Nasuada's face fell when Eragon relayed the new information. After speaking with Saphira, Eragon and Arya ran straight to Nasuada to tell her what they had found. Angela was already there with a small mug of steaming liquid. It looked normal except the liquid glowed bright yellow, like bottled sunshine. Eragon lifted an inquiring eyebrow but Angela shook her head, declining to comment. Instead, she took a swig and muttered, "Orrin…the fool. I always thought that pompous Urgal's backside was no good."
Eragon watched Nasuada closely. He knew she and Orrin had worked closely together during the War and she was the most likely to take the news badly.
"Could Orrin have been a captive?" Nasuada asked.
Eragon shook his head, giving her his best "I'm sorry" look. "No. Orrin was riding right behind the two Grey Folk, flying his colors and dressed for war. It looked like his full cavalry was with him. The full force numbers close to thirty thousand."
Nasuada shook her head and lowered her eyes. Beside her, Murtagh placed a protective arm around her shoulders. Eragon was curious when they had gotten so close but now was not the time to discuss that.
"As upsetting as this is, it doesn't change anything. Our warriors are in place and we will face any who threaten us." Nasuada said in a regal voice. "Eragon, Arya, Murtagh and Angela will fight Arngeir and we will face Tharos and Orrin's warriors."
"Blodhgarm and the elves will fight with you, Nasuada. You will most likely have need of their skill in gramarye before all is said and done." Arya pointed out.
"Their skill will be most welcome. Your tasks are set and we all have preparations to make. I will have hot water and fresh clothes brought to the dragonhold for all of you. We will be ready to go three hours before dawn tomorrow. If I don't see you; good luck and the Gods be with you." Nasuada said. She grabbed Murtagh's hand in hers and, standing on her tiptoes, placed her forehead to his. "Fight well and come back to me." She whispered.
"Be safe." He whispered back. Nasuada disappeared around the corner while Murtagh watched her leave.
"We should get to the dragon hold. They will be back soon." Eragon suggested.
"Aye." Murtagh said. "I can't wait to sink Zar'roc into the necks of those cowards."
"There will be plenty of neck-hewing to go around," Eragon jested. "We'll get them, brother."
"I know we will. I'll be in the dragonhold." Murtagh clapped Eragon on the shoulder, nodded to Arya and left the room.
"We should go too. All of our gear is still in the saddlebags." Arya said.
"Yes, my Queen." Eragon said with a smile. Arya threw him a look and he put his hands up defensively. "Just trying to ease the tension."
Arya grabbed his hand and pulled him along, starting the long journey to the dragonhold. They stuck to the shadows as much as possible so they could proceed without being accosted by people seeking favors or blessings. They ascended levels slowly but steadily, catching glimpses of the sunset through various windows. Once on the uppermost levels, the halls and rooms became exponentially larger, large enough for a dragon several times larger than even Shruikan had been. Their footsteps were soft and light on the worn stone floors, not even producing an echo. Ahead of them, beyond a set of massive double doors, slightly ajar, that stretched from floor to ceiling, the sounds of scratching on the stone floor could be heard.
"I believe they have returned." Arya said softly. Her hand clenched his tighter.
"Arya, can I ask you something?"
They stopped walking and she looked at him curiously, "It wasn't long ago I might have said no," she replied with a smile. "Now, you can ask me anything."
"What happens next?" he said.
"I suspect you aren't talking about tomorrow." Arya said softly.
Eragon shook his head, holding her gaze. It was something he had been thinking about for a while but he kept putting it off, not wanting to rock the boat or make her angry. Now, in light of their quickly deteriorating situation, he couldn't put it off any longer. In case he, or she, didn't make it through the next 24 hours he wanted, needed, to know.
"Why do we need to figure it out now?" Arya asked. "Why can't we just let it be and figure it out as we go?"
"I all the time I have known you, I have never seen you 'just let it be'. You have a meticulous plan for everything."
"In this instance I don't." She said defensively.
"Why? Isn't this something we should figure out?"
"Because I'm afraid, alright?" she yelled, her voice echoing in the cavernous room.
Eragon was taken aback. He had never seen her afraid of anything. "Why are you afraid?"
