Chapter 38: Under the Mountain
"Where will you go?" The boy asked. There was something in his voice that snagged Ikharos's attention. It wasn't an innocent question. He wanted something, and not just the chance to sate his curiosities.
"No way to know," Ikharos grunted. "Wherever these damn wars take me."
"Wars?" The elf asked. She seemed the bright sort, but then he expected that from her kind. Being in proximity to another of her people for months on end had taught him that much. "More than one?"
For a fleeting moment he allowed himself to feel nothing but sympathy for the children gathered before them. "Yes, multiple. Empire's not the only thing kicking out there. It's a bloodbath. Or it soon will be."
The elf didn't believe him, that was clear from the get-go. But the boys were deep in thought. They looked... worried. That was positive. They needed to see the threat for what it was.
"But, in all likelihood, I'll be returning to the Scars," Ikharos added. "I've got a deal going with their leader, Tarrhis."
"What kind of deal?" Murtagh asked.
"A 'you scratch my back I scratch yours' kind. We've got mutual enemies to kill, and those who aren't so mutual we'll still end up killing."
"An apt way to put it," Kiphoris murmured. The Captain stepped closer to get a better look at the Servitor. "Ah, you look better than ever! Perhaps a new coat of paint would suit you?"
Obleker whined like a robotic puppy. Javek whispered his praises for the adorable Servitor and led it back to the Skiff.
Leaving Ikharos with Kiphoris and a bunch of local children.
His nerves didn't jump. His heart didn't hammer in his chest. His stomach didn't churn with terrified butterflies. He had been inured to the Wolf's presence. Strange, that. Ikharos refocused on the children. "Just speak your mind," he told the Rider. The youth froze. "Yeah, you're not subtle. I see your intent. What is it you want from me?"
The Rider, whose name escaped him, hesitated. "I... would like it if you stayed. A little longer."
"So your dragon can call in enough friends to eat me?"
The boy was horrified. "No!"
"I agree with Eragon," Kiphoris said. He sent Ikharos a pointed look. "Saphira would not eat you."
"Her friends might," Ikharos grumbled.
"More dragons? There are no other dragons. And she is no maker of wishes."
Something touched his mind. A presence full of music and fire. Formora. "I hear raised voices."
"The dragon's here."
"Really? Be polite and respectful."
"Too late."
"Why would you-"
"It's a dragon."
"Very observant. Yes, I'm aware she is a dragon. My point stands."
"I refuse."
"Why?"
"Principle."
"What principle would that be?"
"That I don't deal with dragons."
She released the mental equivalent of an exasperated sigh. "You make my life difficult."
"I didn't ask it to come here."
"I'm on my way."
"I could kill it."
"If you kill her I'll be very upset."
Ikharos rolled his eyes and sighed. To Eragon he said, "I've got a lot to do. Is there a reason I should stay?"
"The Varden could use your help," the boy answered resolutely.
"Doing what? Hiding in a mountain? There's people who are in a lot of danger right now. More than the people in here." Ikharos paused. "The Urgals are shattered. There aren't enough left to pose any significant threat, even if they did somehow rally themselves. Look, I can talk to Tarrhis and request that he send some aid if the Varden needs it, but we're all backed into corners. I'm needed elsewhere. As soon as I figure out where elsewhere is..."
"What threat do you speak of?" The elf asked. She was asking all the right questions. It was getting on his nerves.
"The Cabal," Ikharos replied. The boys and elf blinked back, uncomprehending. "They're foreign conquerors. Bigger and a whole lot smarter than Kull. Better equipped too. The Scars and I bloodied their nose at Ceunon, but only that. They aren't beaten, so they'll try their damnedest to hit back. And nothing here, nothing in Alagaësia, will be able to put up a fight."
Kiphoris huffed, unimpressed.
"Aside from the Scars, that is."
"Why do they want?" The other boy frowned.
"Land. Serfs. Glory. The usual." Ikharos drummed his fingers against Lumina's holster. He was getting antsy. The dragon was still too close for his liking. It was small, but size wasn't an issue when it came to ontopathic predators.
"But it's not one of those beasts," Xiān whispered. "You said it yourself."
"I could have been wrong."
"You could have been right. Don't be the aggressor. If it turns out to be a monster, kill it. But we can't kill something based on what it might be. It's... unethical."
"We shouldn't treat with an Ahamakra. The risks-"
"We're both well aware of the risks, yes, but everything's pointing to it not being an Ahamkara. I'm not just here to carry your stuff and bring you back to life, you know. I'm here to warn you out of bad decisions. We're a team, Ikharos. And I don't think you should do anything that might turn the locals against us. We had so few allies already. Kiphoris vouches for her!"
"Kiphoris authorized sparing and dragging along a conscious Ahamkara feather. His judgement isn't something I'd immediately trust in."
Formora arrived not long after. She greeted everyone with a cordial tone and polite words, even the dragon. The other elf eyed her distrustfully, but then again she'd looked at Ikharos the same way so he didn't think there was any reason to worry. Not yet anyways.
"When will you leave?" Eragon asked all of a sudden.
Ikharos shrugged. "Two days? Three? It depends."
"On what?"
"You're awfully curious, aren't you?"
Eragon looked down. "I..."
Ikharos exhaled. "Look, if you're here out of gratitude, forget it. I'm not interested in gratitude. I just want peace and quiet. Can you give me that?"
The Rider nodded. "I'm sorry," he muttered. When he left, the others went with him. The elf sent Ikharos a cold judging look that didn't bother him in the slightest. When Tellesa avoided meeting his eyes, though - that hurt.
The moment they were out of earshot, Kiphoris swatted his shoulder.
"Ow!" Ikharos glared, Light lashing about inside him.
"You were harsh," the Captain reprimanded. "They are only children."
"I know that, but it doesn't-"
"Do not excuse yourself."
"That was rude," Formora added. "There was no need for it."
Ikharos's bone-claws dug into the material drawn taut across his palm. "That was me being nice. I told you both too many times that I hate dragons. I will not play their games. I don't care if it's a full-fledged Ahamkara or not. Unless you want me to kill them, keep any dragons you have away from me. Next time I won't be so gentle."
Kiphoris growled and stalked off. "Psesiskar..."
"Why can't you make our lives easier?" Formora groaned. "Tell me, then, what's so wrong about dragons? Why can't you accept them like your brethren did?"
Ikharos clenched his jaw. "They killed my best friend."
Gone. She was gone. Not there. Not even a shred of cloth left.
Only a knife.
"They... Oh." Formora's tone softened. Her eyes widened. "Then it's a grudge?"
"Every hatred is based on a grudge."
"I understand, then, the reasoning, but you cannot hold all dragons responsible."
"Why not? They'd happily do the same."
"No. An Ahamkara perhaps, but not the dragons I know. My dragon wouldn't. She was sweet and considerate. She would never have taken an innocent life."
"How well did you know her?"
Formora stared at him. Then she hit him. Hard. Ikharos flinched, but before he could mount an accusation, she snapped, "Never say such a thing again. Never. She was a part of my soul, just as Xiān is part of yours. I have been patient with you, but that ends now. Open your eyes, Ikharos. Saphira is not an Ahamkara. She does not feed on desires. She does not seek your death. She is an independent being capable of immense intellect and empathy. She is a person. You need to respect that."
Ikharos went quiet. He didn't trust himself not to say something insensitive. "I need to ready up," he announced stiffly. "We're due in the city in a couple of hours."
He walked away.
000
They were making a wall of solid scrapmetal topped with razor-wire around the camp. Tlac thought it utter nonsense. All it did was keep out the wind. The native pests still got inside. An Eliksni craft could still have flown right over to deposit troops. It wouldn't have even given the Beast any trouble
That was what they called the titanic shadow creature. The Beast. No one had any idea what it was. Flayers, himself included, had likened it to a Hive Ascendant when forced to report. But it wasn't Hive. That was the consensus - and the hope.
"Our hold here is tenuous," Neuroc remarked, after the Primus's analysts had debriefed them. "This world is different. It's wild, untamed. Dangerous. There are forces at work here. Forces I fear we cannot understand."
He found himself nodding along. "First the human, now the Beast. Traveler dogma and Darkness theology. They are bane of the order we bring to the galaxy." He eyed the walls surrounding them with vicious distaste. "This fear doesn't suit us. We're kicking back in the dirt and hoping to go unnoticed. I hate it."
