Chapter Thirty-Seven: Dark Places
Garzhvog breathed out mist in the cold, mountain air of the Spine.
They had flown the past four days far to the northwest, at the very edge of Alagaesia's borders. They'd soared over the vast Anora Lake, perhaps the biggest lake on the continent save possibly Leona Lake far to the south, and now they were deep in the northernmost territories of the Spine; a place home only to wild things and the hardest of Urgralgra.
He and Illgra had rested the day before at the foothills of the mountains, but now they were ready. They'd flown along the shore of Anora Lake until they spotted the entrance to the ravine that would take them to the barrows of the Urgal King.
There, they landed and Garzhvog walked forth until he stood at the opening to the canyon, which was lined with high, stone walls and dark trees far above them. The ravine itself was large and wide; wide enough that Illgra could walk through it with ease, despite her great size.
It was a foreboding place, like the cave entrance of an Urzhad.
Garzhvog pounded his chest and howled into the ravine, his voice reverberating massively along the hollow path of stone. He howled twice more, and then quieted. When he was done, any and all sounds of birds and insects had gone silent.
Now he turned to a cut stump—undoubtedly hacked down by another Chieftain waiting to challenge the Urgal King—and sat down. He removed Domia from his back, pulled a whetstone from one of the pouches at his waist, and began to sharpen the axe.
Illgra sat down in silence, and Opheila's Eldunari was equally quiet. Garzhvog had explained this process to them before they got here. He had announced their presence, and now they would wait for their host to welcome them into the depths of the barrows.
For now, he calmly sharpened the edge of the weapon that would take Kulkarvek's head.
Something was wrong.
Arya knew it the moment they heard a dragon's roar in the valley, not an hour after the army settled down for the night. She knew the sound of that voice well, and they were here far too early.
That's Saphira, Firnen was agitated as his Rider leapt onto his back, not waiting for her to tie herself into the saddle before he launched himself into the air. Thorn and Murtagh were close behind them, flying towards the blue dragoness as she curved around a mountain peak and came into view.
Saphira slowed down as she approached them, but it was obvious she'd been flying hard by the way she panted, jaws parted wide to suck in oxygen. Arya didn't like that at all. Saphira must have been flying at full pelt for days to get here half a week ahead of schedule.
They were supposed to meet her at the north most curve of the Beors, but they still had yet to leave the valley itself.
Arya reached out to the mind of the blue dragon and her Rider, and the six of them were swiftly connected. She could feel Saphira and Eragon's exhaustion keenly—the dragon-lady was too tired to speak, but her Rider spoke for her.
Secure a tent, Eragon rasped in their mind.
Eragon, what's wrong? Murtagh demanded. How fast were you two—
Questions later! We need someplace secure to speak right now.
Arya did not like how disturbed he felt. Who must be there?
Nasuada, the elven spellcasters, and Brom. No one else can see this, do you understand? Not one word gets out of that tent once we're inside.
She felt a pit in her belly and wheeled Firnen around back to camp—Thorn would escort them. It will be done, Eragon.
Firnen ripped through the air back to the Varden and landed faster than normal. Blodgharm was already waiting for them with Brom, and she could see Nasuada approaching. Arya drew her mind to the blood wolf and gave him her orders.
Minutes later, they were all gathered outside of Nasuada's command tent, even more heavily fortified with wards for the conversation ahead. Saphira all but collapsed outside, trembling from exhaustion and gasping for breath. Eragon dismounted and stumbled when he touched down, and Murtagh stepped forward to help steady his brother.
"Gods above, Eragon," Murtagh breathed. "You almost ran yourselves to death!"
Eragon snatched the waterskin from Murtagh's belt and drank it dry in deep draughts, gasping when he was done. "Someone get Saphira water, please."
Yaela was quickly casting a spell to draw water from deep underground, providing a pool for Saphira to drink from until the exhausted dragon-lady had quenched her immense thirst.
Eragon set a hand on the blue scales and waited until she felt a little more steady before he took a breath. "Murtagh, help me with this."
