Chapter 19: Peaks of Sorrow I

He saw two warriors engaged in fierce battle, crossing blades again and again far too quickly to keep count of the strikes. Neither managed to so much as scratch the other, but it was very clear that one had the upper hand. The fighter was clad in ornate armour as white as snow and held both a sword the colour of flame and a single-edged knife. He pressed the advantage, forcing his opponent to gradually retreat across the cracked stone floor.

The second warrior, clad in basic black leathers and cloth, gave a cry and lunged forward. The first sidestepped it without any trouble, despite the impressive speed of the blow, and disarmed his foe with a flourishing twist of his wrist.

000

Tellesa wiped the unconscious Rider's forehead when his fever spiked. She cared for the horses. She held the perimeter of the camp against all imaginary invaders and very real pests. She tended to the fire. She did all that needed doing and waited; for Eragon to awaken or for Brom and Saphira to return, she didn't know. Whichever happened first, though she wasn't looking forward to the latter.

The elder had left soon after they had stabilized Eragon's condition and she remained with the short, clear instructions. Keep him safe. Be safe. Don't take unnecessary risks. She wasn't sure whether she should have been honoured that he trusted her with the Rider's life or insulted that he only saw a reckless child who heeded no warning. Tellesa felt it was both, which complicated her feelings on the matter. 'Proudly irritated' just about summed it up.

Tellesa passed the time sitting by an ancient fir tree with her rifle on her lap. She always had it fully loaded these days. Her fingers idly played with the safety. She had forced herself to familiarize every part of it. It was the tool of her trade, the means by which she made a living. The frightening prospect of taking lives had long since disappeared, just as the Ikharos had said it would.

She bundled her green cloak around herself. Winter was soon to die off, but the cold persisted. She checked over the fire by Eragon's unmoving form and, satisfied it was well fed, settled down to keep watch a little longer.

Eragon awoke as dusk fell. Tellesa reluctantly left her spot as the youth bolted upright and glanced around. The fire was going steadily, heating up a pot full of stew. She had to admit, having the same meals again and again quickly lost its charm. If not for the spices to give the meals some measure of variety, she might have changed her mind about traveling.

"Easy," she told the Rider. He twirled around. His features were set in a pained grimace. She didn't envy him. "You've been asleep for some time."

"Where... where is Saphira?"

"With Brom," Tellesa answered cryptically. She figured the elder would want to be the one to tell him. He loved his scoldings. "They're busy."

"Are they alright?"

"Distressed, but otherwise perfectly fine. You're a different matter." She indicated his splint. Eragon, finally noticing it, frowned and cradled the arm against his chest. Tellesa poured out two bowls of steaming stew and handed one to the Rider. "Eat," she ordered.

He dutifully complied and ravenously wolfed it down. She barely touched her own. Tellesa didn't feel hungry enough to warrant a full meal.

"Where are the horses?" Eragon asked as soon as he finished.

Tellesa pointed behind them. "Over there. There's a small glade with grass, and they needed the chance to recover."

That seemed to spark something in the Rider. "The Urgals!"

"They won't trouble us."

"Are they..."

"Dead?" Tellesa shook her head. "It's not my place to tell you, but some lived. Brom's trying to track them down. Saphira's helping him."

Eragon nodded. "Oh."

"Are you alright?"

His face scrunched up. "I ache all over."

"You have been out of it for two full days. And, coupled with whatever you pulled before, its no wonder you're feeling the consequences. Just be thankful we were close enough to help."

Eragon dropped his head, shamefaced. "I'm sorry."

"Save it for Brom. He might yet kill us both."

The conversation died out and they were thrust into a sudden silence. Tellesa was content to return to her place by the tree and watch as the hours passed by. Eragon, though, had his own questions.

"What is that?" He motioned to the rifle. "You've been carrying it for some time now, but I don't know what it is."

Tellesa glanced down. "Tigerspite. It's a weapon, much like a crossbow. It fires small bolts of metal fast enough that they cannot be dodged. With this, I could cut down an Urgal at three hundred paces in a moment."

Eragon eyed it with worry. "It sounds terrible."

"It is," Tellesa agreed wholeheartedly. "Though I am rather attached to it. It takes time to master its functions, and it has saved my life."

"How does it fire? I see no bowstring."

"It uses a tiny explosion to force the bolts out of the barrel, hence the speed and power."

"I... don't understand," the Rider admitted.

Tellesa shrugged. "It's a complex system."

"Where did you obtain it?"

"It was a gift."

"A gift?" Eragon frowned. "From whom?"

"I've told you of Ikharos, correct? He gave it to me."

"Surely it's no common souvenir to hand about?"

"He had no shortage of weaponry." Tellesa held the rifle up into the light. The campfire glared back at her on the distorted reflection of the lustrous metal. The tusks of the rifle - two blunted blades - had been forged in a slight wavy fashion that bespoke of the smith's skill with metal working. It was a creation worthy of legends. "It's strange."

"What is?"

"Just... this." She waved her arm around. "My life. I've seen terrible things I can never unsee, no matter how much I desire it, but I've seen incredible things too. Dragons, alive and free. Foreign wizards arriving at our shores with their little spirits by their sides. Shades and Ra'zac working with the empire. Comets crossing the skies. And this, a weapon both stunningly beautiful and frighteningly dangerous, belonging to me alone. I would never have imagined any of this possible. Never. And yet, behold. All of it true."

