Chapter Thirty-Five: The Bolvek Tribe
Garzhvog was right.
Eragon felt the wards he had cast begin to do their work, draining bits of energy from him as arrows veered away or bounced off of Saphira's hide. It was made somewhat easier when Opheila, hidden in Garzhvog's saddle bags, merged her strength with the Riders to bolster their defenses. When he leapt from her back, he bolted forward to catch an Urgal spear mid-flight; wards or no wards, he didn't want that thing anywhere near his dragon.
He'd seen what they could do to Lethrblaka firsthand.
As he jammed the weapon's point into the ground, Garzhvog leapt from Illgra's saddle and let out an enormous howl.
The projectiles came for a few more seconds and then ceased altogether.
Eragon watched the tree line, from which they were but perhaps fifteen meters away, and could see Urgals shifting around in the underbrush. They were good enough at hiding that he could not see exactly how many there were, but there were quite a few.
He stayed close to Saphira as Garzhvog stepped forward slowly, arms held open and up at his sides. Eragon wondered what the Urgals were thinking; seeing a Kull Rider approaching them. Whereas Eragon generally wore form-fitting, dark clothing and a cloak to keep him warm and stay out of the way for fights, Garzhvog bore something decided more tribal in nature.
Even so, he was probably the most finely-dressed Urgal Alagaesia had seen. He bore no tunic, but he wore a huge, black fur cloak that was bound at his chest with the skull of a Fanghur Illgra had killed in Du Weldenvarden some years ago. Domia was, of course, strapped to his back, and he bore a huge hunting knife at his belt. His lower half donned a set of thick leather leggings to protect him from Illgra's scales when they flew together, and his boots were a match to the fur cloak upon his shoulder.
The Kull Rider threw his head back and howled again. This time, he was answered with a roar, and then another Kull stepped out of the tree line warily.
Garzhvog locked eyes with the other Urgal and they were silent for some time before they rushed each other, lowering their heads as they picked up speed. Eragon watched as they crashed their horns against one another with a heavy thud, then grasped each other by the shoulders.
They pulled back enough to stare each other in the eyes. Eragon waited patiently with the dragons in silence.
Garzhvog made a low chuckle. The other Kull matched him, and then they crashed their horns against each other again before howling in laughter.
Eragon relaxed, but didn't dare let the wards fall. Saphira and Illgra sat down, watching curiously as the two Kull pounded each other's backs.
"Brother," Garzhvog grinned hugely.
"Brother," the other Kull chuckled.
Their new friend turned around and waved his arm, encouraging the rest of the Urgals to come out. They did so hesitantly, looking stunned by the sight of Garzhvog with the dragons.
"We thought you dead!"
"I have much to tell you," Garzhvog said, then turned back to the other Rider, gesturing for him to approach. Eragon did so, striding confidently towards the gathering tribe of Urgals. He'd become plenty comfortable around their kind—spending four years with Garzhvog had eroded away any old fears.
Saphira and Illgra also stood to approach, inciting quite a few nervous mutters. Understandable; they were beautiful and terrifying, Eragon thought with some amusement.
"Skgahgrezh," Garzhvog faced his brother again. "We must speak."
Skgahgrezh observed the approaching Rider and two dragons warily. "Is that wise?"
"I would not bring a threat to our people, brother," the Kull reached up as Illgra lowered her head to his side, bringing her eyes down to Skgahgrezh's level. "We come peacefully."
Illgra made a low rumble in her throat and the Kull gave her a speculative look, glancing from the dragon to Garzhvog and back again with intrigue. "It would seem so. Come, then."
They all ended up gathering at the Urgal campsite, whereupon Eragon got to see the tribe's current home. It was a circle of huts, which were designed to be easily moved when needed. The Bolvek's were one of the tribes that lived in a migratory manner, traveling along the border of the Empire to and from the Beor Mountains.
It took a little maneuvering for Saphira and Illgra to gather around the center of the camp without stepping on a hut, but they made do. Their appearance almost provoked another attack, but Skgahgrezh managed to get them to stand down.
Everyone was on edge with two huge dragons sitting in the middle of the settlement, but the sight of Garzhvog returning seemed to balance out the fear with surprise. Well, more surprise.
Skgahgrezh stood at the head of the tribe. Eragon scanned the gathering curiously; he'd never gotten the chance to see an Urgal gathering like this in peace. The last time he'd seen any number of Urgralgra like this had been the Battle of Farthen Dur.
