Chapter 37: Ether and Glory
Ikharos trudged back into the grand hall. Durza was gone. All that remained was to settle the slaughter outside and tally the dead. So many dead. Nezarec had feasted well. It made his blood boil to think of all the violence and death eaten up by the Dark god - soul-kindling for whatever twisted plans he had ahead of him.
The Urgals within the hall had been rendered nothing more than cinders and ash, but they hadn't been the only people present. Two bodies lay limp and unmoving, both bloodied and ruined. Ikharos rushed to the first: the Eliksni. He removed its helmet and held a palm over its mouth. He felt no breath. Ikharos pressed a finger against its neck, just under its fang-lined jaws and fearsome mandibles. No pulse.
"Kiph's going to hate that," Xiān murmured solemnly.
"Yes he is." Ikharos left the Marauder where he was and moved onto the human. A closer look relieved it to be little more than a child - a boy that was not yet a man. Another young life cut short. Ikharos wished he could kill Durza all over again. He would have done it slower. He would have made sure the Shade suffered for every life he'd snuffed out.
Something shuddered under his touch. Ikharos frowned. "This one's alive."
"Not for long."
Ikharos dragged out what little Light he had and traced it along the grievous wound across the boy's back. There was barely enough power left to stabilize him. The boy's fate was tenuous; he'd already lost a lot of blood.
"We'll get you out of here," Ikharos softly promised him. As delicately as he could, he lifted the lad into his arms and staggered out of the hall. He followed the corridors to the front of the emptied mountain city, thoughts were wild and uncontrolled.
He had done it. He had killed Durza. Kuasta was avenged.
Ikharos didn't feel any better for it. The emptiness of fulfilled vengeance should have been familiar by then. It was far from the first time he'd ended a blood feud. And it was not the first time he'd been disappointed by it, even when all his foes lay dead.
The sounds of battle reached him when he neared the city gate. Ikharos sighed; there was still so much work to be done.
The whoosh of displaced air and the crash of something heavy landing beside him had him leaping back and readying a spike of Void. His eyes focused on the dragon not twenty feet away, who in turn flared back at him, nostrils emitting smoke. It was covered in thick blue scales. Each of its four limbs ended in massive talons designed to rend flesh. It had two large bat-like wings of stretched membrane. It had a thick, muscled neck that ended in a long, robust head with maw filled with fearsome fangs, and its eyes were of a rich blue darker than the rest of its body. Two horns crowned the beast. A line of spines ran down its back, with an unusual gap left bare over its shoulders.
Something cold pressed against his neck. Ikharos stiffened. He hadn't noticed the new figure approach. Almost as soon as the sword was held against his throat a heavy presence threw itself at his mind. Ikharos batted the assault aside almost effortlessly. The feeling of shock from the other party was rewarding. He did so love to shatter expectations.
He turned his head, unafraid. The aggressor was an elf, much to his surprise. Her ears were a dead giveaway.
"Try that again and I'll fight back," Ikharos warned her. He met her hostile glare with a bold, fearless gaze.
"Let him go," she shot back.
The boy. They wanted the boy. Ikharos gritted his teeth. "Over my dead body."
No chance in hell was he offering up a child to a dragon.
She looked, for a moment, taken off-guard, but her eyes hardened. Ikharos braced himself for the stab - it could be his chance to get close enough to snap her neck before he died. Elves were fast and he simply didn't have the patience to play anyone's games.
The dragon growled fiercely. Ikharos ignored it, but he readied his nullscape for the Ahamkara's bite all the same.
"Wait!"
The elf flinched. Her head swiveled ever so slightly. Ikharos suppressed the sudden spike of irritation. Was she really trying to-
"Ikharos!" Formora called. She stood on his other side, sword drawn but held loosely. Like she didn't expect a fight. Her helmet was lowered to obscure her face and mask her voice. "They aren't our enemies."
His eyes were once again drawn to the dragon. "I beg to differ."
"It... She's not an Ahamkara! She's a dragon!"
He wasn't seeing any difference.
"She's only angry because you... you have her Rider!"
His attention quickly diverted to the boy. The sudden movement drew blood. The blade had pierced the skin of his neck. Ikharos didn't care; the pain was fleeting. Little more than a papercut. "Touched by an Ahamkara..." He muttered.
Like Uldren.
"Wait, don't do anything rash. What if she's right?"
Ikharos paused. "There's a dragon right there."
"A dragon. Not a Wish-Dragon. Just a simple dragon. Ikharos, think. Look at it. Feel it."
He really didn't want to do it. Leaving himself open before an Ahamkara was paramount to suicide. Worse. The damage that a dragon could do with a Guardian under their control...
"I should just kill it," he decided.
"That doesn't seem right. We can't just go around killing everything we don't like the look of. We'd be no better than Citan. Or Kandak. Or Rience. Or Persaeus."
"This is different."
"Ikharos, I'm... I'm not so sure it is. Just check. For all our sakes. Before you start an interplanetary war. We have enough of those already."
"It's a damn dragon. I'm not exposing myself."
"Do you trust Formora?"
"That has nothing to do with-"
"It has everything to do with it. Take a chance. We can't win if we don't take risks."
"We can't win if I'm dead," Ikharos grumbled. He debated with himself and glared at the dragon. Finally, with immense reluctance, he probed out with his mind and searched for the dangerous edge of paracausal powers. The dragon had it in spades. For a moment hepanicked, but when the bite never came, he stopped and took stock of what he'd learned in that first split-second of discovery.
The beast in front of him was magic. It was powerful. But not Ahamkara-powerful. The magic didn't permeate every cell in its body. No, the paracausal presence presided over a central point within the dragon's body.
An Eldunarí, he realized. Just like a Nïdhwal. And, to some extent, the Aphelion.
The bite never arrived because the dragon couldn't bite in the first place. Not the way an Ahamkara could. It was a being with all the physical limitations of flesh, blood and bone, not magic and wishes. But that wasn't to say it was as ordinary as any beast of the woods.
"It's... a half-Ahamkara. A Wish-Dragon's bastard whelp. Mixed blood and muddied magic."
The paracausal potential within the creature was almost entirely dormant, but an active strand of power caught his attention. Ikharos studied it, traced it to the other end... and found himself looking at the boy.
The boy and the dragon were connected. It was a neural symbiosis.
It irked him on a personal level.
"Take him," Ikharos growled. The elven stranger hesitated, so he repeated his words. "Take him. Now."
The sword dropped. She took hold of the boy and gently laid him down on the ground. The dragon inched closer. Ikharos kept his eyes trained on the beast as he made his retreat. Formora stopped him before he could leave and said, in a quiet voice, "Thank you."
He regarded her coolly. "I hate dragons."
Ikharos moved on before she had a chance to respond. He headed towards the sound of distant screaming.
His dark thoughts and difficult mood drove him to pick up the pace. Soon the battlefield came into view; a field of bare stone stained with blood both crimson and black. A quick lookover told him all he needed to know; the Urgals had been routed, but a few stubborn bands remained and tested themselves against the Varden. A few flashes of bright light informed him that the Eliksni were steadily dismantling said belligerents.
Ikharos joined them. He Blinked and glided past ranks of tired and terrified humans and what he assumed to be dwarves, if their short stature was any indication. He closed in on an Urgal band like a shark who'd caught the scent of blood and threw himself into the fray. Xiān dropped the Eternity Edge into his hand. It was like meeting an old friend again.
But, as he soon discovered, it didn't feel right. It sliced through ramshackle armour and flesh as if none of it were there, but it had little of Orúm's grace . The Rider's blade had ruined all other swords for him. It had been perfect. Ikharos doubted he was ever going to find its equal again.
Damn that Aphelion.
The Urgals had been steadfast and stout-hearted foes, but by the time he'd slain his fourth victim their courage abandoned them and desperation set in. Ikharos dodged and danced past swords, axes, clubs, and spears. He tore through their ranks with his massive blade and cracked bone with his fists. They were big creatures, and strong because of it, but they were of mortal design. In terms of power, both physical and paracausal, he exceeded them.
It was not long before the gang all lay dead or dying. Ikharos didn't wait around; he moved onto the next, ignoring the awe-stricken stares of those soldiers who had been battling with the beasts mere minutes ago. The second group of Urgals had seen their fellows fall to him. They gave up on having any chance of fighting back and fled after the rest of their brethren into the tunnels. Ikharos let them go.
