Chapter 45: Dagshelgr

"Ready?"

"Ready."

"A one... a two... a three!"

They tossed the body into the shallow grave with some exertion. Ikharos grabbed the shovels Xiān dropped and tossed one over to Javek. The Splicer deftly caught it out of the air. They began to pile dirt over the corpse, while Ikharos did his very best to avoid gazing upon the Wish-Dragon's face. He knew it wasn't Eris, but it looked so real, and every time he saw her face he remembered the moment he found her, bloodied and muttering sharp alien words at the lip of the Hellmouth.

He still couldn't believe he shot her. Even if it wasn't her.

"She has Hive eyes," Javek noted.

Ikharos shook his head. "Don't ask," he said, overly harsh.

"Oh... Uh, apologies, Kirzen."

Ikharos grimaced. Javek was just being his curious self. Still, he refused to relive the horror of the previous night any more than he already had. I'm not going to sleep soundly for some time, Ikharos glumly reflected.

Xiān enveloped him in warmth and compassion. It almost worked - but anger, fear, and guilt were too powerful to be wholly banished. The dark emotions were the bane of sapient thought.

The grave was soon nothing more than a dirt mound. An identical pile of displaced dirt lay beside it - where they'd buried the tiger. Already he could hear the whispers promising him power and fulfilled desires. They offered him riches, weapons and armour. They taunted him with past failures and lost loved ones.

When Arke padded over and banished the voices, he felt an odd surge of relief and gratefulness.

"You're earning your keep," he muttered.

The little Ahamkara - now the size of a greyhound - smiled and curled up at his feet. She was an oversized wolverine with an eagle's hooked beak.

His gaze drifted back to the unmarked graves. "Who were they?"

"They were free."

"Not Nezarec's?"

"No."

"Then... why attack us?"

"You know hunger. I know hunger. Is there any cause more absolute in its authority?"

"So they were peckish? That's it?"

"That is it."

Ikharos scowled. "Just when my expectations lift, you bring them crashing back down. Beasts."

"My hunger is built on hatred. You need worry not, for it is not orientated towards the instruments of my vengeance."

"Oh, I'll worry. I'd be a fool to trust you."

Arke laughed. "Your thoughts are a delicacy! By hiding them, you only sharpen my appetite."

"How about no?" Ikharos took a deep breath. "This world is Earth-sized. There's millions upon millions of people. They could have found a meal elsewhere. Why us?"

"You are a child of Light. Uirachas was young and inexperienced, untasted in your ilk, but Vorshyyr knew your kind. She fed from them freely."

"Fed? Nonlethally? I can't imagine Gunther's Six would allow that."

"Little feedings. Nibbles of thought. Tastes of desire." Arke's eyes flashed. "And, oh, how they desired. Your kind are not above the lulls of the flesh, despite your spirit-born origins."

"They really..." Ikharos trailed off. He blinked, rapidly, in surprise. "Traveler above, no wonder they're gone."

"Mmm."

"Will there be others to come for us?"

"No."

"And you're telling the truth?"

"Yes."

"How did they find us?"

"Your power. Your kind are a feast. You have the most delightful souls. You are life unlike any other."

"So it's me?" Ikharos looked around. "Maybe I should leave."

"If that is your wish."

Ikharos narrowed his eyes. "Or maybe not. Arke. Will other Ahamkara come for us, free or otherwise?"

"No."

"In the ancient language."

She yawned. "Né, theirr weohnata néiat."

A weight lifted off his chest. "Good." He paused. "One of them called Gunther's six 'Now-Two.' Tell me: what did she mean?"

Arke stilled and looked up at him with her rich, golden eyes. "You are of the Warlocks," she whispered. "Your thirst for knowledge is insatiable. Or so it was with Hezran."

"Wait. You knew them? You... argh!" He clenched his jaw. "You actually knew the Six. Why didn't you tell me?"

"I was never asked."

Ikharos smothered the frustration beneath burning curiosity. "Arke. What. Did. She. Mean?"

Arke laid her head down. "Two yet live, and yet they do not."

"Who? Tell me. Now."

"Kelf. Uren."

"So... Uren actually wrote in Hezran's journal..." He found himself smiling. Relief flooded his heart and assuaged his fiery temper. "Where are they?"

"I do not know."

"Arke, you're-"

"I do not know," she snapped shrilly. "I do not!"

He believed her.

The others were where he left them. They stayed within the boundaries of the silver dust - even the normally cool-headed elves. After what they'd seen, he couldn't blame them. They'd been presented with a prime showing of an Ahamkara's powers. And it probably didn't help that Arke was around. They knew what she was now. It was impossible to hide it. Everyone's eyes were on her when they returned to the temporary camp, and it was a camp in the loosest term possible. All they had were blankets on the ground as makeshift beds arrayed in a broken circle.

"Bodies are dealt with," Ikharos announced. "And I want everyone present to make an oath never to reveal the location."

No one argued. Arya only asked, "Why?"

"Because if someone wanders by, purposely looking for them, then the Ahamkara could come back. And I don't have to tell you why that would be disastrous, do I?"

The elves freely gave their oaths. Orik, Eragon, and even Saphira followed their example. Ikharos didn't ask it of Javek or Formora. He didn't need to. They knew what Ahamkara were like, to some degree. And though it didn't go unnoticed by the others, it went unchallenged.

"What about that one?" Arya questioned, pointing.

Ikharos raised an eyebrow. "Arke? She's with us. I think." He looked down at her. She was in the form of a panther garbed in raven feathers. "If there's any other shapeshifters ahead, she'll sniff them out."