"You," Skgahgrezh looked from Garzhvog to Eragon, and then to the dragons. "Explain."
"Of course," Garzhvog sat on a thick log across from the fire pit. Eragon joined him. The dragons sat as well, (carefully) and when they did so, the rest of the Urgals took their own seats. Eragon saw several Urgal children hiding behind their mothers, and he found it startling how much they resembled human children, save for their gray skin and yellow eyes.
The Kull Rider told the tribe everything that had happened since he'd been exiled by Durza when the Shade took over. It was a rather long story—though they had to skip over many of the details involving their training with the elves, the news that the dragons had brought the Urgals and dwarves into the pact of the Riders was taken with great surprise.
It earned Garzhvog no small amount of wonder when they were told he was the first Urgal Dragon Rider.
"And now you're here," Skgahgrezh said when his brother had finished his story. The Kull looked from Garzhvog to Eragon. "And you killed the Shade who stole the minds of our people."
"I had some help," Eragon replied. "Durza was not easy to kill."
"I believe that," another Urgal behind the Chieftain grunted, studying Eragon shrewdly. "He doesn't look like much."
The young man smirked. "I might just surprise you."
"Oh? You are as thin as a reed, little Rider. You think yourself powerful?"
Garzhvog grinned. "You are being challenged, my friend."
Eragon's smile was all teeth as he slowly stood up. "I would be happy to prove myself."
They had discussed this before seeking out the Bolvek Tribe. Garzhvog had proven himself before as Chieftain; they would not doubt his strength, but Eragon was a stranger to them. If he wanted to earn their trust and friendship, he would have to prove that he was willing to embrace their customs.
Skgahgrezh looked from the Urgal who was challenging Eragon to the Rider himself. "You know our ways."
"I have learned much from Garzhvog about the Urgralgra," Eragon said, reaching up to unclasp his cloak. "Shall we wrestle?"
That got a number of excited murmurs going and the challenging Urgal grinned dangerously. "You have iron in your bones, Rider. Or feathers in your brain. You would wrestle me?"
"Happily. I've been looking forward to this for days."
"Brother," Garzhvog said. "I think we should clear some space."
Skgahgrezh nodded and made a sweeping gesture towards the other Urgals, who backed off to open up a large circle. "Very well. Yarbog, Rider—strip. There will be no weapons save your bodies."
Eragon was already shirtless. Garzhvog had told him about Urgal wrestling and he knew the custom even if he'd never experienced it. He felt no shame in displaying his body to the tribe, for this was commonplace for them. Wrestling was as peaceful a way to establish one's place in the tribe as any, and he would rather not kill one of their potential allies.
Yarbog stripped with him, eyes never leaving the draconic Rider. Though he was not a Kull, he was still huge—taller than Eragon and many times thicker. He would not be an easy foe to defeat, but Eragon was confident in his strength and skill.
All he wore now was the necklace holding his Eldunari, and he turned to Saphira as he removed it from around his neck. She lowered her head and he carefully laid the cord between her teeth for her to guard.
You are eager, she commented, amused.
He smirked. You are as excited as I am.
It is bound to be rather entertaining, I think.
"Are you ready, Rider?" Yarbog challenged.
Eragon turned away from his dragon, and his smile was fierce. "Are you?"
Some of the Urgals in the crowd had brought out war drums while the pair of wrestlers were preparing themselves. They started to hit them in an excited, tribal beat; a deep pounding that set his blood afire and made him eager to fight.
Skgahgrezh looked from Yarbog to Eragon, then pounded his chest and howled.
Eragon lunged at the Urgal, who lowered his head and charged him with his horns. He picked up speed faster than his opponent and closed the gap in a blur, hands flying up to grab Yarbog by the horns.
His momentum halted Yarbog before he could really get moving and they both stopped in their tracks, heaving against one another. Eragon had him by the horns and was pushing back with all his might. Yarbog snarled and grabbed at him, but Eragon twisted and launched the Urgal headfirst into the ground.
He faced Yarbog as the Urgal got to his feet, stalking in a circle around each other like fighting Shrrgs. Yarbog pounded his chest and bellowed, to which Eragon—drawn into the excitement of the fight—sucked in a deep breath and loosed his dragon's roar, surprising his opponent and the watching tribe. They were sizing each other up, gauging their foe from their first collision.
