Chapter 39: Stone and Whispers
"You're close."
Tarok hung onto every word. His throat was parched and his mouth was dry. He hoped that there would be water wherever the voice led him. Food too. And light. He wanted to see the sun again. He needed to see it, above all else. He didn't want his last memories to be of gloomy dwarven caves.
"Keep going, o wanderer mine. You're almost there."
000
Tellesa marveled at the smooth, flawless frame of the Tigerspite. An Urgal ambusher had taken an axe to it, but the foreign weapon remained whole and undamaged. The brief fight had been a close call, and Tellesa doubted that a shield would have done any better. She was glad to have it with her still, even if all it did was offer her back some meager protection.
The Urgal aggressor had died moments later when she twirled around and ran it through with her sword. Alkris's sword. It still bothered her. She constantly tried to distract herself with work, as Ikharos had advised. Tellesa hoped that by the end of the day she would be too tired to grieve. It was unfortunate that the funeral was to come around before that.
Ajihad led them on the march back to the surface world. The mission had gone splendidly. Only a few sustained injuries and none of the Varden's warriors or the accompanying dwarves had died. Murtagh continued to prove his changed allegiance, to Ajihad's satisfaction, and she got to exact a small measure of vengeance on Kuasta's behalf. It was a winning scenario - and she basked in it as they trudged back to the plains of Farthen Dûr.
There was a special kind of bliss that accompanied the harsh glare of daylight after so many hours underground. It was painful, yes, but it was a relief. Humans weren't made for caves. Not like the dwarves. The all-encompassing total darkness and warped sound of the below unnerved her. It gave rise to a primal, instinctual fear of the unknown, and Tellesa was only too glad to leave it behind.
Once her eyes adjusted to the light, she marveled at what lay ahead. Tronjheim never failed to impress, and the stone flats of Farthen Dûr were just as worthy of respect. At times she couldn't believe what a turn her life had taken - for better or worse. She had lost so much, but she had seen even more. Things that most people never would. Dwarves, dragons, elves, and the ever strange Eliksni! She had fought in battle against an Urgal horde and held her own!
Tellesa took a moment to reflect back on her journey with a mixture of regret, sorrow, and pride. She was a warrior now. She would continue to fight, even if it meant her death. There was no dissuading her.
"Are you alright?" Murtagh asked.
She shrugged and adopted a smile she didn't feel. "Just thinking."
"About?"
"... That we're here. And we're alive. Both of us. Eragon and Saphira too. It's nothing short of a miracle. And I don't know if I should thank the gods for saving us or curse them for allowing other people to die."
Murtagh nodded understandingly. "I don't think either will matter. The gods have so many people to look over - what importance do we hold?"
"That's..."
"Dangerous?"
"Freeing. Frighteningly so."
The corners of Murtagh's mouth curled up. "I didn't take you for the type to frighten easily."
"Gods aren't flesh and blood. I can't cut them down like I can an Urgal. They're not foes I want to keep."
"I am of the same mind, but they haven't opposed me yet, so..."
"You're a rogue."
"And you're a brute."
They shared a chuckle.
Mere minutes later, they were set to march back to the city. That was when the Urgals appeared.
Tellesa twirled around and shouted a warning as the horned monsters clambered out of the tunnel behind them. Soldiers - both human and dwarf - broke formation to meet the oncoming threat. They surrounded Ajihad with spears and axes at the ready, shields raised high. Tellesa found herself standing beside Murtagh to the edge of the shieldwall, both of them with their swords held in tight fists. She activated her weapon and watched the crackling lightning race down the metal blade.
The Urgals weren't as numerous as she feared, but there were still too many. They didn't move in formation or otherwise employ any tactic besides charge, but their immense physical strength and fearsome rage was not to be underestimated. Tellesa locked eyes with the one coming straight for her and studied its movements, how the muscles in its arm shifted as it prepared to run her through. She noted that it favoured its right foot and left hand. It wore thin, worn leather and animal hides for armour, nothing more.
When it did reach her, she moved to the side and slashed through it. The Eliksni blade sliced through armour, flesh, and bone without trouble. The Urgal continued on, but its head, neck and left shoulder were left behind.
Murtagh swatted aside the spear of another and cut the beast's throat. It fell, gurgling, to the side. It granted them a brief reprieve, long enough only to take in the sight of their comrades locked in combat, before more monsters slammed against them.
Tellesa lost track of time as she threw herself wholeheartedly into the fight, but it couldn't have been very long at all when the tide turned. She didn't know what happened, only that the nearest human soldier was suddenly dragged away. By what, she did not know, but it wasn't natural. Dust churned up more fiercely than the skirmish warranted, and soon her vision was almost entirely impaired by it. When it cleared, she found that she was one of the few to remain standing. And the Urgals were still as numerous as they had been before.
"Gods!" she cursed. A club swung for her head, but she managed to get out of the way. It hit her shoulder instead and sent her careening back. She ignored the dizzying sensations and recovered as quickly as she could. She couldn't let them knock her down. If she fell, she was dead.
The Urgals gave the survivors little time to catch their breath and swarmed them. Tellesa lost all pretense of control and swung out with legs and arms, hitting everything, but it was not enough. A blade nicked her arm, a maul cracked against her leg, and a heavy fist collided with her face. Her vision swam. She could scarcely move, dazed as she was. Her sword was torn from her grasp and rough paws pulled her hands together. Taut rope was quickly tied around her limbs. She tried to fight it, but another blow to the head almost knocked her out entirely.
Ajihad was down - dead or dying, she didn't know. Murtagh had just lost his duel when a second monster headbutted him. And the Twins-
The Twins were urgently barking at the Urgals.
"Away!" One of them hissed. "We need to get away! Quick!"
Rough hands grabbed Tellesa's arm and pulled her forth. She struggled, but the Urgals were stronger. She tried to yell, but a third blow caught her under the chin. She bit her tongue and tasted blood. The tunnel's darkness embraced them once more. The sour, stifling air assailed her senses and the light rapidly faded away.
"Quickly!" The Twins urged. They were at the forefront of the group, completely unharmed. One of them pointed ahead. "We must lose them in the tunnels! They're coming for-"
A shape loomed out of the darkness. It was taller than any man, and huge horns curled from its head. A Kull. It held in its hand a makeshift axe of scavenged steel and leather-bound wood.
"You!" The first of the Twin glared at it. "You will remain behind to distract-"
The giant swung its axe. It took the traitorous mage in the side of the skull. He blinked, once, and collapsed.
The remaining Twin cried out and fell down with fright. He rapidly crawled back. "Kill it! Kill it!"
Urgals gawked at the newcomer. A few of the swifter beasts charged the Kull, and those received fatal blows to their heads and necks for their effort. The giant had eyes only for the remaining mage; everything else was merely a distraction to be swatted aside. None of them stood a chance.
The remaining Twin gasped suddenly, before the Kull had even reached him. "What are you-! No! Nonono! Boetk istalrí!"
Tellesa's entire world was enveloped in flames. She cringed at the searing heat and stumbled back. Something grabbed her and pulled her away, and she willingly went with it. Her every thought turned to the animal instinct of fleeing. She felt herself being lifted up with far too many hands for an Urgal, and the fresh air of the outside - devoid of the choking smoke filling the caves - swept over her. She coughed and gulped down great lungfuls of breath. She was out!
"Tellesa!" Paltis's face filled her vision. The Eliksni's eyes were wide with worry. "Hurt?!"
"No, I-" She hacked up more of the flames' toxic smoke. "It's nothing just... Wait, where's-"
A pair of figures practically flew out of the tunnel. Ikharos brought them to a gentle hover in the air and carefully lowered the ash-covered form of Murtagh down to the ground. The young man was alive and conscious. He freely bled from a dozen wounds, but they were each little more than scratches. He stumbled and coughed thickly.
