Last Chapter! Up next is Epilogue.
--
It was a few weeks later, and everyone was exhausted. Everyone, magic users or not, had been working on a fleet of massive galleons; each half the size of Galbatorix's castle. And each of the ships had taken twenty to thirty elves' full magic to create, all imbued with the sort of charms and spells so that even millennia later, Illera doubted they would deteriorate.
Each man had worked stiffly, speaking only in grunts and hoarse cries to warn against danger, the weight of destiny and fate bearing down upon them as they struggled against the warring elements.
It wasn't fair that they were being driven from their homes, not after the centuries of belonging to Alagaesia…but Illera pushed these thoughts aside. It was the only way.
Her soft leather boots made only muffled thumps as she took her time walking from one end of the flagship to another. Illera was alone; having wanted time to clear her head and say goodbye to the land she had known.
Her elbows came to rest on the wooden railing, eyes scanning the mountains smudged in the backdrop.
Illera couldn't wait to be on the move. Staying only created more attachment. They only needed the last of the Elven and Dwarven artifacts to be stored aboard the thirty ships designated for their use, and they would be off.
Breathe in, breathe out.
--
"Will the Urgals and Kull join us in the move across the sea?" Arya asked Nar Garzhvog politely in one of the few safe places left in the land. It was here, in the eerie Spine, that had the least dangers.
He shook his head and rumbled, "No," in a thick voice. "We are not suited for the sea as our forefathers were. We will travel across the Hadarac to try our fortunes there."
"Are you sure?" Eragon asked worriedly. He would hate to leave anyone he knew behind. "We could assist you in building your ships."
Garzhvog gave a hacking sound that could have been interpreted as a laugh. "You could, yes, but it would be of no use when the ship capsized because of the Kulls' sizes."
Arya frowned.
"Firesword, there is nothing we will do to leave our home," Nar Garzhvog said. "It is ours, by right."
Eragon finally nodded. "So be it. I wish you all the best and hope that someday we might meet again."
"As do I, Firesword, as do I."
--
Illera closed her eyes as a few elves and Riders combined their energy to push the massive galleons out to sea. It was harder than she had thought, and their energy was draining quickly. Amira and Thorn were ferrying the exhausted elves to their main ship as the huge fleet began to push out to sea. The ship carrying Islanzadi, Orik, and the Council had been the first one pushed out and the rest had teams of elves and dwarves—the main builders of each ship—captaining them.
They all stood out in the sea, the water sloshing around their boots as they pushed another ship out. Illera felt the familiar drain of her energy, and gasped as soon as they were finished.
It couldn't be that she was the only one feeling this weak, right?
Little one, are you alright?
I'm okay, Illera thought back to a concerned Amira. It's harder than I thought.
The waves sloshed over her again, making her scowl. But she looked up, startled, as someone came up next to her
'Course it was Murtagh.
"'Morning," she smiled at him, and he smiled back.
"Are you alright?" he asked carefully, knowing how much she hated having people try and help her.
"I'm okay," she answered, glancing up at the sky and squinting her eyes at the glaring sun.
He didn't press for more details. Instead, he slipped his arm around her and discreetly let some of his energy flow into her.
Illera's eyes tipped shut as it reenergized her. "Thanks," she said quietly. "I needed that."
Murtagh held her for another few seconds before breaking their contact to push another ship out to sea.
"Only fifteen more, love," he said quietly, and they traipsed on.
Finally, they were to return to the flagship. Eragon and Arya had already gotten there, and were watching the shore silently.
Spitfire and Saphira took off from the sand with elves on their backs, circling to get a gist for the wind and then flew towards the elves' main galleon.
Eragon's eyes were wide and unfocused as he stared, startled.
Arya glanced at him, concerned. "What?"
"My vision," he murmured. "I think…that was it."
Even as he spoke, a wave of flame crashed down upon the deserted shore of Alagaesia, sending up charcoal smoke into the already black sky.
Arya just looked at him. Eragon knew she didn't truly believe in prophecy—not that she was fool enough to say that in front of Angela.
Eragon felt curiously relieved of a great burden. No longer would he have to worry about his prophecy! No longer would he have to think long hours into the night about what Angela had meant, what had past and what was coming.