Yarbog charged again and this time Eragon ducked under the horns to tackle him. Their legs twisted and they went down on the ground in a tangle of limbs and snarls.
Eragon gave himself to his draconic nature as they roared at each other, fighting savagely for dominance. Yarbog's claw-like nails dug bloody furrows into his skin as he gripped Eragon around the torso, and the Rider retaliated by swinging an arm around the Urgal's neck and dragging his head down until it was pinned to Eragon's belly. He grabbed the horns with his free hand and twisted, forcing Yarbog's skull beneath his body.
The Urgal let go of Eragon and shoved his hands against the ground, trying to push up to get above his foe. Eragon let him go and Yarbog rose up faster than expected, exposing his neck and torso for the Rider to tackle again. They rolled in the dirt, grappling as Eragon tried to pin Yarbog beneath him. He grabbed the Urgal's wrists and tried to pin them, but they were too thick and powerful.
He backed off again, getting back to his feet and snarling as he caught his breath. Yarbog rose up as well, chest heaving. The Urgal grinned dangerously.
"You are strong, little Rider."
"And you are as fierce as a bear," Eragon laughed, then lunged at the Urgal.
Yarbog howled again as the Rider bolted at him with that incredible speed. This time, Eragon jumped—catching Yarbog by the horns and spinning so that he was behind the Urgal. He wrapped an arm around his throat from the back and heaved, toppling Yarbog over. They both hit the ground hard and Eragon rolled so that Yarbog was above him.
Though his weight was crushing Eragon, he had a grip now and he would not let go. Yarbog couldn't reach around to grab him as Eragon squeezed, suffocating the Urgal. An elbow was driven into his ribs and knocked the wind out of him.
Ok, so the fight was gonna get dirty.
Eragon retaliated by swinging a fist out of nowhere into Yarbog's face, causing the Urgal to roar. Another elbow caught Eragon's gut and he snarled, shoving Yarbog away and rising to his feet. It seemed they were in for a fistfight now.
Yarbog swung a huge punch at Eragon, who ducked under it and drove his fist into the Urgal's gut. He delivered several punishing body blows to his opponent, who grabbed at him and missed. Eragon grabbed him by the head and pushed him down, only for Yarbog to jerk and cut the Rider's torso with the sharp tips of his horn.
Eragon bellowed, enraged by the pain, and when Yarbog's head came back up, he unleashed a frenzy of blows to the sides of his face, continuing to shove the Urgal's head down as he backpedaled from the onslaught. Yarbog stumbled from a blow that caught the side of his jaw and Eragon grabbed his horns again to push him to the ground.
He dove downwards with Yarbog and twisted the Urgal's head with his grip on the horn. Though Yarbog struggled, he could break free of the grip as Eragon wrapped his legs around the Urgal's torso and crossed his ankles together.
Yarbog's neck was beginning to twist at an odd angle and the Urgal struggled for several more seconds before finally howling and slapping his hand against the ground. "I submit!"
The drums stopped. Eragon let him go, backing away and stumbling onto his feet again. His body thrummed with energy and the pulse of his blood, eager even for the wounds he sported.
Yarbog cracked his neck, groaning, as the Rider approached and offered his arm to the Urgal. Yarbog blinked up at him as Eragon grinned, half-mad with the thrill of battle. "A good fight!"
The Urgal matched his grin and accepted the arm, allowing Eragon to pull him to his feet. "A good fight!"
The tribe howled, satisfied with the outcome of the match. Eragon returned to Saphira and began to put his clothing back on while Yarbog did the same.
You're a mess, she told him, laughing.
It was worth it, he chuckled.
Garzhvog approached and clapped his shoulder, smirking. "Was it rough enough for you?"
"It wouldn't be a fight if things didn't get ugly," Eragon snickered.
"Agreed."
Skgahgrezh approached them and the whole of the tribe seemed much more welcoming towards Eragon now. "You are stronger than you look, Shadeslayer. You have proven yourself, I think."
"Aye!" Yarbog laughed. Now back in his tribal wear, he rolled his shoulders and followed his Chieftain. "The little Rider has a good punch!"
"And your horns are sharp," Eragon grinned devilishly as he pulled his tunic over his head.