He climbed up Saphira's side and began to untie an object bound behind the saddle that was wrapped in a blanket. Eragon carefully held it for Murtagh to take, muttering lowly, and the Red Rider carried it into the tent—Arya though it looked disturbingly like a body from the way it slumped in Murtagh's arms.
Eragon had another object wrapped up, smaller and thinner, which he tucked under one of his arms while he removed one of the saddle bags. He jumped from Saphira's side and must have said something to her, for the dragon-lady twisted her head to press her snout to his brow, and then they parted.
Arya watched as Firnen sat close to Saphira, nosing at her worriedly while Thorn sat across from them with questions in his ruby eyes. She followed Eragon into the tent with the others, casting a glance around to make sure there were no suspicious eyes following them. Of course they'd garnered some curious glances from the soldiers, but she did not feel their security was in danger.
Once they were inside the tent, Eragon set the bag down on the ground with a groan. Murtagh had lain down the largest object, still wrapped in blankets, on the table in the middle of the space, and now was waiting beside it. The elven spellcasters filtered in and took up positions on the edge of tent's interior, with Blodgharm standing in the center by the table.
Eragon looked up at Arya. "Are we locked down?"
"Yes."
"Good," he sighed, closing his eyes to take a deep breath. "I apologize for this, but Saphira and I were attacked by an assailant a few nights ago. It was just minutes after we scryed."
Arya did not react despite feeling her heart lurch in her chest. "Were you injured?"
He grimaced and removed his cloak. She could see the Urgralgra tattoo on his right arm, still red and clearly sore from the healing process. Arya's eyes trailed to his left arm as he pulled up the sleeve of his tunic and pressed her lips upon seeing a new scar in the muscle just below his shoulder. "Dagger. Not poisoned thankfully, but it was deep enough to make me drop one of my swords."
"Who did this?" Murtagh demanded.
Eragon set his cloak atop the saddle bag and walked over to the shape on the table. Arya watched with trepidation as he untied the wrappings and removed the blanket, and when it was pulled free she felt horror fill every cell in her body.
A pale elf-man lay upon the table, devoid of a hand, half of an arm, and with a deep wound where his heart had once been. Though his injuries had been sealed off, they were still gruesome to look at.
Silence filled the tent for several moments.
"An elf tried to assassinate you," Brom whispered. Nasuada's eyes were wide and Murtagh's face was bloodless.
"Not an elf," Eragon shook his head, regaining their attention. He approached the head and Arya watched as he opened the closed eyes of the body. She felt her skin crawl when she saw the sickly yellow irises.
Blodgharm was frowning deeply. "Shadeslayer, elves can change their appearance as they so wish it. I stand before you—that should be proof enough of that."
"I know," Eragon answered patiently, but Arya could hear the agitation underlying his voice. "But elves do not hold spirits in their bodies."
"What?"
"When I slew him," the Rider looked up and met Arya's eyes. "Spirits fled from within the body. Like Durza—like a Shade."
Eragon held up the second large object he'd collected and unwrapped it. Arya's alarm only grew when he revealed a silver Rider's blade and sheath.
"He had this."
Invidia, one of the elven spellcasters, strode over and set a hand on the sheathed sword. "Stalskul. This belonged to my friend."
"Is this him?"
"No," Invidia gently took Stalskul in her arms and cradled the sword like a newborn babe. "Luwen was female. She was killed at Doru Araeba with her dragon. This elf—I have not seen him before."
"I have."
They looked up as another elf approached, eyes wide—a male known as Wyrden, Arya recalled. "Hunihr was one of the warriors I supported during the Battle of the Plains of Illirea a hundred years ago. He was slain by Kialandi during the fighting and we were forced to leave his body behind when we were defeated."
"How was he slain? His body is intact," Eragon frowned.
"During the fighting, Hunihr strayed too far from my company and I could not afford to stretch myself too thinly. Kialandi overwhelmed his mind and likely killed him with a word of death."
Something cold and horrible settled in Arya's heart as she processed what she heard.
"You're telling me this elf has been dead for over a hundred years," Nasuada whispered. "How? His bones should be dust."