Arke yawned again, revealing her teeth. She had rows upon rows of triangular fangs, like a shark. Ikharos grew annoyed; the feeling only intensified when she flashed him a mischievous grin.

Bloody Wish-Dragons, he thought irritably. He walked over to the tiny fire Eragon had started. The Rider offered him a bowl of thin gruel. The only ingredients they had to cook with was rations, so the meal was hardly appetizing, but all Ikharos wanted was something to anchor him down. The scalding heat of the broth did just that.

"It's almost dawn," he said between spoonfuls. "What's the plan?"

"Plan?" Arya asked dubiously.

"Yeah, plan. Someone roll out a map. We need to be clear with the route we're taking and the measures we exercise going forward."

"Wait." Arya's frustration shone through in the form of a furrowed brow and raised voice. "We need to discuss what happened last night."

Ikharos paused. "We were attacked by wild Ahamkara."

"That, that, is what we need to talk about."

"I mean, it seems pretty straight forward to me."

"Nothing about this is straight forward!" Arya cried out. She took an angry step closer. "Ikharos, it's time you told us the truth! Not these vague remarks or those outrageous lies you think-"

Ikharos stood up very quickly, almost spilling the gruel. Arya went quiet. "Lies," he repeated in a dangerously quiet voice. "Is that right? Lies? I have told you nothing but the truth. Let them-" he gestured wildly in the direction of the graves "-be testament to that."

"You called yourself deathless," she spat.

"That's because I am." He unholstered his Lumina. She quickly backed away. "Do I have to shoot myself to prove that? Do I have to kill myself? Eka eddyr dauthné."

The silence was deafening. Arya took a moment to respond, and while her tone was no less biting, cracks of doubt shone through. "You may believe it, but that does not make it true."

Ikharos froze. He involuntarily glanced at Formora.

"Just because you believe it, doesn't make it true," Ikharos retorted coldly. It was harsher than he intended. Formora inhaled sharply, and with a final angry look, she turned around. He sighed. "Dammit."

He took a deep breath to keep himself from shouting and evenly met Arya's cold stare. "I said something similar to someone else. Turned out they were right. And now that I know what it feels like, to be ridiculed despite telling the truth, I feel like I owe them an apology. Perhaps more."

Formora's mind, which grew ever more familiar, pressed against his own. "Thank you," she said. A radiant flush of contentedness came from her end of the connection. It eased his rekinled rage to a delicate smoulder.

"Look, believe me or not, that's your choice," Ikharos continued. "There's little I can do to change your mind. Honestly? Why the hell should I try? What does it matter if you believe me or not? My only job, right here and now, is getting you all to Ellesméra alive. Trust me to do that and we won't have any issues. I haven't failed you yet, have I?"

"No," Arya reluctantly muttered.

"No, I haven't. All you need to realize is that I'm on your side and I'm willing to put my lives on the line for you all." Ikharos sat back down. "Nitpick my words later, when we're in the clear. Ask your questions on the way. Leave the rest behind. For now, can we please plan out what happens next? If there's trouble ahead, I'd rather we don't blindly walk into it - as we almost did here."

"We couldn't have anticipated those... Ahamkara," Lifaen said carefully.

Ikharos nodded. "I'll grant you that. But this route we're taking, traveling by water... is it really necessary?"

Arya tiredly sat down opposite him. "We must reach Ellesméra with all haste. Before tales of a new Dragon Rider pair spreads."

"Because..?"

"Because there are those who may use this revelation to their own advantage."

"Ah." Ikharos grimaced. "Politics."

"Yes," Arya agreed. "And what of your end? You... seem to know about these..." Her eyes darted to Arke. "Ahamkara. Why did they attack us?"

"Because they're hungry. Ahamkara are predators. To them, we're prey."

Her gaze remained locked on the feathered feline. "The creature last night... It changed into people."

"It changed into my uncle," Eragon added in a subdued voice. There were dark bags under his eyes. He looked at Arya nervously. "And-"

"And someone I once knew," Arya carried on. Something in her tone dissuaded Ikharos from digging any deeper. "And someone you knew, I presume."

"Yes," Ikharos admitted. He diverted his gaze towards the fire. "Eris. She was a friend." More than a friend. Damn Crota to oblivion. "They do that sometimes. Take the forms of those we cherish. Strong emotions - fear, guilt, rage, love, lust - lead to desire. To wants and wishes. That's how they catch us."

"How do you know so much about them?" Narí inquired.

"Because I hunt them."

Arke padded over to his side. She hadn't left him since the fight with Vorshyyr. In a dog or similarly causal animal that would have been endearing. Not so with her. She put him on edge. She didn't stick with him out of loyalty; she had no loyalty to speak of. No, he was positive Arke saw him in a similar light to how he saw her. They were mere tools to one another, nothing more.

"But..." Lifaen began, staring at where she sat down beside the Risen. He looked terribly confused. "You said the dust would keep them at bay."

Ikharos frowned. "Did I? No. Nonono, it doesn't. It only keeps them from pouncing on your idle thoughts."

"So you left us without ample protection?!" Orik cried out.

"Oh, don't start. I did the best I could. And look. We're all alive."

"Kida only has one arm," Lifaen muttered.

Ikharos glowered. "... You must be fun at parties."

"I'm sorry?"

"Kida can be repaired. I'll get Javek on that." Ikharos craned his head around. "Javek?"

The Splicer wandered over. "Eia?"

"Kida-hulunkles. Ze dis-ra?"

"Oh, eia. Ne ze dis-ra Kii'da."

