Eragon is not mine, but this general storyline, along with Amaka Yannickosi, are MINE...MWA HA HA...ahem. Please R&R.

He returned to the stone hut, striding purposely towards the four elves that stood guard. One made as though to stop him, but held up his hand. He gave to them the scrap of leather Arya had written on, watching them. They conferred quietly with each other for a moment, then stepped aside as the leader opened the bulky door. "Be careful, Shur'tugal. Call out if you need us," he said, no trace of his irritation imparted in his voice. Eragon nodded curtly and ducked beneath the low frame.

The small room inside was dark and hot, like an oven. Three slim rays of light filtered in from bars in the ceiling, illuminating the rough stone floor and walls. Even the ceiling was made of tin shingles. No scrap of greenery protruded the stony prison. The door clanged shut.

The prisoner lay stretched out, propped up against the wall wearing only her breeches, a linen breastband, and a thin golden chain with an unidentifiable charm that rested in the hollow of her neck. Her dark tunic was wadded up behind her head as a pillow against the hard rock. Her shining ginger hair was tied back in a drooping bun; her entire body glistened with sweat. She glanced up as he entered, her piercing emerald eyes boring into his skull. They had an unearthly quality to them, seeming almost to glow in the dim light. He glanced away before he could stop himself, but quickly returned his gaze to her with a frown. She smirked at him, raising a thin eyebrow. She opened her delicate mouth, speaking in Common. "Please, sit."

He bent his knees, marveling at the strange beauty she possessed. There was not doubt in his mind now that she was elven; she had the unmistakeable pointed ears and angular features of the sylvan people. But something about her seemed out of place in an elf; not only her coloring but her manner as well. All the elves he knew started the traditional greeting before speaking anything else; perhaps she thought he should begin?

"Atra esterní…" he began. She waved a hand in the air dismissively, and he paused.

"Really, Eragon. Is that necessary? I'm here to kill you, not invite you to dinner." She continued to smirk at him, wiping a layer of sweat off of her forehead and onto her pants. She reached forward with the other hand. "I am Amaka Yannickosi, called Half-Elven. And, you of course, are the new Rider."

He nodded but ignored the hand, leaning up against the opposite corner. So she was only half Elven. Yannickosi. No, Yannick's daughter didn't sound very elven at all. That accounted for her oddity. Even her well-muscled body was different; he couldn't help noticing how much larger her breasts were than that of other Elven women. She withdrew her hand, cocking her head to the side. "Really, boy, I know you've been living with these stuffy creatures for awhile, but I expected you to be a little more...forthcoming."

He chuckled at that. "I apologize."

"Don't," she said, frowning. "I can't abide that." Dropping her hand to her side, she released a puff of air. "Damn, it's hot."

"Aye," he assented, wiping his own brow with his sleeve.

"Why have you come to visit me, my prey? Normally the hunted avoid the hunter."

"Again, you say you hunt me. Why? For how long?" he asked, evading her question. He wasn't entirely sure of the answer; he was sure it had something to do with that disturbed look on Arya's face.

She shrugged. "I'm a mercenary. People pay me to do such things. When you kill things for awhile, you tend to get rather good at it," she replied. She grinned malevolently. "I've been following you ever since you left your sweet Carvahall."

He looked at her, surprised at how familiar she looked. He couldn't place her face, but her consciousness throbbed against his in a uniquely memorable way, as though they had once been in close contact. "Who are you? Where did you come from?"

Her face hardened, her bright jade eyes trained on his own. "You ask much, Shadeslayer. Everything has a price. What have you to give in return?"

He raised an eyebrow, speaking in the ancient language. "In return for the account of your…your offense and subsequent hunt, I shall regale you with the story of my time as a Rider."

"Excellent," she purred, gathering her legs up in her arms. "Let me tell you a story, Eragon of Carvahall."