Chapter Thirty-Six: The Hunter
Eragon woke up to something of a novelty: shaded by Saphira's wing above him, sleeping on his cloak and traveling bags, whilst buried under Urgal children.
He quickly recalled how such a situation came to be and smirked. When he had retreated for the night to sleep under Saphira's wing—as he often did in the wilderness—the Urgal children had seen this and grown fascinated. Saphira, willing to humor them, allowed the little ones to join Eragon, and they all bundled up in a pile of warm bodies beneath the dragon's great, blue wing.
He was reluctant to wake them despite his desire to get up. The little ones were sleeping fitfully and looked rather peaceful. It was quite endearing.
He felt Saphira wake soon afterwards and their minds drew close, sharing Eragon's view of the slumbering children. His dragon sent a pulse of amusement through their bond.
You seem rather comfortable.
Oddly enough, I am.
Is it so odd?
Hm. Perhaps not.
Sometimes I wonder if my becoming a mother has influenced your behavior, as well, Saphira commented. You are rarely around children these days, but you are very good with them.
I think I have just developed a higher tolerance for their nonsense, he smiled. He felt another spike of humor from her.
Perhaps.
He was content to let the children sleep until Saphira stirred again, slowly lifting her wing to avoid startling the Urgal younglings. Eragon blinked at the dawning sky and found Garzhvog approaching him with Skgahgrezh.
The Chieftain laid eyes on the pile of Urgal children burying the Rider and smirked. "Thank you for humoring them. They did not trouble you?"
"I think we tired them out rather thoroughly yesterday," Eragon murmured, smiling. "They fell asleep quickly."
"A rarity. But we must wake them. You have long journeys ahead of you."
Eragon's smile faded and he caught the seriousness in the eyes of Garzhvog and his brother. "Very well."
They met in one of the largest huts in the camp, which likely belonged to Shgahgrezh, along with two of his warriors—a huge, female Kull, and a standard male Urgal, as well as the tribe's Shaman. Together, they all sat down in the center of the hut.
"Shadeslayer," Skgahgrezh gestured to his allies. "In case you did not meet them yesterday, these are the Bolvek Tribe's greatest. My second in-command, Ygritte."
The huge female dipped her head and Eragon nodded, then looked at the male when Skgahgrezh pointed to him. "My strongest Warlock, Bol."
They exchanged greetings again before leading to the last Urgal. "And our Shaman, Ragvogh."
Eragon found himself glancing between Ragvogh and Bol curiously. He knew the differences in Urgal culture thanks to Garzhvog's many lessons, but this was the first time he'd encountered an Urgal Shaman and Warlock. Though both used magic, the Shaman's place in a tribe was to heal and interpret important tribal signs, whereas a Warlock served by using spells for combat.
"Saphira and I are honored that you would allow us to meet you here," Eragon told them.
Ygritte smirked. "You are both fierce warriors. You have earned your place amongst us, Shadeslayer."
Bol said nothing, though he grunted in agreement. Ragvogh merely watched in silence.
Skgahgrezh lifted his hands around his neck and pulled off a necklace of ornate beads and smoothed bones, all of which were decorated with Urgralgra symbols. "I do not give this to you lightly, brother. You know the ways of our people. If you had not come here with your dragon, I would have insisted on battling you for the right to be Chieftain. But I believe in you. Ygritte and Bol think you and the dragon Illgra to be mighty, and Ragvogh tells me that the signs are good."
He offered the necklace to Garzhvog. "You were our Chieftain once. And even if it is only for a short time, we would see you be Chieftain again when you hunt our King."
Garzhvog accepted the necklace reverently and placed it around his neck. "You honor me, brother, and our highest. I will not bring shame to our tribe for this. I will return this to you soon, so I might wear the String of Horns in its place."
"See to it that you do," Skgahgrezh nodded firmly. He then looked at Eragon. "And you, Shadeslayer. I understand you are parting ways with my brother to return to your allies in the south?"
"Yes. We're marching on Surda to free it from Morzan, the Forsworn who rides a nameless dragon."