A shadow fell over Tellesa. Saphira looked down upon her with concern. "Are you alright?"
"I'm fine," she rasped. It was a lie. Her lungs burned and her body ached, but that was the least of their problems.
Paltis turned to Ikharos. "Urgala dra dis?!"
"Des." Ikharos replied in a tense, snappish tone. He faced the cavern, his massive sword in hand. "Er ka. Ba'sha di - ne zes di!"
"Raark!" Paltis roared furiously. She drew a crackling blade and stood between the tunnels and Tellesa. It was more than a relief; no Urgal would ever get past her.
An answering bellow echoed out of the cavern, stricken with pain and rage. Another shape, one that stood taller than even Paltis, lurched out of the tunnel's opening.
It was the Kull.
The beast was still aflame. Its flesh was scorched so badly that, if not for its horns, it wouldn't have been recognizable at all. It hobbled free of the tunnel of flames and fell to its knees. It lifted its head and roared at the sky beyond the mountain's crater - then collapsed.
Ikharos walked over and nudged it with the tip of his boot, but it didn't budge. It was dead.
"That settles that," he muttered aloud. He twirled about, scar glowing and eyes bright with power. He pointed at someone, but Tellesa couldn't see who for Saphira's wings in the way. The dragon had curled around her protectively. "You! Go tell whoever's in charge!"
"But Ajihad-"
"We're all well aware! Find someone else! Everyone else! Anyone with an iota of authority!"
Rapid, receding footsteps answered him. Ikharos nodded to himself and returned to the flames. He waved a hand. The fire lessened in intensity, eventually dying away altogether. The heavy scent of smoke remained.
"Ikha Riis!" Paltis exclaimed. She pointed to Tellesa.
Ikharos paused. "No visible wounds, but they're in shock. Take them back to the Skiff. Get Zeshus to look them over. Quick!"
Paltis helped Tellesa to her feet. She spoke reassurances in her native language, and though she couldn't understand a word of it, Tellesa appreciated the soft voice in which it was spoken. The Eliksni helped her up on Saphira's saddle and then went for Murtagh. Eragon stood off to the side, by Ajihad's body.
Tellesa's blood went cold. More friends dead. Will this never end?
Murtagh was in a worse state than she. His cough was ugly and pitiful. He needed a healer, and quickly.
"To Skiff!" Paltis instructed Saphira, backing away. The dragon didn't waste any time. With one massive leap, she took off into the air and soared up above the rock flats.
Tellesa hung on for dear life and wrapped an arm around Murtagh. The flight was shaky and too fast for her liking, but it was mercifully quick. Saphira touched down beside the huge metal contraption and alerted those inside with a throaty roar. Two of Paltis's brethren stormed out - warriors in full armour, with blades and firearms in plenty. One of them, the soldier without the hood, sheathed his weapons and rushed forth.
"Tellesa hulunkles?" He asked.
She barely managed a shrug. The Eliksni didn't waste any further time and helped her down. Confident she could stand on her own, he dragged Murtagh from the saddle and rushed them inside the Skiff.
It was more spacious inside than she previously thought. Another Eliksni waited at the end of the internal chamber. It was slightly shorter and thinner than the others and it's armour was less formidable. "Human hulunkles?" It inquired.
"Eia! Da Zeshus!" The first barked. The non-warrior scurried away. Tellesa fell onto the metal bench to the side. Murtagh dropped beside her. Mere moments later, Kiphoris and the armour-clad form of Zeshus clambered down a ladder. The warrior moved out of the way as they approached.
"What has happened?!" Kiphoris demanded. Before she even had a chance to answer, he asked, "Are you wounded?"
"I'm fine." Tellesa shook her head. She jutted a thumb at Murtagh. "Treat him."
"Neither of you are fine," Zeshus said in that strange voice of hers. She hovered over them and splayed her fingers. "Burns, cuts, bruises - you've been busy."
"We-"
"Waíse heill."
Almost instantly the numbing pain of everything began to fade away.
"Thank you," Tellesa croaked.
Zeshus tilted her helmet-clad head. "What happened?"
"Urgals," Murtagh answered in a voice no louder than the faintest of whispers.
Kiphoris knelt down. "Urgals did this? With fire?"
"No, the fire was the Twins' doing," Tellesa told them.
"Wait, the..." Zeshus went rigid. "They're leaders of the Varden's mages. Why would they-?"
"Traitors," Murtagh coughed furiously.
Zeshus and Kiphoris shared alarmed looks. "This could go badly very quickly," the former said.
"Internal?" The Eliksni Captain asked.
"Maybe."
Tellesa would have liked to remain silent and give her voice a rest, but she felt like she had to say something. "Ajihad's dead. They killed him."
"Psekisk!" Kiphoris swore. He stood and looked to the rear of the Skiff. "We must be alert. If this means attack, then we will be ready to face it."
"We can't assume anything," Zeshus advised him in a slow, careful tone. "If we overreact, it could cause... complications."
"What do you propose?"
"I don't know."
"Gah! I do not like this!" Kiphoris sighed. "I despise this uncertainty."
Zeshus nodded sympathetically. "All we can do is wait."
000
The tunnel stank of smoke and burnt flesh. Ikharos activated the filters on his helmet to keep the worst of it out. Arya had no such luxury. He could have given her something for it. But then again, she hadn't asked. And Ikharos wasn't inclined to make offers to people who annoyed him. And by the Traveler, did she annoy him. She looked at him as if he were a rabid beast. As if he would turn on them at any moment. Her hand never strayed far from her weapons when he was nearby. It irked him to no end. He had saved them from a Shade. Surely that should have earned him some goodwill. But no, she saw him as yet another threat.
Damn elf. He was starting to believe what Formora said about her people. They were a judgemental bunch.
"Guess we got lucky with Mora," Xiān hummed.
He grunted in agreement. The elf's eyes snapped to him, but he didn't deign to explain. Instead, he simply stated, "This is the work of magic."
The elf didn't outwardly react, but her eyes conveyed that expression of 'obviously!'
"Do Urgals have mages?"
"They do," Arya answered in that clipped, cold voice of hers.
Ikharos nodded. "But it wasn't an Urgal mage that did this."
"Why would that be?"
He pointed. "Because that's a human body. And it's the origin of the spell."
Arya peered at him, frowning. "How can you tell?"
"I just can. I'm guessing... this is one of those Twins fellows? Did Ajihad bring any other mages with him?"
"No."
"Then it is one of the Twins. But why would he use such an out-of-control spell?"
Arya walked past him to investigate the ash-smeared corpse. "Perhaps it was a last resort. Tellesa and Murtagh may be able to tell us more."
"Give them time. They need it."
"The Varden will demand answers."
"It'll get its answers when those kids are ready. Not before. I'm not putting them through anything that will hurt them."
She glanced at him. "That is not your choice."
"It is when I decide it is," Ikharos firmly retorted. Something like irritation flickered across Arya's face, yet she said no more on the topic.
They left not long after. There wasn't anything of note in the tunnel, aside from the countless corpses. They'd learned all they could. A crowd was waiting for them above. Mostly soldiers under the command of... Ikharos had forgotten his name. One of Ajihad's officers. Eragon and a dwarf stood by the body of Ajihad himself, utterly miserable. Paltis sat off to the side, staring into space.
"Well?" The lead soldier, Jor-something, demanded.
Ikharos shrugged. "Everything's dead. The place looks like someone set off an incendiary down there."
Everyone looked at him blankly.
"Incendiary." He repeated slowly. "Like a fire bomb."
