Disclaimer: I do not own Star Wars or the Inheritance Cycle, only the OC.
They lunched at Fasaloft, a bustling lakeside village. It was a charming place set on a rise overlooking the lake. As they ate in the hostel's common room, Eragon listened intently to the gossip and was relieved to hear no rumors of him and Saphira, or even George. The trail, now a road, had grown steadily worse over the past two days. Wagon wheels and iron-shod hooves had conspired to tear up the ground, making many sections impassable.
For days they continued south along Leona Lake's vast shore. Eragon began to wonder if they would ever get around it, so he was heartened when they met men who said that Dras-Leona was an easy day's ride ahead of them.
Eragon rose early the following morning. His fingers twitched with anticipation at the thought of finally finding the Ra'zac. You must be careful, said Saphira to the three of them. The Ra'zac could have spies watching for travelers that fit your description.
We'll do our best to remain inconspicuous, He assured her.
She lowered her head until their eyes met. Perhaps, but realize that I won't be able to protect you as I did with the Urgals. I will be too far away to come to your aid, nor would I survive long in the narrow streets your kind favor. She Nuzzled him lovingly. Follow Brom's lead in this hunt; he is sensible. And George will watch over you.
I know, he said somberly.
Will you go with Brom to the Varden? Once the Ra'zac are killed, he will want to take you to them. And since Galbatorix will be enraged by the Ra'zac's death, that may be the safest thing for us to do.
Eragon rubbed his arms. I don't want to fight the Empire all the time like the Varden do. Life is more than constant war. There'll be time to consider it once the Ra'zac are gone.
Don't be so sure. Saphira warned before she nuzzled him, rubbed George's cheek with her snout, then went to hide herself until night.
The road was clogged with farmers taking their goods to market in Dras-Leona. The trio of travellers were forced to slow their horses and wait for wagons that blocked the way. Unlike Teirm, a planned city, Dras-Leona was a tangled mess that sprawled next to Leona Lake. Ramshackle buildings sat on crooked streets, and the heart of the city was surrounded by a dirty, pale yellow wall of daubed mud.
Several miles east, a mountain of bare rock speared the sky with spires and columns, a tenebrous nightmare ship. Near-vertical sides rose out of the ground like a jagged piece of the earth's bone.
Brom pointed. "That is Helgrind. It's the reason Dras-Leona was originally built. People are fascinated by it, even though it's an unhealthy and malevolent thing." He gestured at the buildings inside the city's wall. "We should go to the center of the city first."
As they crept along the road to Dras-Leona, Eragon saw that the highest building within the city was a cathedral that loomed behind the walls. It was strikingly similar to Helgrind, especially when its arches and flanged spires caught the light. "Who do they worship?" he asked.
Brom grimaced in distaste. "Their prayers go to Helgrind. It's a cruel religion they practice. They drink human blood and make flesh offerings. Their priests often lack body parts because they believe that the more bone and sinew you give up, the less you're attached to the mortal world. They spend much of their time arguing about which of Helgrind's three peaks is the highest and most important and whether the fourth—and lowest—should be included in their worship."
"You should see what people believe in where I'm from." George snorted. "You'd find the worst of the worst kind of scum."
At Dras-Leona's enormous gates, they led the horses through the crush of people. Ten soldiers were stationed on either side of the gates, casually scanning the crowd. The trio passed into the city without incident.
The houses inside the city wall were tall and thin to compensate for the lack of space. Those next to the wall were braced against it. Most of the houses hung over the narrow, winding streets, covering the sky so that it was hard to tell if it was night or day. Nearly all the buildings were constructed of the same rough brown wood, which darkened the city even more. The air reeked like a sewer; the streets were filthy.
A group of ragged children ran between the houses, fighting over scraps of bread. Deformed beggars crouched next to the entrance gates, pleading for money. Their cries for help were like a chorus of the damned. We don't even treat animals like this, thought Eragon, eyes wide with anger. "I won't stay here," he said, rebelling against the sight.
"It gets better farther in," said Brom. "Right now we need to find an inn and form a strategy. Dras-Leona can be a dangerous place to even the most cautious. I don't want to remain on the streets any longer than necessary."
