Chapter 27: Escape

The first things Eragon noticed was that he was warm and dry, his cheek was pressed against rough fabric, and his hands were unbound. He stirred, but it was minutes before he was able to push himself upright and examine his surroundings. He was sitting in a cell on a narrow, bumpy cot. A barred window was set high in the wall. The iron-bound door with a small window in its top half, barred like the one in the wall, was shut securely.

Dried blood cracked on Eragon's face when he moved. It took him a moment to remember that it was not his. His head hurt horribly - which was to be expected, considering the blow he had taken - and his mind was strangely fuzzy. He tried to use magic, but could not concentrate well enough to remember any of the ancient words. They must have drugged me, he finally decided.

With a groan he got up, missing the familiar weight of Zar'roc on his hip, and lurched to the window in the wall. He managed to see out of it by standing on his toes. It took him a minute for his eyes to adjust to the bright light outside. The window was level with the ground. A street full of busy people ran past the side of his cell, beyond which were rows of identical log houses.

Feeling weak, Eragon slid to the floor and stared at it blankly. What he had seen outside disturbed him, but he was unsure why. Cursing his sluggish thinking, he leaned back his head and tried to clear his mind. A man entered the room and set a tray of food and a pitcher of water on the cot. Wasn't that nice of him? Eragon thought, smiling pleasantly. He took a couple of bites of the thin cabbage soup and stale bread, but was barely able to stomach it. I wish he had brought me something better, he complained, dropping the spoon.

He suddenly realized what was wrong. I was captured by Urgals, not men! How did I end up here?! His befuddled brain grappled with the paradox unsuccessfully. With a mental shrug he filed the discovery away for a time when he would know what to do with it.

He sat on the cot and gazed into the distance. Hours later more food was brought in. And I was just getting hungry, he thought thickly. This time he was able to eat without feeling sick. When he finished, he decided it was time for a nap. After all, he was on a bed; what else was he going to do?

His mind drifted off; sleep began to envelop him. Then a gate clanged open somewhere, and the din of steel-shod boots marching on a stone floor filled the air. The noise grew loud and louder until it sounded like someone banging a pot inside Eragon's head. Can't they let me rest in peace? Fuzzy curiosity slowly overcame his exhaustion, so he dragged himself to the door, blinking like an owl.

Through the window he saw a wide hallway nearly ten yards across. The opposing wall was lined with cells similar to his own. A column of soldiers marched through the hall, their swords drawn and ready. Every man was dressed in matching armour; their faces bore the same hard expression, and their feet came down on the floor with a professional precision, never missing a beat. The sound was hypnotic. It was an impressive display of force.

Eragon watched the soldiers until he grew bored. Just then he noticed a break in the middle of the column. Carried between two burly men was an unconscious woman, and for a moment he feared it was Tellesa, but almost immediately after he saw that it wasn't.

The woman's long midnight-black hair obscured her face, despite a leather strip bound around her head to hold the tresses back. She was dressed in dark leather pants and a shirt. Wrapped around her slim waist was a shiny belt, from which hung an empty scabbard on her right hip. Knee-high boots covered her calves and feet.

Her head lolled to the side. Eragon gasped, feeling like he had been struck in the stomach. She was the woman from his dreams. Her sculpted face was as perfect as a painting. Her round chin, high cheekbones, and long eyelashes gave her an exotic look. The only mar in her beauty was a scrape along her jaw; nevertheless, she was the fairest woman he had ever seen.

Then her hair shifted, revealing pointed ears. A chill crept over him. She was an elf.

The soldiers continued marching, taking her from his sight. Next strode a tall, proud man, a sable cape billowing behind him. His face was deathly white; his hair was red. Red like blood.

As he walked by Eragon's cell, the man turned his head and looked squarely at him with maroon eyes. His upper lip pulled back in a feral smile, revealing teeth filed to points. Eragon shrank back. He knew what the man was. A Shade. So help me... a Shade. The procession continued, and the Shade vanished from view.

Eragon sank to the floor, hugging himself. Even in his bewildered state, he knew that the presence of a Shade meant that evil was loose in the land. Whenever they appeared, rivers of blood were sure to follow. What is a Shade doing here?! The soldiers should have killed him on sight! Then his thoughts returned to the elf-woman, and he was grasped by strange emotions again.

I have to escape. But with his mind clouded, his determination quickly faded. He returned to the cot. By the time the hallway fell silent, he was fast asleep.

As soon as Eragon opened his eyes, he knew something was different. It was easier for him to think; he realized that he was in Gil'ead. They made a mistake; the drug's wearing off! Hopeful, he tried to contact Saphira and use magic, but both activities were still beyond his reach. A pit of worry twisted inside him as he wondered if she and the others had managed to escape. He stretched his arms and looked out the window. The city was just awakening; the street outside was empty except for two beggars.