The third group were not so wise. He ripped through them; he broke horns, smashed skulls, and severed limbs. Ikharos was not a tidy fighter. His only directive was to kill them as quickly and efficiently as possible - and he did just that The fourth group he had his eyes on were already gone by the time he arrived. Melkris and Eldrin had made short work of the strange hominids. Their swords sizzled and steamed with evaporating Urgal blood. The shockshooter looked rather pleased with himself. He cheered as soon as he caught sight of Ikharos.
"Ah, Kirzen! You killed the Maw-Bitten?"
The Shade, Ikharos assumed. "Eia. Where's Kiphoris?"
Eldrin pointed southwards. "He chases these horned things to the tunnels. He herds them like prey."
A distant boom punctuated the Marauder's words. Ikharos nodded his thanks and ran towards the origin of the explosion.
He passed hundreds of humans and dwarves, who all resembled fish out of water. They were nervous, scared, and very, very confused. Ikharos couldn't blame them. Even he had no idea how he'd managed to team up with a bunch of house-born Eliksni, let alone accept their presence without resorting to violence. Kepler was a strange, strange world.
He found Kiphoris doing just what Eldrin said he was doing: herding Urgals with a Scorch Cannon into the tunnels. Hundreds ran for their lives, screaming and shouting. To them, Kiphoris must have seemed a vengeful god. The remaining stragglers found themselves viciously cut down by Shanks. Soon the Urgals had vacated the hollowed mountain entirely, leaving their dead behind.
Kiphoris lifted his head and let loose a mighty roar. The rest of the Eliksni, scattered around the battlefield, answered it with bellows of their own. Ikharos deigned not to join in; senseless shouting didn't really appeal to him.
He sucked in a nervous breath and strode up to the Captain. The Dreamer quietened and looked him over. His eyes lingered on the Eternity Edge. "Ikha Riis," he greeted with a polite nod. "It is done?"
"The Shade's dead, yeah, but..." Ikharos trailed off. He didn't want to do it, but he had been the one to find the body. The responsibility lay with him. "One of your guys are dead."
Kiphoris stilled. His four eyes narrowed and his hands clenched into fists. "No," he rasped quietly.
"Yes. Durza killed him before I could get to them. There was..." Damn that Shade. Ikharos closed his eyes. He hated this. "There was nothing I could do."
Kiphoris swung his head around. "But Paltis... she is there... Oh, Great Machine... Alkris..." His shoulders and head drooped. "Mine-friend..."
"I'm... I'm sorry," Ikharos said haltingly. He tried to retreat back to the dark thoughts of the dragon. He preferred anger over sorrow. It was easier to come to terms with. He always chose the burning pyre over the hollowed abyss.
Some Voidwalker he was.
Kiphoris recovered quickly. No, recover felt like the wrong term to Ikharos. More like gathered his wits. The Captain once more assumed the cold, hard look that Ikharos knew so well. "Our hunt has ended."
"It has."
Kiphoris looked around. "And your kin are saved. The humans here will survive another day."
"Yeah. They will."
Kiphoris looked away. The façade dropped for a split second. Ikharos caught a brief glimpse of the soul-eating grief beneath. "I must tell Paltis.." The Captain exhaled slowly. "Come with me. I believe your charge is with her."
"My charge?" Ikharos frowned. He didn't have any students. Not on Kepler. Hopefully, anyways.
The Captain didn't answer. Kiphoris stalked off. He marched straight to where a distant Eliksni picked through the corpses, occasionally stabbing one. The air was heavy with the scent of blood. It was powerful enough to make a normal man sick, but Ikharos had seen too many battles for it to faze him.
The universe had worse to offer than the stench of war.
The Marauder they sought out wasn't alone. She was flanked by two humans, who routinely slashed at any Urgal corpse they suspected of simply playing dead. The ground was littered with bodies. They turned around when Kiphoris cleared his throat. Ikharos paused, then with slow consideration, removed his helmet. "Tellesa?" He asked. All his hate for the dragon, his guilt for the fallen Marauder, it was all swept away by the overpowering senses of gratitude and relief.
She perked up and studied him for a solid minute. Then, "Ikharos?"
"One and the same."
Tellesa smiled broadly. "You're here. Helping the Varden."
"Sure." She didn't need to know that it was entirely coincidental. His target had been Durza and solely that.
"Last I saw you, you were sailing off to Vroengard."
Ikharos shrugged. "Didn't suit me. Too much rain."
"You left the seat of the Dragon Riders' power... because it rained?"
"Essentially."
She shook her head. "You're a strange man. It's... good to see you again."
"Likewise."
She gestured to her fellows. "This is Murtagh. He's a noble sort. You'll like him; I know you will. And this is Paltis. She's been protecting us for a while. And... well, I take it you already know Kiphoris."
"I do," Ikharos said in a neutral voice.
Tellesa turned her attention to the Captain. "Hello, Kiphoris."
"Greetings, Tellesa Corsair-Spirit," Kiphoris replied warmly. His eyes visibly brightened. It didn't last long. When he regarded Paltis, his inner eyes closed. "I bear ill news."
The Marauder leaned on her sword, eyeing Ikharos suspiciously. Her helmet was clutched under the brook of a lower arm, revealing her scarlet plumage and fearsome jaws. "Who this?" She asked in broken English.
"He's Ikharos. The wizard I talked about," Tellesa explained. She frowned up at the Scar Captain. "What ill news?"
Kiphoris hesitated. When he spoke, his voice was chock full of emotion. "Alkris is... gone."
For a long, stretched out moment nothing happened. Then Paltis dropped her sword. Her eyes widened with sudden, unadulterated horror. "Nama," she whispered. Then, louder, "Nama!"
She released a long mournful howl. Paltis stumbled back and almost tripped over a dead Urgal, righted herself just in time and clutched her head in shaking hands. Ether-tears streamed through her fingers.
"Alkris?" Tellesa's smile died away. "No..."
She looked down at her sword. Ikharos only then realized it was a shock blade.
"Oh shit," he breathed.
Murtagh inhaled sharply. He was young, too young to be on a battlefield. His face went pale, but he didn't say anything. He wrapped an arm around Tellesa's shoulders. She leaned on him, eyes scrunched up.
Ikharos looked away. There goes the good feelings.
000
"Who are you?"
Formora stalled. She hadn't prepared for this. At length she said, "Aí fricai. Néiat aí fjandí."
The other elf - who bore an indigo tattoo of the Yawë on her shoulder - fixed her with a piercing look. "You call yourself a friend, but I do not know you. You say you are not an enemy, but can I trust that? Your statement is too broad; you could be deceiving me."
"I'm no foe of yours. But I am to Galbatorix and his servants, of that you can be assured." Formora helped her load the child, the Dragon Rider, onto the blue dragon's saddle. The sounds of the drake breathing, the smell of the smoke - it brought back memories. Pleasant memories. Dark ones too.
"Will you not give me your name?" The other elf pressed.
"... Zeshus." Wishbreaker. The Eliksni-given title was one Formora decided she would bear with pride. It would suit her purposes. "And what of you?"
"... Arya." When the boy was secured, the other elf crossed her arms.
"And you, dragon?" Formora turned her attention back to the magnificent creature before her. The dragon craned her neck around to study her curiously. When the dragon's mind reached out, Formora was quick to close down her defenses but glad to hear the deep, powerful voice.
"I am Saphira. Well met, Zeshus."
"Well met, Saphira."
"Who was that? Before?"
"That was..." She hesitated. There was a chance Ikharos would have want the same thing as she, to keep his name from reaching unintended ears, but... no. Formora doubted it. He was new to Alagaësia. No one knew him. "Ikharos," she finished.
The dragon's eyes widened ever so slightly. "The wizard?"
Formora paused. So people do know him… Oh. "Yes. Where did you hear that?"
"A woman by the name of Tellesa spoke of him."
"And he spoke to me of Tellesa." She nodded. It made sense.
A dragon! Formora thought with a thrill. A free dragon! A free Rider! The future is bright!
If only it weren't buried beneath a mountain of death. So many had already died, and many more were bound to. Even so, the wheels of fate had begun to turn, and that in itself was cause for at least a little celebration.
"The boy is injured; he needs a healer," Formora told them, refocusing on the present. Arya leapt onto Saphira's back and secured the Rider. "Go, quickly."
The dragon took off without another word. The sight of her flying off into the darkness of the hollowed mountain was beautiful. Formora hadn't hoped to ever see anything like that again, but she had. A genuine free dragon.
