Disclaimer: I do not own The Elder Scrolls or The Inheritance Cycle.
Eragon, Murtagh, and Saphira forced themselves to rise early in the gray predawn hours. Eragon shivered in the cool air and looked around, noticing a fourth person missing but then remembered Daemon had left them yesterday to get Arya to the Varden, and they wouldn't see each other until both are at the Varden. He pushed that line of thought away, knowing Daemon would want him to focus on getting to the Varden instead of focusing on him.
Saphira was trying to keep her mind away from any thoughts of Daemon, but it wasn't easy. She woke up in the middle of the night when she didn't feel him resting against her like usual, only to remember he wasn't there. The dragoness sighed to herself, he wasn't gone a day and she already missed him terribly. She felt Eragon send waves of comfort to her, and she sent her gratitude to him as well as her own comfort as she knew they were both missing Daemon.
Shall we go now? Saphira asked, trying to keep her thoughts away from Daemon and if he was safe, and Eragon repeated the question.
Murtagh's eyes sparked dangerously, a tight smile lifting his lips. He glanced back the way they had come, where smoke from soldiers' camps was clearly visible, and said, "I always did like races."
"And now we are in one for our lives!"
Murtagh swung into Tornac's saddle and trotted out of the camp. Eragon followed close behind on Snowfire. Saphira jumped into the air with a powerful thrust of her wings. She flew low to the ground to avoid being seen by the soldiers. In this fashion, the three of them made their way southeast toward the distant Hadarac Desert.
Eragon kept a quick eye out for pursuers as he rode. His mind wondered what Roran would think of that. It struck him that if he ever returned to Carvahall, he would have a hard time convincing anyone that his adventures had actually occurred.
For the rest of the day, Eragon and Murtagh sped through the land, ignoring discomfort and fatigue. They drove the horses as hard as they could without killing them. Sometimes they dismounted and ran on foot to give Tornac and Snowfire a rest. Only twice did they stop—both times to let the horses eat and drink.
Though the soldiers of Gil'ead were far behind now, Eragon and Murtagh found themselves having to avoid new soldiers every time they passed a town or village. Somehow the alarm had been sent ahead of them. Twice they were nearly ambushed along the trail, escaping only because Saphira happened to smell the men ahead of them. After the second incident, they avoided the trail entirely.
Dusk softened the countryside as evening drew a black cloak across the sky. Through the night they traveled, relentlessly pacing out the miles. In the deepest hours of night, the ground rose beneath them to form low cactus-dotted hills.
Murtagh pointed forward. "There's a town, Bullridge, some leagues ahead that we must bypass. They're sure to have soldiers watching for us. We should try to slip past them now while it's dark."
After three hours they saw the straw-yellow lanterns of Bullridge. A web of soldiers patrolled between watch fires scattered around the town. Eragon and Murtagh muffled their sword sheaths and carefully dismounted. They led the horses in a wide detour around Bullridge, listening attentively to avoid stumbling on an encampment.
With the town behind them, Eragon relaxed slightly. Daybreak finally flooded the sky with a delicate blush and warmed the chilly night air. They halted on the crest of a hill to observe their surroundings. The Ramr River was to their left, but it was also five miles to their right. The river continued south for several leagues, then doubled back on itself in a narrow loop before curving west. They had covered over sixteen leagues in one day.
Eragon leaned against Snowfire's neck, happy with the distance they had gone. "Let's find a gully or hollow where we can sleep undisturbed." They stopped at a small stand of juniper trees and laid their blankets beneath them. Saphira curled around her Rider.
"I'll take the first watch and wake you at midmorning," said Murtagh, setting his bare sword across his knees. Eragon mumbled his thanks as he softly stroked Saphira's neck.
He could feel her mind turning towards their missing companion and he didn't blame her. It felt weird to not have Daemon with them after so long of having him travel with them, since the very beginning.
I miss him, little one. Saphira sighed.
So do I, Saphira. So do I.
And that's how I came to be the leader of the Companions. Daemon was saying as he flew through the air, speaking to the unconscious elf on his back. Although she wouldn't respond, nor did he know if she could her him, it did ease him a little to try and talk to someone even if he was basically talking to himself. But it kept his mind away from his companions, made him focus on the task. So he began telling Arya about himself, how he learned he was Dragonborn, to his lessons with the Greybeards, to the first dragon he slayed, to his time with the Companions, and so on.
