Chapter 18: Crash Landing III
"I'll miss ye, lass." Edmont said tearfully, grinning all the while. The sad eyes didn't fit the burly sailor.
"I'll miss you too." Tellesa hugged him. "Behave yourself."
"Ach, ye have no faith in me, do ye?"
"Not a shred." Tellesa grinned, shouldered her pack, and took the her steed's reins. It had been a final gift of Jeod's; an amber-haired mare outfitted with a proper saddle complete with horns to tie her bags. It responded well to instruction - which was just as well, since she hadn't ridden a horse in years.
"I'll miss you, old man," Jeod said, embracing Brom.
"And you I," Brom replied thickly. He stepped away, bowed his head, and turned to Helen. "Thank you for your hospitality; it was most gracious." Her face reddened. Brom, ever the troublemaker, continued on as if all was well. "You have a good husband; take care of him. There are few men as brave and determined as he is. But even he cannot weather difficult times without the support from those he loves." He bowed again. "Only a suggestion, dear lady."
Helen slammed the door in his face. Jeod sighed and ran his fingers through his hair. "You bastard."
"I don't envy you," Tellesa clasped the merchant's hand. "Thank you. For everything."
"I did what any decent person would have," he brushed off. "Farewell, Tellesa. I can't say what lies ahead of you is a better life, but... I know that you wouldn't choose any other. Good luck. And take care of these two."
She, Brom and Eragon mounted their horses and departed. The city fell behind as they delved out first into the rolling hills surrounding the port city, then followed the Toark river to its source in the gap between the north and the south of the Spine.
"What are werecats?" Eragon asked suddenly.
Tellesa frowned. Hadn't there been... yes, a werecat in Teirm. She often saw him prowling around the herbalist's shop. He seemed nice enough, but Ikharos had burned those bridges. "What's the reason?"
"I heard someone mention them in Teirm. They're not real, are they?"
"They are quite real," Brom answered. "During the Riders' years of glory, they were as renowned as the dragons. Kings and elves kept them as companions - yet the werecats were free to do what they chose. Very little has ever been known about them. I'm afraid that their race has become rather scarce recently."
"Could they use magic?"
"No one's sure, but they could certainly do unusual things. They always seemed to know what was going on and somehow or another manage to get themselves involved." The old man pulled up his hood to keep back the chilling wind. Even down in the valleys the Spine's frigid influence could be felt.
Eragon's questions continued. "What's Helgrind?"
"You'll see when we get to Dras-Leona."
"Mountains, aren't they?" Tellesa mused. "Of some importance to the people of the city, I've heard."
"That would be right," Brom nodded. Then, for some unknown reason, he paused and glanced to her worriedly. "There is something we must tell you, before we go any further."
The horses slowed to meander. Eragon, too, looked very awkward all of a sudden.
Tellesa raised an eyebrow. "Oh?"
"Yes..."
"Is this going to put me in danger?"
"Very likely. I thought to warn you."
She shrugged. "The moment the empire learns of me and what I've done, my life is in peril no matter what. The risks don't frighten me. Not anymore."
The youth and storyteller exchanged a look. The latter nodded slowly, evidently troubled by her response. "If you're sure."
Tellesa resisted the urge to snap. She wasn't fragile; she could take whatever was thrown her way. She hated to be treated like someone with no business being outside a homestead. "I am."
Brom made a brief gesture to Eragon. The boy closed his eyes and... Tellesa flinched. She thought she heard something. A shout, so very distant, as if muffled by a number of sturdy walls. Only, neither of her companions had said a word. She looked around, but couldn't see anyone else nearby.
She couldn't explain why, but her mind urged her to look upwards just in time to see something rush from a low hanging cloud and plummet towards them. She almost panicked. Brom reached over and steadied her steed's bridle. He shook his head calmly, the hints of a smile forming. But why would-
The falling shape opened up with a dull roar, flaring out its massive and magnificent wings to slow its descent. She knew, from the mere outline of it against the sun, what it was before it reached the ground.
"Dragon," she whispered. The sunlight bouncing off its scales nearly blinded her, until the wings reached up and threw her in its shadow. Her mare tried to buck, but Brom whispered assurances to the poor animal. The other horses, though ambling about nervously, behaved themselves.
When the dragon touched down on the dirt trail before them a tense silence filled the area. Their surroundings obscured them from any prying eyes with the hills and smattering of young trees about, though she didn't care about that. No, Tellesa was very much enraptured by the sight before her. It was large, more than twice the size of an ox, with wings each three times that length made of great flaps of skin like that of a bat. The tail flicked at the end, long and tapered almost like a rudder. Large spines lined its back, from the top of the neck all the way to the tail. Horns sprouted from behind its skull. The head rested on the end of a long, powerful neck with fearsome jaws making up the most of it. Though it hadn't bared them, Tellesa was positive there were rows of fearsome fangs hidden within. The eyes, both blue jewels, sparkled with incredible intelligence. They were aimed directly at her.
Tellesa sat breathless, paralyzed by instinctual terror and awestruck wonder. The creature before her was myth made flesh, fantasy given corporeal form. The splendid scales, the tense muscles beneath the skin, and fierce gaze all gave life to the legends of old.
Her sword was in its sheath, but she was under no illusions that it was next to useless against a dragon. Her Tigerspite, though, was in her bags. If the foreign weapons could kill a Shade, maybe they could-
"So that is what your females look like."
The voice came from nowhere and everywhere. Tellesa resisted the urge to look around, keeping her sight trained on the more immediate threat. She didn't dare move. Brom and Eragon seemed to have the same idea.
Until Eragon dismounted and approached the dragon. The reckless fool. Her hand darted for her packs, but Brom caught it in an iron grip. "No."
"But... look!" Tellesa hissed quietly. Those eyes were boring into her very soul.
"It's alright," Eragon called out. He reached out...
... and the dragon lowered its head so he could rub his hand along its snout. Tellesa froze stock still. "Wh-what's happening?" She asked hoarsely.
"You're looking at the first free dragon ever hatched since Vroengard's fall," Brom explained. "And the first free Rider."
"You mean..."
"Yes, I do." She had the suspicion that the storyteller was smiling. He let go of her arm and her horse, and raised his hand in greeting. "It's good to see you again."