He reached for the water pitcher, ruminating about the elf and Shade. As he started to drink, he noticed that the water had a faint odor, as if it contained a few drops of rancid perfume. Grimacing, he set the pitcher down. The drug must be in there and maybe in the food as well. He remembered that when the Ra'zac had drugged him, it had taken hours to wear off. If I can keep from drinking and eating long enough, I should be able to use magic. Then I can rescue the elf. The thought made him smile. He sat in a corner, dreaming about how it could be done.

A portly jailer entered the cell an hour later with a tray of food. Eragon waited until he departed, then carried the tray to the window. The meal was composed only of bread, cheese, and an onion, but the smell made his stomach grumble hungrily. Resigning himself to a miserable day, he shoved out the window and onto the street, hoping that no one would notice.

Eragon devoted himself to overcoming the drug's effects. He had difficulty concentrating for any length of time, but as the day progressed, his mental acuity increased. He began to remember several of the ancient words, though nothing happened when he uttered them. He wanted to scream with frustration.

When lunch was delivered, he pushed it out the window after his breakfast. His hunger was distracting, but it was the lack of water that taxed him most. The back of his throat was parched. Thoughts of drinking cool water tortured him as each breath dried his mouth and throat a bit more. Even so, he forced himself to ignore the pitcher.

He was diverted from his discomfort by a commotion in the hall. A man argued in a loud voice, "You can't go in there! The orders were clear: no one is to see him!"

"Really? Will you be the one to die stopping me, Captain?" A smooth voice cut in.

There was a subdued, "No... but the king-"

"I will handle the king," interrupted the second speaker. "Now, unlock the door."

After a pause, keys jangled outside Eragon's cell. He tried to adopt a languorous expression. I have to act like I don't understand what's going on. I can't show surprise, no matter what this person says.

The door opened. His breath caught as he looked into the Shade's face. It was like gazing at a death mask or a polished skull with skin pulled over it to give the appearance of life. "Greetings," the Shade said with a cold smile. "I've waited a long time to meet you."

"Who- who're you?" Eragon asked, slurring his words.

"No one of consequence," the Shade answered, his maroon eyes alight with controlled menace. He sat with a flourish of his cloak. "My name does not matter to one in your position. It wouldn't mean a thing to you anyway. It's you that I'm interested in. Who are you?"

The question was posed innocently enough, but Eragon knew there had to be a catch or a trap in it, though it eluded him. He pretended to struggle over the question for a while, then said slowly, "I'm not sure... M'name's Eragon, but that's not all I am, is it?"

The Shade's narrow lips stretched tautly over his sharpened teeth as he laughed. "No, it isn't. You have an interesting mind, my young Rider." He leaned forward. The skin on his forehead was thin and translucent. "It seems I must be more direct. What is your name?"

"Era-"

"No! Not that one." The Shade cut him off with a wave of his and. "Don't you have another one, one that you use only rarely?"

He wants my true name so he can control me! But I can't tell him. I don't even know it myself. Eragon thought quickly, trying to invent a deception that would conceal his ignorance. What if I made up a name? He hesitated - it could easily give him away - then raced to create a name that would withstand scrutiny. As he was about to utter it, he decided to take a chance and try to scare the Shade. He deftly switched a few letters, then nodded foolishly and said, "Brom told it to me once. It was..." The pause stretched for a few seconds, then his face brightened as he appeared to remember. "It was Du Súndavar Freohr." Which meant almost literally, "Death of the shadows."

A grim chill settled over the cell as the Shade sat motionless, eyes veiled. He seemed to be deep in thought, pondering what he had learned. Eragon wondered if he had dared too much. He waited until the Shade stirred before asking ingeniously, "Why are you here?"

The Shade looked at him with contempt in his red eyes and smiled. "To gloat, of course. What use is victory if one cannot enjoy it?" There was a confidence in his voice, yet he seemed uneasy, as if his plans had been disrupted. He stood suddenly. "I must attend to certain matters, but while I am gone you would do well to think on who you would rather serve: a Rider who betrayed your own order or a fellow like me, skilled in the arcane arts. When the time comes to choose, there will be no middle ground." He turned to leave, then glanced at Eragon's water pitcher and stopped, his face granite hard. "Captain!" He snapped.

A broad-shouldered man rushed into the cell, sword in hand. "What is it, my lord?" He asked, alarmed.

"Put that toy away," the Shade instructed. He hasn't been drinking his water. Why is that?"

"I talked with the jailer earlier. Every bowl and plate was scraped clean."

"Very well," the Shade said, mollified. "But make sure that he starts drinking again." He leaned toward the captain and muttered into his ear. Eragon caught the last few words, "... extra dose, just in case." The captain nodded. The Shade returned his attention to Eragon. "We will talk again tomorrow when I am not so pressed for time. You should know, I have an endless fascination for names. I will greatly enjoy discussing yours in much greater detail."

The way he said it gave Eragon a sinking feeling.

Once they left, he lay on the cot and closed his eyes. Brom's lessons proved their worth now; he relied on them to keep himself from panicking and to reassure himself. Everything has been provided for me; I only have to take advantage of it. His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of approaching soldiers.

