Chapter Twenty-Five: Vrael's Secret
They came upon Ristvak'baen as the evening light dwindled away.
Glaedr and Saphira landed a mile out and hid themselves amongst the great trees of the mountain forest. They took about an hour to rest their bodies from the long flight, and then Eragon and Arya set off to the old Rider's outpost.
Be careful, Saphira told them. Eragon gave her a gentle pat on the jaw while Arya simply nodded.
Glaedr once more joined their minds together so they could communicate throughout the exploration. We will speak only with our minds from here. Use caution. This place was old before the Fall, and I cannot speak for the structure's integrity.
Yes, Master, the Riders responded.
Eragon and Arya ran to the outpost, covering the distance quickly and silently. In a matter of minutes, they came up on the base of the dilapidated structure. They stopped outside of Ristvak'baen, looking up at the ruins of the stone construct.
It was in truly poor condition. Parts of the building had collapsed and numerous holes littered the outside. They watched a few bats fly out from the highest gaps, their squeaks filling the night.
Eragon led Arya in a circle around the structure until he found the entrance he'd dreamed of, but as he took a step forward, he frowned and stopped.
Arya stopped just behind him. What is it?
He looked down at the ground, then at the tower's immediate surroundings. There was an odd circle of vegetation around the outpost, with only the scarcest signs of life inside of the circle itself. Eragon pulled his foot back from the unnatural space and then stepped back into it. He immediately felt a slight, barely noticeable drain on his energy reserves.
When I step past this point, some of my energy starts to leave me, he told Arya and the dragons. It's not much. If I wasn't so tired from flying, I might not have noticed at all, but it's there.
Arya raised a brow and mirrored his step. After a moment, she confirmed his discovery. He's right. I feel it, too.
Interesting, Glaedr sounded thoughtful. Proceed, and watch your reserves. Take note if your energy begins to drain any faster.
They slowly made their way to the entrance, but their energy wasn't sapped any faster than before. Eragon peered into the pitch blackness of the tower's belly and lifted his hand with a quiet murmur. "Naina."
A deep blue werelight hovered over his hand. He and Arya slowly made their way into the outpost, senses pricked. The interior was as badly off as the exterior. It was hard to tell what this room had been, but Eragon saw the fractured remnants of ancient bottles and imagined this had been a storage area at some point.
He spotted the stairs leading down to what was probably a cellar. With a mental nudge to Arya, he carefully led them into the guts of the building.
Eragon's foot touched on one of the steps and he felt it shift a little beneath his weight. He quickly lifted his leg and then stepped more delicately on it, gently easing his weight onto the stone. Even then, he felt it giving way slowly.
He tried to skip a step and found it to be more stable than the weaker stone before it. Satisfied, he proceeded and gave Arya a head's up. She followed his lead with the grace of a deer.
The rest of the steps were in good enough condition to walk along. When they reached the bottom, they found themselves stepping around a mess of wreckage and old bottles of what was probably really bad wine. Eragon cast the werelight around the vaguely circular room and paused at the sight of the rotten-wood door in the back.
That's it, he told them.
If memory serves me right, that should just be another storage room, Glaedr replied, vexed. Oromis and I visited this place only a handful of times, usually between flights to Vroengard and the elven cities. In our younger days, the outpost still saw some use, but it was virtually abandoned by the time we were five hundred years old.
Why was it abandoned? Saphira queried.
Glaedr began to respond, then stopped. The old dragon was quiet for almost a minute.
I do not know.
Eragon raised an eyebrow. That's not suspicious at all.
Your sarcasm is not beneficial in this moment, little one, Saphira chastised.
I'm not being sarcastic. If this post served as an in-between to Vroengard and the elves, why would it be abandoned during the height of the Riders' power? They didn't even make another one.
No, they did not. Granted, by the time it was left to ruin, many Riders and dragons had no need for such an outpost, but even so, I can think of no reason as to why we should have abandoned it entirely, Glaedr rumbled, disturbed.
Eragon carefully opened the rotten door and startled when it fell off its hinges. Arya caught the falling section, and they lowered it to the ground with barely a sound, save for a few strips of stray wood hitting the floor. They looked up into the tiny, unassuming room waiting for them.
The left half of the room had caved in, and Eragon warily looked up at the ceiling to check for any loose sections. Arya probed it with a cautious spell, but it seemed like it would hold—for now, at least.