"And you too." That unknown voice replied. The dragon had raised its head at that exact moment too.
Tellesa, in that moment, reached some measure of understanding. "It can speak?!"
"Yes, she can," Brom explained with a dry tone.
The dragon stepped forward. Eragon leapt out of the way. Tellesa tightened her hold on the reins until her knuckles went white, unable to move any further. The dragon only stopped when its head was right before her, turned to regard her with one huge eye. Her blood ran ice-cold.
She didn't know whether to try to flee or fight. Despite the fear gripping her, she leaned more towards the latter; only the knowledge that neither of her companions seemed threatened by the dragon's presence prevented her from doing something reckless.
"... You will do." The dragon's voice was deep, though somewhat feminine, and it reverberated throughout Tellesa's head. Memories of discussions on telepathy with Ikharos sprang to mind. She could only hope that the defenses he had laid in place were still there.
She let out a shaky breath. Partial relief - for simply not being dead - seeped in and allowed her to loosen her grip. The pattern of the leather strap had imprinted on her palms. "A... dragon..."
The dragon snorted and backed off, then lowered itself for Eragon to climb atop its shoulders.
"I'll join you for lunch," the boy told them, glee in every word.
"Have a good time," Brom grunted, grasping for Cadoc's reins. The beast of myth took off in a single bound, buffeting them with wind displaced from its mighty wings. The old man turned to her with a wry look. "Come on. We'll talk on the move."
"I don't understand..." Tellesa muttered.
"I'll explain as well as I can."
000
He really, truly, wanted to return to the Exodus Prime and drag out all he could from Taox. She might have known of tactics and strategies vital to the war effort, the weaknesses of the Hive leaders, and even provide a new technological advantage in her recounted experiences of other long-dead civilizations. But she dealt with Ahamkara. And Ikharos couldn't allow himself to fall into that trap. He was the single Light on this world of Darkness. If his connection to the Traveler were twisted to the machinations of the Wish-Dragons, everyone on the planet would suffer. The Light, when used for selfish ends, was a terrible thing indeed.
"CAN YOU IMAGINE THE UNIFIED WILL OF SIX ELITE GODSLAYERS ALL WISHING FOR A SINGLE THING WHICH WAS HER DESTRUCTION/PURIFICATION CAN YOU IMAGINE HOW SHE FEASTED UPON YOU!"
He was a captive. There was no other way to put it. He was trapped here with the primitive descendants of a forgotten colony ship and whichever creatures of the Dark lurked about. Kepler-186f was a planet wide prison, and only he, of all humanity, was aware of it. Only he felt its effects.
It helped him visualize what Eris went through. What Praedyth had survived, is surviving, and will survive. The only difference was that the monsters hadn't found him yet. Though it was only a matter of time before more of those Shades felt something was off.
On the plus side, he had something to do in the meantime. A new topic of paracausality to research.
"Magic, properly known as gramarye, is the manipulation of energy." Formora's voice was clear and authoritative. She was an evident master of magic and she intended to make her lessons comprehensible. Ikharos strived to do the same. Their mutual trade was beneficial to both - thus both sought to keep up their own end to reap the rewards. "It is directed by thoughts, concentrated through the words in the Ancient Language to exert control over the energy and materials of the world around us. This energy can be stored within objects for later use, but it will leak out and dissipate from most. Rare and valuable gems are most efficient, and can be relied upon to preserve one's strength for battles ahead."
"Like the Eldunarí."
"Yes, like the Eldunarí." The elf reached over to the large jewel and lifted it up between them. "They are the purest of all stones, which may well be necessary to store the soul of the dragon."
"Engrams. They're like engrams. ," Ikharos realized. He started rambling off what he knew on the matter. "Pure crystals in which information can be efficiently stored. They're encoded with the patterns of armor, weaponry and other items. Even manuscripts. The crystal of Eldunarí must be similar in function, capable of storing information at a nanoscopic level, enough to contain the consciousness of an advanced living organism." He held out a hand. His Ghost, still unseen, dropped him a gold crystal nearly equal in size to that of the one Formora held, but with a myriad of flat faces and sharp vertices. "This one holds the schematics for a pulse rifle. A weapon used by my people."
The elf's eyes twinkled with interest. She carefully put aside the Eldunarí and held out her hands. "May I?"
Ikharos gave it to her gingerly. It had taken him some time to find the exotic engram, and only after he spent a fortune in purchasing salvage rights for 704 Interamnia, so he was rather protective of it. Formora inspected it closely. She was, thankfully, exceptionally careful with it.
"How was it made?" She asked, trailing a finger over one of the crystal's edges.
Ikharos bit the inside of his cheek. "I'm not exactly sure. The crystal is a result of Golden Age technology - far beyond what my people have access to now - though we recycle them when we've already used what information lies inside. They're resilient, so we don't have to worry about them degrading in the vaults."
"It is as you say," the elf muttered. "It is as pure as an Eldunarí. One might store many centuries' worth of donated power." She handed it back. "You have the means to gather your strength."
"So now I just need words?"
"Yes."
"Are there any... dictionaries?" He ventured.
"No. Those would be weapons in the hands of mages."
That brought a smile to his face. "I like that."
Formora frowned. "What?"
"Books being weapons. I really, really like that image."
000
"Hold on," Saphira warned, and letting out a wild roar, she soared in one great leap. Eragon yelled with excitement as he flung his arms in the air, holding on with only his legs.
"I didn't know I could stay on while you did that. Not without being strapped to the saddle," he said, grinning fiercely.
"Neither did I," admitted Saphira, laughing in her peculiar way. Eragon hugged her tightly, and they flew a level path, masters of the sky. "Tell me about her."
"Who?"
"Tellesa, of course."
"Right." Eragon nodded. The wind whipped at the skin of his face, but he didn't mind it in the slightest. He belonged up here, above the rest of the world, where its troubles could not reach him. "She's no friend of the empire."
"Obviously," Saphira snorted. "What is she like?"
"I don't know. I haven't talked with her all that much. She can fight, though I've never seen her, but she does carry a weapon. And she might know magic. I've heard she traveled with a wizard who was strong enough to kill a Shade, though I don't know whether to believe that."