Eragon nodded along. "It might be for the better."

"It doesn't feel like it," Tellesa argued. She closed her eyes. "I don't think the good outweighs the terrible. Not yet."

Eragon shifted, and once it was clear she was finished speaking, he resumed his questions. "What is Ikharos like?"

"Hm?" She opened one eye. "Ikharos?"

"Yes. Is he... a good person?"

"I should hope so!" Tellesa laughed. "He does whatever he thinks is in the best interests of the common people. He doesn't care for the nobility or their politics, he doesn't care for the twisted 'peace' the empire claims it keeps, and he doesn't care for the power of the king. He obeys nothing but his own morality. So yes, I think he's a good person. I wouldn't always agree with him, but I trust him to do the right thing. He has so far."

"Has he truly sailed to Vroengard? It's a long way to go alone."

Tellesa shrugged. "I don't know. He said he would, and he's no liar, so I expect he's there now."

000

As time dragged on, Eragon grew bored and started to explore the surrounding forest. When he became tired, he rested under another fir tree - as Tellesa was doing - and glumly stared at the water. His mind slowly turned to the instructions Brom gave him about scrying. Maybe I can see where Saphira is. Brom said that scrying takes a lot of energy, but I'm stronger than he is. I think. He breathed deeply and closed his eyes. In his mind, he formed a picture of Saphira, making it as lifelike as possible. It was more demanding a spell that he expected. Then he said, "Draumr kópa" and gazed at the water.

Its surface became completely flat, frozen by an invisible force. The reflections disappeared and water became clear. On it shimmered an image of Saphira. Her surroundings were pure white, but Eragon could see that she was flying. Brom sat on her back, beard streaming, sword across his knees.

Eragon tiredly let the image fade. At least they're safe. He gave himself a few minutes to recuperate, then leaned back over the water. Roran, how are you? In his mind he saw his cousin clearly. Impulsively, he drew upon the magic and uttered the words.

The water grew still, then the image formed on its surface. Roran appeared, sitting on an invisible chair. Like Saphira, his surroundings were white. There were new lines on Roran's face - he looked more like Garrow than ever before. Eragon held the image in place as long as he could. Is Roran in Therinsford? He's certainly nowhere I've been.

The strain of magic had brought beads of sweat to his forehead. He sighed and for a long time was content to just sit. Then an absurd notion struck him. What if I tried to scry something I created with my imagination or saw in a dream? He smiled. Perhaps I'd be shown what my own consciousness looks like.

It was too tempting an idea to pass by. He knelt by the water once again. What shall I look for? He considered a few things, but discarded them all when he remembered his dream about the woman in the cell.

After fixing the scene in his mind, he spoke the words and watched the water intently. He waited, but nothing happened. Disappointed, he was about to release the magic when inky blackness swirled across the water, covering the surface. The image of a long candle flickered in the darkness, brightening to illuminate a stone cell. The woman from his dream was curled up on a cot in one corner. She lifted her head, dark hair falling back, and stared directly at Eragon. He froze, the force of her gaze keeping him in place. Chills ran up his spine as their eyes locked. Then the woman trembled and collapsed limply.

The water cleared. Eragon rocked back on his heels, gasping. "This can't be?" She shouldn't be real; I only dreamed about her! How could she know I was looking at her? And how could I have scryed into a dungeon I've never seen? He shook his head, wondering if any of his other dreams had been visions. He thought back to the odd dream he most recently experienced. It was so fantastical that even that could not be real. On a whim, he repeated it, a cold feeling growing in his gut.

The surroundings were white, just like the visions of Roran and Saphira, but at the centre of it all was the warrior in white. The second fighter stood beside him. They were unarmed and facing one direction, and seemed to be talking - though Eragon could not hear the words.

"Are you alright?" A shadow fell over him. Eragon lost concentration, and the water returned to normal. Tellesa looked down on him with concern. She knelt down beside him and pressed a hand against his forehead. "Your fever is back."

"No," he shook his head. "It's not that."

"Then what is it?" She asked, a touch more sharply than before.

The rhythmic thump of Saphira's wings interrupted them. Eragon stood and walked back to the centre of the camp, arriving just as Saphira landed. Brom was on her back, as Eragon had seen, but his sword was now blackened with Urgal blood. Brom's face was contorted; the edges of his beard were stained with red.

"What happened?" Eragon asked cautiously, afraid that the storyteller had been wounded.

"What happened?!" the old man roared. "I've been trying to clean up your mess!" He slashed the air with the sword, flinging droplets along its arc. "Do you know what you did with that little trick of yours?! Do you?!"

"I stopped the Urgals from catching you," Eragon replied, a pit forming in his stomach.

"Yes," Brom growled, "but that piece of magic nearly killed you! You've been sleeping for two days. There were nine Urgals. Nine! But that didn't stop you from trying to throw them all the way to Teirm, now did it? What were you thinking?! Sending a rock through each of their heads would have been the smart thing to do. But no, you had to knock them unconscious so they could run away later. I've spent the last two days trying to track them down. Even with Saphira, three escaped!"

"I didn't want to kill them," Eragon said, feeling very small.

"Never leave an Urgal alive," Tellesa added.