They forged deeper into Dras-Leona, leaving the squalid entrance behind. As they entered wealthier parts of the city, Eragon wondered, How can these people live in ease when the suffering around them is so obvious?
They found lodging at the Golden Globe, which was cheap but not decrepit. A narrow bed was crammed against one wall of the room, with a rickety table and a basin alongside it. Eragon took one look at the mattress and said, "I'm sleeping on the floor. There are probably enough bugs in that thing to eat me alive."
"Well, I wouldn't want to deprive them of a meal," said Brom, dropping his bags on the mattress. Eragon set his own on the floor and pulled off his bow.
"I'll take the floor as well." George said as he leaned against the wall with his arms crossed.
What now?" Eragon asked.
"We find food and beer. After that, sleep. Tomorrow we can start looking for the Ra'zac." Before they left the room, Brom warned, "No matter what happens, make sure that your tongue doesn't loosen. We'll have to leave immediately if we're given away."
The inn's food was barely adequate, but its beer was excellent. Unlike his two companions, George didn't feel like drinking, it was part of the training his Master had put him through, always remain on guard when in an area that could be considered enemy territory and this place could be considered that. He had to help them get back to the room after they began stumbling like drunken idiots.
Once he had gotten them to their beds, he contacted Saphira. We're going to be here for a few days, but this shouldn't take as long as it did at Teirm. Right now I need to deal with your drunk Rider. He heard her laugh in amusement.
I don't envy them in the morning. She snorted. George agreed with his own chuckle before he bade her goodnight. Saphira gave him a quick mental snuggle and both of them retreated into their own minds for the night.
The next day rose, and Brom and Eragon tried to get the hangover effects done with. George and Saphira tried to keep the smug comments to a minimum but failed until Brom gave them a harsh look that stopped them but George couldn't hide the grin, and he could feel Saphira's amusement. Neither will let Brom and Eragon live this down.
After recovering, They left the Golden Globe and searched for warehouses where the Seithr oil might have been delivered. Near the center of Dras-Leona, the streets began to slant upward toward a palace of polished granite. It was built on a rise so that it towered above every building except the cathedral.
The courtyard was a mosaic of mother-of-pearl, and parts of the walls were inlaid with gold. Black statues stood in alcoves, with sticks of incense smoking in their cold hands. Soldiers stationed every four yards watched passersby keenly.
"Who lives there?" asked Eragon in awe.
"Marcus Tábor, ruler of this city. He answers only to the king and his own conscience, which hasn't been very active recently," said Brom. They walked around the palace, looking at the gated, ornate houses that surrounded it.
By midday they had learned nothing useful, so they stopped for lunch. "This city is too vast for us to comb it together," said Brom. "Search on your own. Meet me at the Golden Globe by dusk." He glowered at the two from under his bushy eyebrows. "I'm trusting you both not to do anything stupid."
"Have faith, old man." George smirked, getting a glare.
"We won't," promised Eragon. Brom handed him some coins, then strode away in the opposite direction.
Throughout the rest of the day, Eragon and George talked with shopkeepers and workers, trying to be as pleasant and charming as they could. His questions led him from one end of the city to the other and back again. No one seemed to know about the oil. Wherever he went, the cathedral stared down at them. It was impossible to escape its tall spires.
At last they found a man who had helped ship the Seithr oil and remembered to which warehouse it had been taken. Eragon excitedly went to look at the building, then returned to the Golden Globe. It was over an hour before Brom came back, slumped with fatigue. "Did you find anything?" asked George.
Brom brushed back his white hair. "I heard a great deal of interesting things today, not the least of which is that Galbatorix will visit Dras-Leona within the week."
"What?" exclaimed Eragon.
"Shit." George cursed.
Brom slouched against the wall, the lines on his forehead deepening. "It seems that Tábor has taken a few too many liberties with his power, so Galbatorix has decided to come teach him a lesson in humility. It's the first time the king has left Urû'baen in over ten years."
"Do you think he knows of us?" asked Eragon.
"Of course he knows of us, but I'm sure he hasn't been told our location. If he had, we would already be in the Ra'zac's grasp. However, this means that whatever we're going to do about the Ra'zac must be accomplished before Galbatorix arrives. We don't want to be anywhere within twenty leagues of him. The one thing in our favor is that the Ra'zac are sure to be here, preparing for his visit."