Skgahgrezh glanced at his Shaman and Ragvogh nodded. "You have proven yourself to the Bolvek. But the rest of the tribes in these lands will not know that, and there are still some further south than we. We would provide you with a way to meet them in peace, should you meet more of our race in less-than favorable circumstances."
Eragon blinked. "How?"
Ragvogh pulled out a small piece of rolled-up animal hide and straightened it. Eragon looked upon it curiously and saw an Urgal symbol etched into the hide; what looked like two black hooks curving in towards each other not unlike grasping hands.
"This is a symbol in our culture," Ragvogh explained. "It means—"
"—friend," Eragon finished.
The Shaman smiled. "Nar Garzhvog has taught you well. Yes. If you should so wish it, I can etch this symbol into your skin. If you show it to others of our race, they will know it by sight, and they will cease the aggression that runs in our blood, if only perhaps for curiosity. It will give you a chance to meet them without bloodshed."
Eragon was at first somewhat hesitant to accept such an offer. He'd never been tattooed before, and he had no idea what to expect. Maybe there was even a way for him to make the symbol temporary on his own.
But he thought of Arya's yawe, etched into her skin forever as a sign of her commitment to her people, and knew he did not want to look lightly upon his own duty as Leader of the Riders. The dragons had made him into a nexus of the four races for a reason, and the more he thought about it, the more it felt right.
"I accept," Eragon agreed. Saphira sent him a pulse of approval and he knew he'd made the right choice. "Thank you for this. I will not break your trust with the mark."
"Good," Ragvogh stood up. "Then let us go to my hut. I will mark you myself. Nar Garzhvog, will you depart now?"
"I fear I must; there is no time to waste," Garzhvog stood with the rest of the Urgals and Eragon. He turned to his fellow Rider and held his arm out. "I would like to remain here with you while you are marked, but we each have our own duties to perform."
Eragon clasped his arm and they both squeezed firmly. "Saphira and I will be fine. Go, my friend. Your hunt has begun."
The Kull Rider's eyes gleamed dangerously. "Yes, it has."
They squeezed one another once more, and then Garzhvog strode out of the hut. Eragon followed, but instead of walking towards the dragons, waited for Ragvogh to emerge and then trailed behind the Shaman to his own home at the edge of camp. Ygritte joined them.
Ragvogh let them in and gestured to a raised cot on the side of the circular space. "Roll up your sleeve and lie down."
Eragon did so, pulling the sleeve up his right arm to expose the skin from the elbow down. The Shaman bustled around his hut for a minute while Ygritte leaned against the wall and watched.
Ragvogh returned with a piece of cloth and offered it to Eragon. "In case you need to bite down on something. Your skin is softer than ours. This will take some time, and it will not be painless."
Eragon accepted the cloth with a wry smile. "I'm mostly sure I've been through worse."
"We shall see."
Ygritte crossed her arms and smirked. "I'll be here to make sure no one thinks the little Rider is dying when he starts to scream."
"Bah," Eragon waved her off, grinning. "At worst, I might swear a little."
Garzhvog leaned low over Illgra as they headed north. He was unwilling to chance their secrecy by staying in the Empire's lands too much longer, so they would fly to Du Weldenvarden and then soar over the trees to the northernmost part of the Spine.
There they would find Kulkarvek.
Ease yourself, Illgra, Garzhvog patted her scales as he reached for her mind. The dragon-lady was flying faster than usual. We have some days before we get there, and I would conserve our energy as much as possible.
I am tense, she admitted. This foe we seek inadvertently triggered the Fall of the Riders.
They would have collapsed sooner or later, Opheila, hidden in the saddle bags, pointed out. But yes—Kulkarvek is not a foe we should underestimate. He has claimed at least a few Eldunari, even if the dragons were not much older than you. We have no way of knowing how many of those slain dragons retreated to their Heart-of-Hearts in the first place. It could be only two or as many as six.
For him to wield the power of the Eldunari, he must be skilled in magic and mind, Garzhvog said. It is good we have trained our minds so much over the years.