"You believe we should go on the offensive?"
"That's where our strength lies. Offense. Always advance, always conquer."
His compatriot smiled. "Then you may be pleased to hear that the Primus has... well, not quite changed his mind, but he's decided on a change of direction."
"Not here." Tlac looked around. No one was watching, and he couldn't feel anything duplicitous on their minds. Those nearby were either engaged in their work with the thoughtless abandon of Uluru single-mindedness or watching for exterior threats.
No one was worried about the dangers already within the walls. No one but the Soulrazers.
"Come on." Tlac walked quickly to the Soulrazer field office. It hadn't changed in the slightest since they'd first built it up. Everyone had been under the impression that camp would be temporary back then. Ceunon was supposed to be their first true stronghold. But the human had sunk those plans.
Zhonoch was at his desk, quietly tapping away at a datapad. He didn't look up as they arrived.
"Val Ma'roch and Centurion Shu'av are dead," the Vigilant announced. "Their troops turned on them."
Neuroc stilled. "They did what?!"
"Traitors, the lot of them. We burned their remains."
"What really happened?" Tlac leaned on the desk. "Infected?""
Zhonoch nodded grimly. "I marched Ma'roch and Shu'av fifteen chrens out of camp and gutted them. Their regiments were compromised. Couldn't take a chance. "
"Was that wise?"
"Doesn't matter now. It's done." The Uluru scoffed. "Waste of talent. Bloody cultists."
Neuroc cleared her throat. "Sir. There's been a development."
Zhonoch raised his tired eyes. "Speak, Flayer."
"Primus Da'aurc has authorized the Erachaani Auxiliary Potentate to sweep out and gather intelligence. He wants them to catch the human's scent."
Zhonoch went quiet. Dangerously so. When he spoke, his voice was little more than a whisper. "He wants Ruuskn... to find Subject Merida-X8?"
"Yes."
"Then he's a fool. No, worse. A traitorous fool!"
Neuroc narrowed her eye. "The Erechaani are specialists in chase-and-destroy warfare. Their expertise might be exactly what we need to catch the human unawares."
"And we'd lose them in the process! The Eliksni will eat them alive!"
Wouldn't that be an ironic twist, Tlac reflected. It was usually the other way around.
"But the human will be dead," Neuroc argued.
Zhonoch scowled. "And we'll be without Auxiliaries. Who would otherwise be sorely needed. This is a wild frontier world, not another Hive battleground. We have no back up, no resources beyond what we gather ourselves, and only so many soldiers."
"I thought you wanted to go on the offensive."
"Only if we do it smart! This isn't smart! Da'aurc is killing us! And the rest are too blind to see the carving knife in his hand!"
Neuroc paused. "What do you propose, Vigilant? The Erechaani are set to march within the local hour."
Zhonoch sighed and deflated. "Nothing. We need him dead, and quick, but if we mess up he'll use any hint of aggression as permission to kill us off. So we wait. We watch. In time he'll slip up. Traitors always do. And we'll be there to push him over the edge."
000
They marched, the three of them, into Tronjheim's great hall under the silent, uneasy gaze of hundreds of people. Ikharos had never been in a parade before. He always refused when offered a place, even during the celebration of Oryx's fall. Having countless people watch him walk? Where was the appeal in that? Not that he had much choice here. Kiphoris had made it clear that they were all going to present themselves both honourably and graciously at the glorified thank-you ceremony. The Captain could be a stern, firm leader when he wanted to be.
Ikharos couldn't honestly think of any better representative for the Eliksni race. If they sought to leave a good impression on the peoples of Kepler, then Kiphoris was the right choice. He was bright, intelligent, tactical, patient, and most importantly, understanding. Aside from when he spoke with Ikharos, the Captain was more altruistic with humans than the Warlock expected of any Eliksni, especially a former Wolf. That had earned Ikharos's begrudging respect real quick.
Formora was another wise choice. Even when masked and, appearance-wise, insidious, she held herself with in a proud, graceful manner that he imagined would only reflect well on their little cohort. She represented nothing and no one, but her presence was necessary all the same. She was their link to Kepler. She knew the land and people much more closely than any of them. And she knew the ancient language. In a world where even normal baseline humans could access magic, they needed a way to protect themselves from binding words and fatal spells.
Melkris and Eldrin followed, armed to the teeth. They were playing honour guard for the day. Their armour, like everyone else's, had been polished and scrubbed until it gleamed. All the present Eliksni moved with vibrant energy and looked around with bright eyes; the heavy drinking the night before had a two-fold purpose: to honour Alkris and prepare them for public presentation the next day.
Humans and dwarves in equal numbers lined the wide stone road, held back by warriors in leather and mail. They gawked and stared with open curiosity and some measure of skepticism. There was a trace of fear, too, when they laid eyes upon the forms of the tall, many-armed Eliksni.
"I love the little people," Xiān gushed. "They're so cute. Can we bring one with us?"
Ikharos kept his sight trained on the other end of the great hall, where a massive gate loomed above. "That would be abduction. No."
"What if they're willing?"
"No one in their right mind would be willing to go where we go."
"So pick an insane dwarf, got it."
Ikharos exhaled slowly. "No dwarves. We're not bringing anyone with us."
"You're no fun."
He didn't answer. It would have only galvanized her. He kept his attention on his pace; first foot and second foot, first foot and second foot. It became boring really quickly. But then the doors were there. And the doors opened. And there was more hall beyond, with more people to stare at him.
Ikharos sighed. On he marched.
The final big hall was more sparsely populated. The few people present wore more expensive clothes than those behind. Nobles, Ikharos deducted, or the dwarven and Varden equivalent.
Massive stalagmites and stalactites lined the wall. The room was a natural cave with a wide path, and on either side stood statues of past leaders sat in stone chairs. A throne of black marble waited at the far end, upon which sat an elderly dwarf. The dwarven king wore a fine golden crown encrusted with beautiful jewels. His face, on the other hand, was lined and grizzled with age. The stark contrast was striking. Those who were, assumedly, the most important people of both dwarven and Varden societies in Tronjheim flanked the throne. A small group of dwarves, no more than five, stood on one side. On the other were simple baseline humans: Ajihad and Eragon, the mage from the day of battle and another man who was in every visible way his clone, and two grizzled soldiers. There was only one elf among them - Arya.
And one dragon, too.
Kiphoris none-too-subtly moved to keep the dragon out of Ikharos' sight. The Warlock, for his part, pressed down on a growing pit of irritation and ignored the dragon's presence entirely. If he didn't pay it any attention maybe it would disappear.
They stopped twenty feet from the throne. Kiphoris drew two knives. The dwarven guards arrayed around the room tensed, but the Captain went no farther. He arrayed the knives in an ireliis bow. With a third hand held palm out, fingers splayed, he laid one of the knives on the ground pointed towards his feet. Kiphoris bowed his head and said, "Velask. Greetings. Ne Kiphoris-Veskirisk pak Drakkir go Na Kelekhselen. I am Kiphoris the Dreamer, Captain of the Scar House. Ra hu bo Na. Let there be peace between the banners of our houses."
The old dwarf's face crinkled with a curious smile. His eyes shone with a keen, wizened intelligence. "I am Hrothgar, clan-chief of Dûrgrimst Ingeitum and king of dwarves. I welcome you into my hall and my city, Kiphoris of the Scars."
Kiphoris sheathed his knives and lifted his head. "You have mine-thanks, Hrothgar-kel, for hospitality and patience. I represent mine-people and mine-Baron, Tarrhis the Oathkeeper, and mine-Kell, Mezha."
Hrothgar's gaze glided over to Ikharos. "And what of your companions, Captain of the Scar House? They are not like you. They are not... Eliksni."
Ikharos didn't bow, didn't curtsy, didn't make any move. He'd never done so for Mara Sov, for Oryx, for any of the many monarchs he'd met in his life, both great and petty. He was not starting with here. "I represent me and myself. I'm Ikharos Torstil."
"The Shadeslayer," one the dwarves added reverently.
Ikharos frowned. "Ye-es..."