Below him, the dragon hummed thoughtfully. "If it is true, then the wizard must be powerful indeed. For a human."
Eragon internally agreed. He'd never heard of anyone slaying a Shade and living to tell the tale. It frightened him to think that the empire could work with such dark creatures. Shades only existed to cause suffering, and for the Imperials to work alongside a monster… He shuddered to think of the implications.
"Might she be a danger to us?"
"I... don't know," Eragon replied honestly. Tellesa was intense and dangerous, that much was clear. She appeared comfortable with a sword at her hip.
By noon his legs were sore from riding without a saddle, and his hands and face were numb from the cold air. Sapira's scales were always warm to the touch, but she could not keep him from getting chilled. When they landed for lunch, he buried his hands in his clothes and found a dry, sunny place to sit. Tellesa and Brom must have finished their talk, as the former was much more welcoming than earlier, though Eragon could still see signs of nervousness in her.
"Ah... hello, Saphira," she asked cautiously. The dragoness swung her head around to face her. Tellesa took a half-step back.
"Greetings," Saphira replied. The flick of her tail betrayed her own burning curiosity.
Eragon smiled and turned back to the food prepared for lunch. He helped himself to a serving of stew and sipped a spoonful. The flavour was unusually rich and exploded on his tastebuds. He almost gagged from surprise. Brom, sitting nearby, chuckled knowingly.
"What is it?" Saphira asked, turning her head to regard the pot suspiciously.
Eragon shrugged and spoke aloud. "The food tastes odd."
"Oh!" Tellesa said suddenly. She gave a glance in his direction and shrugged one shoulder. "That. Yes, I put... actually, I don't know what it is. But it goes well with most foods, I've found. And only a pinch needs to be added to any meal to change it for the better."
"It is pleasant," Eragon praised. The taste was unique and seemed very exotic. "Where did you get it?"
"Ikharos - the wizard - left some of his supplies with me. He didn't need them where he was going."
"Oh? Where did he go?" Brom asked innocently. He looked to be enjoying the stew just as much as Eragon was.
"Vroengard. He wanted to learn about the Dragon Riders, after hearing your story."
Brom surged to his feet, lunch forgotten. "Vroengard?" He cried out.
"Yes," Tellesa answered. She appeared unsure of herself. "He bought a boat and set course for the island."
Brom shook his head violently. "Vroengard is too dangerous. There is a vile poison on the air, deadly to those unprepared!"
Tellesa didn't appear overly fazed by it. In fact, she seemed almost reassured. "Ikharos will be fine. He's... different. He'll be prepared. I trust he will survive it."
Brom scowled. "I wouldn't be so certain. The island is a place of death. Nothing can live there without drawing a terrible sickness of the flesh."
"Do you mind if I ride Cadoc?" Eragon had decided to question Brom further about his past.
"No, but tell me what he says." He was not surprised that Saphira knew his plans. It was nearly impossible to hide anything from her when they were mentally linked. When they finished eating, she flew away as he joined Brom and Tellesa on the trail. After a time, Eragon slowed Cadoc and said, "I need to talk to you both." He first looked to the storyteller. "I wanted to do it when we first arrived in Teirm, but I decided to wait until now."
"About what?" Brom asked.
Eragon paused. "There's a lot going on that I don't understand. For instance, who are your 'friends', and why were you hiding in Carvahall? I trust you with my life - which is why I'm still traveling with you - but I need to know more about who you are and what you are doing. What did you steal in Gil'ead, and what is the tuatha du orothrim that you're taking me through? I think that after all that's happened, I deserve an explanation."
"You've eavesdropped on Jeod and I."
"Only once."
Tellesa looked between the two of them, frowning. Her past was nearly as mysterious as the elder's, but, for some reason, Eragon expected that she would be more forthcoming with details. Or maybe not. Though she seemed a reliable ally to have - one Jeod had trusted with his life - she was just too unfamiliar for him to put his faith in her.
"I see you have yet to learn proper manners," said Brom grimly, tugging on his beard. "What makes you think that this concerns you?"
"Nothing, really." Eragon shrugged. "Just it's an odd coincidence that you happened to be hiding in Carvahall when I found Saphira's egg and that you know so much dragonlore. The more I think about it, the less likely it seems. There were other clues that I mostly ignored, but they're obvious now that I look back. Like how you knew of the Ra'zac in the first place and why they ran away when you approached. And I can't help but wonder if you had something to do with the appearance of Saphira's egg. There's a lot you haven't told us, and Saphira and I can't afford to ignore anything that might be dangerous."
Lines appeared on Brom's forehead as he reined in Snowfire to a halt. "You won't wait?"
Eragon shook his head.
The elder sighed. "This wouldn't be a problem if you weren't so suspicious, but I suppose you wouldn't be worthy of my time if you were otherwise." He lit his pipe and blew a plume of smoke into the air. "I'll tell you, but you have to understand that I cannot reveal everything." Before Eragon could protest, he was cut off. "It's not out of desire to withhold information, but because I won't give away secrets that aren't mine. There are other stories woven in with this narrative. You'll have to talk with the others involved to find out the rest."
"Very well. Explain what you can."
"Are you sure? There are reasons for my secretiveness. I've tried to protect you by shielding you from forces that would tear you apart. Once you know of them and their purposes, you'll never have the chance to live quietly. You will have to choose sides and make a stand. Do you really want to know?"
"I cannot live my life in ignorance."
"You might wish to," Tellesa warned suddenly. "There are things out in the world you are better off not knowing."
"It's a worthy goal, regardless," Brom took a deep breath. "Very well. There is a war raging in Alagaësia between the Varden and the Empire. Their conflict, however, reaches far beyond any incidental armed clashes. They are locked in a titanic power struggle... centered around you."
"Me?" Eragon asked, disbelief etched across his face. "That's impossible. I don't have anything to do with either of them."
"Not yet, but your very existence is the focus of their battles. The Varden and the empire aren't fighting to control this land or its people. Their goal is to control the next generation of Riders, of whom you are the first. Whoever controls these Riders will become the undisputed master of Alagaësia."