"I want to get the Ra'zac," said Eragon, his fists tightening, "but not if it means fighting the king. He could probably tear me to pieces."
"Let's not try and meet with his Majesty." George said, speaking the last two words sarcastically with a roll of his eyes.
That seemed to amuse Brom. "Very good: caution. And you're right; you both wouldn't stand a chance against Galbatorix. Now tell me what you learned today. It might confirm what I heard."
Eragon shrugged. "It was mostly drivel, but George and I did talk with a man who knew where the oil was taken."
George nodded. "It's just an old warehouse. Other than that, we didn't discover anything useful."
"My day was a little more fruitful than yours. I heard the same thing you did, so I went to the warehouse and talked with the workers. It didn't take much cajoling before they revealed that the cases of Seithr oil are always sent from the warehouse to the palace."
"And that's when you came back here," finished Eragon.
"No, it's not! Don't interrupt. After that, I went to the palace and got myself invited into the servants' quarters as a bard. For several hours I wandered about, amusing the maids and others with songs and poems—and asking questions all the while." Brom slowly filled his pipe with tobacco. "It's really amazing all the things servants find out. Did you know that one of the earls hasthree mistresses, and they all live in the same wing of the palace?" He shook his head and lit the pipe. "Aside from the fascinating tidbits, I was told, quite by accident, where the oil is taken from the palace."
"And that is . . . ?" asked Eragon impatiently.
Brom puffed on his pipe and blew a smoke ring. "Out of the city, of course. Every full moon two slaves are sent to the base of Helgrind with a month's worth of provisions. Whenever the Seithr oil arrives in Dras-Leona, they send it along with the provisions. The slaves are never seen again. And the one time someone followed them, he disappeared too."
"I thought the Riders demolished the slave trade," said Eragon.
"Unfortunately, it has flourished under the king's reign."
"So the Ra'zac are in Helgrind," said Eragon, thinking of the rock mountain.
"There or somewhere nearby."
"If they are in Helgrind, they'll be either at the bottom—and protected by a thick stone door—or higher up where only their flying mounts, or Saphira, can reach. Top or bottom, their shelter will no doubt be disguised." He thought for a moment. "If Saphira and I go flying around Helgrind, the Ra'zac are sure to see us—not to mention all of Dras-Leona."
"It is a problem," agreed Brom.
Eragon frowned. "What if we took the place of the two slaves? The full moon isn't far off. It would give us a perfect opportunity to get close to the Ra'zac."
Brom tugged his beard thoughtfully. "That's chancy at best. If the slaves are killed from a distance, we'll be in trouble. We can't harm the Ra'zac if they aren't in sight."
"We don't know if the slaves are killed at all," Eragon pointed out.
"I'm sure they are," said Brom, his face grave. Then his eyes sparkled, and he blew another smoke ring. "Still, it's an intriguing idea. If it were done with Saphira and George hidden nearby and a . . ." His voice trailed off. "It might work, but we'll have to move quickly. With the king coming, there isn't much time."
"Should we go to Helgrind and look around? It would be good to see the land in daylight so we won't be surprised by any ambushes," said Eragon.
Brom fingered his staff. "That can be done later. Tomorrow I'll return to the palace and figure out how we can replace the slaves. I have to be careful not to arouse suspicion, though—I could easily be revealed by spies and courtiers who know about the Ra'zac."
"I can't believe it; we actually found them," said Eragon quietly. An image of his dead uncle and burned farm flashed through his mind. His jaw tightened.
"The toughest part is yet to come, but yes, we've done well," said Brom. "If fortune smiles on us, you may soon have your revenge and the Varden will be rid of a dangerous enemy. What comes after that will be up to you."
Eragon opened his mind and jubilantly told Saphira, We found the Ra'zac's lair!
Where? He quickly explained what they had discovered. Helgrind, she mused. A fitting place for them.
Eragon agreed. When we're done here, maybe we could visit Carvahall.