"You have slain the Shade who sought to take my city and destroy my people. For that you have my thanks. Dûrgrimst Ingeitum are forever indebted to you." Hrothgar scrutinized him. "But first, I must ask... who are you? Where do you come from?"
"A land far away," he answered with a shrug. "My life began in the city of London, but I've traveled far and wide over the years."
"You are not of the empire?" Hrothgar asked.
"No."
"Then... you are a stranger to Alagaësia's shores, much like the Eliksni." A thoughtful look crossed the dwarf's visage. "We are fortunate indeed that you have all chosen to oppose Galbatorix when it is not your land or your kin that the usurper threatens."
Ikharos shrugged. It wasn't a very formal gesture, but he wasn't a delicate diplomat.
The dwarf frowned, though he offered no complaint. Instead, he diverted his attention to Formora. His eyes narrowed suspiciously. "Warrior, will you not remove your helmet?"
"I would rather not, Clan-Chief Hrothgar," she replied in a polite, thought uncompromising, tone.
"Why is that?"
"I am the person you see before you, not the one beneath the mask. This is who I choose to be, and who I choose for others to see. If it causes offence, I apologize, but I will not reveal myself."
"What is your name?"
"Zeshus."
Hrothgar hummed curiously. "A strange name."
"It is an Eliksni word. They gifted it to me."
"Earned through battle," Kiphoris added.
"I'm no foe," Formora continued. "I've already sworn to the Varden and the elven ambassador both that I am no ally of Galbatorix. The usurper is my enemy, just as he is yours."
Hrothgar looked at her in thoughtful silence for a solid minute. In the end, he said, "So be it. Keep to your privacy, Zeshus." He took a deep breath and fell back into his throne. "A debt is owed. You have all placed yourself in harm's way for us, and that must be rewarded."
"I just want the same thing as Zeshus," Ikharos said. He sent Eragon a pointed look. "Privacy."
"Be nice," Xiān chided.
"I'm being as nice as I can be, given the circumstances."
"Then be nicer."
"No."
Kiphoris stepped forward. "Noble Hrothgar-kel, I have led mine-crew in defense of your people and home. I fought the Urgals and sent them scurrying like pests from your land. You speak of rewards. There is only one thing that I would ask for on behalf of mine-kin. We desire only the chance to purchase metals from your people. Your methods of mining are impressive, and we are in need of resources."
Hrothgar's eyes twinkled. "Such a reward is trifling, but it may be to the benefit of both our peoples. Yet I must ask, what would you pay my people with for their services?"
The Captain reached to a satchel at his belt and pulled out a handful of bright Glimmer cubes. The dwarves - and some of the humans too - gasped at the sight of the glowing material.
"Your people pick through rocks and extract metals with great skill, while mine-people do the same with Glimmer," Kiphoris declared. "It can be formed into great structures in the hands of a skilled weaver, or turned to fuel machines of all kinds. If this does not suit, then my people may be willing to share secrets of metal and electricity, which would allow you to build machines of your own."
"Machines?" Hrothgar questioned. He leaned forward with poorly-concealed greed.
Kiphoris pointed back the way they came. "The vessel we arrived in a Skiff-machine, not a beast as your people call it. Mine-people built it for the purpose of flight. Armour and weapons were added for the purpose of battle. It draws power from the Glimmer we feed it, which enables its movement." He turned to Eldrin. The Marauder nodded and brought out a small handheld torch. He flicked it on. A beam of light shone up at the ceiling.
The natives gasped once more. It would have been hilarious if it wasn't so pitifully sad.
"Nezarec has a lot to answer for. He's deprived these people of better lives. How many plagues and famines have they suffered because they don't have the tools to help themselves?" Ikharos pursed his lips. "I don't want to know how many died because of it. I bet it's already in the millions."
"We'll get him," Xiān promised. "We're here now. The tables have turned. We already have his servants worried. Nezarec won't sleep easy."
"But he needs to stay asleep, uneasily or not. At least until we've killed enough of his pets. If he wakes up before we're ready... it'll be Mare Imbrium all over again. He'll destroy everything, like Crota almost did."
The bargaining between Kiphoris and Hrothgar went swimmingly. The Captain handed over the torch as an act of goodwill. Ikharos didn't know whether to be impressed or disgusted; the act was of a low cunning trademark to all Eliksni, and the dwarves were none the wiser. The Wolf had bought an alliance with a Traveler-damned flashlight. At least it cut the dawdling negotiations short. Ikharos hadn't the patience to stand around and talk about trade - because he honestly knew next to nothing on the matter and wasn't all that excited to learn.
The moment the agonizingly slow proceedings were over, he attempted to locate Tellesa. The mere thought of her gave rise to a bubble of guilt that he couldn't shake. Ikharos eventually found her in the vast training yard, a couple of levels up from the throne room. Most of the fighters in the mountain were recovering - physically or mentally - from the battle and avoided the place like the plague, but a few diehard soldiers sparred and trained with one another. Tellesa was there with them, working with Murtagh and another of the Varden's people to hone her swordcraft. She saw Ikharos coming and grunted a wordless greeting. Tellesa wore a sleeveless tunic and linen wrappings around her forearm. Her hair had been recently cut short in a ragged fashion - likely in preparation for fighting.
Her sparring opponent, Murtagh, was just as good as she was where bladecraft. He was faster and accustomed to his weapon, but she was strong and alert. Tellesa played defensively, weathering his assault and waiting for him to tire.
The man overseeing the match turned around and flinched. "Sir! I mean-"
"Call him Ikharos," Tellesa hissed through clenched teeth. She caught Murtagh's weapon in a lock and roughly shouldered him. He stumbled back and almost lost his footing, but he was quick to recover and move back in with renewed determination.
The nameless soldier was bearded and garbed in a suit of coarse ox-hide. He leaned on a tall steel greatsword. Ikharos critically looked it over; it was a monstrous thing made for power, but in the hands of a Guardian it would have snapped like a twig.
Not a sword for him, then. He was going to have to stick with the Eternity Edge.
Ikharos returned watching the fight play out. Murtagh was better than Tellesa - but only where swords were concerned. She held her own by being more physical and brutish with her own attacks. It came to an end when Tellesa diverted a thrust and smashed the guard of her shock blade into the boy's face with a heavy crack. He dropped.
Murtagh looked up with dazed, unfocused eyes. Blood ran from his nose. "Ow!"
Tellesa grabbed his hand and dragged him back to his feet. "Oh, don't be childish. It was a fair strike."
"No it wasn't!"
"Doesn't matter. You lost."
Murtagh glowered and tenderly felt his face. "I think you broke my nose."
"I was only rearranging it. It didn't look right where it was."
"Very funny."
"I thought the same."
Ikharos held up a hand full of golden energy. Everyone turned to look at him. "I could heal that," he offered.
Murtagh glanced at Tellesa. She responded with a slow nod. The boy stared at Ikharos with hard, untrusting eyes. "Alright."
Ikharos let the Light spill out. His nose, along with all the bruises he accumulated over the fight, rapidly mended by themselves.
"Thank you," Murtagh said. He sounded surprised.
Ikharos frowned. "What did you think I was going to do?"
"I don't know."
"Something nefarious," Tellesa supplied. She grabbed a rag from the old soldier and wiped the grime from her sword. "Never know with spellcasters."
"I'm not just a spellcaster," Ikharos reminded her.
She smiled. "Yes, I almost forgot. You can stab people too."
"Exactly," Ikharos drawled. "I'm glad you think so highly of me."
"I do, you know," Tellesa said with unexpected seriousness. "That's no joke." She let out a heavy sigh. "Gods, I'm so tired."
"Sometimes it helps to talk," Ikharos advised, in a voice that was just as low as hers. "But I've found the best recovery comes from taking action. What you're doing now is good. Let it out."
"Just not on me," Murtagh groaned. "I'd rather not go through that again."
Tellesa grinned. It was weak and faltering, but it was there and that was the important thing.
"How about me?" Ikharos undid his bracers and gloves and allowed them to drop to the ground. "You look like someone who wants to punch something. Want to punch me?"
"Not swords?"
"I left mine on the Skiff."
"That's unusually lax of you."
He shrugged; he had no excuse. "Yeah, it is."
Tellesa put her sword aside and held up her arms in a basic guard. It was good. For an amateur brawler, maybe.