It is necessary for your minds to be formidable, Ophelia agreed. Galbatorix's greatest weapon is his mind. Though he is gifted both in swordplay and magic, his mind is as lethal as I've ever seen. Kulkarvek might be as skilled as he is—he's certainly had the time to refine it—but I doubt he is as powerful. Galbatorix has hundreds of Eldunari under his command, and at best Kulkarvek will possess six.
And yet the Mad King has not tried to claim vengeance upon him, Illgra commented uncertainly.
He did once. He sent an army deep into Stavarosk—the Spine—in search of Kulkarvek, Garzvhog told her. They found one of the War Chiefs under Kulkarvek's command, Tulkhqa, and half of his forces were slaughtered, for they were unsuited and unfamiliar with the terrain, and their numbers meant nothing in such close quarters. Tulkhqa took advantage of the tight spaces and narrow confines of the deep mountains, and with his strongest warriors, they slew hundreds of men. The rest of Galbatorix's forces turned and fled, and he has not dared to send his men that far north since.
And he is too cowardly to leave Uru'baen himself, Illgra growled. He watched his life-partner die and left the hunt unfinished?
Garzhvog's lip curled into a snarl. He understood his dragon's anger well; were anything to happen to her, he would leave a trail of bloody violence to find the one responsible and he would tear the offender limb from limb. And she would do the same for him.
That Galbatorix had been too cowardly to right the wrong dealt to him and insulted his first dragon further by stealing the hatchling of another Rider was an unspeakable sin.
If Jarnunvosk is among the Eldunari we recover from Kulkarvek, we will not tell her what her Rider has become, Opheila ordered them. Not until she has recovered, if she ever does.
For her sake, I hope she truly died, Garzhvog said. Illgra and Opheila agreed. If Jarnunvosk found out what her Rider had become, it would ruin the imprisoned dragon.
Enough of that, Garzhvog glanced to the west, observing the land as it passed by below them. We will not know until we free the Eldunari Kulkarvek carved from the bodies of the dragons he slew. And we must kill him first to reach any of them.
Opheila sent a pulse of acknowledgement. We should go over our plan to defeat him—refine what we can until the conflict reaches us.
Agreed.
Solembum leapt through and open window and into the small house that had become his and Angela's hideout for the past four years, shaking himself in irritation.
He padded across the wooden floor and across the hall, letting out a low yowl to get the attention of the woman on the other side. He heard someone bustling around and then Angela opened the door to let him into the carefully-warded room.
"Well?" She asked.
There are too many spells for me to get into the castle itself, he admitted with no small amount of aggravation. But I spoke with one of the cats living there. They're locked down by magicians and Morzan has not left the castle in a week.
Angela pursed her lips. "We cannot plan a prison break under our current circumstances."
No, Solembum walked past her and leapt onto the bed, delicately sitting next to the sleeping woman upon it. She is in too delicate a state to move.
The Herbalist nodded, following his gaze.
Morzan's former Black Hand, Brom's wife, and the mother of two Dragon Riders lay on the bed, covered in blankets with a pale sheen of sweat over her skin. Selena was in awful shape—she'd paid a terrible price to learn what they knew now.
"We're stuck here," Angela sighed. "I cannot leave her side. She will die if I do."
I could sneak out of Aberon and try to make for the Varden, Solembum suggested. If they found out we'd located Selena, they might rush to get here.
"I scryed them earlier. They are already moving as quickly as they can, and I dare not request they send only the Riders. Morzan is too much for Murtagh and Arya alone."
The werecat made himself comfortable next to Selena, offering some of his body warmth to the woman. He has several Eldunari with him.
"You might have no choice but to sneak out before the Varden gets too close, or he'll set up wards around the whole of the city," she pursed her lips.
Will it matter?
Angela was quiet for a long time. It had been many decades since she had felt anything resembling powerlessness, but for all her skills and secrets, she had her limits—both she and Solembum could only do so much.