He entered the room and passed the werelight to Arya with a thought. Eragon stepped close to the wall he remembered from his dreams and gently set his hands against it. There was one stone in particular he was looking for, he knew.
His fingers brushed the outline of the weathered, stone slates until he felt something familiar. Eragon lined his hands up like he'd dreamt of and prepared to push.
He froze.
Arya began to step closer. Eragon?
Do not move.
She stopped in her tracks. The voice in her mind was not Eragon's, but it had come through his thoughts. The dragons focused intently and it felt like none of them should dare to breathe.
Arya felt a vast consciousness press against her and seize control of her body, keeping her pinned like talons. The dragons became alarmed, but the strange mind growled at the four of them viciously.
If you so much as speak without my permission, I will bring the whole of this tower down upon you, it threatened. Who are you? How do you know of this place?
I am the Rider, Eragon. With me is my dragon partner, Saphira, he responded.
I am the Rider, Arya. With me is my Master's dragon, Glaedr.
Glaedr? The mind was filled with shock and then something like terrible, gaping hope. Glaedr! Is that really you?
The golden dragon surged with recognition, disbelief, and then heartbreaking joy. Opheila!
Their minds commingled, briefly overwhelming Eragon and Arya with the flood of memories. Arya lifted a hand to her head as she retreated from the dragons while Eragon squeezed his eyes shut, still unwilling to so much as move.
Glaedr and the mind of the other dragon—Eragon knew it was a female dragon, the sound of her voice and presence were a dead giveaway—finally ceased their joining and the onslaught quieted.
Opheila released her iron grasp on the Riders and they could breathe a little easier. When next she pressed to their minds, it was gentler. Forgive my threat; I could not risk being discovered by Galbatorix's slaves.
There is nothing to forgive, dragon. We understand all-too well, Arya responded. Eragon nodded slightly in agreement.
The dragon-lady spoke with an old wisdom. My name is Opheila, partner of the elf-Rider Andume. We were Vrael and Umaroth's seconds in-command before the Fall of the Riders.
Eragon had heard of her, only vaguely, through Brom—in fact, Opheila had been one of the names he'd suggested for Saphira, but she had rejected it. When he responded to her, he asked with trepidation.
Your physical body didn't make it out of the Fall, did it?
Sorrow filled the dragon-lady. No. My physical form was killed by Shruikan in the Battle of Doru Araeba. I had disgorged my Eldunari before the fight, in anticipation of the worst happening. I entrusted my Eldunari with Vrael, and together with my Rider, we gave him the chance to escape the battle, but we were slain by Galbatorix and Shruikan.
Some of her memories tricked over to Eragon, causing him to gasp. He saw flashes of a maddened black dragon with icy-blue eyes, felt it sink razor-sharp fangs into his throat and screamed as her Rider was killed by a flourish of Galbatorix's sword somewhere nearby—
Ophelia retracted her thoughts quickly. Forgive me. It has been over a hundred years since I've felt another mind. It would seem my restraint is out of practice.
It's ok, Eragon breathed shakily. What happened after the battle?
Vrael was carried across the ocean by Briam and Lenora, who fell to Morzan and Kialandi so he could make a last-ditch attempt to make it to Du Weldenvarden. I fed Vrael as much of my energy as I could, but he'd been badly hurt fighting Galbatorix on Doru Araeba. Without a dragon, we knew it was likely the King and his Forsworn would catch up to us.
Vrael ran here, to this outpost. He retired it centuries earlier to hide any Eldunari and eggs we could save should doom befall our Order. Knowledge of this purpose was kept only by the Leader of the Riders and their intended successor—my Rider, in this case.
Glaedr's voice was skeptical. You kept such knowledge from the Elders? Why?
Vrael and his dragon Umaroth, as well as my Rider and I, had grown wary of the Elders, she admitted. We could see the rot, the corruption, in most of their hearts. I daresay you and Oromis were the only ones we had no misgivings towards. Vrael thought that like a long-term illness, the corruption could one day drive the Dragon Riders to their doom. And as you know, time is at once our ally and enemy; so we set about preparing for the worst-case scenario.
For many centuries, we kept our preparations in the back of our minds. We tried to repair the damage slowly eroding away at the Riders, but all we could manage was superficial.