"No," Ikharos showed her a proper guard. "Want to fight or want to learn?" As a bonus, he told Murtagh and the as-yet-unnamed soldier, "Watch, you two."
Tellesa fixed him with an insulted look. "I can throw a punch."
"I'm sure you can, but there's more to fighting than hitting the other guy until he stops moving. Fighting is an art, and must be honed like any other skill."
"He's right," the soldier nodded vigorously. He held out a hand. "I'm Fredric, sir."
"Ikharos." The Warlock shook it. The other man had a strong grip. He turned back to Tellesa. "There's a lot of forms, but only a few have survived to now. Classical wrestling is a favourite among Titans, but Hunters and Warlocks find the art of krav maga effective against a great range of opponents. Even better yet, if you sprinkle in a touch of Den'Ki-
"You're doing it again," Tellesa interrupted.
Ikharos frowned, confused. "Doing what?"
"Saying things that don't make any sense."
"I was getting to it." Ikharos exhaled and counted to five before resuming. "Den'Ki is an Eliksni fighting style that focuses on speed and disabling blows. A bar fight can last minutes with both sides beating the brains out of one another, but trained combatants can take down opponents in seconds without any need for a physical weapon. I thought you might like to pick some up a few more skills. You took to your previous lessons very well."
Tellesa didn't say anything for a long moment. "... The Eliksni one. I want to start with that."
"Den'Ki?"
She nodded.
Ikharos considered it. "Alright. It might be more favourable, what with all the Eliksni around. Easy to find the right people to spar with."
"What does it mean? Den'Ki?"
"Forever-Strength. It has quite the history. I've heard that it was originally developed by the House of Stone as a tool of self-defence, but every other house adopted it with their own... flavours."
"Flavours?"
"Differing methods. Each house approaches it differently. Wolves play waiting games, Devils rush in with berserk rage, Kings dance with graceful power, and Winter goes for all-out defense. I think Scars focus on offense, but I haven't fought any Scars to the death yet, so my experience on their form isn't nearly as... developed."
Tellesa frowned. "You fought Eliksni?"
"I fought a lot of things, Eliksni included."
She rolled her eyes. "Fine, be vague. Which 'flavour' do you prefer?"
"The Kings' one. They're up there with Wolves for being the best fighters, but don't tell Kiphoris I said that."
"Why not?"
"Because he's a former Wolf, that's why. It'll hurt his feelings and I'll have an irate Captain to deal with. Now, to begin, we've gotta cover the basics. We have two arms only, so that limits how well we can fight like an Eliksni, but it's not an obstacle we can't overcome. Raise your arms, yes like that, but curl on yourself. Your head is vital but so is your chest. Can't get hit on either. Good. Now, I'm going to pretend to punch and you're going to defend. Like thus..."
000
Kiphoris was a good Captain, or he tried to be. He followed orders, he cared for his crew, and he made what he thought to be the best possible decisions for his house. He didn't want wealth. He didn't want to hoard ether. He didn't want to prove himself in battle. All he wanted was to help his people.
But he didn't know how to help Paltis.
She was still by the body, grieving with quiet murmurs and the odd tear. She hadn't just lost her mate - she'd lost the focus of her life. Kiphoris was no stranger to loss. He wasn't unfamiliar with the feeling of complete emptiness that followed the deaths of loved ones. But he'd never lost a mate. He'd never had one in the first place. He had been courted, and in turn courted others, but never had he taken a mate.
Looking at Paltis, he wondered if it was worth the trouble.
Eldrin, though, was someone he could help. The Marauder grieved too, but his grief was based on lost comrades and stolen friends. A pain they shared. And, like Melkris had said, a sorrow shared was a sorrow lightened.
"We will bury them all on the morrow," Kiphoris announced.
Eldrin looked up from where he was cleaning his sword. His eyes narrowed. "We do not have their bodies."
"We have their cloaks."
The Marauder looked down. Cloaks weren't bodies, but it was all they had. Kiphoris was glad the Aphelion was dead. Its death had been deserved.
"We should not be here," Eldrin growled.
Kiphoris fought the urge to raise his voice. "Why so?"
"Because humans are not our responsibility. They are not our house." Eldrin stood. "We should never have dealt with them at all. Your love for them has blinded you."
Kiphoris kept his cool. Kept his calm. He kept his arms by his sides and his mouth shut. He had to set an example. He couldn't rise to the bait.
Even if the bait hit really close to home.
"Why are their lives more valuable than ours?" Eldrin pointed outside the Skiff. "They are weak and insignificant! What use are they to-"
"Be quiet!" Paltis all but roared.
Eldrin, ever the perfect little soldier, did as he was told even if it chafed his pride.
"The humans are not to blame. They are victims of this world, just as we are."
Eldrin didn't like that. Kiphoris could tell by his burning eyes. But he kept his silence and mandibles still.
A knock rang from the back of the Skiff. Hard knuckles rapping against steel. Kiphoris turned around. It was the elf. Not their elf. The other one. With the strange tattoo on her shoulder and the hard, haunted look she tried so hard to hide.
Then again, Formora had that look too. Perhaps it was a universal elvish trait.
"Kiphoris?" She asked cautiously.
He decidedly ignored Eldrin's glowering visage and stepped out of the Skiff. "Eia, that is mine-name. And you are Arya. That is your name."
She graced him with a fleeting smile. "It is."
"Very good. We know our names."
"We do."
"Eia." Kiphoris looked at her. She looked at him. "What are you here for?"
"I... wish to speak with you."
"Then speak."
Arya closed her eyes and stopped for a moment to gather her thoughts. She wasn't very expressive for a human. Elves, he learned, were very... private creatures. They kept themselves in little self-imposed cages. It couldn't have been healthy, but he had no right to tell them otherwise.
"As you may know, Eragon and Saphira are due to enter training befitting their station. Brom was intended to teach them here, but as Brom has... passed..."
The old man. Kiphoris banished all traces of amusement from his mind. He stood straighter and kept all his eyes open. "I was there," He said softly. Carefully. "I am sorry we could not help him."
Arya nodded stiffly. "As Brom has passed," she resumed, "they will have to move onto the next stage of their training: studying with my people. I have already discussed it with Ajihad. We will give them time, but soon they must make the journey to Du Weldenvarden. As I understand it, you... assigned soldiers to safeguard them on their journey. And that your Eliksni are the reason they avoided capture from the empire."
Kiphoris tilted his head. "That is true. Why do you... Ah. You want our protection once more."
Arya didn't deny it. "Eragon and Saphira are important. They will need people to defend them. From what I gather, from what I have seen, your warriors are as skilled as they are devoted to their duty. The journey may prove treacherous. Your assistance would be more than welcome. "
Kiphoris groaned and sighed. "This is not a good time to ask. Five of mine-crew are dead. We must organize their farewells."
Arya dropped her gaze. "I apologize."
"Do not be sorry. The worries of the living eclipse the needs of the dead. This decision is not mine to make. I must report to mine-Baron, who commands my actions. I will make your request known to him, but I cannot promise that he will entertain it."
"I... understand." She stood awkwardly. "There's... something else." Arya hesitated. "I don't trust Ikharos."
"I wish I didn't," Kiphoris grumbled.
Arya looked at him strangely. "I don't mean to cause offense."
"You haven't, little elf. I know why you do not like him. Insolence does not suit him. He and I will have further words."
Kiphoris glared at the pebble and willed it to move. It refused. He hated it. He hated it more than he hated the dulled feeling of subdued loss. He focused on the hatred. It was good. Better than numbness.
"Stones are like people."
He looked to the side. Ikharos's little Ghost stared back. Where had she come from? Was she comfortable being without her Guardian? A brave little thing.
"They only move when you say the magic word."
Kiphoris growled. "Reisa."
The pebble didn't budge.
Xiān tutted. "I meant please. Say please reisa."
"No."
"Why not?"
"It is a rock."
"And you're an Eliksni. I bet you like it when people use their manners. Why can't a rock receive the same respect?"
"Because it is a rock."
"I feel like you're underestimating the mental capacity of a rock. That's rockist."
"If I say please, will you be silent?"
"Maybe."
