Eragon sat on a sandy bank, a small stream coursing before him. He watched as the water flowed, snaking around the plains that surrounded them. It was early morning, and he had been first to rise. Saphira flew above the air, hunting. Her thoughts were closed to him, as she was locked in concentration, but whenever she was around, he could feel the waves of sorrow passing over him.
Garrow.
Eragon shut his eyes as tears began to form. He swore at himself, wiping his eyes with the sleeve of his clothing. He looked at the water again, red-eyed and sniffling, hating himself all the while.
"We're going to be leaving soon." Arya said. Eragon jolted, he had not even heard her coming behind him. She moved into his peripheral vision, and sat down, a few feet away from him. He turned his head at her as she plucked a small pebble from the sand, brushed it off, and tossed it into the stream with a silent plop. Her hair was tied behind her head, a long black-and-white ponytail dangling all the way to the bottom of her neck. Her jawline was sharp, as if it had been cut from stone. As she spoke, her jaws tightened, and Eragon watched as muscled worked underneath pale skin, while three black scars crawled over her face.
"I am sorry about your father. If I had known-"
"He wasn't my father. I used to call him Uncle when I was younger. He . . . he never liked that, though." Eragon said softly, and he broke down, sobbing silently, covering his face from Arya's eyes. He felt her linger there for a moment, before hearing her soft footsteps as she left him alone.
Garrow.
Guilt washed over him. Roran . . . Roran would blame him. And why shouldn't he? If he had only left the egg alone . . . none of this would happen. He would still be home, happy and content. Garrow would be alive, and the cares of the royal houses in the land would not bother him. He was not a king, a prince, or a noble. He was out of place in this war, this story of bloodshed. Eragon opened his palm, looking at the swirling scar that was raised a few inches above the rest of his skin.
A Rider.
But he wasn't, not truly. Saphira was not large enough to even mount, and he was unskilled. He only knew two spells, and during the fight with the Ra'zac, Arya had saved him from calamity more than once, annoyance written on her face. His thoughts drifted towards the Elf girl, and he hated himself again.
She despises weakness. And that is all she saw when she was with me.
During the battle, she had only protected him because he was the Last Rider, and therefore precious to their entire effort. Eragon couldn't see why the egg hadn't hatched for her instead.
"Boy," Brom's gruff way of speaking invaded Eragon's ears. He turned, and nearly jumped back into the water, groping to find a blade that wasn't belted to his waist. The young man before him gave a quizzical look, and then rolled his eyes.
"Don't tell me you are this foolish." Brom said, anger brimming in his tone. Eragon eased down, stepping onto mushy sand.
"Your beard . . ." Eragon stammered.
"Aye. I shaved it. To look presentable. It's been some time since I've seen a King."
Brom had literally cut every hair from his lower face, and he looked no more than three years elder from Eragon. His shoulder was wrapped in clothing, and his familiar sword hung heavily from his back, but he looked like an entirely different man. Brom walked close to where Eragon stood, placing a hand on his shoulder.
"No one deserves to go through what you did, boy. But you cannot allow yourself to fester in grief. Now isn't the time." Brom said softly. Eragon nodded, looking past Brom, and at their camp, where Aerion put out the fire while Arya watched, her eyes narrowed dust fell onto the flames.
"Why did it choose me?" Eragon said suddenly, looking away as Arya's sharp eyes caught his.
"The egg. Why was . . . why did it hatch for me?" He added, his hands groping for more articulate wording.
"Eggs do not choose who they hatch for. To tell you the truth, I do not know, Eragon. It is believed that Eggs hatch for beings that have the same temperament as their future Dragons. It is possible that you and Saphira have the same personality."
Eragon smiled at the thought of having the same persona as his flying companion.
He had another question, one that was much harder.
"Why do . . . why did that thing keep calling you Caomhim?" He blurted, watching as Brom's eyes went wide. The man straightened suddenly, and turned away from Eragon.
"It is my old name. From another time."
Eragon was not satisfied.
"But why did it know your name?" He pursued.
"Another time, Eragon." Brom said sternly, and Eragon fell silent.
Saphira regrouped with them as they shouldered their packs, what little supplies they could scavenge from the dead. What were formally fifteen was now only three. They had all taken part in burying the dead, and Aerion was aghast when he found some bodies were missing.
"The being I fought is known as a Shade. It contained numerous spirits, and when its current vessel died, the spirits within jumped from the burning body, and entered those of your companions."
Aerion had cursed magic, and continued digging.
What's wrong? Saphira asked as she alighted onto the ground. She was up to Eragon's forearm now, a little larger than some of the wild packs of massive dogs they had seen roaming the plain lands.
Brom. He's hiding something from me. From us. Something that involves that creature. It knows Brom's name, his real name, apparently. Caomhim.
Eragon sensed question from Saphira.
Caomhim? Why would Brom lie to us? What does he have to hide?
Eragon wondered how many secrets a being that lived as long as Brom had could have. How many dark crimes, how many silent misdeeds that went unnoticed for centuries, save for the lingering gazes of the gods.
I don't know Saphira.
They descended downwards a steep hill, winds rushing past them, causing the slight and tall grass to tickle them as they walked. Ahead, large mountains teased in the distance, standing over a long and flat land, covered by gray clouds that curled as they moved across the heavens. A few trees were found, scattered about, with red leaves that were pulled from thin branches, sending the wayward leaves off into the tall yellow weed.
"We are nearing the lands of House Yorbar. Also, we are close to the crossroads of the world." Aerion said softly as wind mussed with his hair. He put his hand on the pommel of his sword as he spoke, smiling as he locked eyes on the mountains before them.
