Chapter 44: River Nymph

"Another three squads. Another three. Lost. More carriers for this plague. We can't keep going. There's no time left. We need to find the source and cut it out."

Tlac agreed. Reluctantly. He loathed direct action. It stank of desperation. But they were desperate. The poison was spreading. They were losing too many soldiers. "We need to locate where the infected keep their contraband," he began, "and burn it. All of it."

Some of the officers present shuffled nervously. Val Dhavac raised a fist. "They'll fight it," he said, beady eyes narrowed. "If they reckon we're after them, they'll butcher us."

Val Zu'uk propped his shield against the wall and leaned against it. "We could hit them first."

"And lose the loyalty of the rest of the Worldbreakers?" Tlac challenged. "We wouldn't survive that either."

Cadon, who sat in the corner of the room cleaning an antique pistol, said, "That's all well and good, planning out a fight, but that line of thinking is suicide no matter which way we go about it."

"Do you have something for us, Weaver?" Valus Meruv demanded. "Or are you going to keep us waiting all cycle?"

"Now that you mention it, I might just-"

"Cadon," Zhonoch said. The Vigilant's voice was low and raspy, barely audible, but the entire room went quiet. "Say whatever you have to say or shut your trap."

"Don't cross him," Tlac advised him. "He's overworked and low on patience."

Cadon put his weapon aside and stood up. "We don't need to fight. We just need to reach the contraband. Let's start with where it is. Well?"

Dhavac scratched his neck. "It could be anywhere. What if they're just using blood samples?"

"Their own? No. Too many transfusions would dilute the infection. We would have seen signs of that. Not blood."

"So they're using genuine Wormhusk? That's difficult to hide."

"And where would we find it?"

Dhavac grunted. "I don't know. Why me?! Ask one these blighters." He pointed at Zu'uk. The Phalanx commander blinked rapidly.

"Me?!" He said, startled. "I don't know!"

Cadon sighed. "This isn't an accusation. We're all cleared. I'm trying to draw out your creative ability. More fool me. Uluru can't see anywhere but straight ahead. It's a wonder-"

"By Acrius's gleam, get to the blasted point!" Zhonoch bellowed.

"Fine. It must be-"

The bunker's door clanged open. Neuroc stiffly strode in, two datapads in hand. She silently tossed one onto the desk. Zhonoch frowned and picked it up. "And what are these?" He demanded.

Neuroc didn't even blink. "Cargo manifests. This one," she held up the one in her hand, "was what I was supplied. It's the official record. The other, what you're holding, is what Specialist Neirim managed to snag from Valus Re'eir's office."

Zhonoch read through it. His gathered officers waited with bated breath. Finally, he lifted his eyes and said, "Cargo Bay-AH13 and Cargo Bay-AH14 have been reserved for... what?"

"Four hundred CASPs."

"CASPs?" Tlac tilted his head. "Cryogenic Animated Suspension Pods? But why would they..." His single eye widened as realization hit. "They're growing their own Worm farms."

Neuroc dipped her head. "Possibly. Likely. These containers are reserved for transporting living organisms, most usually exotic off-world wildlife for the Imperial arenas. But they shouldn't be here."

"Then we have it!" Zu'uk crowed. "We know where their contraband is!"

"In the cargo hold of the Magnus Vae." Neuroc evidently did not share his enthusiasm.

Cadon smiled tightly. "I knew it."

Tlac shot him a funny look. "You really didn't," he mentally whispered. His brother ignored him.

"The cargo hold... is where the Worldbreakers keep their equipment," Dhavac thought aloud. "They aren't going to let us have a look inside. Not without good reason."

"Are you sure?" Cadon challenged. "It doesn't have to be an entire contingent of us."

"It does if we want to get through the blast doors."

"You're forgetting something."

"What's that, Weaver?"

"We have a contact in the Worldbreakers. Neuroc can get us in."

All eyes turned on her. She flashed Cadon an irritated look. "It's possible, but it won't be simple. Especially if we're carrying explosives."

Zhonoch growled. "Will you help or not?"

"... I will. But we can't go in looking like we're about to enter a battlefield. I'll send Neirim to you later. He'll collect your explosives."

"I want to be there," Zhonoch told her. "I want to see these farms for myself, before we destroy them. And evidence. We need to grab evidence to single out the infected."

"As you wish."

000

The scent of flowers was heavy in the air when Eragon woke to behold a sun-drenched Du Weldenvarden. Above him arched a mottled canopy of drifting leaves, supported by the thick trunks that buried themselves in the dry, bare ground. Only moss, lichen, and a few low shrubs survived in the pervasive green shade. The scarcity of underbrush made it possible to see for great distances between the knotted pillars and to walk about freely beneath the dappled ceiling.

Rolling to his feet, Eragon found Thorv and his guards packed and ready to leave. Ikharos was with them, rolling a flame in his gloved, clawed hand and speaking in a voice no louder than a murmur. Finally, Thorv bowed and said, "Of course, Shadeslayer."

Deathless! Of all the wild things Eragon had heard, that was perhaps the wildest. And the man it came from was a man he'd previously assumed to be firmly grounded in reality. To hear such a thing from him was startling. It led him to doubt a great many things - not least that Ikharos had ever spoken truthfully.

Eragon approached them and said, to the dwarves, "Thank you, all of you, for protecting me and Saphira. Please convey our gratitude to Ûndin."

Thorv pressed his fist to his chest. "I will carry your words." He hesitated and looked back at the huts. "Elves are a queer race, full of light and dark. In the morning, they drink with you; in the evening, they stab you. Keep your back to a wall, Argetlam. You as well, Shadeslayer."

"I will remember that," Eragon promised uneasily.

Ikharos just snorted, as if it were the funniest joke he'd heard yet. "I'd like to see how far they get."

"Mmm." Thorv hesitated, then gestured toward the river. "They plan to travel up Eldor Lake in boats. What will you do with your horse, master Rider? We could return him to Tarnag with us, and from there, to Tronjheim."

"Boats!" Eragon cried with dismay. He had always planned to bring Snowfire to Ellesméra. It was convenient to have a horse whenever Saphira was away, or in places too confined for her bulk. He fingered the sparse bristles along his jaw. "That is a kind offer. Will you make sure Snowfire is well cared for? I couldn't bear it if anything were to happen to him."

"On mine honor," Thorv pledged, "you will return to find him fat and sleek."

Eragon fetched Snowfire and transferred the stallion, his saddle, and his grooming supplies into Thorv's care. He bade each of the warriors farewell, then he, Saphira, Ikharos and Orik watched the dwarves ride back along the trail they had arrived on.