When Saphira had disappeared, Formora let out a breath she hadn't realized she was holding in and set off after Ikharos. The Risen was independent and clearly capable of taking care of himself, but he was equally given to being overly rough and bluntly-spoken as a diplomat. His handling of the Eliksni in Ceunon proven just that. It was nothing short of a miracle that they had managed to gain an alliance in the first place. She set off at a brisk run and left Tronjheim behind. The dwarven architecture put her on edge; it was eerily similar, in terms of design, to what they had found in the Blasted Mountains. She didn't fancy finding a second Aphelion. The resident immortal had scarcely managed to survive the first.
Formora found Ikharos with Kiphoris outside, in the aftermath of the battle. The Eliksni Captain wore a defeated expression. The Risen, on the other hand, still looked irritated.
"What happened?" She asked worriedly.
Ikharos shook his head ever so slightly. "Dead Scar. Durza got him."
"Oh." Formora debated with herself before laying a hand on Kiphoris's metal-clad shoulder. It was quite a reach. "I'm sorry."
Kiphoris dipped his head. "Alkris was of good-spirit. He was a friend." The Eliksni sighed heavily. It filtered through his helmet as a hiss. "I worry for Alkris's mate. Paltis will not fare well with his absence."
A long silence ensued. Eventually, Formora asked, "How long do most Eliksni live?"
Kiphoris looked up. "By human years? Thousands."
That... was far longer than she had ever expected.
"Oh." Formora didn't know what else to say. "How long did you know him?"
"I have lost count. My time with the screaming machines changed those values. Almost a century, if I were to guess. Paltis knew him longer." Kiphoris sagged and glanced to the side. Formora followed his gaze. It led to another Eliksni, some distance away, who had curled up into a ball. "They knew of one another since they were recently-hatched kelekhs. They hatched a child together..."
"What... happened to the child?"
"Death."
Formora didn't reply. She couldn't. Ikharos looked just how she felt: lost.
The Risen inhaled fitfully. "You... probably don't want me here. I need to check up on Tellesa." He left them.
Kiphoris looked after him. "I..." He trailed off and suddenly found the ground so very interesting.
Formora dropped her hand. When Ikharos was gone, she asked, "What were you going to say?"
The Captain raised his head. "Nothing."
"It did not sound like nothing.
He studied her for a long time. Eventually, he said in a gruff voice, "Your mind is almost as sharp as your ears."
Formora frowned, unsure whether she should smile or not. "Did you..."
He chuckled. It sounded sad.
000
Ikharos was cut off by a group of soldiers before he could reach Tellesa. They eyed him nervously - either they'd seen him fight the Urgals or they'd heard of it from their friends. They were led by a dark-skinned man in a wonderfully pristine suit of chainmail and the odd steel plate. They clutched weapons in taut grips.
"At ease," Ikharos told them, "I'm not a bad guy."
Their leader frowned. "Who are you?"
"Ikharos Torstil, Guardian of Earth."
The lead soldier raised an eyebrow.
"I'm here with Kiphoris, the Dreamer."
The eyebrow only climbed higher.
Ikharos sighed. "I'm... the 'wizard'. Of Teirm."
Of course that made perfect sense. The officer nodded, slowly. "Ah," he said with some hesitation. "And... how are you here?"
"I arrived in the Falle-" Xiān gave him a mental kick. Ikharos rapidly switched gears. "The Eliksni Skiff."
The eyebrows were back at it.
"The big flying metal thing."
"Ah."
"You have a habit of saying 'ah' a lot, don't you?"
The soldier cracked a nervous, wary smile. "My apologies, but so much of this beggars belief..."
"Then start believing. Can we get whatever this is out of the way?" Ikharos crossed his arms. "A friend of mine's neck-deep in grief and I want to make sure she won't do anything foolish."
One of the soldiers - who looked nothing like a soldier, now that Ikharos had a better look - glared at him. The man was bald and thi, and he wore robes of purple and gold. His very appearance screamed mage. "You must open your mind for inspection," he demanded.
The lead soldier narrowed his eyes, but otherwise did and said nothing.
Ikharos huffed. "You want to get in my head?"
The bald man nodded.
"No."
"It is not negotiable."
"I just killed a Shade. Do you really want to give me trouble?" Ikharos inquired.
Silence ensued. Deafening silence. The kind of silence that wasn't quite pleasant to be the centre of. Finally, the leader said, "You claim to have slain a Shade? We have seen none."
"It was in your city. He tunneled through the floor with a group of Urgals." Out of the corner of his eye, Ikharos spotted the bald man flinch as if struck. "I killed them."
"But... Eragon was..." Ajihad trailed off. His voice grew urgent. "The boy, the Rider, did you see him?!"
Ikharos scowled. "Yes. He's with an elf. And that damn dragon."
"Is he...?"
"Unharmed? No. The Shade had him alone for time. But I suspect he'll live. Dragons don't like it when their toys break. Let's cut this short; what do you want?"
The lead soldier stepped forward. "I want answers. What... what is happening?"
Ikharos jutted a thumb over his shoulder. "Kiphoris, a Captain of the Eliksni Great House of Scar, has come to your aid. I've arrived to kill Durza, but that was personal. We'll only be here a short while."
"Scars..." The soldier squinted. "How do we know you are not our foes?"
"We haven't killed you yet. That's how." Ikharos set his jaw. "You're the Varden, aren't you?"
"We are. But... how did you find us?"
"Your cousin. Sagabato-no Inapashunna Fadawar, right? I think that's his name We were with the Inapashunna tribe when they received your message."
"Why?"
"Why we come to your aid? Because you mentioned Eliksni."
"Paltis and Alkris?"
"Ye-es..." Just Paltis now. "We've been looking for them. Arriving just in time to help you lot was a happy little coincidence, wasn't it?"
The soldier nodded reluctantly. He held out a hand. "I am Ajihad. Leader of the Varden."
Ikharos shook it. "Ikharos Torstil. I've worked with a rebel cell before, back in Kuasta. Rendan led it. The empire's no friend of mine. Neither are Urgals. Does that assure you, Ajihad?"
"It... does." Ajihad hesitated. "Rendan sent letters saying as much, but... I couldn't believe what I read."
"And now?"
"You slaughtered those Urgals. With ease." Ajihad exhaled. "Perhaps Rendan was right. Even so... I cannot take your word for it. Would you not allow my man here to check your mind so that we are assured you are no agent of the king?"
"No." Ikharos was getting impatient. The dragon, and the dead Scar, had put him in a foul mood. The current exchange was not helping. Not in the slightest. "My mind is my own. I won't let anyone meddle with that."
"Nosu eru néiat aí fjandí abr du varden. Du könungr huildr né domia ofan edtha."
Ikharos half-turned. Formora glanced back, suddenly standing beside him. It was impossible to tell what she was thinking, what with the helmet obscuring her face.
The humans recoiled at the sound of her modulated voice. After overcoming the initial shock, Ajihad frowned and looked at his mage. The bald man stared at Formora, then cautiously dipped his head. "They say they are no enemy of the Varden. And that the king holds no dominance over them."
A tension left the soldiers. Ajihad offered them a relieved smile. "That will have to do. And you are...?"
"Zeshus," Formora answered.
Ikharos felt a presence gently brush against his consciousness. He hesitantly met it with a sharpened probe. "Don't reveal my name," Formora told him. "It would cause complications we could do without."
Mental communication with someone other than his Ghost was a novelty. Ikharos wasn't sure if he liked it - but he acquiesced all the same.
Tellesa was far from well, but it did little to douse her fire. She worked with the soldiers of the Varden to secure the hollowed mountain, Farthen Dûr, from the Urgals. When the surrounding flats were secure, she and Murtagh joined the dwarves as they returned to the city and assessed the damage within. Ikharos let them go; he thought it best to let them busy themselves.
Kiphoris met with Ajihad not long after. Their discussion was brief, but both came away satisfied. The newly-arrived Eliksni were free to stay, according to the Captain, and the Varden were going to leave them in peace while things cleared up. Kiphoris was permitted to delve into the city with Melkris to fetch Alkris's body. The entire crew stood silent outside the landed Skiff when the two returned, heads bowed respectfully. Ikharos watched from the sidelines. He didn't want to intrude; it felt wrong to even be there.