"Elves do not degrade as humans and most other creatures do," Blodgharm told her. "Even in death, magic keeps our bodies pristine until the wild reclaims us to the land. When one of our kin dies, we sing in the Ancient Language and their body nourishes new life—a tree, flowers, or something similar depending on the slain elf's wishes. But until then, they do not decompose."
"Which means Galbatorix and the Forsworn collected his body after the elves were forced to retreat from the Plains of Illirea," Murtagh deduced, pinching the bridge of his nose. He took a heavy breath. "How many were you unable to retrieve?"
"It was a bloody battle," Wyrden murmured. "Too many."
"So there could be more like this."
"Theoretically, yes."
"I do not think there are too many more," Eragon said slowly.
"And how do you deduce that?" Brom asked.
"I cannot say here."
"This is one of the most secure sites in the southern half of Alagaesia right now and you cannot speak of it?" Nasuada exclaimed.
"I took an oath in the Ancient Language at the behest of my teachers," Eragon explained to her, and Nasuada closed her eyes briefly in exasperated acceptance. "I cannot speak of this subject without their permission. But I doubt there are too many of these…abominations out there. The resources required to make one are incredibly difficult to come by, and as far as I can tell, they are not especially powerful. This one did not use magic and though it could not feel pain, it was not terribly strong on its own—I do not think Galbatorix will continue to invest such resources into a monster with such limited combat potential."
"Still, it's a disturbing discovery," Blodgharm growled, his fur standing on end. "Galbatorix might have been experimenting on the bodies of our fallen kin for a century. And we still need to understand the purpose of this one. How did it find Eragon and Saphira? Why was it so far away from Galbatorix in the first place? He gave it a Rider's sword, but for what reason?"
"And why did someone try to make him into a Shade?" Brom grumbled, frowning deeply.
"A Shade? No," Invidia shook her head. "Spirits are difficult to understand, but they require a living body to create a true Shade. I would imagine they were used to animate this elf, but they clearly were not effective with it."
Eragon sighed and studied the dead elf's face. "We need someone to tell us what exactly we're looking at. A Shade? Some other abomination? We need one of Du Weldenvarden's most expert healers to study what was done to Hunihr."
"Lady Zaela in Osilon," Arya murmured. "She's dedicated much of her life to healing and studies of the body. She would be able to make sense of it."
"But Osilon is on the other side of Alagaesia," Nasuada pointed out. "And we cannot spare any Dragon Riders or elves to ride there now. Not when we'll be at the gates of Aberon by the end of the month."
"I agree," Blodgharm inclined his head towards the Leader of the Varden. "My spellcasters and I can preserve Hunihr with our magic to retain whatever traces of foreign spells are still upon him until we find a chance to return to the forest. We will keep him hidden."
"I entrust him to you, then," Eragon agreed. He looked at Invidia next. "What of Stalskul?"
The elf-woman looked upon the Rider's blade for some time before shaking her head slowly. "This must return to Luwen's mate and her daughter. It is rightfully theirs. I would also have us keep it secret and safe until we next find a chance to return to Du Weldenvarden."
"Where do they live?"
"Ellesmera."
Eragon nodded to himself. "Then we'll take Stalskul back to them when next we fly to meet with our teachers. That might be months away, but we cannot afford to fly to them now."
"Agreed," Murtagh said. Arya nodded.
"Was there anything else?" Nasuada prompted.
The young Rider pursed his lips. "Yes. But I must ask everyone save Murtagh, Brom, and Arya to leave us."
"This has to do with the oath you took for your teachers?"
"It does. Forgive me, My Lady."
"I understand the need for secrecy," she dismissed. "There is nothing to forgive."
Eragon dipped his head graciously. "Then you need not wait for us. We will retire for the night after this, I think. Saphira and I need to rest."
"Indeed you do. You flew faster to get here than I believed possible. You have performed your duties admirably, Shadeslayer."
The niceties now done with, Nasuada strode out fo the tent, followed by the elven spellcasters—two of which re-wrapped Hunihr's body and hid him with magic—and Blodgharm at the end. Invidia looked at Eragon for permission to take Stalskul, and he nodded. She left with the Blood Wolf and then the Riders were alone with the minds of their dragons.
Eragon pulled the saddle bag from the ground and placed it on the table.