Eragon tried to absorb the bold statements. It seemed incomprehensible that so many people would be interested in him and Saphira. No one besides Brom had thought he was that important. The whole concept of the Empire and Varden fighting over him was too abstract for him to grasp fully. "But all the Riders were killed except for the Forsworn, who joined Galbatorix. As far as I know, even those are now dead. And you told me in Carvahall that no one knows if there are still dragons in Alagaësia."
"I lied about the dragons," Brom told him flatly. "Even though the Riders are gone, there are still at least three dragon eggs left - all of them in Galbatorix's possession. Actually there are only two now, since Saphira hatched. The king salvaged the three during his last battle with the Riders."
"So there may soon be two new Riders, both of them loyal to the king?" Eragon asked, fear sinking in.
"Exactly," Brom confirmed. "There is a deadly race in progress. Galbatorix is desperately trying to find the people for whom his eggs will hatch, while the Varden are employing every means to kill his candidates or steal the eggs."
"But where did Saphira's egg come from? How could anyone have gotten it away from the king? And why do you know all of this?"
"So many questions," Brom said humourlessly. "There is another chapter to all this, one that took place long before either of you were born. Back then I was a bit younger, though perhaps not as wise. I hated the empire - for reasons I'll keep to myself - and wanted to damage it in any way I could. My fervor led me to a scholar, Jeod, who claimed to have discovered a book that showed a secret passageway into Galbatorix's castle. I eagerly brought Jeod to the Varden - who are my 'friends' - and they arranged to have the eggs stolen."
The Varden! Eragon stifled a gasp. He glanced over to Tellesa, yet she didn't seem near as surprised. Intrigued, yes, but not shocked by the revelation that Brom was a rebel.
The elder continued. "However, something went amiss, and our thief got only one egg. For some reason he fled with it and didn't return to the Varden. When he wasn't found, Jeod and I were sent to bring him and the egg back. That was the start of one of the greatest searches in history. We raced against the Ra'zac and Morzan, last of the Forsworn and the king's finest servant. Most loyal too..."
"Morzan! He was the one who betrayed the Riders to Galbatorix!" And that happened so long ago! Morzan must have been ancient! It only served to once more remind him of the disturbingly long lifespans of Riders. A similar fate that awaited him.
"So?" Brom asked, raising an eyebrow. "Yes, he was old, but strong and cruel. He was one of the king's first followers and by far his most devoted. As there had been blood between us before, the hunt for the egg turned into a personal battle. When it was located in Gil'ead, I rushed there and fought Morzan for possession. It was a terrible contest, but in the end I slew him. During the conflict I was separated from Jeod. There was no time to search for him, so I took the egg and bore it to the Varden, who asked me to train whomever became the new Rider. I agreed and decided to hide in Carvahall - which I had been to several times before - until the Varden contacted me. I was never summoned."
"Then how did Saphira's egg appear in the Spine? Was another one stolen from the king?"
The old man grunted. "Small chance of that. He has the remaining two guarded so thoroughly that it would be suicide to try and steal them. No, Saphira was taken from the Varden, and I think I know how. To protect the egg, its guardian must have tried to send it to me with magic. The Varden haven't contacted me to explain how they lost the egg, so I suspect that their runners were intercepted by the empire and the Ra'zac were sent in their place. I'm sure they were quite eager to find me, as I've managed to foil many of their plans."
"Then the Ra'zac didn't know about me when they arrived in Carvahall..." Eragon muttered.
"That's right. If that ass Sloan had kept his mouth shut, they might not have found out about you. Events could have turned out quite differently. In a way I have you to thank for my life. If the Ra'zac hadn't become so preoccupied with you, they might have caught me unawares, and that would have been the end of Brom the storyteller. The only reason they ran was because I'm stronger than the two of them, especially during the day. They must have planned to drug me during the night, then question me about the egg."
"You sent a message to the Varden, telling them about me?"
"Yes, I'm sure they'll want me to bring you to them as soon as possible."
"But you're not going to, are you?"
Brom shook his head. "No, I'm not."
"Is that safe?" Asked Tellesa. She had otherwise been very quiet, patiently listening in.
The storyteller snorted and smiled. "The Varden are dangerous people. If we go to them, you will be entangled in their politics and machinations. Their leaders may send you on missions just to make a point, even though you might not be strong enough for them. I want you to be well prepared before you go anywhere near the Varden. At least while we pursue the Ra'zac, I don't have to worry about someone poisoning your water. This is the lesser of two evils. And it keeps you happy while I train you. Tuatha du orothrim is just a stage in your instruction. I will help you find - and perhaps even kill - the Ra'zac, for they are as much my enemies as yours. But then you will have to make a choice."
"And that would be..?" Eragon asked warily.
"Whether to join the Varden. If you kill the Ra'zac, the only way for you to escape Galbartorix's wrath will be to seek the Varden's protection, flee to Surda, or plead for the king's mercy and join his forces. Even if you don't kill the Ra'zac, you will face this choice eventually."
Eragon knew the best way to gain sanctuary might be to join the Varden, but he did not want to spend his entire life fighting the Empire like they did. He mulled over Brom's comments, trying to consider them from every angle. "You still didn't explain how you know so much about dragons."
"No, I didn't, did I? That will have to wait for another time."
Why me? Eragon asked himself. What made him so special that he should become a Rider? "Did you ever meet my mother?"
Brom looked grave. "Yes, I did."
"What was she like?"
The old man huffed. "She was full of dignity and pride, like Garrow. Ultimately it was her downfall, but it was one of her greatest gifts nevertheless... She helped the poor and less fortunate, no matter what her situation."
"You knew her well?" Eragon asked, startled.
"Well enough to miss her when she was gone."
Tellesa sent her horse plodding along. With some reluctance, Eragon followed suit. He tried to recall when he had thought that Brom was just a scruffy old man who told stories. For the first time, Eragon understood how ignorant he had been.
"Wait!" He called out. Both other riders glanced at him, but his eyes were only for Tellesa. "What about you? Where do you fit in all this?"
"I'm a rebel," she said, as casually as if she were stating the weather. "Perhaps not part of the Varden proper, but I was always engaged with and supportive of the movement. Recent events have... persuaded me to take a more active stance. By all means, I should be dead along with everyone else I knew. The Empire took everything from me. Killed my parents, enslaved my people, stamped out the beliefs my people held in high regard. They employed a Shade, who in turn burned down my home and killed my brother. I'm not here for any other reason than vengeance, just like you. You want to kill the Ra'zac. I want to hurt the Empire, as they hurt me." Her eyes hardened. "I want to make the king suffer. By taking down his agents, one by one, I'm foiling his efforts. And now, I'm to help you."
