A.N. This one is a good length. Enjoy it and don't forget to tell me what you think!
And this chapter is dedicated to orthodoxyordeath for having the two hundredth review. Your feedback and dedication are greatly appreciated. This one is for you.
His boots hit the smooth stone floor, sending echoing thuds resounding through the endless tulles he knew spread before him. Slowly advancing into the darkness, Eragon knew that his eyes would not adjust to the light as there was none. His surroundings were black as pitch and he walked with his right hand trailing along the cool, smooth walls. Far enough into the caves that a light would not reach beyond the cave, Eragon whispered a brief word in the ancient language and a small light flickered on his palm. It lasted only the briefest instant before sputtering out like a candle doused in water.
Eragon swore quietly under his breath. Any advantage he could have possibly had in theses caverns was lost. He knew neither what direction he went nor what lay ahead. But there was nothing else to do but continue on.
Behind him lay the king and his slavery whether he was in Uru'baen or with the Varden. No, he needed to press on. Ahead lay the unknown and a faint hope. Behind, all hope had been lost. Taking a deep breath, Eragon pressed forward, following the widest path in the hope that it would lead him right.
A sudden gust of hot air from the depths of the cavern gusted past him, plastering his cloak against him. As it moved through the caverns, a low whistle sounded from all directions. Eragon shook of the tension in his shoulders and rubbed his arms to rid himself of goose bumps which had sprung up. The Caverns of the Wind were known for that eerie whistle. Then it stopped, as suddenly as it had begun and Eragon continued, shaking his head. He would not let wind, no matter from where it came, frighten him.
Still shaken, he moved on. For miles the tunnel went on, sloping gently downward into the earth. Slowly, the temperature was rising, but Eragon ignored it. There were more important things.
Soon, as he walked, his ears strained to pick up the echo of a noise still far in the distance. Echoing through the caverns was a woman's voice, rising and falling in graceful cadence, carrying through the tunnels. He frowned; no one would be down here. There was no food and he had not heard nor felt water.
Still, when he reached a fork in the tunnel, each side of equal width, Eragon angled toward the woman's voice. As he closed the distance, the notes became louder, changing from a mysterious and beautiful melody to words. Eragon listened closely, but the words were foreign to his ear, sung in some unknown language.
Though the words were incomprehensible, the message in her voice was clear, a song of great sadness, but at the same time, pure joy, mixed together in a way Eragon knew he would never later be able to describe to anyone who had not heard it themselves. It was close, Eragon could tell. He wanted to speak with the woman, to ask her name. The curiosity drawing him nearer and nearer mounted. But then, when he knew he was only several paces from the woman, her voice cut off mid note.
A cold presence from the direction of the woman passed over him, leaving his muscles shaking and his mind in shock. The sudden absence of the voice and the cool presence that he touched him left Eragon trembling and dizzy, leaning against the wall to support himself. There was not silence though, he came to realize as he settled but a faint rustle, almost to quiet to pick up even with his elven hearing.
He returned to walking, feeling his magic stir within him. He must be near. A shadow brushed by him, trailing his arm with a cool, ephemeral touch. The presence of a shadow where there was no light both frightened and fascinated Eragon and he tried to focus his eyes on it, but realized that it seemed almost as if it was darker than the black surrounding them, a void that should not be there.
It whispered quietly, words of regret and of longing, but in the same haunting language the woman had been singing in. Then it was gone, seemingly pulled down the tunnel. Eragon followed slowly, warily as he did not know what manner of creatures these were that haunted the caverns.
A small faint glow caught Eragon's eye as he walked towards the rustle he had heard before and the direction the shadow had gone. He walked toward it and then bent to pick up a small and sharp piece of stone that was glowing faintly with a greenish light. How long had it been since he had seen light? Hours at least. He was hungry, but Eragon did not want to break for a meal in the dark, unknown he was traveling. The small rock did not cast light enough to see, but Eragon slipped it into his pocket anyway.
The rustling was growing steadily louder and Eragon recognized the sound finally. It was the sound of rushing water over rock, gurgling softly as it crossed the shallows.
A green-blue glow, the same as the small chip of stone he had found came from a way in the distance. Eragon did not even hesitate at the crossroad by the river, heading toward the water and the glow. Without thought, Eragon forged his way into the river, only to wince terribly when he did. The water was hot, nearly boiling, and salty. As it soaked his bruised skin and open cuts, it stung as if they were newly inflicted. Gritting his teeth, Eragon waded until his foot struck solid land. His feet slid across the slippery wet stone, but as he took a few more steps, it became dry and he regained sturdy footing.
The glowing cavern only lay feet away, and Eragon stepped through, into the strange light. A massive cavern opened before him, lit by the light of a massive pillar of stone. At the base, the glowing obelisk was the width of Saphira when she curled into a ball. As it reached up, perhaps fifty feet to reach the domed ceiling, it tapered slightly. The colossal rock pulsed with waves of blue and green light as if it were living.