Brom twirled on her. "You're no better! You risked our necks for nothing!"

"I killed three!"

"So this is about glory?!"

"It's about killing them so we live!" Tellesa barked back. "Every Urgal walking is a death sentence to an innocent farmer!"

Eragon winced. "But that's so... extreme."

Brom switched targets once more. "Extreme!" He cried out. "It's not extreme when they wouldn't show you the same mercy. And why, oh why, did you show yourself to them?"

"You said that they had found Saphira's footprints. It didn't make any difference if they saw me," Eragon defended.

Brom stabbed his sword into the dirt and snapped, "I said they had probably found her tracks. We didn't know for certain. They might have believed they were chasing some stray travelers. But why would they think that now? After all, you landed right in front of them! And since you let them live, they're scrambling around the countryside with all sorts of fantastic tales! This might even get back to the empire!" He threw his hands up. "You don't even deserve to be called a Rider after this, boy." Brom yanked his sword out of the ground and stomped to the fire. He took a rag from inside his robe and angrily began to clean the blade.

"Dammit!" Tellesa swore. She returned to her spot by the tree, muttering dark things under her breath.

Eragon was stunned. He tried to ask Saphira for advice, but all she would say was, "Speak with Brom." The dragon lumbered over to the fourth member of their band and settled beside her. Tellesa gave no indication of having noticed, fidgeting with a part of her unusual weapon.

Hesitantly, Eragon made his way to the fire and asked, "Would it help if I said I was sorry?"

Brom sighed and sheathed his blade. "No, it wouldn't. Your feelings can't change what happened." He jabbed a finger at Eragon's chest. "You made some very bad choices that could have dangerous repercussions. Not the least of which is that you almost died. Died, Eragon! From now on you're going to have to think. There's a reason we're born with brains in our head, not rocks."

Eragon nodded, abashed. "It's not as bad as you think, though; the Urgals already knew about me. They had orders to capture me."

Astonishment widened Brom's eyes. He stuck his unlit pipe in his mouth. "No, it's not as bad as I thought. It's worse! Saphira told me you had a talk with the Urgals, but she didn't mention this."

The words tumbled out of Eragon's mouth as he quickly described the confrontation.

"So, they have some leader now, eh?" Brom questioned. Eragon nodded. "And you just defied his wishes, insulted him, and attacked his men?" The old man shook his head. "I didn't think this could get any worse. If the Urgals had been killed, your rudeness would have gone unnoticed, but now it'll be impossible to ignore. Congratulations, you just made enemies with one of the most powerful beings in Alagaësia."

"Alright, I made a mistake," Eragon sullenly said.

"Yes, you did," Brom confirmed. "What has me worried, however, is who this Urgal leader is."

Shivering, Eragon asked softly. "What happens now?"

There was an uncomfortable pause. "Your arm is going to take at least a couple of weeks to heal. That time would be well spent forging some sense into you. I suppose this is partially my fault. I've been teaching you how to do things, but not whether you should. It takes discretion, something you obviously lack. All the magic in Alagaësia won't help you if you don't know when to use it."

"But we're still going to Dras-Leona, right?"

Brom rolled his eyes. "Yes, we can keep looking for the Ra'zac, but even if we find them, it won't do any good until you've healed." The storyteller sighed. "Before that, I need to wring answers out of that girl. I suspect it will be difficult. When provoked, Kuastans can be as prideful as dragons."

Eragon followed his gaze. Tellesa was pointedly ignoring them, talking to Saphira in hushed toes. "The object she's holding is a weapon. I don't think it wise to approach her now."

"I know. I've seen her use it." Brom grimaced. "Never known anything like it. Blasted dangerous is what it is." The old man flashed him a quick grin. "You might have some sense after all."

000

Raksil was a patient Scar, but this hatchling tested his limits. It pulled at his armour, tried to bite off any fingers in range, and raised a racket when it thirsted for Ether.

More than anything he wished Utak were there to help him. It hurt his hearts to think about the slaughter in the nursery. He had watched as Utak bravely stepped forward to defend the litter. And Krinok coldly cut him down. Raksil closed his four eyes and snapped his fangs together with muted horror. He had been a coward then. Worthless. The kind of scum that followed the Ether-Thief to betrayal and back. He cursed himself. Devoted? Hah, no, he was Raksil the Spineless.

Someone shook his shoulder. Raksil opened his mouth to snarl obscenities at the troublesome Dreg, but instead found himself speechless. His Captain, Kiphoris, stared back.

"Are you awake? Sensible?" The Captain asked, his voice tinted with the gruff lilt of the Mraskilaasan despite the red and gold cloak over his shoulder.

"Eia, I... I am."

"Then I leave you now. You have the right to command three dozen drekhs by my command, Raksil, but while I hunt, I leave you with all the commands I once held."

"Hunt?" Raksil echoed. "Where are you going?"

"I have caught a scent." Kiphoris hesitated. "It is familiar to me. I must investigate. I will take the Marauders, but we leave you with a light-bender if trouble finds you. At all costs protect the little Kell. And keep my Skiffs unbroken, or I will have your arms." Kiphoris stepped back. "You are the captain now."

The big Eliksni turned away and marched out of the landed skiff. A handful of specialized Vandals bearing light-benders and hoods followed their leader into the wildnerness. Raksil remained where he was, struck speechless.

