower was a small, white flower that grew on the lower slopes on the Anora Falls, and flowered in winter.

"So is the child; come and see her." Katrina beckoned to Eragon, who looked at Nasuada for permission to be dismissed.

"Oh, by all means, go Eragon, give my blessings to her family." Nasuada turned her attention back to the sheep, who were now being tied to a wagon.

Eragon thanked her and followed Katrina to where Roran, Horst, Baldor and Elaine were standing, talking seriously. As he and Katrina approached, they stopped and looked around.

"Eragon?" said Elaine, staring at him.

"Hello Elaine. How are you?"

She smiled happily. "Thanks to Angela, we are both fine, Netta and me."

"Angela?" said Eragon. "Oh, yes, I expect she helped a great deal."

Roran looked at Eragon. "Are you to travel with Carvahall?"

Eragon sobered. "I don't know. I think that I will stay near Nasuada, as assassins could be everywhere. But I will find out. And by the way ... Eragon a group of dwarves has arrived to see you. They say they need to see you."

Eragon was very surprised. "Dwarves? Do you know their clan?"

"No," he replied, "I know nearly nothing of the clans. But they talk about a debt of honour."

He was puzzled. "Where are they?"

"With Orrin's cavalry, but wait Eragon," Roran hurried to his brothers' side. "Will you bless the child? It would mean so much to Horst and Elaine."

Eragon stopped short. "I don't know, Roran," he said, "remember Elva?"

"I do, but you must do as you see fit. I, however, think you would not make the same mistake twice."

Eragon stood undecided, then sighed. "I will not refuse Horst; I owe a lot of things, even my life, on their family."

Thank-you Eragon," said Roran solemnly. They went back to where the small girl was huddled in a blanket and Roran nodded to Horst. Horst flushed and bowed slightly.

"It would mean a lot to us, Eragon, if you would bless our child."

"I will, Horst. Where is she?" Elaine brought forward the bundle of blankets and, nestled in the fleece, was a tiny, new-born face, black tufty hair and red mouth. Her eyes were closed but, as if sensing Eragon's gaze, she opened the tiny lids to show deep, chocolate - brown eyes that were like her mother's. He smiled. "She is very beautiful. Atra esterni ono thelduin, un atra mor'ranr lífa unin hjarta onr" Eragon looked up to Netta's parents. They were watching as if scared. A man shouted above the noise, "Shadeslayer!" and Eragon turned away to find the source of the voice, leaving Horst and Elaine with their daughter.

A tall, wiry man Eragon vaguely recognised as one of the Royal Bodyguard of Surda was forcing his way through the thronging man and animals. "Shadeslayer!" he shouted again.

"What can I do for you?" Eragon said, as soon as they were near enough to talk without having to shout.

"I am Hadarn . I have a message from King Orrin. He wishes you to know that a delegation of dwarves of Ragni Hefthyn bearing Undins's seal have arrived. They are asking for you; quite vigorously, I must say." Hadarn found this amusing and grinned, as if all this was really below him. "Wagging their beards and all." To him, dwarves were obviously not as clever as humans.

Eragon looked him in the eyes. The man visibly recoiled; Eragon's eyes were as cold as ice. "What do they want?"

"Got their debt to you, that what they're saying. I – er – am supposed to take you to them." All the bounce had gone out of his voice. He looked positively terrified at the thought of accompanying Eragon to his destination.

"Where are they?"

"The watering yard, Shadeslayer." He eyed Eragon nervously. Eragon was astounded at the way one simple look had reduced this man to wincing nerves.

"I know where it is. I can go myself." Eragon did not let his voice warm at all.

Hadarn looked immensely relieved, but protested feebly anyway. Eragon waved away his stammered protests. "You may leave. Tell King Orrin that I am meeting the dwarves now."

Hadarn left with barely contained relief. "M' Lord Shadeslayer." he muttered, before turning and getting lost immediately in the seething crowds again. Eragon watched him go, amused but angry at the way he had seemed to think of the dwarves as a joke.