Awed, Eragon approached. He could feel the raw magical energy coming off the obelisk, hitting him in waves, drawing him neared. It was almost within reach and Eragon stretched his hand to touch it, even lightly.
A form suddenly materialized before him. A transparent hand struck him in the chest sending him to the ground. Eragon winced and then backed away, trying to get to his feet. A tall figure, pale and translucent, about ten feet high, and the general shape of a man gazed down at him through a gray haze that surrounded him.
Eragon knelt, knowing that if he fought this… thing, it would surely kill him. The sheer magical energy of the thing was overwhelming. Even as he knelt, more of the beings appeared around him. Eragon raised his face. The first bent down as if examining Eragon and then straightened.
His voice, clear but with a strange lilt, suddenly spoke to Eragon.
"You dare intrude upon our most sacred domain?"
Arya's eyes opened, but she did not move from her bed, content to lie under the warm covers, savoring the heat until she knew she would have to rise and go out into the cold winter air.
Wyrda was already awake, his voice intruded upon her peace. Lazy elf.
She groaned, rolling over. It was too early to get up and she was not awake enough yet to deal with her dragon. Leave me alone, Wyrda. Go back to sleep.
She felt him snort through the link. Do you realize what time it is? He asked amusedly, projecting an image of the sun, well over the horizon.
Arya sighed, sitting up and dragging her blanket around her shoulders. She yawned again and stretched. It was late, but it had felt good.
Oh, and someone is here to see you.
Who? Arya asked, getting ready. Did you keep them waiting long because of me?
You haven't been sleeping well lately. You need your rest.
Wyrda. She said, her patience slipping. Sometimes he was still like a hatchling. Who is there?
A werecat.
"Barzul." Arya swore, dressing hurriedly and braiding her hair with deft fingers to keep it from her eyes. She shook her head at her dragon. Fool lizard, keeping a werecat waiting so she could sleep in. In a few minutes, Arya pulled on her boots and opened the door.
Waiting there and pacing quietly was the queen of the werecats. Arya cursed at Wyrda in her head, ignoring the startled protests as the dragon heard her. She nodded politely to the queen.
"I apologize, your majesty, my dragon did not find it appropriate to wake me and alert me of a visitor." She glared at Wyrda until he lowered his hear.
Wyrda nudged her arm lightly, guilt and slight confusion coming to her. I'm sorry. He said, whining slightly.
Arya sighed again and curtailed her anger. She could not remain angry at her dragon, especially when he apologized and looked at her like that. She turned to him. It is fine, Wyrda. Next time though, if I have a visitor, wake me up. He bobbed his head.
The queen was watching them in the form of a cat. I take no offense. You had no way of knowing I was here and your dragon meant no harm. But I come with a topic of serious nature. She paused to lick some snow from her paw. Arya shook her head at her dragon's amusement. Teasing Alia was one thing, but he ought to leave the queen alone.
She raised her head. As Alia alerted me of you awareness, I know you are aware that I have named you friend of the werecats. I now ask you aid gravely. The kit that you watched over has fallen ill and our healers can do nothing for it.
Arya woke up completely. Little Hali was that ill? "I'll see what I can do." Arya glanced at her dragon and consulted him briefly. "Wyrda gives consent to bear you to your people with me."
She flicked her tail, looking at the dragon. An honor.
Arya mounted her dragon and waited for the werecat to leap onto Wyrda's back before she asked him to take off. After a smooth flight and landing, of which Arya was thankful, they dismounted. Arya followed the queen, ignoring the often curious, often evaluating stared of the other werecats. Some she recognized from the group that her and Saphira had saved, but most were unknown to her.
They arrived at a small tent which was far to short for Arya to enter, but as the queen looked at it, it enlarged, becoming elf sized. She entered and found two werecats crouched beside a basket with the tiny kitten within.
Looking first for permission, Arya lifted her out. She mewled pitifully and Arya felt a pang of pity for the infant. All she had known were pain and suffering. Arya examined the kitten with gentle probes of magic and frowned.
"I fear this is beyond what I feel comfortable fixing in one as young and weak as she with magic." The queen's head shot up. Arya cradled the kitten against her chest, keeping her warm. "I do however, know of one who may be able to help though I do not know if you would approve."
"Speak. Who is it?"
Arya met her eyes. "Angela."
The werecat's fur rose on end and she hissed angrily. That one! She will not touch any child of ours. Her and that traitor Solembum will keep well away.
Arya tried gently to reason with the infuriated cat. "I know not what she did, but this kitten is dying and it is beyond my abilities. You may forget your grudge with the herbalist, or let Hali die."
The queen glared at her and then her eyes fell on the kit. Bring her to the herbalist. But do not allow the king to know.
Arya felt the pit she was stepping into. "May I ask what her and the werecat Solembum did to earn this?" She asked, trying to get a feel for how deep the waters were.