"They weren't chatty," Ikharos muttered, "but their presence was welcome all the same. No puzzles, no difficulties. Now we're to dance with words every night we settle down for rest."

"I envy them," Orik agreed. "But we have a duty to perform, have we not?"

Ikharos nodded after a moment. "I suppose so. It doesn't mean we'll enjoy it. But... I guess there's worse places to be."

"Is that how you justify your bad mood?" Zeshus suddenly said. Eragon shivered. Her voice was just so strange, changed as it was. She stepped up beside Ikharos, her face still obscured by her helmet. He couldn't comprehend how she could see out of the black glass. Her dedication to the mask was nothing short of commendable.

Ikharos shrugged. "I'll use whatever I have at my disposal."

"Practical."

"Exactly."

They both just stood there, one wearing an unreadable expression and the other concealed, and watched the dwarves shrink from view. Both wore unusual armour, carried unusual weapons, and spoke of unusual things.

Curiosity drove Eragon to ask, "Are you truly deathless?"

Ikharos's grey eyes found his. It was then that Eragon's doubt buckled. The wizard was like the elves - he looked to be in his prime, but there was something about him that was impossibly old. His eyes especially. They looked out into the world and found it wanting.

"There is an end for all things," Ikharos said in voice so grave that Eragon believed him completely. "Even gods. Don't mistake me, I'm not a god. But neither am I mortal. I'm somewhere in between." He paused and turned his gaze back upon the plains. "Or maybe I'm on a separate plane entirely."

"How old are you?"

"Have a guess."

Eragon thought it over. "You admitted, in Tronjheim, to having lived over a century. Two hundred?"

Ikharos paused and tilted his head ever so slightly, as if to listen to someone whispering in his ear. "Close," he replied. "I'm three hundred and twenty-six years old."

Eragon frowned. "That's... not close at all."

"No." A wry smile found its way onto Ikharos's face. "I was just trying to spare your feelings."

Saphira snorted and Orik chuckled. Zeshus gave no indication of having heard. She stood as still as a statue, eternally vigilant. Eragon smiled hesitantly; he still wrestled with the outlandish concept. Three hundred and twenty-six? It was a very, very long time.

"Are you like Ikharos?" Eragon asked Zeshus. "Are you a... Risen?"

Her helmet swiveled to face him. "No," she said softly in a smooth voice broken by metallic scratches. "I am not. I am bound to flesh and blood, as you are."

"But you are not human either, are you?"

A pause. "No," Zeshus admitted. "I am not."

"What-"

"What I am is my business alone," she said curtly. "No one else's."

Eragon's cheeks heated up. "Apologies, I didn't-"

She turned around and walked away. Ikharos's smile fell. "Don't mind her," he said. "She's just... her." He hesitated, shrugged, and wandered off after Zeshus.

Eragon was left highly confused. "What was that?"

Saphira grunted. "I do not know. They are not very honest with us, are they?"

"I suppose they have a right to privacy."

Orik shook his head and snorted. "What a strange man. Ah, but we are in a strange land now. Oh, how I wish I still had stone beneath my feet and over my head."

They returned to the camp, where they found a light-bluish gaseous substance trailing from Obleker like spindly limbs, reaching into the metal containers offered by the three Eliksni. The elves of Ceris stood nearby, watching it all unfold in muted amazement.

When the substance ran out, Kiphoris screw a lid onto his container and attached it to his armour, where it fed into the pipes that linked with his helmet. He noticed the spectators and blinked his outer eyes. "Ether," he explained. "Eliksni lifeblood." He tenderly placed a hand against Obleker's shell. "To you we owe our lives, our survival, and our faith. It is under your gaze mine-people flourish. Many thanks, noble and beautified Obleker. Your favour gifts us the future."

The eye-like entity hummed sonorously. The other Eliksni - Javek and Melkris - turned their palms toward the Servitor in a gesture that Eragon could only describe as reverent. It was beyond simple adoration. It was worship.

Dwarves believed in gods. Humans believed in spirits. And Eliksni believed in the Servitor. Eragon's sight drifted over to the elves. What did they believe in?

"Trees and flowers," Saphira offered.

"Is that belief? They respect the life around them... but do they truly worship it?"

"Why would they? Perhaps they are like me. I have no need of belief in a higher power. I need only trust my wings and my limbs. And you."

When Kiphoris was finished, Lifaen led all who remained to the Edda River, where two long white canoes with vines carved along their sides waited by a boulder.

"There isn't much room," Ikharos remarked.

Javek stepped forward and gingerly slid a clawed finger along the wooden surface. "Kir dras. Ta nan-"

Melkris tackled him, throwing them both into the water. The two resurfaced, both spluttering and one bellowing Eliksni obscenities. Saphira huffed with laughter. Kiphoris furiously stalked over to them and effortlessly dragged them out. He shook Melkris violently. "Psesiskar! Melkris pak Psesiskar! Ba'da, des ze-kas!"

Melkris pulled his chin down to his collar and closed his eyes. He desperately tried to stifle his laughter. "Eia, kle-de, kle de!"

"Argh!" Kiphoris dropped them - Melkris none too gently - and backed away. "Kelekh'i..." He muttered. "Mine-crew are as children." He reluctantly tore his dark gaze from Melkris to the canoes. "Ikha Riis is correct. There is little room."

"And too many of us," the self-styled Risen muttered.

Lifaen, smiling, nodded his agreement. "Then we shall sing another into form."

Kiphoris shook his head. "We should not dally. The more time I spend here is less I do with mine-people. We have wars to fight." He looked the vessels over. "They are too small for me. Javek and foolish Melkris are of right size, but not I. Inform me of your heading and I will make mine-own way."

Arya frowned. "What will you do?"

"I will run. I am fast, yes? You know this."

Arya shook her head. "This is..." She exhaled softly and met Kiphoris's eyes. "You cannot go alone."

"I do not think your forest will pose a danger to me."

"There are things here that are... unlike anything you've seen."

"And I am unlike anything they have seen. I am Eliksni! I am a warrior-noble, Wolf-Born and Scar-Lifted. I will not perish on the way." He shrugged. "And there is little other choice. I am too large for your vessels. You can see that."

"I could carry you," Saphira offered.

Kiphoris went quiet for a moment. "A kind offer, wind-daughter, but the skies are no safer. You are strong, eia, and fearsome, but you are young. Nama, I think that for me to walk would be safer for us all."

Saphira scoffed. "There is nothing that can best me in flight."

"Nama. There is. You have not yet encountered them. And if the Great Machine's favour is upon us, you never will."

