Chapter Thirty: Preparation

To say Nasuada was surprised was the understatement of the decade.

"Already?" She gasped when Islanzadi gave her the news. The elven Queen stood in a special room of scrying mirrors, along with Brom and Orik, as she gave the leader of the Varden and King Hrothgar the fortuitous news.

Hrothgar laughed, a deep, booming sound. "By the gods, what fortune would I give to see the look on Galbatorix's face when he realizes we have four Riders on our side!"

"On that, Hrothgar, I would agree with you," Islanzadi's lips twitched up into the briefest of triumphant smirks. "That being said, there are still a few things we must address. Firstly, I think it prudent to reforge the alliance between the Varden, dwarves, and elves. With Surda currently occupied by Morzan, we cannot afford to be separated now."

"I concur," Hrothgar nodded. "We are stretched thin as it stands, which has made our recovery following the Battle of Farthen Dur much slower."

"I will have convoys of supplies sent your way within the week, I expect," the Queen told them. "We can discuss the finer details of the arrangement in a later meeting, I expect. For now, let us focus on bringing your kin and the Varden back to full strength."

"We are grateful for your generosity, Islanzadi Drottning," Nasuada dipped her head graciously.

"Nay, I should never have allowed my grief to interfere with our alliance. This is but a correction."

"Regardless, we are thankful."

Islanzadi glanced next to Brom, who stepped forward. "I feel it important to inform you of the status of the Riders at the moment. As you know, they are currently undergoing intensive training in preparation for the war to come. It will likely take some time before they are ready to take on the like of Morzan and Galbatorix's other prominent fighters, not the least of which is the King himself.

"During that time, I expect we will be sending the Riders back and forth between Du Weldenvarden and Farthen Dur to continue nourishing the alliance between our forces. I myself will return soon to assist with the reparations, as well as Orik. In addition, Islanzadi Drottning has decided to send another elven ambassador since Arya is currently focused on her training with Firnen."

"Of course," Nasuada and Hrothgar both agreed. That made sense.

"I would also like to add that in the aftermath of the Dragon Rider pact being altered—as well as the inclusion of Garzhvog into the Order—we would see the next dragon egg ferried to the dwarves to search for the first dwarven Rider."

Hrothgar stroked his beard, frowning somewhat. "How soon could we expect an egg to be sent to us?"

Brom pursed his lips. "We are not certain yet. Saphira and Thorn are courting, but nothing has been determined at this time. But there are now two young males and female dragons on our side. Depending on how things work out, it could take anywhere from six months to a few years. It is up to them."

The dwarf King grunted. "Good. That gives me some time to ease the Clan Leaders into the idea. Some of them will no doubt be wary of the news, and I can think of at least one Clan who will not take this well."

"If it helps, any eggs ferried to the dwarves—or any race for that matter—will be taken to your halls by at least one of our Riders. The eggs are under their protection."

Orik grimaced. "If anything, that might only enflame Vermund more."

"We will have to be careful in any case," Hrothgar agreed. "But even so, I speak on behalf of mine people when I say we are grateful to be included in the pact henceforth. It is my hope that a dwarven Rider will strengthen the bonds between our races."

"As it is ours," Brom nodded.

Nasuada crossed her arms. "It seems time is something we are all going to need before we commit to open war with Galbatorix. The Riders must be trained. The Varden and dwarves must recover and re-arm ourselves. What of your kin, Islanzadi Drottning?"

"My smiths are already working to prepare our people for war," the Queen said. "We will not have seen battles like those to come in nigh on a century. As with you—time will be necessary."

"So the question remains," Nasuada sighed, looking among her allies. "How much time?"

Garzhvog sat cross-legged at the cliffs with his infant dragon and Oromis. The little female was snacking on strips of meat given to her by her Rider.

The Master and student watched as Glaedr led the other Riders through aerial combat exercises. Saphira chased after Firnen with a bellow, diving with the smaller dragon in an effort to catch him. Thorn meanwhile fled from Glaedr himself, evading the more experienced male with his smaller size and greater agility.