"Unless Morzan gets careless before the Varden get here, there's nothing we can do. Not unless we choose to let Selena die in a mad gamble. I will not sacrifice her for the possibility of freeing them."
Solembum's eyes were grave. Angela. He will break Eragon.
Slowly, sorrowfully, she nodded.
"Yes."
Arya sat by the fire with her cloak wrapped around her and Firnen behind her. Across the flames, Murtagh leaned against Thorn's neck, and they were joined by Brom, Arget, Maud, and some of the elven spellcasters.
The Varden had settled down for the night near the Beartooth Lake. Much of the host had already turned in, but there were a few stragglers—mostly the elves, some of the soldiers and magicians guarding at their posts, and a small number of other night owls.
The elven Princess blinked and her lips twitched up into a smile as Arget padded over and plopped her huge, fluffy head into the elf's lap. Arya happily gave the black Shrrg the attention she desired, and laughed when Maud followed her companion and jumped onto Arget's back to make herself comfortable in the thick fur.
Brom just shook his head. "It's no wonder that Shrrg chose the domestic life."
Blodgharm bared his sharp teeth in a smile. "I would not use the word domestic. She dreams often of good hunts."
"She 'hunts' for my leftovers whenever she's done eating her meals," Brom pointed out dryly.
Blodgharm merely shrugged. "If you offer, of course she'll accept."
Murtagh snorted. "Doesn't change the fact that she's spoiled."
Arget yawned, exposing her massive fangs, and then rolled further into Arya until the elf Princess was flattened onto her back, still laughing. Firnen was rather amused by her situation.
Though she could no longer see him, Arya heard Murtagh comment dryly. "I rest my case."
"Need some help?" Brom asked.
"I will humor her for a short while," Arya called back. She tilted her head up enough to see the Shrrg's head on her belly, and watched as the silver eyes rolled into the back of Arget's head as she dozed off. Arya placed her hands behind her head and settled for stargazing.
The stars in the mountain skies were always rather beautiful.
One of the spells she kept active on herself, meant to alert her if she was being scryed upon, suddenly went off and Arya frowned. She shifted her head back and reached for the scrying mirror in her pack with magic. "Kausta."
The mirror slipped from the bag, which was between Firnen's paws, and floated over to her. Arya held it above her face and murmured in the Ancient Language.
Her mother would not be caught dead scrying her at this time of the night unless something was wrong, which meant it was most likely—
"Eragon," she murmured with a smile.
"Arya," he returned. "Did I wake you?"
"No. I should probably turn in sooner than later, though."
"The same for me," Eragon suddenly blinked and tilted his head. "Are you lying on the ground?"
Her smile grew. "Your Shrrg is responsible for that."
She shifted the mirror to show how Arget was dozing on her belly, and heard him chuckle before she turned the mirror back. His voice was teasing. "You've been turned into a pillow."
"I suppose so. She does seem rather comfortable."
"Mm. I can only imagine."
Arya raised an eyebrow, resisting the urge to laugh when Eragon's brain evidently caught up with his mouth and he visibly reddened, even in the dark. "Ah—what I mean is…erm…"
"Yes?" Now it was her turn to tease.
"That came out wrong," he muttered, taking a breath to try and regain his composure. His eyes suddenly widened and his blush returned tenfold. Eragon looked away from the mirror—at who she could only assume was Saphira—and protested. "I WAS NOT!"
"Arya?" Murtagh called from across the fire. "Is that my brother?"
"Yes!" She responded, voice trilling with laughter. "Saphira is making fun of him."
"Good!"
"You are all hazards to my health," Eragon growled.
"Would you have it any other way?"
"Never," he admitted. He took a few moments to compose himself and then sighed. His expression became a little more professional. "As happy as I am to provide you all with some humor, I figured I should update you on how things are going."
Arya nodded and schooled her features as he continued. "Garzhvog and I met successfully with the Bolvek Tribe and he regained his title as Chieftain. He left early yesterday morning to seek out the King. Saphira and I are flying south towards the rendezvous point."
"Where are you now?"