"Ne tas ze." Ikharos turned back to the elves. He put the empty bowl down on the grass and clapped his hands together. "Now! Does anyone have a map?"

Narí wordlessly rolled out a sheet of fine paper upon which was a fantastically in-depth portrayal of Du Weldenvarden and its winding waterways. He pointed to the west side of the Edda Lake. "We are here."

"What's our heading?"

Narí looked to Arya. She reluctantly nodded. He stabbed a finger down in the heart of the forest. "Ellesméra is here." He returned to their current location. "Here is the Gaena River. We will follow it to Ardwen Lake."

"Fair. And then? There's no body of water leading to Ellesméra from Ardwen. Are we walking?"

"Riding," Arya corrected. "We - Lifaen and Narí - will requisition mounts from Sílthrim. The rest of us shall remain outside the city."

"We could pick up more guards there." Ikharos pointed out.

Arya shook her head. "No. Too many already know. Ellesméra should be the first to learn of Saphira and Eragon."

"And of the Eliksni?"

"Just so."

Ikharos accepted it. "Then... what about security? Your forest doesn't seem so safe anymore. If Ahamkara can hide within, what else might be out there?"

"You expect us to be attacked again?" Narí asked, alarmed.

"No way of knowing. By virtue of simply being, Eragon's going to draw attention when he reaches Ellesméra. Unwanted attention. The enemy could have agents embedded within the population. How secure are your cities?"

Arya hesitated. "There are a great many powerful wards around each. Even the mightiest of Riders would have found difficulty in assaulting them."

"Good, but what about physical? Like walls?" He was clutching at straws; walls wouldn't hold back a squad of military-grade Exos. Or Cabal. Or Eliksni. Or Ahamkara. Or Shades. Their foes were too advanced for primitive barriers. What he was looking for was only the illusion of safety. He knew its lack of worth, but he sought it out regardless.

"No great walls," Arya reported. "We've never had need to build such. Our strength lies not in numbers or stonework, as it is with men and dwarves, but with magic."

"That might change," Ikharos said grimly. He stood up. "Still, a few wards beats sticking around here, in the open. We need to pick up the pace. What happened last night was a worst-case scenario, but that doesn't mean it won't repeat itself. Ahamkara aren't the only monsters roaming Alagaësia right now. Let's meet up with Kiphoris and get to Ellesméra. Clear?"

Mumbled agreements and acknowledgments were all he received.

"Inspiring," he grumbled. Ikharos cleared his throat. "Lifaen, Narí, get the canoes ready. Eragon, stay with Javek. He'll watch over you. Saphira, I want you to stick close to them. Arke?"

The Ahamkara lazily looked up.

"Get in the air. If you sense trouble coming, inform us."

She got to her feet and morphed into an eagle with six wings. She leapt from the ground and took off with startling speed. The elves followed their orders as well - after watching Arke for a few nerve-wracking seconds - and began dragging the pale vessels back into the water.

Ikharos was about to go pack up his few belongings when Arya stopped him. "We are not finished," she warned him. Her gaze flitted upwards. "Arke is an Ahamkara?"

"Well, yes."

"How are we to know she won't attack us?"

"Because Kiphoris ensured that she wouldn't. She's made oaths in the ancient language to obey us."

"Us?"

"Kiphoris and I. Look, she's a wildcard, and if she makes one wrong move I'll kill her, but I can't accurately detect other Ahamkara. We need her to sniff them out."

"Is there no way to fight them?"

"Sure there is. By killing them as you would any other living creature. But Ahamkara are built differently. We struck really, really lucky here. If we get trapped a second time, that luck's not going to hold."

Her expression hardened. "I do not like this."

"Neither do I," Ikharos admitted. "But this is the hand we've been dealt."

"... So be it. I am..." She momentarily closed her eyes. "I am trusting you to guard us. But, if anyone is hurt or-"

"Then I'll put her down. I told Kiphoris the same thing." He sighed. "We're playing with fire, I know."

Arya wasn't finished. "When we reach Ellesméra, you are going to explain this all to me. And you are going to be truthful."

What tolerance he had left quickly abandoned him. Ikharos bitterly said, "That's what I've been doing."

"I don't believe you."

"That's your problem, not mine." He stepped past and walked away, effectively cutting the budding argument short. She didn't call him back. They just weren't compatible, he figured, but what really irked him was her tendency to bang heads with him every time he opened his mouth. He could hardly wait for the moment when their trek through the forest was over and they could go their separate ways.

000

Formora set herself to the task of gathering her weapons. What had once been exotic and alien was now comfortingly familiar. Her rifle and sidearm were both potent and versatile, but it was the shield that she found herself so often enamoured with. It was large and sturdy, and yet despite its size it was relatively light. It's most impressive trait was its ability to remain undented and rust-free no matter what the elements threw at it. Like her sword.

"This is madness," Orik muttered nearby. Formora subtly leaned closer, her interest piqued.

"What is?" Eragon asked, his voice just as hushed. "Arke?"

"No. Yes, that, but everything else too. Metal men, deathless men, and shape-changing monsters." The dwarf furiously stomped the fire out. "Dark magic I tell you. Evil magic."

"Ikharos does not appear to be evil," Eragon replied dubiously. "He killed Durza. He saved Murtagh. And he saved us last night."

"There is a beginning and end for all things," Orik continued on, "even stone. Only the gods have the right to hold themselves above it all."

"Ikharos is just a man."

"So are Shades, before they allow power to claim their minds."

"He's... not a Shade." Eragon didn't sound certain.