"I know this night has been heavy already," he murmured. "But we are not done."
And from within the bag, he extracted a small, moon-silver Eldunari.
"Hunihr had this," Murtagh said what they were all thinking.
"I do not know if he had the dragon or if the dragon had him," Eragon confessed. He kept speaking as their faces filled with confusion. "You saw the wound on his chest I partially healed? This was buried in the flesh above his heart. When we sought out his mind, this is what we encountered instead."
Arya didn't think she could have been more horrified after what she'd seen tonight, but she felt like she might retch. Murtagh made a strangled sound as Brom sat down in one of the chairs in the tent, his face pale and stricken. She felt Firnen's sickness at Eragon's words as keenly as her own.
"Gods above," Brom whispered.
Eragon rubbed his face and Arya could see the dark bags under his eyes. How much had he even bothered to sleep since he'd slain Hunihr?
"The Eldunari belongs to a young, wild female," he murmured. "A year old. As far as Saphira and I can tell, anyways. Her mind is broken. She lashes out in anger and terror whenever Saphira and I try to make contact, and her thoughts are insane. Galbatorix has driven her into madness and harnessed her strength for his own purposes."
Thorn let out a low whine outside, a heartbroken noise that brought tears to Arya's eyes.
"Hunihr collapsed when I tore the Eldunari from his flesh," Eragon told them. "I have to assume she was controlling him to some degree. How she moved him that far away from Uru'baen I've no idea. Maybe Galbatorix sent them to seek us out or perhaps they went rogue. I do not know. They had tracking spells attached to them, but I removed them after slaying Hunihr. He undoubtedly knows something happened to this…creature he created."
"That's why you flew here so quickly," Arya breathed.
"I did not know what lengths he'd go to to retrieve the Eldunari," he met her eyes and he looked absolutely exhausted. "Saphira and I could not take chances. We stopped only twice."
Murtagh slowly set his hand on the small, silver Eldunari. The light within flickered, but remained dormant as far as Arya could tell. The dragon inside did not attack Murtagh, who gently caressed the crystal with careful fingers.
"She must be kept hidden and safe," he murmured.
"We'll take turns with her," Eragon suggested. "I've had her for the past few days. Murtagh, you and Thorn take her next, then Arya and Firnen. We'll alternate until we can get her back to Oromis and Glaedr. She won't be truly safe until we bring her to Ellesmera."
Murtagh nodded solemnly, and carefully lifted the Eldunari into a pouch on his belt that was normally used for the dragon egg. He whispered in the Ancient Language to secure and hide the dragon's mind, and then walked over to Eragon.
He set a hand on his younger brother's shoulder. "Go rest, Eragon. You look like death warmed over."
Eragon nodded blearily as Murtagh left the room, and moments later Arya heard Thorn walking away with his Rider. Brom approached and wrapped his son into a hug before Eragon could react. Though the young Rider stiffened briefly, he returned the gesture with a long sigh.
"Though your tidings were grim, I am happy to have you back, Eragon," he pulled back and smiled comfortingly at his son. Eragon just blinked back, too tired to do much more talking, and Brom murmured once more to the young man before leaving him be.
That left Eragon and Arya alone in the tent.
He rubbed his face again and Arya could see the way his body quivered exhaustedly. "We should both sleep. I shall see you in the morning, Arya."
"Where are you sleeping?"
"Probably under Saphira's wing," he sighed. "I am too tired to set up a tent tonight."
She pursed her lips. "There is no need for that. You can share mine for tonight."
He blinked at her and if he weren't dead on his feet, Arya knew he'd be much more cautious of the idea, but Eragon just sighed and nodded. "Thank you."
She inclined her head and led him out of the command tent. Saphira stood up, clearly as drained as her Rider, and slowly walked behind them with Firnen at her side to Arya's residence a short distance away.
They watched the dragons settled down for a minute. Saphira all but collapsed again, lowering her head to the ground and letting out a long breath when Firnen lay down and curled up tight beside her. He set his head atop hers comfortingly, and hummed for only a minute before Saphira drifted off to sleep.