Garzhvog's dragon watched her elders and chirped with interest. He poked her gently with a finger and was amused when she tried to nip at it.

"One day, small one," the Kull told her.

Oromis studied the hatchling with a fond expression. "She will learn patience in time."

"We shall see," Garzhvog grunted. "To be young is to be brash and hurried."

"This is certainly true," Oromis inclined his head. "But I think her bond with you will temper that. You are experienced in the ways of life."

"Firnen still acts his age from time to time, and his Rider is nearly thrice my age."

"I never said it would be foolproof."

The Kull made his deep laughter and conceded the point.

Oromis watched the baby dragon bite into another strip of meat for several moments. "I must confess, you are going to be something of an experiment for me, Garzhvog. There has never been an Urgal Rider. Your training, I think, will include many similarities to the elf and human Riders, but it will need some adjustments."

"I will not be riding her anywhere near as quickly as the others did their dragons."

"No, I think not," he admitted. "You are much heavier than they are. Most dragons can bear a human or elf's weight by the time they are three or four months of age. You—we might have to wait until she is six to eight months old. However, you will still be taught to ride during that time. I will see you train with Glaedr and the other dragons. Carrying your weight in their lessons will be good for them, I think."

The Kull grunted. "And the other Riders will, in turn, ride with my dragon to teach her until she can bear my weight?"

"I believe so, yes. It will be important for you all to get used to riding different dragons aside from your partners. It may be that you will have to climb or even ride Shruikan and Morzan's dragon during the inevitable battles to come."

Garzhvog was silent for a time. "There is one more fight I must wage separate from the rest of you."

Oromis frowned. "What would that be?"

"My kin," he said. "I will need to unite the Urgralgra to bring them into the fold of the war, and to fulfill our place in the pact of the Riders. After Durza's trickery, the only way I will be capable of bringing the clans together is if I do so from a place of absolute authority."

The elf stiffened as he realized where the conversation was going. His voice filled with warning. "Garzhvog…"

The Kull looked at him with steady iron in his eyes. "Kulkarvek will not fight for us. He has killed and will kill Dragon Riders. You know this. I must kill him and take his barrow for myself."

They fell silent for a time. The infant dragon looked from elf to Kull and made a little whine to break the tension. Garzhvog stroked her with one of his huge fingers, but he did not break his gaze from his Master.

Oromis did not concede. "You are asking me to prepare you to fight against the very Urgal King that ambushed half a dozen Dragon Riders, their dragons, and sent Galbatorix on the definitive path to madness."

"I am."

"And how do you propose to defeat him?"

"Before Kulkarvek slew Galbatorix's dragon and his fellow Riders, he was mortal. Yet he lives still, a century afterwards. You and I both know how that can be."

Oromis' face was sour. "He took the Eldunari of the dragons he killed."

"It is the only answer that makes sense. Kulkarvek was a great King in his prime, but his time has long since passed. He cannot be allowed to rule over a mortal race any more than Galbatorix can. All those who have challenged him have died. He uses the strength of the dragons for his own purposes."

"And you will be one Rider and dragon against perhaps six Eldunari."

"We have time to prepare," Garzhvog argued. "But more than that, we cannot allow Kulkarvek to remain in power within his barrows. Whatever he used to be a century ago, he is evil now. Just because his evil is isolated does not mean it does not exist. My people must be freed of his ageless rule, especially if we are to be brought into the fold of the Dragon Riders."

Oromis agreed in some ways. Kulkarvek was a menace and the only reason he hadn't been hunted down and destroyed was because he and Glaedr lacked the power to do so. Their individual health problems would make raiding the ancient barrows nigh suicidal.

"You would not be able to fight through his ranks to reach him."

"I would not need to. I was a Chieftain. If I reclaim my role as chief of the Bolvek Tribe, I will have the authority to challenge him one-on-one. He will not be able to refuse my threat."

The elf was quiet for a while. "I must think on this with Glaedr. Understand Garzhvog, that I do not wish to tolerate Kulkarvek's rule in Alagaesia any more than you do, but he knows how to kill Dragon Riders, and that makes him dangerous. I cannot risk you and the other Riders on an isolated threat when Galbatorix himself still reigns. Whatever my decision is, you must respect it. Is that clear?"