Slow nods. They understood that.
"And it seems like those mages of yours, the Twins, were the cause."
"So they fought back?" The dwarf asked. Wasn't his name... no, nevermind.
"Maybe?" Ikharos shrugged again. "I don't know." His gaze drifted to the deceased Kull. It was a big beastie. That Urgals could grow that large was nothing short of astonishing. Every other neohuman species, dwarves notwithstanding, had a vaguely similar body height to one another. Abnormalities like that were worth looking into at some point.
But only after he'd solved the hundred other mysteries tied to Kepler.
Jor-guy swept his gaze around and said aloud, "Ajihad has died a warrior's death! Look, he slew five Urgals where a lesser man might have been overwhelmed by one. We will give him every honor and hope his spirit pleases the gods. Bear him and our companions back to Tronjheim on your shields... and do not be ashamed to let your tears be seen, for this is a day of sorrow that all will remember. May we soon have the privilege of sheathing our blades in the kin of monsters who have slain our leader!"
As one, the warriors knelt, baring their heads in homage to Ajihad. Then they stood and reverently lifted him on their shields so he lay between their shoulders. Already many of the Varden wept, tears flowing into beards, yet they did not disgrace their duty and allow Ajihad to fall. With solemn steps, they marched back to Tronjheim, Eragon in the middle of the procession.
"A flowery speech."
"An inspiring one."
Ikharos held back a snort. "I don't feel very inspired." He walked over to Paltis and held out something he'd picked out in the cave. The Marauder looked up and gasped. Her eyes widened and she snatched the ash-covered shockblade from him.
"You're welcome," Ikharos said dryly.
Paltis ignored him. "Oh, Alkris..."
He waited for her to recover. It didn't take long. She was, if nothing else, a soldier and knew how to steel herself against emotion. Paltis stood and they started to march in the direction of the Skiff.
The elf trailed them.
"You want something?" Ikharos asked over his shoulder.
Arya narrowed her eyes. "I seek answers."
"You'll get them when you get them, same as everyone else."
"It cannot wait."
"It'll have to. Think of it this way: we're not clearing the kids for interrogation at least until we know they're alright. And maybe not even then."
"The Varden will want to know why their leader is slain."
"Because Urgals didn't like him." Ikharos rolled his eyes and resumed his course. The elf wasn't his problem. Kiphoris could deal with her.
"Not yet." Kiphoris told her in a voice that brooked no argument. Arya's complaint died before it even began. The Captain's inner eyes closed. "They are in shock. I will not allow further harm to befall them."
"Both Hrothgar and Jörmundur will want to speak with them," she stated.
"And they will, but only when I know that Tellesa and Murtagh will not break apart. I have demands of mine-own - I want to know who authorized them to fight at all. They are too young for battle. This is a disgrace."
The elf didn't answer him.
Kiphoris grunted and looked up at the sky. "I miss the Reef."
"Don't we all?" Ikharos quietly agreed. He waited by the Skiff's entrance. Paltis had already entered, but Formora had warned them not to overcrowd their patients, so the rest of them had been summarily kicked out. It played at Ikharos's heart strings. He couldn't help but feel guilty. And a tad bit annoyed that the dragon was right beside the Skiff, but that wasn't the running issue.
He should have stopped her from going in the first place. Tellesa hadn't been in the right condition for a fight.
"She would have gone regardless," Xiān said. "You know what she's like. Tellesa's taken after you - she doesn't trust anything but her own judgement."
Ikharos sighed. "I encouraged this behaviour, didn't I?"
"I should probably give up on the whole consoling business. I'm not very good at it." The Ghost shifted within his mind. "Imma stop talking before... Yeah."
Formora stepped out of the Skiff. Everyone looked at her, waiting for an answer. She cleared her throat. "Ikharos, may I speak with you?"
He followed her to some distance from the Skiff. Formora said, in a low voice, "We might have a problem."
"What's wrong?" His fear spiked.
"The boy is the son of Morzan."
His mind drew a blank. "... Who the hell is Morzan?"
"You don't know who Morzan is?" Formora tilted her head.
"It sounds... only a little familiar? Y'know, I'm new here, so I'm not so good on the whole local celebrities front."
Formora crossed her arms. "He was one of the Forsworn. The first. And unlike me, he was willing."
Ikharos nodded - slowly. "And is Morzan going to pose a problem for us?"
"No."
"Why?"
"He's dead."
"Ah. That'll do it."
"What?"
"Being dead."
Formora tsked. "I mean to say Murtagh is his son."
"... Oh, I see." Ikharos set his lips in a thin line. "And what does that matter?"
"He might not be trustworthy."
"I think he is. He doesn't look all that shifty. And I like to think I'm a fair judge of character."
"Really?" Formora asked incredulously.
"Yes, really. I chose to trust you, after all. No regrets there. Well, no big regrets. There's a few little things, but, ah," sensing he was stepping somewhere he shouldn't, he changed tact, "yeah, that's for another day."
"That's besides the point."
"Is it?"
"It is."
"Doesn't feel all that different."
"It's very different."
"Are you sure?"
"You're being difficult."
"Sorry, just... nerves. How are they?"
Formora sighed. It was not encouraging. "Physically, they're alright. They're fine warriors, the both of them, and they both possess strong constitutions. The shock will wear off, as long as we are aware and careful of their plight. However, betrayal is not something to be taken lightly. It may take them time to trust again."
Ikharos paused. "So... the Twins turned on them?"
"They may well have been agents of the Empire all along. Considering we saved the Varden from a battle they shouldn't have won, you can imagine how desperate they would have been. And what better gift to give the king than the fugitive son of Morzan and the Wizard of Teirm's foundling?"
Ikharos scowled. "They got lucky, dying as quick as they did. If I got my hands on them..."
"And Tellesa said that a Kull was responsible?"
"I don't understand it myself," he admitted. "They controlled the Urgals, but not the Kull? Are the bigger Urgals stronger, mentally?"
"No. They're just the same."
"Then it makes no sense. The Kull must have been able to resist them. And wanted them dead, for some reason. But... why the fire?"
Formora shrugged. "An act of mutual destruction, most likely. When mages sense they will lose their duel, they will often employ devastating spells to take their opponents down with them."
Ikharos frowned. "That's... exactly why magic shouldn't be so commonplace. Or unregulated. This place is a mess."
"Magic can be beautiful," Formora argued.
"Yeah, but it can only be consistently beautiful in benign hands. People are not benign."
"That... may be so, but there's nothing we can do about it. We can only focus on the fate we've been served."
"I guess. What's the consensus, then? The Twins were traitors and the Kull was the unwitting saviour?" He shook his head. "Varden's not going to like that. I don't."
"You think there's more to it?"
"There has to be. Something about this just... doesn't sit right with me. I'll have to think on it."
Eragon arrived not long after. He went in and spoke with his friends. When he came out, they followed him. Ikharos offered them what he hoped would be a supportive smile. It didn't feel right. Not with what had happened. The day had quickly taken a turn for the worst.
And they still had the funeral ahead of them.
Kiphoris, satisfied that they had gathered everyone it concerned, pushed the event forward. Ikharos could understand his thinking; better to get all the miserable stuff over with. He helped gather the spare cloaks with the Eliksni - all they really had left of the Marauders who perished in the Blasted Mountains. The rest of their belongings were to be given to next-of-kin. Ikharos wasn't looking forward to that, when it came around to it. The three respective cloaks of Revlis, Kalaker, and Riilix Vehlk were laid out on a slab of rock. Last came Alkris, who was the last to fall. Kiphoris carried him out and laid him among the cloaks. The dead Marauder was garbed in nothing more than his grey biosuit and cloak. His armour was too valuable. It couldn't be waylaid, even for the Scars' honoured dead.
