"What is this?"
Arya lifted a spoonful of brown mush and allowed it to dribble back into her wooden bowl.
"Food," Brom informed between mouthfuls as they sat before a roaring campfire. Eragon reclined on his pack, his newly made shield, bearing his personal coat of arms, a blue dragon flying over azure flames. In addition laid beside him on the ground freshly crafted sword snugly fit into a polished wood sheath. Saphira flew high above in the starry night, while the low hum of conversation straddled the small group.
They were fifteen in total, led by Aerion, a captain from Mhampir's hold. The man was fine and true, a noble, if not average, man.
Eragon ate the same dirt-colored soup, which was filled with chunks of dried meat and left-over seasoning. They were far south, and Aerion said they would reach the human lands that bordered the Dwarf Kingdoms soon. In a way, Eragon was sad. It would mark the end of yet another part of his life, crossing the land with Brom and Saphira, fending for themselves while the world turned to frost around them. Eragon wondered what it was like in the North, wondered how heavily the snows were falling. They had been traveling south for some weeks now, and they had received word that Orrin had left Surda, making his way towards the same destination.
"He is enthralled," One of the scry-mages had told them. "He cannot wait to meet you, Eragon. He plans to name you his new Champion. And he is intrigued by your dragon."
I wonder if I'll like Orrin. Saphira thought absentmindedly, hearing Eragon's musings.
Saphira spoke often, and she even possessed the ability to speak vocally, though she did it sparingly. She preferred to speak to Eragon within his mind, and he didn't mind at all. Their connection had grown stronger as she matured.
Eragon considered her one of his closest companions.
You might. I've never met him, but he seems just Eragon said.
He closed his eyes, and allowed his mind to see what Saphira's pupils gazed upon. They camped in medium-sized grass, yellow in appearance, softer than silk. As Saphira flew above them, Eragon saw bright fire dwindle as she rose higher and higher, her wide wings spreading far. The grass swayed in the night air.
Saphira spotted small foxes as they ran, hounded by the moon.
Just is good, I suppose. You humans have a wide range of emotions. There is no uniform way you act, it seems.
It's only normal. Dragons are most likely the same, from what Brom described.
Saphira didn't respond.
Eragon felt her mind ease away from his. She was like that sometimes, a faraway affection, afraid to delve too deep into actual conversation. Somehow, they had gained the ability to communicate by way of smell, feel, and touch, and in some respects, it was a better means of talking than actually formulating words.
"What did you eat . . . back in your land?" Eragon ventured tentatively as Arya frowned into her bowl.
"It's nearly impossible for Laen Elves to digest meat," She said, sighing as she overturned the food, feeding the ground below them.
"You shouldn't waste a meal like that." Brom growled. He had seemingly recovered from his wounds, and his cough had lessened. He was larger and more robust than ever before, his shoulders wide and his arms large.
Arya ignored him and looked at Eragon. The white-blonde streaks in her hair beamed, rivaling the moon.
"We ate food better than this. Freshly baked breads . . . cheeses . . . greens. And no meat." She said with a tint of sharpness, glaring at Brom.
They were all alone, the camps of the travelers separated. Aerion gave them a large amount of mobility, much more so than Newlyn had. The man had been upset over Mhampir's pardoning of Brom, but Mhampir himself seemed not to care.
"What is it called? Where you lived?" Eragon tried again. Arya crossed her arms and reclined her head, a fine long neck stretching backwards.
"There are many names. But the blanket term my people use is Du Welden Varden. Three tongues exist among us Elves, even among those of the same caste. The High Elven I speak is different from that spoken in Ellesmera, and the tongue sang in Jalineor is even further from ours." Arya answered.
Eragon could tell she was proud of her people.
"The High Elves are among the most overly complex races I have ever come across." Brom said as he wiped his mouth on his bare arm. Arya gave him a sneer, her fine mouth curdling. Her expression softened, however, and to Eragon's surprise, she asked Brom a question.
"You were a Rider. Did you . . ." She began. She swallowed, and looked at Eragon and Brom self-consciously, but continued. "Did you know my father?" She whispered.
Brom thought for a moment.
"Evander? Yes. He often visited Vroengard. He was a good Elf. Just and true. He was an Elf of action, an Elf who always dabbled in human affairs. He was smart, giving, and kind. You look like him, with that hair."
"You don't know your father?" Eragon asked.
Arya looked sad, an emotion so . . . deep that Eragon was surprised he was seeing it on her face. Her scars had healed, but they would forever mark her face, her beauty. They added to her grief, and made her look almost pitiful.
"He died fighting Galbatorix's forsworn." She answered. Eragon's mind swam back to the story Brom had told him about Galbatorix's renegade band of dragonriders.
"I always wondered . . . I always imagined what he was like. Islanzadi had nothing but bad things to say about My father." Arya sighed, leaning over slightly to pull at the long grass between her feet.
"She said that his involvement the Forsworn Rebellion is what led to his death." She rasped, her eyes glistening with water.
Arya rose abruptly, and began running into the fields behind them. Eragon started to follow, but was stopped by Brom.
"Let her go, lad. There's nothing you could say." Brom called behind him. Eragon looked on as Arya's back diminished in the darkness.
"How do you know?" Eragon asked, still looking after her.