Garzhvog considered it for several moments. "If we do not remove him, it will mean we will only be fighting with what few Urgralgra tribes I can muster. It may only amount to a matter of hundreds."

"I know. I will not make such a decision lightly. Regardless, you will be training to fight Galbatorix, so I expect you will be prepared to deal with Kulkarvek eventually. It is only a matter of when."

The Kull dipped his head. "Very well. So be it."

His dragon hissed and Garzhvog looked down at her. She had finished her meat and wanted more.

"You are greedy for so small a thing," he told her. She snapped her teeth in response.

Murtagh studied Zar'roc, lain across his lap, and frowned at the sword.

He was still learning of True Names, but there were ways he could begin the process of discovering the name of the blade. That he knew how to wield it effectively was already a good start; his knowledge of Zar'roc would progress the more he learned to use it.

But for now, he set his hand on the flat of the blade and closed his eyes. He would begin with its current title.

Misery.

Morzan had named his Rider's sword Misery. Why? To bring misery to others? It seemed likely. Was it a symbol of his own misery? Nay, that didn't feel right. Not at first, anyways. Morzan had been gifted and arrogant in his youth when he named the blade. No, he would have given his blade a title to be feared; something his enemies would despair in hearing.

The bloody red of the sword matched the scales of the nameless dragon that was Morzan's partner. Had the Banishing of the Names affected Zar'roc in some ways? Had it been corrupted when the source of its color—a part of it—was made twisted and hollow? The sword surely reflected some of Morzan's misery then, and that of his dragon. Did that make the sword's essence miserable as well?

Questions, questions.

What about when its ownership had passed to Brom? Murtagh imagined Zar'roc would have seen little use so long as Brom had Undbitr in his possession. There would have been a lull for the sword, a time where it would have laid dormant in the old man's house at Carvahall.

And now it was his. Was the sword as miserable as before? Or did it perhaps find a new purpose with its new wielder?

That felt right, but to what extent? Was it only to bring Misery to those who had once been its allies? To whoever Murtagh happened to face in combat? Was it a blade to bring despair now, or something else?

Murtagh knew he had only pieces of Zar'roc's larger history. There were things it had done that he could not know yet. He had only possessed it for less than a year, after all. Despite knowing how to wield Zar'roc well, he did not know Zar'roc in its deeper sense. He would have to search out its history and piece together its essence bit by bit.

In the back of his mind, he felt Thorn growing agitated about something, but he remained focused on the sword for a few more moments. Then Thorn sent a spike of adrenaline rushing through his Rider and Murtagh yelped.

His eyes opened and he looked down to see his fingers bloody. He'd cut himself on Zar'roc's edge in his response to Thorn. Murtagh scowled, closed himself from Thorn's playfulness, and healed his hand whilst glaring at the red Rider's blade.

It would not give up its secrets easily.

Eragon was in the middle of a spar with Vanir when things got rather ugly. Not in their typical fashion; though neither of them particularly liked each other, they'd ceased the vast majority of their slander and disrespect, instead choosing to take out their dislike by beating their opponent into submission.

As Eragon often did, he would fight with Undbitr and occasionally strike with his free hand to land a body blow or disorient his enemy. Vanir was getting used to his tricks, but Eragon was unpredictable at the best of times with his choices to fistfight.

Nearby, Arya was sparring with Garzhvog. The Kull was slower than his elven foe, he was already getting very good at dealing with faster opponents. Training with Eragon over the months had prepared him somewhat for matches against the elves, although Arya was quickly teaching him that he had much to learn.

Their battles were going about as expected.

Eragon batted away Vanir's sword and stepped into his guard to drive a bodyblow into his gut, but as he did, he felt the strangest sort of excitement from Saphira before she closed herself off from him entirely. It caught him so off-guard that he hesitated, frozen in surprise, and didn't react before Vanir's blade caught his outstretched forearm.

Pain lanced up the limb and he yelped, dropping to a crouch and clutching the injury close to his chest. Eragon swore over and over under his breath, eyes going blurry against the pain.