Apprehensive, he went to the door and saw two soldiers dragging the elf down the hallway. When he could see her no more, Eragon slumped to the floor and tried to touch the magic again. Oaths flew from his dry lips when it eluded his grasp.

He looked out at the city and ground his teeth. It was only midafternoon. Taking a calming breath, he tried to wait patiently.

It was dark in Eragon's cell when he sat up with a start. The wrinkle had shifted! He had felt the magic at the edge of his consciousness for hours, but every time he tried to use it, nothing happened. Eyes bright with nervous energy, he clenched his hands and said, "Nagz reisa!" With a flap, the cot's blanket flew into the air and crumpled into a ball the size of his fist. It landed on the floor with a soft thump.

Exhilarated, Eragon stood. He was weak from his enforced fast, but his excitement overcame his hunger. Now for the real test. He reached out with his mind and felt the lock on the door. Instead of trying to break or cut it, he simply pushed its internal mechanism into the unlocked position. With a click, the door creaked inward.

When he had first used magic to kill the Urgals in Yazuac, it had nearly consumed all his strength, but he had grown much stronger since then. What once would have exhausted him now only dipped slightly into his energy.

He cautiously stepped out into the hall. I have to find Zar'roc and the elf. She must be in one of these cells, but there isn't time to look in them all. As for Zar'roc, the Shade may have it with him. He realized that his thinking was still muddled. Why am I out here? I could escape right now if I went back into the cell and opened the window with magic. But then I wouldn't be able to rescue the elf... He paused and silently berated himself. "Saphira, where are you? I need your help."

Her reply came with surprising alacrity. "Eragon! I'm over Gil'ead. Don't do anything. Murtagh and Paltis are on the way."

"What are-" Footsteps interrupted him. He spun around, crouching as a squad of six soldiers marched into the corridor. They halted abruptly, eyes flicking between Eragon and the open cell door. Blood drained from their faces. Good, they know who I am. Maybe I can scare them off so we won't have to fight.

"Charge!" Yelled one of the soldiers, running forward. The rest of the men drew their blades and pounded down the hall.

It was madness to fight six men when he was unarmed and weak, but the thought of the elf kept him in place. He could not force himself to abandon her. Uncertain if the effort would leave him standing, he pulled on his power and raised his hand, the gedwëy ignasia glowing. Fear shone in the soldiers' eyes, but they were hardened warriors and did not slow. As Eragon opened his mouth to pronounce the fatal words, there was a low buzz, and a flicker of motion. One of the men crashed to the floor with an arrow in his back. Two more were struck before anyone understood what was happening.

At the end of the hallway, where the soldiers had entered, stood a ragged, bearded man with a bow. A crutch lay on the floor by his feet, apparently unneeded, for he stood tall and straight. Eragon noticed, too, that there was something strange beside the man, a faint refraction of light that didn't sit right with him.

The three remaining soldiers turned to face this new threat. Eragon took advantage of the confusion. "Thrysta!" He shouted. One of the men clutched his chest and fell. Eragon staggered as the magic took its toll. He watched, with wide eyes, as one of the remaining soldiers was plucked off his feet by an invisible force and slammed against a stone wall with enough momentum to shatter every bone in the poor man's body. The flicker in the air pulled away and in its place Paltis stood, armoured like she were about to march off to war.

When the archer took aim at the last soldier, Eragon called out, "Don't kill him!"

The bearded man lowered his bow.

Eragon concentrated on the soldier before him. The man was breathing hard; the whites of his eyes showed and he kept looking in the direction of Paltis. He seemed to understand that his life was being spared, but it did nothing to assuage his terror.

"You've seen what I can do," Eragon growled harshly. "If you don't answer my questions, the rest of your life will be spent in utter misery and torment. Now where's my sword - its sheath and blade are red - and what cell is the elf in?"

The man clamped his mouth shut.

Eragon's palm glowed ominously as he reached for his magic. "That was the wrong answer," he snapped. "Do you know how much pain a grain of sand can cause you when it's embedded red hot in your stomach? Especially when it doesn't cool off for the next twenty years and slowly burns its way down to your toes? By the time it gets out of you, you'll be an old man." He paused for an effect. "Unless you tell me what I want."

The soldier's eyes bulged, but he remained silent. Eragon scraped some dirt off the stone floor and observed dispassionately. "This is a bit more than a grain, but be comforted; it'll burn through you faster. Still, it'll hurt more." At his word, the dirt shone cherry red, though it did not burn his hand.

"Alright, just don't put that near me!" The soldier yelped. "The elf's in the last cell to the left! I don't know about your sword, but it's probably in the guardroom upstairs. All the weapons are there."

Eragon nodded, then murmured, "Slytha." The soldier's eyes rolled up into his head, and he collapsed limply.

"Did you kill him?"

Eragon looked at the archer, who was now only a few paces away. He narrowed his eyes, trying to see past the beard. "Murtagh! Is that you?" He exclaimed.