Orik played with his beard. "Perhaps not. But something else? He is no human, I can tell you that much. Not as you are, or Ajihad was, or any man of the Varden."

"If so, then wouldn't that be all the better for us?" Eragon wondered. "He's an ally to us."

"An ally we don't understand." Orik sighed. "Magic, eh? It throws all we know into a quandary."

Despite the exciting night, leaving the clearing and resuming their course turned out to be a rather unremarkable affair. When the adrenaline faded, all that was left was the monotonous everyday work of moving on and on. The tension never left, however. Especially on the first canoe, which she shared with Narí, Arya, and Ikharos. It was always the latter two that gave rise to arguments and confrontations - fanning the flames of paranoia where everyone else was concerned.

She had to do something. Mending the relationship was impossible; it had been less than cordial when it began. No, she just needed to dampen the impact of the veiled hostilities. Or merely warn Ikharos of the pitfall he was walking into.

"Arya is the daughter of Islanzadí," she told him. It was abrupt and direct, just how he preferred to talk. In a way, she wanted to see how he would react.

Formora was left disappointed. He looked at her, but otherwise didn't outwardly show any signs of having heard. "Is she? Did you know her too?"

"No. But the others named her Arya Dröttningu."

"What does that mean?"

"'Heiress to the throne.'"

"So she has a superiority-complex?" He nodded ever so slightly. "No wonder she doesn't like me."

"Or it may be that you likened yourself - and your people - to Shades. Do not forget, she was kept as a prisoner by Durza."

"... Oh." To his credit, he sounded genuinely regretful. "So that... was very undiplomatic of me."

"Indeed."

"Shit." He had the decency to look aghast. "I didn't intend to be… Oh shit."

Narí caught sight of the horrified expression and asked, "Is something the matter, Shadeslayer?"

"I... no. Nope. I'm just... just..." He trailed off.

"Just what?" Formora teased. It was a nice change of pace. Better than allowing her thoughts to remain on the topic of the previous night's Ahamkara.

"Just thought I forgot my cannon." Ikharos casually tapped the Lumina at his hip. "Nothing to worry about."

Neither Narí or Arya believed him, that was clear, though they didn't press him for it. A gulf had opened beneath him and their elven guides.

"You're despicable," Ikharos grumbled. Formora grinned broadly, confident that it was hidden behind her visor.

She refocused solely on the motions of paddling. Eventually, her mind turned to questions and wonders. She inquired, "Do your kind engage in intimate relationships?"

He sent her a strange look. "Where's that coming from?"

"I'm trying to imagine how an Ahamkara could challenge a Risen. And if there's any desires for them to use against you."

Ikharos breathed in and out very slowly. "Our lives may be tied to Light, but we're just as prone to instinct as every other human and neohuman species. Yes, we have the capacity for love - just as we have the capacity for hate, jealousy, greed, pride. Love's just the hardest to keep alive. Ahamkara can use all of that, and more, to defeat us."

"I find myself curious. Do your people adhere to traditions in that regard as humans do?"

He shrugged, the movement so slight she wouldn't have noticed if she hadn't been looking for it. "Some adopt the ways of other cultures - like marriage. Others just... go along, making it up on the way. But intimate relationships of any sort are few and far between."

"Why?"

"We're a long-lived race, we Risen, though ironically most of us don't live long."

She had another question, but Formora debated whether to voice it or not. She suspected it wasn't quite as easy to answer as the others. In the end, curiosity won out. "Have you ever loved?"

Ikharos went quiet. His mind almost closed up entirely. Formora regretted asking in the first place. But, after a long stressful minute, he answered. "Yes. Twice. And neither ended well. Makes me a fool, doesn't it? I should have learned my lesson the first time. An Ahamkara could indeed use my past against me."

"I'm sorry for asking."

"And you?"

"Once. But the parting was not difficult. We merely found ourselves incapable of continuing our relationship." Formora found no issue with talking about. Conversations with Ikharos were always... free. Open. She appreciated it. "He was Alavánda, a scion of House Thrándurin." But here, the openness gave way to murky waters. She didn't know where to step. "You don't have to answer this, but... who were the recipients of your affections?"

Ikharos's movements became stiff. "The first was Zahl Amand. He was a doctor and one of the first to be called Earthborn Awoken."

"And... the second?"

"Not really a second. She and I never had anything between us, not to the extent that Zahl and I did, but there was potential. Potential that the Hive shattered."

A taut silence stretched out between them

"The woman last night. The one the Ahamkara became... I wanted to ask before, but..." Formora realized. Her thoughts were thrown into disarray as the implications of the revelation made themselves known. "Three eyes? Was that the Ahamkara or was it-"

"Eris is Risen. Ghostless, but still Risen. And those are Hive eyes. She stole them from an Acolyte to replace her own. Or something along those lines."

Formora's breath stalled. Replace her eyes?! She pushed past the revulsion and horror to ask, "Are all Hive eyes green?"

"Yeah," he replied in a cold, neutral voice. "That's their favourite colour."

"I saw something like that. In a..." She hesitated. "This may sound ridiculous, but I think I saw the eyes of a Hive creature in a dream."

He didn't joke or otherwise ridicule her. "A dream?" Ikharosasked quickly. His voice became sharp and serious. "What else was there?"

So she told him everything: the army, the snow, the fortress, the spire, and the warriors locked in combat.

"It could be Albazad," Ikharos noted. "The Strife Cult fortress we read about in Hezran's journal. It's supposed to be in the far north. And those fighters are... well, one of them is a Sunbreaker Titan. I don't know about the other. I've never heard of anything like that. Are you sure it wasn't an Arc staff?"