Mezha-kel took the opportunity to clamp his little teeth down on the hand holding him. Raksil swore.

"Psekisk!"

000

The next day was easier on all of them. Tellesa's anger had ebbed away into a prickly irritation at the back of her mind. Her words were more cordial, though when addressing Brom they still held a curt edge. The only consolation they had was that the elder's mood had lifted somewhat and he took it all in stride.

Brom had started the day with drilling Eragon on the matter of magic, Urgals, and Saphira in different scenarios of increasingly bad odds. Eragon answered as best he could, but his inexperience shone through as he failed more and more over time. Much of it was far from her area of expertise too, yet Brom included her all the same. It was similar to the training offered by Ikharos, but with a far less patient teacher.

At the very least, it served to confirm her suspicions. "You both use magic."

"We do," Brom grunted. "You aren't surprised? Ah, I'd wager not, if you'd traveled with a wizard. What was his name again?"

She knew Brom hadn't forgotten. Tellesa clearly saw what he was doing; he wasn't being subtle about it. "His name is Ikharos."

"Ikharos... not a name I've ever heard of. Are you sure he's foreign?"

"Very," Tellesa nodded. "Everything about him was strange."

"And he killed a Shade. Must be a powerful mage indeed. He gave you that weapon, didn't he?"

Tellesa's hand brushed the smooth metal of the rifle. "Eragon told you."

"He did."

"It was a gift."

"Would he truly part with something so valuable?"

That again. "Do you really think I would steal it?" Tellesa urged her horse to pick up the pace. "Ask your questions."

"I'm just worried," Brom admitted with a sigh. "It has been some time since any have arrived from distant lands. This isn't a good omen."

"He's not a bad person."

"Alagaësia is riddled with enough troubles. Outside influence is something we can ill afford."

Tellesa disagreed. The empire was too terrible to fathom. A foreign presence couldn't do anything to further worsen the situation. The only obstacle would be making those outsiders care enough to make a change. "It's out of our hands."

"So it is." Brom fell silent. Before long, he picked back up on testing Eragon on the matter of tactics.

There was a surprise in store for them as they settled down for the night. Brom rose up, sword in hand, and motioned for the other two to stand. Tellesa, worried, had almost reached for her rifle when Eragon spoke up.

"How can I spar if my wrist is broken?" The boy complained.

Brom scowled. "Use the other hand."

Eragon sighed and drew his odd red-hued blade. Tellesa had been about to sit back down, but Brom shook his head. "You too."

She shrugged and unsheathed the stolen Imperial blade. It was a simple steel arming sword, nothing special, but it was a weapon she had accustomed herself to, just like the Tigerspite.

"Ward them," the storyteller ordered of the Rider. Eragon slowly ran his hand up and down his sword and then Tellesa's, giving life to a faint bluish barrier about the edges. Tellesa observed the movement and the faint words spoken with some measure of interest.

Eragon and Brom clashed first. The Rider was disarmed and beaten in no time. Brom was none too gentle about it, giving the boy a number of bruises that she knew would last days. When, for the third time, Eragon was thrown to the ground, he exhaled and stayed there.

Brom frowned but didn't scold him. By that point Tellesa had already assumed a stance.

The elder went for a startlingly quick swing that belied his age, but she deflected the strike readily enough and stepped forward to deliver a sudden pommel strike that sent Brom stumbling backwards. The old man cradled his broken nose and stared at her.

Beside them, Saphira started making a growling-coughing noise that sounded remarkably like laughter.

"That was a low blow," Brom criticized.

"There's no such thing as a fair fight. Only a victor and a corpse."

Brom assumed a grave expression. Then, suddenly, he grinned. "Good. You can hold your own, for a start."

The sparring continued for every night. Eragon, slowly but surely, managed to bring himself back to form and mastered wielding the sword in his offhand. Tellesa, too, improved under instruction from Brom and the opportunity to practice. One thing she noted was that the techniques used by Ikharos and Brom were very different. Brom's way encouraged an extended duel where he could manage his stamina. Ikharos's methods was full of brutal and wicked attacks that left the opponent in tatters within a mere handful of moves. She tried to merge the two styles and found some degree of progress.

By the time they emerged from the pass, spring had returned to the land. Flowers blossomed in every field available, the farms they passed were busy with new calves or lambs, and leaves returned to the trees. They followed the Toark River from Woadark lake in its southeasterly heading. When, finally, they reached the massive expanse of Leona Lake, Tellesa took the time to observe the faint moonlight reflecting off the sheet of liquid silver. It almost looked like ice, it was so still.

A sense of panic entered her mind and sent her thoughts whirling. The presence of the lake made real the knowledge that they could very well be closing in on the Ra'zac Eragon so doggedly hunted. Ra'zac were never as popular as a dark tale as Shades, but their stories had kept her up late at night as a child. They were creatures of darkness and evil. And this time, there was no immortal wizard around to kill them for her.

This is what I wanted, she told herself. A chance to strike back at the king. At the empire. I need to grow stronger. I need experience. This is where I start.

Despite her conviction, she wasn't sure about their chances. Brom was sly and quick, but his body was unable to muster the strength necessary to kill monsters like Shades. And Eragon, though skilled, fast, and strong, was too single-minded and a touch naive. Tellesa had often used that against him to win their duels. Their greatest asset in this was Saphira, though the Ra'zac possessed powerful beasts of their own.