"Yes," Murtagh replied, lifting the disguise from his shaven face. "I don't want my face seen. Did you kill him?"

"No, he's only asleep. How did you both get in?"

"Paltis has... something," the other youth replied uncertainly. The Eliksni briefly glanced in his direction, daggers drawn, but soon returned to looking up and down the hallway. Murtagh continued. "There's no time to explain. We have to get up to the next floor before anyone finds us. There'll be an escape route for us in a few minutes. We don't want to miss it."

"Didn't you hear what I said?" Eragon asked, gesturing to the unconscious soldier. "There's an elf in the prison. I saw her! We have to rescue her. I need your help."

"An elf!" Murtagh hurried down the hall, growling. "This is a mistake. We should flee while we have the chance." He stopped before the indicated cell and produced a ring of keys from under his ragged cloak. "I took it from a guard," he explained. "Now I just need to-"

Before either of them could protest, Paltis brushed past them with a ferocious determination and ripped the cell door clean off its hinges in one fluid motion. Eragon gaped; he hadn't anticipated that she could muster that kind of strength. However, the sight within the cell was more pressing and he quickly quashed his shock.

A single beam of moonlight slanted through the window, illuminating the elf's face with cool silver. She faced them, tense and coiled, ready for whatever would happen next. She held her head high, with a queen's demeanour. Her eyes, dark green, almost black, and slightly angled like a cat's, settled on Paltis in a reproachful manner. Chills shot through Eragon.

Then the elf trembled and collapsed soundlessly. Eragon rushed forward and barely caught her before she struck the floor. She was surprisingly light. An aroma of freshly crushed pine needles surrounded her.

"Move!" Paltis ordered them in her halted speech. "Hear-more."

"She's wounded," Eragon noted.

"We can tend to her later. Are you strong enough to carry her?" Murtagh asked. Eragon shook his head. "Then I'll do it." The other man grunted as he hefted the elf's weight and slung her across his shoulder. "Now, upstairs!" He handed Eragon a dagger, and they followed Paltis as she swept back through the hall littered with bodies.

With no sound save for the light clacking of claws on stone, Paltis led Eragon and Murtagh to a stone-hewn staircase at the end of the hall. As they climbed it, Eragon asked, "How are we going to get out without being noticed?"

"We're not," Murtagh told him.

That did not allay Eragon's fears. He listened anxiously for soldiers or anyone else who might be nearby, dreading what might happen if they met the Shade. At the head of the stairs was a banquet room filled with broad wooden tables. Shields lined the walls, and the wood ceiling was trussed with curved beams. Murtagh laid the elf on a table and looked at the ceiling worriedly. "Can you talk to Saphira for me?"

"Yes."

"Tell her to wait another five minutes."

There were shouts in the distance. Soldiers marched past the entrance to their room. Eragon's mouth tightened with pent-up tension. "Whatever you're planning to do, I don't think we have enough time."

"Just tell her, and stay out of sight," Murtagh told him firmly. The other boy said something in a hushed voice to Paltis, to which she nodded with some degree of hesitation. Eragon relayed Murtagh's words to Saphira, and watched with concern as the other youth ran off.

A minute later, he was alarmed to hear men coming up the stairs. "No-sight!" Paltis quickly ordered Eragon, and she disappeared from view. Fighting hunger and exhaustion, he dragged the elf off the table and hid her underneath it. He crouched next to her, holding his breath, clenching the dagger in his fist. He distantly picked up on a low buzzing - like that of a swarm of bees - right beside him, but he couldn't exactly place it.

Ten soldiers entered the room. They swept through it hurriedly, looking under only a couple of tables, and continued on their way. Eragon leaned against a table leg, sighing. The respite made him suddenly aware of his burning stomach and parched throat. A tankard and a plate of half-eaten food on the other side of the room caught his attention.

Eragon quickly glanced about, but he found something suddenly grabbing the collar of his tunic before he could run. Paltis suddenly reappeared, and the buzzing noise disappeared. "No," she told him. Her eyes were trained on the way they had come, and Eragon, though he ached for sustenance, put his trust in her senses. Her suspicions were confirmed when they heard footsteps of someone running up the stairs, though before they even appeared the Eliksni relaxed and let go of Eragon.

Murtagh returned carrying Zar'roc, a strange bow, and an elegant sword without a sheath. Murtagh gave the red sword to Eragon. "I found the other sword and bow in the guardroom. I've never seen weapons like them before, so I assumed they were the elf's."

"What now?" Eragon asked. "We can't stay here forever. Sooner or later, the soldiers will find us."

"Now," Murtagh said, taking out his own bow and fitting an arrow to the string, "we wait. Like I said, our escape has been arranged."

"You don't understand; there's a Shade here! If he finds us, we're doomed!"

"A Shade!" Murtagh exclaimed. "In that case, tell Saphira to come immediately. We were going to wait until the watch changed, but delaying even that long is too dangerous now." Eragon reached out and passed along the message. "You messed up my plans by escaping by yourself."

