Author's note: Third chapter in 5 days… My brain hurts. I'm having a break tomorrow, And I know that I said that I'd go back and edit after this, but we're pretty close to the end of the fic, so I'm gonna finish it, then go back and edit things.
In response to reviews:
Daniel Clausen: Thanks for assuring that I did Ajihad right! I hope I have everyone else in character too. And yeah, we only have 60 or 70 pages left, I think. And thanks!
Guest: Err… Okay, I'll take that as a compliment.
Halfling Hobbit: "You have been updating lots lately." Yup. I have. Getting drunk is in Eldest, so it will be in Trial's sequel. Don't worry, I have something planned! And yep, Kevin has a sweet tooth.
Disclaimer: I do not own the Inheritance Cycle
Beta read by Slack Frost and Regal Eagle
Chapter 30: We talk to another Dude
We yawned as we woke the day after we met Ajihad. The sun wasn't visible, but its light poured into the giant chamber of Farthen Dûr. We hadn't really done much else yesterday, as we just zonked out for most of the day, although we popped back to Locostral for dinner.
"So, what now?" Kevin wondered.
"Well, our guide should meet us today." Sparta said. "But I want Skölir on in case we come across the Twins again."
"Good plan." Driscol said, and we started pulling out bits of armour and slotting them on.
"Hey, that's my helmet!"
"No, this is mine, that's yours Kevin! The one that Driscol's got!"
"Guys, this is mine. I wrote my name inside it. See, it's there."
"Really? Looks like my name."
"It isn't, Kevin. See, D-R-I-S-C-O-L."
"It says Cade."
"Well that's my name, Sparta."
"That's OUR name Kevin!"
"For the love of ****. It says Driscol on the other side from Cade. Look!"
"Oh yeah. Sorry. So Sparta, you have my helmet!"
"For ****'s sake Kevin, this one's mine! See, it fits my horns!"
"No it doesn't! There's a massive gap between them!"
"Because I don't have it on properly!"
"For God's sake! Let me have a look at both of you… Yeah, that's Sparta's. It fits his nose and horns."
"Wait, this one's mine?"
"Yes, you plonker!"
"But it doesn't feel like mine."
"It is yours. Let me get a Sharpie and write your name in it so this never happens again. We don't want to **** off Sparta more than necessary. "
"No, we don't. I like not being ****ed off."
"Okay. Sorry Sparta. And Driscol?"
"Yeah?"
"There's someone watching us."
"So there- wait, what?"
Spinning around, we caught sight of a teenage girl watching us while trying not to crack up. She had long, blonde hair, green eyes, and wore an outfit very similar to Arya's, made to allow movement.
Both Driscol and Sparta glared at Kevin. "We blame you for this."
"Sorry!" Kevin said.
Looking down at the girl, Driscol asked. "Are you our guide?"
Pulling herself together, she curtsied and nodded. "Yes, great dragon. I am Jasmine. I usually run messages between Ajihad, King Hrothgar, and the members of the Varden's council. However, Ajihad has assigned me to make sure that you receive every comfort and amenity that we have to offer."
Well that would explain her outfit. Runners needed to be fast. Still, from the parts of Alagaësia we'd seen, there was the rather questionable 'men are better than women' thing going on. We completely disagreed with that. Cases in point: Saphira, Arya, and Nasuada. Well, we hadn't met Nasuada yet, but they all proved that gender wasn't a barrier. Besides, Locostral didn't operate that way, and with everyone being so different to any kind of normal, we saw everyone we met as equal for what they could and couldn't do. That didn't necessarily mean that we liked them, but everyone should get equal opportunities.
"That sounds tiring, especially here." Sparta said. "Tronjheim is massive."
Jasmine smiled. "It keeps me fit, sir. Besides, riding the pulley system to get up here is rather enjoyable."