The queen sat back on her haunches, hissing slightly. Solembum was prince of the werecats. He and that herbalist tried to overthrow my mate and take the throne from him for Solembum. He is a traitor and she is despicable. The queen spat before refusing to speak more.
"I will not allow the kitten out of my sight while Angela is with her. You will not have to worry."
Thank you. If you can help her, we owe you a great debt, even greater than before.
Arya went to her dragon, cradling the kitten against her as they flew toward the herbalist's quarters. Arya trusted Angela, the herbalist had saved her life. Besides, the event must have taken place long ago, for Angela was connected with the Varden a long ways back. But still, she would be careful. She looked at the tiny life in her hands and hoped she was making the right decision. Arya sought out Angela in her quarters.
"You!" The king yelled, wking Murtagh from his sleep with a clout to the face. Murtagh winced as his mind was raped by the king. The king came across the memories in Murtagh's mind and hit him again. "You knew of this." He growled, his voice suddenly controlled and dangerously quiet. "What do you have to say about this?"
Murtagh sat up, wiping blood from nose from the king's blow. "You never commanded me to let you know if he tried to flee. You instructed me to watch him in case he tried to escape. You said nothing of stopping him." Murtagh said, forced to speak the truth.
"You fool." The king growled. "Why do you play this game? You can't win. You are even fighting for your enemies. They will kill you without a second thought. You are a traitor. Pathetic. Despicable. All you are doing is setting up your own death." The king hit him again, but Murtagh did not make a sound.
He looked up quietly. "You planned on letting him go anyway, master."
"Insolent boy. I had not broken him. He, unlike you, actually bears the pain. It took more than torture and the promise of power and glory to persuade him to join."
The king laughed. "I bet you never told your precious brother that, did you? How you offered to serve me when I promised you power. When I offered to stop the pain. He, Eragon resisted. I had to convince him I was torturing his dragon before he would give in. And still he did not submit. He never offered to serve me as you did. He even resisted his name." The king caught Murtagh's jaw with a fist.
"You are weak. I offered you power and you repeatedly failed me. The only reason you are alive is because I wish to posess your dragon. I let him keep his heart of hearts because you promised to serve, but if I ever see him again, you will watch as I rip him to pieces after he gives his heart to me. You will watch as your dragon is destroyed."
Murtagh bet his tongue and closed his eyes. Everything the king said was truth. Harsh. Bitter. Truth. He had not been able to tell Eragon that he had believed the king's lies about power and shared glory. He had given in to avoid the pain. And now he was paying the price.
"I did not intend for Eragon to escape yet because I had plans for him. I wanted him at my feet, groveling. And because you let him escape, his punishment will fall on your own back. You will take it for him. How does that sound?"
Murtagh was thrown to the floor. The king leered at him and then kicked him in the ribs, and Murtagh gasped as he felt them crack. Coughing, he laid still. Early on he ahd learned that strugglilg made everything worse. The king removed a whip from his belt and snapped it, causing Murtagh to flinch and tense up in anticipation.
The first strike landed solidly on his back, causing him to cry out quietly. The king raised if again and let it land on his cracked ribs, magnifying the pain of the lash. At Murtagh's pained cry, he smirked and pressed on the ribs with his boot, laughing as the man cried out in agony. After a sound lashing and more kicks, the king shook his head.
"You're disgusting. I'll be back to deal with you. I am going to go search for Eragon and you better hope I find him."
Murtagh lay on the floor, unable to move or talk for what felt like hours before the king returned. The door was kicked in. "I didn't see him." He said, slamming the door. "Is this what you wanted, Murtagh? Is it? To lie in a pool of your own blood for hours, unable to move or speak, in terrible pain?"
"Well?" He walked over. "Answer me."
"No." He croaked, wincing as pain ripped through his chest.
"I didn't think so. Come now. There is more for you. Waise hael." The injuries sealed only enough to allow Murtagh to walk. He followed, limping and wincing at every step as he was forced to match the king's gait. They entered a room.
"Yes, this is what your brother loved so much, but as you so kindly allowed him to escape, it is all yours now."
A girl was led before him and his stomach clenched. He had felt sick when Eragon told him. "Now. I want to hear her scream. Do it."
Later, Murtagh stood shaking, his blood and the girl's mixed on his hands. She had finally died. Murtagh had tears streaming down his face as the king clapped mockingly.
"How did that feel, Murtagh? Is that the kind of power you desired. She was helpless before you just as you wished."
"Bastard." Murtagh said, unable to prevent himself, the horror at what he had just done overwhelming.
"You will pay for that." Murtagh fell not a minute to the king's abuse.
Brother. His broken voice called out as his mind passed into the darkness.
I was going to do one more part with Eragon, but it is already over three thousand and I wanted to get one out today. By the way, did anyone go trick-or-treating or dress up? Happy Halloween!
P.S. Check out my other story, the story of Angela the Herbalist from her childhood onward. I know you would like it. So give it a look.
P.P.S. Don't forget to review!