The Skiff had landed in a spot far from the battle, where the stench of broken bodies wouldn't reach them. It was in plain view of the city, which he assumed was one of the conditions of them staying. The Varden - and the unusual creatures that were the dwarves - wanted to be able to watch them. Messengers from the city started to arrive when the sun reached its zenith, but Formora cut them off before they could reach the mourning Scars. She made promises and assurances again and again to satisfy their hosts, but it was all solely in an endeavour to fend them off until Kiphoris was ready to deal with them.
"This isn't quite the happy ending I envisioned," Ikharos muttered. He sat with his legs crossed not far from the Skiff, attempting to meditate. His mind was a whirlwind of activity, though. He couldn't find the calm to walk through the serene pools of the nullscape.
"What did you envision?" Xiān asked. Her fins drooped. The dejected mood was contagious.
"That Durza would die, and those we sought to save would be safe and sound. Not... this. It's a mess."
"You mean the battle or... Alkris?"
"Both. This was another of Nezarec's plans. Or Galbatorix's. Either or. They profit from all this."
"And have you got a solution for that?"
"Beyond killing them? Not really. There's so much wrong here. So much for us to do. And too many enemies. We can't fight them all. We need to take action. Take an offensive stance. All we're doing now is trying to mitigate the damage they're dishing out. It's not working." Ikharos got to his feet and started to pace. "We need to do something."
"Do what? There's still, like, a bajillion things that want you dead. If you start swinging, they'll all take notice. All of them. The Exos tracked us to Ceunon. They could be tracking us now and we wouldn't know. If we try to kill Galbatorix then we'll be walking onto their turf, into their hands. We wouldn't survive, let alone succeed."
Ikharos growled and kicked a loose pebble. It soared for a solid ten seconds before clattering on the stone floor. He attempted, with limited success, to control his breathing. His anger didn't like being smothered.
"... I could assist, o Child of Light..."
"Shut up!" Ikharos snarled. He glared at the Skiff. He hoped the feather could feel the hate.
Xiān landed on his shoulder. "You need to quit brooding. Let's just take it one step at a... Nevermind, looks like you're wanted."
Ikharos frowned. "What?"
"Kirzen!" A Scar called from the Skiff. It was the Splicer, Javek.
Ikharos wandered closer, wary and concerned all at once. "What is it?"
The Splicer was joined by Melkris. The shockshooter held a metal flask of something. Ether, Ikharos presumed. "Do not ask, just join us!"
Ikharos frowned and begrudgingly the two into the vessel. Within the Skiff's hold was entirety the gathered crew, all their helmets set aside. Calzan, Kiphoris, Eldrin, Paltis and now both Javek and Melkris. Formora leaned against the bulkhead, eyeing her drink curiously. Alkris's corpse was on one of the metal benches towards the front of the ship, dark-eyed and motionless. His armour had been polished and his cloak replaced. Kida stood beyond him in standby mode.
Obleker-17, the small Servitor, loomed over them and refilled their cups. Ikharos hummed to himself; so it was ether.
Someone pressed a flask into his hands. "Join us," Melkris said in a solemn voice. "Please. A sorrow shared is a sorrow lightened."
Ikharos blinked. "That's... unusually insightful of you."
Melkris closed his inner eyes. "I am always insightful."
"No," Eldrin groaned. "You are ridiculous."
The shockshooter gnashed his fangs. "Gah! None of you Ba'sha comprehend my great wisdom."
Calzan snorted. "Of course not. Wisdom? Wise Melkris? Ha!"
"Just sit, you fool," Kiphoris grunted. His eyes were downcast.
"Fine. Fine!" Melkris seated himself as dramatically as he possibly could. Ikharos took the spot opposite him, beside Javek. "Now we drink, yes?"
Paltis muttered something under her breath and took a draught. The rest of them followed suit. Ikharos made sure he only sipped the ether, just to test it. It had a fresh, unique taste full of minty sweetness, but it was ice-cold. He openly chuckled when Formora suddenly cradled her head after having taken swig of her own.
"Brain freeze?" He asked snidely.
She glowered and put her drink aside. "Didn't expect that," she mumbled. Her Eliksni was improving.
Kiphoris snorted. "I have heard, from mine-father, that our world of Riis was cold. Colder than Earth and Kepler. The natural ether was cold enough to kill those unprepared. We drink it like this to remember the home we left behind."
"Do you... remember?" Formora asked curiously. Her wince faded away.
"Remember Riis? Nama. I was hatched in a Ketch in Sol. Mine-childhood was spent when mine-House, the Gentle Weavers, settled amongst the gas giants." He leaned back. "The first humans I met were those who lived in the scattered ruins orbiting those worlds. Strange people indeed. Faces full of grasping limbs, bodies forged of shadow..."
Ikharos closed his eyes. His first encounter with Xûr had been a tense, nerve-wracking experience. There was something inherently wrong with the Jovian's visage. Something unnatural. He had made a point of keeping away from the Agent of the Nine after that, damned be the relics from the outer worlds.
No one said anything for a while after that. Eventually, Paltis growled, "It's too quiet."
Melkris perked up. "Songs? Shall we sing?"
"Not you," Calzan said quickly. "Your songs would drive a Wizard to madness."
"Oh, you," Melkris glared at the grizzled pilot. "I am glad we are friends. You are so supportive." Javek laughed. The shockshooter turned on him. "And what of you, eh? Can you sing?"
Javek froze. His laughter died away. "Eh... Nama. I think it would be best if I did not."
Melkris tutted. "Singing keeps our memories alive. Have you heard Inelziks-Poet recite her verses? She gives life to the songs of Riis. Her voice lends strength to our fallen ancestors and bids them to join us in times of celebration."
"I have heard her, yes, but I do not see-
"Singing is important, young Javek. It is important. It keeps a House hale and healthy."
"I thought that was ether?"
"Ether too. But don't mistake mine-words. Songs are important to all peoples. Ah! What of the songs of Sol?" Melkris turned his gaze towards Ikharos. "Might you regale us with the music of your people?"
"I... don't know about that… I don't sing either."
Kiphoris shifted. "There are many Eliksni songs, but there is one I am sure you are familiar with, Ikha Riis. The Verses of Onslaught?"
Ikharos hesitated. "... It's a Devil's song."
"Eia."
"It's a song about battle between them and my kind. The Battle of Six Fronts."
"Shall I recite it?"
The rest of the Eliksni leaned forward with eager expressions. Ikharos, after a moment's hesitation, shrugged; what did he care?
So Kiphoris inhaled deeply... and he began.
"Kell Drifis the Daring declaimed to the dread-makers:
'Whirlwind whisked us to this war-weary world;
We galloped the galaxy to grasp the Great Machine.
It is not our fate to fail on this field!'
And they went, war-whooping for the white orb, to the wall.
Mark the marvelous manslayers who that day marched:
Vililiks the Unvanquished, Vithriks and Vithiliks,
Pirthis and Pithax, called Peerless and Psirris-Slayer,
Rilliks the Revenger and Erivir the Righteous,
But the brutal ones with their bodies barred the way,
The deathless dead ones they call dih-dans.
Rahdighask reaved ten rikhas into Rilliks's range,
His death-blows drove back the ranks of Drekhs,
No numbers could negate the dih-dan's nerve,
Until Kiriviks King-Killer called out to the crew.
Summoning her shockshooters, the sly Baroness stood
Against Rahdighask at the twelfth rikha and rallied the rabble.
Gunned down again and again, the gruesome dih-dans grew afraid,
And the dih-dans drew back at last, defied and defeated,
And marched no more into the field of the machine-loyal!
Then the righteous righter of wrongs rallied the rabble;
Yes, Kiriviks King-Killer called for a counter charge!
I wish you could witness the waves of warm-Ethered warbands!
The dih-dans drew ranks, doughty as walls of durmatter,
But Kiriviks carved cracks in their undead configuration!
Fearful were Kiriviks's Firebreak foes as back they fell.
We thought the white orb, Whirlwind-Maker, we had won!
But alas! Lovely Kiriviks's laughter was not long-lived.
Before the barriers of broad-shouldered dih-dans broke,
She was slain, singing to the sphere, by Osiriks,
The Wirliks who wended his way unwatched through the war-land.
Remember Kiriviks, the righteous who halted ravaging Rahdighask!"
The assembled Eliksni hummed and blinked in appreciation.
"Were you there?" Melkris suddenly inquired. Ikharos realized that the shockshooter was asking him.
He shook his head. "No. I was on the other side of the planet at the time. I had my own little kingdom. City called Salzburg."