"Please don't call us Sir or any rank that we don't deserve." Kevin said. "If we haven't earned it, we don't want it. Our collective name is Ghidorah, but I'm Kevin, grumpy guts over there is Sparta, and the guy in the middle is Driscol."
"Then it is my pleasure to make your acquaintance, Kevin, Sparta and Driscol."
"Likewise." We replied. "So, what's the plan?"
"King Hrothgar of the dwarves wishes to meet with you as soon as possible." Jasmine said. "After that, I will show you around Tronjheim, and then we do whatever you want to do."
"Okay then." Driscol said. "Shall we go, guys?"
"Sure." Sparta replied. "Kevin. Best behaviour."
"For God's sake, I'm you, Sparta!" Kevin complained. "Just because I got our helmets mixed up and like to crack jokes a lot doesn't mean that I'm completely immature!"
Driscol locked eyes with Jasmine and groaned as Kevin and Sparta started arguing again. "See what I have to live with? If I cut them off, they just grow back."
"Really?" Jasmine asked. "That sounds amazing!"
"Enhanced regeneration is a useful ability." Driscol agreed as Kevin and Sparta started snapping at each other. "It's saved us a lot."
"Oh, from what?"
So Driscol started retelling the epic saga of our encounter with the bleach of death as we followed Jasmine. Sparta and Kevin quickly joined in, with Kevin pantomiming how he had started to melt.
We headed towards an open arch that led into a small room with a hole in the bottom. There was a group of things resembling crane arms hanging over the hole, ropes dangling down from them. There was a wooden platform at the top of one of the pulleys, which was evidently how Jasmine had got up here.
"You'll have to-" our guide said, but we cut her off.
Pointing at a polished start to a chute beside the opening to a stairwell, we asked "What's that?"
"Ah. That is Vol Turin, the Endless Staircase." Jasmine explained. "It spirals up around the wall of Tronjheim's central chamber, all the way up here. It's so long that we have to flash lamps to transmit messages from the bottom to up here, as running up it would take too long."
Being an intellectual, Kevin said "But if the staircase ends here, why is it called the 'Endless Staircase'? That doesn't make sense."
Jasmine fumbled for an answer, and eventually settled on "It just sounds poetic, I suppose."
We shrugged, and Sparta asked "But what's the chute for?"
Of course, we already knew, but feigning ignorance was a good way to get rid of any suspicion people had about us knowing everything.
"Ah. That's a slide that the dwarves constructed alongside the staircase. It was built to allow people at the top of Tronjheim to rapidly get to the bottom. However, it was only intended for the dwarves to us it, and it's exceedingly dangerous for-"
We shrunk down to the size of a human and got in, ignoring Jasmine's startled cry, then her protests.
"You'd better not screw this up." Islingr warned as we threw a mat like ones for helter skelters in the trough
"Don't worry, we'll be fine!" Sparta said cheerfully to both Jasmine and our mentor, who we'd decided to leave up here until the final battle. "See you at the bottom!"
"No, wait!"
We pushed off, hard. The acceleration was monstrous, and we whooped in excitement as we went faster and faster. This was very similar to how bobsled worked in the Winter Olympics. Scratch that, this was bobsled, only with a mat and stone instead of a sled and ice. This was perhaps one of the most fun things we'd done in Alagaësia, and we loved it.
Half an hour later, and we'd reached the bottom. On our third run. We'd flown back up to the top and went again twice before Jasmine had finally reached the bottom, and we were about to go up again before she gently reminded us why we'd even taken the slide.
Growing back to our regular size, we grumbled a little, but we went along with her. After all, it would have been disrespectful not to. Hrothgar was a king, and we didn't want to **** him off, given that the dwarves seemed to not have a very high opinion of our kind. But we wouldn't hide who we were. Burying our true self under a butt-load of flattery with a coating of lies wouldn't get us anywhere. We'd just be respectful.