Why? Eragon asked. If Vrael was the Leader, surely—
The Council of Elders held equal weight to Vrael, Glaedr explained, sounding pensive. To prevent someone gaining absolute power over the Order, we adopted a two-part structure to organize and maintain the Riders. The Elders, who were the oldest and wisest members, and the Head Dragon Rider, who was generally the most powerful. The Elders led the education of Riders on Vroengard, while the Leader would direct and command Riders to perform duties wherever they were needed at the time.
Eragon understood and scowled. Then the Elders deliberately slowed Vrael's efforts.
Correct, Opheila confirmed. In better times, our system of checks and balances kept tyrants from rising in the ranks, but the corruption seeding in the Elders did nothing but hamper our growth. By the time Galbatorix came along, Oromis and Glaedr were perhaps the only Elders whose intentions were wholly good.
That is why Vrael set aside this place in the event that we failed in our duties. We hoped it might serve as a last secret should the worst happen to us.
Perhaps I underestimated his foresight, Glaedr hummed. I remember Vrael being a man of the moment. He and Umaroth were brilliant commanders of our forces, but he could be rather…spontaneous at times.
He sounds like you, Saphira teased her Rider.
Who is joking now? Eragon retorted.
Opheila went on. When we at last reached the outpost—Ristvak'baen, as you now call it—Vrael sensed Galbatorix riding in on Shruikan. He carried my Eldunari and my egg, which I had entrusted to him, down to this place and hid us away. We cast careful spells to disguise our location in the event that Vrael fell, and sure enough, I sensed him die. Galbatorix searched the outpost closely, but we remained hidden. I have since sustained the spells with my energy and the energy of the living things around me.
Arya's breath caught. You and Vrael saved another egg?
We did, Opheila hummed in joy. My daughter, who even now waits beside me.
Glaedr barely suppressed his happiness and schooled himself. Then we must take you to Ellesmera with haste.
I agree. Eragon, was it?
Yes, he answered.
You will have to extract us. Should you remove your hands from the stone too early, a spell will trigger that will cause you all to forget about me. Do exactly as I say. Am I understood?
I understand, Eragon steeled himself. Tell me what to do.
Satisfaction emanated from the dragon. Push slowly. The wall is weak, but I can hold it steady with my energy. You need not fear a cave-in.
He did as he was told, gently pushing the stone into an inlet behind the wall. It fell neatly into a space made just for that piece, opening the hiding place. It was perhaps only two feet across and shaped like an oval. He could see nothing within it, but he sensed Opheila nonetheless.
Now you must be careful, she told him. My Eldunari and egg are hidden in a pocket of space in the center of the inlet. It is no larger than a pinprick, but it is more deadly than any sword. Should you touch it, it will cut through flesh and bone as if they were air. I will guide your hands around it.
He gave himself to Opheila, who slowly led his hands to the center of the inlet and cupped his hands in a very specific location. Eragon could feel the slightest thrum of power above his skin, but he dared not move, heeding the dragon's warning.
You must cast a spell to move us next, the dragon-lady ordered. It goes as thus—
The wording for the spell was complex and Eragon did not fully understand exactly what it meant, but he obeyed his elder and the spell passed his lips in quiet whispers as Opheila led him on. A point of light formed, shimmering just the slightest, like the tiniest and brightest firefly.
Pull us out. Be slow. Arya, step back.
Eragon heard Arya carefully stepping away as he extracted the speck of light between his hands. He felt nervous, but sensed Arya pressing cool, steadying energy into him. He sent a pulse of gratitude, but did not deviate his focus any further.
Once the light was clear of the inlet, Eragon slowly turned away from the wall, still cupping the speck above his hands.
Kneel, Opheila told him. Eragon did so and she went on. Now you will free us. Repeat after me—
She guided him through another complex spell, and when he reached the end, the pinprick of light shimmered and unfurled from itself, almost like opening a book. From within its depths appeared an Eldunari of such deep green that it was nearly black, and a dragon egg the color of dark, polished mahogany. They hovered in the air and at Opheila's command, Eragon and Arya took them in-hand.
Arya cradled Opheila's Eldunari, the size of a large cat, in her arms and caressed the draconic jewel lovingly. Eragon held the deep brown egg close to his body and sensed for the hatchling within with a whisper of magic.
The hatchling within was dormant, as expected, but alive.