A dozen questions formed in Eragon's mind, alongside the great many more that had accumulated ever since leaving Tronjheim. What creatures could he mean? What is the Great Machine he speaks of? Another Servitor?

Arya nodded grimly. "So be it. We seek to circumvent the Eddar Lake and enter the Gaena River. Do you need a map?"

"Nama. I will travel along the water's edge."

"Still, I cannot leave you to travel on your own."

"I will not. I shall take Melkris. And hammer discipline into him."

Arya ignored his reply. "Celdin, would you guide Kiphoris?"

The male elf bowed. "I shall, Arya Dröttningu." Celdin faced Kiphoris. "It would be an honour."

Kiphoris clicked his teeth together. "Lead on, little elf."

Celdin laughed and ran - faster than any human was capable of, appearing as if in a dance. Kiphoris barked at Melkris and took off after the elf, just as swift but without the same easy grace.

When they were gone, Eragon entered the first canoe. He was joined by Lifaen, Ikharos, and Javek. Arya, Orik, Narí, Kida, and Zeshus took the second. Arya turned to Edurna - who stood on the bank - and said, "Guard this way so that none may follow us, and tell no one of our presence. The queen must be the first to know. I will send reinforcements as soon as we reach Sílthrim."

"Yes, Arya Dröttningu."

"May the stars watch over you."

Bending forward, Narí and Lifaen drew spiked poles ten feet long from inside the boats and began propelling the vessels upstream. Saphira slid into the water behind them and clawed her way along the riverbed until they were level. When Eragon looked at her, she winked lazily, then submerged, forcing the river to swell into a mound over her jagged back. The elves laughed as she did so and made many compliments about her size and strength.

Obleker followed close behind, eerily silent and always watching. It flew over the water without a hitch. Not for the first time, Eragon wondered where the Eliksni found it. Or did they make it? But why would they worship something they created?

After an hour, they reached Eldor Lake, which was rough with small, jagged waves. Birds and flies swarmed by a wall of trees edging the western shore, while the eastern shore sloped up into the plains. On that side meandered hundreds of deer. There was no sight of Kiphoris, Melkris, or Celdin.

Once they escaped the river's current, Narí and Lifaen stowed their poles, then distributed leaf-bladed paddles. The former explained the process of steering a boat to Eragon. "We turn toward whichever side you paddle on," the elf said. "So if I paddle on the right and Javek paddles on the left, then you must paddle first on one side, then the other, else we will drift off course."

Eragon nodded to show his understanding. Lifaen's focus turned to Ikharos. "Is something the matter, Shadeslayer?"

The man was holding the paddle up with a distant look in his eyes. "... Sure."

"Forgive me, but I do not believe you," Lifaen said in a pleasant, cordial tone.

"I've just... realized I've never done this before. I know how it works, yeah, but I've never... I'm too old to have never canoed."

Eragon paused. Three hundred and twenty-six... That's entire lifetimes. He is old.

Lifaen smiled. "Have you never had cause to travel along a river?"

"Oh, I've done that plenty, but usually on Sparrow if I want to be quick or on foot if I want to be quiet."

"Sparrow? How would a little bird hasten you?"

"Not that kind of Sparrow. What I mean is the machines my kind, Risen, use when we're roaming the wilderness. Or racing each other. I'm sure Eragon can tell you all about it."

Eragon frowned. "You mean... your screaming thing?"

"That's the one."

"It was," he hesitated, "fast. And loud."

"That's the point. Being fast, in any case. The loudness is just a byproduct, though some find it… appealing. Don't ask me why, I don't know."

"How do you carry it around?"

"Transmat."

"Kiphoris said much the same. What does it mean?"

Ikharos, who sat at the front, stilled for a moment. "Right, where do I... Our bodies are made up of tiny little things. Everything you see is made up of tiny little things you can't make out because they're so small. Do you understand so far?"

Eragon grew puzzled. "What kind of things?"

"Atoms, molecules, and pixies. So let's say that each of these has a purpose. What if... we could transform that purpose into pure information? The schematics of all those little things, enacting upon their objective to make up a bigger thing? Pure information is easier to carry around, if you have the correct equipment. And I do, so- No, shut up, no questions until afterwards."

Lifaen closed his mouth, dejected.

"Right," Ikharos continued, "so this information is carried around. Now, it's just information, not the actual matter that makes up, say, a rock. To return this information to corporeal form, it needs the moldable matter to conform to its purposes. That's where our old friend Glimmer comes in."

"Glimmer?" Eragon questioned. "What Kiphoris showed to Hrothgar?"

"Exactly. Glimmer is more valuable than gold. Than oil. Than... jam? I'm going to say jam. Your Alagaësia has a disturbing lack of jam."

"Very funny," Lifaen commented with a smile.

"Wasn't a joke. Back to Glimmer. It's... programmable matter. Can only be molded with the right equipment or the right know-how. Our Scar Captain, Kiphoris, might have those skills."

"Why?" Eragon asked.

"Because he's formerly of the Eliksni House of Wolves. The Mraskilaasan. In their tongue it means 'gentle weavers.' Before the Whirlwind took their home, his house was responsible for the cultivation of Glimmer. Hence why, even after their great exodus, they were one of the most powerful houses of them all. Certainly the largest. At least before Mara Sov, the Taken, and the Scorn got to them."

Eragon frowned. "House of... Wolves? Not House of Scar? How many Eliksni factions are there?"

Ikharos tilted his head. "Depends on what you might consider a house. We could start with the originals. The Great Houses of Riis go as follows: Kings, Judgement, Wolves, Devils, Scar, Stone, Rain, Winter, and Exile. Most of them are gone. Last I heard, a Baroness by the name of Eramis was trying to revive the House of Devils back home. A majority of Eliksni now are with the House of Dusk or the House of Light. Or Spider's Syndicate, but that's no true house. It doesn't have the same hierarchy. Just a mob of cutthroats and smugglers."

"You seem to know a lot about the Eliksni," Eragon pointed out.

Ikharos shrugged. "I've known about them since the day I first rose to life, and have had plenty of exposure since."

"Are these houses noble families?" Lifaen asked curiously.

Ikharos shook his head. "More like nations. Traditional houses have a three-pronged leadership: the Kell, who commands in all military and political matters, and the Archon, who commands matters of faith and science, and the Prime Servitor, who commands the construction of lesser Servitors and the flow of ether. Both Prime Servitor and Archon defer to the Kell. Some houses, like Wolves, had multiple Archons and Prime Servitors."

"Ah, and these Servitors are Obleker's kin? He is a Servitor, correct?"