Arya's eyes moved back and forth, as if looking for an answer in his own eyes. "We both know our social and political situations make this union tenuous at best, not to mention we now technically live on different continents. We just found each other." She cupped his cheek, her eyes mournful. "I'm terrified that if we talk about this relationship then we won't have a relationship anymore. Why can't we just enjoy being together while we can and figure out the really difficult stuff later?"
Eragon placed his own hand over hers, which was still on his cheek. "I once told you that my feelings for you would never change. That was the truth, even more-so now than it was then. I love you, Arya. There isn't anything we can't figure out together. It is going to take a lot more than an uncomfortable situation to scare me away from you. We can wait to define the relationship if you want but, as far as I'm concerned, I'm with you, now and forever."
"And I you." She said. Tears leaked out of the corner of her eyes and she smiled, her teeth bright in the gloom. Their lips met and Eragon's heart skipped a beat. Despite not finding a resolution to his question, he still felt like they had taken a step in the right direction. No matter what it took, he would do anything to make sure they could be together.
What about Du Deloi Dramr? We have an obligation to the elves there and the future of the Riders, Saphira said.
We can figure it out.
For your sake, and for Arya's, I hope so. I kind of like her, Saphira said.
I kind of like her, too.
After washing and changing clothes, the deep of night had passes and early morning was fast approaching. Below, Eragon could see signal fires from patrols along the wall as well as small congregations of warriors in the streets, preparing themselves for battle. Deciding it was time, Eragon began strapping on his armor. They weren't certain when Arngeir's self-imposed peace treaty would end and they all needed to be ready at a moment's notice. His chain mail tunic clinked as it fell over his shoulders. Around his waist, he belted on Brisingr, tucking his hunting knife into the back. Across from him, next to Thorn, Murtagh was doing the same.
"Remember the last time we prepared for a battle together?" Eragon asked.
"Aye. Farthen Dur. At least we aren't burrowed underground like rodents this time. If I'm going to die, I'd much rather be outside."
"How are you feeling?" Eragon asked. Since Murtagh was brought out of his enchanted stupor, they hadn't discussed his present state of mind.
"You mean do I feel another spell coming on?" Murtagh asked, a wry smile pulling at his lips.
"No, I mean how are you doing with all that has happened? Don't think I didn't notice the parallels between how events played out with Galbatorix and the events of the last few months. Are you alright?"
Murtagh scoffed, securing his bow to the quiver slung across his back while Eragon did the same. "I'm doing as well as can be expected. I'm used to it by now, you know? Being used or coerced into doing something I didn't want to do."
An uncomfortable pause made Eragon want to change the topic but he couldn't think of anything to change it to.
"Nothing ever changes." Murtagh said abruptly.
"Pardon?"
"A lesson I learned the hard way growing up in Uru'baen. Nothing ever changes. Things have a way of giving the illusion of change but, underneath it all, it remains the same. For a moment there, I thought that, just maybe, I was wrong but then Arngeir came along and proved me right." Murtagh kicked a bag on the floor and spilled its contents, sending them rolling and clanging across the stone.
"It isn't fair," Eragon said, "not even a little. You've dealt with things better than I ever could have."
"Don't patronize me, Eragon. You think I don't know that, if but for some small twist of fate, our roles might have been reversed?"
"You're right, I'm sorry. I didn't mean it like that." Eragon said in a placating tone. "I just…I want you to be ok. I can't imagine what you are going through but I want you to know that, if ever you need anything, I'm here."
Eragon gathered the last of his gear, placed his steel helm, complete with the Durgrimst Ingeitum seal, and turned to leave, giving Saphira a soft scratch under her jaw.
"Eragon?" Murtagh asked
Eragon turned to look at him.
"I'm sorry. I'm not use to people looking out for me, you know? I know you are only trying to help. Thank you. Really."
"Anytime." Eragon gave him a smile and exited the dragonhold, going to look for Arya.
He walked down several small hallways and, not entirely certain where he was, took the first side doorway he could find. Stunned, he found himself in the large throne room where, less than a year before, he faced off against Galbatorix and Shruikan. While the wall had been repaired, the inside remained untouched. The floor under his feet was still scorched jet black from the explosion induced by Galbatorix. Three of the monstrous support columns had been broken. While the rubble had been cleared, the bottom of the columns looked like chipped molars from the jaw of some as of yet undiscovered colossus, a fossil of what once was and may never be again.
"Amazing how some things never change, isn't it?"