Since taking off the previous night, Daemon had not stopped for anything, flying from the late night into the early morning with no signs of stopping, except for when his stomach demanded food and he would quickly snatch up a deer below to feast on, take a drink from any nearby streams and then he would be back into the air.
He had managed to cover quite a bit of ground already, and he felt a flicker of hope that maybe... just maybe... he'll be able to get Arya to the Varden sooner than he thought. He used the Ramr River to point him in the direction of the upcoming Hadarac Desert. Considering how being a dragon was faster than on horseback or running, Daemon believed that by nightfall he will reach the desert, at least.
And sure enough, as the sun was setting, Daemon felt a change in the air. A change that was dryer and warmer, and Daemon could smell nothing but sand and whatever came with a desert. For dinner, he snatched up a goat.
He settled down not too long after, cleaning his muzzle and his talons from the blood once he finished his meal, using his tongue to pick out any leftovers in his teeth and got a few bits of goat flesh down his gullet. Now that his stomach had been seen to, Daemon laid down for a good night's rest before he would continue tomorrow.
However, it seemed the gods liked to make him suffer as he could not sleep, no matter how comfortable he tried to get. He huffed and growled each time he felt uncomfortable. Frustrated, he tried closing his eyes and willing sleep to take him, but it was no use. Tired as he was, he just couldn't find rest. There was a feeling, an itch, within him. Something he hadn't quite felt in a long time but it had returned with a vengeance.
Loneliness.
He inhaled deeply than began to exhale with a sigh when his nose caught something, a sweet scent. it wasn't from the goat though, nothing was left of it save for the faint smell, but this smell was strong. He lifted his head, looking around as he tried to find the source of the wonderful smell. His search led him towards the prone elf draped on his back. He stopped and wondered if it was coming from her. Careful not to be intrusive or rude, he gently sniffed the top of her raven-haired head. A pleasant aroma of crushed pine needles greeted his nose, which he found quite nice, but it still wasn't what he was looking for. It was close though; it was stronger here than anywhere else. Daemon eyed the unconscious elf suspiciously, then his gaze saw the tanned hide underneath her limp body. His saddle...or more accurately, Saphira's saddle.
Pushing his nose against the leather, he inhaled deeply. Instantly, his head was filled with his mystery aroma. It was the smell of fresh cinnamon, but with the added hint of wild berries, and he found himself humming happily as it passed over him. He lay there in his own little world for a moment before his mind snapped back into focus and he realized what this smell really was.
Saphira's scent.
He sniffed the saddle again, growling softly as he enjoyed the smell, finding it... attractive. Suddenly he found himself on his legs, wings spread as if to take off and fly back to them, to her. But he forced himself down, forcing his instincts down.
This new development, thinking about Saphira, brought Daemon to think about his evolving feelings for her. They had agreed to remain close friends, but the emotions and feelings he felt for her had increased in intensity ever since Leona-Lake. Was he beginning to see her as more than a friend?
Was he... was he falling in love?
Daemon brushed all thoughts aside and laid down to sleep, closing his eyes, but his mind would not settle on the matter until he decided right there and then. He looked at the saddle before burying his nose in it, Saphira's scent invading his nostrils at full force and he found himself starting to fall asleep, feeling like he was back at her side. As his eyes started to shut, he thought about her, that sapphire dragoness that had managed to claim his heart.
What the hell, he sighed. I guess one more step past friends isn't so bad...
Nightfall found Eragon and the others worn and drowsy but determined to continue. They headed through the hills, avoiding the tops for fear of being spotted by sentries. Saphira stayed with them on the ground for the same reason. Despite her bulk, she was stealthy; only her tail could be heard scraping over the ground, like a thick blue snake.
Eventually the sky brightened in the east. The morning star Aiedail appeared as they reached the edge of a steep bank covered with mounds of brush. Water roared below as it tore over boulders and sluiced through branches.
"The Ramr!" said Eragon over the noise.
Murtagh nodded. "Yes! We have to find a place to ford safely."
That isn't necessary, said Saphira. I can carry you across, no matter how wide the river is.
Eragon looked up at her blue-gray form. What about the horses? We can't leave them behind. They're too heavy for you to lift.
As long as you're not on them and they don't struggle too much, I'm sure that I can carry them. If I can dodge arrows with three people on my back, I can certainly fly a horse in a straight line over a river.