Skgahgrezh saw the still-bleeding wounds before Eragon covered them up. "You will not heal them with your magic?"
"Is it not the way of your people to let such wounds heal naturally?"
The proclamation seemed to please the Chieftain. He looked at Garzhvog and his smile was all teeth. "I like this one."
"He grows on you," Garzhvog chuckled. "Now—shall we eat? Or shall we hunt?"
"I would eat," Skgahgrezh looked up at Saphira and Illgra. "But I do not think we have food enough for your companions."
There is no need for that, Nar-of-Bolvek, Illgra reached out to the Chieftain's mind. Saphira and I hunted before we came here. You need not feed us. Your tribe must come first.
The Urgal Chieftain seemed startled by how she spoke, but Eragon was hardly surprised; Illgra had grown up with a former Chieftain for her Rider. She knew about leadership and the way of the Urgralgra firsthand.
"Our world has changed," Skgahgrezh murmured. "Very well. Let us feast!"
Urgal celebrations were, without question, more boisterous than any of the other three races.
Garzhvog watched as a number of Urgal children began to sneak around the adults towards Eragon, and nudged his fellow Rider with a faint smile. "You are being hunted."
Eragon had already seen them, but he pretended not to as he drank with Garzhvog and Skgahgrezh. He tried—and failed—not to smile. "By such mighty hunters? Remember me, my friend, for I am beyond saving."
With a cry, one of the children charged and the others followed. Eragon spun, feigning surprise as he was tackled by five Urgal younglings and brought into a scuffle on the ground. The tribe laughed around them.
Saphira laughed with them, a ululating growl that the Urgals found hilarious. Illgra had lowered her head to Garzhvog's side and was only amused when one particularly bold Urgal child tackled her neck. She humored him and allowed the child to "pin her" by flattening her head to the ground with a dramatic groan.
Garzhvog chuckled as they drank and ate; though he and Eragon did not partake of meat due to their training with the elves, they found much to eat in the mushroom stews and berries harvested by the Bolvek Tribe.
They spent hours in a joyous frenzy. Eragon and Garzhvog partook in a number of games with the rest of the tribe and even the dragons competed by seeing how many Urgal children they could lift up on their tails.
That particular game became extremely popular.
Another game created by the dragons involved the Urgals charging and head-butting them. Saphira suggested it and after proving how durable dragon skulls were, the tribe took to the game eagerly. It was all good fun until Saphira and Illgra decided to headbutt each other and almost stumbled onto a hut as they shook off the impact.
The game ended after that.
Night came around and the fire was lit. Eragon was tired, but it was a good kind of tired; his muscles ached pleasantly from the celebrations and he was surrounded by new friends.
A young Urgal child was propped on his shoulders, holding his hair with one hand as she reached up to touch Saphira's snout. The dragon crooned to the little girl and the child laughed.
Garzhvog was pleased by how quickly his friends had been accepted by the tribe. He knew his people, and he knew they would earn their respect, but nonetheless, he was grateful their first contact had been with minimal bloodshed.
Skgahgrezh took another drink as things quieted amongst the tribe. Some of the Urgralgra were retreating to their huts—mostly the young ones who had been exhausted by all the games—and it seemed the celebration was finally winding down.
"So," the Chieftain looked at Garzhvog seriously. "You said you intend to bring the Urgal tribes together to conquer the Drajl King with the other four races."
"I did," Garzhvog agreed.
"I believe you can do it. You and your dragon, your Riders—you will inspire much support, I think."
"But not enough."
Skgahgrezh set his drink aside and placed his hands on his knees. They were sitting across from each other on opposite sides of the fire. "No. Not enough. The Urgralgra were weakened by the war we did not wish to fight. You can see for yourself—our numbers have thinned, brother. Many of the roaming tribes are weaker now. We can and will fight, but I fear the aftermath will cripple many of our communities."
"The tribes deep in the north did not fight the war. Nor will they join us."
"No, I think not."
"Not, unless, I give them a reason to follow me."
Skgahgrezh stiffened. "Garzhvog…"
"I have spoken of this with our teachers," Garzhvog murmured. The fire lit a blaze in his eyes. "I am prepared. I am going to hunt Kulkarvek."
The mention of that name quieted the whole tribe. The only noise left was the crackling of the fire.
"You go to your death."
"I do not, or I would not seek him out. I know the secret of his long life. The reason he is so powerful."