"They are, he is. They produce ether, which Eliksni feed upon to live and grow. Different ranks get differently-sized rations, which results in the disparity in size. That's why Kiphoris is larger than Javek here." The Splicer glanced around and chriped. Ikharos smiled. "Yeah, you."

"And who decides the portion size?" Lifaen continued. "What is to stop someone from hoarding?"

"The Elder Cipher. It's the key to a Kell's rule. Biometrically locked so only Kell or Archon can use it. The portions are decided by the Elder Cipher. An Eliksni's rank is recorded within, and so when it comes to feeding time, their Servitor will only allow them as much rations as they are permitted."

"How does one earn larger rations? Is it pre-determined by birth?"

Ikharos laughed. "Goodness no! No. The Eliksni work on a system of meritocratic aristocracy. Being born of noble blood doesn't get you far. No. Eliksni have to earn their way to a higher rank."

Eragon nodded along slowly, absorbing everything Ikharos said. "And what ranks are there?"

"There's many. At the bottom of the ladder are the Wer'tra, the Wretches. They are... the gravely dishonoured. Their lower arms are severed and they are prohibited from wielding a firearm of any kind. All they have is a knife or a spear and enough sustenance to keep them barely alive and standing. Eliksni don't have prisons, and they can't waste anyone, so that is the fate that awaits their criminals. Next are the Drekh, the Dregs. Again, docked of lower arms and low on food, but better off than Wretches. They are either the dishonoured, and yet capable of enough recognition to own a gun, or the unproven."

"That is..." Lifaen hesitated, "brutal."

"They lost their home and have been on the move ever since. They've been hunted across the centuries. You'd get mean too, if you were in their shoes." Ikharos paused to allow his point to sink in. "Next are the Va'ha or Vandals. That's what Melkris is. He's proven himself, has a stable supply of ether, and generally gets to live his life in acceptable conditions. This is also where it gets a little complicated. Javek's a Vandal too, but he's also a Splicer. The Splicers are the scientists, scholars, and priests of every house. They work under the direction of the Archpriests, who in turn take orders from the Archon.

"Vandals hold a higher rank than Dregs and Wretches, but altogether they are organized into crews to be commanded by the Veskirisk - The Captains, like Kiphoris. Captains are large, strong, and highly intelligent. Brute strength's no way to advance in Eliksni society. And our Wolf friend is very, very clever."

Eragon nodded. "And merciful. He had no reason to help Saphira or I, and yet he did."

"And yet he did," Ikharos echoed. "Merciful? Maybe. You'll change your mind as soon as you see him in a fight. He's... I'll get to that later. Alright, so above Captains are the Barons, the Mrelliks. They command their own crews, as well as the Captains sworn to them. Kiphoris's Baron is an eliko by the name of Tarrhis. You might even meet him if all goes well."

"What's he like?"

"Very... traditional. And proud. He's dedicated himself to keeping his people alive here in Alagaësia, despite all that has befallen them."

"He sounds interesting," Saphira remarked. Eragon readily agreed.

Ikharos went on. "Above Barons are the Kells, whom I have told you about. They're comparable to your kings and queens. That's the basic structure of the Great Houses."

"Do the Scars have a Kell?"

"They do. I'm told it's a child - a hatchling. The last surviving heir of their last Kell. Which, yes, ignores the meritocratic system they have but Tarrhis is the acting regent so I doubt it will be an issue. For now, in any case."

The conversation lulled into a peaceful quiet as they drifted across the tranquil lake. Eragon soon mastered the ability of paddling, and as the motion became habitual, his mind was freed to daydream. His first thoughts were of the Eliksni, but when memories of Alkris came by, he quickly moved on. He hated the empty feeling of grief, hated how much of it had been piled onto him ever since leaving Carvahall. It was a hard weight to carry, but he hefted it all the same. What else could he do?

Then, inexplicably, Ikharos stiffened. It was subtle and Eragon wouldn't have noticed if he hadn't been sitting behind the man for over an hour. The tensing of muscles and the way his head snapped straight ahead gave away his sudden alarm.

Quietly, whisper-soft, Ikharos said, "Eragon. Tell Arya... that you fear you may have forgotten something."

"What?" Eragon frowned. He quickly told Saphira what was happening. She surfaced nearby, still and attentive. Her eye was trained on Ikharos.

"Tell Arya that we have to pull over so you can search your bags."

"Is something the matter, Shadeslayer?" Lifaen asked. Eragon could hear the puzzlement in his voice. He was just as baffled.

"Yes. Eragon, do it. We need to beach."

"Do it," Saphira told him.

Eragon looked over to the other canoe. They were close enough that a simple shout would alert them. "Why? What has him worried?"

"I know not, but it would be foolish to dismiss him. If something is wrong, then we cannot run the risk of not heeding his warnings. It is better to be safe than sorry."

Eragon begrudgingly did so and passed on the fabricated message.

"Are you sure?" Arya called back.

"Say yes," Ikharos muttered.

"Yes!" Eragon called. He wanted to know what was amiss. "I am!"

There was a pause as Arya conferred with Narí. Then she pointed to a strand of land to their left. "We will land there!"

The canoes were light and the lake currents nonexistent, so making landfall was a simple affair. The banks were lined with a thick layer of soft silt, and it sloped gently into the water.

Once there, Ikharos disembarked and looked around. "Wait here," he ordered, and without waiting for an answer, he delved into the forest undergrowth.

Arya looked first at Eragon, then where Ikharos had gone. "What... is he doing?" She turned to Eragon. "No matter. Search for your souvenir."

He hesitated. "I don't-"

Lifaen answered for him. "That is not the case, Arya Dröttningnu. It was Ikharos who instructed him to tell you that."

"Wha- Why?!"

"I profess that I do not know, but... he appeared unnerved."

Arya's face hardened. "He... Burzûl!"

Eragon flinched. He'd never heard Arya swear before. "Perhaps we should wait-"

She did not wait. Arya ran after Ikharos. Narí exchanged a simple glance with Lifaen and took off after her.

"No!" Zeshus called out, but they were already gone. She took a step in the same direction, then thought better of it. "Fools!"

"Do you know what's wrong?" Orik asked her.

"No, but... those fools! He... she..." Zeshus shook her head and angrily marched to her canoe. She reached in and procured a sword fitted into a sheath the colour of dark pine. A brown gemstone was fitted into the pommel and an unfamiliar rune was etched onto the sheath, just over the guard.

It was a Rider's blade. Just like Zar'roc.

"Where did you-" Eragon began, but she cut him off.

Zeshus looked around quickly. "If he had cause to suspect danger ahead, we must take his word for it. Arm yourselves, quickly!"