"Ho! Man overboard!" A dwarf shouted, cutting into his reverie.
Immediately, the two of them shot towards the railing, eyes raking the inky waters for a splash of white foam to indicate something had disturbed it there.
"Who is it?" Arya demanded of an onlooker.
"Lady Nasuada! She had a dagger in her hand, and—look!" he pointed at the varnished deck near the railing.
Spatters of congealing blood.
"Eragon, you have to use magic to raise her. You can't go after her and expect to come back up with the both of you!" Arya cried out after Eragon had started to unbuckle his sword.
"You're right," his eyes flashed and he leaned over the rail, muttering quickly and bringing the energy that would lift Nasuada.
She was forebodingly still as her soaked dress seemed to weigh her down, drooping at least three feet below her body. As Eragon brought her up with a renewed sense of urgency, Nasuada turned and everyone could see the blood that stained the orange fabric.
Illera and Murtagh landed on the deck and leaped off of their respective dragons, racing to where Eragon frantically checked for a pulse.
A very faint beat thrummed, and Eragon knew that there was nothing he could do.
He looked into his former liege's eyes, which were beginning to roll upwards.
"Why?" he whispered.
Eragon saw her eyes flick to Murtagh's features as the life began to fade from them, and he understood.
Illera was standing stock still next to Murtagh; the blank expression on her face sharply contrasting to Murtagh's shocked one.
Nasuada's eyes flicked to Illera's features, giving her one last malevolent look, drew a last rattling breath and then released the life-giving air and closed her eyes.
Eragon stepped away from her body, and glanced at Illera.
"You don't look surprised," he accused softly.
She shrugged. "I had a suspicion that that was why she never liked me." Her eyes were carefully blank, her mind well guarded. Eragon wasn't surprised. It seemed like the only people she let into her mind now were Amira and Murtagh.
Illera looked up as Amira descended next to her, and he guessed that she was filling the purple dragon in.
"You never said—" Eragon began.
"About Nasuada's dislike for me? Why would I?" Illera glanced at him, and suddenly he saw what everyone else in their fleet only saw: an icy, withdrawn, powerful Rider. But he knew Illera, knew that whatever she said, she was intensely loyal to her friends…
Eragon just shook his head, and Murtagh brought Illera with him as they moved off, talking lowly.
"Did you know?" he asked Arya quietly. "About Nasuada…?"
Arya shrugged. "The first time they met, they had cast favorable impressions upon each other. It is not hard for a human woman to become infatuated easily, though I thought Nasuada was above that."
Eragon jerked his head. "Didn't Illera feel the same way about Murtagh? I would have thought she was above it too."
"Eragon, they are human." Her eyes seemed to flash, and he sighed.
"I suppose we had better hold the funeral. What are we going to do with the body?"
"We could always throw it over the side," Arya said thoughtfully.
Eragon looked horrified. "And show her no honor?"
"Unless you wish to save it until we reach the new land," she snapped.
Eragon started to object, and then thought better of it. "We will decide later."
--
Illera was still mulling over Nasuada's glare. It wasn't the act that surprised her—she had always known full well the ex-Varden leader hadn't liked her—it was the note of self-satisfaction that told her something was wrong.
Where were Nasuada's living quarters? Oh yes…somewhere near the guards, so there was always someone to keep an eye on her. Illera would begin there first in her search for anything wrong.
Murtagh reached out and put his hand on her shoulder, wondering why she wasn't responding to him.
"Illera?" he asked, watching her carefully.
She seemed to snap to attention. "Yeah?" and began striding away from him.
"Where are you going?" his voice rose slightly, alarmed by her speed.
"To look for answers," she called back.
Murtagh hurried after her. "For what?"
Illera couldn't explain it to him, didn't know how to even begin. How could she explain her instinct?
"Just trust me," she said under her breath as she elongated her strides, leaping down two flights of stairs to the lower decks. Murtagh followed more slowly, taking each step one by one and saw her disappear behind the guard's barracks. What madness was she dealing now? he thought crossly. He loved her, a lot, but this morning was confusing him so much and it irritated him.
Illera barged into Nasuada's rooms, and her eyes fell upon a piece of paper that had been slipped under the door. She picked it up, and read the few words quickly. Prisoner to be destroyed at noon. – Lee Charold.