"I saw no Arc."

"... I don't know. Maybe it's just a Shade. Or an Ahamkara. They're strong enough to give any Risen a challenge. Still, the Hive eyes make me nervous. Maybe Nezarec has one with him. He is, after all, utilizing an altered form of Sword Logic. He could have yet another pet at his disposal."

"What should we do?" Formora asked

"I don't know. None of this is good, but I don't know if there's anything we can do. Not now. Maybe its a vision of Kelf and Hezran attacking the Strife Cult. Maybe it's just a random dream. So... yeah, I don't know." Ikharos shifted uncomfortably. "If you receive another vision, tell me. I'm not a professional Thanatonaut, but I am a Warlock, so if there's a pattern we can pick up on it."

Formora nodded hesitantly. "I'll keep that in mind, but... it was just a dream."

"A dream about an alien creature you could never have seen before? I don't buy it. It could be a warning of some kind."

"From whom?"

"I... don't know that either. But it isn't a dream. I'm sure of it."

Narí, sitting at the prow of the canoe, turned about and announced, "We are upon the Gaena River. Celdin and the Eliksni will be nearby."

Their guide's words rang true. Kiphoris, Celdin, and Melkris were waiting by the mouth of the river. The Eliksni were wide-eyed and wary.

"You were attacked?" Kiphoris called out.

"Aye!" Ikharos shouted back. "Ahamkara! Two of them!"

"Argh, psekisk! What happened?"

"I killed them! Arke helped!"

Kiphoris tilted his head. "She did? Where-"

An eagle with far too many wings glided down and landed upon his shoulder. Kiphoris trailed off, his question answered. "There," he said, too softly for any but elves to hear.

They paddled the canoes closer to the banks. Celdin began conversing with Arya and Lifaen in a hushed voice thick with concern. The latter two promised that all were well and unharmed.

"Was there any issue with the Wish-Beasts?" Kiphoris pressed. He lumbered close to the water's edge, arms outstretched and back hunched over. His red cloak trailed over the grass behind him.

"Some," Ikharos admitted. "One of them almost had me. Arke and Kida are the only reason I'm still here."

"Were the beasts agents of our foe?"

"We don't think so. Well, Arke doesn't think so. Still, keep the Scars on standby. If we run into Exos..."

Kiphoris looked over the rest of the group. "They will not survive such an encounter. We must hurry on."

"To the relative safety of Ellesméra."

"Is there anywhere else?"

"No, but... we're going to need more security there. If you can, speed along whatever deals you have in mind to get some Scars in the city. I won't be satisfied with its defenses otherwise."

The Captain nodded. "Eia, I understand, but I will need time to think of how to convince Tarrhis. He is growing short-tempered with me."

"Maybe use it as an opportunity to test how many Scars have magic."

"That is... overtly forward. I envisioned a softer touch."

"No time. We're barely into the forest and we've had to deal with a pair of Ahamkara. Moving quietly will only get us so far; others will find us sooner or later."

Kiphoris looked away. "So be it. I will press your case. If I say it is your idea, he may be inclined to listen. Bah, that is a matter for later. Are any injured?"

"Kida's got one arm, as Lifaen so eloquently put it. I ordered Javek to fix him."

Javek, sitting in the other canoe, perked up. He beamed triumphantly and motioned to Kida's formerly broken limb. It was in a poor state, held on only by a wrapping of ragged cloth, but what wires were exposed looked halfway mended. Those that were too broken had already been removed and replaced by Eliksni-grade counterparts.

Kida, for his part, twitched his fingers experimentally. "I estimate repairs will be completed in three point two-six hours," he helpfully supplied. "Extrasolar entity designated Javek is an apt mechanic."

Javek dipped his head. "Tuhyenk oo."

"Thank you," Kiphoris corrected.

"Th... yank yo? Th... Th'hank you."

Kida just turned his head towards Ikharos. "Extrasolar entity designated Javek is incapable of basic communications."

"Kida-ma'ha tas ze," Ikharos told the young Eliksni. Javek's eyes crinkled with a cautious smile.

Kiphoris, impatient with the exchange, swiftly said, "We should continue onwards with all haste. Mine-senses are jumbled. There are too many new scents here. And... I feel out of place." He turned around, flicking his cloak behind him. "Arya! I presume we follow this river?"

Arya faced him and nodded. "Indeed, Kiphoris-vodhr. We must go on. However, at the end of this river lies a lake. Will you leave us to circumvent it?"

Kiphoris hesitated. "I would not abandon mine-allies if they are in danger. We should walk."

"Neither Eragon, Orik, or Ikharos can keep pace with us. We must-"

"Actually, I can keep pace," Ikharos interrupted. Arya glared at him. He frowned and grumbled. "Alright, alright, keep talking."

Arya sighed. "Our pace will be slowed and we will be left more exposed than if we continue as we are. I have discussed this with Ikharos; this is the right course to take."

The Captain growled. "I do not appreciate this. Our trek is slow. Mine-people had the means to cut it short."

"We cannot fly-"

"Eia, I am aware." He made a rapid clicking sound alien to Formora's ears. It accentuated and exotified his already strange voice. "But awareness of a problem does not alleviate mine-frustrations. We are at war. To be slow is to invite death. I am Eliksni! I am not slow. I am fast, I am strong, and I am proud. I will humour your ways, elf, but do not forget what I am."

Unfazed, Arya bowed her head stiffly. "I will not. I apologize for any slight you may have-"

"Nama. No slight. I do not take this as insult. Only needless difficulty."