Arya looked at Eragon, who looked like he was swaying on his feet, and tugged him into her tent before he passed out—or before anyone saw her sneaking him in.
Eragon followed her inside and frowned briefly when he saw the lone, small cot. "I'll take the ground."
"You will not," she rejected, pulling him to the cot and pushing him onto it. Eragon looked like he might argue, but Arya lifted a challenging eyebrow. "I do not believe I will be able to sleep tonight and should you attempt to be difficult, I will put you to sleep by force."
He seemed to gauge her seriousness for several moments before snorting, a faint smile curving up his lips. "I won't win that fight."
"No, you will not," she replied, relaxing a little when he gave in. Arya crouched in front of him and pulled up the sleeve of his left arm, studying the mostly-healed injury from Hunihr's dagger. She lifted a hand and placed her palm upon his skin. "Waise heill."
Eragon didn't even argue this time, and his eyes were already half-lidded. Arya felt the heat coming off of his skin and felt a pulse of concern—he was far too drained. He must have funneled much of his strength to Saphira to make sure she could keep flying for the duration of their trip.
She pulled her hand away and was satisfied to see the wound had vanished entirely, leaving his tanned skin flawless again. Next, Arya reached for his right arm, gingerly keeping her fingers away from the still-healing tattoo.
It ran the length of his forearm on both the top and bottom, and each side consisted of two curved hooks filled in with black ink. One hook ran from his wrist to the middle of the forearm, and the other began at the elbow and met the hook further down in the center.
The skin was red and inflamed; not infected, but clearly uncomfortable. Arya left him for a moment to find her pack and retrieved a cloth, which she dipped into a basin of water, then returned to Eragon's side. She sat beside him, pulling his arm carefully to her.
"Still," she ordered, gently dabbing at the irritated skin with the cool cloth. Eragon flinched briefly, but relaxed as the coolness of the water helped soothe the marked flesh.
Arya spent several minutes treating his tattooed skin. At least this was much easier to reach than the yawe on her shoulder; that had been irritating and awkward to care for while it healed.
She kept at it until Eragon was nearly boneless beside her, barely conscious by now. Arya decided it would be best to leave him to sleep and she could take another look at the tattoo in the morning.
"That will do for now," she told him, standing and taking the cloth with her. She heard him shifting quietly and glanced over her shoulder just as Eragon pulled his tunic free of his now-bare upper body. The blue Eldunari swayed at the end of the necklace attached to it until he reached up and stilled the gem.
She scanned his torso briefly to ensure he hadn't been hiding any other injuries, but was satisfied that he was unharmed. Arya turned away and dried the cloth with a whisper of the Ancient Language. As she placed it back among her bags, the silence was broken.
"You are thinking about your father," Eragon murmured.
Arya froze briefly. She turned to him as Eragon stood up with what little energy he had left, dragon-eyes focused on her. He stopped just a foot or so away, and the only light in the tent was the soft, blue glow of his Eldunari.
"Don't do that to yourself, Arya," he pleaded quietly.
"Do what?"
He only frowned slightly and Arya knew immediately that he wasn't buying it. Eragon knew her perhaps better than anyone save Firnen. The last four years of training together in Ellesmera had seen to that.
"We don't know for certain," he murmured, and his voice was soft. "You told me before not to let myself be consumed by my mother's fate—whether she was alive or not. I'm asking you to do the same now for yourself."
"I hear what you say," she replied. "But I cannot help but—"
Arya was silenced as Eragon lifted his hand and placed three fingers over her lips. She blinked at him, but he slowly shook his head.
She knew what he was trying to say, and she knew he was right. With no small amount of effort, she closed her eyes and took a deep breath through her nose. She breathed in the scent of his skin and it was helpful for distracting her from her troubled thoughts. Arya exhaled and cleared her mind as best she could, only opening her eyes when she felt somewhat more peaceful.
Eragon searched her face and pulled his hand away. Arya reached up to catch it, briefly squeezing his fingers.
"Thank you," she whispered.
Eragon inclined his head wordlessly. It was enough.
She could still feel him trembling and released the young Rider. "Now, sleep."
The corner of his mouth twitched up. "Rest well, Arya."
"And you."