"You were a Kell?"
"Not really. I had people living there under my watch, but I served them rather than the other way around."
"How is that?"
"I protected them from threats, be it roaming Risen Warlords or hungry Devil gangs."
Melkris closed his outer eyes. "You fought Devils! Dangerous fighters, those sons and daughters of Daneks."
Ikharos didn't know how to reply, so he kept his silence.
"What of human songs?"
"I don't sing," he repeated.
Xiān twitched her fins. "We heard Formora sing. She's really good."
Attention diverted to the elf. Formora spared the Ghost an annoyed look. Xiān only snickered.
"Will you sing?" Calzan questioned.
Formora inclined her head. She took a brief moment to gather herself and, in a soft and enchanting voice, sang:
"Du daga evarína flautja ofan,
Myrkí thrífa hlaupa framvír älf.
Du fjandeya unin du myrkí falla hrygr medh älf,
Un eitha du landr wiol du fricaya abr du dag
Garmr hlaupa un bita,
Theirr mor'amr theirra munnr un ready aí faedhír!
Du orúmar sharjaví undir du traevamar,
Theirr varda un geta.
Du brisingr brenna un astorí nosu,
Vae thrífa aln älf wiol verma.
Du frósja drahtr aln du hurdh un jierda du grind,
Mar du brisingr heill nosu pessu.
Du branar abr du evaríneya kuasta kalla wiol nosu,
Aurboda du eld veidhar unin du myrkr.
Aetti vae néiat huildr theirr?"
It ended quicker than he thought it would. Ikharos had never heard anything quite like it. He wanted to hear more. There was an impossible beauty to it.
Formora kept her eyes on her drink. Satisfied it had warmed long enough, she took a sip. There was no head-cradling. No brain freeze.
"That was..." Melkris started to say.
Javek clapped. "Excellent!" He finished.
Kiphoris tilted his head. "That was the magic-language, yes?"
She nodded. "Yes."
The Captain studied her. "Can this magic-language be taught?"
Every head snapped around to look at him. Kiphoris ignored them all.
Formora hesitated. Then, in English, "Yes. The language can. But the magic must already be within someone."
"How can this magic be found?"
She finally looked up and met his indecipherable gaze. "Start with something small. Something light. Then.. say reisa. It would take time. If the object rises, you can perform magic. If it does not rise, then you cannot."
"What do you intend, Kiphoris-Veskirisk pak Drakkir?" Calzan asked carefully.
Kiphoris didn't say anything for some time. Then, "I tire of losing friends to magic. We need magic of our own." He sighed. "It is a matter for another day. Let us leave it be."
The Eliksni gradually moved on. Some sang. When they had their fill of music, they turned to riddles. When the riddle games ran out, they regaled their fellows with fantastical stories. It lulled Ikharos into finally letting go of his remaining reservations. He joined in when he saw fit, and laughed when prompted. Calzan was witty and Melkris absurd, supplying more than ample entertainment for everyone else. Obleker was ripe with ether and provided for them until all the drinks ran out and the eyes of the Eliksni glowed as bright as stars. Formora's fractured Low Speak was little issue. The Scars were likewise not well-versed in English, barring their Captain, and it made for a lovely mess of continuous misinterpretations.
Night had long since fallen when Melkris stood and announced a round of boasting.
"Boasting?" Formora asked curiously, smiling softly.
Ikharos nodded, trying and failing to hide a grin. "Customary for a warrior-culture like theirs. They'll sing their own praises. It's a competition, to see who's the greatest warrior among them."
"What's to stop them from lying?"
"Honour."
It was Javek, most inexperienced among them, who went first. "I am a Splicer, not a renowned fighter. I think I will lose."
"Just sing your deeds!" Calzan demanded.
The Splicer closed his outer eyes. "Eia, I was getting to that!"
Calzan recoiled. Everyone else laughed. The ether had given the young Scar courage.
Javek cleared his throat. "Right... I am Javek, the Technician. I endured docking without crying out. I fought for the right of mine-arms and won them back. When we fought the Cabal at Melechor I slew a Legionary with mine-rifle. I killed seven Hive Thrall at Vinis-2."
He sat down and looked around expectantly.
"The only good Hive is a dead Hive," Ikharos said at last. "Always be proud of that."
Melkris cackled. "Agreed!"
Calzan rolled his shoulders and stood. "I'll take mine-turn... I am Calzan, the Far-Flighted! I traversed the glacial chaos of the Auchan Shards! I have danced with Cabal pilots all my life and left them clueless - or dead! I led a raid against the military installation of Ciutani-Eria! At Melechor our Skiffs broke the Cabal's ground defenses, and I led that aerial formation! At Vinis-2 I burned out three Tombships! And here, I took down two Cabal Threshers! I outran both the storm and Krayd! I have killed too many of those horned not-humans to count!"
He bowed and returned to his perch.
"Too much pride!" Melkris challenged. "You exaggerate yourself!"
"I do not!"
"You do too!"
Eldrin grumbled. "I'll go. Before they kill each other." He sucked in a deep breath. "I am Eldrin, Broken Claw." He held up one of his hands. The thumb-claw had been shattered halfway down. "I broke this leaping from a falling Skiff. I slew Manatriks, Traitor-Sworn who attempted to finish Taniks's twisted mission and wipe out the true-blooded Scar Kells. I survived the poisonous wastes of Vunonopei, where I and mine-comrades were stalked for many Riis-days by the Sludge-Serpents! I have slipped through the ranks of twelve Cabal legions and caused them no shortage of mechanical pains! I sabotaged the ship of Valus Fhre'ic and thus killed him! I fought alongside Kiphoris at the battle of Melechor and killed a dozen Cabal shieldbearers! A Psion Flayer fell by my hand, after I had hidden my thoughts with dreams! At Vinis-2, I took a Witch's head and put her newly-hatched brood to the sword!"
"So very violent..." Formora muttered in English. Her words were offset by her thoughtful smile. Her face and neck were flushed; the ether was strong. It could have very well been of the enhanced double-strength variety.
"What is it you say?" Eldrin sat down, scrutinizing her with a curious look. Ikharos translated for her. "Ah, but we do not leave easy lives."
"No, we do not," Kiphoris agreed. He spoke in English. "Our lives are fraught with peril. Since Riis fell it has always been like that. We learn to fight and kill or we die."
"I don't mean to offend," Formora said quickly. "It will only take some getting used to. Your people are... fascinating."
"Thank you." Kiphoris inclined his head. "Now, what of you Melkris? Care to elaborate on your deeds?"
"Of course!" The shockshooter jumped to his feet. He was shaking with excitement. "I am Melkris, the Sharp-Eyed! I crossed the razor-reed sea of Kilnichi and emerged unscathed! Mine-brothers have all expressed envy for my skilled gaze! One even threatened to cut out mine-eyes, but Taksa is a fool that no one takes seriously!"
Eldrin and Calzan groaned in unison.
"What? I'm right!"
"Melkris," Kiphoris said in a warning voice.
"Bah! I have claimed the lives of many Psion Infiltrators! At Llecani I dueled the legendary Operant Sheukan and claimed his medals as my trophies! At Melechor I forced an entire Cabal Maniple into hiding behind an energy barrier, lest they feel my Arc bite! When we made battle with the Hive at Vinis-2, I took out the third eye of my every victim! Just one shot each! No misses!"
"So you don't miss?" Ikharos inquired dubiously.
"Eia, that is exactly what I mean!" Melkris smugly closed his outer eyes.
"That's... commendable."
Calzan huffed. "Do not encourage him, Ikha Riis. He will become insufferable."
"He already is," Eldrin muttered.
Melkris scoffed. "Bah! You are a psesiska-"
Xiān lifted into the air. "Mind if I have a go?"
Melkris's growing retort died off. "You?!" He said incredulously.
"Yeah, me. Sure, I don't have swords or guns or even hands, but I've been in a few scraps. Haven't I?" She turned to Ikharos.
"You have," he admitted.
"See?"
"Little Light-Servitor has been in fights?" Melkris settled back down. "Tell us."
Xiān's single eye brightened happily. "I am Xiān, the Amazing! I killed a Red Legion Psion by transmatting its liver! I killed thirty-something Scorn with a Drake tank! I wrestled a raccoon!"
She finished there. The Eliksni blinked. Eventually, Javek asked, "What is... raccoon?"