"Pretentious lard-barrel." said someone behind him. Fisk's spiky brown hair boobed into vie to stand next to Eragon. "Had to work with him to supply weapons. He seems to think that all manners of life forms that are not Surdans and therefore less clever. I had difficulty keeping the swords I was handing out from his throat, I tell you."

Eragon grinned in appreciation of both Fisk's description of Hadarn and frank way of speaking; it was something Eragon sorely missed. Even the people he had grown up with were careful and reserved around him. "I couldn't agree more, Fisk. Roran is over by the covered wagons. Would you excuse me?"

Fisk grinned; he was clearly not in such tongue-tied awe of Eragon's new status. "Of course. Going to say goodbye to a lady friend?"

Eragon would have surprised Hadarn by his loss of self-control. "What?"

Fisk chuckled happily. "You should hear the tales they tell 'round the campfires about you, young Eragon." Eragon was still completely at sea. Fisk saw, and carried on. "They say you have a fairy-wife from the elves." Fisk nodded happily at that rumour; a page from Tronjheim had told him that one.

"I don't ... what? Who told you this?" he cried.

"Well ..." Fisk looked surprised at his vehemence against this. "They are just rumours, Eragon, just rumours ... but is there really no truth in them?"

Eragon felt a painful pang in his heart. If only they were true, or at least partially. If only Arya had answered differently on that starry night. "No Fisk, not an ounce of truth in them," he said firmly. "If you will excuse me, I must go." Fisk muttered goodbye and Eragon went in search of the watering yard.

--

The watering yard was built of worn yellow sandstone and was, compared to the rest of Aberon, quiet. A few stable-lads ran to and fro, carrying saddles rather larger than themselves and the odd squire carried armour from place to place, but overall, it was peaceful; Eragon liked it.

"Barzul knular! Az Hrethcarach shaz emuir! Rwy – what do you mean, boy?"

Eragon recognised that voice, and could understand most of what it said as well; evidently they were annoyed at the delay in the Shadeslayer's arrival. He let his face settle into an unemotional mask and walked to where a large well stood, with a company of perhaps half-a-dozen and a scared looking squire were sheltering in the shade.

"What is wrong here?"

The short forms leapt to their feet with grunts of surprise. "Werg! Barzul! Shadeslayer!" They cried in surprise.

"Good day, Thorv," said Eragon calmly. "What brings you and your kinsmen to Surda?"

"We have come to keep our honour-debt." Thorv gestured to the young squire, who disappeared into the stables with distinct relief. "As we promised, he is fat and sleek." The dwarf returned from the stables, leading, on a gold inlaid harness –

"Snowfire!" cried Eragon. He stroked the white stallions nose and neck, feeling muscles rippling beneath the surface of his satin skin. "It is good to see you again, old fiend," Eragon murmured. The stallion was less overcome. He snorted into Eragons hand, checking for treats, and nickering.

"He is to you're liking?" asked Thorv tentatively.

"He is indeed!" replied Eragon happily. "I am indebted to you."

Thorv bobbed his head. "We did nought but keep out promise. We would, however, ask that you grant us a boon."

Grant it, Eragon. Said Saphira immediately. They guarded you all the way to Ellesmera, which a perilous trip; they have kept that animal you call a horse – Saphira sent deep disapproval through their link – and seem to have done it well. Grant the boon, little one, it is the least we can do.

Eragon snorted. It might turn out to be something rather large, but you are right; and I had every intention of granting it.

Good.

"Saphira and I will grant your boon," he said to the waiting dwarves. "What be it?"

"That you would do us the honour of allowing us to accompany you in the invasion and to fight by your side in battle. It would be an incomparable honour, Shadeslayer."

Eragon blinked. It was an unusual request, but he should have expected it, after knowing Orik for so long. "and it would be an honour to have you all fighting beside as well." The dwarves nodded in appreciation, beards moving as they smiled gruffly. "There is a large company of wagons housing Nasuada and the Royal household of Surda in the lowest part of the city ... You should find it easily; find Nasuada and tell her that I have given you permission to travel with us. She will let you."