We'll need the Tigerspite more than anything else. They won't know what it is. The element of surprise is on our side.

000

Kiphoris crawled close to the ground and peeked his head over the small rise, fitting the stock of his wire rifle against the crook of his upper right arm. He peered through the scope and followed the faint orange glow of fire lanterns carried by distant figures marching tiredly down the road. Even at this distance, he knew what they were. His eyes could pierce the gloom better than the sight of his prey ever could.

"What are they?" The Marauder to his left hissed.

Kiphoris hummed. "They shouldn't be here. Was I wrong?"

"Captain?"

"Humans," he muttered. "They are humans."

"Humans?" Another asked. "What are humans?"

Kiphoris didn't answer for a moment. "Humans are... many things."

The first time he saw a Guardian, he understood all the nightmarish tales passed along through the ranks of Dregs like contraband. The human - if it even was that - wore a suit of welded plate metal topped with spikes and a mantle of fur about its shoulders. It was only as tall as a Vandal, but the power with each stride was that of a Baron. Of a Kell.

It never saw him as it walked down the corridor, led by two Corsairs. Perhaps it was to meet the Queen-Kell. Or perhaps to play along to the Judgement's games in his treasured prison. Kiphoris made note to avoid those two places, even though he had never set foot in the Prison of Elders before, and only ever visited the Awoken court on one other occasion. He hadn't liked the politics or the sweet-poison words. He preferred the open purple skies and the exhilaration of all activities associated with the outside.

"Don't like?" Lima teased.

The Vandal-Kiphoris shook his head. It was a very human gesture, but that was part of the fun. "It scares me."

"Really?" The Corsair looked back down the hallway. The Guardian was long gone, but humans were silly like that. Some, like Peraksis, found that infuriating. Kiphoris liked the approach of Misraaks: humour them. "Doesn't seem all that bad to me."

"You see it!" The Vandal complained. "Scarier than Cabal! Than Hive!"

"You haven't seen any Hive." Lima looked at him, puzzled.

Kiphoris suppressed a swear. "Recordings."

The Awoken woman's face split into a sly grin. "From the prison?" She asked in a mockingly melodious voice.

"Maybe..." The Vandal grudgingly admitted. "Don't tell?"

"What? That you've been sneaking around with unauthorized vid-clips?" Lima leaned in closer. "Do you still have it?"

"... yes."

"Lend me a copy and no one will know."

"I gave-exchange silver for it!" He complained quietly.

"Aw, c'mon. Movie night! There'll be popcorn!"

That gave Kiphoris pause. He found some of their words difficult, even with a translator, and often his words were addled by Eliksni inflections. "Butter-kind?"

"Buttered popcorn? You charge a hard bargain. Fine, deal."

The Captain shook himself out of his reverie and refocused on the dilemma at hand.

He once more peered down the scope, but this time he attempted to pick out the details, the information that could potentially mean life or death. Living in isolation with nothing but murderous machines taught him that every scrap of knowledge counted.

It led to the next puzzling discovery. "They are soldiers," he announced. "But they wield only blades."

"Only blades?" A Marauder asked, surprise colouring her voice. "Nothing else?"

Kiphoris studied each and every one of them. Nothing matched what he knew of humans, be they Reefborn, Exo, or Jovian. They resembled the kind of Earth identically, but their equipment was wrong. The way they walked was wrong. Their scent was different. Earthen humans had a crisp smell of hard-forged plasteel and gunpowder. This kind had a scent of crude iron and burnt wood.

"They're headed somewhere." Kiphoris stood and dropped the barrel of his rifle. "I will ask them where."

"Ask them?!" The first Marauder gasped. "But they brought down our Ketch!"

"Eia, perhaps. But I will not be foolish enough to ignore their presence, or worse yet, make an enemy of them. Diplomacy fitted Misraaks well. I will walk the same path." Kiphoris held a hand out to the rising Marauders. "Stay here and keep watch. Come close, if you dare, but do not allow yourself to be seen. I know humans. They are ready for war, always."

"Like Cabal?" Another Eliksni spoke up disdainfully.

"Nama." Kiphoris shook his head. "They are smaller and craftier. Wait, and do not engage. Humans are a storm not easily weathered."

He lumbered down the rise and onto the path. The humans didn't see him at all, even though he was out in the open. The night was always their weakness. Kiphoris put away his rifle and held out empty upper hands, though a lower hand rested on the pommel of a shock sword.

When they did see him, the small group of humans froze and brought their lanterns to bear. Their previous conversation died away as they suddenly noticed the hulking figure before them, four blue eyes glowing in the impervious darkness.

Kiphoris reached to his helmet to switch on the translator. The vocal synthesizer wheezed and squeaked for a brief moment, making the human soldiers recoil with fright. Before Kiphoris could test out if it worked, one of those before him cried out, "Demon!"

He didn't even get the chance to speak before the small group in front of him - all garbed in boiled leather or ragged chainmail with a red cloak over their shoulders - became very hostile. They drew their simple steel swords and those with shields brought them up. One, armed with a mace, ran forward with a wild battle-cry.