We followed Jasmine down one of the descending stairways from Tronjheim's center. It curved around until we were facing the direction we'd come from, and combined with another stairway in front of two doors of granite, with a seven-pointed crown carved into the doors, and a bunch of dwarves guarding it. They were all holding a weapon that was half hammer, half pickaxe, and they banged them on the floor in unison, resulting in a loud bang.
The door swung open, revealing a cave that was way more natural than we were expecting. There were stalagmites and stalactites as thick as our necks, and a few geodes dotted around the room, sparsely hung lanterns illuminating it all.
"A word of advice." Jasmine whispered. "Be polite. His Majesty is wise, but he is also quick to anger if you do not treat him with respect."
We gave her a thumbs up and entered the hall. The doors swung closed behind us, and we began walking towards the throne at the far end. Kevin and Sparta checked out statues of the dwarven kings that preceded Hrothgar, trying to guess how they'd ruled. There were more than forty statues, and space for a lot more.
Hrothgar looked a lot like a statue himself. His face was firm, weathered, and had definitely seen a lot of ****. His eyes were flinty and piercing, like they could stab right through our mental barriers. He wore a gold, gem-adorned helm, and he wore a sheet of chainmail that we had to remind ourselves wasn't mithril. A white beard poured over it like a waterfall, and tucked itself away into his belt.
We took off our helmets and placed them on the floor before bowing our heads in respect. "Your Majesty."
There was almost a whole minute of silence before Hrothgar finally spoke. "You already surprise me, Golden Guardian. The dragons of old would never bow before anyone. Not even those bonded to Riders. So why do you?"
"Because we're different." Driscol said. "We come from a land beyond the sea, and we don't have much experience in the customs of Alagaësia. We would also like to apologise for any bull**** the clans are giving you for allowing us to lodging us in Tronjheim."
Hrothgar actually laughed at that. "It is of no consequence. The benefits of having a dragon on our side- one who can use magic to some degree, no less- well outweigh any strife the clans give me. I know you retold your tale to Ajihad. If you would, retell it once more."
We collected our thoughts, then began. Like usual, we omitted any details about Locostral and the multiverse, keeping everything simple. Hrothgar tensed when he learned that we were looking after a new Rider, and his eyes widened when we came to Amara and her abilities.
When we were finished, his eyes were practically gleaming. "If what you say is true, Galbatorix will have no chance against us. However, I wish to see your armour."
Shrugging, we placed one of our helmets in front of him. It was longer than he was tall, but he got up and analysed the quality of it.
"Who made this?" Hrothgar asked, tapping his war hammer against Sparta's helmet.
"We did, with help." Kevin said proudly. "Skölir is the product of our handiwork, although we were heavily guided in the construction process."
"It's also more durable than anything normal metal." Sparta boasted. "We don't know how it'd hold up against magically enhanced materials, but it won't be hurt by any conventional means."
Hrothgar took that as a challenge. Over the next few minutes, he whaled on the helmet with his hammer. To our immense satisfaction, it didn't even get dented, although the paint was heavily scratched. Still, we could always repaint it. No harm done.
Eventually the dwarf king conceded, and asked us what Skölir was made of.
"I don't think that you have access to depleted uranium." Driscol said.
At Hrothgar's raised eyebrow, we went on to explain that it was a by-product of generating nuclear power, and that it was still a little radioactive. Then he asked what radioactivity was. We groaned, and told him that it was what the 'poison' in the air on Vroengard was, except much less severe, and we could absorb its effects.
Then he spotted the hilt of Omen, and asked to see it. We groaned internally, but seeing that we weren't going anywhere until this was done, we put our helmets back on, shrank down to human size, and went through the process of extending our blade to full length. Then we passed it to Hrothgar. He ran his eye over the blade.
"This was masterfully forged, and the metal, like that of your armour, is unlike anything I've seen before. This was not forged by any dwarf, man, or elf."
"Or dragon." Kevin cheekily added.