He looked at her. She looked at him. He turned back to the rock. Before he could say anything, however, he felt a rustle on the fur mantle around his neck. Kiphoris craned his head, and lo and behold there was the Ghost. Nestling into the soft-furred collar like a bird in a nest.
"Well?" She asked expectantly. "Go on!"
Kiphoris groaned. "Great Machine preserve us... Please reisa."
The pebble remained where it was.
"Hah!" Xiān snickered.
Kiphoris grumbled.
000
He swept out Tellesa's legs from under her and let her drop to the threadbare carpet, hard. He hoped the pain would be a lesson. A small crowd had gathered around, calling out their encouragements. Ikharos let the racket they built up slide. Maybe the sung praises would have inspired her to do better too, but so far she hadn't found the right balance.
Tellesa jumped back to her feet with renewed determination. She held up her arms just like he showed her and started to circle him with little side steps and hops.
"Good. Fighting is a dance. Keep moving."
He crashed in with restrained shoves and tricky feints, trying to throw her off. She kept her guard up through it all. He struck at her with a fist. She moved and deflected it, not stopping the force behind the blow but redirecting it to open air. She stepped in to put him in a lock. It almost worked. She didn't anticipate the knee colliding with her stomach.
Tellesa collapsed again, winded and wheezing. She glared at him.
"I've got four limbs," he reminded her with a mean grin. "Two arms, two legs. Each of them is a weapon. You can't just disable one and expect me not to use the other three."
"You motherfu-!" She threw herself forward with her arms outstretched, hoping to catch him in a tackle. He stepped back just one pace. Tellesa fell back down. Back came the glare. "I hate you."
"No you don't."
"I do now."
"And I'm very emotionally hurt. Have you given up yet?"
"Yet?"
"Well, you're still on the ground. You know, if this were a real fight, then you'd be very, very dead."
She scowled and climbed back to her feet. The onlookers, all of them soldiers, cheered her on, but she wasn't paying them any attention. She raised her fists and danced close for a quick jab.
That's it. Good.
Ikharos sidestepped it. His hands were by his side. He stood in a casual manner just to mock her, to draw out the anger she so commonly used as a weapon, and raised a critical eyebrow.
It worked. She snarled and got closer, flinging out blows so fast he almost didn't think she was planning them. Still, he was faster, and not one of them got anywhere close.
"That's better," he said. "Use your anger as fuel, but stay in command. Don't let it blind you."
"Shut up!"
"Alright, shutting up." He caught her wrist, twisted it, and pulled the arm forward. She stumbled with it. Ikharos's forearm snaked around her neck and squeeze, just to tell her that it was there. "Dead."
He let go. Tellesa twirled around and clocked him across the jaw. It was a good punch. Ikharos felt something shift - something that wasn't supposed to shift.
"Ouch," he muttered. Or attempted to. It came out as "Ouk."
"Hah." Tellesa nursed her bruised hand.
The crowd quietened and parted. Ajihad walked past, wearing a look of faint amusement. He put a hand on Murtagh's shoulder. "Here you are. I was hoping to find you both here." He looked around. "Are there not duties to be performed?! Disperse!"
The spectators quickly made themselves scarce.
"What do you need, sir?" Murtagh asked nervously.
Ajihad's smile died away. "A scout returned from the tunnels. We know where the Urgals are rooted. I want you with us to track them down."
Murtagh nodded quickly. "I'll go."
Ikharos lost all sense of good cheer. It drained away as horrible realism set in.
Children. He wants children to fight.
"As will I," Tellesa grunted. She shook her hand to dispel the pain. If her strained hiss was any indication, it only made it worse. "What time will we be back? I... need to pay my respects."
"With luck we'll return on the morrow." Ajihad looked her over. "Are you sure you're fit to fight?"
"Positive."
Ajihad slowly nodded, then turned to Ikharos with a thoughtful expression. "I know it's asking much of you, considering all you have already done for us, but would you accompany us?"
He twirled about, just in time to see a part of the darkness light up blue.
Ikharos shook his head. "I'm not so crazy about caves right now. I'll pass."
"A pity. You two, gather your arms and make your way to Tronjheim's gate." Ajihad sent meaningful looks to the youngsters. They bowed their heads and raced off. When they were gone, he sighed. "With any luck, we'll have those Urgals ousted. If not, we could spend weeks scouring the tunnels. My fears would be allayed if you would remain to watch over Farthen Dûr while we are gone."
"I'll try," Ikharos murmured.
The walk back to the Skiff was quiet and unremarkable. It was evening, the time where families would settle down for a lovely meal and engaging conversation. Maybe that was what his life was missing.
Formora was outside the Skiff. She watched him approach with her arms crossed.
He slowed down. Ikharos suddenly felt the urge to turn around and go the other way.
"We need to talk," she said in a voice he didn't dare contradict.
"Okay," he replied. He reasoned that if he appeared agreeable, then he might get out of it alive. "What about?"
"You and I are going to discuss what dragons are." Formora's eyes flashed dangerously, daring him to argue.
Ah shit.
Ikharos held up his hands. "You do know that I don't want to hear this, right? I already know all I need to about dragons."
"Evidently, it's not enough."
"Look, I apologize for hurting your feelings, but-"
He said the wrong thing. He must have, because she strode forward and poked him in the chest, dead centre. It wasn't hard, and he couldn't even feel it because of the armour in the way, but the message was as clear as day. "Stop talking."
So he stopped.
"I have not had a good day. While you were brushing off everyone, I've been answering questions and making excuses on your behalf."
"I haven't-"
"You have. You are the Shadeslayer now. You are as important as... as Eragon and Saphira are! You can't just disregard that!"
"I don't see why not. Their politics doesn't interest me."
"That does not undercut its importance." She briefly scruncher her eyes shut. Ikharos suddenly became aware of how tired she sounded. "Please. Ikharos, work with me. We're allies. We're in this together. We have to trust each other, cooperate with one another. I'm on your side, but you need to be on mine too."
He wished Xiān were with him. She would tell him what to do, what to say. But she had disappeared to who-knows-where, citing that she was 'bored.'
"I am on your side. I'm on the side of everyone here. I'm here because I want to save them."
"You're trying to save them alone. You said it yourself, we need allies."
"And you said we didn't need the Varden."
Formora sighed. "I'm... dubious about their worth in a fight, especially if Cabal or Shades are concerned, but they can supply us with material support. Kiphoris is smart to chase an alliance with the dwarves."
"He's a sly bastard, I'll give him that much."
"Ikharos."
"Yes?"
"Please."
"... But I like brushing off uninteresting people."
"Ikharos."
"Fine," he exhaled fitfully. "I'll... What is it you want me to do?"
"For a start, you and I could begin drawing up plans."
"Alright, what's your-"
"Not now. We're going to talk about dragons."
He'd hoped she would forget about that. Ikharos grimaced and looked off into the distance. "I'd really rather not."
"I understand you have misgivings about dragons-"
"Understatement, that."
"-but Ahamkara and dragons are separate creatures entirely."
He shook his head. "Not entirely separate. There's a bunch of wishes involved in Keplerian dragons. I felt it."
"That's... still no excuse."
"You don't know what Ahamkara are like," he snapped, suddenly angry.
"And you don't know dragons!" Formora fiercely shot back. She squared her shoulders. "There's no convincing you, is there?"
"No."
"So be it." She brushed past him. "Come with me."
Ikharos frowned. "Where?"
Formora looked back narrowed her eyes. "Just follow."
Ikharos did end up following. As loathe as he was to admit it, his interest was reluctantly piqued - and he didn't want to endanger the easy friendship they'd begun to build up over something as despicable as dragons.
000
"Where do you think they're off to?" Xiān thought aloud.
Kiphoris grumbled something she couldn't hear.
"What was that?"
"I despise you."
"You'll learn to love me."
"Go away."
"Nah."
"You are annoying."
"Yup."
"Leave me be."
"No can do."
Kiphoris shook irritably. "Why me?"
"Because you looked lonely out here, with nothing more than a rock for company."
"Reisa!" He all but bellowed.
Nothing.
His winged head hung down. The magic evaded him and the Ghost's snide little comments were not helping his burgeoning frustrations.
"Are you well, Kiphoris-Veskirisk?" Javek called out. The Splicer lingered a stone's throw away, torn between curiosity and deferential respect.