"Because Elves are different than humans. She looks young, but I'm assuming she's at least seventy. Your ignorance would probably offend her more than anything." Brom said matter-of-factly.
Eragon sagged his shoulders, knowing that he was right.
"Where did the Elf run off to?" Aerion said gruffly, materializing beyond the fire.
"She needed time alone." Brom answered as Eragon sat back down, placing his shield back on his lap.
"It's night . . . I doubt we'll find danger in the face of the Empire . . . but still, it's dangerous. There are things much darker than soldiers in these marches. Shadow-lions, among them."
Eragon remembered the large, dusky feline beast that Mhampir called a pet.
He saw the terrible red eyes again, felt the breath against his forehead . . .
ERAGON!
Saphira's voice erupted as Eragon felt a sharp touch circle around his neck. He fell over as a leathery cord tightened around his throat. He groped at his neck, but felt nothing there.
Eragon! She called again, her voice fading as the touch at his neck vanished. He jolted up as Aerion tried to help him, arming his shield and sword.
"What is it, boy?" He asked, hands at his waist, swearing as he realized he was unarmed.
"Saphira. Something is wrong. Something-"
Saphira crashed between them, picking up dirt as she tunneled into the ground. A gross stench, no, something worse than that settled around them.
There was a ripping howl as some type of beast flapped torn wings, crouching over Saphira's half-buried body. It flexed its wings, pushing Aerion and Eragon away.
"And so we find the Rider, a mere child." The monster croaked, speaking from a black beak riddled with holes that dripped worms and black centipedes.
"BRISINGR!" Eragon screamed, both of his palms opened to their fullest extent as an orb of blue flame sprung forth, growing larger as it flew over the tall grass that surrounded them.
The raven hissed and spread its wings, rising in the air as the whip it wielded trailed after it like a grossly elongated tail. The ball of fire exploded far in the plains, engulfing the dry grass in an indigo inferno.
With a tattered and decaying arm wrapped in cloth, it struck the whip against the night air, splitting all sound with a piercing crack.
Eragon raised his shield as the whip came crashing down, thumping against the wood with a heavy strike. He pushed the whip away as the creature cawed and swung it back, and then attacked again. Eragon narrowly avoided the weapon as it cracked next to his ear, a dull ring replacing sound as he felt Saphira's mind.
What are they?
I don't know.
"Eragon, careful!" Brom roared, his sword in his hand as Aerion returned with their party, all of them armed. The creature flew higher into the dark sky.
Eragon rushed to where Saphira was, pulling her from the dirt. Her wings were crumpled and her neck was red, but her scales had protected her from most of the assault.
A blackness passed over him, married with a deep and guttural howl as it traveled over Eragon, darkening his night by several shades. Brom grunted behind Eragon. The man ran past to meet their foe as the second attacker pounced, long robes billowing, covering a furred body.
Eragon went to his head and pulled spiders that savagely crawled around in his hair, having fallen off of the disgusting creature. He turned as Saphira reoriented herself behind him, watching as Brom desperately fought with what he now could see was a wolf-like creature.
"Stena Brisino Algufar!" Brom spelled as the wolf was raised into the air and consumed by blue flame. Brom lurched visibly while Eragon came running towards him, his sword poking against the dirt of the land. Men screamed to their left.
Eragon saw with horror as the Raven creature struck out eyes with its whip, segments of sharpened bone gleaming in the light of the violent moon. The wolf broke free of the fire-orb, growling.
"Daz nacht Oro Boruet!" it howled.
Eragon was stricken with blindness as shadowy arms snaked his body together. He struggled against the dark, and heard Brom fall over, the slurping tongue of the wolf near him.
Eragon, focus on my voice! Saphira cried. Eragon did, and he saw through her eyes as Saphira's magic freed his body from the spell. Saphira dove at the back of the wolf, and the beast leaped above her dive.
As she flew away for another attack it reached with its arm, bone and muscle and skin stretching far beyond normal limits, grabbing her leg. Eragon ran forward, aided by Saphira's eyes as she turned and struggled. He sliced the creature across the back with his sword.
Feces mixed with blood came spilling from the wound, blinding him as scorpions jumped from between the torn and moldy cloak, clawing at Eragon's face.
His vision returned, and he pulled the insects from his face, smashing them against the ground. Brom rose as well, breathing haggardly.
"What are they?" He asked as Saphira safely flew high into the sky, the wolf's arm dragging across the plains with an audible slither, returning to its body.
Brom spit blood into the tall grass, raising his large sword.
"Ra'zac." He said breathlessly.
Eragon's heart chilled as a wicked blade came crashing down on Brom's shoulder. The man gasped in surprise.
Eragon saw a man the color of curdled milk, with a growing red mane. He had a different face, but the voice, the sword, and the aura was the same.
It was the creature from Gil'ead.
"Close, my dear Caomhim. But not quite. They are my Ra'zac."
"Terra anrano cahaf!" Brom swung his blade into the ground as a spike of earth jumped into existence behind him.
The red-mane evaded the attack with a laughing hiss, eyes glowing with malevolent glee. The wolf ra'zac joined the red-mane's side. Eragon hurried to Brom, watching as red blood colored his shoulder.
"Are you alright?" Eragon asked.
"I'll manage." Brom said with a grimace.
Before them, the two evils stood, framed by the laughing glow of the horrid nighttime moon.