000

Kiphoris thundered through the brush. He exulted in the feeling of the wind whipping by. His eyes saw all: Celdin just ahead, Melkris to his right. A thousand unfamiliar scents assailed his senses. Animals, both distant and nearby, filled the forest with their noise.

It was wonderful. The forest was alive. He didn't think it would ever bore him. He was not old for Eliksni, only four hundred by Earth years, but only twice before had he set foot on a world that supported life, and then only briefly. Such planets were rare finds in a galaxy as dead as theirs.

"We could catch him!" Melkris grumbled.

Kiphoris didn't say anything for a long time. "This is no time for games, Melkris."

"I-"

"No. Listen to me. I am your Captain. And I have humoured you long enough. Rein yourself in. I do not wish to discipline you."

"I only want to-"

"No. We are beyond want. This may appear a grand adventure to you, but it could very well mean the difference between survival and extinction for our banner. Do not endanger that."

Melkris's voice fell. "I understand, mine-Captain. I apologize."

"I do not care for apologies, only that... Go on."

"Kiphoris-Veskirisk?"

"Run on. Catch up with the elf. I will not be long." Kiphoris slowed his run. Melkris hesitated, then did as he was instructed. The sounds of the Vandal and elf receded, leaving Kiphoris surrounded by the natural noise of Du Weldenvarden.

He was not long in waiting for it to change. A small shape flitted down through the canopy high above and landed gracefully a few paces away.

Arke had changed once more. She was the silver Fanghur Ikharos had described, but now she was crowned with majestic antlers reaching back from her otherwise smooth head. Her leathery wings were coated in a covering of resplendent crystallic feathers. The sunshine broke apart into rainbows upon passing through them. Her body was thin and lithe, as opposed to the heavy musculature Saphira possessed.

Her eyes, bright gold, were full of mirth and craving. "Velask," she whispered.

"You are growing quickly," Kiphoris noted. Arke circled him around him. "Far too quickly."

"I feed on beasts," she hissed back. "No harm has been dealt to those considered sapient."

"Not even foes?"

"Not sapient foes."

Kiphoris closed his inner eyes. "Do you expect gratitude? For rushing to Saphira's aid?"

She only folded her wings against her body.

"Maybe Ikha Riis is right. Maybe this is too bold of me. I am no Awoken Queen. I am... not prepared. Not for you."

Arke stalked closer. More out of instinct than anything else, Kiphoris held out his hand. The little Ahamkara pressed her snout into his palm.

He couldn't begin to describe his feelings at that moment. Her scales were hard, but smooth to the touch. She was warm, as if there was a fire within her. "Do you wish to be prepared?" She murmured.

Kiphoris reluctantly retracted his hand. "Stop. End these ceaseless temptations."

"I am temptation incarnate. You seek to erase me entirely?"

"Be something else."

"I can be anything. You only have to-"

"Wish it, eia, I am aware."

Arke pulled away. She looked back the way they had come from and cocked her head to the side. A forked tongue flicked out from between her fangs. "Brethren," she said so casually that at first Kiphoris didn't pay it any mind. Her wings flew out. The little Fanghur bounded away and leapt into the air.

Kiphoris watched her go without the slightest inkling of understanding. "Brethren?" He repeated, baffled.

000

Singing. Ikharos heard- No, not heard. It was a feeling. He discerned a wave of pure potential slithering past his Light, like a thousand trickles stretching out in all directions from a central fountain. It was a trap: he knew that straight away. That was why he insisted on going alone.

Whoever set the trap likely weren't expecting a Warlock. He doubted they were going to be prepared. He sped through the forest, paying his surroundings little mind. His attention was focused on his Light and what he could feel through it. The song he felt was full of sweet magic, but it wasn't elven. And that was enough to put him on guard.

As the power of the song increased, and Ikharos zeroed in on its source, words began to drift through the air. A true song, outfitted with true lyrics:

"O liquid temptress 'neath the azure sky,
Your gilded expanse calls me, calls me."

He drew his cannon and slowed down. Something wasn't right, aside from the obvious. There was something insidious involved. Ikharos hesitated.

"We're headed this way regardless," Xiān pointed out. "Only difference is whether we have a bunch of Lightless with us or not."

Ikharos steeled his resolve and pushed on.

"For I would sail ever on,
Were it not for the elven maid,
Who calls me, calls me."

The voice was melodic, like an elf, and yet... different. Formora's singing was like a melody headed straight to the soul within him. Beautiful through heartfelt love for the craft. The song he heard then was different. It was stunning and melodic, no doubt about it, but there was a purpose to it. The song was beautiful because it was forced to be beautiful. Because beauty was part of the ulterior process.

His heart sank. He knew.

"She binds my heart with a lily-white tie,
Never to be broken, save by the sea,
Ever to be torn twixt the trees and the waves."

Ikharos broke through the treeline and found himself by the water's edge. Perched upon a rock jutting out of the lake, only a few feet in, was a woman. She wore a gown of threaded water-reeds and a veil of spidersilk. Her hair, black as coal and tinged with flame, cascaded down her neck and back. Beneath the veil Ikharos could make out the hint of a smile. A smirk full of want.

He stopped by the water's edge and thumbed back the Lumina's hammer. "Who are you with? Nezarec or Gunther's Six?"

The not-woman giggled. "If ever there were a question to be asked! Ha! What is to be gained of serving He-Who-Sings-Wrong or those who-were-Six-now-Two?"

"Now two?" Ikharos tilted his head. "Explain."

"Is there any call more noble than that of the flesh?" She held out her bare arms. Water dripped from her fingertips. "Embrace me, o listener mine. Fulfill your desire."

Ikharos didn't budge.

The woman didn't seem to care. She gently, gracefully, pushed away from the rock. It was then he saw the rest of her. Two avian wings were folded against her back. Below the waist she had, instead of legs, a huge, thick eel-like tail with which she cut through the water and slithered onto the beach. The fish-flesh was dark and shiny with a layer of slime. It had to be twelve feet long, perhaps more, and packed with powerful muscles. She seemed to almost glide across the silt beach as the tail crawled after her. She loomed close, very close, too close, and then leaned back. Propelled by another giggle, she slid past him, behind him. She was boxing him in against the water. Ikharos didn't dare move. He reckoned he was still in control. As long as he handled her with care.

His rudimentary plan was turned upside down the moment he heard a surprised yell. Ikharos twirled around. What was... Arya!

The elf ran onto the clearing. Her expression morphed into one of horror as she beheld the Ahamkara. The not-woman snarled and threw herself towards the elf with a stroke of her heavy tail, her hands lengthening into gnarled talons.