Angela materialized out of the shadows. She was dressed in her green flanged armor and the huthvir she fought with was slung across her back. In her right hand was the goblet with the glowing yellow liquid.
"Funnily enough, I was just discussing this very same phenomena with Murtagh. Where is Solembum?"
"He went on a quest, so to speak. He'll be back."
"When?"
"Soon." Angela said, refusing to elaborate.
"Fair enough." Eragon pointed to the goblet. "Will you tell me what that is now?"
"Oh, since we are alone I suppose I can. This is a concoction I invented to restore energy and stamina. After the last few days, I figured we could all use some. It smells like the thing you love most in the world and is tasteless until it touches your tongue. Once you taste it, it becomes flavored based on your personal preferences. For me, it tastes like marglodn haust, or golden autumn. It's an herb that grows only in Du Weldenvarden and only in autumn. Not the most creative name but I digress. The most pleasant tasting herb I have ever encountered."
She proffered the goblet to him and he took it. Tentatively, he lifted to his lips. It smelled like pine needles and it made him smile involuntarily. He took a breath, prayed to no one in particular that it wouldn't kill him, and drank. It was an odd sensation at first, flavorless and cold. As the liquid spread over his tongue and he prepared to swallow, it was almost as if he had taken a bite of one of those cherry pies the traders used to sell when they traveled through Carvahall. Sweet, hot and tangy. Immediately, a feeling of well-being enveloped him, starting from his throat and esophagus and spreading outward, like probing electric fingers.
"Nice, isn't it?"
"You can say that again."
"Your right I could but I won't. Anyway, go easy on that. A little goes a long way and a lot could, and probably would, kill you."
Eragon handed it back to her, shaking his head as what felt like spasms rocked his spine.
"Don't worry. That will stop. This is the best thing for when you are weary and need energy for a fight or anything else really. Also for a hangover but mostly the emergency energy thing."
Eragon chuckled. "You ready?"
"As ready as I'll ever be. I should have killed Arngeir all those years ago. I've never been more ready to rectify a mistake."
"Hear, hear." Said Murtagh, who came out of the doorway behind Eragon, followed by Arya.
Angela made the same offer of the goblet to Murtagh and Arya who each thanked her and took a sip.
"Do you think we are ready for whatever Arngeir has to throw at us?" Murtagh asked.
"I'd say we'll get the answer to that in a few hours."
A sobering silence settled on them until Murtagh asked, "So I may have missed this but what is the plan exactly?"
They all looked to Eragon.
"Well, it looks like our warriors will be outnumbered on the ground and, if Orrin's cavalry have anything to do with it, outclassed. I think one of us should fight with them, utilizing Du Vrangr Gata for wards and healing where applicable."
"I'll do that," Murtagh said.
"What about you wanting to get revenge on Arngeir and the Grey Folk?" Arya asked.
"I missed a lot while I was here in Ilirea and while I was under that enchantment. I would only be a liability fighting them. I think I should go where I can do the most good and that is fighting, next to Thorn, with our men."
"Very well, I'm sure Nasuada won't object to you leading the charge on the ground. I'll instruct Du Vrangr Gata to report directly to you. I recommend making Trianna your lieutenant. She is indispensable when it matters."
"I'll go make the arrangements with Nasuada and Trianna. If I don't see you again before this starts. Fight well."
Eragon gave him a hug. "Gods watch over you, brother."
Once Murtagh left, Angela asked, "And what of us?"
"We will do what we do best."
"And that is?" asked Arya.
"Make the bad guys pay." Eragon deadpanned.
"Witty and intense, not a trace of a smile. I have never been more proud, Eragon. I think my presence has been a good influence on you. My work here is done!" Angela grinned.
Arya grabbed Eragon's hand. "Now I guess it's up to me to fix him."
Angela howled with laughter. "You two are perfect together. I told Solembum that you would end up together but he didn't believe me. Life lesson for you both: never trust a werecat who doesn't believe in a happy ending."
"But happy endings don't always occur. We just got lucky." Arya said.
"Ah, have you ever wondered why the happy endings that don't play out failed? It's because it isn't easy. It doesn't just come down to luck. That's why it's called a "happy" ending, not an "easy" ending. Even the happy ones need to work for it. And I can't think of two people…well, two people in this room… who have worked harder to be happy than you two."