"We passed Bullridge earlier this afternoon," he said. "We've camped near some outcroppings for the night. We're going into the desert before dawn tomorrow. I'm not getting any closer to Uru'baen than is necessary."
She nodded. "Good. You're on schedule, then?"
"I think so. The winds have been favorable, so we might reach the Beors a little earlier."
She saw him shift on the other side of the mirror, but frowned when he winced. "Is something wrong?"
"Arm's sore," he answered. "The Shaman of the Bolvek Tribe gave me a tattoo that will give me a way to meet peacefully with other tribes we encounter until Garzhvog and Illgra get back to us. Getting the tattoo wasn't bad, but it's quite sore now that it's healing."
Arya remembered how her skin had stung and ached when she had the yawe inscribed upon her shoulder and nodded. "Keep it clean. And conceal it from the desert sun until it's healed completely. I'll check on it when you reach us."
"Thank you," Eragon dipped his head. "How goes the march?"
"Slower than we are used to, but well," she admitted. "No major problems yet."
"Mm. How's the weather?"
"Cold. Not snowing yet, but I'd prefer for us to be out of the heart of the mountains soon."
Eragon considered that for a time. "Do you think we'll reach Surda before it gets too bad? It might be warmer away from the mountains, but I'd rather not undergo a prolonged siege in winter."
Arya knew it was a credible concern; it had been discussed often enough. "We will speak of that when you join us. I think we've shared enough information for the time being—at least with this method."
"You're probably right," he nodded again. "I should go. Saphira and I need to sleep. We have a long flight ahead of us."
He paused and then he grinned. "Saphira says to tell Firnen she misses him."
Arya heard a growl on the other side of the mirror and was very certain Saphira had not, in fact, said that. "Firnen misses her, too."
Arya! Her dragon protested. She smiled at his brief mortification.
Eragon winked, eyes gleaming with mirth from their conspiracy. "Sleep well, Arya."
"And you. Fly safely."
His smile softened and it was the last thing she saw before he ended the spell. Arya set the mirror aside and blinked as Firnen's head hovered upside-down above her face.
You feel very light, the dragon said.
Yes, she allowed somewhat cautiously.
Firnen's grin was all teeth. He makes you happy.
Arya frowned. Firnen, we've been over this.
If I recall, we have not had such a talk in nearly five years. When was it? When we were flying him to Ellesmera for healing?
Nothing has changed.
Firnen blinked at her slowly. Is that so?
Arya was ready to respond, knew exactly what she could say to that.
…and she hesitated. The words caught, tangled in her thoughts, and she couldn't answer him.
Firnen did not pester her. Her expression became troubled and he simply hummed. Sleep, Arya. There will be time for thinking when you are rested.
She watched as Firnen's wing draped over her, creating a canopy for his Rider, Arget, and Maud. Arya decided she'd be more comfortable sleeping here tonight than her tent.
Though she settled down for sleep, it was some time before she actually found her dreams—when the fire outside had died and she could hear Firnen's steady breathing all around her. Arget was warm against her and Arya absently ran her fingers through the wolf's pelt as she thought to herself.
Something had changed in the way she thought about Eragon, and she needed to figure it out.
Eragon was still smiling when he ended the scrying spell and looked up at Saphira, who was rather irritated with his and Arya's teasing of their dragons.
I will get you back for that.
You liked hearing that he missed you, Eragon chuckled.
And while yes, you are technically correct, I will claim retribution.
I look forward to it.
The dragon-lady snorted. Cheeky.
Eragon prepared to respond, but paused. He went still, and Saphira matched him.
What is it?
…Something is coming, he thought, slowly standing up. He grabbed Undbitr and his leaf-shaped elf sword, setting them on his hip and back respectively as he stuffed everything into the bags and reattached the saddle to Saphira in a rush.
She was already alert. I sense it, too. It feels like…
…What is that?
Neither of them could tell what the presence was, but it was rapidly closing in on them, and they certainly didn't like that.