Kiphoris snarled. His faint hope had crumbled to ruin. He drew his sword and, in two swift successive attacks, cleaved through the reinforced wooden handle of the primitive mace and impaled the wielder upon the electrified blade. He pushed the dead human off and held out his arms in an instinctual threatening display, letting out a primal roar.

The others never had the opportunity to react. The air was filled with the whines of Arc weapons, and the next moment all the soldiers were pierced with bolts of plasma. The entire band fell to the ground, dead.

"Captain, how do you fare?" A Marauder called to him. His name was Alkris, if Kiphoris remembered correctly.

"I am well." Kiphoris nudged the body beside him with his foot. "They are not."

The Scar scouts revealed themselves and joined him by the scene of the slaughter. Paltis crouched down, removed her helmet, and lifted the bared limb of a corpse closer for an inspection. "They are soft-skinned. And warm." She clicked her mandibles.

"Do not eat them!" Kiphoris ordered, addressing them with a tone fiercer than any he had used before. Paltis, and the others, recoiled immediately. The Captain immediately felt sorry. "They are not food."

"A pity," the third of five, an Eliksni by the name of Viltriks-Stonehopper, mumbled. "I haven't filled my belly with anything but Ether for so many cycles."

"There is other prey." Kiphoris told him. "Much more. We will eat them, just as the humans do. Don't eat the humans." He couldn't stomach the thought. It made him feel sick.

"Then what will we do with them?"

"Hide the bodies. This... this was a mistake."

"What is our plan, Kiphoris-Captain?"

Kiphoris huffed. "We scatter, as Tarrhis-Baron ordered. We keep low like rock-crabs and scurry out of sight. Alkris, send a message to Raksil. He must learn to move camps, or he risks attack."

"And what of us?"

"We will continue onwards until our Ether runs out." He pointed with one hand to the corpses. "This was a patrol. Humans are wary. They will send them out from their cities to watch for enemies."

"Gah!" Paltris snarled. She held up the human weapon for a moment, then tossed it away in disgust. "Not even good for salvage-cutting!"

Kiphoris paused. That nagged at him. It was too odd for his liking. Humans had their own technology that the Splicers everywhere craved. Even here, the satellites up above were a fearsome feat of clever minds. Then why were these soldiers bereft of anything even resembling machinery? Not even a radio between them.

"Go, Alkris."

000

For days they continued south along Leona Lake's vast shore. Eragon began to wonder if they would ever get around it, so he was heartened when they met men - fellow travelers on the road - who said that Dras-Leona was an easy day's ride ahead of them.

Eragon rose early the following morning. His fingers twitched with anticipation at the thought of actually finding the Ra'zac.

"The three of you must be careful," Saphira warned him. "The Ra'zac could have spies watching for travelers that fit your description."

"We'll do our best to remain inconspicuous," he assured her.

"Perhaps, but realize that I won't be able to protect you as I did with the Urgals. I will be too far away to come to your aid, nor would I survive long in the narrow streets your kind favour. Follow Brom's lead and trust in Tellesa. They are sensible."

"I know," Eragon said somberly.

"Will you go with Brom to the Varden? Once the Ra'zac are killed, he will want to take you to them. And since Galbatorix will be enraged by the Ra'zac's death, that may be the safest thing for us to do."

Eragon rubbed his arms. Even in the spring, the mornings could be bitterly cold. "I don't want to fight the empire all the time like the Varden do. Life is more than constant war. There'll be a time to consider it once the Ra'zac are gone."

"Don't be so sure," she told him, then went to hide herself until night.

The road was clogged with farmers taking their goods to market in Dras-Leona. Brom, Eragon and Tellesa were forced to slow their horses and wait for the wagons that blocked the way. Although they saw smoke in the distance, it was another league before the city was clearly visible. Unlike Teirm, a planned city, Dras-Leona was a tangled mess that sprawled next to Leona Lake. Ramshackle buildings sat on crooked streets, and the heart of the city was surrounded by a dirty, pale yellow wall of daubed mud.

Several miles east, a mountain of bare rock speared the sky with spires and columns, a tenebrous nightmare ship. Near-vertical sides rose out of the ground like a jagged piece of the earth's bone.

Brom pointed to it. "That is Helgrind. It's the reason Dras-Leona was originally built. People are fascinated by it, even though it's an unhealthy and malevolent thing." He gestured at the buildings inside the city's walls. "We should go to the centre of the city first."

As they crept along the road to Dras-Leona, Eragon saw that the highest building within the city was a cathedral that loomed behind the walls. It was strikingly similar to Helgrind, especially when its arches and flanged spires caught the light. "Who do they worship?" He asked.

Brom grimaced in distaste. "Their prayers go to Helgrind. It's a cruel religion they practice. They drink human blood and make flesh offerings. Their priests often lack body parts because they believe that the more bone and sinew you give up, the less you're attached to the mortal world. They spend much of their time arguing about which of Helgrind's three peaks is the highest and the most important and whether the fourth - and lowest - should be included in their worship."

"That's horrible," Eragon said, shuddering.

"Yes," Brom said grimly, "but don't say that to a believer. You'll quickly lose a hand in 'penance.'"

At Dras-Leona's enormous gates, they led the horses through the crush of people. Ten soldiers were stationed on either side of the gates, casually scanning the crowd. It was more soldiers than were warranted, even with the traffic coming and going. Eragon watched them out of the corner of his eye. Something had alerted them. Fortunately, he, Brom, and Tellesa passed into the city without incident.