Thank-you Shadeslayer," said Thorv, bowing deeply, while the others murmured their thanks as well. They left, heavy haversacks over their shoulders.

Snowfire snorted, watching the ones who had tended to him for so long leave. Eragon turned to the stallion. He was indeed as healthy as it was possible for an animal to be without being fat; his muscles rippled beneath his smooth coat, and, as Eragon saw in shock, the harness he was wearing was not the leather one that they had bought in Therinsford, but a new one. It was made of thick leather hidden beneath silver patterns. The metal seemed to mould into the leather as if it had been directly melted over the bridle. A martingale connected the bridle to the saddle, which was also not the one purchased with the horse. It was covered with a silver cloth that shimmered and moved softly in the light, but Eragon could tell that it would not move, even in the thick of battle; Eragon knew, and thought shocked him, that here was something that no other man in all of Alagaesia could claim to have – but Snowfire himself was a gift Eragon had not dreamed of ever having.

"Ah, Brom would be proud of you, Snowfire," Eragon told his horse, taking the reins and leading him to a free stable. He took off the tack, carefully putting it aside. He would ask Nasuada to dispatch a squire to take care of him.

Snowfire soon had his head in a feeding bucket and was happily munching away at some mash, while Eragon watched him, quietly reflecting that it was much easier to take care of a horse when there was a stable available. From the city, shouts, animals noises and other various sounds, jerked him into action again. Patting Snowfire one last time, he went in search of Roran.

--

"For – ward!" Roared the brawny man standing at the front of the huge train of people. All the wagons slowly creaked into motion, oxen, horses and mules pulling at the harnesses. The many people walking by the side of the wagons moved forward, leading other animals, such as cows and sheep on tethers. Chickens and geese were in wire boxes tied onto the wagons underneath wooden shelters to keep them safe from the weather.

Inside the wagons, armour, clothes, medical supplies and huge stocks of food were piled up and stacked neatly, while bows, swords and knives were arrayed on hooks in the wood, watched over by the ever-vigilant Fisk. Horsts' wagon rolled along nearby, his two strong plough-horses pulling it as effortlessly as munching on a nosebag.

Seventy or so Kull walked in pairs on all sides of the caravan, weapons bristling; they were taking in their guttural tongue, singing war-songs and seemed to be glad, once more, to be nearing a battle. Strangely, this feeling was echoed in every man and woman that was with the caravan. They were glad to be on the move, to be finally doing something to challenge the King in a way even he could not deny. They all knew how dire the situation was and were determined to do their best for their leaders, to die bravely.

As the company passed through the streets of Aberon, all the inhabitants gathered ion the roads to wave farewell. Mothers cried as their sons and daughters went to war; siblings stared at their brothers and sisters marching with the army. Families wept, wives searching for a sight of their husbands of many years. It was a terrible sight, and all knew that there were little chances of any of them returning to see their loved ones again.

But there were, like Roran and Katrina, many couples who were both brave and loving, and had set out together to fight Galbatorix. As it was, nearly seventy women were travelling and all seventy could fight, though their first job would be to act as healers.

Nasuada and Orrin were in the very centre of the company, both having been guarded by numerous wards, some from the elven spellcasters, some from Eragon, and, unique in their nature, some of Arya's. Yellow and black flags flew, fluttering from the saddles of the King's cavalry. Purple pennants flew over the company as well, the white dragon on them moved in sinuous waves, and seemed, for moments, to be flying free again.

A sapphire blue dragon circled above them, eyes turned towards where she knew Surda finished and the Empire started. An elf was leaning over her saddle, watching the wagons and people slowly make their way through Aberon city. His hair flew in the breeze, but when his face turned to the Empire, it was a cold, hard mask; had anyone seen it, they would have doubted either dragon or Rider.

A proud horn-call sounded, echoing off the sandy cliffs and tilled fields of Surda.

The Varden was marching.

--