Take off, he ordered, leaping onto her back. He hadn't even tied himself in as she leapt skyward, only for a blur of motion to lunge at them from a rock outcropping above their camp. The shape crashed into Eragon and they went tumbling out of the saddle, hitting the ground hard.
Eragon! Saphira roared, landing and lashing her tail.
He managed to get his foot under the assailant and kicked out, forcing them off of his body. They were covered in a dark cloak and he briefly thought he was looking at a Ra'zac until they unsheathed—
He felt a pulse of dread. That's a Rider's Blade!
The attacker pulled free of its scabbard a sword that could only have been made by Rhunon, colored a unique, lunar silver unlike any standard weapon he'd seen. As they lunged, Eragon ripped Undbitr and his elven blade free and engaged the enemy.
They were fast—fast as an elf and easily as strong as one. Though he couldn't see their face, he knew immediately he was dealing with something unnaturally powerful.
Saphira, back off! That blade will cut through any wards I place on you!
I will not leave you to fight alone!
He's too fast for you! Get into the air and keep an eye out for reinforcements!
She snarled in displeasure, but did as he requested and launched herself into the sky.
Who was this? Another Shade? Something else?
He parried with Undbitr and stabbed in a blur of speed at the mysterious enemy's face, catching the hood and exposing the side of their head for a moment. Eragon saw pointed ears and shock filled him.
An elf!
The being unleashed a frenzy of slashes and Eragon reeled back, blocking the assault as best he could. As they put some distance between them, just briefly, he lashed out at the elf with a well-trained blade of thought.
He was not ready for the full fury of a dragon to crash into his mind.
Eragon gasped and Saphira roared again in alarm, uniting her strength to his and forcing the mind back. It recoiled, but it was raging and furious, and began the assault anew even as the attacker leapt at Eragon once more.
Who the hell is this?
I do not care! Kill him!
Eragon growled in agreement, giving himself to his draconic fury in a match to Saphira's own wrath. He met the assailant with his own rage, slashing with all the skill and strength he'd honed for the past several years. Saphira raged against the dragon-mind while Eragon dealt with the swordplay, parrying the Rider's blade with Undbitr and attacking with his elven blade.
For all its strength, the leaf-shaped weapon simply wouldn't stand up to the terrifying power of Rhunon's work. But it would serve Eragon's needs well enough.
He slashed wide and caught the cloak, slashing it open. He didn't feel flesh give way beneath the sword, but the attacker's narrow dodge had them reeling backwards, and Eragon pressed the assault. He parried the Rider's blade again, ducked past the guard, and slashed again.
He felt a lot of feedback as the leaf-shaped sword cut through their foe's right shoulder, but snarled when the assailant unsheathed a dagger from within their cloak and stabbed it deep in Eragon's arm, forcing him to drop the elven blade.
Saphira roared in rage at their shared pain and redoubled her mental assault. The being staggered from her fury and Eragon reached out, arm searing with pain, to rip the torn cloak away from their foe.
As the tattered, blood-soaked cloth fluttered to the ground, he got a good look at his enemy and felt his veins fill with ice.
The male elf stood tall and graceful as the rest of his race, but his eyes were a sickly yellow and bloodshot. His skin held a pallor sheen, a stark contrast to the blood pouring from the wound in his right shoulder, which didn't seem to bother him in the slightest.
But despite his disturbing appearance, what horrified Eragon beyond anything else was the unmistakable shape of a hand-sized Eldunari buried in the flesh above the elf's heart.
The elf-creature brandished its Rider's blade wordlessly and stepped forth again.
Eragon, Saphira shared his horror at the sight of the foul-twisted-wrong-wrong-WRONG thing before them. Destroy it. I do not care how. It cannot be allowed to exist.
He took a shaky breath, readied Undbitr, and charged.
Saphira continued to deal with the mind of the Eldunari as Eragon focused on defeating the abomination. He was down to one sword, but he steeled himself and concentrated, channeling rage into his task—he would not yield until the being before him was dead and gone.
The elf-thing tried to grab Eragon's throat with his spare hand, but the Rider leaned too far left and Undbitr snapped up, removing the offending hand at the wrist.