I kept us going with the life force of those around us, Opheila sounded somewhat guilty. My strength sustained us for many years, but eventually, I was forced to steal energy from others to keep my daughter alive. This place is protected from the cold, but it has no source of warmth. She would have died had I not acted.
It explained the circle of lifelessness around the tower, Eragon thought.
Glaedr rumbled in their minds. There is nothing to forgive, Opheila. You did what had to be done. There is no shame in it. Eragon, Arya—get them out of there and come to us with haste. We can tarry no longer.
Yes, Master, the answered.
Eragon hugged the dragon egg close to his body and gave it all the warmth he could spare, and followed Arya out of Ristvak'baen.
Place of Sorrow, he thought. Perhaps it should be renamed. Vrael died to keep a great secret here.
Perhaps, little one, Saphira hummed happily.
Brom sat in the grass at the Crags of Tel'naeir, smoking his pipe while Murtagh performed his lessons under Oromis' watchful gaze. In the air not far away, he could see Thorn and Firnen flying together in an exercise meant to better develop their balance in flight.
Firnen was growing fast. More than two weeks had passed since Arya and Glaedr flew after Eragon and Saphira, and the emerald dragon was now easily big enough for Arya to ride. He was still noticeably smaller than Saphira or Thorn, but at almost three months old, he was as big as the horses.
Thorn, meanwhile, was growing more slowly than the younger male, but he was still noticeably bigger than when they left the Varden. He and Saphira were coming up on eight months of age.
Had it really already been almost a year since they hatched? It felt like yesterday that Brom had gone into the woods and seen two farm boys playing with a pair of cat-sized baby dragons.
Thorn spat a lazy tongue of flame after Firnen, who spiraled out of the way and whacked the ruby dragon with his tail. The sight drew a slight smile to Brom's weathered face. He'd wondered for a very long time indeed if he'd ever be lucky enough to see such a thing after the Fall.
Still, they were deviating a little from the lesson at hand.
Concentrate, Brom communicated to them. He was meant to be watching them while Oromis focused on Murtagh.
Yes, Storyteller, the pair of males chanted. With a final gout of fire from Thorn, they returned to their task.
Brom heard the sound of heavy feet approaching and turned just as Arget dropped to her belly and shoved her massive head into his lap. The Shrrg yawned, exposing her sharp ivories, and snorted at the smell of Brom's pipe. There was a bit of dried blood around her muzzle and he assumed she had just come back from hunting.
Garzhvog sat beside him. The Kull had spent much of his time at the Crags and in the wilds around it since they arrived at Ellesmera. Many of the elves seemed to unnerve him somewhat and he was more at ease roughing it in the woods closest to Oromis' home.
Orik was elsewhere at the moment. Brom did not know for sure, but he suspected the dwarf had sought out Rhunon, the legendary blacksmith. He only hoped she was in the mood to socialize, for she rarely bothered with visitors.
"Good hunt?" Brom asked.
"Hunt. Ha," Garzhvog snorted. "The wolf barely took a step before she found a scent to follow. She will become fat if she stays here too long."
He rolled his eyes and scratched the great wolf behind her ears, eliciting a pleased whine from the predator. Murtagh was right; she was getting very comfortable around them.
"They're focusing?" Oromis' voice garnered his attention away from the wolf.
"I'm keeping them out of any mischief," Brom grunted. "You remember how the young males are."
"I do," the elf said fondly. They watched Firnen and Thorn train for a moment before Brom's old teacher continued to speak. "You did well with Murtagh and Eragon. They're both ready to begin my training."
"Their knowledge of the Ancient Language needs work. I taught them what I could, but on the road, I had to shortcut a few things. They do surpass the Order's students in swordplay, though. Garzhvog and I were not gentle in our lessons."
"No, we were not," the Kull chuckled.
Oromis cracked a smile. "They would not have progressed so far had you coddled them, I imagine. Eragon nearly caught Arya off-guard when I assessed him."
"And Murtagh?"
"His skill is equally remarkable. Once we heal his wound completely, he'll be able to touch upon his full potential again."
"Can you heal such a wound?" Garzhvog asked.
"It will take time to re-shape and repair the muscles and nerves that were damaged," Oromis admitted. "But it can be done. I've already talked to him about it. We'll have him back to his original state in a matter of months, I expect."
Brom sagged in relief. "I'm grateful to hear that. I had worried Durza crippled him forever."