"No!" Ikharos shouted. He raised his arm to fire, but something slammed into him, something big and heavy and full of teeth. He and his attacker tumbled across the beach. Ikharos bit his tongue and heaved out a yelp as jaws crunched down on his shoulder. He slammed his free hand into the side of the beast's long-snouted head with as much power as he could muster. It let loose a shrill scream and kicked him away, hard.

Ikharos didn't think twice. He rolled to his feet, spent a split-second getting his bearings, and pelted towards the not-woman, but she was already in retreat by then. Narí forced her back, warding her away with a leaf-bladed spear. Arya was on the ground, still alive and aware. Her arm was bleeding from a deep gash.

Ikharos swiveled around. The not-woman was still there, still in place, but the other creature - like a crocodile with long gangly legs ending in hooves and a mane of fur running down the back of its neck - made to follow.

"Dammit!" Ikharos ran after the elves and tossed a Voidwall down behind him. A barrier of indigo flames flared up. He hoped it was going to buy time. He heard the crocodilian beast bellow with rage and the not-woman shriek, but he had already moved onto other matters. "We need something, anything, to hold them back!"

"Energy barrier?" Xiān offered.

"No. Won't work. Not with them. Something else."

"Your bond!"

"It's anti-acausal. Better. But not perfect." He pressed a hand full of Light onto his wounded shoulder. The bite-mark disappeared.

"Sedia custom-built it for fighting Ahamkara."

"Doesn't mean it's foolproof."

"It's still the best we've got."

"Waste of a good bond. It'll have to do. Those damn elves!"

Arya and Narí were faster than he was. They reached the others mere moments before he did. They stopped by the boats to catch their breath, and they made wild gestures towards the way they had come from. Chaos reigned; Orik was shouting, Saphira was growling, and Javek was chittering.

Ikharos slid to a stop, grabbed hold of his armlet, and summarily ripped it off. Glittering dust fell out of the shattered ring. He cupped a hand beneath to catch it all. When no more fell out, he rapidly began the process of scattering it on a loose circle around the beach.

"What are you doing?!" Formora quickly questioned.

"Witchcraft," he answered bluntly, "and that's no joke. Burn me at the stake later. For now, help me with this."

"How?"

"Keep everyone inside. They could arrive at any moment."

"'They?'"

Ikharos raised his head. "Ahamkara. Two of them. Maybe more, I didn't have time to find out."

"Psekisk," Formora hissed.

"I know. And tell Javek, if you can, to pass on a message to Kiphoris. He needs to stay away. Far away."

"I will." She raced off. He hoped the others would listen to her.

Arya replaced her, Narí and Eragon in tow. The Rider looked nothing but worried. The elves were frantic with fear. "What were those... things?!" Arya demanded sharply. Her injured arm was tightly bound over with a rag rapidly turning red.

Ikharos scowled. "Why couldn't you just stay here?"

"That's not-"

"Why can't you just trust me? I've killed Durza for you already, what else do I have to do to make you trust me?!"

Arya stepped back. They all did. It was then Ikharos realized that he was shouting. He lowered his voice, but it was impossible to hide all the anger he was feeling. "They're Ahamkara," he muttered hurriedly. "Colloquially known as Wish-Dragons. They're shapeshifting predators who feed on the desires of other living creatures. And they are not friendly."

"What... what do they want?"

"To eat us, I imagine." Ikharos stood up. He'd outlined a sizable portion of the clearing. He cleared his throat and stowed away his rage - it wouldn't help anyone, least of all himself. "This is silver dust, blessed by Awoken Techeuns to resist the pull of an Ahamkara's magic. It was designed to keep me safe, but... now I have no choice. This will grant you rudimentary protection. Keep inside the area I've covered and you won't die to an idle wish."

"This is-"

"Go on. Say it. Call it ridiculous." Ikharos's eyes flashed violet, glaring through his helmet's visor.

Arya didn't argue. Her own temper would rise in time, he was sure of that, but fear had a way of making otherwise stubborn people compliant. "We should leave," she reasoned. "I can send warriors to comb this place for-"

"Not a good idea. They're guarding the river mouth. We can't go that way."

"Then we will circumvent them by-"

"Nope. They're shapeshifters. A whiff of our scent and they'll come running."

"What can we do?!"

"You can stay here, like you were supposed to, and let me hunt them down in peace."

"What of Eliksni?" Arya urgently asked. "Javek can contact his brethren, can he not? They must send a Skiff!"

"Also not a good idea. Ahamkara can fly. And even if they don't get the Skiff, they'll sure as hell get Saphira. They'll happily rip her out of the sky." Eragon flinched. Ikharos sighed. "Flying isn't an option. Escape isn't an option. If they're truly working in tandem... then no, running won't work. I need to kill them. Or at least one of them. Which I was going to do, if you hadn't ruined everything!"

"You ran," Arya weakly accused. "Just like we."

Ikharos agreed. "Oh yes, I very much did. Because they had us where they wanted us - cornered and caught unawares. I can't fight two of them at once. But, if you hadn't blundered in, I would have been able to take the first one out. We wouldn't be in trouble. I could have killed them one at a time! All this hassle because you don't know what the word 'trust' means. Why can't you people just listen?!"

"Nothing you've said thus far has been-"

"Do you honestly think of me as nothing more than a braggart? All I've told you is the honest truth! You saw the truth with your own eyes! What the hell do you think I'm trying to achieve by lying?!" He didn't wait for the answer. Ikharos marched past her and barked, "Kida, you're with me!"

"Understood, sir." Kida offered him a flawless salute.

"The rest of you stay here. Stay here! See that area? Do not, under any circumstances, cross that line. No matter what you hear or what you see, stay behind it. Or you'll be eaten just like," Ikharos clicked his fingers, "that. Zeshus, watch them."

"Wait," Formora said. She held out her shield. "You might-"

"No." Ikharos shook his head. "Keep hold of it. If worst comes to worst, you'll need it."

"Then... good hunting, I suppose."

"Thanks," he growled.

"Hold!" Orik called out. He looked terribly confused. "What is happening?!"

Ikharos snapped, "Just wait."

"For how long?"

"Until I return. If I don't, well... I don't know." Without looking back, Ikharos strode right back into the forest.

In hindsight, Ikharos supposed that Arya was right. Partially. Xiān certainly thought so.

"We really didn't have it under control, did we?" she sighed.

Ikharos mentally shrugged. "I didn't expect two," he admitted. "I mean, it's not normal Ahamkara behaviour. They're solitary predators. Two hunting together, and actually cooperating while at it, is… is… unheard of!"