"House Yorbar has blood tracing back to the old world. They descend from the First Walkers, who marched down South fleeing the Ghost Men. They found an overland Dwarven Kingdom called Tal-Mok, which was at war with the Mountain Kings and there above-ground settlements. These First Walkers fought with the Tal-Mok, while the Mountain Kings attacked from their rear. In a short while, the great Tal-Mok Empire came to an end, with the First Walker warlord Anteelys marrying the disposed Dwarf ruler's daughter, Ran'mek. The current rulers of House Yorbar have overland dwarf blood, and you'll find that the people, some of them, have overland dwarf names and customs. A queer folk." Aerion climbed down the hill, and the rest of his party followed.
They walked for hours, and often Aerion would be the one requesting rest, as Brom and Arya had near-limitless energy when not fighting or using magic. The mountains grew larger and larger until they eclipsed the sun, jagged and sharp and dangerous, Foreboding monsters that signaled the end of the current world. Hour by hour, the land darkened as they inched around the mountains. A howl shrieked in the growing night, and Eragon tensed.
"What was that?" He said, gripping his sword.
"Shadow lions. Be careful. By the sound, they seem far off, but remain wary . . . a Shadow lion would not think twice to attack us." He warned.
They all continued on edge, Saphira raising her snout into the air, smelling for the beasts. In the end, the creatures never bothered them, and they all gradually relaxed. In time, they came around the bend of the mountain, walking over fields that slightly became less rugged and more cultivated. They passed a vacant home, well built with a straw roof that was slightly sagging into the brick walls. A fenced in area containing nothing jutted from brown and green ground, while a sentry fire glowed in the distance.
"We're in the outskirts of House Yorbar's holdings. They command a large plot of land, and we are near the city of Olan, which is found outside of the gates of the mountain kingdoms. The two people live in close proximity to each other, but the capital of Tronjheim was never open to the Yorbars. You'll find the city filled with Varden supporters, small houses who fled their lands to join their strength here. With the North conquered, it will be a small thing to march back upwards, and catch the Empire unawares." Aerion proclaimed confidently.
Two horsemen rode up to them, picking up dust in the dwindling light of the red sun. Above pointed-helms, flags waved, but too quickly for Eragon to make out the sigil. They circled the small party, until finally one of them spoke.
"Denaise ettaise vouenais?" One of the guards said. Eragon, Brom, Arya, and Aerion exchanged glances. Aerion coughed, speaking up as dust rose from the hooves of the horses.
"Ulnar? Do you speak Ulnar?" He asked, exaggerating each word.
"Who are you, and what is your business?" A second voice asked, thickly accented.
"We are allies. Sent from Mphampir Pike, your friend in the North. We are a party sent by his decree to The Varden's camps. Then, we are to see this boy," Aerion pointed at Eragon, "To elf lands. He is a rider."
The man on the horse laughed softly. "I see no drag-"
At that moment, Saphira dived from the sky, and the man's horse reared, nearly causing the man to fall from his steed. Disheveled, he glared at Saphira, who curled around Eragon's waist, her wings flattening against her beck.
"I see," He said.
"We were told of a company coming from the North. But we were warned to watch for fifteen on the main road, mounted, not three walkers. Regardless, we shall lead you to Olan."
Eragon noticed the second rider glaring at Arya. She did as well, and looked at him defensively. The second rider raised his helmet and grimaced.
"De pennion zhou favion lamesh ein Elvanfan." The second guard spat. The first one shrugged at his statement, and then turned to them.
"Follow us. We will ride slow, until we reach the first outpost. From there, you will be given horses, and may continue into the city, and meet with our leader, Lord Yul'tish Yorbar."
(A/N): I have a huge amount of notes detailing the various languages and cultures of the races, some of which haven't been touched yet. Would you guys be interested if I posted that as a chapter? Just wondering. I wanted to ask first, because I don't want to bore you guys with the history connected with the story. Basically I'll post it if three people say they want it. I ask because it is HUGE, like, 5k words. I mean, I THINK it's interesting, but of course I made it up so yeah . . . lol. Anyway, we hit 16k today. This story is ALMOST finished, which means Eldest is coming up next. I'm not sure if I'll keep the story going in this thread or if I'll make another one. Anyway, I have a lot of ideas for Eldest. In some ways, it will be more faithful to the old books in terms of Oromis training Eragon and so forth, but in many ways it will be VERY different. Eldest will feature more Murtagh, more Morzan, more Brom, more Herzig, (More dark elves, yay) More Solembum (He's not dead, he's gonna have a chapter here soon,) more Arya, more Evander backstory, and of course resident bad-a** Killian and his jerk son Orrin. Galby will have a more pronounced role as well, and we will also slowly discover what exactly Golhlobor is. I'll answer this question right now:
GOLHLOBOR IS NOT REPLACING GALBY AS THE BADDY. Galbatorix, is *somewhat* of a bad guy. I mean, he killed thousands of people and riders in what could be said as a justified war. But as we see with Killian, he hurt a bunch of people. But he isn't *evil*. Wars are rarely fought between good and evil. There are heroes on both sides, and Galbatorix wants to be a good King. Anyway, I like stories with no clear baddies. I created Golhlobor becaaauuuuse
Makes the lore richer
Kind of makes the story seem more grounded
Yolo
Golhlobor IS your no questions asked bad guy. He's evil as sin. He's super duper evil. I have stuff on him and the Eldeena in the notes as well. Anyway , hope you enjoy the chapter. Its kinda low on action and dialogue but hey, you gotta write how people GET places. Things will pick up, main characters will start dying, and fire will fall from the heavens really soon. Just you wait.