"The Shade was a fierce opponent. It would have been incredible if Eragon and Murtagh both emerged completely whole from such a fight at this stage of their training."
The talk about Eragon had Brom wilting somewhat. He still had no idea how he was going to fix the broken relationship he had with his son. He needed to tell him that Selena might be alive, as well…but if she was truly dead, would giving Eragon that kind of hope only drive him further away?
Oromis tapped his shoulder and the man glanced back at the elf. "Though you have not been my student for over a hundred years, I have not forgotten that look upon your face."
Brom sighed and confessed his worries. They were of no surprise to Oromis, for Brom had already told him there was a possibility that Selena was alive.
The elf walked away to his hut after he'd finished explaining and returned with a fairth Brom knew well. He took the precious slate in hand and felt his heart swell.
It was an image of Selena. She was in the gardens at Morzan's estate beneath the moonlight, as Brom remembered her. She wore clothes of padded leather, with blackened bracers upon her forearms and greaves on her shins. A sword and dagger were at her waist, yet she cradled a rose in her hands, which she had lifted to her face to smell with a smile upon her face. His gaze trailed over the soft brown eyes and her dark hair, which was tucked over her left shoulder, and traced the features of her pretty face.
Looking at the fairth, he felt a terrible longing for the woman whom had married him in secret. He remembered well how it had been Selena who had pulled him fully from his madness after he lost Saphira. She had given him something to actually live for again beyond the promise of vengeance.
Oh, and if his heart didn't ache when he remembered how she had run to him that night, secret and in the dark as she told him with a mixture of joy and terror that she was pregnant with their child—with Eragon.
That was his wife, his beloved, and yet she was so much more than that…and he had a duty to her he still had yet to fulfill.
"Murtagh," Brom called. He looked over his shoulder at the younger man, who had paused in his exercises. "Come here."
He'd apologize to Oromis for interrupting the lesson another time. The elf had brought the fairth out, anyways.
Murtagh walked over, sweating and breathing heavily. "What is it?"
Brom looked down at the fairth again, stood up—much to Arget's displeasure—and offered it to the young man. "Would you like to see your mother?"
Murtagh froze and stared at the slate, then took it with trepidation. He turned it in his hands to look at the woman whose image was borne upon it. Brom was vaguely aware of Oromis guiding Garzhvog and Arget away with a quiet word.
"It's strange," he whispered. "I feel like I would know her anywhere, and yet I have not seen her for sixteen years."
"You were very young the last time you were together," Brom agreed solemnly.
"How did you get this?"
"I made it," he murmured. "I created this fairth of her while I was undercover at Morzan's estate. When I fled north with you and Selena, I sent it to Oromis for safekeeping."
Murtagh seemed to be at a loss for words for several minutes. He was memorizing Selena's features and Brom was content to give him that precious chance.
"Do you think she's still alive?"
Brom was quiet for a moment as he thought about the question. "In the time that I knew her, Selena was the most creative and dangerous person I knew. Though she lacked the strength of an elf or a Dragon Rider, she was deadly in her own right and she could hide as easily as she breathed. She was a master of stealth the like of which I'd never seen before. If anyone could escape the Empire hunting them, it would be her."
Murtagh closed his eyes. "I think I'm afraid to hope."
Brom quivered and nodded jerkily. "I know I am."
The Red Rider pressed his lips and then looked at Brom again. "Thank you for this."
"There's nothing to thank me for. This fairth—it's for our family, is it not? It does not belong solely to me. It belongs to us."
"It does," he agreed.
They were torn from their reverie as Thorn and Firnen suddenly roared, and a few moments later, they heard a pair of answering bellows.
Brom looked out over the crags and felt relief fill his body at the distant sight of Glaedr and Saphira flying towards them. They'd finally made it back.
Murtagh carefully handed the slate back to Brom and called for Thorn, who surged down and landed just long enough for his Rider to climb upon him. They jumped back into the air as one and flew out to meet the other Riders and dragons. Firnen was already a good ways ahead of them.
Oromis and Garzhvog returned with Arget. The old elf sighed. "Good. I was hoping they'd return today."
Brom nodded, but frowned when Thorn suddenly wheeled around with Murtagh and stormed back to the hut. He thought that maybe Murtagh had suffered another seizure, but the young man was fine when he dismounted his dragon.