Kiphoris and Melkris loped along the Gaena River for as far as Arya allowed. Watching them was like watching... Formora didn't know. As far as she knew, all life was connected. All life had its relatives, close and distant - like dogs and wolves and foxes, or humans and elves and dwarves and urgals. Eliksni were unique in being bereft of those connections. They could subsist on ether alone - they had no need to hunt or harvest. There was no other living thing in the entire world like them; they were alone.

In that, she pitied them. They were, in truth, homeless nomads. They had nothing to tie them down. Nothing to keep them anchored. Once, perhaps, they did, but if their history was to be believed then it had been viciously cut away. Little wonder they became hardened warriors. Or perhaps they were always like that?

She asked Ikharos that very question.

"They prized skill in combat, sure," Ikharos told her, "but they were more than warriors, back during their own Golden Age. Artisans, architects, engineers, weavers, bards, farmers, judges, and fair rulers. They were so much more. I don't know why the Traveler left them. I mean, I do, but... If I were the Traveler, I would pick the Eliksni over humanity. They're bigger, stronger, harder to kill, and the best machinists in all the galaxy. But the Traveler still picked us." He released a pent-up sigh of... something.

Intrigued, Formora presented him with the question: "Do you have any theories why?"

"I do, actually. Because we're better killers."

Formora looked over at the Eliksni, frowning. "But they have claws on every limb, larger bodies, natural armour, and-"

"I'm not saying they can't kill. You and I both know they're able to take on some of the biggest and baddest this world has to offer. But that's not what I mean. No, humanity is better at pairing the act of hunting with imagination. Our advantage, oddly enough, lies in the disadvantages having no claws, no sharp teeth, no natural armour. It forces us to think. It forced our distant ancestors, those unfortunate apes who found themselves committed to the plains of Africa, to find new ways of finding food. We fashioned spears in the place of talons and started running. We forced our prey into exhaustion, so it could fight no longer and our weak, thin, soft skin bodies were not at risk of getting gored, and we ate of flesh.

"Humans are born to kill with imagination. And that imagination has grown. We no longer need to run down an antelope and run it through. Now we raise cattle and grow crops. But new problems arise. Jealous, hungry neighbours - beast or man - come looking for their own meals. How does a farmer defend against that? They use their imagination, the one their forebears practiced, and put it to work with new tools and new purposes. It's only evolved. We aren't alone in this. Eliksni can do this, Cabal can do this, but we can do it best. We are the most imaginative of all the major powers right now because we are the most at risk, because we are the smallest in both stature and population. We are the animals backed into the corner. And that's a good thing. It keeps our back covered and confines the fight to right in front of us."

"You've given this a lot of thought."

"I've had more than enough time to think and reflect. And... I like to read. History's my forte. That and alien culture. Philosophy comes hand-in-hand with those two."

"And you call yourself a soldier." Formora laughed through the connection between their minds.

His consciousness flared up with childish affront and reluctant amusement. "Allow me to correct myself; I am a martial-scholar."

"Like every elf who engages in warfare."

"Ah, but there is a difference. My ears are rounded and not at all designed to poke an eye out."

It was a barb. Formora, despite herself, took it in stride. "And you are too bull-headed to be of älfakyn," she shot back.

"Touché," he replied. There was a grin in his message - she could feel it all too keenly.

Formora paused. She rolled the word on her tongue, enjoying how fluid the pronunciation felt. "What does that mean?"

"Touché? It is a French word, meaning 'touched.' In fencing, it signifies a hit; an admittance of success for the opposing side."

"French... Is that a language? Who spoke it?"

"Humans did." The misconception delighted him, if the low chuckle was any indication. "Those of France, anyways. There were other nations and provinces who employed it too, which elevated it to worldwide status. Handy to know if you happen to live in the EDZ."

"EDZ?"

"European Dead Zone. Formerly known as the continent of Europe. London, the city from which I first rose, was located one of the four nation-islands to the west of the mainland."

Formora nodded along. "There is much about your home I do not know," she admitted.

"Does it really matter? Earth is outside our current dilemmas. It's not relevant - now, at least. But, if we're going on the topic of home..."

"You wish to learn of Du Weldenvarden?"

"Sure."

Formora allowed it. "We, the Fair Folk, are from-"

"The Fair Folk? Your people call yourselves the Fair Folk?"

"Are we not?" She challenged. She was more curious than defensive.

"... Carry on."

Formora returned to her uneasy contentedness. It was maddening how bitter stress and good cheer afflicted her all at once. Such was the result of friendly company in an unfriendly place. As haunting as it was to walk the lands of her people, who bitterly scorned her very existence more than a century past, she found comfort in the presence of those she called companions. They had grown strong and righteous beneath the caress of a distant star - and thoroughly disengaged from the veiled threats her kin posed to them.

It was only right, then, that she elaborated on the workings of elven kind. For they were to walk blind into a myriad of vocalized duels. "We elves hail from Alalëa, not Alagaësia, but we have adopted Du Weldenvarden as our home nonetheless. We are ruled by twenty-four elven lords and ladies, who head the twenty-four high noble houses. Before the Fall, they numbered twenty-six. Over the nobles is a king or queen - könungr or dröttning. Currently, it is Islanzadí Dröttning. However, while our monarchs are of noble blood and have the loyalty of their subjects, neither regality or nobility can exert control over the lives of other elves as it is in dwarven or human societies."

"That's not so bad."