Prisoner? But there were no prisoners as far as she knew. And Nasuada couldn't have control of any executions! Moreover, this didn't explain the smirk Nasuada had given her…
She would give up on the personal offense the woman had given her. Who was this prisoner? Why didn't Eragon know of this—or if he did, why hadn't he told her? And why, for god's sake, was anyone, let alone the Lieutenant of the guards, following Nasuada's orders?
Illera jumped when Murtagh came up behind her, so intently was she thinking.
"What is it?" he asked as his arm snaked to her waist and pulled her closer to him.
"Its…" she didn't quite know how explain it to him. Would he believe her? It was too late to be dawdling; she didn't have much time before noon. Illera showed him the piece of paper and said, "I'll search the right side of the ship. You do the other," and darted away.
"What the…" his voice was edged with annoyance, but he had read the note, and stiffened.
Murtagh slammed the door open and dashed out.
--
Illera flung her mind out, searching for the Lieutenant. He had to be on this ship, and near, but…
There were a group of guards there, maybe he was there! Illera banged open a door, barely wincing at the impact and demanded, "Where's Lee Charold?"
"Er—he's gone down to the lower decks ma'am. Do you want us to accompany you to search for him?" the middle-aged guard asked, obviously having no desire to do so.
"That won't be necessary. Thank you," Illera said curtly, and leaped down the staircases to the lower deck area.
Damn these incompetent fools! Illera quickly did a mental search for Charold's mind-imprint, and went another level lower when she couldn't find it. It was almost the lower hold now, and she brushed past the peasants that thronged against her.
Then she froze as she detected a surge of blinding pain below her, and whipped around to dart downwards.
"Stop!" she screamed as she saw a teenaged-boy on the floor, yelping at the cruel leather whip that was in the hand of Lee Charold.
The man ignored her and sent another stinging slap at the boy and Illera saw red. He dared to ignore a direct order? Beyond furious now, she lashed out with a red-hot flash of burning pain directed at the man and her hand went to her sword.
Charold screamed and dropped the whip, his body hitting the floor with quiet whimpers. The three guards around him leapt backwards, stunned.
"What is going on here?" Illera demanded, her voice tightly controlled.
The guards stayed silent, and she administered another, slightly toned down version of the pain to the one furthest from her. He dropped like a fly, groaning.
"You," she said, "Tell me what your Lieutenant was doing. Unless you would like to see for yourself what truly happened to them?" Illera indicated the fallen men.
Illera, calm yourself! Amira's alarmed voice resonated in her head.
I cannot! Amira…
"M'lady! I swear, I was only here because he ordered to me to be here! I understand that Lady Nasuada ordered this one—" the guard pointed to the boy, still bent upon the wooden floor— "be executed. I swear, I do not know why!"
"You are dismissed," Illera told the two remaining guards. "Take him with you," she jerked her head at the fallen guard.
They scampered away.
Fighting a curious urge to panic, Illera turned to survey the boy—the reason for the day's insanity.
Her jaws dropped open as she recognized his features. Could it really be him? But—yes, there was no mistaking those eyes…
"Will?" she whispered, her hand dropping from her sword hilt. Amira's confusion was swamping her mind, but she still was thinking remarkably clearly…
He looked at her, and it was him, she was certain.
"What's your name?" She asked, pulling him to his feet and kicking Charold after the latter attempted to get up.
The boy looked a little lost, and she raked an eye down his body—he looked thin, underfed. His hair was shaggy and long—he would need it cut.
"Will," he rasped. "Who are you?"
She stiffened. "Where's your family?"
"Don't have one."
Illera was about to say something when stampeding footsteps down the stairs cut her off.
Murtagh stormed into the room, Eragon and Arya right behind him.
"Illera's all this?" Eragon demanded.
Illera opened her mouth to explain, when Arya said sharply, "And why is our Lieutenant of the Guards on the ground?"
"I can explain," she said, surprisingly calm. "First, though, Will needs to be sent to the medicinal ward."
"Arya, could you please help him to Angela?" Eragon asked, eyes pleading with her.
The elf nodded stiffly and lead the boy towards the hospital.
"So Illera, what is this all about?" Eragon asked, rather testily.