The houses inside the city were tall and thin to compensate for the lack of space. Those next to the wall were braced against it. Most of the houses hung over the narrow winding streets, covering the sky so it was hard to tell if it was night or day. Nearly all the buildings were constructed of the same rough brown wood, which darkened the city even more. The air reeked like a sewer; the streets were filthy.

A group of ragged children ran between the houses, fighting over scraps of bread. Deformed beggars crouched next to the entrance gates, pleading for money. Their cries for help were like a chorus of the damned.

"I won't stay here," Eragon said, rebelling against the sight.

"Behold the empire." Tellesa muttered.

"It gets better farther in," Brom told them. "Right now we need to find an inn and form a strategy. Dras-Leona can be a dangerous place to even the most cautious. I don't want to remain on the streets any longer than necessary."

They headed deeper into the city, leaving the squalid entrance behind. As they entered wealthier parts of the city, Eragon wondered, How can these people live in ease when the suffering around them is so obvious?

They found lodging at the Golden Globe, which was cheap but not decrepit. A narrow bed was crammed against one wall of the room, a rickety table and a basin alongside it. Eragon took one look at the mattress and said, "I'm sleeping on the floor. There are probably enough bugs in that thing to eat me alive."

"Well, I wouldn't want to deprive them of a meal," Brom said, dropping his bags on the bed. Eragon set his own on the floor and pulled off his bow.

"What now?" He asked.

"We find food and beer. After that, sleep. Tomorrow we can start looking for the Ra'zac."

They met Tellesa leaving her room (she had similar comments on the quality of her own quarters) and went downstairs to fetch a meal. The food was barely adequate, but the beer was excellent. Eragon and Brom took advantage of that. Tellesa watched them with thinly veiled amusement, nursing a single flagon. By the time he stumbled back to the room, Eragon's head was buzzing pleasantly. He unrolled his blankets on the floor and slid under them as Brom tumbled onto the bed.

Just before he fell asleep, he contacted Saphira. "We're going to be here for a few days, but this shouldn't take as long as it did at Teirm. When we discover where the Ra'zac are, you might be able to help us get them. I'll talk to you in the morning. Right now I'm not thinking clearly."

"You've been drinking," she considered it for a moment and had to agree that she was absolutely right. Her disapproval was clear, but all she said was, "I won't envy you in the morning."

"No, but Brom will. He drank twice as much as me."

What was I thinking? Eragon thought. His head was pounding and his tongue felt thick and fuzzy. As a rat skittered under the floor, Eragon winced at the noise.

"How are we feeling?" Saphira asked smugly.

Eragon ignored her. A moment later, Brom rolled out of bed with a grumble. He doused his head in cold water from the basin, then left the room. Eragon followed him into the hallway. "Where are you going?" He asked.

"To recover."

"I'll come." At the bar, Eragon discovered that Brom's method of recovery involved imbibing copious amounts of hot tea and ice water, then washing it all down with a cheap brandy. Tellesa joined them shortly after. Though she said little, it was clear she was enjoying every moment of misery they suffered.

When they returned to the room, Eragon was able to function somewhat better.

Brom belted on his sword and smoothed the wrinkles out of his robe. "The first thing we need to do is ask some discreet questions. I want to find out where the Seithr oil was delivered in Dras-Leona and where it was taken from there. Most likely, soldiers or workmen were involved in transporting it. We have to find those men and get one to talk."

The trio left the Golden Globe and searched for warehouses where the Seithr oil might have been delivered. Near the centre of Dras-Leona, the streets began to slant upward towards a palace of polished granite. It was built on a rise so that it towered above every building except the cathedral. Soldiers stationed every four yards watched passersby keenly.

"Who lives there?" Eragon asked, awed by the sight.

"Marcus Tábor, ruler of this city. He answers only to the king and his own conscience, which hasn't been very active recently," Brom said. They walked around the palace, looking at the gated, ornate houses that surrounded it.

By midday they had learned nothing useful, so they stopped for lunch. "This city is too vast for us to comb it together," Brom said. "Search on your own. Meet me at the Golden Globe by dusk." He glowered at both of them in turn. "I'm trusting the two of you not to do anything stupid."

"I won't," Eragon promised. Tellesa echoed it. Brom handed him some coins and strode away in the opposite direction. Tellesa had her own wealth to waste.

At last he found a man who had helped ship the oil and remembered to which warehouse it had been taken. Eragon excitedly went to look at the building, then returned to the Golden Globe. It was over an hour before Brom came back and slumped onto the bed with fatigue.

"Did you find anything?" Eragon asked hopefully.

Brom brushed back his white hair. "I heard a great deal of interesting things today, not the least of which is that Galbatorix will visit Dras-Leona within a week."

"What?" Eragon exclaimed.

The elder slouched against the wall, the lines on his forehead deepening. "It seems that Tábor has taken a few too many liberties with his power, so Galbatorix has decided to come teach him a lesson in humility. It's the first time the king has left Urû'baen in ten years."

"Do you think he knows of us?" Eragon pressed.