Eragon smiled. "In that case, perhaps I should have waited. Your timing was perfect, though. I wouldn't have been able to even crawl if I had been forced to fight all those soldiers with magic."

"Glad to be of some use," Murtagh remarked. He stiffened as they heard men running nearby. "Let's just hope the Shade doesn't find us."

A cold chuckle filled the banquet room. "I'm afraid it's far too late for that."

Eragon spun around. He heard Murtagh draw his bow's string and Paltis give a growl as she drew her swords, but his attention was squarely on the Shade standing alone at the end of the room. In his hand was a pale sword with a thin scratch on the blade. He unclasped the brooch that held his cape in place and let the garment fall to the floor. His body was like a runner's, thin and compact, but Eragon remembered Brom's warning and knew that the Shade's appearance was deceiving; he was many times stronger than a normal human.

The Shade stared at Paltis, his lips pulled back into a malicious grin. "What are you?"

"I'll take care of him," Murtagh said quietly.

"Nama," Paltis ordered without looking back. "Mine."

Her message was clear. Eragon didn't dare protest, not only for fear of volunteering to face the Shade himself, but for opposing the short-tempered Eliksni. Of the two, who would be stronger?

The Shade's maroon eyes burned like coals. He laughed softly. "Do you really think to defeat me? I could pluck your head from your-"

Paltis struck out almost too fast for Eragon to comprehend. Her two swords clashed loudly against that of the Shade, and she continued her assault without pause. The Shade's eyes widened as he was pressed to defend against an unyielding opponent whose every blow was strong enough to crack bone and bend steel, all the more difficult for the prowess with which she fought.

The ceiling boomed and shook, but neither fighter appeared to notice it. Dust billowed from above and turned the air grey while pieces of wood fell around them, shattering on the floor. From the roof came screams and the sound of clashing metal. Afraid of being brained by the falling timber, Eragon flicked his eyes upwards and held up an arm to protect his eyes.

Terrible screeches sounded above them, like iron spikes being drawn across rock. Three long cracks split the ceiling. Shingles from the slate roof fell through the fissures, and one shattered across Paltis' armoured shoulder, but she didn't react at all. The Shade slipped free of the Eliksni's onslaught and slashed viciously at her side. Though the blade didn't pierce the plate armour, the force of it was heavy enough to elicit a snarl. Paltis swatted him away, but she was unable to press the attack. She hunkered over, clutching her side delicately, and hissed at the Shade. The dark monster chuckled and began to approach her. "You'll have to do better than that if you want to-"

An arrow caught him between the eyes. The Shade howled with agony and writhed, covering his face. His skin turned gray. Mist formed in the air around him, obscuring his figure. There was an ear-piercing cry; then the cloud vanished.

Where the Shade had once been was empty save for a cape and a pile of clothes. "You killed him!" Eragon cried, turning to Murtagh.

"I'm not so sure," he mumbled.

A new voice shouted, "That's it. He failed. Go in and get them!" Soldiers with nets and spears poured into the banquet room from both ends. Eragon and Murtagh backed up against a wall, dragging the elf with them, and Paltis relocated herself in front of them in a protective manner, holding her swords out wide. Even wounded she posed a fearsome sight, and the soldiers kept their distance as they formed a menacing half-circle around them.

There was a thunderous reverberation as a chunk of the ceiling was torn away to reveal the night sky. Saphira stuck her head through the hole and roared. She gripped the edge of the opening with her powerful talons and ripped off another large section of the ceiling. Three soldiers turned and ran, but the rest held their positions. With a resounding report, the central beam of the ceiling cracked and rained down heavy shingles. Confusion scattered the ranks as they tried to dodge the deadly barrage. Eragon and Murtagh pressed against the wall to avoid the falling debris. Saphira roared again, and the rest of the soldiers fled.

With a final titanic effort, Saphira tore off the rest of the ceiling before jumping into the banquet hall with her wings folded. Her weight splintered a table with a sharp crunch. Crying out with relief, Eragon threw his arms around her. She hummed contently, "I've missed you."

"Same here. There's someone else with us. Can you carry four?"

"Of course," she said, kicking shingles and tables out of the way so she could take off. Murtagh and Eragon pulled the elf out of hiding. Saphira hissed in surprise as she saw her. "An elf!"

"Yes, and the woman I saw in my dreams," Eragon explained. He helped Murtagh secure the elf into the saddle, then they both climbed onto Saphira. "I heard fighting on the roof. Are there men up there?"

"There were, but no more. Are you ready?"

"Yes."

Saphira waited for Paltis to scramble up onto her back - with some difficulty, Eragon was worried to observe - then leapt out of the banquet hall and onto the fortress's roof, where the bodies of watchmen lay scattered. "Look!" Murtagh shouted, pointing. A row of archers filed out of a tower on the other side of the roofless hall.

"Saphira, you have to take off. Now!" Eragon warned.