"No, it is not. Each elf, no matter if they be male or female - älfa-madr or älfa-kona - holds equal standing in our culture. Each may pursue the life they wish and the hobbies they enjoy. Magic and everlasting lives have allowed us to expend most of our time towards whatever presently interests us."

"I'm starting to like your people. Where's the part you have issue with?"

"My frustrations stem from my people's continued inaction. They, at large, refuse to fix the problems of this world. If it lies beyond the boundaries of Du Weldenvarden, they could not care less."

"It's not so easy," Ikharos argued, though with only a little conviction. "I've been on the other side of that spectrum. I've seen what happens when those more powerful take control. People suffer for it."

"But if we could do it right? Find a balance?"

"Maybe... Look, this isn't my world and your people are not like mine, so you likely have a better idea of what can be done."

Formora considered his objection, but she couldn't find reason to adopt it. "You speak of the Warlords."

"Yes."

"Are you not a Warlord?"

"That's... different. It's a title others bestowed on me. Not one I welcomed."

"Welcome it now. The elves will allow you more consideration if you introduce yourself as a member of nobility."

"It's not nobility-"

"So you have said, but my point stands."

"Fine." He wasn't pleased, as far as she could tell.

"You find this distasteful," Formora murmured.

"I find it inane. Lord Ikharos Torstil sounds pretentious. But..." He hesitated. "I do appreciate the effort. So thank you."

"You say that quite often as of late."

"Only because I feel I don't say it enough. You have been enormously helpful. I'm glad to have you on my team."

Formora dipped her head to convey her own gratitude.

In time, the river gave way to a roaring waterfall. The cliff was about a hundred feet tall, and streamed down a stone face with an overhang that made it impossible to climb. Lifaen pointed out a track that had been worn into the steep ridge some distance from the falls. "That is where we climb," he announced. "We have to portage our canoes and supplies for half a league before the river clears."

They gathered their belongings and stuffed them into packs. Ikharos put what few things he carried into his digitized vault, and offered the use of it to the others. Formora didn't hesitate to hand over her bag, but the only other person to do the same was Eragon, who appeared terribly uncertain.

"Remember what I said about transmat?" Ikharos asked him, amused. "They'll be in the same exact condition as they're in when you give them to me."

Eragon nodded. "Alright." He held out his over-packed bag. Xiān, still unseen, took it away. Eragon gaped at his empty hands. Ikharos chuckled. The young Rider closed his hanging jaw and bowed his head, as if it would hide his embarrassment.

Kiphoris, without waiting for instruction, lifted one of the canoes out of the river and shook the water from it. He effortlessly hefted it onto his shoulder and walked on without a hitch.

"Do you not need assistance, noble Kiphoris?" Celdin asked.

The Captain grunted in reply, "Nama. It has little weight and I am capable."

Melkris and Javek followed his example and picked up the second between them. Obleker trailed after them, humming without end. An hour of walking later and they had topped the ridge and hiked beyond the top of the waterfall to where the Gaena River was once again lazy and crystal clear. The scenery was idyllic and tranquil. It carried with it the bittersweet connotations of home.

Arya stopped them and said, to Kiphoris, "Here we must part. Beyond lies the lake of Ardwen, and on the other side of that is the city of Sílthrim. I expect we will encounter other elves. I don't want any of you seen before Islanzadí meets you. You are new and unexpected - and such changes must be handled with care."

She turned to Saphira. "That includes you. The queen must be the first to meet with you. Only she has the authority and wisdom to oversee this transition."

"You speak highly of her," Eragon commented.

At his words, Narí, Celdin, and Lifaen stopped and watched Arya with guarded eyes. Her face went blank, then she drew herself up proudly. "She has led us well... Saphira, you must hide during the day and catch up with us at night. Ajihad told me that is what you did in the Empire."

"And I hated every moment of it," she growled.

"It's only for today and tomorrow. After that we will be far enough away from Sílthrim that we won't have to worry about encountering anyone of consequence," Arya promised.

"You will not be alone, wind-daughter." Kiphoris laid an upper hand on her flank. "We will guard you."

"I do not need guarding," Saphira said defensively.

"Or so you think," Kiphoris responded firmly. "You are yet young. There is strength is standing with a crew and wisdom in listening to elders. Do not disregard my words."

Saphira offered no further resistance. She went with the Eliksni as they once again followed Celdin. Obleker and Kida marched with them, the latter only doing so on Ikharos's instruction. Arke remained behind, still soaring high above. Formora couldn't decide if it was cause for relief or concern.

Arya was not finished. She turned to them and said, "If you have cloaks, don them so that your ears are disguised.

"My helmet-" Formora began.

"-is of foreign make," Arya finished. "It will draw attention."

"I... will not remove it. I cannot."

Ikharos stepped in and offered her a cloak. Formora frowned - she had her own, did she really need it? - and reluctantly threw it across her shoulders. She soon found why he had offered it. The hood was deep and low-hanging. It shadowed her already dark helmet into obscurity. He tugged at the corner of the hood, stepped back, and remarked, "Now you look like a true Hunter."

There was an underlying emotion in his voice. It was one of longing for things that would never be. Ikharos said no more and pulled another cloak out of the air. It was little more than hood with a green cape, and it did not blend well with his armour at all, but it did its task - to some extent. If an elf lingered close, they would have known him for what he was and wasn't.

"What of me?" Orik demanded.

Arya hesitated. "We will have to go on. Of all here, your presence will raise the fewest questions."

The dwarf grumbled under his breath, thoroughly displeased.