"Is something amiss?"
"Master Glaedr said to summon Islanzadi Drottning," Murtagh told them, looking at Oromis. "Now."
Oromis' brow furrowed and he shot a glance towards the incoming dragons, but he nodded and walked back to his hut. Thorn looked agitated as he stared at the other three dragons, tail lashing.
In a matter of minutes, Saphira and Glaedr touched down on the crags with the two Riders. Firnen landed and rushed to greet Arya, pleased to see his Rider again. Arya took it in stride and laughed as her dragon pressed his skull into her arms, eagerly seeking her affection.
Murtagh walked over to Eragon and they drew each other into a firm hug. Saphira took the chance to greet Thorn again, then Firnen when he pulled himself away from Arya.
She looked at Brom and he hesitantly brushed his mind to hers. Saphira blinked at him slowly before allowing their minds to mingle.
Saphira. I am glad to see you safe, he murmured.
I appreciate your concern, she replied somewhat curtly.
He fought the urge to wince; he deserved the cool attitude. Brom took a deep breath. How is he?
Saphira's tail flicked as she glanced at her Rider, and when Brom followed her gaze he was startled to see Murtagh in tears with his half-brother.
Saphira?
The blue dragon's eyes were mournful. We flew to Carvahall and found it wasted by dragon-fire. Morzan and his beast eradicated the whole of the town. As far as we can tell, nobody survived the onslaught.
Brom's face became ashen and he felt his legs go weak. He sat down on the grass. No. You're certain nobody—
We found only the tracks of the nameless one, she told him. He was very…thorough.
She sent him images of Palancar Valley, of the devastation Morzan had left in his wake, and Brom felt tears well in his eyes. Carvahall had been his home for sixteen years. For all of its faults, he would be lying if he said he didn't miss it. And now…now it was nothing. Just a ruined field of ash.
He clutched Selena's fairth to his heart and mourned what was lost.
Oromis returned from his hut—presumably after contacting Islanzadi—and communed with Glaedr. Sorrow filled his eyes when the golden male told him of Carvahall's demise.
Eragon wiped the tears from his face as the elf approached. Oromis set his hands upon his shoulders and squeezed firmly. "Your hearts hurt. I know. Home is not a place easily forgotten. But I have faith in you, Eragon, and you Murtagh. You will heal in time. Trust yourselves. Your hearts are strong."
The boys could only nod. Oromis pulled away and glanced from them to Brom, who was still sitting in the grass with the fairth.
Eragon's gaze followed the elf's and his eyes hardened at the sight of his father. Brom felt the pit in his gut and knew there would be no forgiveness today, but he stood up regardless and approached. The glare from his son was full of hurt and fire, and Saphira was watching him very closely, but he did not stop until he stood before the boy.
He searched for words and found none. All he could do in that moment was offer the fairth to him.
Eragon glanced at it and his brow furrowed in confusion, but he hesitantly took it and studied the picture. He blinked, still confused, and something in Brom stung that the child couldn't recognize her.
"Eragon," Murtagh told him quietly. "That's our mother."
The confusion cleared and the rage faded, replaced so quickly by curiosity that Brom almost laughed. Eragon looked at it for several minutes, taking in the image of the mother he had never known.
Arya walked over, a little curious herself, and caught a glimpse of the woman. She could easily see Selena's features in Murtagh and Eragon, despite the latter's transformation. The color of her hair and eyes were most obvious in the boys, but they had inherited the softness of her face and Arya assumed her ferocity as well; she knew the stories of the Black Hand. There was a time when the Varden had grown wary Selena might come hunting for the dragon eggs, but she never had.
This was a woman who had shaped Alagaesia—for better and for worse—with her actions. She was the lover of two Dragon Riders and the mother of two more.
A unique, troubled, and remarkable family to say the least.
Well, perhaps more troubled at the moment, she thought to herself as Eragon looked back up at Brom. He seemed to be torn between fury and sadness and longing. Arya was sure he didn't know if he wanted to strangle Brom or hug him.
"Eragon—" Brom started, faltered, and cleared his throat to try again. "I know you're angry with me. You have every right to be. But…that is, I didn't get to tell you when last we saw each other..."
He weighed the pros and cons and made a decision. No more secrets. Not from his only child.
"Your mother—she might still be alive, Eragon."