She unfurled her wings, ran toward the edge of the building, and propelled them over it with her powerful legs. The extra weight on her back made her drop alarmingly. As she struggled to gain altitude, Eragon heard the musical twang of bowstrings being released.

Arrows whizzed towards them in the dark. Saphira roared with pain as she was struck and quickly rolled to the left to avoid the next volley. More arrows perforated the sky, but the night protected them from the shaft's deadly bite. Distressed, Eragon bent over Saphira's neck. "Where are you hurt?"

"My wings are pierced... One of the arrows didn't go all the way through. It's still there." Her breathing was laboured and heavy.

"How far can you take us?"

"I'll make it to our camp. Alkris and Tellesa are waiting with the horses."

Eragon held onto the elf as they skimmed over Gil'ead, then left the city behind and veered eastwards, soaring up through the darkening sky.

Saphira drifted down to a clearing, landed on the crest of a hill, and rested her outstretched wings on the ground. Eragon could feel her shaking beneath him. They were only a half-league from Gil'ead.

Picketed in the clearing were Snowfire, Tornac, and Tellesa's mare. Tellesa herself rushed forward, worry written across her face. She wore her traveling garb, but had her sword belted to her side. Alkris stayed back, ever-watchful. Eragon slid to the ground and immediately turned to treat Saphira's injuries, while Murtagh left to ready the horses. Paltis stumbled away from the dragon and welcomed a tight embrace from Alkris, who began rapidly chiding her in a soft, exasperated tone.

"Thank the gods," Tellesa breathed. She cast a worried eye over Saphira. "What's wrong?"

"Archers," Murtagh answered bluntly.

Tellesa cursed. "I should have been there."

"And risk being caught unawares once more? You're a better warrior than I, but not so much a thief," Murtagh replied.

"Perhaps, but I could have... who's that?!" Tellesa had caught sight of the elf.

Murtagh gave a brief, humourless chuckle. "Another captive of the empire."

Unable to see well in the darkness, Eragon ran his hands blindly over Saphira's wings. He found three places where arrows had punctured the thin membrane, leaving bloody holes as thick around his thumb. A small piece had also been torn out of the back edge of her left wing. She shivered when his fingers brushed the injuries. He tiredly healed the wounds with words from the ancient language. Then he went to the arrow that was embedded in one of the large muscles of her flying arm. The arrowhead poked through its underside. Warm blood dripped off it.

Eragon called Tellesa over and instructed, "Hold her wing down. I have to remove this arrow." He indicated where Tellesa should grip. "This will be painful," he warned Saphira, "but it will be over quickly. Try not to struggle - you'll hurt us."

She extended her neck and grabbed a tall sapling between her curved teeth. With a yank of her head, she pulled the tree out of the ground and clamped it firmly in her jaws. "I'm ready."

"Okay," Eragon replied. "Hold on," he whispered to Tellesa, then broke off the head of the arrow. Trying not to cause any more damage, he swiftly pulled the shaft out of Saphira. As it left her muscles, she threw back her head and whimpered past the tree in her mouth. Her wing jerked involuntarily, almost tossing Tellesa aside.

With a growl, Saphira shook the tree, spraying them with dirt, and tossed it away. After Eragon sealed the wound, he checked on the unconscious elf. "You're going to have to carry her a bit longer," he told Saphira. "We can't take her on the horses and ride fast enough. Flying should be easier for you now that the arrow is out."

Saphira lowered her head. "I'll do it."

"Thank you," Eragon said. He hugged her fiercely. "What you did was incredible; I'll never forget it."

Her eyes softened. "I will go now." He backed away as she flew up in a flurry of air, the elf's hair streaming back. Seconds later they were gone. Eragon hurried to Snowfire and pulled himself into the saddle. Tellesa and Murtagh mounted up seconds later, and the Eliksni set themselves on either side of the horse riders. Eragon worried for Paltis, but as soon as he tried to speak to her about her injury, she shot his efforts down by running ahead. Alkris laughed, but he stayed with the humans as they galloped off in pursuit.

While they rode, Eragon tried to remember what he knew about elves. They had long lives - that fact was oft repeated - although he didn't know how long. They spoke the ancient language, and many could use magic. After the Riders' fall, the elves had retreated into seclusion. None of them had been seen in the empire since, barring those of the Forsworn. So why is one here now? And how did the Empire manage to capture her? If she can use magic, she's probably drugged as I was.

They traveled through the night, not stopping even when his failing strength began to slow them. He continued onwards despite burning eyes and clumsy movements. Behind them, lines of torch-bearing horsemen searched around Gil'ead for their trail.

After many bleary hours, dawn lightened the sky. By unspoken consent they stopped the horses. "We have to make camp," Eragon said wearily. "I must sleep - whether they catch us or not."

"Agreed," Murtagh replied, rubbing his eyes. "Have Saphira land. Alkris, can you call Paltis? We need to catch up."