"Me?"
"And Saphira. If helping you both evade the king's grasp frustrates the bastard, then it's enough for me." She kicked her steed forward, leaving him with whirling thoughts.
As much as he desired revenge, Eragon doubted he would ever be able to summon that black rage which Tellesa basked in. He also knew then that he never wished to have her as a foe. He had thought himself determined; she was something else entirely. Her dedication to the downfall of her enemies was unusual and, certainly, not a little frightening.
000
Scatter. That was the way of things. Always scatter when danger reared up. Kiphoris despised it: this behavior worthy of prey.
"Mine-crews, keep on me," he ordered. Three Skiffs followed his own ship, carrying his Vandals, Dregs and Servitors. The land below blurred past. They didn't dare slow, for there was still the chance that the traitors were following right behind. He knew Krinok would do anything to see them dead as soon as he learned what Tarrhis had done. The Ether-Thief was unhinged. Even more so now. For as long as both hatchling and free Baron lived, they would threaten his unworthy reign. Most of the House were mere followers, without the conviction to drive themselves to become anything more than Vandals or Marauders. The families wouldn't stretch out their necks if they had heirs to care for and protect. They would meekly go along with whomever held the title and banner.
But as long as Valdas's heir lived, there would always be whispers of dissent. Kiphoris knew it well. After all, he had seen it first-hand in his old House, when the reigning Kell had been killed in ambush and his Barons turned on each other at the first taste of real power.
Kiphoris stepped out of the cabin and stalked into the larger passenger hold of the Skiff. The seats were filled, and two Servitors hovered towards the back, but he ignored almost all those within. His attention was solely for the nobilitypresent. He stopped by Raksil and looked down on the Vandal with an unreadable expression. The son of the Baron, struck silent by the recent loss of his brother, looked up with silent suffering etched across his face. He still clenched the hatchling - the one with oh so very bright eyes - against his chest in the gentlest manner he could manage.
"So much death and suffering so something so small..." The Captain mused. His eyes always blinked in unison and never narrowed, betraying nothing of his inner thoughts. For all of that they called him Kiphoris the Cold. Kiphoris the Broken. "What will it gift us? A reunited banner? Or death?"
"Captain?"
"We must scatter ourselves," he told his troops without turning to address them. "Tarrhis does not want them finding us easily. Better some are hunted down than all." He crouched down. "Show me the young one, the cause of so much strife."
Raksil only did so because he was Captain. Despite all Kiphoris had done in service to his new House, the lengths he had gone to prove himself as a new Scar, they still held onto ancestral wariness of the newcomer in their ranks. He didn't begrudge them that. Old Kell Virixas had not been a friend to many.
The young one was upset. It was taken from its usual surroundings and couldn't hear the chittering of its siblings. It looked up into the eyes of the Captain fearfully, but Kiphoris handled it with familiar care. Its chitin was still translucent from recent hatching, its fingers had not yet developed the sharp claws they all had, and its teeth were tiny needles - miniscule in comparison to the larger Eliksni's fangs. Its hair, however, had begun to sprout as tiny bristles of bright red flecked with spots of gold. A clear indicator of its pure-blooded heritage.
"You are small, eh, kelekh?" Kiphoris murmured. It fit perfectly in his hand. He made to caress its head, but it captured his finger in its weak grip. He did not resist as it brought the digit close enough to bite down on. The captain, amused, allowed it to play for a few more moments, then handed it back to the Vandal. "A great warrior, that I can tell. What will it be named?"
Raksil seemed lost for words. He was a sorry sight, with the ether-tear stains and the dimmed eyes. "Named?"
"Eia. Valdas is dead. No family left to name it. Must be named something other than Kell. Falls to you, Raksil-Devoted."
"... Mezha," Raksil breathed softly. He looked down onto the hatchling with such care that Kiphoris knew a bond was being formed. "Like the old warrior of the Great Machine."
"Elder Days," Raksil's neighbour, a Dreg-turned-Marauder whose lower arms were nearly regrown, remarked. He clicked in appreciation. "A good name."
"It is," the Baron's son replied. "Mezha-kel."
Kiphoris retreated back to the front cabin without another word. The pilots - Splicers both - shivered their mandibles happily. The weather had turned rough quite recently. The static interfered with their navigation systems, but they saw that as a good omen. It would be even more difficult for the usurpers to find them in this mess.
They landed when the local star climbed its way into the middle of the pale blue sky. The Skiffs descended close by one another, arrayed in a rough circle to better defend those disembarking.
Marauders and Vandals climbed out first and raced towards the edge of the forest clearing to secure a perimeter. Next came the Splicers and the Servitors, guarded by a large group of Dregs. Raksil and Kiphoris stayed by the protection offered by the ship as the machines began the Ether distribution.
The younger Eliksni - many of whom had never seen another world so full of life - began inspecting the closest of the natural growths. Three surrounded a tree and cautiously began inspecting every leaf with the ends of their claws, jumping back every moment the wind ruffled the branches. Even the grass upon which they walked was treated with a keen nervousness. The Captain scoffed. He was fortunate to have lived long enough to see a dozen worlds like this one. In every instance the colours and shapes differed, but the plants were always the same: brainless and of little more importance than the useless rocks upon which they grew. All they did was provide cover from prying eyes and that was it. Kiphoris was, however, struck surprised by the similarity between what he saw before him and the other worlds he had once visited centuries past. The resemblance was uncanny.
"Captain!" A Vandal called excitedly. "Come look!"
Kiphoris strode over and inspected what the warrior had found. A leafless bush with abnormal red growths upon the ends of its branches. The Captain paused. He had certainly seen its like before.
"What is it?" The Scar beside him asked eagerly.
The larger Eliksni did not answer in words; he grasped one of the red berries and tugged it off. It squashed beneath his claws and leaked a viscous juice that stuck his digits together. In one swift movement, he threw it back into his jaws and rolled it around, biting down to get to the sweeter core. It tasted just like he remembered.