"I really hope we all live through this. I can't imagine life here without you, Angela." Arya said through bouts of laughter.
"Nor can I."
At that moment, a war horn sounded followed by peals of cries from far away. The battle had begun.
Arngeir stood out in the open field, arms outstretched and eyes closed, looking to the heavens. He was perfectly still, knee deep in the snow but neither the cold nor the biting wind disturbed him. A wide swath had been left empty, not at his request but mostly because the other's feared to disturb him.
Orrin and Tharos stood side by side, watching the mysterious man they had only met once before.
"It's almost time. Should we tell him?" Tharos asked.
King Orrin grinned, "That man is by far the scariest thing I have ever seen, and I don't scare easily. When he visited me in Borromeo Castle, he literally appeared out of thin air. My guards neither saw nor heard him enter, or exit, and all door remained locked. Why do you think I'm here?"
"He didn't have to try too hard with me," Tharos said, the plume on his helm rippling in the breeze. "I was itching for a chance to get payback. I hope I find Roran Stronghammer out there. I have an unsettled debt with that man."
"I'm sure you'll get your chance. I've been promised plenty in return for my part here today. Should Roran survive, maybe I get him and you in a locked room for a few minutes."
"I'd gladly pay any price for that. My thanks, Your Majesty." Tharos said.
"Don't be promising things that aren't yours to promise, my friends." Arngeir's voice seemed to slither between them and hung on the air long after they should have faded away, like a serpent sliding through the grass. His scarred face was especially grotesque, his milky eye appearing to shine in the dark.
Neither Orrin nor Tharos said anything.
"I can give you anything you may desire. Tharos, my friend. You want Roran Stronghammer? I can give you that. By the end of tomorrow, your blade will be red with his blood."
Arngeir grinned and turned to Orrin. "Are your men ready?"
"Yes. My cavalry rides with me and my foot soldiers have joined Tharos' ranks. On your orders, of course."
"Excellent." Arngeir looked again to the sky. From behind him, nearly two dozen cloaked, hooded figures approached, seeming to materialize out of the glooms like identical specters. Seeming to forget that Orrin and Tharos were even present, Arngeir turned and began speaking.
"Brothers. Sisters. The time for reckoning has come. Sadly, we have lost one of our own in the botched capture of the marked ones. In his honor, we now commence the climax of our plans; the final battle. By the end of tomorrow, we shall have our vengeance. Come now. You all have your orders. The five I have selected may stay here with me. To the rest of you, fight well and remember; no quarter is to be given."
His followers melted back into the gloom as if they had never even been there. Arngeir smiled wickedly and turned back to Orrin and Tharos. "That goes for you, too. Several of my brethren will join your ranks. You are to do as they say, when they say it, without question. If you do not, or you resist in any way, they are under strict orders to kill you, understood?"
Tharos nodded. Orrin scoffed indignantly. "How dare you speak to me like that? Without me and my men you would be in a bad way."
"Shall I begin this battle by killing you, Orrin? You are right, I do need your men. However, I do not need you. They will follow me without you, I guarantee it. Do you care to test me?"
Orrin gulped and relented. "No, of course not, old chap. I…I'll give the order to follow your orders above all others."
Arngeir smiled disarmingly, which was an incredible achievement in of itself given his mangled features. "Perfect. Stick with me, Orrin, and all you ever wished for will be yours. I promise."
Orrin and Tharos left Arngeir then, grateful for being able to walk away alive.
Arngeir laughed to himself. It was so easy, too easy, to tell people what they wanted to hear to get what he wanted. Manipulation had always come easy to him, even from a young age. Not that he remembered all that much from his childhood. When you are thousands of years old, time seems to blend together in an indecipherable blob. You no longer have distinct memories of a specific time, your memories become grouped into bunches of years. Over the millennia, memories of his childhood had faded and had been replaced by an unexplained anger. He couldn't remember when the anger started exactly but, given how events in Angela's palace played out, it had to be her fault.
Angela…despite her decision to join the others, he still harbored strong feelings for her. She was his first love and, no matter how old you get, you never forget your first love. Which made her betrayal all the more painful.
Not too far away, a horn sounded. Arngeir returned his eyes to the sky and saw the beginning of the sunrise. Another horn sounded followed by the warcries. Less than two minutes later, a horn winded from within Ilirea, faint but unmistakable.
The time had come.