Hrothgar chuckled. "Or dragon. It holds great power. What is this sigil in the gem, though? I do not know it."
"Huh?" we said, peering at our sword.
Instead of the eye-like ellipse in the red circle in Omen's crossguard, we saw the silhouette of our Plainswalker key, just like on our Eldunarí.
"That's… the symbol of our... family." Driscol finally said.
"Very large family." Sparta added.
"Then why were you surprised by its appearance." Hrothgar said, his eyes becoming inscrutable.
"Omen is magical." Kevin said. "When it chose us, the symbol there was different, like an eye. We don't know why it looks like it does now. Perhaps it sees us as its wielder, so it changed the symbol. I don't know. I'm clutching at straws."
"You imply that your weapon is sentient." the dwarf king said flatly.
"Maybe it is." Sparta said. "Maybe it isn't. Despite that, it chose us, and we're going to use it well."
"Hmm." Hrothgar said. "You have given me much to consider. And much to force through the clans. A new rider, and another dragon! Barzul, they will erupt at this."
We winced. "Sorry."
"It is not you who is to blame." Hrothgar said with a sense of finality. "We dwarves do not welcome change. We are a hard, stubborn people, like the rocks we live within and find our living from. When the rock is disturbed, it can all come crashing down. So it is with my race. It is up to me to control that fall, to channel it. You can help shape this landslide, although we have long memories, and words will decide nothing. Your actions will decide how my people treat you and your companions. Do you understand this?"
"We do, your Majesty." We said as he passed Omen back to us.
"Good." Hrothgar said. "I thank you for your time, and for your leniency with an old dwarf's curiosity."
We smiled, returning to our usual size. "And we thank you for all you have to do on our part. Long may you reign Hrothgar, King Under the Mountain."
"So how did it go?" Jasmine asked as we left Hrothgar's throne room and climbed the stairs, back into the center of Tronjheim.
"Rather well, all things considered." Driscol said. "He was rather impressed with our gear."
"It is very intimidating." our small guide said truthfully as she led us through a series of corridors.
If Tronjheim was big on the outside, it was massive from the inside. We saw the barracks, some of the various kitchens and mess halls, and glanced inside a sort of classroom, where an old dwarf was teaching human and dwarf children alike about the history of Alagaësia. We were almost tempted to stay, but in fear that we'd be joining the students if we said the wrong thing, we left them to it.
The library was awesome. It contained both books and scrolls, and were quickly consumed in reading 'The Dominance of Fate', 'Legacy of the Shur'tugal', and 'The Most Ancient Origins of Alagaësia'. Jasmine practically had to drag us out by the tails when lunch rolled around, even though our stomach hungrily growled like a V8 engine.
We hadn't eaten anything since popping back to Locostral yesterday evening and having fish and chips with Sal, as it was one of the few days she had off. So it was no surprise that we completely ripped through the food the dwarven cooks provided for us, barely stopping to taste what we were eating. Still, it was good, whatever it was.
After that, we wanted to go back to the library, but Jasmine insisted that we could go back tomorrow, and that there was more to see. Weapons clanked in the armoury, hammers banged and smashed in the forges, and swords and shields clashed at the training grounds.
As we stepped out onto the field, there was a lull in activity as everyone looked at us. The drill sergeants- or whatever the equivalent was- got them back to work as we watched. Hundreds of men and dwarves were practising their weapon work. Some were drilling in formation, some were practising their archery, and others clashed against each other, blade on blade. They may not have been up to the standards of whatever Locostral had, or even those of America, but this was undeniably an army.
A bearded man walked over to us. He was massive, built like a tank, and would easily have fit in one of the Monster Hunter games. He wore a chainmail coif over his head and shoulders, and a rough leather suit over the rest of his body. A giant sword was sheathed on his broad back, and was easily as long as Jasmine was tall.
He ran a quick eye over us before grabbing Jasmine in a bear hug. "There's my favourite niece!"