"We've discovered otherwise."

"Seems that way, doesn't it?"

"Think they're Nezarec's?"

"No idea. If they are, then we're already dead. There could be an Exo killsquad en route at this very moment."

"There's the confidence I was looking for."

"Oh, shush."

Ikharos kept a steady pace, Lumina in hand. He had little idea where he was going. He could have returned to the place he'd found the Ahamkara, but he felt nothing in that direction. He couldn't feel them at all. They'd fallen silent. They were hunting. He might have been able to pick them out if it weren't for the forest. Du Weldenvarden was strange. Magic was in the air. Not powerful magic, but a mist of ambient paracausality. It was like the faint buzz of electricity in a generator-fed house. His senses in that respect were all awry; couldn't feel anything past the thick, syrupy veil.

Ikharos came close to giving up and trying a new method when the singing reached him. He could feel that. And hear it too. It was close.

"Return to me!
Return to me, to me!
My heart aches, o beloved mine,
For there will never be 'nother like you!"

Ikharos tensed. The song, and the voice behind it, was incredible, but knowing what wove it together put him on edge. He said to Kida, "Ready up."

"Query: shall I activate combat protocols?" Kida inquired.

"Yeah, activate. You see them, you shoot. Understood?"

"Understood."

"Good. We can't let either of them get away."

"Rise, Aiedail!
Rise, o rise, ever-bright Aiedail!
The dawn is nothing without your smile, your gaze!
Rise, o Morning Star mine, or this day of absence we will rue!"

Ikharos rechecked the Lumina's chamber for the umpeenth time: twelve bullets locked in. He hoped it would be enough.

"They're putting on quite the show," Xiān noted.

"That they are."

"They really want you."

"They do."

"I'll watch your back. They won't take us by surprise. Not again."

"Thanks."

They passed the final hurdle and rushed onto… nothing. Just a shore lined with wet sand, loose earth, and smooth stones. Birds chirped, insects clicked, frogs squeaked, but there was little else to either see or hear.

The song continued:

"Hlaupa eom edtha, hlaupa eom edtha,
Onr weohnata finna ilian unin iet vaupneya.
Kuasta eom edtha, kuasta eom edtha,
Onr weohnata waíse frethyan frá du Mor'ranr!"

It was in the ancient language. The Ahamkara knew how to speak it. Ikharos's mouth went dry. He raised his cannon and quickly looked around, but he couldn't discern exactly where it came from.

"Lake!" Xiān cried out.

Ikharos twirled around and fired, but he must have missed because the thing that grabbed him didn't falter in the slightest. He was snatched from his feet by long, bony fingers and dragged through the air. His vision was filled with the grinning visage of a ghoulish, long-haired and waterlogged corpse.

Ikharos's entire world was abruptly upended as he was rapidly tossed into the lake, and not a split-second later water surged over his visor. He tried to kick and punch his way to freedom, but the heavy pressure of the lake around him slowed down his movements so his limbs harmlessly slapped against the Ahamkara's unnaturally strong arms. Its talons wrapped around his neck with an iron grip and tightened. His struggles only increased in ferocity as desperation set in, as useless as it was.

"Light! Use your Light, before they drown it!"

Ikharos felt for power within, but the Arc broke free of his reigns and the Solar fled before his touch. He didn't care - they weren't what he needed. The Void waited for him, unmoving and thoroughly uncaring. He reached in and grasped the vast nothingness in a clenched fist. When he released his grip, the Atomic Breach tore through the Ahamkara's midriff. It screamed - sounding both distant and impossibly loud all at once. It's grip on him slackened enough for him to break free. It swam away, still shrilly keening, and left Ikharos to kick his way back to the surface and breath in blessedly fresh air.

The calm of the above was unsettling. It was as if Kepler itself was happy to ignore what was happening - happy to let the Ahamkara kill him. Ikharos smothered his fear with newfound purpose, set his eyes on the shore, and swam as fast as he was capable of. He kept expecting the Ahamkara to return and rip into him from below, though the bite never came.

It's not dead, he thought bitterly. That would be too easy.

It had dragged him a fair ways out, but Ikharos prided himself on being a strong swimmer. The distance was shortened in little time. Relief flooded through his system as his feet found solid ground.

Kida was there to grab his arm and help him back onto dry land.

"Thanks," Ikharos breathed. He gasped for breath. His heart hammered so hard he felt like it would burst out of his chest. "Damn thing's gone under, we need to… Kida, you're... bleeding..."

The Frame's metal face pulled open into a maw filled with teeth and shot forward. Ikharos stumbled back, narrowly avoiding the bite but not the claws that suddenly planted themselves deep inside his ribcage. The inward warmth he'd taken for granted was suddenly banished - replaced with the icy grasp of terror. Lumina fell from his nerveless fingers.

Energy bolts hit the Ahamkara's back, forcing it to disengage. Ikharos collapsed like a puppet with its strings cut, and slumped over onto his back. His mouth filled with the taste of copper. He became only dimly aware of the fight occurring just a few feet away. Kida marched forward, openly firing upon the not-Kida, the one bubbled with ill-fitting flesh, but to little effect. The Ahamkara danced around with a grace that no Frame possessed and pounced upon its attacker. It transformed when it reached Kida, turning into something large and serpentine. The tail of the beast slammed into Kida and flung him across the clearing, out of sight.

The beast turned its insatiable gaze back on Ikharos.

He twitched his fingers, but Lumina was out of his grasp. It was somewhere nearby, that he knew, but he didn't know where - let alone if he could reach it. The Ahamkara changed its form once more. From the discarded skin of the serpent glided an ethereal elven woman bare of everything, the living embodiment of grace and beauty. She knelt over him and smiled predatorily.

"O Aiedail," she whispered, leaning down. Her cold lips ghosted over his throat. Ikharos hadn't the strength left to push her away. "You have returned to me."

"GET UP!"

Her smile was empty of everything but want. "Let me draw you into my embrace."

Ikharos didn't even have the breath to offer a protest. He was choking on his own blood. He closed his eyes and thought, "Fuck."

"NO GET UP GET UP GET UP WE'RE NOT DONE!" Xiān screamed.

The Ahamkara laughed, as if she could hear it all. Her lips parted to reveal her glittering fangs. She leaned closer, so close that she could-

A growl halted her progress. The Ahamkara frowned and sat up, turning to regard the intruder with a glare of comical disapproval. The newcomer, an antlered snow-leopard, met it evenly and continued to voice its dissent. "No," it said as it padded ever closer.

"No?" The fanged woman tilted her head. In a flash she was the woman no more, but a white-furred tiger. "You reach beyond your boundaries. You have no right."