Eliksni funerals were far from ceremonious events. They were nothing more than quiet gatherings and final farewells. Usually bodies were released out of an airlock, but being stranded on a planetary body with its own gravitational pull ruled that out, so instead they turned to cremation.
The mourners took their time. Few said anything. Eragon, Saphira, Tellesa, and Murtagh all grouped up, taking comfort in their proximity to one another. Paltis lingered nearby. Eldrin wore a sullen expression, standing by the Skiff with Calzan. Formora, Melkris, Javek, and Kiphoris stood closest to the slab. Arya was off to the side, unreadable.
Ikharos stood on his own. He held onto his own lump grief. Four Eliksni were dead - if it had been on Earth he couldn't have cared less. But on Kepler, those lives were valuable. They were people caught in a cruel, monstrous trap like he was. They were allies, and he wasn't quick enough to save them.
"You're growing," Xiān remarked. "I'm proud of you."
Ikharos said nothing. The quiet felt safer. A sanctuary in which he could begin to piece together the question of 'what next?'
"Da sha, Alkris," Kiphoris solemnly announced. He gave Ikharos a nod. The Warlock took a breath and pulled a sword of living flames out of the air. He heard gasps and frightened curses from the gathered humans, but he forced it from his mind. He strode forward, and lazily swung the sword through the air. A torrent of Solar flew forth. The body, cloaks, and stone slab all burned away until nothing remained but stray cinders.
Paltis turned to Tellesa. She held out a shock blade and said, "This yours."
The Kuastan stilled. She gingerly took the alien weapon and blinked back tears. "Thank you," she replied in a subdued voice.
Ikharos shifted about until he was confident that he was in the most comfortable spot possible. And it was far from being acceptable. Trying to find a place to lay down in relative comfort in the ship was impossible. The only choices were hard floor or hard bench. They had no blankets or pillows, only cloaks and, in his case, his combat robes.
Night had fallen. The funeral, and the Urgal attack before it, had faded to the back of his mind. All he desired at that point was sleep. Blissful, uninterrupted sleep. And of course he didn't get that - of course the universe had to conspire against him once more.
Someone shook his shoulder. Ikharos turned over and glared daggers at Kiphoris. "What?!" He hissed.
The Captain rumbled, unimpressed, "Come with me. It is urgent."
He had the Ahamkara feather's box tucked under one arm. Ikharos grimaced; he didn't have to be told twice. He checked his Lumina, grabbed his sword, and affectionately tapped Xiān's top fin. The Ghost, still half-comatose, stayed where she was. She wasn't going to get up unless the world was ending - and maybe not even then.
He followed Kiphoris out of the Skiff, across the flats of Farthen Dûr, and against the edge of the hollowed mountain. Only there did the Scar Captain stop and turn about. He carefully placed the case on the ground, eyes wide and every movement deliberate. Like he were handling a bomb.
"What's wrong?" Ikharos asked him.
Kiphoris didn't say anything. He just undid the latches on the box and flipped the lid open.
A tiny dragon looked up at them with six hollow eyes.
"Psekisk," Ikharos swore.
"Eia," Kiphoris agreed. "Psekisk."
The little dragon yawned, revealing rows of shark-like teeth. Ikharos drew his Lumina and thumbed back the hammer. The Ahamkara stared at him and grinned.
"You will not fire," it said in a flanged, echoing voice.
"And why is that?" He challenged.
"For you need me. Just as Morgothal needed Merenos to fulfill his wishes, you need me to realize your own desires."
"I can do that by myself just fine."
Kiphoris growled, not at Ikharos but at the miniscule creature no larger than a finger. "You must explain how this is possible when we had you bound in magic."
"I was kept from granting the idle wishes of you and your crew, o carrier mine. I was kept from feeding on the wants and dreams of those you name allies. I was not kept from the aspirations of those you name foes." The toothy grin grew ever wider. "I do as you intended. I have become a weapon to be used on those who array themselves against you. Was that not your wish?"
"What foes?" Ikharos demanded. The answer manifested at the forefront of his mind not a moment later. "The Kull."
Laughter was the little dragon's only response.
Kiphoris stepped back. "This was a mistake."
"Oh, you think?" Ikharos drawled. "We should have destroyed it the moment we found it."
"No. We need more bindings to control it. We must have this edge."
The laughter ended, but the dragon continued to smile. "I am your traitor."
Ikharos glared at it and wanted nothing more than to destroy it on one fell swoop, but he held off - just for a moment. He could not tell what drove him to do so. "Explain," he snapped.
The feather chuckled. "As you wish. Do you know the myth of Arke? It is an old human folktale, or so I'm told. Arke, daughter of Thaumas and Electra and twin sister of Iris, was a winged messenger. During the Titanomachy - the conflict between the ruling Titans and their children the power-hungry Olympians - she chose the wrong side. When the terrible war was over and the Olympians stood triumphant, Zeus tore Arke's wings from her and casted her into the pits of Tartarus. She was punished for aligning herself with the Titans."
The dragon paused for all of a second, forked tongue flickering. "Can you imagine how she despaired as her wings were ripped away? As she fell into the deepest pit of the underworld? Can you imagine how she raged against those who punished her? The taste of food would have been a distant memory. One she would have cherished. But not one she would chase, if ever freedom she grasped once more. Food is good, for sustenance is the basis of all life, but vengeance is great, for it is the basis of death and new life and teachings and warnings and tales and more. Do you not agree, o champion mine?"
"You want to fight?" Ikharos questioned with a whisper.
The tiny dragon raised her head. "I am Arke. I am sword and spear. Fang and claw. I am the soft desire leading to sweetmeat wishes. I am the dreaded flaw of unsafe promises. I seek sustenance - for both my maw and my mind. And it is my mind that hungers for the sight of spilled Darkness, of spilled silverblood. Spill it for me and I will devour for you. I have lost my war and yet clawed my way from Tartarus. I rise, now, to exact my revenge."
"Ahamkara don't hold grudges."
"Not as you know them," the dragon corrected. "Death is a gift. But stolen sustenance - that cannot be forgiven."
"Jealousy, then," Ikharos decided. "You're jealous that your kin feed more richly than you."
"You think I envy them? Perhaps, if I were shortsighted. But no. They feed, but in the end their strength goes to that which pulls their strings. They will, in turn, be devoured flesh and soul. I seek no such thing. I will stretch my wings so that I may fly. I will stretch my voice so that I may be heard. I will stretch my jaws so that I may feed. I will stretch my power so that none may devour me. I seek all this... and in turn, I will grant you my service in your ill-fated struggle, o Child of Light."
"You think I'll lose?"
"It is possible. You could wish otherwise."
"No thanks. I quite like living."
"Ah, we speak now of true death, true endings, true oblivion? Needless. I only hunger for your thoughts. You need a new sword, yes? One that better fits your hand, your imagination? What of your own heavy ambition? Peace is seldom realized, but with the right words... even the frenzied Hive may be placated."
"And in doing so I would give rise to something worse," Ikharos bit out. "You."
The dragon cackled. "You are sharp indeed. A molecule-sharp blade! Your will is as hefty as a hammer, honed to the edge of a razor! Only in desire can sanctuary be found. The world around us is cruel and cold - and it will hurt you. Do you not wish to take sanctuary beneath my wings?"
"I'd take my chances with the Shades."
The dragon blinked all six eyes, switching her focus. "And what of you, Dreamer of the Haven-Beyond-Linear-Restraints? You have seen much of what should never have been seen with mortal eyes. Would you like to make them real? Bring them to present? Anchor them in past and future?"