"Beasts unlike any other! Their viciousness if unparalleled and their might is-"
"They are furred creatures who steal food from others," Kiphoris explained. "Feisty and sly, but very small. Though..." He eyed the Ghost thoughtfully, "To little Xiān, they would be fearsome indeed."
"And... Scorn?" Calzan inquired.
"Eliksni reanimated by corrupted ether. Nothing more than feral, mutated beasts," Ikharos supplied. "Infected by Darkness, Dragon-magic and Hive curses."
Kiphoris growled. "Fikrul will suffer for that..."
"He already has, tenfold. Not enough, but still."
A short silence fell over the Skiff.
"What of you, Ikha Riis?" Javek eventually pressed. "Will you make your boasts?"
Ikharos inhaled. "Sure," he said. He stood and crossed his arms. His heartbeat picked up - it could have been nervousness or apprehension or a mix of the two. "I am Ikharos, the Kingkiller, the Dragonslayer, Aphelionbane. I slew Oryx, God-King of the Hive, twice. I killed his physical body and then I killed his immortal soul in his throne world. Three Ahamkara have fallen by my hand: Huginn who coiled around the mountain Ozza Mons, Esatos who haunted the ruins of Dublin, and Riven who was Taken by Oryx and then instructed to cause chaos across the Reef from her cage within the Dreaming City. I killed the Aphelion in the caverns of Du Fells Nángoröth."
He paused for a brief second before he continued. "I killed Draksis, the Kell of Winter, in the heart of his Ketch. I killed Malok, Pride of Oryx, and Alak-Hul, the Darkblade. I brought down Sekrion, the Nexus Mind. I defeated the bond-brothers Valus Mau'ual and Valus Tlu'urn. I killed four Scorn Barons: Araskes the Trickster, Hiraks the Mindbender, Elykris the Machinist, and Kaniks the Mad Bomber."
Ikharos finished and quietly took his seat.
Kiphoris hummed. "Hive gods, Axis minds, Wish-Dragons, Star-Eater, Cabal War-Leaders, undying Barons, and a warrior Kell. That is a long list, Ikha Riis. But you have slain more. Armies of foes. Armies of grunting militants, screaming machines, and green-eyed wretches. You are more a weapon than a being." The Captain went quiet for a tense handful of seconds. "Such skill in battle is commendable. I will not deny you that."
Ikharos hesitantly dipped his head in thanks.
"I still cannot believe you killed the champion of the Maw!" Melkris gushed. "What was it like to face Oryx?"
"Scary."
"How did you kill him?" Javek questioned.
"I put a beam of Arc through his heart. Even gods can't come back from a shattered soul."
"You are a creature of the Great Machine..."
Everyone went silent. Curiosities died away into a nervous concern. All eyes were on Paltis. She had hardly said a thing all night, seated beside the body of her mate. She ignored the stares and focused solely on Ikharos.
"What is it like?" She asked him. "Our god?"
Ikharos wracked his brain for an answer to encapsulate all his thoughts about the Traveler. In the end, he chose a single word.
"Beautiful."
000
Snatches of the Shade's memories continued to flash through Eragon. A whirlwind of dark events and emotions overwhelmed him, making it impossible to think. Submerged in the maelstrom, he knew neither who nor where he was. He was too weak to cleanse himself of the alien presence that clouded his mind. Violent, cruel images from the Shade's past exploded behind his eyes until his spirit cried out in anguish at the bloody sights.
A pile of bodies rose before him … innocents slaughtered by the Shade's orders. He saw still more corpses—whole villages of them - taken from life by the sorcerer's hand or word. There was no escape from the carnage that surrounded him. He wavered like a candle flame, unable to withstand the tide of evil. He prayed for someone to lift him out of the nightmare, but there was no one to guide him. If only he could remember what he was supposed to be: boy or man, villain or hero, Shade or Rider; all was jumbled together in a meaningless frenzy. He was lost, completely and utterly, in the roiling mass.
Suddenly a cluster of his own memories burst through the dismal cloud left by the Shade's malevolent mind. All the events since he had found Saphira's egg came to him in the cold light of revelation. His accomplishments and failures were displayed equally. He had lost much that was dear to him, yet fate had given him rare and great gifts; for the first time, he was proud of simply who he was. As if in response to his brief self-confidence, the Shade's smothering blackness assaulted him anew. His identity trailed into the void as uncertainty and fear consumed his perceptions. Who was he to think he could challenge the powers of Alagaësia and live?
He fought against the Shade's sinister thoughts, weakly at first, then more strongly. He whispered words of the ancient language and found they gave him enough strength to withstand the shadow blurring his mind. Though his defenses faltered dangerously, he slowly began to draw his shattered consciousness into a small bright shell around his core. Outside his mind he was aware of a pain so great it threatened to blot out his very life, but something - or someone - seemed to keep it at bay.
He was still too weak to clear his mind completely, but he was lucid enough to examine his experiences since Carvahall. Where would he go now … and who would show him the way? Without Brom, there was no one to guide or teach him how to be as he was meant.
Come to me.
He recoiled at the touch of another consciousness - one so vast and powerful it was like a mountain looming over him. This was who was blocking the pain, he realized. Like Arya's mind, music ran through this one: deep amber-gold chords that throbbed with magisterial melancholy. Finally, he dared ask, Who... who are you?
One who would help. With a flicker of an unspoken thought, the Shade's influence was brushed aside like an unwanted cobweb. Freed from the oppressive weight, Eragon let his mind expand until he touched a barrier beyond which he could not pass. I have protected you as best I can, but you are so far away I can do no more than shield your sanity from the pain.
Again: Who are you to do this?
There was a low rumble. I am Osthato Chetowä, the Mourning Sage. And Togira Ikonoka, the Cripple Who Is Whole. Come to me, Eragon, for I have answers to all you ask. You will not be safe until you find me.
But how can I find you if I don't know where you are? He asked, despairing.
Trust Arya and go with her to Ellesméra - I will be there. I have waited many seasons, so do not delay or it may soon be too late.… You are greater than you know, Eragon. And you are in good hands. A warrior has arrived. Trust in him. Trust in those the warrior calls friends. You must listen to him... and you must make him listen.
A warrior? Eragon thought deeply, wracking his mind for such. He first imagined Brom, but he was gone. Tellesa? She was brave, and clearly ready to take the fight to those she thought to be evil, but she was only one person in a sea of millions. Then who?
The angel, he realized at last.
He sensed approval as he reached that conclusion. You are learning, said the Mourning Sage, drawing nearer. A vision passed from him to Eragon: a burst of color blossomed in his mind, resolving into a stooped figure dressed in white, standing on a sun-drenched stone cliff. He must listen to your purpose. It is the fate of both you and him to walk through the lands of the elves. Now, it is time for you to rest, Eragon. When you wake, do not speak of me to anyone, said the figure kindly, face obscured by a silver nimbus. Remember, you must go to the elves. As must he who banished the darkness. Now sleep... He raised a hand, as if in prayer, and peace crept through Eragon.
"Wake," commanded a voice. "Awake, Eragon, for you have slept far too long." He stirred unwillingly, loath to listen. The warmth that surrounded him was too comfortable to leave. The voice sounded again. "Rise, Argetlam! You are needed!"
He reluctantly forced his eyes open and found himself on a long bed, swathed in soft blankets. Angela sat in a chair beside him, staring at his face intently. "How do you feel?" She asked.
Disoriented and confused, he let his eyes roam over the small room. "I… I don't know," he said, his mouth dry and sore.
"Then don't move. You should conserve your strength," said Angela, running a hand through her curly hair. Eragon saw that she still wore her flanged armor. Why was that? A fit of coughing made him dizzy, lightheaded, and ache all over. His feverish limbs felt heavy. Angela lifted a gilt horn from the floor and held it to his lips. "Here, drink."
Cool mead ran down his throat, refreshing him. Warmth bloomed in his stomach and rose to his cheeks. He coughed again, which worsened his throbbing head. How did I get here? There was a battle… we were losing… then..."Saphira!" he exclaimed, sitting upright. He sagged back as his head swam and clenched his eyes, feeling sick. "What about Saphira? Is she all right? The Urgals were winning… Durza!"
"She lives, he does not," Angela assured him. "You friends have been waiting for you to wake. Do you wish to see them?"
He nodded feebly. Angela got up and threw open the door. Arya, Tellesa and Murtagh filed inside. Saphira snaked her head into the room after them, her body too big to fit through the doorway. Her chest vibrated as she hummed deeply, eyes sparkling.