Xiān answered for him. "He's trying to use magic. Apparently, if you say reisa to a pebble it will lift up into the air."
Javek tilted his head. "Oh?" The Splicer picked up a loose rock. "Reisa."
The pebble shook and slowly lifted from the Eliksni's palm. Kiphoris stared at it, disbelief etched across his alien face.
"I can do magic!" Javek exclaimed, arms flinging up into air.
"Oof," Xiān whispered. Just loud enough for Kiph to hear. "That's gotta be disappointing."
000
Night had fallen by the time they made it to the tunnels. Formora seemed like she had a fair idea where she was going. Ikharos was less certain. She had to physically tug him when they delved into the underground. He hated every moment of it.
The tunnel she chose went up and up in a strange sort of staired spiral, and before long they were out on the mountain's surface. Grass wet with dew dominated the mountain face. Below them lay a massive sprawling valley, covered in a thick blanket of trees. The moon was full and bright, illuminating everything in a pleasantly enchanting way.
"How did you-"
"I've been here before." Formora started walking up the mountain. "Before Galbatorix's rise. The dwarves haven't changed much. They really should have collapsed a few tunnels. Their entire kingdom is open to attack."
"Why don't you tell them?"
"Because dwarves take their tunnels very seriously. They might feel insulted that an outsider would tell them to break down a few."
"Do you want me to tell them?"
"Goodness no. That would be many times worse. You're an awful diplomat."
Ikharos grunted. "I'll take that as a compliment."
"It wasn't intended as one."
"Shut up and let me have this."
"Fine. You're an awful diplomat."
"The worst," he agreed.
Formora shook her head. "You're ridiculous."
"Blame Xiān. She's the worst role model there ever was."
"You two are normally very different people."
"That's because I found a better role model."
"Who?"
He started to smile, despite himself. "Socrates. He was one of the first Risen there ever was. He was old, in every meaning of the word. He taught me the nullscape."
"Is he...?"
"Gone? Yeah." And just like that, the smile died away. "Iron Lords got him."
"I'm-"
"We really talk about sad stuff a lot, don't we?"
Formora slowed. "We do, yes."
There was a short reign of silence.
"Should we try to talk about something else?"
"We needn't to talk at all. It's a pleasant night. No need to spoil it with our past miseries."
He caught himself before he could mount a response. Silence sounded good.
Formora brought him to a small clearing halfway up the mountain, where the ground was bare rock and earth. It was cold enough that his breath frosted upon each exhalation. A small boulder lay in the centre. Something about it looked strange. There were suspiciously familiar marks in the stone. The surface of it looked too smooth to be natural. Formora sat against it, completely at ease. She gestured to the place beside her.
With some trepidation Ikharos sat down and gingerly reached out with his will to test the stone, but it was as bland as every other boulder in the valley. No magic involved.
"What is this?" He asked.
"The last time I was here," Formora said, "my dragon tried to melt and mold stone with fire and claws. This is the result."
"... Oh." Ikharos paused. "Why are we here?"
"Because I want to show you that the dragons are different. That they aren't what you think them to be."
"No offence, but the rock doesn't change anything."
"I was actually counting on the view."
He frowned. "The view?"
"We're up very high, are we not?"
"We are. What are you getting at?"
Formora gave him a considering look. "Ikharos, do you trust me?"
"I do," he answered immediately.
"Despite our... shaky introductions?"
"Shaky is one way to put it. But yes, I do."
"I trust you. And I need you to understand that keeping both Eragon and Saphira alive is important to me. They are the last free Dragon Rider pair. The last remnant of my order."
Ikharos hesitated. "I... understand. To some extent."
"I want you to understand further. I want you to lose this petty hatred."
His cheer disappeared and his voice darkened. "It is not petty."
Formora paused. "I chose my words poorly. I mean to say I wish for you to keep your loathing of Ahamkara separate from dragons. I need you to understand the difference."
"I understand that there may be-"
"Look into my mind. Into my memories. Then tell me you still hate dragons."
Ikharos stilled. His anger abandoned him. He reached out with a cautious tendril of willpower and found her mental defenses wide open, consciousness bared to any passerby with the psychic know-how.
"That's why you picked here," he remarked. "No one around but us."
"Safest option." Formora shrugged. Her nerves were alight with uncertainty; he could see it clear as day.
Ikharos stalled. "Are you sure? I can't do it in good conscience if you aren't."
"It doesn't matter what I think, only that-"
"It does matter. Your mind is your own. Everyone here seems to forget that. If we try to break into each other's thoughts for secrets or power, we're no better than the Hive. No better than the Shades. I don't want to cross that line."
"That is noble of you... but I think you should. It's important. To me and many others."
"It's still your mind. It's trespassing of the worst kind."
Formora laughed nervously. "Your origins are shining through. You really are a man from another world. I have knowledge and magic in plenty, all of which you could steal from at this very moment, and you're more concerned with the morality of it. Any and every other mage in Alagaësia would have leapt at the chance."
"Yeah, because to do otherwise is wrong," he refuted.
"You misunderstand. I'm not scolding you, I'm..." Formora struggled for the right word. When she couldn't find it, she groaned and said, "I'm complimenting you."
"Is that a genuine non-sarcastic compliment?"
"I can take it back."
"No, you've already said it. It's out there now, out in the wide open world."
Formora rolled her eyes. "Fine, yes, you've heard it. Let's carry on."
Ikharos nodded grimly. "To the mind intrusion."
"It sounds much less appealing when you put it like that."
"That's what it is!"
"Now you're procrastinating. I'm allowing you to do this. Eka ástar onr." (I trust you.)
"No pressure," Ikharos mumbled. He took a deep breath and reached out.
Formora's mind wasn't like any human consciousness he'd felt before - not that he'd actively probed many human minds before. Her consciousness was full of song and tree-bark and her thoughts were a humming autumnal forest clad in gentle melodies, tinged with a primal force so alien that, for a moment, he was almost convinced that she wasn't human at all.
That part, the inhuman part, was full of a sharp, yet comforting, warmth. Like a cozy hearth, but larger, brighter, and alive.
The memories sprang forth - the ones Formora forwarded willingly.
Sharp winds whipped at her, trying to snatch her away, but her grip on the saddle held. The clouds swept by, dousing her in water droplets, yet she didn't care. She exulted in the freedom of flight.
There were scales under her fingers. Hard, smooth scales over taut neck muscles. The dragon, which thrice the size of an elephant, roared joyously. It was a shared joy, emotion intensified through melding of minds. Formora laughed and her dragon heard, even as the air greedily snatched the sound away. They laughed together.
The great wood-scaled beast bellowed and dove down. The cloud cover cleared away, revealing the verdant hills and thick forests in all their untamed glory.
There was a warmth at her back. The dragon curled around the clearing, and Formora leaned against her stomach. A wing fell over her, keeping her dry despite the sudden lash of rain. The sound of it splashing against the leathery membrane above was hypnotic. A peaceful contentment bloomed in her heart. Their hearts. They were at ease, happy to be alive and happy to be in each other's company.
War swept across the earth below like a tidal wave, overtaking villages, towns, and even cities. It was not limited to the land below, either. The skies were rife with violence and rage, and they were in the thick of it.
Not by any choice of their own.
The leash within their minds, upon their very names, scraped against their souls. They bucked and writhed in vain attempts to release themselves, but both were enslaved so totally that they could not lift a finger without permission from their new liege.
They fought, bloodied, and killed, not because they wanted to but because they were forced to. The bonds restraining them were so secure that they could not even end themselves to spare their former comrades. Formora raged as a fifth Rider, someone she knew as a friend, fell to her blade. It wasn't right! She didn't want this!
The magic seeped in like a cool winter draught. They didn't understand it at first. They feared it was another of the usurper's twisted spells. They feared that they were to be used up in a grotesque experiment for his amusement.
It was not the usurper, they soon learned. It was the dragons.
When they did find understanding, after listening to Enduriel scream into the night about his soul being stolen, they crept to a quiet place and wept. Their very existence was being wrenched from them. They had been judged and found guilty for their crimes. Crimes they did not willingly commit.
It wasn't fair.
She was fading. Dying in the worst possible way. Formora tried to comfort her, but to be comforted was to have a name. And she had no name.