Skgahgrezh's eyes widened. "You learned this?"
"I did. I know how to fight him. I will conquer Kulkarvek and claim his barrow in my name."
"…To do that, you would have to become Chieftain again."
"Only for a short time," Garzhvog answered softly. "I am a Rider, brother—I cannot be Chieftain in the way I once was. I stand for our people amongst the ranks of Riders. That is all I can be now."
"Yet you would become King. Another undying King."
"And when this war ends, I will throw down the String of Horns for another to take my place. I will do what I must, as I always have."
Skgahgrezh studied his brother closely. "I cannot decide now. I must speak with my shaman and warlocks. With my strongest warriors. You will have my answer tomorrow, brother."
"Very well."
Nasuada stood in a circle around a round table with her advisors and allies, going over plans for their march to Surda. They'd been traveling for two days now, and the army was moving steadily towards their destination. Hopefully, they'd be out of the mountains before the weather started to freeze.
They were already cutting it a little close, she decided as she breathed out cold air.
"What do the scouts say?"
Brom pointed to the river system they were following on the map. "We're coming into the valley now. We will follow the Beartooth River to its source as long as we can to ensure we have water enough for our trek out of the mountains. After that, we will curve around the western tip of the Beor's and head southwest to Surda. In theory, it's a straight shot to Aberon."
Nasuada nodded. "And in practice?"
"The mountain range will be on the army's left flank," Brom continued. "There are plenty of ambush points and the Surdans are likely to know these parts of the Beors better than we do. I would suggest we place members of Du Vrangr Gata at the head, middle, and end of our forces, with a Rider alternating positions at the front and back in the air. We should be able to detect any threats coming our way like that."
"Do you think it likely the Surdans will attack us? Not Galbatorix's forces?" Vanir questioned.
"I have no doubt Galbatorix has sent none of his troops to Surda," Nasuada answered. "Morzan has, undoubtedly, forced King Orrin to submit to him—and though him, he has the loyalty of the Surdan army, even if they do not wish to fight for the Empire."
"Hostages are rather effective," purred Blodgharm.
Nasuada glanced warily at the elf—the leader of the twelve elven spellcasters sent to support the Riders in battle. Blodgharm was unique amongst them; he had the fangs of a wolf, the pelt of a forest cat, and the eyes of an eagle. His fur was silver-blue, and apparently he had altered his appearance to fit his perception of beauty.
On top of that, he had a musky scent that seemed to attract only women. Males could not smell it, and Brom had cast a spell upon Nasuada to prevent her from being affected by it.
The "Blood Wolf" was an ally, even if he made Nasuada somewhat uncomfortable. She would have to get over it, she knew, for he was one of most powerful spellcasters to come from Du Weldenvarden.
Arya, who was with them, was also unaffected by Blodgharm's scent. "Hostages or not, we must seize the capital from Morzan and his dragon. Our spies tell us he is still there, and oddly passive at the moment."
"You suspect a trap," Jormunder murmured.
"I do," Arya admitted.
"Always expect traps," Murtagh interjected. "What about the local wildlife? Winter is approaching—I do not want us to be blindsided by a hungry Urzhad looking to stock up before it hibernates."
"We'll be relying on you and Arya to deal with that," Nasuada replied. "Should such a situation occur. We will support you as best we can, but cave bears are beyond the common soldier. At best, we might annoy one with our arrows."
Outside, they heard Thorn snort. He and Firnen were already sharing thoughts with those in the tent, and the red male growled. Bring me a bear and I will cook it.
Nasuada hid a smile. "I can think of none better suited to such a task than you and Firnen, Thorn."
Brom looked over at Murtagh. "When is Eragon due to join us?"
"If all goes well, he and Saphira should reach us as we curve around the tip of the Beors to the north," Murtagh set his finger on the map.
"Murtagh, what of the dragon eggs?" Nasuada asked quietly.
"We have left them in Ellesmera," he answered. "This place is not safe for them. Our teachers will care for the eggs until the war is over."
"Good," she nodded.
"But what if we got another to hatch?" Jormunder asked.
"Even if one of the eggs were to hatch this very moment, the Rider and dragon would take months to be ready for battle," Arya told him. "The one meant for my people will still be ferried from city to city under the watchful eyes of our teachers, but we cannot afford to slow down or hope for another to hatch. Once we gain an advantage, we must press it without hesitation."