Smiling, Eragon touched her thoughts with relief and gratitude.
"It is good to see you well, little one," she said tenderly.
"And you too, but how-?"
"The others want to explain it, so I will let them."
He smiled weakly, still confused, then looked at the others. Two of them were bandaged: Arya on her arm, Murtagh around his head. Murtagh grinned weakly. "About time you were up. We've been sitting in the hall for hours."
"What … what happened?" asked Eragon.
Tellesa looked away, but Murtagh crowed, "We won! It was incredible! When the Shade's spirits - if that's what they were -flew across Farthen Dûr, the Urgals ceased fighting to watch them go. It was as though they were released from a spell then, because their clans suddenly turned and attacked each other. Their entire army disintegrated within minutes. The Eliksni routed them after that!"
"Paltis and-?"
"No," Tellesa cut him off. "Kiphoris and his soldiers. They arrived just in time to turn the battle. They slaughtered what Urgals tried to fight back."
"They're all dead?" Eragon asked.
Murtagh shook his head. "No, many of them escaped into the tunnels. The Varden and dwarves are busy ferreting them out right now, but it's going to take a while. I was going to help, but an Urgal banged me on the head and I was sent back here."
"They aren't going to lock you up again?"
His face grew sober. "No one really cares about that right now. A lot of Varden and dwarves were killed; the survivors are busy trying to recover from the battle. But at least you have cause to be happy. Durza is dead! The wizard slew him!"
"The... wizard?"
"Ikharos," Tellesa explained. "I told you about him."
Eragon frowned. "But I saw... an angel..."
Tellesa looked at him oddly. "I wouldn't call him an angel... He does wields magic in a way that no else can, but..."
Arya shifted uncomfortably. Eragon almost missed it. "He carried you out of Tronjheim," she said quietly. "I didn't think we would reach you in time, but... he killed Durza. And lived."
"He arrived with the Eliksni," Murtagh explained. "They flew in on a metal creature! It was incredible!"
Saphira snorted irritably. "It's not that impressive..."
Tellesa sat on the edge of his bed. Her hands were shaking. "Eragon... there's something you should know."
Everyone went silent. A chill ran down his spine. "What happened?"
"Alkris is dead."
He stilled. Eragon's blood went cold. "But he..."
Durza knocked his sword aside and swiftly jabbed forwards with the giant's knife. It ripped through metal, chitin, and bone, protruding from the other side of the Eliksni's torso. Alkris tensed up... then collapsed.
His breath caught in his throat. His eyes dropped down and welled with tears. "No..."
Saphira tried to squeeze in closer. "I'm sorry, little one."
He let the tears flow. Alkris... Gone. Like Brom. Like Garrow. Why?
Tellesa continued. "Paltis and the other Eliksni mourn him. There will be a funeral on the morrow for all the fallen soldiers. I think they'll give him a proper sendoff then..."
He sucked in air. Eragon couldn't get enough. "I saw him fall... When Durza struck me down, he was there to defend me..."
"Be strong. Alkris would say the same. He would not want you to wallow in despair."
Eragon nodded. He attempted to gather himself, to focus everything on what remained: duty. "What now?"
"Now? I advise rest," Angela said. "It has taken all my skill to keep you alive.
A twinge of unease shot through Eragon, matching the intensity of his throbbing head. My back... But he felt no bandages there. "How long have I been here?" he asked with trepidation.
"Only a day and a half," answered Angela. "You're lucky I was around, otherwise it would've taken you weeks to heal - if you had even lived at all."
Alarmed, Eragon pushed the blankets off his torso and twisted around to feel his back. Angela caught his wrist with her small hand, worry reflected in her eyes. "Eragon... you have to understand, my power is not like yours or even Ikharos's. It depends on the use of herbs and potions. There are limits to what I can do, especially with such a large-"
He yanked his hand out of her grip and reached back, fingers groping. The skin on his back was smooth and warm, flawless. Hard muscles flexed under his fingertips as he moved. He slid his hand toward the base of his neck and unexpectedly felt a hard bump about a half-inch wide. He followed it down his back with growing horror. Durza's blow had left him with a huge, ropy scar, stretching from his right shoulder to the opposite hip.
Pity showed on Arya's face as she murmured, "You have paid a terrible price for your bravery, Eragon."
Murtagh chuckled lowly. "Yes. Now you're just like me."
Dismay filled Eragon, and he closed his eyes. He was disfigured. Then he remembered something from when he was unconscious... a figure in white who had helped him. A cripple who was whole - Togira Ikonoka.
"Where is Ikharos now?" He asked.
Tellesa shrugged. "With the Eliksni, perhaps? We cannot know. He isn't... like most people. There will be a ceremony later. Ajihad and King Hrothgar wish to honour those who saved us. They want to thank the Eliksni for arriving in our time of need. I imagine he'll be there; everyone wants to meet him."
Eragon hardened his heart against the waves of misery. "I... need to meet him."
The songs of the dead are the lamentations of the living.
So thought Eragon as he stepped over a twisted and hacked Urgal, listening to the keening of women who removed loved ones from the blood-muddied ground of Farthen Dûr. Behind him Saphira delicately skirted the corpse, her glittering blue scales the only color in the gloom that filled the hollow mountain. Tellesa led the way, and Murtagh and Arya trailed after her.
The Eliksni metal-creature was to the northern flats of Farthen Dûr, where the carnage of the battle was distant and forgotten. It stood motionless, in broad view of the dwarven city. There was motion around it, however, and moving figures, but Eragon could not discern any more than that.
Since waking to find his wound healed by Angela, Eragon had tried two times to assist in the recovery effort with magic. On each occasion he had been racked by terrible pains that seemed to explode from his spine. The Angela had given him various potions to drink. Arya and Angela said that he was perfectly sound. Nevertheless, he hurt. Nor could Saphira help, only share his pain as it rebounded across their mental link.
Before his uncle was slain by the Ra'zac months earlier, the brutality that Eragon had witnessed between the humans, dwarves, and Urgals would have destroyed him. Now it numbed him. He had realized, with Saphira's help, that the only way to stay rational amid such pain was to do things. Beyond that, he no longer believed that life possessed inherent meaning - not after seeing men torn apart by barehanded Kul. If any honor existed in war, he concluded, it was in fighting to protect others from harm.
Like Ikharos had done.
His nerves were alight. He had no idea what to expect, beyond what Tellesa had told him. The wizard had slain Durza without taking injury, according to Arya. And he had singlehandedly killed three dozen Urgals in the field of battle, or so Murtagh said.
They walked until the strange metal insect loomed over them. An Eliksni stood by it, watching them curiously. It was dressed in full armour and idly tossed a knife from hand to hand. It called out, "Da yus?"
Tellesa answered with, "We're looking for Ikharos."
"Ikha Riis? Yur Tellesa?"
"I… am?"
"You question your own name?" A deep, mirth-filled voice carried from the metal beast. A huge, hulking shape detached from it and walked out from under the insect's shadow. "Greetings, Tellesa."
"Kiphoris," Eragon breathed. The big Eliksni was an oddly welcome sight.
The huge Eliksni dipped his head. "Eragon." His outer pair of eyes closed and he turned to address Saphira. "And Saphira. You have grown large, wind-daughter. And strong!"
"And you have not changed." Saphira moved closer, nostrils flaring. Eragon felt a trill of amusement on her end. "You look well, Kiphoris."
The Eliksni leader strode forward and laid a hand against Saphira's neck. She hummed pleasantly. "Ah, it is good to see you all with your minds and lives intact. I was worried when we picked up on the Shade's trail." His tone darkened with rage. "A twisted beast. It is good that it is dead..." His eyes opened. "Murtagh. Young hunter, I thought you would have left them."
Murtagh shrugged. "Fate decided otherwise."
"Fate is difficult to fight, this I know." Kiphoris looked past him. "Who is this?"
Arya stepped forward, wearing an unreadable expression. "I am Arya. Greetings, Kiphoris. I come representing Queen Islanzadí and the people of Du Weldenvarden"
"An elf, yes?"
For the first time, Eragon saw that Arya was surprised. "I am... How did you know?"
Kiphoris pointed to the side of her head. "Sharp ears."
"We're looking for Ikharos," Tellesa said. Her voice was devoid of all cheer. Alkris's passing had hit her hardest of all the humans, it was clear to see. She still had his lightning-sword belted at her hip.