"Of course he knows of us, but I'm sure he hasn't been told of our location. If he had, we would already be in the Ra'zac's grasp. However, this means that whatever we're going to do about the Ra'zac must be accomplished before Galbatorix arrives. We don't want to be anywhere within twenty leagues of him. The one thing in our favour is that the Ra'zac are sure to be here, preparing for his visit."

"I want to get the Ra'zac," Eragon said, his fists tightening. "But not if it means fighting the king. He could probably tear me to pieces."

That seemed to amuse Brom. "Very good: caution. And you're right; you wouldn't stand a chance against Galbatorix. Now tell me what you learned today. It might confirm what I heard."

Eragon shrugged. "It was mostly drivel, but I did talk with a man who knew where the oil was taken. It's just an old warehouse. other than that, I didn't discover anything useful."

"My day was a little more fruitful than yours. I heard the same thing you did, so I went to the warehouse and talked with the workers. It didn't take much cajoling before they revealed that the cases of oil are always sent from the warehouse to the palace."

"And that's when you came back here."

"No, it's not! Don't interrupt. After that, I went to the palace and got myself invited into the servants' quarters as a bard. For several hours I wandered about, amusing maids and others with songs and poems - and asking questions all the while." Brom slowly filled his pipe with tobacco. "It's really amazing all the things servants find out. Did you know that one of the earls has three mistresses, and they all live in the same wing of the palace?" He shook his head and lit the pipe. "Aside from the fascinating tidbits, I was told, quite by accident, where the oil is taken from the palace."

"And that is...?" Eragon asked impatiently.

Brom puffed on his pipe and blew a smoke ring. "Out of the city, of course. Every full moon two slaves are sent to the base of Helgrind with a month's worth of provisions. Whenever the Seithr oil arrives in Dras-Leona, they send it along with the provisions. The slaves are never seen again. And the one time someone followed them, he disappeared too."

"I thought the Riders demolished the slave trade," Eragon frowned.

"Unfortunately, it has flourished under the king's reign."

"So the Ra'zac are in Helgrind." Eragon pictured the mountains outside the city.

"There or nearby."

"If they are in Helgrind, they'll be either at the bottom - and protected by a thick stone door - or higher up where only their flying mounts, Saphira, can reach. Top or bottom, their shelter will no doubt be disguised."

Eragon thought for a moment. "If Saphira and I go flying around Helgrind, the Ra'zac are sure to see us - not to mention all of Dras-Leona."

"It is a problem," Brom agreed.

"What if we took the place of the slaves? The full moon isn't far off. It would give us a perfect opportunity to get close to the Ra'zac."

Brom tugged his beard thoughtfully. "That's chancy at best. If the slaves are killed at a distance, we'll be in trouble. We can't harm the Ra'zac if they aren't in sight."

"We don't know if the slaves are killed at all," Eragon pointed out.

"I'm sure they are," Brom said, his face grave. "Still, it's an intriguing idea. If it were done with Saphira and Tellesa nearby and a... It might work, but we'll have to move quickly. With the king coming, there isn't much-"

Someone rapped their knuckles against the door three times. Without waiting for an answer, Tellesa entered, out of breath.

"Finally!" Brom announced. "Any trouble?"

She shook her head. "No... Didn't find much..."

"Then why are you breathless?"

"Thief tried to snag my gold."

"Are you alright?" Eragon asked.

Tellesa flashed a smile. "I am. The thief isn't."

"What happened?"

"I kicked him. Guards hauled him off. If anyone asks, my name is Ameir."

Brom chuckled. "Sit down. We've learned a few things."

They informed her of everything they learned that day. Tellesa listened quietly nodded along. "It sounds like a working plan. I've picked up a few things as well."

"Oh?" Brom leaned forward.

"A group of soldiers on patrol outside the city went missing a number of days ago. Twelve of them, armed and armoured, just disappeared. Not even bodies left behind. And they didn't run off either; some of them had families here."

"Ra'zac?" Eragon addressed Brom.

The elder frowned. "I don't know. Ra'zac are more subtle than that. What reason would they have for attacking soldiers in the first place?" He huffed. "It doesn't matter. Not yet. Tomorrow I'll return to the palace and figure out how we can replace the slaves. I have to be careful not to arouse suspicion, though - I could easily be revealed by spies and courtiers who know about the Ra'zac."

"I can't believe it; we actually found them," Eragon said quietly. An image of his dead uncle and burned farm flashed before his eyes. His jaw tightened.

"The toughest part is yet to come, but yes, we've done well," Brom said. "If fortune smiles upon us, you may soon have your revenge and the Varden will be rid of a dangerous enemy. What comes after that will be up to you."

Eragon opened his mind and jubilantly told Saphira, "We found the Ra'zac's lair!"

"Where?" He quickly explained what they had discovered. "Helgrind. A fitting place for them."

Eragon agreed. "When we're done here, maybe we could visit Carvahall."

"What is it you want?" Saphira asked, suddenly sour. "To go back to your previous life? You know that won't happen, so stop mooning after it! At a certain point you have to decide what to commit to. Will you hide for the rest of your life, or will you help the Varden? Those are the only options left to you, unless you join forces with Galbatorix, which I do not and never will accept."

Softly, he said, "If I must choose, I cast my fate with the Varden, as you well know."

"Yes, but sometimes you have to hear yourself say it." She left him to ponder her words.