I believe you, but let's not attempt it unless we have to. It's too dangerous.
She clambered down the embankment. We can't afford to squander time here.
Eragon followed her, leading Snowfire. The bank came to an abrupt end at the Ramr, where the river ran dark and swift. White mist wafted up from the water, like blood steaming in winter. It was impossible to see the far side. Murtagh tossed a branch into the torrent and watched it race away, bobbing on the rough water.
"How deep do you think it is?" asked Eragon.
"I can't tell," said Murtagh, worry coloring his voice. "Can you see how far across it is with magic?"
"I don't think so, not without lighting up this place like a beacon."
With a gust of air, Saphira took off and soared over the Ramr. After a short time, she said, I'm on the other bank. The river is over a half-mile wide. You couldn't have chosen a worse place to cross; the Ramr bends at this point and is at its widest.
"A half-mile!" exclaimed Eragon. He told Murtagh about Saphira's offer to fly them.
"I'd rather not try it, for the horses' sake. Tornac isn't as accustomed to Saphira as Snowfire. He might panic and injure them both. Ask Saphira to look for shallows where we can swim over safely. If there aren't any within a mile in either direction, then I suppose she can ferry us."
At Eragon's request, Saphira agreed to search for a ford. While she explored, they hunkered next to the horses and ate dry bread. It was not long before Saphira returned, her velvet wings whispering in the early dawn sky. The water is both deep and strong, upstream as well as downstream.
Once he was told, Murtagh said, "I'd better go over first, so I can watch the horses." He scrambled onto Saphira's saddle. "Be careful with Tornac. I've had him for many years. I don't want anything to happen to him." Then Saphira took off. After taking Murtagh over to calm the horses after they were taken by Saphira, she came back for her Rider.
Eragon dozed even when walking. He was barely aware that Murtagh was just as drowsy. There were times when neither of them guided the horses, and it was only Saphira's vigilance that kept them on course.
Eventually the ground became soft and gave way under their feet, forcing them to halt. The sun was high overhead. The Ramr River was no more than a fuzzy line behind them.
They had reached the Hadarac Desert.
A vast expanse of dunes spread to the horizon like ripples on an ocean. Bursts of wind twirled the reddish gold sand into the air. Scraggly trees grew on scattered patches of solid ground—ground any farmer would have declared unfit for crops. Rising in the distance was a line of purple crags. The imposing desolation was barren of any animals except for a bird gliding on the zephyrs.
"You're sure we'll find food for the horses out there?" queried Eragon, slurring his words. The hot, dry air stung his throat.
"See those?" asked Murtagh, indicating the crags. "Grass grows around them. It's short and tough, but the horses will find it sufficient."
"I hope you're right," said Eragon, squinting at the sun. "Before we continue, let's rest. My mind is slow as a snail, and I can barely move my legs."
Saphira settled down next to Eragon. This is a wondrous place, she said. I could spend years here and not notice the passing time.
Eragon closed his eyes. It would be a nice place to fly, he agreed drowsily.
Not only that, I feel as though I was made for this desert. It has the space I need, mountains where I could roost, and camouflaged prey that I could spend days hunting. And the warmth! Cold does not disturb me, but this heat makes me feel alive and full of energy. She craned her head toward the sky, stretching happily.
You like it that much? mumbled Eragon.
Yes.
Then when this is all done, perhaps we can return... all of us. He drifted into slumber even as he spoke. Saphira was pleased and hummed gently while he and Murtagh rested.
They slept just long enough to clear their minds and rest the horses. No soldiers could be seen to the rear, but that did not lull them into slowing their pace. They knew that the Empire would keep searching until they were far beyond the king's reach. Eragon said, "Couriers must have carried news of my escape to Galbatorix. He would have alerted the Ra'zac. They're sure to be on our trail by now. It'll take them a while to catch us even by flying, but we should be ready for them at all times."
And this time they will find I am not so easily bound with chains, said Saphira.
Murtagh scratched his chin. "I hope they won't be able to follow us past Bullridge. The Ramr was an effective way to lose pursuers; there's a good chance our tracks won't be found again."
"Something to hope for indeed," said Eragon as he checked the elf. Her condition was unchanged; she still did not react to his ministrations. "I place no faith in luck right now, though. The Ra'zac could be on our trail even as we speak."