"Eia," Alkris let out a series of quick barks while Eragon conversed with Saphira. They followed her directions and found her drinking by a stream at the base of a small cliff, the elf still slouched on her back and Paltis by her side. Saphira greeted them with a soft trill as Eragon dismounted.

Tellesa, the least tired of the trio, helped him remove the elf from Saphira's saddle and lower her to the ground. Then he sagged against the rock face, exhausted. Saphira examined the elf curiously. "I wonder why she hasn't woken up. It's been hours since we left Gil'ead."

"Who knows what they did to her?"

Murtagh followed their gazes. "As far as I know, she's the first elf the king has captured. Ever since they went into hiding, he's been looking for them without success - until now. So he's either found their sanctuary, or she was captured by chance. I think it was chance. If he found the elf haven, he would have declared war and sent his army after the elves. Since that hasn't happened, the question is 'were Galbatorix's men able to extract her people's location before we rescued her?'"

"We won't know until she regains consciousness. Tell me what happened after I was captured. How did I end up in Gil'ead?"

"The Urgals are working for the empire," Tellesa said bitterly. "I thought that would have ended with the Shade dead, but it seems not. We managed to escape and saw the Urgals deliver you to the soldiers."

Eragon glanced at Murtagh. "There... was a Shade in Gil'ead."

Tellesa stiffened and looked at him with wide eyes. "What?" She asked in a very quiet voice.

"A Shade oversaw my imprisonment. He works for the king, I think."

"What did he look like?"

Eragon tried to remember. "He was lean and fit. His hair was the colour of blood and shoulder-length, while his eyes were the hue of wine. His skin was deathly pale, almost transparent. He's dead, though. Murtagh shot him."

"I wouldn't be so sure of his fate," Murtagh mumbled.

Tellesa didn't say anything for a moment, then rose up and kicked aside a rock. The stone clattered against the cliff, and Eragon watched confused as Tellesa paced frantically, hugging herself.

"What's wrong?" He eventually asked.

"We didn't kill him!" She exclaimed, angry tears in her eyes. "We didn't kill him... Damn it all!" She shouted into the sky, seemingly expending all her energy into it. Finally, she buckled under her own exhaustion and grief, and retreated to the far side of their camp.

"Hurt?" Alkris suddenly questioned, looking between him and Tellesa, who faced away from them.

"I'll speak with her," Saphira suddenly announced. She dragged herself over to Tellesa's side and laid down her head. Eragon felt Saphira's presence close off from his and he didn't complain - they deserved privacy.

A new thought, one that caused no end of worry, crept in. His mind flashed back to the Urgals he had spoken with at Teirm and the 'master' they had mentioned. They meant the king! I insulted the most powerful man in Alagaësia! Then he remembered the horror of the slaughtered villagers in Yazuac. A sick angry feeling welled in his stomach. Glowering, Eragon said, "This will mean war! Once the people of the empire learn of this alliance, they will rebel and support the Varden."

Murtagh rested his chin in his hand. "Even if they heard of this outrage, few would make it to the Varden. With the Urgals under his command, the king has enough warriors to close the empire's borders and remain in control, no matter how disruptive people are. With such a rule of terror, he will be able to shape the empire however he wants. And though he is hated, people could be galvanized into joining him if they had a common enemy."

"Who would that be?" Eragon asked, perplexed.

"The elves and the Varden. With the right rumours they can be portrayed as the most despicable monsters in Alagaësia - fiends who are waiting to seize your land and wealth. The empire could even say that the Urgals have been misunderstood all this time and that they are really friends and allies against such terrible enemies. I only wonder what the king has promised them in return for their services."

"It wouldn't work." Eragon shook his head. "No one could be deceived that easily about Galbatorix and the Urgals. Besides, why would he want to do that? He's already in power."

"But his authority is challenged by the Varden, with whom people sympathize. There's also Surda, which has defied him since it seceded from the empire. Galbatorix is strong within the empire, but his arm is weak outside of it. As for people seeing through his deceptions, they'll believe whatever he wants them to. It's happened before." Murtagh fell silent and gazed moodily into the distance.

Eragon paused. The Eliksni had retreated to their own side of the camp, where they spoke to one another in hushed tones, and both Saphira and Tellesa were at the opposite end, engrossed in their own talks. Finally, he looked at Murtagh. "You risked your life to rescue me; I owe you for that. I couldn't have escaped on my own."

"I'm just glad I could help. It..." Murtagh faltered and rubbed his face. "My main worry now is how we're going to travel with so many men searching for us. Gil'ead's soldiers will be hunting us tomorrow; once they find the horses' tracks, they'll know you didn't fly away with Saphira."

Eragon glumly agreed. "How did you manage to get into the castle?"

Murtagh laughed softly. "By paying a steep bribe and listening to Paltis's every instruction. Did you know our guards have enchanted objects that can hide them in plain sight? But the plan wouldn't have worked without Saphira. She is the only reason we escaped. I don't know if Paltis would have been able to defeat the rest of the soldiers."