"Food," he reported. The Vandal threw caution to the wind and set aside his rifle to gather as much of the berries as he could. Kiphoris, troubled, left him to it. He would settle for Ether while he thought it over.
000
The night had almost fallen upon them when they stopped for supper. Tellesa was more than satisfied with their progress; because of the horses they would reach the pass within another day or two.
The novelty of traveling with a dragon had not yet worn off. Even the smallest of movements from Saphira stole Tellesa's attention, which in turn caused Brom to huff and take on the task of preparing the dinner on his lonesome. She had never seen anything quite like the creature of myth. The startling intelligence of Saphira was cause for ever more muted awe. The old stories didn't pay the dragons half the credit they were due.
Tellesa settled by the tiny fire and watched as the old storyteller prepared the dried meats and vegetables. It wasn't ideal, but it was the only type of food that could last the journey. Eragon had wandered off to find water, leaving them to relax their tired muscles in the small dell. She had only reached into her pack for a book loaned to her by Jeod when Saphira - who had been lying down with her eyes half-lidded - reared up swiftly. The dragon gave a series of growls and looked around.
"What's wrong?" Brom asked.
She didn't answer. Then, before either could react, Saphira pounced. Tellesa fell back with a cry as the dragon's claws snagged her leg and pulled her closer, doing the same with Brom. The old man cursed quietly and tried to grasp Saphira's attention, but she only held them close, and folded her wings in front of her and around them.
Despite their urgent demands to know what the problem was, the dragon ignored them. Their answer only came when the dragon shifted and they heard Eragon's voice before them.
"Stop. It's me!"
"Oops."
"Oops? You could have killed me! Where's Brom and Tellesa?"
"We're right here," the disgruntled storyteller snapped. "Tell your crazy dragon to release us; she won't listen to me."
"Let them go!" Eragon said, exasperated. "Didn't you tell them?"
"No," Saphira lifted her wings. Tellesa stumbled away and looked back warily. "You just said to keep them safe."
The Rider didn't argue any further and turned to Brom. "I found an Urgal footprint. And it's fresh."
Tellesa wasted no time in bolting to her bags and grabbing the rifle. As she searched for the spare magazines she had for just in case, Brom spouted orders with a professional air. "Saddle the horses. We're leaving." Then, "What's wrong with your arm?"
"My wrist is broken," Eragon answered.
"Damn!" Brom saddled Cadoc for him. By then Tellesa had her rifle at the ready, fully loaded. Her fingers had threatened to slip as she inserted the ammunition, but muscle memory had served her well. The storyteller pointed to her and barked, "Get your horse."
"On it," she replied, rapidly packed her bag and kicked dirt over the fire, then sprinted to her steed. The mare flicked its ears nervously as she mounted up.
"It's almost dark; you might as well fly right overhead," Brom told Saphira. "If Urgals show up, they'll think twice about attacking with you nearby."
"They'd better, or else they won't think again," the dragon remarked, as she took off with one colossal flap of her wings. They set off seconds later.
The light disappeared and the horses slowed with exhaustion, but the riders kicked them onwards regardless. A mile or so from the camp, Brom called a halt.
"Listen," he whispered.
Only a mere moment later, the call of a hunting horn pierced the air far behind them. She knew that sound. It had haunted her nights for months on end. Tellesa's eyes narrowed and her grip on the foreign weapon tightened. Bastards, she thought darkly.
"They must have found where we were," Brom noted. "And probably Saphira's tracks. They will chase us now. It's not in their nature to let prey escape."
Another two horns bellowed. They were somewhat closer. The Urgals had their scent.
"We need to run," the elder instructed. He turned his attention to Eragon. "Call down Saphira."
The dragon rushed down from the sky to their side and landed with a thud.
"Leave Cadoc," Brom commanded of the Rider. "Go with her. You'll be safer."
"Wait," Tellesa said. She looked directly at Saphira. "If it's a small band, we can take them."
"No we can't!" Brom interjected.
"Well, I can." Tellesa met his glare readily. "I just need to know how many there are."
"No. It only takes one to kill him!"
"They'll never reach us. Not if I use this." She patted the rifle.
The elder didn't even wait a second to retort. He didn't know what it could do. "No. We need to move." He snapped to the others to take off, and they did so with reluctance. Tellesa gritted her teeth and glanced back the way they had come with longing. In her mind, it would be so easy. It wouldn't even take much more than a moment or two.
With a huff, she dismounted, walked back five paces, and knelt on one knee.
"What are you doing?!" Brom hissed in a panicked tone. "Let's go!"
"Wait..." Tellesa stared down the Tigerspite's sights. The feel of the strange weapon had become as familiar as that of her blade. She remembered, with some fondness, the sessions in the Spine late at night. She knew how to operate it with efficiency and how to distinguish targets in the eerie half-light of dusk.
She could hear them now, the cries of Urgals and the thumping of horse hooves on hard earth. A fourth horn bellowed out.
"You fool!" Brom called out. "We need to go now!"
Movement. She swiveled the barrel around and let loose in a concentrated burst. Both the animal and rider dropped like stones. It only took a pull of the trigger to snuff out two lives. Tellesa didn't care much. The Urgals were worth far less than any other lifeform in the world, as far as she was concerned. The bullets could almost be considered a waste, if the lives of herself and Brom weren't at stake.
She fired off three more bursts. The sudden loss of their comrades and the obstacles posed by the corpses proved the ample opportunity to make her escape. She jumped onto the saddle and sent her horse into a gallop. Brom was close behind, with the other two animals.
"WHAT WAS THAT?!" He demanded, eyes wild with fright.
"A weapon!" Tellesa deadpanned, her own voice just as sharp.
It was a small sound - a distant crash of trees snapping - but it gave the two pause. They slowed their tired horses and turned around, worry etched onto their faces. Tellesa debated with herself on whether to go back or not when Saphira returned with bloodied claws and red-stained teeth, the limp form of Eragon clasped in her paws. The dragon landed awkwardly, always careful of the Rider she carried. Brom dismounted and ran forward to catch the boy before he fell to the ground.
"What happened?" Tellesa asked. The only thing to alleviate her fear of the worst was the steady rise and fall of the Rider's chest. She couldn't see any obvious wound, but that didn't mean he wasn't critically injured.