What is it you want? she asked, suddenly sour. To go back to your previous life? George can't even go back to his world. You know that won't happen, so stop mooning after it! At a certain point you have to decide what to commit to. Will you hide for the rest of your life, or will you help the Varden? Those are the only options left to you, unless you join forces with Galbatorix, which I do not and never will accept.
Softly, he said, If I must choose, I cast my fate with the Varden, as you well know.
Yes, but sometimes you have to hear yourself say it. She said, then he felt a bit of amusement from her. Maybe I should run off with George? He seems to know his path in this world...
Eragon flushed, in embarrassment and anger, she would never leave him and neither would George, but the message was clear. Saphira had made her mind up on what she wants to do. Sometimes he wondered who was really in charge...
The next day, George and Eragon were alone in the room when they woke up. Brom had left a note telling them where he had went and telling them to avoid the palace. George kept his Lightsabers with him as always while Eragon had his bow, though he did say he wished he didn't have to be armed all the time. George told him Lightsabers were important to both the Sith and the Jedi, but even without it they could rely on the Force.
They left the Golden Globe and ambled through the streets, stopping to observe whatever interested them. There were many intriguing stores, but none quite as exciting as Angela's herb shop in Teirm. At times Eragon glared at the dark, claustrophobic houses and wished that he were free of the city. When he grew hungry, he bought a wedge of cheese and a loaf of bread and ate them, sitting on a curb. George took a bit even though he wasn't hungry but Eragon insisted.
Later, in a far corner of Dras-Leona, both boys heard an auctioneer rattling off a list of prices. Curious, they headed toward the voice and arrived at a wide opening between two buildings. Ten men stood on a waist-high platform. Arrayed before them was a richly dressed crowd that was both colorful and boisterous.
"I don't think we should see this." George said in an emotionless tone all of a sudden.
Eragon turned to him, about to ask why when people were brought out, being sold. Eragon was disgusted as he watched the rich buy slaves before George pulled him away. "If only we can do something!"
"We can't, we'll end up bringing attention to ourselves." George pointed out.
They ventured through the city, somehow finding themselves in the cathedral. Eragon looked the place over while George was tense as his danger senses were alerting him and he looked around. Turning to the doors he froze and grabbed Eragon by the shoulder, causing him to follow his friend's gaze.
Standing at the door, swords drawn, was the Ra'zac. A sibilant hiss came from the smaller Ra'zac. Neither of them moved.
Eragon. George spoke in Eragon's mind. When I get their attention, run out of here. I'll make sure they can't follow you.
What? No! I'm not leaving you!
You have to! You are more important than me, Saphira's more important than me! Don't worry, I'll be fine. I'll try and meet up with you outside the city. George suddenly thrust his hand out, using a Force Push on the Ra'zac who went flying into the wall. "Go NOW!"
Eragon reluctantly ran as the Ra'zac came through the fire and hissed at George who now turned one of his Lightsabers activated.
"You obviously don't know who you are FUCKING with!" George yelled and charged at the Ra'zac who hissed and charged at him...
Eragon ran as fast as he can, tears beginning to run down his cheeks as he had just left his friend there. But he had faith George would live and find his way back to them. Eragon quickly contacted Saphira to tell her to alert Brom. She did so, but old him they should rescue George. He told her George will be okay and will try ad meet them outside of the city. Saphira didn't like it but knew George would want her to get away instead of coming back for him.
Eragon eventually met up with Bron and they escaped the soldiers and the city. They rode until they were in the forest and away from the city enough to not be pursued. That night, they rested but Saphira kept looking in the direction they came, hoping George would come running through with the Ra'zac's heads.
When Eragon stood to go comfort her, he hesitated and squinted. His eyes had caught a flicker of movement, a small patch of color that stood out from the surrounding nightscape. He stepped toward the edge of their camp, trying to see it better.
"What is it?" asked Brom as he unrolled his blankets.
Eragon stared into the darkness, then turned back. "I don't know. I thought I saw something. It must have been a bird." Pain erupted in the back of his head, and Saphira roared. Then Eragon toppled to the ground, unconscious.
A dull throbbing roused Eragon. Every time blood pulsed through his head it brought a fresh wave of pain. He cracked his eyes open and winced; tears rushed to his eyes as he looked directly into a bright lantern. He blinked and looked away. When he tried to sit up, he realized that his hands were tied behind his back.