To his shock, the silver Rider's blade came at him again with no hesitation despite losing a limb.
Does he not feel pain?!
Pain or no pain, it seemed the copious amounts of blood being lost were affecting the creature's motor functions. It was slowing down and the strength in its blows was failing it. Eragon wondered why it didn't even bother to heal itself and found he really didn't care for the time being.
The elf-thing stabbed at him and Eragon sidestepped, removing its other arm at the elbow and leaving it without a limb to hold its Rider's sword. The being swayed on its feet, staggering, and Eragon lunged forward.
His hand grasped the Eldunari tightly and he felt the dragon inside react, but Saphira was mightier and she forced the dragon to submit to her will as Eragon gripped, planted his boot against the abomination's torso, and heaved back.
The Eldunari was ripped free with a spray of blood and—
Eragon gasped as a collection of spirits screamed out of the body, just like when he'd slain Durza, and fled far away. But the physical form they'd been trapped in was not destroyed as with the Shade. The elf-thing collapsed like a puppet without strings, quickly becoming drenched in a pool of its own blood.
Eragon panted, mostly from shock. The fight had wound down quickly after the elf-thing began to lose enough blood, but he was too horrified to think much about the fight itself at the moment.
Saphira landed and circled the body, giving it a wide berth and barely daring to bring her nose close enough to smell the corpse.
It reeks of dark magic, she hissed.
He swallowed and looked down at the pale, silver Eldunari in his palm. The dragon within had retreated deep into itself, subdued and afraid. Just from the size, he knew it must have been young when its body was killed.
We need to leave, Saphira told him. Now. I do not know what this thing is or where it came from, but I do not trust that it came here on its own.
Me neither, he agreed, slowly composing himself. Eragon reached up to the dagger buried in his arm to pull it free with a pained grunt and healed it with some help from Saphira. He took a deep breath and muttered a few spells of detection—then snarled when he found a tracking spell on the Eldunari and the elf-thing. He quickly removed them and cast an enchantment to conceal them from unwanted eyes.
Eragon rushed to Saphira's side and slipped the Eldunari into one of his saddle bags, casting another spell to secure it. He retrieved his elfin sword and then approached the Rider's blade. The hand holding it was gingerly removed with a sound of disgust from the young Rider.
He held the silver weapon up and read the inscription along the sword's cross-guard.
"Stalskul," he murmured. Steel-scale. A fitting name for a blade belonging to a Dragon Rider, he supposed.
He approached the body and removed Stalskul's sheath, muttering in the Ancient Language to remove the blood soaking the holder. He sheathed the blade and then regarded the body of the elf-thing.
We should take it with us.
I dislike the idea of hauling a corpse halfway across Alagaesia, Saphira growled. But I have to agree. We need to show this to our allies.
Eragon knelt next to the corpse and sealed off its wounds, then cleaned it of its blood with another spell. The elf-thing's sickly yellow eyes were dull now, and he closed them with a brush of his fingers. The flesh felt too cold for something that had only just died. It made him shiver.
He picked up the mutilated body and tied it to Saphira's back behind the saddle, then covered it with one of his blankets—which he would likely burn as soon as they were rid of the elf-thing. He looked back at the severed hand and arm still on the ground.
Burn them, he ordered.
Saphira blasted the severed appendages with a quick burst of blue fire, and they watched for several moments as they cooked in the flames. Only when the smell of burnt flesh reached them were they satisfied that the thing was actually being destroyed, and then Saphira took off.
Eragon glanced back at the body behind him and studied the face of the elf-thing warily. He half-expected it to get back up and try to strangle him, especially given that it had kept fighting after having its limbs cut off.
Maybe he should have strapped it to the front of the saddle instead.
We should make haste, he told Saphira.
Far ahead of you on that, little one, she remarked, and her wings slammed down to propel her across the sky as fast as she could go.
A/N: Oh dear, what nasty little discovery has Eragon made?
A setup chapter, it must be said, but important! Look forward to more!
As ever, please review and thanks for reading!