"He used magic!" Saphira cried out. Brom cursed and dragged him onto the grass.
"Get my bag!" The elder told Tellesa. Then, to Saphira, "You need to lead them away, or we'll be at their mercy."
The dragon bounded away. Tellesa fetched the packs and raced over to the Brom's side. "Will he be alright?"
"I don't know!" The storyteller fumed. "Foolish children..."
"I didn't mess up!" She defended hotly.
"You took a risk!" He snapped back.
"It worked!"
"What if it hadn't?!"
"Then I would be dead! Not you, Eragon or Saphira. Just me."
"And that's the problem." Brom's voice lowered to a growl. He gestured to the prone Rider. "He needs a damp cloth."
Tellesa procured a rag and soaked it with water from her flask. Brom took it and gently wiped the filth from Eragon's face.
"What next?" She asked.
"We need to splint that arm and get some food going. He'll certainly need it." The old man sighed. "This is a dangerous quest we've undertaken. As, I expect, you have just discovered. I'd prefer to keep others out of our matters, but Jeod reassured me you are reliable. And... I need someone else to watch him. And Saphira too." Brom sent her a pointed look. "They're young and foolish. If our fortunes take a turn, they need someone who knows what to do. What I don't need is another reckless child who thinks themselves invincible."
"I hate Urgals," Tellesa retorted, though even she knew her argument was weak and childish.
"I don't blame you for that," the storyteller reassured her. "But there is more at stake than vengeance."
She sighed. "Fine. I'm... sorry."
"Just watch him."
000
"This symbolism is, perhaps, one of the most accurate metaphors for paracausality I've seen. At least in terms of Earthen culture and all its offspring." Ikharos sketched out the distinct shapes of three animals in the stone floor with his knife. Once he'd finished, he stepped back. "What are they?"
Formora peered down. "Shark... dolphin... and crab. The former two prey on the latter. And they fight one another on rare occassions."
"Yes." Ikharos nodded. "The shark is a solitary predator. It rarely interacts with any of its own kind. On the occasions it does, it may even eat them. It is a cold and unforgiving beast. Is it unnatural?"
"No," Formora answered. "It is a living thing like any other."
"Right. The dolphin is different. It is a social creature. Friends, family, even total strangers; it gets along with them. It avoids conflicts with its own and they work together. Is this unnatural?"
Formora looked at him like he was an idiot. "No."
"They're both still alive. Sharks have survived because what they have evolved into just works. Dolphins have survived because what they have evolved into just works. Right now, at this moment, both sharks and dolphins are alive and well. They're thriving." He could see her frustration becoming more and more clear. "The shark is solitary and selfish and domineering. It is the Dark. The dolphin is social and is selfless and cooperative. It is the Light. Are they the only animals in the ocean?"
He noticed the moment understanding dawned on her. Teaching was all about finding that flicker of comprehension. He loved it. "No. There is far more than that."
"Sharks and dolphins are two of the most successful organisms to ever swim in seas, as far as humanity knows. That said, there's a whole myriad of other lifeforms in the water. The same goes for paracausality. The Dark is the Deep, where the shark reigns supreme. The Light is the shallows and the surface where the dolphins can bask in the Sky. There will always be Dark and Light, but there is so much more in between, or in either camp." He paused. "Let's talk about the crab. It scurries in the deep, drinking in nutrients from chemical vents. It hides in the reefs and the shores, feeding from whatever surface detritus it can find. It is both Dark and Light and neither. That's what you can achieve."
Formora did not look impressed. "Crabs are not known for power."
Ikharos smiled thinly. "I've seen crabs eating a Nïdhwal."
"This is not power," she told him sourly. Though she listened and understood what he said, her impatience was palpable. "This is a riddle."
"Better to begin with some idea where you stand. But if you're so intent, we'll move onto something else." He wracked his brain for a place to begin. "Alright… Simple telekinesis isn't overly difficult on a small scale. It's only passingly useful, but in the right circumstances, it can be a weapon. The Techeuns of the Reef learn it at a young age, when they're still confined to their covens. They taught me during the brief time I lived among their people." He held out his hand and balanced the knife on the edge of his mind. It floated in place when he retracted his arm, and even began to rotate ever so slowly as if twirled on an axle. "This is just the beginning. I may not be able to mirror what a Flayer can do, but the abilities of the Psions are not confined to them alone. They're just adept at utilizing the power of their minds. They use pure intention to attack in elemental form. It will take some time - for both of us. I know how they fight, how they think, but I've never had reason to exercise the method myself."
They worked together for another day. Neither needed - or, for that matter, desired - sleep. They both absorbed every offered shred of information they could, forgoing any and all threats or pretensions of manners. Each minute, each second, was used to impart and receive as much instructions as possible.
Ikharos would have been lying if he said he didn't enjoy it. One of the few things he found gave meaning to his eternal life was teaching. He would never be happier than sitting down to kindly educate the next generation of Guardians, or even normal humans. It brought him a calm he rarely felt elsewhere, a place he felt was devoid of all the violent realities that otherwise plagued his days and nights. He was born - or reborn as some would have put it - to be a teacher. It was a pity that circumstances required him to be a soldier first and foremost.
When they finally decided to take a break, the desolate building was… altered, to say the least. The walls were either broken, overgrown with vines shaped into diamond formations, or turned into a wide array of colours. There was a splash of Arc burns on most surfaces to boot. Formora's mind was initially clumsy in its attempts to use Intention rather than bare willpower or focus.
The rains had thankfully stopped by the time they stepped out. Formora warily looked about as she walked out into the street, then glanced back at him. "There's shelter to the north."
Ikharos wordlessly followed.
The aforementioned shelter was far from impressive on the outside. In truth, Ikharos had expected them to walk past the collapsed tower, not enter it. The entrance was covered by a slab of smooth-cut stone from prying eyes and the path inside was laden with rough beaten earth. The chamber within consisted of what had once been the ground floor of the tower, buried beneath the bulk of the broken structure. The pillars had held firm in the face of destruction and kept the single room standing.