Jormunder nodded in understanding. Blodgharm glanced at Arya next. "What of Garzhvog and Illgra?"
"With any luck, he has begun his hunt for Kulkarvek," she answered grimly. "But we do not know how long that could take. I do not think the Urgals will join us to retake Surda, but they might be ready by the time we assault the Empire itself."
"When will the elves strike, Arya?" Brom queried.
"Islanzadi Drottning intends for us to attack the Empire simultaneously in order to spread their forces thin. Morzan can only be in one place at a time. When we assault Feinster, the Alfakyn will take the military stronghold in Gil'ead."
"Islanzadi leads the elves in from the north and we take the cities to the south," Nasuada tapped her finger on the table in thought. "By doing so, we'll trap Galbatorix between our armies."
"It's a good plan," Jormunder admitted.
"Plans are only good if things go according to plan," Murtagh pointed out. "Which, oftentimes, they do not. We must be wary; Galbatorix knows we're coming. It will make him all the more dangerous."
"Agreed," Arya nodded.
Nasuada glanced amongst her allies. "We will be careful, but we must also be willing to take risks. This is war. Wars are not won passively. Now, the sun should rise any minute now. Get the men up and we will continue our march west. Let us make haste—I would not see us in the Beors when the first snow falls."
There were several murmurs of agreement and they started to filter out of the tent. Nasuada caught Murtagh's eye and he remained where he was, sharing a quick mental conversation with Arya as she left with Firnen. Once they were all gone and the tent was empty save the two of them, Nasuada faced him from across the table.
They still had wards up to keep the military meeting secret, and Murtagh made sure to keep them there while they were alone.
"My Lady," Murtagh murmured softly.
"Dragon Rider," she answered. "How do you feel?"
"About what?"
"Morzan. The fight to come."
Murtagh paused. "That man has penned himself into a corner. Once Eragon joins us, he, Arya, and myself will drive Morzan from Aberon or tear him out of the sky. Hopefully the latter, but I refuse to believe he will make it that easy. This…passivity of his is disturbing."
"I agree. He's up to something," she nodded, slowly walking around the table. She cast a glance at the tent flap to ensure no one was approaching before she set a hand on Murtagh's arm. Her voice quieted. "You are alright?"
"I will be fine, My Lady," he said. Murtagh was quiet for a moment before he reached into one of the pouches at his waist. "I have something for you."
She blinked as he pulled out a thin band of smooth, white steel; a bangle joined by a dragon biting the tip of its tail. Its eyes were made of pale red stones, and its claws were black as pitch.
"This was made by an elf-smith in Ellesmera," he explained. "It's enchanted. If you rub your fingers over the dragon's eye and say my name or Thorn's, we will hear you. And so long as you wear it, should you ever be in danger, I shall be alerted. I will come for you."
Nasuada smiled and held her hand up for him to slip the bangle onto her right wrist. She studied it there and found it to be beautiful, despite the odd color choice. "It does not look much like Thorn."
He shrugged, half-smirking. "I decided it was best to be discreet. At least this way, anyone who sees it will have no idea which Rider they might enrage for harming you."
She raised an eyebrow and his smirk grew. "Ok, so they'll enrage all of us, but you see my point."
"I do," she hummed with mirth.
Murtagh looked towards the tent flap and then leaned down quickly to kiss her. Nasuada lifted her hands to cup his face as he gathered her hips and pulled her close.
It was brief and chaste, and when they separated they pressed their foreheads together. Murtagh sighed. "It seems we're still left with only stolen moments."
"It is all we can have for now," she agreed. She kissed him one more time and then pulled away. "Go. Thorn is waiting for you."
He smiled and pressed his lips to her brow, then left Nasuada to patrol with Thorn. She watched the Red Rider leave, longing in her heart, but she steeled herself and began to prepare for the day. Her servants would arrive soon to begin packing, and she still had much to consider before they started traveling for the day.
A/N: So begins the prelude to war!
Just to clarify, by this point in the story, Eragon is 21, Murtagh is 24, and Nasuada is 23. Saphira and Thorn are now 5 years old, Firnen is 4.5, and Illgra is 4. The two eggs Saphira laid by Thorn are being kept in Ellesmera for their own safety.
As ever, please review and thanks for reading!