"Will you only attempt to seduce us with whispered gifts?" Kiphoris challenged. "I seek nothing."
"Not even the murmured ministrations of one lost? Of Lima?"
Kiphoris went dangerously quiet. He shook with scarcely-restrained rage. "Do not speak her name."
The miniscule reptile bowed its alien head. "These are things I may offer, but you both disguise your souls. I offer my agreement when the time of further binding comes. I will not fight as you tighten my leash. I only bid you to realize that a wish has been made real, and I follow it yet."
"Morgothal's wish," Ikharos realized.
"So it is. This war be birthed anew. My purpose is now in destruction through fire rather than joy through fantasies-made-real. Realize this, for it has already been brought into being."
Ikharos almost pulled the trigger then and there. If he had, the Lumina's bullet would have torn through flesh and bone without issue. The paracausal-payload within the shell would have put an end to the diminished dragon's existence. And if anything crawled out of the corpse, Ikharos had the Void to fall back on.
But he didn't fire. Kiphoris had dropped a hand on his arm, to keep from rash action. "Then the time for further bindings has arrived." He sent Ikharos a purposeful glance. The Warlock exhaled and reluctantly holstered his cannon. He dropped the tip of his Eternity Edge on the stone ground, angling the flat of the blade so the image of the Ahamkara reflected off its silver surface.
The dragon lost its grin. "Thus we shall make our covenant. I, Arke, swear to obey your bindings." Its black eyes flashed. "But can you afford to leave me so restrained that in times of need I would be left useless?"
"What do you mean? Speak and do not dawdle," Kiphoris demanded harshly.
"If I had not waylaid fearsome Tarok, then the Puppet-King would have received those you so valiantly protect. Murtagh, son of Morzan, who would continue his father's legacy, willing or no. And Tellesa, who would be staked out as bloodied bait for the Child of Light to be drawn out and into the grasp of those who set her there. Nezarec's will was denied on this day. I bade it so."
No shimmer. "No lies yet," Ikharos announced, brow furrowed. "What are you playing at, lizard?"
Kiphoris knelt by the box. Compared to the dragon, he was colossal, but they all knew with whom the power lay. Even the smallest of Ahamkara had big appetites. "You, Arke, shall not seek to grant wishes to those we consider friends, allies, or innocent. Your only freely permitted prey are the wild beasts of the world. You may only grant a wish of an intelligent being, and thus devour them, if so permitted by myself or Ikha Riis."
Ikharos started. He would have preferred nothing to do with the Ahamkara at all - bar killing it - but he begrudgingly accepted Kiphoris's logic. It made him feel marginally better if he had some control over the situation. "No lies," he repeated. There was not a single distortion to be seen. It unnerved him.
"As you wish," Arke replied with a smirk.
"The ancient language."
The dragon leered at them. "Eka otherúm eom ach ai onr atra."
"Now shut up while we talk," Ikharos ordered. It summarily stopped speaking. Satisfied, Ikharos turned on Kiphoris with an hiss, "What the hell are you thinking? It's growing!"
"We need the guidance on matters of-"
"Damn your guidance! It's an Ahamkara! You think you can do better than Sov could?!"
"Mara-kel had no language with which to chain Riven. Only raw magic. And raw magic can be redirected to other, less ideal purposes. That is why she failed. It is why I will not."
"This is so... stupid!"
Kiphoris's four eyes narrowed. "Tellesa and Murtagh are alive. I am grateful for that. Do you not feel the same?"
"Ahamkara don't care for gratitude. Don't mistake the damn thing's intent. It only wants us to trust it, so it can backstab us later. Wish-dragons are not like us. They feel no love for anything but themselves. They are fundamentally self-interested - as cold as Hive."
"The enemy of my enemy is my friend. That is one of your human sayings, yes?" Kiphoris held up his four hands. "I hear what you say and I keep your advice close by, but we must make drastic decisions if we hope to survive this world."
"I don't like this."
"I am not happy either, but duty drags me to these unpleasant places whether I welcome it or not. It dragged your kin here too. They did not let indecisiveness defeat them."
"They're dead," Ikharos deadpanned.
"We found only a single Lightbearer."
"And we've seen no sign of the others. If they were alive, odds are we'd know about it by now." Ikharos sighed. He was exhausted. "Fine. Fine! But if it makes a single misstep, I'm killing it."
"Of course. I would expect nothing less, Kirzen."
Ikharos growled and stalked off. His blood was up; he doubted he was going to get any sleep at all. Dragons brought out the worst in him.
000
Eragon roused himself and rolled to the edge of the bed, looking about the room, which was suffused with the dim glow of a shuttered lantern. He sat and watched Saphira sleep. Her muscled sides expanded and contracted as the great bellows of her lungs forced air through her scaled nostrils.
Anguish gripped Eragon as he remembered the events of the previous day. Tears filled his eyes, spilling over, and he caught one on his hand. Now, in the confines of his mind, Eragon mourned Alkris. It was a dreadful, creeping feeling of loss and horror made worse by the fact that he had grown ever more familiar with it in past months. He had thought that, perhaps, he had avoided it when they left the empire behind. But the empire didn't leave them behind. And Alkris, who was already ready with a laugh or a pat on the back, paid for it with his life.
Eragon took a deep breath, leaned back, and let calm settle over him. Since recovering from Durza's wound, he had realized - humbling as it was - that he had prevailed only through sheer luck. If I ever face another Shade, or the Ra'zac, or even Galbatorix, I must be stronger if I expect to win. Brom could have taught me more, I know he could have. But without him, I have but one choice: the elves.
Then his thoughts lit up. No, not one. Two. There is Ikharos. He slew Durza.
Saphira's breathing quickened, and she opened her eyes, yawning expansively. "Good morning, little one."
"Is it?" He looked down and leaned on his hands, compressing the mattress. "It's terrible... Alkris and Ajihad..."
"They would not want us to drown in sorrow," Saphira said gently. She stood, wings brushing the ceiling. "You need to eat, then we must discover what the Varden are planning. We can't waste time; a new leader could be chosen within hours."
Eragon rose and strapped on Zar'roc and his bow, then bent and lifted Snowfire's saddle. A line of pain sheared through his torso, driving him to the floor, where he writhed, scrabbling at his back. It felt like he was being sawed in half. Saphira growled as the ripping sensation reached her. She tried to soothe him with her own mind but was unable to alleviate his suffering. Her tail instinctually lifted, as if to fight.
It took minutes before the fit subsided and the last throb faded away, leaving Eragon gasping. Sweat drenched his face, making his hair stick and his eyes sting. He reached back and gingerly fingered the top of his scar. It was hot and inflamed and sensitive to touch. Saphira lowered her nose and touched him on the arm. "Oh, little one..."
"It was worse this time," he said, staggering upright. She let him lean against her as he wiped off the sweat with a rag, then he tentatively stepped toward the door.
"Are you strong enough to go?"
"We have to. We're obliged as dragon and Rider to make a public choice regarding the next head of the Varden, and perhaps even influence the selection. I won't ignore the strength of our position; we now wield great authority within the Varden. At least the Twins aren't here to grab the position for themselves." His expression darkened. "It's good that those traitors are gone."
Saphira agreed with a growl. "Very well, but Durza should suffer a thousand years of torture for what he did to you."
He grunted. "Just stay close to me."
Together they made their way through Tronjheim, toward the nearest kitchen. In the corridors and hallways, people stopped and bowed to them, murmuring "Argetlam." Even dwarves made the motions, though not as often. Eragon was struck by the somber, haunted expressions of the humans and the dark clothing they wore to display their sadness. Many women were dressed entirely in black, lace veils covering their faces.