She took a breath and held out the piece of paper she had discovered in Nasuada's room. "I found this in Nasuada's rooms," she said by way of explanation.
"Prisoner? But there are no—"
"Precisely," Illera cut in. "So I wanted to investigate." She didn't add why she had become suspicious in the first place; Eragon wouldn't believe her anymore than Murtagh would.
"Why did you want to search her rooms in the first place?" Eragon asked.
Illera met his eyes. "Would you believe me if I told you it was because I had a bad feeling?"
"Not really," Eragon snorted. "Do you mean to tell me that you discovered the Lieutenant working with Nasuada to kill a prisoner whom we had no idea of—because you had a bad feeling?"
Illera didn't flinch from his skepticism. "I found someone, haven't I?"
"So explain the strong emotion I'm picking up on," Eragon demanded.
Murtagh hadn't spoken yet, though he moved closer. This was why he was worried. Who was the boy? Why was Illera so shocked when she'd found him? This wasn't just Nasuada's idea of messing with her…and if truth be told, he was so worried that Illera might end up leaving him for the 'prisoner'…
"I think he might be my brother," Illera said quietly. That would explain the personal edge this whole thing had taken on…
Murtagh almost let his shoulders sag in relief. That was it?
"What? How do you think that he's your brother? And we would know if you had a brother wouldn't we?"
Illera couldn't explain. "I don't know….but he looks a hell of a lot like him. Once he's more healthy, I'll question him some more."
"If you don't mind, Eragon, I would like to talk with Illera," Murtagh cut in when Eragon seemed ready to refuel and interrogate her more.
She flashed him a grateful look, but he didn't even meet her eyes. A wave of weariness swamped her—why was Murtagh annoyed with her?
Illera stifled a sigh. "I'll talk to you later, Eragon," and followed Murtagh up the stairs.
--
"What the hell, Illera?" Murtagh demanded, thrusting her into an empty corridor and watching her hit the wooden wall with a dull thud.
Her eyes gleamed with irritation, but she forced it away in a second. "What?"
He advanced on her, "This whole morning! It's been a complete mess, and you've been in the thick of it. What in hell is going on?" Murtagh's voice was tight with anger, and Illera shut her eyes briefly. "How am I supposed to know?" she challenged, opening her eyes again, eyes clearly displaying how helpless she felt.
Murtagh's anger snapped, and relief flooded him. Stepping forward, he pulled her into his arms tightly, inhaling her warm scent deeply.
He could sense her confusion, but was glad when she simply leaned into him.
"I was so worried…" he whispered into her hair, exhaling sharply.
"You shouldn't have been," Illera said slightly defensively, resting her head against his collarbone. "I just…"
"Eragon and Arya probably want to talk to you more," Murtagh said quietly. "We should head up to the deck."
"Oh hell," she muttered. "I don't want to have to explain myself again. How am I supposed to explain something I felt instinctively?"
"Alright, then we won't need to return," Murtagh leaned down and pressed his lips to hers gently.
Illera welcomed the kiss and returned it eagerly, hands locking behind his head.
He broke apart from her reluctantly a few minutes later. Illera leaned into his body, his chin resting on her hair as she exhaled.
They stood like that for a long while.
--
Nasuada's body was encased in a wooden coffin and then lowered over the side. Only Eragon had shown any real emotion—bowing his head—as a crowd gathered to watch the body go overboard. Afterwards, Eragon and Arya went to consult with Glodiya and the elven caretakers of the ancient journal by the elven advisor. There had been only the cryptic direction: North by northeast only and fear the northern west. Considering that the elves had been leaving their homeland though, they were to sail south west. It had taken the ancients two months to cross over—but today they were aided with the power of magic woven into their sails and ships. Glodiya had estimated one month and fortnight at most.
It was enough to keep them all going.
--
"Land ho!" one of the sailors in the crow's nest called. "Straight ahead!"
Eragon caught Arya as she rushed towards him, nearly weeping tears of joy. Finally, finally! This would be their new home.
Her back was to his chest as they set eyes on the smoky smudged coastline that would be their new home.
--
Argh! It took me way too long to come up with this chapter. I only updated it today anyways because Jackbyang7 kept PMing me to remind me not to give up on this fic! Anyways, only the Epilogue to go now. Almost….DONE!!!