He turned lethargically and saw Brom's arms. Eragon was relieved to see that they were bound together. Why was that? He struggled to figure it out until the thought suddenly came to him, They wouldn't tie up a dead man! But then who were "they"? He swiveled his head further, then stopped as a pair of black boots entered his vision.
Eragon looked up, right into the cowled face of a Ra'zac. Fear jolted through him. He reached for the magic and started to voice a word that would kill the Ra'zac, but then halted, puzzled. He could not remember the word. Frustrated, he tried again, only to feel it slip out of his grasp.
Above him the Ra'zac laughed chillingly. "The drug is working, yesss? I think you will not be bothering us again."
There was a rattle off to the left, and Eragon was appalled to see the second Ra'zac fit a muzzle over Saphira's head. Her wings were pinioned to her sides by black chains; there were shackles on her legs. Eragon tried to contact her, but felt nothing. His eyes widened further when he saw a tightly bound, unconscious George leaning against her side. He had a few small cuts in his clothing and dried blood was spotted but his healing factor must have healed the wounds and left the blood there.
Saphira was trying her best to keep George away from the Ra'zac, but her tail and wings were bound. He could feel worry from her for George, Eragon, and Brom.
She was most cooperative once we threatened to kill you," hissed the Ra'zac. Squatting by the lantern, he rummaged through Eragon's bags, examining and discarding various items until he removed Zar'roc. "What a pretty thing for one so . . . insignificant. Maybe I will keep it." He leaned closer and sneered, "Or maybe, if you behave, our master will let you polish it." His moist breath smelled like raw meat.
Then he turned the sword over in his hands and screeched as he saw the symbol on the scabbard. His companion rushed over. They stood over the sword, hissing and clicking. At last they faced Eragon. "You will serve our master very well, yesss."
Eragon forced his thick tongue to form words: "If I do, I will kill you."
They chuckled coldly. "Oh no, we are too valuable. But you two..." The Ra'zac gestured to George and Eragon. "You are disposable. However, someone wants to meet your friend here and we are to bring him to him" A deep snarl came from Saphira; smoke roiled from her nostrils. The Ra'zac did not seem to care.
George then stirred and glared at the Ra'zac. "Hey, assholes." The Ra'zac looked at him. "Why don't you let me out of these bounds and I'll resume our fight?"
In response, one ran up and kicked him hard in the right shoulder, causing it to dislocate. George let out a yell of pain as he fell back against Saphira's side, the Dragoness whimpering in concern for him as the Ra'zac laughed cruelly before one knocked George unconscious with a punch to the head.
Their attention was diverted when Brom groaned and rolled onto his side. One of the Ra'zac grabbed his shirt and thrust him effortlessly into the air. "It'sss wearing off."
"Give him more."
"Let'sss just kill him," said the shorter Ra'zac. "He has caused us much grief."
The taller one ran his finger down his sword. "A good plan. But remember, the king's instructions were to keep them alive. "
"We can sssay he was killed when we captured them."
"And what of thisss one?" the Ra'zac asked, pointing his sword at Eragon. "If he talksss?"
His companion laughed and drew a wicked dagger. "He would not dare."
There was a long silence, then, "Agreed."
They dragged Brom to the center of the camp and shoved him to his knees. Brom sagged to one side. Eragon watched with growing fear. I have to get free! He wrenched at the ropes, but they were too strong to break. "None of that now," said the tall Ra'zac, poking him with a sword. He nosed the air and sniffed; something seemed to trouble him.
The other Ra'zac growled, yanked Brom's head back, and swept the dagger toward his exposed throat. At that very moment a low buzz sounded, followed by the Ra'zac's howl. An arrow protruded from his shoulder. The Ra'zac nearest Eragon dropped to the ground, barely avoiding a second arrow. He scuttled to his wounded companion, and they glared into the darkness, hissing angrily. They made no move to stop Brom as he blearily staggered upright. "Get down!" cried Eragon.