"What do you think you're doing?!" Vanir snapped in aggravation. "If our blades weren't guarded, I would've lopped off your arm!"

Arya and Garzhvog ceased their spar to walk over. Eragon knew his left arm was broken as he made a growl in his chest and started to heal the wound. Saphira's presence was still dulled in the back of his mind—she'd closed him off mentally for something.

"What happened?" Garzhvog asked, raising an eyebrow.

"I don't know," he gasped. "Saphira—Saphira's doing something, I can't…"

Arya frowned and carefully held a hand over his arm to assist with the healing. It wasn't an awful break, but it would certainly keep him from fighting with his left hand for a few days at least.

Eragon tried to touch Saphira's mind, bewildered and confused by what he was feeling. He only got a few short sensations from her, thoughts and—

Oh.

Oh.

He couldn't help but laugh, only to gasp in pain again when doing so wracked his body. Vanir blinked at him in bewilderment. "Have you lost your senses?"

"Maybe," Eragon winced. "Ow."

"Eloquent," the male elf said dryly. "What caused you to lose your focus?"

Eragon's face twisted into a scowl.

"Saphira and Thorn are mating."

Garzhvog cocked his head to one side while the elves just blinked in surprise, and then the Kull began to laugh uproariously. "HA! They aren't being very quiet about it, either!"

Eragon frowned and then realized he could hear the roaring dragons in the distance. Even closed off from his partner, Saphira's emotions sent a pulse of heat into his belly and he groaned. "Ugh. She could've warned me, at least!"

Arya's eyes were brimming with amusement. "I don't imagine she found that to be especially high on her list of priorities."

He blushed furiously, fighting (and failing) to stop the low growl in his throat. Vanir raised an eyebrow at the sound, which persisted longer than Eragon was entirely happy about.

The boy turned his head to hide his burning face against his shoulder. "I'm not going to be able to concentrate on anything while this is going on!"

"We noticed," Vanir said dryly.

Garzhvog set a meaty hand on Eragon's shoulder, causing the boy to yelp as he was jostled. He grinned unapologetically. "You will grow used to it, O' mighty Shadeslayer. Would you want your dragon to be frustrated by your own passion?"

"Garzhvog, I will beat you into the dirt when next we spar."

The Kull Rider only laughed even harder.

Arya managed to compose her amusement and continued to heal Eragon's broken arm. "Regardless, Vanir is right. This distraction would have cost you your arm if our blades were not guarded. Your fighting style is too risky; if you insist on fighting with both arms, at least wield a second sword."

"I've been thinking about it, but I only have one Rider's blade," he muttered. The pain was slowly receding, although it still hurt a lot.

"Then you will have to make do," she told him. "Rider's blades are not easy to come by. We will find you a suitable sword to use in tandem with Undbitr. Better that than losing a limb for the sake of a punch."

He conceded the point. "Very well."

Saphira was far too amused by the incident.

They sat in a clearing of dappled sunshine and shadows at the edge of Ellesmera, and Eragon grumbled as his dragon laughed herself to tears. "It's not funny!"

Maybe not for you! Saphira gasped for breath.

The boy rolled his eyes as she pressed her snout to his chest, still laughing. He lifted a hand and shoved her back, which barely moved the dragoness. "Ugh. Was it at least worth my arm breaking?"

Saphira grinned and nudged his mind playfully. It was enjoyable. I don't think it will happen again, but it was an…experience nonetheless.

Eragon chose not to focus on her teasing and instead frowned. He shifted the conversation solely to their minds. It didn't work out?

Oh, it worked out just fine, she snickered. But Thorn and I don't believe we will mate again. We hoped we might feel different after our union.

And you do not.

No, we do not. There is still that lingering uneasiness, she admitted. We both agreed that we won't be mates, but neither of us regret what happened.

You are not unhappy?

We both knew there was a possibility we would not match well. No, we are not unhappy. Disappointed somewhat, but I think the two of us are more relaxed since Garzhvog's female hatched. I feel less guilty leaving Thorn without a mate and he does not feel hopeless. It worked out, even if the two of us did not.