Okay, we were surprised by that, but everyone was related to someone, after all.
"Uncle Fredric!" Jasmine protested. "Need! Air!"
From what we remembered, Fredric was one of the men who trained the Varden's warriors to fight, and was going to test Eragon's proficiency in swordplay before the Twins intervened. Speaking of those two leeches, we hadn't seen them, so we guessed that they were plotting away at something. As long as they stayed away from us, we didn't care.
We stayed to watch the fighting for a while before introducing ourselves to Fredric and suggesting that the soldiers might want lessons in fighting a dragon, and volunteered ourselves as a punching bag. He happily accepted, and we took off Skölir to make it a more even fight as he gathered everyone around.
Our afternoon basically involved getting stabbed a lot. We obviously couldn't fight back at our full potential. The Varden wouldn't appreciate it if we killed a bunch of their soldiers. Still, a few shoves, gentle hits, and flicks were more than enough to counter their efforts, and our wings made good shields from the archers. We weren't just doing this for the Varden's sake, though. We hadn't been in anything close to a full battle, and we needed to learn how to defend ourselves against overwhelming numbers. Granted, it wasn't a very faithful representation of open warfare, but still. Some experience was better than none.
Eventually, Fredric called the day to a close, and we all started to trudge back to Tronjheim's open gates. Suddenly, there was a massively loud crack. It echoed around Farthen Dûr, and our heads swiveled around, trying to find the source amidst the confused walls of sound. Then we looked up. One of the massive stalactites had broken free from the ceiling and was falling straight towards us!
We didn't hesitate. All three of us fired our gravity beams as we rapidly grew to full size amidst the horrified cries of the people below us. Brilliantly bright, lightning-like beams of gold shot upwards as alarms resounded from Tronjheim. We were going to need all the power we could get.
We were using our telekinetic beams rather than our destructive ones, as blowing it up would have shattered the rock formation into billions of tiny pieces, spraying Tronjheim with shrapnel. Instead, we caught the missile-like stalactite in mid air, then gently lowered it to the ground until it was lying horizontally on the ground in front of us.
There was a stunned silence. People gaped up at us as we walked around to the end of the stalactite that was previously attached to the roof, the ground shaking with every step we took. We expected it to be all jagged and sharp, but instead, the break was perfectly level, down to the last fragment of rock.
"This was magic." Sparta growled to everyone present as people started to pour out of Tronjheim towards us. "Nothing natural could have made a cut that precise."
"But the amount of energy required to do that would be…" Kevin started.
"Immense." Driscol finished as we did the maths. "You'd need a lot of power to cut through something that thick."
"So, someone just tried to kill us, then." Sparta clarified as everyone gasped. "This was an assasination attempt."
"Yes." Driscol agreed. "But we have the culprits. Magicians. Now we just need to deduct who would be likely to do this. And why."
"Easy peasy." Kevin said privately to Driscol and Sparta. "The Twins. Ol' Galby has crapped his pants in fright after we schooled Durza, so he sicced the Twins on us. We'd better watch out for them in the future."
"Obviously it was them." Sparta replied. "That still doesn't explain where they got the energy from. You'd have to have far more than two men powering a spell like that. They weren't even here!"
A sinking feeling came over us as Driscol said "Is Isidar Mithrim able to hold energy like any other gemstone?"
"...We're in it deep, boys."
Snapshot #10:
In the middle of the night, in the middle of the ocean, Paddles slowly crept onto the back of the creaking hull of the Black Pearl. He clambered up the back of the ship, eventually hooking his claws over the deck railing by the wheel. A skeletal pirate was manning the helm, whistling away into the night as the wingless dragon crept up behind him.
"Look at me."
The skeletal pirate just sighed, and kept to his position.
"Look at me."
"Bill, for the love of-" He finally turned around and stopped short.
"I am the captain now."
An ear-splitting scream cut through the night, along with loud laughter and a massive splash.