She was nothing. Just scales on flesh on bones. Empty eyes glazed over. Wings dragging on the ground.
Only Formora remained to weep.
Ikharos withdrew as quickly as he was able. His hands shook with raw, foreign emotion. He recoiled and looked at nothing in particular.
"I'm sorry," he muttered "That was... that was horrible."
Formora didn't say anything. She was stricken with stale grief and renewed shock. Her gaze was fixed on the bright white orb in the centre of the sky. Ikharos quietened and joined her in reverie.
It was strange to see a moon not yet cracked open with Hive magic. Kepler's satellite was healthy and whole, devoid of the rotting soulfire that lurked beneath the surface of distant Luna. Kepler-186f was in better shape than Earth, despite Nezarec's grasp on it. It had escaped the ravages of Devils and Hive. It had escaped the horrors of the Collapse. Barbarism had a hold, and a strong one at that, but not to the extent of Earth's Dark Age.
Finally, Ikharos said, "I think I know now."
"Know?"
"Know the connection between Rider and dragon. I felt yours, and… I guess you were right. There's no puppet strings. No illusion." He sighed. "I know what it is, but I don't know why it is. And I really want to know the why."
Formora shook her head. "No one knows the why. Not even the dragons. It was wild magic. Simple as that."
"I don't agree."
"Oh? Go on, then. Make your claim.
"I think it's a wish."
Formora grew angry. "Are you still set on-"
"Just hear me out. The... ugh, this is difficult. The dragon-magic feels like a fulfilled wish to me. How did the Dragon Riders come to be?"
"The Blood-Oath. Both the elves and the dragons agreed to form a union between themselves, after they fought a war with one another. The dragons gained the ability to speak through language and the elves became immortal. Rider pairs were more powerful than wild dragons or lone elves."
Ikharos nodded along. "It sounds like a wish, but one that affected the dragons as strongly as it did those who connected with them. Like the wish Morgothal made. He bonded with Merenos, an Ahamkara. The wish-dragon left a mark on his hand."
"The gedwëy ignasia." Formora pulled off a gauntlet and held out her hand, palm up. A silver mark stretched across her skin. The moonlight reflected off of it. "Was it like this?"
"Very close. But Morgothal's had more fire involved. It was bright with heat. Perhaps his was a proto-gedwëy ignasia? He was around long before your Blood-Oath." Ikharos allowed his Light to brush against the essence of the dragon's mark. As he suspected, it was chock full of paracausal energies. More dragon-magic. Almost identical to the essence within Saphira. And yet, something stood out. "There's a spell there," he noted. "One meant to restrain. It feels newer than the rest."
Formora scowled. "Du Namar Aurboda."
"The Banishing of Names." Ikharos remembered. It was a terrifying concept: that there were beings out there who could destroy his very soul without him being able to defend himself. It was something he'd only imagined possible to come from the twisted minds of the Hive. Or the Vex, what with their Gorgons. "It's monstrous. I saw what it did."
"It killed her."
"I know."
The curse irked him and not just because of what it did. It was a clumsy thing, committed irresponsibly and without second thought. An abomination of too much power and too little foresight. With a wary touch, he reached for the spell and searched for a flaw in the smooth ward-coating with painstaking slowness.
"What are you doing?" Formora asked anxiously.
"Testing something."
"Don't-"
He found a hold and hooked his metaphysical claws in. He peeled back the spell with surgical precision, cutting it from the older magics that were so intertwined with Formora's very being. When it was safely removed, he crushed it with his every ounce of willpower.
Formora stared at him with wide eyes. "What did you do?"
Ikharos drew a ragged breath. He shrugged and fell back against the boulder.
She gingerly flexed her fingers. "You did something. Ikharos, what did you..." She gasped and began to tremble. "I can... remember her."
"'Mora?"
"I can remember her name." Tears fell freely from her eyes. "Ilthorvo."
She began to laugh with free unrestrained glee, as if all the sorrows in the world had been healed over. It lasted less than a minute, but Ikharos didn't think he'd ever forget the sound of it.
"Thank you," Formora murmured at last.
"No problem," Ikharos replied. The horror and tragedy of the Banishing of Names wasn't undone, not in the slightest, but the scars could be mended. It was a fate he wouldn't have wished it on anyone. Not even a dragon.
Time passed, but not another word was said until the moon had passed its zenith. Ikharos made to stand. "I should check up on Xiān. She's probably driving Kiph nuts and I don't want to lose my Ghost because she's too-"
Formora touched his shoulder. It was feather-light, but it stopped him all the same. "No." She said softly.
"No?"
"Stay. Please."
He stayed.
000
The command deck was empty but for him and the infernal Ghost. Kiphoris did his best to ignore Xiān. She, in turn, fiddled around with the holotable. It gave him time to call in his report.
"Tarrhis-Mrelliks." Kiphoris greeted.
"Kiphoris-Veskirisk. How fares your hunt?"
"It is done. The Shade is slain."
"Excellent! Who destroyed the Maw-Bitten beast?"
"Ikha Riis. And we have made contact with more humans in the process."
"Elaborate."
"They oppose the puppet-empire commanded by the Maw-Bitten. The Shade commanded an army of strange horned-humans to attack and destroy the rebels. We broke their assault and routed the attackers."
"Are these humans like Ikha Riis?"
"Nama. They have magicians, though not like him. Humans capable of lesser spells." Kiphoris hesitated. "Mine-Splicer, Javek, has learned a spell. He is capable of magic."
There was a lengthy pause on the other end of the radio. "Magic?"
"Eia, the magic language used by Formora pak Zeshus."
"What spell is this?" Tarrhis pressed eagerly.
"It was only a small spell. He lifted a pebble. I am told that magic may be honed like any other skill. If he learns more words, he may use more magic."
"Can this magic be shared?"
"As I understand, only a few may grasp it. I cannot. Neither can Calzan, Melkris, Eldrin, or Paltis. But if Javek can, it may be possible that more of our brethren may soon learn it."
"This is good. Eia, this is very good!"
"Our difficulty lies in lack of knowledge concerning this magic."
"Where is Formora? Where is Ikha Riis?"
"They are not present, mine-Baron."
Tarrhis growled. "A pity. I would have liked to congratulate them. As it is, I will congratulate you."
"Thank you, Tarrhis-Mrelliks." Again, Kiphoris hesitated. "We have also located mine-scouts. The humans and dragon they escorted are alive and well, but Alkris recently fell in battle to the Shade's blade."
"Another loss. These Maw-Bitten will pay for crossing the House of Scar." The towering warrior expelled a great huff.
Kiphoris waited in silence until his liege calmed before saying, "A request was made, mine-Baron. An elf, one of Formora's kin, asked for our protection when she guides the dragon and the bonded child to the elven kingdom."
"We cannot expend our warriors on trifling matters. Krinok outnumbers us."
"Mine-Baron, I have an idea which pertains to the request."
Tarrhis snorted. "You have a great many ideas, Drakkir. I have come to know this of you. Speak, then. Lay out your thoughts. I will decide if it is worth investing our focus."
000
"How did you do it?"
"The spell was broad and indirect. The intended recipients are gone. The magic is lost and directionless. Whatever the dragons did, it wasn't aimed at you. They may have intended to wipe away the very being of Ilthorvo, but they couldn't destroy the past. Only suppress it until something knocked it free."
"What you propose is next to impossible. Magic cannot be… undone."
Ikharos nodded half-heartedly. "True. But I'm a Warlock. A butcher of physics. My kind navigate the impossible."
"So you do." Formora leaned against his arm. "Thank you."
"You already said that."
"So I've said it again. I don't think you comprehend what you've done for me."
"I have a fair idea."
The conversation lulled to a stretched out length of nothing. It was... nice. It was calm - and he needed the calm.
"So?" Formora asked suddenly. "Did it work?"
"Did... Oh yeah." He chuckled. "That. Uh... I don't know. I believe you, but that doesn't mean I want to like dragons. They just set me on edge. But I won't go out of my way to attack one. Saphira's safe. I won't cause trouble."
"Good. And Eragon?"
Ikharos felt insulted. "What about him? He was never the one in danger."
"You called him dragon-pet."
"He's also a child. Why does everyone always think the worst of me? I'm not going to hurt him."
"I'm glad." She shifted. "What did you think?"