Two worn cots were shoved away on the far side. A few old packs, falling apart at the seams, laid beside them, filled with an assortment of baubles. What caught his attention was the collection of more than a dozen swords carefully laid against the wall, each differing in design and colour. They were like the swords wielded by Formora and the deceased Enduriel; each and every one of them exotic and unusual. Ikharos was fascinated with them.
He walked by the weapons rack and inspected them individually. He picked up one, a slim longsword with a purple blade with a one-and-a-half-handed silver-scaled grip . An amethyst was built into the pommel, and the silvered guard had the shape of a crescent moon. It weighed next to nothing in his hands, though he could feel the potential as he lazily lifted it in one hand.
"That's not yours," Fomora told him sternly, snatching it off him by grabbing the flat of the blade. He didn't fight for it. She delicately returned it to its place with the others.
Ikharos shrugged and strolled away while she rummaged around her packs. On the other side, by her belongings, something else caught his attention. It was a tablet of smooth slate, upon which colours were arrayed in order to depict a stunning scene. At first he thought it a painting, but a closer look revealed it to be in far greater detail than he could have imagined possible. It seemed so real. "What is this?" He asked.
Formora looked over for a quick moment. "Cirrane. The place of my birth. It was an elven settlement on the edge of Du Weldenvarden. I grew up there. Until…" She trailed off, then exhaled. "Until the Riders arrived."
Ikharos frowned. "Attacked?"
"No." Formora stood and tossed him an apple. He caught it and looked it over for mutations. "It's safe," she assured him. "I've warded the food."
Ikharos inwardly shrugged and bit a chunk out of it. The fruit was bursting with flavour. "Not attacked, then. What did they do?"
"They brought eggs and the children lined up to touch them. The dragons would hatch for those chosen to be their Rider."
"And you were?"
She nodded. "I was. It was the greatest moment of my life. I moved to Ilirea, where I was instructed in the matters of magic, law, and literature as part of an initiation programme."
"Ilirea?"
"Urû'baen. Combat skills came some time after that, when I reached Vroengard." Formora paused. "What of you?"
"What about me?"
"Where are you from?"
"Ah. I was raised in the city of London a few decades after the Collapse that left it shattered. Didn't stay long. Devils were in the midst of burning it down and all."
"Devils?"
"Eliksni," Ikharos elaborated. "I rarely stayed in one place after that, but I carved my own territory somewhere between what used to be the nations of Germany and Austria after a few decades of wandering." He paused. "I lived in the Last City for a while, about a century and a half, right up until a few years ago. More recently, I've spent time amongst the Awoken in the Belt."
"Who are the Awoken?" The elf asked. "And the Eliksni?"
Ikharos smiled and sat down. "The matter of the Awoken's origins is a question no one has been able to concretely answer, not even they. They're formerly human, but they've become far more after the Collapse. They forged a new culture for themselves and survived out in the lifeless Asteroid Belt for centuries. Eliksni, on the other hand, I know very well. They're a nomadic race with four arms and four eyes."
She gave him an odd look. "Your homeland sounds so very strange."
"Oh, it is. It very much is."
000
The babbling of the prisoners meant nothing to him. The screams, though, that he understood.
The natives had been forced into a huddle on the far side of the camp, two Flayers hovering on opposite sides of the rough circle. Even some distance away, Zhonoch could feel the pressure of the two tremendously forceful minds at work. He winced as one of the prisoners fell, red blood leaking from its ears.
"Unpleasant and brutish," Orche remarked. His brother, Cadon, none-so-gently told him to shut up.
Their Primus signaled a stop. The Flayers floated back down and backed away. Tlac, stronger of the two, faced the commander and saluted. "They know nothing. There are no communication nodes because they haven't invented them."
"WASTE OF AIR!" Da'aurc growled. "WHAT ELSE?!"
"We've grasped their language and will upload it to the Battlenet shortly. There's a larger settlement due east, fifty chrens from our position." Tlac's single eye flashed with a bluish light. "It's little more than a basic hovel of a city, but a city nonetheless. Only a handful of our captives have ever seen it. It looks just as backwards as the hamlet. Nothing more than a cobblestone wall and basic metal spears to defend it."
The Primus laughed. "THEN WE WILL DOMINATE IT ALL!"
Val Brutis bared her teeth. Females allowed their tusks to grow in preparation for the Tusking Challenges, though most filed them down afterwards. It was the norm for those enlisted in the legions. The Val was one of the few who disregarded that and bared them proudly, despite the difficulty it put on her to find modified armour to accommodate her decision. "We hold a stronger position here, sir. We haven't even finished the salvage operations."
"WE WILL HOLD BOTH! WE HAVE EVERY ADVANTAGE!"
"But... Of course, Primus," she dropped her eyes in deference. "I'll gather the troops."
Once the last of the prisoners were executed and their remains tossed to the hungry hounds, Zhonoch found the other few surviving Soulrazers and raided the supply tent. The quartermaster reluctantly handed over a crate of cheap wine in exchange for a handful of marks. The drink was rancid and weak, but it was all they had other than water, so they suffered it with relish.
They stamped and kicked away the melting snow to make enough room, then played around with dice. No stakes this time. Tlac watched from Zhonoch's side. Orche had excused himself to fix up the local Battlenet. However, Cadon was on a winning streak. Zhonoch would have thought that his brother was using his mind to influence each roll but for how utterly exhausted Tlac appeared. The ex-gladiator threw a meaty arm around the Psion's shoulder; he didn't like seeing his partner in this state.
"They're called humans," the Flayer said all of a sudden.
The soldier grunted. "The natives?"
"Yes."
"Fragile bunch."
"We've encountered them before..." When Zhonoch gave him a confused glance, Tlac elaborated. "The Empire did. Not Soulrazers."
"I've never heard of them before."
"I have. They're from the Sol system."
Zhonoch dropped his dice. The other Soulrazers paused their game to listen in. "You mean those responsible for shattering the Red Legion? For killing the Dominus?"
"It doesn't make sense, I know. Just..." The Flayer placed a gentle touch against the heavy arm of the Vigilant, over the reinforced cloth and heavy plate. Even after so long working together, such gestures between them were uncommon. "Be careful. There's more to these creatures than we know. They're dangerous."
Zhonoch didn't appreciate how ominous those words were. He brushed the warning off with a couple of jokes that set the others laughing.