Ardwen Lake was as motionless and clear as she remembered it. The canoes glided effortlessly across it. The reflection of the moon was hazy and distorted with what few ripples their paddling summoned, like a messy oil-painting. Similar vessels of birch-white floated across the water some ways off, lit up by the faint glow of dimmed werelights. They kept their distance from those, but not conspicuously so.

Though the secrecy was not for her sake, Formora appreciated it all the same. Her people had grown alien to her, like a half-forgotten memory. As the gloom deepened, a cluster of white lights flared into existence far ahead. Sílthrim's ethereal glory was undeniable. Formora realized, as a tear ran down her cheek, that she had missed it. She missed her home. Too much of her life had been spent away from it.

They made landfall far from the city some time later, when the moon had reached its zenith. They made a fire, set down for supper, and laid out their bedrolls. Formora abstained of the meal and sat away from the others, content with her own company. The fire was low and on the verge of dying when a voice - made soft by distance - floated through the air. More voices gradually joined in, adding their magic to the spell. Formora's eyes shot open as she picked up on the temptuous nature of the melody.

"What is that?" Ikharos asked, utterly bewildered.

Then, rather abruptly, Eragon leapt to his feet. Before he could run off, Arya grabbed onto his arm and yanked him back. Orik made flee as well, and it took both Lifaen and Narí to wrestle the stubborn dwarf back to the ground.

Formora stood poised and ready to stop Ikharos in case he did the same, but while he did stand up he didn't attempt to run. All he did was frown at the happenings before him and send her an inquisitive glance. It gave her pause.

"I feel... off," Ikharos finally said. Sorrow coloured his words. "I am... I am not meant for this. It's crashing against me. I feel it. It's supposed to do something but it can't. I'm not meant for this."

He was not affected. Not as the rest of them were. Even as the song danced in her mind, roared in her ears, and suffused with her blood, it did little for him.

"My life is not the right life," Ikharos decided cryptically and sat back down with his face lowered. His inner fire had gone out. It made her uneasy. "This world has no room for me."

"It's Dagshelgr," she told him, if for no other purpose than to draw out the man she knew. He looked up, a sliver of his ever-sharp curiosity bloomed in his grey eyes.

Ikharos simply asked, "Explain it to me?"

"It is an invocation for the purpose of revitalizing the life of the forest - all the plants and animals within reach."

His head dipped down. "I know. I can feel its intent. Its meaning. But it washes over me."

"What... what do you mean?"

"It can't reach me so it goes around. Why does it go around?" He looked pensive. "Why? It does not recognize me. It wants who I was, not who I am. Why does it ignore me?"

"Ikharos-"

"That's it. The song wants Ikharos. Not me."

A cold feeling gripped her, overpowering the effects of the song. "Then who are you?"

He dropped his gaze for the second time. "I'm Ikharos-but-not. I've stolen his name." He lifted an arm and watched his fingers stretch out. "And his place. I'm the missing piece for a lost puzzle."

Formora understood. Or she hoped she did. She sat down next to him and said, "Make your own puzzle."

"How? The pieces don't fit."

"Make them fit. You excel at that."

"... I do," he relented. "But what if I'm taking the place of something else? Again?"

"You're not."

"How do you know?"

"Because you're making a new place."

"I thought I was making a new puzzle?"

"Why not both?"

He frowned and, after a moment's consideration, nodded. "Okay."

The rest of the night was rife with noise as animals searched for mates and as Orik argued with Arya. Ikharos was silent through it all. Formora stayed with him for fear that the magic of Dagshelgr had affected him in some unseen way. He was a giant in matters of magic, but he was not above its potency. Some time later, when dawn threatened to rise, Arya stepped over to them. Her expression was one of suspicion and concern.

When she looked at Formora, it was a look of knowing. "You are..."

Arya didn't need to finish. Formora reluctantly offered a nod. "I am."

Her heart hammered, and yet a stronger worry pulled at her. Arya's imperceptible gaze judged her, but in time it found Ikharos. "And what of him? How does he fare?"

"I do not know."

"Confused," Ikharos grunted. He lifted his head. His face was a cold mask of hollow indifference. "And torn. Like my very being - flesh and Light - is being drawn in opposite directions. I hate it. I hate it." He released an explosive, shuddering sigh and closed his eyes. "I'm... The song offered me a cup of ambrosia and told me I cannot drink. It gave me I have wings and told me I cannot fly. It promised me that the future I'm building will come... and said I will never see it. Soulful dissatisfaction - that's what it was."

He rested his head back against a tree. "The song was designed for creatures of causal make - not halfbreeds like me."

"Halfbreeds?" Arya echoed questioningly.

"Best and worst of both worlds. The perfect imperfect." He rose up on unsteady legs and braced himself against the tree. "Here comes Kiph."

His words proved prophetic. Kiphoris, Melkris, and Javek ran through the trees. Their eyes were wide - all twelve - and their claws flexed erratically.

"Magic," Kiphoris growled darkly. "I... I feel... I need... ether!"

Obleker floated behind them. Celdrin walked after it with Kida. The elven man held out his hands in apology. "I did what I could," he said.

Obleker's plating folded back and streams of ether-mist floated out. The Scars crowded around the Servitor, shivering and clacking their mandibles at irregular intervals.

"They'll be fine," Ikharos muttered. "The song's effects won't last long enough to cause any harm. They're just agitated. The ether will calm them."

A shadow passed overhead. Saphira did not waste time before she landed, heedless of the carnage her claws caused. She shivered and arched her neck, panting between her open jaws. Eragon supportively put his hand on her shoulder. They were still missing someone. Formora looked up. The sky was empty.

Arke was gone.

AN: Thanks to Nomad Blue!