Brom wavered, then tottered toward Eragon. As more arrows hissed into the camp from the unseen attackers, the Ra'zac rolled behind some boulders. There was a lull, then arrows came from the opposite direction. Caught by surprise, the Ra'zac reacted slowly. Their cloaks were pierced in several places, and a shattered arrow buried itself in one's arm.
With a wild cry, the smaller Ra'zac fled toward the road, kicking Eragon viciously in the side as he passed. His companion hesitated, then grabbed the dagger from the ground and raced after him. As he left the camp, he hurled the knife at Eragon.
A strange light suddenly burned in Brom's eyes. He threw himself in front of Eragon, his mouth open in a soundless snarl. The dagger struck him with a soft thump, and he landed heavily on his shoulder. His head lolled limply.
"No!" screamed Eragon, though he was doubled over in pain. He heard footsteps, then his eyes closed and he knew no more.
For a long while, Eragon was aware only of the burning in his side. Each breath was painful. It felt as though he had been the one stabbed, not Brom. His sense of time was skewed; it was hard to tell if weeks had gone by, or only a few minutes. When consciousness finally came to him, he opened his eyes and peered curiously at a campfire several feet away. His hands were still tied together, but the drug must have worn off because he could think clearly again. Saphira, are you injured?
No, but you three are. She was crouched over Eragon and his companions, wings spread protectively on either side.
Saphira, you didn't make that fire, did you? And you couldn't have gotten out of those chains by yourself.
No.
I didn't think so. Eragon struggled to his knees and saw a young man sitting on the far side of the fire.
The stranger, dressed in battered clothes, exuded a calm, assured air. In his hands was a bow, at his side a long hand-and-a-half sword. A white horn bound with silver fittings lay in his lap, and the hilt of a dagger protruded from his boot. His serious face and fierce eyes were framed by locks of brown hair. He appeared to be a few years older than Eragon and George and perhaps an inch or so taller. Behind him a gray war-horse was picketed. The stranger watched Saphira warily.
"Who are you?" asked Eragon, taking a shallow breath.
The man's hands tightened on his bow. "Murtagh." His voice was low and controlled, but curiously emotional.
Eragon pulled his hands underneath his legs so they were in front of him. He clenched his teeth as his side flared with pain. "Why did you help us?"
"You aren't the only enemies the Ra'zac have. I was tracking them."
"You know who they are?"
"Yes."
Eragon concentrated on the ropes that bound his wrists and reached for the magic. He hesitated, aware of Murtagh's eyes on him, then decided it didn't matter. "Jierda!" he grunted. The ropes snapped off his wrists. He rubbed his hands to get the blood flowing.
The noises were loud enough to stir George and he painfully got to his feet. Eragon helped him up as best he can until Saphira came round to allow George to lean against her side, whimpering in concern for him as she rubbed her snout against his chest. He rubbed her brow. "I'll be fine." George said then looked st Murtagh with narrowed eyes. "Who's he?"
"A friend." Eragon said, yet he too was suspicious of Murtagh. George grunted before he told Eragon to lift his shirt so he can see Eragon's injury. When he did, he let out a whistle. A blotchy bruise extended down his left side. The red, swollen skin was broken in several places. Saphira whimpered at the sight of it.
"Broken ribs, two for sure." George said as he analyzed the wound. "Lucky you're not coughing up blood." He told Murtagh to use the blanket as a bandage for now while he stood and looked st his dislocated shoulder. "Oh, this is gonna hurt."
He tried pushing his shoulder back into place but it seemed it was pushed in deeper and had to be yanked out into place. Saphira came up to him and he looked at her. She seemed to know what he wanted.
No...George, I won't. She said.
"Just grab it, I'll do the rest." He said softly
With a soft whimpers she did as he instructed. Clenching his other fist, he pulled and felt his shoulder snap back into place but the pain was excruciating, causing him to fall against Saphira's chest. Saphira held him close with another whimper escaping her. Eventually George pushed himself off her and shoo his arm, making sure to get feeling back into it.
Don't ever make me do that again, please. Saphira said. George nodded and he just chose to sit and lean against Saphira's chest, the sapphire dragoness not bothered by this as she welcomed it.
Eventually the group decided to leave and find somewhere to hide before the soldiers find them. Luckily they found a cave in the mountains to do so just now.
Chapter over.