Eragon scratched her scales. Well, even if it wasn't meant to be, I'm glad the two of you figured things out.

Thank you, little one.

He smiled at her. Do you think you might become a mother soon?

I do not discount the possibility, she teased him. We were rather passionate.

Saphira.

His dragon-lady laughed and rumbled deep in her chest as she rubbed her snout against him, and Eragon sighed, smiling despite her mischief. She knew he loved her.

He stroked the scales above her brow and leaned against her. Brom and Orik are leaving soon.

I heard, she responded. There is much to do to prepare for the war to come. They have their duties and we have ours. We must excel in our training if we are to topple the Mad King.

I know. It sounds like too much time and too little all at once. I know we need the training, but I want to stop his reign as soon as possible. And yet…

Even if we had a century to train, would we ever feel ready?

Is anyone ever truly ready for war?

Only those who are mad.

Garzhvog might disagree.

Saphira snorted. Or culturally inclined to battle.

Eragon chuckled. I feel like it's been an eternity since you hatched for me, yet it hasn't even been a year. I can only imagine what else will change while we are learning under Master Oromis and Master Glaedr.

We will overcome it, Saphira told him. We have come this far, have we not?

Aye, he closed his eyes amidst the shadows and sunlight. We will finish this how we started it.

She hummed in agreement. Together.

Morzan's visage in the scrying mirror appeared satisfied and cruel, as it often did when he was not angry. The sight amused the Forsworn's Master, he who ruled over Alagaesia with absolutely certainty.

King Galbatorix pondered the recent news his servant had gifted him. To hear that Morzan's Black Hand had mothered two Dragon Riders was quite the surprise; to discover that one was the spawn of Brom even more so, but it answered a few questions of his following the Hand's betrayal.

And now, Morzan had the cousin of Selena's offspring under lock and key in Surda. Leverage, Galbatorix knew, was a valuable tool when utilized properly.

"Keep them alive," he told the Forsworn softly. "Do not bring them to harm. Let them be happy. Let them taste joy, and it will turn to ashes in their mouths when our wayward Riders come to liberate Surda."

"As you wish, my King," Morzan dipped his head respectfully. "If I might beg a question, Master?"

"Yes?"

"Have you decided on how to replace Durza?"

Galbatorix's lips curved up into a smile. "But of course, my student. I will have another Shade prepared soon."

Morzan frowned, but the King held a hand up to give his servant pause. "However, it is clear that a mere Shade will not be sufficient to grant us victory in the war to come. It will be…a useful tool for us, but nothing more."

"I see. Forgive me, my King."

"It is forgiven; I do believe I overestimated Durza's abilities," Galbatorix said in a rare admission of shortsightedness. "I had thought him capable of besting a pair of human Riders barely touching manhood. I shall not make the same mistake again. A Shade is strong, but it will not be enough. No, for the task ahead, we will need something greater…someone greater."

Morzan's bicolored eyes gleamed. "You figured it out?"

"I did," purred the King. "He is bound to my will and has been prepared. I will dress him in armor of my colors and when the war comes to us, the sight of him will bring our foes despair."

"I look forward to seeing it," Morzan grinned dangerously.

Galbatorix nodded and with a final word, ended the conversation. The scrying mirror became blank and the King stood up, leaving the chamber to seek out his newest servant.

He strode through the castle halls, his footsteps echoing in the silence. He reached the throne room and observed the figured kneeling before the throne; it had not moved, just as he had ordered of it.

Shruikan's icy-blue eye fixed on the King for a moment and he growled, displeased, before looking back to the kneeling shape. He seemed to glower, and his upper lip curled to expose massive, razor-sharp fangs.

"Peace, Shruikan," Galbatorix said softly. The dragon growled again and looked away from the figure, irritated. "This one will not speak unless spoken to."

That did not seem to placate the dragon at all. Galbatorix walked to his throne and sat down upon it. He looked at his newest servant and flourished one of his hands. "Rise."