At sunset they arrived at the crags they had viewed from afar that morning. The imposing stone bluffs towered over them, casting thin shadows. The surrounding area was free of dunes for a half mile. Heat assailed Eragon like a physical blow as he dismounted Snowfire onto the baked, cracked ground. The back of his neck and his face were sunburned; his skin was hot and feverish.
After picketing the horses where they could nibble the sparse grass, Murtagh started a small fire. "How far do you think we went?" Eragon asked.
"I don't know!" snapped Murtagh. His skin was red, his eyes bloodshot. He picked up a pot and muttered a curse. "We don't have enough water. And the horses have to drink."
Eragon was just as irritated by the heat and dryness, but he held his temper in check. "Bring the horses." Saphira dug a hole for him with her claws, then he closed his eyes, releasing the spell. Though the ground was parched, there was enough moisture for the plants to live on and enough for him to fill the hole several times over.
Murtagh refilled the waterskins as water pooled in the hole, then stood aside and let the horses drink. The thirsty animals quaffed gallons. Eragon was forced to draw the liquid from ever deeper in the earth to satisfy their desire. It taxed his strength to the limit. When the horses were finally sated, he said to Saphira, If you need a drink, take it now. Her head snaked around him and she took two long draughts, but no more.
Before letting the water flow back into the ground, Eragon gulped down as much as he could, then watched the last drops melt back into the dirt. After having something to eat and quench their hunger, they turned in for the night. Eragon leaned against Saphira's flank, the dragoness already asleep. He could hear her make various noises as she dreamed, but it wasn't pleasant sounds. She let out a muffled whine, her features twitching into a slight grimace.
This was nothing new. Ever since Daemon split off from them to go his way to the Varden, Saphira had been plagued with nightmares and restless nights. At first she just huffed and groaned in her sleep, now her legs and tail twitched constantly. It slightly irritated Eragon as he himself had tried getting his own rest. He wished he could help soothe her troubled mind, but knew he couldn't. He knew what was wrong with Saphira.
She missed Daemon.
Eragon watched her, noticing her legs moving around as if trying to reach for something that wasn't there. He joined his mind with hers, trying to comfort her and reassure her, but when he did so he managed to hear her voice in his head, calling out to someone in her sleep. Please... come back...
Eragon felt a couple of tears slip down his cheeks at how heartbroken and in despair Saphira was. He knew her and Daemon had gotten close over the past few months since they first met before all this began. Eragon missed Daemon as well, the young man that had come to be an older brother to him. Over the course of this adventure, Eragon had started seeing Daemon as a brother rather than a close friend. And he's had his suspicions about the relationship between Daemon and Saphira ever since Teirm, that maybe... it was not simple friendship anymore.
Eragon looked around before he saw one of Daemon's shirts he wore before in one of the saddlebags. He took it out and thought about this, knowing if he did what he was going to do, then it would mean that Daemon and Saphira's relationship was beyond the point of simply close friends. However, as he thought about it... Eragon approved. Daemon was his brother in all but blood, there was no one better that he'd see be with Saphira in that regard. They were family, and he'd be overjoyed and happy at seeing his brother and dragoness find happiness with each other, he'd even support and encourage it.
So with that in mind, Eragon came over to Saphira's head and placed the shirt against her nostrils. Instantly, she calmed, and he felt her sorrow and despair fading and replaced with calmness and content as she inhaled Daemon's scent and even nuzzled the shirt. Eragon smiled to himself and went back to her side, and immediately he was wrapped in her tail as Saphira curled around him. He smiled as he felt a tendril of gratitude and appreciate come from her. He closed his eyes and joined her in dreams, and in this dream... they were joined by a certain silver-scaled dragon.
While Eragon and the others had their first night in the desert, Daemon was leaving it behind. At sunrise, he awoke and was in the air almost instantly, knowing his body will wake up from sleep with the sudden activity. His eyes stared atraight ahead as he flew, and soon enough the majestic beors were in his sight.
He was close, that was a big relief to him.
He only stopped once to get a mouthful of water and a few deers to fill his stomach as he vowed to himself that after this meal, he will not stop for anything, he'll push himself until he could go no further but was determined to go until he had reached the Varden.
Hold on, Arya. Nearly there. He said to himself as he flew on.
