"Wyrda!"
Blagden ruffled his feathers, giving a loud caw.
"Roots in the ground,
Go far down,
Roots in the sky,
Go up high!"
Islandzadí threw him a look, before turning her gaze to her audience. "It seems we have a problem, then."
Eragon nodded. "Yes, your highness."
"What do you propose we do, Argetlam?"
Súndavar stepped in. "I request leave, Islanzadí, your highness," he begged, "We have to go back."
She eyed him coolly. "Oromis must have told you such would do nothing to right the wrongs already committed."
"Yes, your highness. But—"
Arya silenced him. "I believe that by going to Aberon, we may be walking into a trap."
"Trap set for what reason?" Shay protested. "If Galbatorix wanted Súndavar and Eragon, he could have come here."
"We cannot assume anything. Give proof it was Galbatorix, Captain."
"Just Shay, your majesty. As for proof, who else could gather such a force? Aberon is not a small city, and with the Varden enforcing them, a fight with a small army would be dealt with in short time. The attack could come from no one than Galbatorix himself."
"Well said, Shay. Assume for a moment that Galbatorix did stage this attack on Surda's capital. If so, he must have had reasons. Why?"
"I still believe it is a trap," Arya said.
"A distraction, perhaps?" Eragon offered. "While we turn our attention to Surda, perhaps he is planning another attack. Say, on Ellesméra."
"He wouldn't dare!" Islanzadí cried with a shake of her head. "Too many attacks, and he has no more men. Elves are stronger than humans. An attack here would only lead to death and defeat."
"Perhaps Galbatorix wants to lure the Riders from Ellesméra, then attack them upon reaching Aberon," Arya suggested.
"If he's planning something, then all we need to do is kill him," Súndavar shot. "I bet Eragon and I could do it."
"Don't make wagers you can't keep," Islanzadí counseled.
"He's right, though," Eragon muttered. "Galbatorix's death would end this."
Shay bit her lip thoughtfully. "He wouldn't suspect you to come at him directly. He would predict a return to Aberon, so we cannot do that. But an assassination attempt…it might take him by surprise."
Vanir snorted. "Galbatorix is never surprised."
"Hold your tongues!" Islanzadí snapped at them. "This is crazy. Going against Galbatorix would take planning. You cannot act on an impulse."
"What if we sent in one or two people?" Eragon mused. "Say, Súndavar and I? It would be easier to go undetected, the less who accompany us."
"Going against him yourself would be like going weaponless against a thousand swords."
Weaponless…
Eragon held up a hand for silence.
Weaponless…
When the time comes and you need a weapon, look under the roots of the Menoa Tree…
Solembum's words rang in his mind.
Arya seemed to come to the same conclusion. "Eragon, there is no—"
"Wait…"
"Wyrda!" crowed Blagden.
It didn't make sense…there was no weapon under the roots of the Menoa Tree. There were no legends about a sword buried there, no lore or stories to guide him. Eragon felt swamped. But he knew in his heart, this was the time. The time had come.
Time to kill Galbatorix. Time to avenge Aberon and all those who died there.
Wait.
Now was the time he needed a weapon…perhaps now was not the time to act. Acting on impulse…that lead to death.
But he had a weapon. He had his sword, which remained nameless at his side. Somehow, he felt the werecat's words had a deeper meaning. The foretold weapon was more than a sword, he felt. It had to be. A simple sword would not bring down Galbatorix.
"Flesh and blood,
Makes the fall,
Dark King's Death,
Joy to all!"
With lightning fast reflexes, Súndavar snatched Blagden from the air. "Shut it, bird!" he hissed at him. He tossed the white raven in Slate's general direction.
Giving an evil grin, Slate snapped at the bird. Blagden cawed in protest to the unfair treatment.
Flesh and Blood…
Dark King…
Eragon knew there should be a connection here…somewhere. He could feel it. Between the weapon, and the riddles, and…
Dark King…Galbatorix!
And the Flesh and Blood…
No. Eragon felt his heart beat faster. It couldn't be. A bittersweet joy welled in his chest. Rune.
Flesh and blood…
Makes the fall…
Rune? Fall?
Eragon searched deeper. He knew there had to be something he was missing…something…Rune was sleeping. She couldn't cause Galbatorix's fall…
"Roots and boughs,
Who can know,
Which is which,
Or how they grow?"
More riddles…Eragon didn't want riddles. He wanted answers…
Roots…boughs…
His head was spinning, but Eragon clung to the thought.
Roots in the ground,
Go far down,
Roots in the sky,
Go up high!
Things started to snap into place. Rune slept beneath the branches of the Menoa Tree. The branches. The boughs. The roots in the sky.
When the time comes…need of a weapon…
Rune.
Ancient Language: (forgot in last chapter)
Finiarel: horrific for young man of great promise
Briswir du adurna: warm the water
Draumr kopa: dream stare
Ebrithil: Master
Author's Note: Briswir is not an 'actual' word in the Ancient Language. I came up with it. I tried to make it as realistic as possible, by taking the only word close to 'warm' –- brisingr : fire –- and modifying it. Since some words appear similar in the Ancient Language and in English (ex. heill – heal, thrysta – thrust, stenr – stone) I added 'wir' to the word, since it's sorta like 'warm'. Hope this didn't bother anyone. I was going to put 'brisingr du adurna' but I figured that that wording would make it far too hot, and then Súndavar would hate Eragon even more, for scorching him. :D Hearts, Kittie