In the kitchen, Eragon brought a stone platter of food to a low table. Saphira watched him carefully in case he should have another attack. Several people tried to approach him, but she lifted a lip and growled, sending them scurrying away. Eragon picked at his food and pretended to ignore the disturbances. Finally, trying to divert his thoughts from Alkris, he asked, "Who do you think has the means to take control of the Varden now that Ajihad and the Twins are gone?"
She hesitated. "It's possible you could, if Ajihad's last words were interpreted as a blessing to secure the leadership. Almost no one would oppose you. However, that does not seem a wise path to take. I see only trouble in that direction."
"I agree. Besides, Arya wouldn't approve, and she could be a dangerous enemy. Elves can't lie in the ancient language, but they have no such inhibition in ours - she could deny that Ajihad ever uttered those words if it served her purposes. No, I don't want the position... What about Jörmundur?"
"Ajihad called him his right-hand man. Unfortunately, we know little about him or the Varden's other leaders. Such a short time has passed since we came here. We will have to make our judgment on our feelings and impressions, without the benefit of history."
Eragon pushed his fish around a lump of mashed tubers. "Don't forget Hrothgar and the dwarf clans; they won't be quiet in this. Except for Arya, the elves have no say in the succession - a decision will be made before word of this even reaches them. But the dwarves can't be - won't be - ignored. Hrothgar favors the Varden, but if enough clans oppose him, he might be maneuvered into backing someone unsuited for the command."
"And who might that be?"
"A person easily manipulated." He closed his eyes and leaned back. "It could be anyone in Farthen Dûr, anyone at all. And that isn't considering the Eliksni. Their word will hold sway - they saved the entirety of the Varden with their timely arrival. Kiphoris is a skilled politician; he might see some advantage in pushing for changes that would benefit his people." Eragon paused. "He might even volunteer Ikharos to lead. The Shadeslayer is popular, and the Eliksni are close to him."
"I don't like him," Saphira admitted.
"I don't know what to make of him. He's... strong-willed, but Tellesa vouches for him. If he were untrustworthy, then she wouldn't defend him. And his magic! He forged a sword of solid flames without uttering a single word!"
"I still don't like him."
For a long while, they both considered the issues facing them. Then Saphira said, "Eragon, there is someone here to see you. I can't scare him away."
"Eh?" He cracked his eyes open, squinting as they adjusted to the light. A pale-looking youth stood by the table. The boy eyed Saphira like he was afraid she would try to eat him. "What is it?" asked Eragon, not unkindly.
The boy started, flustered, then bowed. "You have been summoned, Argetlam, to speak before the Council of Elders."
"Who are they?"
The question confused the boy even more. "The—the council is... are... people we—that is, the Varden—choose to speak on our behalf to Ajihad. They were his trusted advisers, and now they wish to see you. It is a great honor!" He finished with a quick smile.
"Are you to lead me to them?"
"Yes, I am."
Saphira looked at Eragon questioningly. He shrugged and left the uneaten food, motioning for the boy to show the way. As they walked, the boy admired Zar'roc with bright eyes, then looked down shyly. "What are you called?" Eragon asked.
"Jarsha, sir."
"That's a good name. You carried your message well; you should be proud."
Jarsha beamed and bounced forward.
They reached a convex stone door, which Jarsha pushed open. The room inside was circular, with a sky blue dome decorated with constellations. A round marble table, inlaid with the crest of Dûrgrimst Ingeitum - an upright hammer ringed by twelve stars - stood in the center of the chamber. Seated there were Jörmundur and two other men, one tall and one broad. There was a woman with pinched lips, close-set eyes, and elaborately painted cheeks, and a second woman with an immense pile of gray hair above a matronly face, belied by a dagger hilt peeking out of the vast hills of her bodice. Ikharos was there too; the foreign wizard leaned against one of many pillars circling the room. There were dark bags under his eyes. He barely glanced up when they arrived. If Saphira's presence bothered him, he didn't give voice to his discomfort.
"You may go," Jörmundur said to Jarsha, who quickly bowed and left.
Conscious that he was being watched, Eragon surveyed the room, then seated himself in the middle of a swath of empty chairs, so that the council members were forced to turn in their seats in order to look at him. Saphira hunkered directly behind him; he could feel her hot breath on the top of his head.
Jörmundur got halfway up to make a slight bow, then reseated himself. "Thank you for coming, Eragon, even though you have suffered your own loss. This is Umérth," the tall man; "Falberd," the broad one; "and Sabrae and Elessari," the two women.
Eragon inclined his head, then asked suspiciously, "And what of the Twins, were they part of this council?"
Sabrae shook her head sharply and tapped a long fingernail on the table. "They had naught to do with us. They were slime - worse than slime, it now appears - and leeches that worked only for their own benefit. They had no desire to serve the Varden. Thus, they had no place in this council." Eragon could smell her perfume all the way on the other side of the table; it was thick and oily, like a rotting flower. He hid a smile at the thought.
"Enough. We're not here to discuss the traitorous Twins," Jörmundur said with a scowl, aimed at no one in particular. "We face a crisis that must be dealt with quickly and effectively. If we don't choose Ajihad's successor, someone else will. Hrothgar has already contacted us to convey his condolences. While he was more than courteous, he is sure to be forming his own plans even as we speak. We must also consider Du Vrangr Gata, the magic users. Most of them are loyal to the Varden, but it's difficult to predict their actions even in the best of times. They might decide to oppose our authority for their own advantage. That is why we need your assistance, Eragon, and yours, Ikharos, to provide the legitimacy required by whoever is to take Ajihad's place."
The wizard muttered something that sounded like, "So that's why you dragged me here..."
Falberd heaved himself up, planting his meaty hands on the table. "The five of us have already decided whom to support. There is no doubt among us that it is the right person. But," he raised a thick finger, "before we reveal who it is, you must both give us your word of honor that whether you agree or disagree with us, nothing of our discussion will leave this room."
"No," Ikharos said instantly. All eyes turned to him. "I'm not one to keep secrets."
Umérth frowned. "But... you can't!"
"Why not?"
"Because... Because..."
"Who would you tell?" Elessari asked smoothly.
Ikharos shrugged. "Zeshus, Kiphoris, and the Scar crew."
"Ah, but this is not a matter concerning the Eliksni."
"If it doesn't concern them, why does it matter if they know about it? Kiphoris saved you lot; it would be polite to let him know exactly what he saved."
"He will know," Ellesari countered. "But only when the time is right. This matter is not for outsiders to decide."
"Then why am I here?" Ikharos challenged. He pushed away from the pillar. Falberd stiffened. Sabrae watched him like a hawk. "I'm an outsider."
"They are afraid of him," Saphira noted. "See how they look at him. They fear his reputation. They fear his sway."
Eragon saw it. And he understood it. The wizard had about him a presence that few others had - the only people Eragon could think of were Ajihad and Kiphoris. Ikharos was confident, unworried, and yet cautious all the same. He knew he had an advantage, and he was testing the waters.
"You are Shadeslayer," Sabrae told him. "You are a hero to the Varden."
"And Kiphoris isn't? On my way here, I heard more than a few people speaking about him."
"Kiphoris is sworn to another organization," Falberd said quickly.
The rest of the council glared at him. Ikharos stopped and nodded. "Ah," he said, as if he found hidden meaning in the words.
"Why do they want this?" Eragon asked Saphira.
"I don't know," she said, snorting. "It might be a trap... It's a gamble you'll have to take. Remember, though, they haven't asked me to pledge anything. I can always tell Arya what they say, if needed. Silly of them, forgetting that I'm as intelligent as any human."
"Tell Ikharos that. It would make this go more smoothly."
Saphira grunted unhappily. "Fine."