"About?"
"Ilthorvo?"
Ikharos went quiet. "I... don't know. There was a bond, I won't deny it. A close bond. A relatable one. It's like you said, the Rider-dragon bond is like that of the Risen-Ghost connection, but that's where the similarities end. From what I could tell, she seemed nice? You liked her and she liked you. I don't know what else to make of it. It's... too different."
"I'm not asking for you to write a book on the matter. I only wanted your opinion."
"Then you have it."
"I do."
Silence. He didn't mind it, but something in his gut told him to speak up. "The view is nice. If nothing else, you were right about that."
"Just wait."
"What for?"
Formora didn't say anymore on the matter. She didn't need to.
The first rays of sunlight split the eastern sky and cut through the haze of darkness. The Beor Mountains sparkled with morning frost, glittering madly. It was stunningly beautiful. The collection of monstrously tall peaks looked like a forest of silver crystals from where they sat, with rivers of viridian flowing between.
Ikharos smiled. "I see."
"Exactly. I can't imagine why the dwarves would want to keep to their caves and tunnels when all this lies just outside their cities."
"Mm-hm."
"Is there anything like this from your home?"
"The Beors are higher than any other range on Earth, but the Olympus Mons on Mars are taller still. Nowhere near as beautiful, though. Nothing but red sand and too many time-traveling death machines."
"Too many what?"
"Uh, Vex."
"Ah. You spoke of them before."
"Did I?"
"You did. They live outside of time, yes?" Formora sounded a shred dubious. ikharos couldn't blame her.
"Oh, so I did. That's them."
Back to the rising dawn they gazed. They stayed there, motionless, until the sun glared back and stung his eyes.
"We should get back," he announced.
"I agree," Formora mumbled.
"But my legs are asleep. And you've killed my arm."
"You don't need it."
"Don't I?"
"You have another." She smiled wryly.
"Reloading my guns is going to be very difficult with one arm."
"Xiān can reload them for you."
"I can't use my bow with one arm."
"You raise a valid point." She didn't move.
"Can I get my arm back? Please?""
"Since you asked nicely." Formora made a dramatic show of sitting up. Ikharos's arm buzzed with the deliciously weird sensation of pins-and-needles. He pulled himself to his feet and stumbled back against the rock.
"I'm going to fall down the mountain," he remarked cheerfully. "You've doomed me."
Kiphoris met them halfway to the Skiff. He didn't look happy. Xiān, who floated beside the Captain, was a different case entirely. She had her fins arrayed in a way that Ikharos had come to recognize as a Cheshire-cat grin.
"I'm sorry," Ikharos said quickly.
Kiphoris huffed. "I hate her."
"I know."
"I want to tear her apart."
"Understandable, but I hope you won't."
The big Eliksni sighed. It was the sound of a man - and alien - utterly defeated. "I have spoken with Tarrhis."
"Oh? What's the news?"
Kiphoris turned about and they walked back to the ship together. "Scouts report little activity in the Cabal camp."
"Have they made any moves on Ceunon again?"
"Nama. They have built walls and hunkered down."
"That's not like them."
"Eia, it is suspicious, but they are not known for their cunning. This period of inactivity may be to our advantage. We can accumulate our strength."
"Anything else?"
"Of the Shades, no. Palkra-Veskirisk has reported that Krinok, the Ether-Thief laid claim to the islands west of this continent, by the crash site of the Monoliks-Syn. He goes no farther - yet."
"The Southern Isles?" Formora inquired. "It's mostly uninhabited, save for the town of Eoam on Beirland."
Kiphoris drew his chin to his neck. "Then it is gone. Krinok is not merciful. He would have slain every single human there."
Ikharos cursed. "Psesiskar! Are we moving on him?"
"Nama. His position is too strong. The Ketch may still be partially operational. Its weaponry is too powerful."
"What about... chipping away at Krinok's base? Take his support out from under him?"
"What do you propose? Killing every noble? We cannot. We would lose the entire house. The Scars would rally to Krinok and array themselves against us. Nama, we cannot openly attack or we will risk the enmity of those who remain unaligned."
"Then what can we do?"
Kiphoris slowly clicked his mandibles. "We can strengthen. If we outfit our crews with magic, we will hold an advantage. We wait for Krinok to overextend himself."
Ikharos frowned. "That'll take time. We only have one person who can teach."
They both looked at Formora. She narrowed her eyes. "I'm not against the idea, but what you propose is a massive undertaking. There's simply too many Eliksni to sort through, and the process is far too slow. You may not be capable of magic in the first place."
"Some of us are" Kiphoris told her. He sounded irritated, but not with them. "Javek can use magic."
"He can?"
"He lifted a stone with your word."
"Oh. Then yes, he can wield magic. Anyone else?"
"Nama. The rest of mine-crew are magicless."
Formora sighed. "That's what I mean. It would take far too long to sort through your people before I have enough to start. Some learn at different rates, and some are simply more strongly attuned than others. Itcould take me years before you would have a group of competent mages."
"I understand. Thus I have already set in motion a scheme."
Ikharos perked up. "You have? Let's hear it."
Kiphoris drew in a deep breath. "The elf emissary arrived yesterday to ask for Eliksni assistance. She wishes for Eragon and Saphira to be protected when they are brought to the elf-demesne. I considered it and made the request known to Tarrhis. If we commit warriors to this, we will be not only as guards but as emissaries of Scars. I have struck a pact with Hrothgar-kel for resources. We might yet strike a bargain for skills with this Islanzadí-kel. Scar-crews will be well-supplied."
Formora hesitated. "That may work. My people are... different, Kiphoris. They are not like humans or dwarves. Magic and agelessness has done that. If you do ask for teachings, be prepared for anything. They will adore you for your machines and your science, but they will look down on you for your lack of magic. They are proud and judgemental, though they pretend otherwise."
Kiphoris tilted his head thoughtfully. "I hoped you would accompany me. You know your people. You could help mine-Scars."
"They would sooner see me dead than listen to me. To them I am as guilty as Galbatorix for the fall of the dragons."
"Ah, but you are not, are you? You swore it was coerced servitude."
"Yes, but-"
"Swear it to them. They will know the truth, just as we do." He stopped in place. "Your people are your duty, Formora-Zeshus. Do not squander your chance for amends."
"That's all well and good, but they will kill me."
"They shall not. I will be there. As will Ikha Riis."
Ikharos backed away. "Hold up. I've already got enough to do. I've got to watch for Shades, Exos, Cabal, Ahamkara, and I need to figure out what the hell happened with Morgothal's buddies. I don't have time to play diplomat. I'm an awful diplomat. Just ask Formora."
"He's terrible," she readily agreed.
"I know you are," Kiphoris closed his outer eyes. "You have all the impertinence of an Uluru. Regardless, your standing as a warrior of the Great Machine grants you much respect, deserving or no, in the eyes of those who do not know you."
"Hah!" Xiān exclaimed. They all ignored her. Kiphoris continued.
"We might use that to our advantage."
Ikharos eyed him warily. "You've got a sly streak a mile wide."
Kiphoris narrowed his inner eyes. "I do what I must to save mine-people. Both our peoples. Eliksni and humans."
"How do I know you aren't just trying to gather enough power to screw over the rest of us?"
The Captain held out a hand. "I swear it. Upon mine-honour, I fight and bargain for the greater good of both peoples."
"That works." Ikharos took it. They shook. Kiphoris almost broke his hand his grip was so strong. Ikharos couldn't tell if it was intentional or not.
The Skiff was as quiet as ever. Melkris stood by the rear of it, a smirk dancing in his bright eyes.
"How was your night, Kirzen?" He snidely called out in Eliksni.
Ikharos groaned. "Oh, don't start."
"Was it a... good night? Delectable?"
"I'm going to hit you."
"Hit away," Kiphoris grunted. The Captain brushed past and clambered into the ship.
Melkris laughed. "You do not deny it!"
"...You are a strange, strange Vandal."
AN: Thanks to Nomad Blue for editing!
And a massive thanks and shoutout to Rentozu for drawing artworks of the three main characters. I love it all. They go by Rookdaw on insta/tumblr/twitter.
The artworks are on imgur dot com /gallery/5kgK2w9 and imgur dot com /gallery/H63rUip