Eragon's eyes grew large and he saw them trying to harden again. "If you're just saying that…"
"I'm not," he promised. "Morzan took control of Surda during the Battle of Farthen Dur. The Varden's spies report that he's looking for someone who might match Selena's description. Angela and Solembum went looking for her. It—it might not be her, but it could be. I just needed to tell you that."
Eragon looked like he was bitterly fighting that hope, and why wouldn't he? After seeing Carvahall razed to ruin and hearing of his parentage—he was undoubtedly afraid of hoping for something, anything good in the world anymore. But there was still a little light in his eyes and that was worth fighting for as far as Brom was concerned.
"Well," Eragon managed, looking down at the fairth. "I want her to be alive."
"I think we all do," Brom agreed.
The boy bit his lip and glanced back up at Brom before handing the fairth back. "I'm still angry with you. Gods, I devised a hundred ways to kill you on the flight to Carvahall and back. But I think you're actually sorry, so I won't stick your head on a pike."
Murtagh snorted at the rather dramatic description. Eragon swatted his half-brother's shoulder and crossed his arms. "I'm not forgiving you yet and if you try to hide something important like that from me again, I'll feed you to the crows."
"Understood," Brom nodded stiffly.
Eragon cast one last look at the fairth in Brom's hands, gave his father a slight glare, then retreated to Saphira's side while they waited for Islanzadi.
The old man let out a long breath. That had gone…better than expected? He thought it had gone better than expected. At least Eragon was talking to him and not running Undbitr through his gut.
When Islanzadi arrived, she greeted Oromis and the others before turning to Eragon, Arya, Saphira, and Glaedr.
At Eragon, she leveled her eyes at him. "You risked much on your flight, Shur'tugal. I understand your rage, but it is clear you have much to learn. You threatened not only your own safety, but the safety of your dragon, my daughter, and your Master. I expect you to behave appropriately from now on."
He had the decency to dip his head, thoroughly chastised. "I am sorry for my transgressions, your Majesty. I understand I was reckless and shouldn't have acted in such a way. I let my feelings get the better of me, and for that I cry your pardon. I will do my best to make amends for my behavior."
Islanzadi nodded, satisfied for the time being. "See to it that you do. Now, why did you call me here, Oromis?"
Oromis looked at Glaedr. "I have yet to be told myself."
The great dragon's eyes fell to Eragon. I do not believe I am the one who should deliver this news. Eragon is the one who dreamt of this chance, and he is the one who led us to a treasure we could not have dared to hope for.
Islanzadi lifted a regal eyebrow. "How so?"
Eragon shifted his weight from one foot to another. "Your Majesty, you remember during our first meeting how I told you of the dreams I had of Arya? How they led me to free her and steal Firnen's egg from Gil'ead?"
"I remember."
"In recent weeks, I started having those scrying dreams again—this time of Ristvak'baen, where Vrael was slain."
"Ristvak'baen," Oromis frowned. "It has been long since I thought of that place."
"I told Master Glaedr of the dreams prior to my flight," Eragon continued. "And when he and Arya joined us at the ruins of my home, we decided to stop by the old outpost to investigate."
"Another risky endeavor," Islanzadi chastised, frowning at Glaedr. "You allowed this?"
I suggested it, the dragon responded, lifting his chin in challenge. And it was more than worth the risk.
"How so?"
Show them, Glaedr ordered.
Eragon walked to Saphira's side and Arya to Glaedr's, carefully extracting the saddlebags. From within, they pulled forth two precious objects.
Islanzadi's eyes grew as round as the full moon. Oromis made a strangled sound and the others gasped.
Cradled in their arms were a dragon's egg and an Eldunari.
"Vrael did not die trying to flee from Galbatorix," Eragon said softly. He met Islanzadi's thunderstruck eyes with his. "He died to protect a dragon's Heart-of-Hearts and her egg."
Opheila's consciousness touched the minds of all those around her. She focused on Oromis and Islanzadi especially. Old friend. Drottning. It has been so very, very long…
Tears of joy filled the eyes of the elves, and Eragon felt a little bit of happiness return to his fractured heart.
A/N: Wow, this story is really working for me right now. I'll take it!
If this chapter didn't make it obvious, we're due for some even bigger events in the upcoming chapters leading to the Agaeti Blodrhen. Look forward to them.
As ever, please review and thanks for reading!