The Ikharos tilted his head a moment later, but otherwise didn't visibly react. "So be it," he eventually said. "You have my word."
"And mine," Eragon added. "Now, who do you want to lead the Varden?"
"Nasuada," Sabrae announced.
Surprised, Eragon dropped his gaze, thinking quickly. He had not considered Nasuada for the succession because of her youth - she was just a few years older than Eragon. No real reason existed, of course, for her not to lead, but why would the Council of Elders want her to? How would they benefit? He remembered Brom's advice and tried to examine the issue from every angle, knowing that he had to decide swiftly.
"Who is Nasuada?" Ikharos asked.
"Ajihad's daughter," Falberd told him.
"Nasuada has steel in her," Saphira observed. "She would be like her father."
"Maybe, but what's their reason for picking her?" To gain time, Eragon asked, "Why not you, Jörmundur? Ajihad called you his right-hand man. Doesn't that mean you should take his place now that he's gone?"
A current of unease ran through the council: Sabrae sat even straighter, hands clasped before her; Umérth and Falberd glanced at each other darkly, while Elessari just smiled.
"Because," Jörmundur said, selecting his words with care, "Ajihad was speaking of military matters then, nothing more. Also, I am a member of this council, which only has power because we support one another. It would be foolish and dangerous for one of us to raise himself above the rest." The council relaxed as he finished, and Elessari patted Jörmundur on the forearm.
"Ha!" Saphira exclaimed. "He probably would have taken power if it were possible to force the others to back him. Just look how they eye him. He's like a wolf in their midst."
"A wolf in a pack of jackals, perhaps."
A presence pressed against Eragon's mind. For a split second he thought he was under attack and summoned his defenses, but the other consciousness didn't barrage him with a mental assault. He cautiously let go and reached out to it. When he did, he almost jolted. It was as far from human as Arya's had been, but whereas the elf's mind was built of music and magic, this one was both a storm that raged against the bars of its cage and a serenely calm ocean where no wave, not even a ripple, disturbed the crystal-clear surface.
It was Ikharos.
"They're a bunch of scavengers," the wizard scoffed. "Vultures who feed on whatever spoils their perch serves them. This is their moment of power, their opportunity to reach higher. Listen, but don't believe a word they say. If they're too greedy, then you and I are going to have our work cut out for us."
Eragon sent the wizard the mental equivalent of a nod. He was almost disappointed when their minds separated. Ikharos's thoughts were so strange.
"Does Nasuada have enough experience?" Eragon inquired.
Elessari pressed herself against the table's edge as she leaned forward. "I had already been here for seven years when Ajihad joined the Varden. I've watched Nasuada grow up from a darling girl to the woman she is. A trifle light-headed occasionally, but a good figure to lead the Varden. The people will love her. Now I," she patted herself affectionately, "and my friends will be here to guide her through these troubled times. She will never be without someone to show her the way. Inexperience should be no barrier to her taking her rightful position."
Understanding flooded Eragon. "They want a puppet!"
Ikharos stepped closer to the table. Ellesari sat back, her smile gone. "Is the Varden," the wizard began in a soft voice, "not a military organization?"
After a lengthy silence, Jörmundur nodded. "It is."
"What age is Nasuada?"
"She is seventeen."
Ikharos went still. "Why would she, someone so young and inexperienced, be qualified to lead the entirety of the Varden?"
"She... she is Ajihad's daughter."
"So?" Ikharos challenged.
No one had an answer for him. They didn't dare say it out loud, but it had been made obvious to all what they wanted.
The wizard backed away. "Alright then. Please, continue."
Umérth cleared his throat. "Ajihad's funeral will be held on the morrow. Directly afterward, we plan to appoint Nasuada as our new leader. We have yet to ask her, but she will surely agree. We want you both to be present at the appointing - no one, not even Hrothgar, can complain about it then - and to swear fealty to the Varden. That will give back the confidence Ajihad's death has stolen from the people, and prevent anyone from trying to splinter this organization."
"Fealty!"
Saphira quickly touched Eragon's mind. "Notice, they don't want you to swear to Nasuada - just to the Varden. Yes, and they want to be the ones to appoint Nasuada, which would indicate that the council is more powerful than she. They could have asked Arya or us to appoint her, but that would mean acknowledging whoever did it as above everyone in the Varden. This way, they assert their superiority over Nasuada, gain control over us through fealty, and also get the benefit of having a Rider endorse Nasuada in public."
"What happens," Eragon asked, "if I decide not to accept your offer?"
"Offer?" Falberd asked, seeming puzzled. "Why, nothing, of course. Only it would be a terrible slight if you're not present when Nasuada is chosen. If you ignore her, what can she think but that a Rider has spited her and found the Varden unworthy to serve? Who could bear such a shame?"
The message could have been no clearer. Eragon clenched Zar'roc's pommel under the table, yearning to scream that it was unnecessary to force him to support the Varden, that he would have done it anyway. Now, however, he instinctively wanted to rebel, to elude the shackles they were trying to place on him. "Since Riders are so highly thought of, I could decide that my efforts would be best spent guiding the Varden myself."
The mood in the room hardened. "That would be unwise," stated Sabrae.
Ikharos started to chuckle. Once more, all attention diverted to him. "You are ambitious," he said with a cold smile. He had eyes only for the council. "Outrageously so."
Falberd bristled. Sabrae paled.
"You all look to your needs. You look to better your own lives. This isn't about the Varden. If you really wanted to fight back at the empire, you'd pick someone with the right constitution, drive, and experience for the job. Not a child." Ikharos paused. "You are right, in a way. It would be unwise to allow Eragon to lead. He's untested. But I? I've fought in wars before - many, too. I've led people in battle. Would I be an unwise choice?"
Eragon kept quiet. He felt a bloom of a petty satisfaction in seeing the situation turn against the council.
Ikharos scoffed. "You're all sleazy opportunists. You're fortunate that I'm more effective in the field than behind an army. But if I were installed as your leader? The first thing I'd do would be to replace your council with a true meritocracy. Because I can't imagine that any of you attained your stations through honest means."
Falberd rose up. He was red-faced with rage. "You dare-" he spluttered.
Ikharos held up a hand wreathed in indigo-black fire. Silence returned to the chamber. "I'm an outsider. I don't have any right to wrest control from you and neither do I want to. But I want each of you to realize that lives depend on you. Your decisions affect many people. If you cannot put that above your own petty wants, then you've failed your position. You've failed your people. And, by doing so, you'd be no better than the Imperials you seek to oppose."
No one said anything. Even Eragon was struck silent. After a time, Jörmundur gravely bowed his head and said, shame-faced, "You speak truly." He ignored the harsh looks from his peers. "What do you propose, Shadeslayer?"
Ikharos shrugged and doused the otherworldly flames. "I've been in this mountain for less than a week, and I've been with the Eliksni for most of that time. I don't know anyone. Let's humour this Nasuada idea - surely there's something there. Tell me about her. Tell me the important stuff. Anything that translates into a useful quality."
Jörmundur went along all too eagerly. "During the battle, she disguised herself and remained with the army as an archer, despite Ajihad's orders for her to leave."
Ikharos smiled. It was the first honest one Eragon had seen on the wizard since meeting him. "Good girl. Is she fair with a bow?"
"Fair?"
"A strategist doesn't need to be able to wield a weapon to guide an army, but it helps if they're familiar with the tools used by those under their command. Can she shoot?"
"Ah. Yes, she has some skill with arms."
Eragon looked around. Most of the council wore sullen, angry expressions, though some were better at hiding it than others. Ikharos had effectively stolen all authority from them by commanding the conversation and inducting Jörmundur into his sphere of influence. It was... impressive.