Kiphoris nodded understandingly. "Eia? He is to the back of the Skiff. He is assisting Javek with Obleker's maintenance." He hesitated. "Would be wary, Saphira. Ikharos does not appreciate dragons."
"Why?" Arya asked.
"History makes it so," Kiphoris answered cryptically. "I will bring you to him, but do not test his patience. His intents are fair and good, I think, but he is capable of great harm if roused."
The big Eliksni led them around the 'Skiff' to where a scene unlike any Eragon had seen, or even dreamed, played out before him. Two figures, one human and one Eliksni, were working upon what he could only describe as a floating eye. It was black with a purple iris, and its hide looked to be made entirely of smooth metal. A large circular glass plate lay on the ground before it.
The human turned around and, upon seeing Saphira, sent them a sour look. "No!" He snapped. He stepped away from the eye and drew a strange-looking knife. "Scram, lizard!"
"Ikha Riis-" Kiphoris began, but the man cut him off.
"Do not test me. I will not play nice for a Traveler-damned dragon." He glared at Saphira so powerfully, so hatefully, that even Eragon felt like curling up into a ball and waiting for the danger to pass. She growled right back.
"Ikharos, they're friends," Tellesa tiredly reasoned.
The man, Ikharos, shook his head. "I won't tolerate it coming anywhere near me. I had my fill of dragons a hundred years ago. I won't stomach anymore of their insanity."
"He is a stupid little man," Saphira growled.
But Eragon was more preoccupied with what the man had said. A hundred years? He admits to having lived over a whole century! Like a Rider!
"What drives you to such hatred?" Arya suddenly asked.
The man's gaze never drifted from Saphira. "Experience."
"Experience? What experience would result in such ludicrousness?"
Ikharos's eyes narrowed. "The kind that ends in bloodletting and screaming. The kind that ends with good people dead. That kind of experience."
"Saphira hasn't hurt anyone undeserving," Tellesa defended.
"How long will that last, I wonder? Not long, I think. A big bitch like her needs lots of food."
Kiphoris barked in Eliksni too fast for Eragon to even hear the foreign words. He sounded angry. Ikharos, to the surprise of almost everyone present, responded in kind. Responded in the Eliksni language! And in a scathing manner to match the Captain, too! When he fell silent, Kiphoris sighed. "Saphira," he said. "It would be safest for us all if you would keep your distance from Ikha Riis."
"He should watch his tone!" She snapped her jaws.
The big Eliksni narrowed his eyes. "Do not strike a fight, wind-daughter. You are not his equal in battle. To test him would be foolish. Leave him be and I will personally ensure he does the same. You have mine-word."
Ikharos glowered. "Fifty paces back. I won't ask again."
"Come on." Tellesa laid a hand on Saphira's flank. The dragon reluctantly backed away. She seethed with affront.
Eragon couldn't understand why it all went wrong. He'd hoped to be able to talk Ikharos, but everything had happened so fast that he found himself left behind. He gulped and stepped forward.
Ikharos's eyes switched to him. They were a pale grey, and the gaze they offered was full of aged authority and deep wisdom - veiled beneath a fiery cloak of hostility. He was a thin man, but he was afforded with the wiry compact musculature of an athlete, not a sword-bearing warrior. He wore long flowing robes of cyan upon which danced flawless patterns of darker blue diamond shapes. His breastplate, boots, and pauldrons were of a silver metal that gleamed brightly in the morning's half-light. His bracers were strange - they looked to be made out of metallic feathers that shone blue, green, and purples. His gloves were of an odd cloth-like material, but over his knuckles and on three fingers was reinforced grey bone. Those armoured fingers ended in short claws. A golden circlet surrounded his right arm just above the elbow.
His facial features were gaunt and narrow, and yet they seemed bold. His hair was a faded auburn cut short, and a beard covered his strong jaw. His skin was almost pallid with lack of exposure. The most notable aspect had to be the large tri-clawed scar on the side of his head. It glowed an uneasy blue.
"What?" He demanded roughly.
Eragon quailed for a moment. "I, uh... wanted to thank you... for saving me."
"Why were you fighting Durza alone?" Ikharos frowned. "Why were you fighting at all?"
"I-"
"What, they make children fight for the adults?" He turned around and got right back to work. He took something from the Eliksni, who might have been named Javek or Obleker but Eragon wasn't sure.
"I'm a Dragon Rider," Eragon blurted. "I had to fight. It was expected of me."
"I wouldn't expect it of you."
Eragon didn't know how to respond to that. Ikharos continued on regardless.
"You're... what? Fifteen?"
"Sixteen."
"That's not any better. You're a child. You shouldn't have fought a battle, end of story."
Ikharos held up whatever it was the Eliksni handed him and... his palm shone purple. No, not just his palm, his eyes too. Eragon took a step back as strange energies flowed towards the wizard right out of the air and wreathed him in violet power. The spectacle ended as quickly as it began and he pressed the object into the floating eye. The strange entity hummed in a way that Eragon could only describe as jovial.
Ikharos patted it affectionately, anger melting away. "You are a beauty, Obleker. A magnificent, incredible machine. And in excellent condition too. Javek takes good care of you, doesn't he?"
Obleker whirred happily.
"What... what is that?" Murtagh asked with breathless wonder.
"A Servitor," Ikharos grunted. "They are made by and work for the Eliksni."
"What did you-"
Ikharos turned around. "What did I do? That's what you want to know?"
"Yes?" Murtagh said after a moment's hesitation.
The wizard quietened, then said something in Eliksni to Kiphoris. Kiphoris nodded and said something back. Ikharos shrugged and looked back at Murtagh. "I was charging up his Void cores. We were experimenting. We wanted to know if cores filled with Void Light last longer than those naturally charged."
"I don't... understand..."
"We wanted to know if feeding Obleker magic is better than feeding him sunlight and old fossils."
"Oh." Murtagh didn't sound like he understood any better. Eragon didn't.
Ikharos raised an eyebrow. "Why are you all here?"
Eragon shifted uncomfortably. "I... wanted to speak with you."
"Is that so, dragon-pet?" His gaze was unwaveringly stern. Eragon was under no illusions that this man was in charge of their conversation. If he wished it over, then it would end. They were relying on the wizard's continued tolerance and there was no telling how long that was going to last. "Is it urgent or can it wait? There's things I have to do and I don't fancy yammering all day."
Arya stared at the man in that same unreadable gaze she had given Kiphoris. "He is a Dragon Rider, not dragon-pet."
"I don't care."
Eragon winced. This is going poorly. What cause does he have to hate dragons so much? "It is of importance," he said. "Neither I or Saphira intend you any harm. We come in peace."
"Swear it."
It was the opening he needed. Eragon quickly rushed over the words he needed. "Nosu eru fricaya. Vae ach néiat threyja orono vanta eom faedhír onr. Eka aíran threyja eom thorta medh onr."
Ikharos nodded, albeit slowly. "And your dragon? I heard no mention of it."
"Saphira threyja du samr hlutr ai eka ach."
The wizard blinked. "Fine. You're not enemies. Still, that dragon doesn't get any closer."
"But-"
"Humour me. Think of it as my little quirk; I don't like being near dragons."
000
Tarok panted and scrabbled for purchase on the cave wall. He couldn't see a thing.
Something skittered by his leg. He jumped and thrust down with his rusted blade. He heard a squelch and then a dying squeak. Just a rat.
He looked around fruitlessly. No light. No way out. Panic bubbled up in his throat, his heart. His stomach churned with horror as he realized he could smell nothing but the stale, musty odor of uncharted tunnels. And dwarf. He didn't know which was worse: getting lost or encountering more dwarves.
It had been a small while since he woke from the Shade's spell. The moment he did, he knew he had to leave. The battle had turned the moment those four-armed creatures arrived. They ripped through ranks of Urgralgra with terrifying ease. He didn't want to wait around to test their might himself.
Tarok shuffled along, mindful of his every step. There could be a drop ahead and he wouldn't know it until it was too late. It was yet another danger, and his panic and animalistic terror only grew and grew.
He didn't want to get lost in the caves.
He didn't want to meet any dwarves.
He didn't want the four-arms to find him.
"Do you want to live?"
Tarok frowned and winced as a needle of blinding starlight pricked his mind. Did he want to live? Of course he did! Everything wanted to live!
"Do you want to see the light of day again?"
Yes!
"Do you wish it?"
He wished it!
"Then follow my voice... O wanderer mine..."
AN: Big thanks to Nomad Blue for editing!