Eragon solemnly looked at the dragon. She hummed contentedly, with Tellesa leaned against her. Eragon's gaze soon switched to the elf. Reluctantly, he dragged himself upright. "We should make a bed for her."

Murtagh got to his feet and stretched out a blanket for the elf. When they lifted her onto it, the cuff of her sleeve tore on a fallen branch. Eragon began to pinch the fabric together, then gasped.

The elf's arm was mottled with bruises and cuts; some were half-healed, while others were fresh and oozing. Eragon shook his head with anger and pulled the sleeve up higher. The injuries continued to her shoulder. With trembling fingers, he unlaced the back of her shirt, dreading what might be under it.

As the leather slipped off, Murtagh cursed. The elf's back was strong and muscled, but it was covered with scabs that made her skin look like dry, cracked mud. She had been whipped mercilessly and branded with hot irons in the shape of claws. Where her skin was still intact, it was purple and black from numerous beatings. On her left shoulder was a tattoo inscribed with indigo ink. It was the same symbol that had been on the sapphire of Brom's ring. Eragon silently swore that he would kill whoever was responsible for torturing the elf.

"Can you heal this?" Murtagh asked.

"I- I don't know," Eragon replied. He swallowed back his sudden queasiness. "There's so much... but I have to try." Determined, he pulled off his gloves and said to Murtagh, "This is going to take some time. Can you get me food? Also, boil rags for bandages; I can't heal all her wounds."

"We can't make a fire without being seen," Murtagh objected. "You'll have to use unwashed cloths, and the food will be cold."

Eragon grimaced but acquiesced. He took a deep breath, then reached for the necessary magic and started working. He spoke the ancient words, "Waíse heill!" A burn shimmered under his palm, and new, unmarked skin flowed over it, joining together without a scar. He passed over bruises and other wounds that were not life-threatening - healing them all would consume the energy he needed for more serious injuries. As Eragon toiled, he marveled that the elf was still alive. She had been repeatedly tortured to the edge of death with a precision that chilled him.

Although he tried to preserve the elf's modesty, he could not help but notice that underneath the disfiguring marks, her body was exceptionally beautiful. He was exhausted and did not dwell upon it - though his ears turned red at times, and he fervently hoped that Saphira did not know what he was thinking.

He labored to dawn, pausing only at brief intervals to eat and drink, trying to replenish himself from his fast, the escape, and now healing the elf. The sun was well into the sky when he finally stood, groaning as his cramped muscles stretched. His hands were gray and his eyes felt dry and gritty. He stumbled to the the saddlebags and took a long draught from a wineskin.

"Is it done?" Murtagh asked.

Eragon nodded, trembling. He did not trust himself to speak. The entire camp spun before him; he nearly fainted. He was immensely glad when Saphira's strength quickly suffused with his own. "You did well," she said soothingly.

"Will she live?" Murtagh pressed.

"I don't... don't know," he responded in a ravaged voice. "Elves are strong, but even they cannot endure abuse like this with impunity. If I knew more about healing, I might be able to revive her, but..." He gestured helplessly. His hand was shaking so badly he spilled some of the wine. Another swig helped to steady him "We'd better start riding again."

"No! You must sleep," Murtagh protested.

"We don't have a choice," Tellesa suddenly interjected. Her eyes were red-rimmed and joyless, and she looked just as exhausted as Eragon felt.

"I can sleep in the saddle," he decided. "But we can't afford to stay here, not with the soldiers closing on us."

Murtagh reluctantly gave in. "In that case I'll lead Snowfire while you rest."

They readied the horses, strapped the elf onto a saddle, and departed the camp. The Eliksni followed without a word, just as subdued as the humans. Eragon didn't know if they got any rest either. He distantly recalled them watching him heal the elf at some points during the night, so perhaps not.

Eragon ate while he rode, trying to replace his depleted energy before he leaned forward against Snowfire and closed his eyes.

000

"It smelled like ash and rot," Paltis growled. "And it possessed all the strength of a Hive Knight, but with the speed of a Thrall. It looked human, yet it wasn't."

"Hive magic, perhaps?" Alkris asked. He was worried. Mostly for Paltis, who only allowed herself to give in to the limp when they were out of sight of the humans. Her pride was going be her death, he thought, but it was what he loved about her.

"I don't know." She shook her head almost violently. "Kiphoris-Veskirisk must be informed. Scars will not survive the Hive again."

"We will send him a message by the end of this rotation. When we are sure the humans are safe." Alkris looked back and inhaled through his nostrils. Nothing but the fresh scent of the wilds. "We will be safe to head onwards. I worry for them, though. We almost lost one."

"But we didn't." Paltis scoffed. "Just get tribute for our ether, you empty-headed fool."

Alkris closed his outer eyes and brought his helmet gently against hers. "Watch over them."

"Go, fool," she repeated, but he could hear the fondness in her voice.

AN: Thanks to Nomad Blue for editz!

I hate this chapter. The only reason I'm leaving it as is is because plot demands it.