Eragon returned to the cot and barely pulled the blankets over himself before she felt his consciousness mute itself in deep sleep. Arya watched him for some time with fondness in her heart, and eventually walked to the entrance of the tent to sit down on the ground. She could see Firnen and Saphira sleeping from here, and she could look back over to see Eragon's sleeping form easily enough.
She did not sleep that night, but worries did not plague her mind. And that was all she needed for now.
Garzhvog had been meditating for hours now.
He remained on the stump with Domia now lain across his knees, patiently waiting for Kulkarvek's Urgals to find him. His mind was clear and he pondered the conflict to come with a steady heart. Illgra had merged her thoughts with his, and together they delved into a state of quiet that would precede the storm.
As the sun reached its zenith, they felt their host approaching.
Garzhvog sensed a dozen Urgals approaching them, coming not from the ravine, but the forest around the lake shore. He waited as they crept closer and then slowly stood, bringing Domia up to rest upon his shoulder.
"You would be wise not to attack us."
His growl split the silence of the lakeshore. Garzhvog sensed the Urgals halt around them and he scanned the underbrush, focusing on each of their hiding places as he located their minds with pinpoint accuracy. Illgra followed her Rider's gaze seamlessly; linked as they were, the dual motion was eerie.
He felt their aggression and anger at the sight of his dragon, but Garzhvog would not be cowed. "You will bring us to Kulkarvek, as is your duty."
At this, the Urgals emerged from the undergrowth. They all brandished weapons of their choice; spears and axes were most common, but a few had swords and two had huge longbows.
All were Kull. The apparent leader of the patrol stalked up to Garzhvog, studying him from head to toe. His eyes slid to Illgra and he bared his teeth. "What is the meaning of this?"
"I am Nar Garzhvog, Rider of the dragon Illgra. I am here to challenge Kulkarvek for the String of Horns."
The Kull all started to laugh, but Garzhvog did not respond.
Their leader got in his face, only glancing up when Illgra snarled a warning. "You go to die, you fool. You think yourself a Dragon Rider? Do you not know how your King has slain their kind in the past? Dragon and Rider alike have fallen to him."
"He failed once," Garzhvog retorted. "And now the land is bent to the whim of prey he allowed to escape."
The other Kull's eyes flashed incredulously. "You speak of him with insult!"
"Take me to him or I will kill you."
The leader was quiet for several moments. The air between them became tense as a low rumble built in the throat of the Kull facing Garzhvog, and then the Rider himself began to growl dangerously. The other Urgals only watched, and Illgra fixed her gaze upon the two males keenly.
The leader suddenly howled and stabbed upwards with his spear for the Rider's heart. Garzhvog caught it and shoved the weapon aside, then lashed out with a kick of his boot, shoving the other Kull back. Before his foe could so much as regain his footing, Domia was lifted and brought down in a blur of terrible speed.
There was a heavy crunching noise and the leader gurgled, eyes wide, as he stared at the axe buried deep in his chest. Garzhvog forced him to his knees and set his empty hand upon the Kull's head as he yanked Domia free with a spray of blood.
The Kull Rider looked into the eyes of his dying adversary and gently pushed back. The leader of the patrol slumped backwards with a meaty thud, the life leaving his eyes.
The rest of the patrol stared at the results of the brief fight and observed Garzhvog warily. He looked amongst them and his stare was very severe, indeed.
"Take me to Kulkarvek or I will kill you."
Another Kull stepped forward slowly. He exchanged a glance with the rest of the patrol, then nodded. "Very well. Your dragon will come?"
"Her life is tied to mine, and mine to hers," Garzhvog answered. "She will witness me kill the King, or we will die together."
The Urgal looked up at Illgra, who did not respond beyond a slight snort. "You go to die together, but together you will be. Come, Chieftain. Come, dragon."
The patrol gathered together and led the way into the ravine. Garzhvog stepped past the body of the Kull he had slain with Illgra close behind him, her footsteps making low thumps for her great weight.
They were committed now. There was no turning back.
Blood dripped from Domia's edge and Garzhvog knew it would spill much more before the night came.
A/N: The tension mounts...
As ever, please review and thanks for reading!