MHAMPIR PIKE'S narrowed as they regarded Eragon, who knelt before him. Across Mampir's thin legs, a sword rested, unsheathed, pale blade absorbing what little light there was in the throne room.
Mhampir himself looked young, with long ebony hair and dark green eyes that reminded Eragon of the congealed swamps that he and Brom had passed in their first days journeying together.
To Eragon's left and right, powerful looking statutes appraised him, chins held high as the men stood vigil, frozen in stone. A fire crackled- but was not privy to Eragon's eyes. Beside him, Brom and Arya also knelt, but before them all was Saphira.
She was still caged, but she shined brilliantly in the dusky room. She unfurled her wings, pushing them against the iron bars of her prison. Mhampir's eyes widened every time she moved, but other than that, he was was silent.
Newlyn Pike stood by Brom, his hands curled around Brom's dirty collar. Two men with skull-faces flanked Mhampir, holding twisted-looking greatswords. A wizard circled Saphira's cage like a predatory animal, his staff clicking against the stone flooring.
His face was painted so heavily that not an inch of his skin was shown. White, black, and red tattoos swirled and jabbed and bisected the man's countenance, while gray hair fell from his head and down to his waist.
"Interesting . . . very interesting." Mhampir said at last, leaning forward. He lifted his sword from his lap, allowing it to beam as it hung in the air, and then twisted it over, resting on the hilt while the point jabbed ineffectively at the stone ground.
"What should be done with them, My Lord?" Newlyn asked. The wizard left Saphira's cage, and found himself behind the throne of Mhampir. He whispered into the young Lord's ear, and Mhampir nodded, smiling.
"You said you found them in Gil'ead?" He asked, speaking louder. Newlyn nodded.
"Yes. We had thought them Galbatorix's .. . but the boy said his home had been destroyed by the Empire, and that he was a Rider. This one though . . ." Newlyn lifted Brom and threw him to the ground.
Brom landed heavily, and as he picked himself up, Newlyn pressed his boot against Brom's back. Eragon had to suppress the urge to twist around and punch the man, his eyes downcast as he ignored the sound of Brom's fingers scratching at the stone cobbled floor.
"He killed two of mine." Newlyn said. Mhampir looked past Eragon and at Brom, then refocused his eyes on the younger lad.
"You said this one was a Rider as well." Mhampir said easily. Eragon nodded.
Mhampir looked up with an annoyed expression.
"Newlyn, enough. If what this boy says is true, then that man and this whelp are more valuable than you, or any of your household." Mhampir looked at Eragon with those swampy green eyes, and bowed his head.
"Continue."
"He's a Rider. He fought in the war, and . . . . He was teaching me. Teaching me how to fight and use magic."
"Is that so?" Mhampir said.
"Show me what you can do." The Lord smiled, settling in his chair.
Eragon looked around himself anxiously, patting himself down. Finally, he ended up removing his moldy boot, producing a small pebble as Mhampir looked on, holding his nose polity.
Eragon braced himself, the pebble on the flat of his palm. He closed his eyes, focused his energy, and emptied his mind.
"Stenr Risa"
The pebble floated above Eragon's hand, rising higher and higher. Eragon then directed the pebble around the room, Mhampir following it critically with his cold gaze.
Finally, Eragon returned the small rock to his hand, closing his fingers around the cool stone.
Mhampir then sat up in his chair, gripping the hilt of his sword with two hands as he did so.
"Magic is the tool of men, boy." Mhampir's eyes suddenly turned red as a black mountain lion roared from behind Mhampir's large throne, jumping over the high seat with ease.
Eragon fell backwards on himself as the massive cat regarded him with maroon pupils, licking its chops while a bushy tail swayed behind it. Eragon could feel the breath of the lion as it blew on him, parting his long hair with each heavy exhalation.
"This is magic."
The lion drew away from Eragon, slinking back behind the throne, and into the darkness beyond. Eragon's heart beat fast within his chest, thumping heavily as his lungs drew in and expanded.
"That is all that he was able to teach you?" Mhampir asked incredulously.