"He is very strong-willed."
"So he is," Saphira narrowed her eyes. "He bears more watching, I think. Ikharos is not quite the simple-minded thug we took him for. But he is still rude."
"Can she command?" The wizard continued.
"She... yes, she can. She rallied some others during the same battle. The people already respect her for her bravery."
"Respect is good. Do you think she can lead? On her own? Without the assistance of... certain advisors?" He sent a sidelong look at the rest of the council.
Jörmundur took a shaky breath. "Yes."
"She's starting to sound like some sort of prodigy. If she is what you make her out to be, then she would prove an able leader. But I don't expect it to be easy. Again, the lack of experience is an issue. You know, I'll humour it. Go ahead with your plans." He turned to Eragon. "What do you say?"
Eragon was glad to be included. He appreciated that Ikharos had not tried to force him into a situation, but instead to ask him his opinion. "What do we say?" He asked Saphira.
"With Ajihad gone," Saphira said, "it may be impossible to remain independent of every group, as he wanted us to."
"But what will they want us to do once we are in their grasp? Will they respect the Varden's pact with the elves and send us to Ellesméra for training, or command otherwise? Jörmundur strikes me as an honorable man, but the rest of the council? I can't tell."
Saphira brushed the top of his head with her jaw. "Agree to be at this ceremony with Nasuada; that much I think we must do. As for swearing fealty, see if you can avoid acquiescing. Perhaps something will occur between now and then that will change our position... Arya may have a solution. Or we might even follow Ikharos' example and bully our way out."
Eragon exhaled slowly and said aloud, "I don't know. I suffer the same lack of knowledge as you. But Nasuada struck me as being as strong as her father. I shall attend Nasuada's appointment."
Jörmundur looked relieved. "Good, good. Then we have only one more matter to deal with before you go: Nasuada's acceptance. There's no reason to delay, with all of us here. I'll send for her immediately. And Arya too - we need the elves' approval before making this decision public."
"Wait," Elessari commanded, a steely glint in her eyes. "Your word, though, Rider. Will you give it in fealty at the ceremony?"
"Yes, you must do that," agreed Falberd. "The Varden would be disgraced if we couldn't provide you every protection."
Ikharos leaned back and watched them all with a neutral, guarded expression.
"I fear you have no choice now," Saphira said.
"They wouldn't dare harm us if I refused."
"No, but they could cause us no end of grief. It is not for my own sake that I say accept, but for yours. Many dangers exist that I cannot protect you from, Eragon. With Galbatorix set against us, you need allies, not enemies, around you. We cannot afford to contend with both the Empire and the Varden."
Finally, "I'll give it."
All around the table were signs of relaxation - even a poorly concealed sigh from Umérth. Ikharos' did nothing, however, and it was his reaction Eragon was most interested in.
"They're afraid of us too!"
"As well they should be," Saphira sniped.
Jörmundur called for Jarsha and with a few words sent the boy scampering off for Nasuada and Arya. While he was gone, the conversation fell to an uncomfortable silence. Eragon ignored the council, focusing instead on working a way out of his dilemma. None sprang to mind.
When the door opened again, everyone turned expectantly. First came Nasuada, chin held high and eyes steady. Her embroidered gown was the deepest shade of black broken only by a slash of royal purple that stretched from shoulder to hip. Behind her was Arya, her stride as lithe and smooth as a cat's, and an openly awestruck Jarsha.
The boy was dismissed, then Jörmundur helped Nasuada into a seat. Eragon hastened to do the same for Arya, but she ignored the proffered chair and stood at a distance from the table. "Saphira," he said, "let her know all that's happened. I have a feeling the council won't inform her that they've compelled me to give the Varden my loyalty. And tell her what Ikharos said."
"Arya," Jörmundur acknowledged with a nod, then concentrated on Nasuada. "Nasuada, Daughter of Ajihad, the Council of Elders wishes to formally extend its deepest condolences for the loss you, more than anyone else, have suffered..." In a lower voice, he added, "You have our personal sympathies as well. We all know what it is like to have a family member killed by the Empire."
"Thank you," Nasuada murmured, lowering her almond eyes. She sat, shy and demure, and with an air of vulnerability that made Eragon want to comfort her. Her demeanor was tragically different from that of the energetic young woman who had visited him and Saphira in the dragonhold before the battle.
For the second time that day, Ikharos's mind reached to Eragon's. "Look at her," he said with a crackling mental laugh that sounded remarkably like thunder. "She's playing them all for fools. Oh, this is rich."
Eragon frowned. "What do you mean?"
"She's not like her father at all - she has an edge of cunning about her. Oh, the Eliksni are going to like her."
"Although this is your time of mourning," Jörmundur said, "a quandary exists that you must resolve. This council cannot lead the Varden. And someone must replace your father after the funeral. We ask that you receive the position. As his heir, it is rightfully yours - the Varden expects it of you."
Nasuada bowed her head with shining eyes. Grief was plain in her voice when she said, "I never thought I would be called upon to take my father's place so young. Yet... if you insist it is my duty... I will embrace the office."
"Scratch that. They're going to love her. She's a Captain in the making."
The Council of Elders beamed with triumph, pleased that Nasuada had done what they wanted. "We do insist," Jörmundur said, "for your own good and the good of the Varden." The rest of the elders added their expressions of support, which Nasuada accepted with sad smiles. Sabrae threw an angry glance at Eragon when he did not join in. But not Ikharos. They avoided looking at him. The fear was still prevalent.
Throughout the exchange, Eragon watched Arya for any reaction to either his news or the council's announcement. Neither revelation caused her inscrutable expression to change. However, Saphira told him, "She wishes to talk with us afterward. And Ikharos."
Eragon relayed it to the wizard, who was just as unreadable as the elf. "Only if Saphira reports all this to Kiphoris," Ikharos replied. "He needs to know."
"Why?" Eragon asked curiously.
"Have you ever played chess?"
"No?"
"A shame. It's a fascinating game. I've found that it's best to employ your game-winning tactics as soon as possible - before it all goes to hell. It doesn't usually work, but the analogy fares better when applied to real-world scenarios."
"You think this will fall apart?"
"I know it will. Those wars I was talking about? They're not over. And they've just arrived on your shores. Keep your wits about you. Hard times are ahead."
Before Eragon could reply, Falberd turned to Arya. "Will the elves find this agreeable?"
She stared at Falberd until the man fidgeted under her piercing gaze, then lifted an eyebrow. "I cannot speak for my queen, but I find nothing objectionable to it. Nasuada has my blessing."
How could she find it otherwise, knowing what we've told her? Eragon thought bitterly. We're all backed into corners.
Arya's remark obviously pleased the council. Nasuada thanked her and asked Jörmundur, "Is there anything else that must be discussed? For I am weary."
Jörmundur shook his head. "We will make all the arrangements. I promise you won't be troubled until the funeral."
"Again, thank you. Would you leave me now? I need time to consider how best to honor my father and serve the Varden. You have given me much to ponder." Nasuada splayed her delicate fingers on the dark cloth on her lap.
Falberd looked like he was going to protest at the council being dismissed, but Umérth waved a hand, silencing him. "Of course, whatever will give you peace. If you need help, we are ready and willing to serve." Gesturing for the rest of them to follow, he swept past Arya to the door.
"Eragon, will you please stay?"
Startled, Eragon lowered himself back into his chair, ignoring alert looks from the councilors. Falberd lingered by the door, suddenly reluctant to depart, then slowly went out. Before Arya left, she looked at Eragon, her eyes revealing worry and apprehension that had been concealed before.
Ikharos just smiled tiredly. He looked satisfied with himself.
AN: Thanks to Nomad Blue for edits!