The figure stood, clad in fine clothing, and crossed his arms behind his back. Galbatorix's smile was thoroughly unkind as he regarded the creature. "I realize you have no choice but to serve me, but I would still prefer that you remove any notions of rebellion from your mind, regardless. It would not do if you, wise and clever that you are, found a way around my spells."

The figure said nothing, but his eyes narrowed dangerously. The King was unperturbed by the evident hate lingering there.

"I will ask again," Galbatorix proclaimed. "Will you serve me willingly?"

"No."

"So be it. Then we will begin again."

His mind was honed into a blade harder and sharper than diamond, and with the whispers of broken Eldunari vastly enhancing his already considerable mental strength, Galbatorix pierced the thoughts of his newest servant without any effort. Though the being struggled, his mouth flew open in a soundless scream as Galbatorix began to slowly tear through his mind and subjected him to illusions of joy and pain and madness.

Shruikan snorted black fire and the King smiled benignly.

The torture, seemingly stretching for days on end, lasted only a minute before his servant was set free of the agony. Even though his body quivered, he was not allowed to fall to his knees. Galbatorix would not allow that.

"Will you serve me willingly?"

"No."

"So be it. Again."

Snow crunched beneath his boots as he walked through Ellesmera. Eragon had seen it before, but he found it to be as beautiful as always—the sight of the elven capital blanketed in gentle white.

He donned clothing meant for the colder seasons of the year, as he often did anyways when he flew high with Saphira. His tunic, leggings, and boots were all a warm ebony, and his hooded cloak was the same shade as a moonless night. Two blades were bound to him; Undbitr at his left hip, and a leaf-shaped, elven sword at his back. Wrapped around his neck and safely tucked beneath his tunic, the blue Eldunari pulsed warm with his heartbeat.

Draconic brown eyes flickered towards a small flock of birds that flew away, chirping in alarm, as the white raven Blagden screeched after them. Blagden perched on a branch above his path and stared at him, cocking his head to and fro before shrieking. "Wyrda!"

Eragon jabbed at the bird with a thought, smirking when the raven screeched in displeasure and flew off. It seemed that Blagden had not yet worked out that the youngest Rider was not so easily irritated these days. He remembered when the white raven got far too much glee out of aggravating him.

He'd grown out of that.

He hadn't become much taller over time. Unsurprising; Brom and his mother had both been of average height. Murtagh had grown somewhat more, but he had always been taller than Eragon, anyways.

The Rider found Saphira—far larger than when they'd begun their training here—waiting at his tree house with Garzhvog and his own dragon partner, who was not much smaller than Saphira herself. Their eyes all locked onto him as he approached.

Garzhvog observed the young man steadily. "Well?"

Eragon nodded. "We're going."

The Kull relaxed slightly. "Good. You are already packed?"

"This is hardly the first lengthy trip I've taken across Alagaesia," he reminded the Urgal Rider.

Garzhvog raised an eyebrow regardless and Eragon sighed. "Yes, I am already packed."

"Then let us be off. There is no time to waste."

Eragon nodded again and leapt onto Saphira as she crouched, allowing him to climb into the saddle on her back. Garzhvog mounted his partner and with two great bellows, the dragons launched themselves into the air. They climbed a ways and then leveled off, well above the sea of white trees.

We go southwest, Garzhvog declared. To the foothills of Marna, east of Lake Isenstar. There we will find the Bolvek Tribe.

Very well, Eragon agreed. Lead the way.

Garzhvog took point and the pair of dragons left Ellesmera behind them. Eragon knew that this trip would strike the flint that would set embers upon the pyre of war. His blood boiled in anticipation and beneath him, Saphira growled eagerly.

They had come far, he reflected as he remembered how small she was when she tumbled free of her egg.

Five years had passed since that day, and still he remembered it vividly.

A/N: Quite a jump we've taken.

As I said last chapter, the next four installments will each follow the POV of our four Dragon Riders over the course of their training before the war. This will span essentially across four years, so there will be jumps in time as they progress. When those chapters are done and have somewhat filled you in on the going-ons over time, we will return to the main story in chapter 35, where we shall start the beginnings of the war itself.

Your support is very important to me! As ever, please review and thanks for reading!