"He taught me some basic skills of swordplay." Eragon answered, shamed. Mhampir's eyes locked on Brom, who had rose from the ground.
"You say you want to reach the Varden." Mhampir stated plainly.
Brom simply nodded his head. Mhampir's eyes then snapped towards Arya, who had been silent the entire time.
"And what of you, Elf? What do you want?"
"I need to reach the Varden as well. I am princess of the Elves, and I will represent my House and people. Many Elves have already fled to-"
Mhampir waved his hand. "Yes, but no official alliance has been struck with them, I know. I have heard word that the Dwarves may join their cause with the Varden . . . "
Arya's eyes widened in surprise.
"Yes, it is true. I believe so, at least. A shame when Dwarves react faster to justice than Elves." Mhampir said with a smile.
Arya did not answer him, but Eragon could hear the sound of her teeth grinding together in anger.
"Newlyn, you wish to see them punished, don't you."
"If it pleases you, my lord."
"It does not." Mhampir said coldly, rising from his throne.
"My wizard Eloeyr says that there is another Rider, hidden among the lands of the High Elves. Is this true, Valbhorethlian?" He sneered. Arya's face dropped in shock.
"How . . . how did you . . ." She stammered.
"My wizard recognized you. You possess the traits of House Valbhorethlian, the dark hair with the streaks of white, the angular face . . . the strange pupils. Once you declared yourself a princess, I knew then for sure. What do you call royal families in your language?" Mhampir asked.
"Delan." She answered.
"And what do you call Lords?"
"Aurosa."
Mhampir grinned, one of his hands leaving the hilt of his sword and finding itself near the corner of his mouth. "So I would be Aurosa of Delan Pike, is that correct?"
"More or less." Arya said simply.
"Then I tell you this, Arya of House Valbhorethlian, you will go to the Varden. But you will have these two accompany you, and you will have your people train Eragon in the arts of becoming a true Rider. Once he is strong enough, he will be a great asset to House Pike's cause."
"The Varden's cause." Eragon corrected boldly. Mhampir bore a amused look on his face.
"Of course, boy. Newlyn, I will not punish these people, or keep them here longer than necessary. Aerion will escort them to the Varden, and you will return to Gil'ead, your new seat. As a cadet branch of House Pike, you will have much riding on your shoulders."
Newlyn frowned.
"But the families of the men killed . . ."
"It is war. People die. Now go. You have done well, but your stubbornness is ruining my good will towards you."
Newlyn left the hall with the click of heavy heels leaving the room.
"Aerion is a good man, and he knows the way to where the Varden are massed. There is another group, in the far depths of Surda, where our future King Orrin waits. As we speak, diplomats leave for the Dwarf lands to broker an alliance. It is said that the agreement has already been unofficially accepted, all that remains is the signing of paper."
"Why are you telling us this?" Arya suddenly voiced. Mhampir's eyes thinned.
"Because war is coming. True war, not the skirmishes that have plagued the North. This boy needs to be ready to fight." Mhampir said, pointing at Eragon.
"The Forsworn will be able to end this war before it begins."
"I can still train him." Brom spoke, his voice gravelly.
"The boy said you fought in the war. I can only assume your dragon has perished. You are no true Rider, no longer. The boy needs a real teacher, which he will find once he is introduced to the Elves. Tell me, Valbhorethlian, what is the name of our surviving master?"
"Oromis. His name is Oromis." She choked stiffly.
"You will leave on the morrow." Mhampir rose from his throne, handing his sword to a squire that came scrambling up to him.
"What is your name, boy, your true name?" Mhampir eyed Eragon with slight disgust.
"Eragon, m'lord."
Mhampir rolled his eyes, frowning. "Your surname. The name you inherited from your father.
"I- . . . I don't know."
"You don't know the name of your father?" Mhampir asked.
"I was adopted."
"If you're going to be a Rider, you need a name. Eragon . .a newly made rider . . something to inspire and something to cause men to quake in fear . . . "
Mhampir smiled.
"From this day forth, your name is Eragon Vicaryn of the Azure Flame."