It was freezing when they rose the next day. The sand had a pink hue in the morning light, and the sky was hazy, concealing the horizon. Murtagh's mood had not improved with sleep, and Eragon found his own rapidly deteriorating. During breakfast, he asked, "Do you think it'll be long before we leave the desert?"
Murtagh glowered. "We're only crossing a small section of it, so I can't imagine that it'll take us more than two or three days."
"But look how far we've already come."
"All right, maybe it won't! All I care about right now is getting out of the Hadarac as quickly as possible. What we're doing is hard enough without having to pick sand from our eyes every few minutes."
They finished eating and packed up the camp once more. As they left the camp, a line of dark smudges became visible on the horizon, indistinct in the hazy air. Murtagh thought they were distant hills. Eragon was not convinced, but he could make out no details. At midday they stopped for a brief rest. When they resumed their journey, Eragon noticed that the haze had thinned since morning, and the distant smudges had gained definition.
No longer were they indistinct purple-blue lumps, but rather broad, forest-covered mounds with clear outlines. The air above them was pale white, bleached of its usual hue—all color seemed to have been leached out of a horizontal band of sky that lay on top of the hills and extended to the horizon's edges.
He stared, puzzled, but the more he tried to make sense of it, the more confused he became. He blinked and shook his head, thinking that it must be some illusion of the desert air. Yet when he opened his eyes, the annoying incongruity was still there. Indeed, the whiteness blanketed half the sky before them. Sure that something was terribly wrong, he started to point this out to Murtagh and Saphira when he suddenly understood what he was seeing.
What they had taken to be hills were actually the bases of gigantic mountains, scores of miles wide. Except for the dense forest along their lower regions, the mountains were entirely covered with snow and ice. It was this that had deceived Eragon into thinking the sky white. He craned back his neck, searching for the peaks, but they were not visible. The mountains stretched up into the sky until they faded from sight. Narrow, jagged valleys with ridges that nearly touched split the mountains like deep gorges. It was like a ragged, toothy wall linking Alagaësia with the heavens.
There's no end to them! he thought, awestruck. Stories that mentioned the Beor Mountains always noted their size, but he had discounted such reports as fanciful embellishments. Now, however, he was forced to acknowledge their authenticity.
Sensing his wonder and surprise, Saphira followed his gaze with her own. Within a few seconds she recognized the mountains for what they were. I feel like a hatchling again. Compared to them, even I feel small!
As the day wore on, the Beor Mountains seemed to get no closer, though the landscape changed dramatically. The sand slowly transformed from loose grains of reddish hue to hard-packed, dusky-cream dirt. In place of dunes were ragged patches of plants and deep furrows in the ground where flooding had occurred. A cool breeze wafted through the air, bringing welcome refreshment. The horses sensed the change of climate and hurried forward eagerly.
When evening subdued the sun, the mountains' foothills were a mere league away. Herds of gazelles bounded through lush fields of waving grass. Eragon caught Saphira eyeing them hungrily. They camped by a stream, relieved to be out of the punishing Hadarac Desert.
Dammit! Daemon cursed as he almost fell onto his front upon landing, due to having a not so gentle landing with tired wings. He panted heavily as he tried to shake it off, knowing he can get some rest later. His wings had given out and he had to land before he went crashing. However, tired wings would not stop him. He was close, so walking will have to do from here.
It didn't take him long to arrive at the head of the lake, hearing the thunderous sound of a waterfall nearby. he looked around and spotted a rock. Daemon slammed his tail against the rock then shouted loud for anyone to hear. Ai fricai abr du Varden gata vanta! A friend of the Varden seeks passage! Daemon roared with his powerful lungs, knowing that has to get the attention of somebody. After a few tense moments, nothing happened. Daemon slammed his tail against the rocky face, shouting the phrase again with his mind.
Again, nothing.
Why aren't they answering? Daemon growled. He was about to take on a more aggressive way of getting their attention when his brilliant, dragon eyes noticed a flicker of movement above.
He looked and saw about two dozen armed men with bows and arrows aimed at his hulking form. he could hear the bowstrings being pulled back and tensed, lifting his wings to protect Arya from any stray arrow. But before things could turn into a fight, another sound reached Daemon's ears.
Daemon watched as two massive stone doors opened in the cliff face, and he could see a tunnel leading into the mountain, and a cold, condescending voice reached the silver dragon's ears.
"Well now...this is a surprise..."
And so Daemon reaches the Varden first, days ahead of Eragon and the others.