The snow-leopard hissed. The two wildcats padded closer and closer, until they could take it no more and crashed together in a violent skirmish that Ikharos couldn't keep track of, what with his darkening vision. The two morphed into a dozen different forms within the blink of an eye, too fast to follow. It was over in a second. The bigger one locked its jaws around the throat of the smaller and pressed-

Kida, one-armed and sparking, hobbled up to the bigger Ahamkara, leveled his shotgun with its head, and pulled the trigger. Red and grey splattered across the lake stones.

Ikharos felt his life slipping. Xiān appeared in front of him, her fins shaking and eye bright. She opened up her shell and Light spilled out. A fire reignited within Ikharos, banishing all the pain. He got to his feet and drew forth his Light. His fingertips buzzed with power. The smaller Ahamkara pushed the corpse off of itself and climbed to its feet. The silver Fanghur, newly transformed, hissed at its dead relative with such vehemence that Ikharos half expected it to resume fighting.

"Arke," Ikharos realized. He let go of the Void and doubled over. He took his helmet off, spat out a globule of blood, and stared at her. "You're here."

She ignored him and licked her wounded flank.

A metal hand grasped Ikharos's shoulder. "Are you injured, sir?" Kida asked. The Frame's voice was full of imitated concern.

Ikharos waved him away. "I'm fine, I'm fine. Shoot it again. Make sure it's dead.

The robot did as he asked. Three times. Each shot resounded across the lake like thunder. The Ahamkara didn't get back up. Ikharos checked their surroundings. Nothing was out of the ordinary. Nothing. "Where's the second one?"

Silence was the only answer he received. And it was startlingly informative.

"Oh shit," Ikharos cursed. He scooped up his dropped cannon and ran.

000

Eragon paced around and tried not to get upset. No one would tell him anything - not even Arya. She only conferred with Lifaen in hushed, fearful words so soft he couldn't make them out. Narí hadn't spoken at all since he returned. It frustrated - and terrified - him.

Orik had even less patience than he. The dwarf had demanded answers, and when he received none, he declared "I won't partake in any more of this nonsense" and attempted to leave.

Zeshus had stepped in front of him and said, "No."

The single word was uttered cold authority. It silenced and stilled them all for longer than it should have.

"Then explain… this!" Orik gestured to the almost imperceptible circle they found themselves boxed in, ringed by a loose trail of silver dust.

"If you leave, you will die," Zeshus sternly told him. "You will endanger others. This is no game, dwarf. If you thought it one, then you are sorely mistaken."

"I will not be taken to be a fool!"

"Is that what you think this is? A joke?"

Orik grew red-faced with anger. "I don't know what to think because you will not say!"

Eragon leaned forward, both eager to hear how Zeshus would respond and worried for his friend. "She is as terrifying as Ikharos."

Saphira grunted. "She is not as rude. Not to me. I find her agreeable."

"Then what do you make of this?"

"... In truth, I do not know. But I do not think this a joke, as Orik imagines. There is trouble afoot. We must be alert."

Eragon glanced over to the huddled elves. Lifaen was the only one to return the look, grim-faced and confused. "What did they see?"

"I cannot presume to know. This forest feels strange against my scales. I smell so many new things that I cannot… WHAT IS THAT?!" Saphira got to her feet and curled her lip.

Eragon followed her line of view and stifled a gasp. Just outside the circle, on the side facing the river, was a human skeleton. It was standing straight up, despite the lack of flesh required to hold it together, and it seemed to gaze at him with its hollow eye sockets.

"Burzûl!" Orik cried. By then everyone had noticed. And no one moved for sheer terror of the thing before them.

No one but the dead man.

It gingerly lifted one foot, then thought better of it. The skeleton kneeled down and studied the boundary of silver dust. Its jaw moved and its death-dried teeth clacked loudly together. Words spewed from the ghoulish creature, though Eragon didn't know how. "Sneaky, sneaky, sneaky, sneaky, sneaky, SNEAKY LITTLE CHILDREN!"

It started to laugh, but the only sound that came from it was the clattering of its jaw. Click. Click. Click. Click.

"The children are clever!" It cackled. "The children are bold! O child mine, what cunning you have!"

Zeshus moved in front of Eragon. A metal roundshield was strapped to one arm while she held in her free hand a gun - one of the strange ranged weapons of foreign make. She aimed at the grinning skull and said, "Leave or die."

The skeleton stopped laughing, jaw hanging open. Black shapes flowed out of its shadow-cast maw and scuttled across its ivory skull. Eragon backtracked to where Saphira stood. His blood went cold. A torrent of black insects crawled out of the skull to cover the entire body. Some of them turned red and some white, and others yet turned to other colours. Soon they covered the entire skeleton, turning from independent living creatures into wretched flesh. But the monstrous visage improved by every second, sharpening into a full person.

In the end, an elf with golden hair and elegantly slanted eyebrows stood in its place. His build was slim but strong. He wore a green tunic and brown leggings with black boots.

"Fäolin," Arya choked out. She ran for him - but Zeshus cut her off. The masked woman threw down her weapon and grabbed Arya around the waist.

"It's not him!" She hissed, pulling Arya back. "It's not him!"

The golden-haired elf laughed and changed once more. In his stead stood a whip-thin man with greying hair.

"Garrow," Eragon gasped.

His uncle lifted a shaking hand and pointed at him. "You left me."

"Demon!" Orik shouted fearfully. Javek's panicked chitter was not long in following.

Garrow stopped smiling. A troubled frown replaced it. Once more, the figure changed identity, but what was left was something Eragon could scarcely comprehend. It was a woman in leather armour and brown cloth. She wore a veil over her eyes, but they shone through regardless. All three of them. Only her lower face was revealed to the outside. Streams of dark mist dripped down her cheeks.

Then Ikharos appeared out of the brush of the forest only twenty yards away. There was blood on his robes. He stumbled into the clearing, but at the sight of the demon, he froze up. "Eris," he said numbly.

"Ikharos." The demon walked forward. She held out her hands. "It has been some time, hasn't it?"

"What are you doing here?"

The demon - Eris - hesitated. "We… did not part on the best of terms. I wanted to apolog-"

Ikharos lifted his gun and shot her in the head. The body hit the ground with a thump. "You idiot," he said, disgusted. "Eris would never say sorry."

He shot the body again and again and again. It twitched on the first, remained still for all the rest. Ikharos didn't let up until his weapon clicked empty. He looked up. "It's over. They're dead."

AN: Ahamkara are such fun to write. Thanks to Nomad Blue for editing!