Before anyone could say anything a happy roar left Firnen and was answered by a matching roar from the sapphire colored dragon.
The deep voice of Firnen resounded in their minds only to be replaced with a lighter vioce. "Saphira!" "Firnen!" Everyone watched as the two dragons rubbed their faces together. That wasn't the only reunion going on as many also watched the way the man stared Arya down. They obviously knew each other because of the way their dragons reacted. Arya let a smile grace her lips as she stepped forward, "Eragon Shadeslayer." The man grinned back and placed his fingers to his lips. "Atra esterni ono thelduin." Arya continued the greeting, "Mor'ranr lifa unin hjarta onr." Shocking many people around them, "Un du evarinya ono varda."
Arya shook her head, her smile growing. "Why do you speak first Eragon? It is I, that should speak first to you as you are my Master." She raised a slender eyebrow at the man but he just shook his head and pulled her into a hug. The elves felt like they were seeing something they've never seen before. Arya hugged the man back just as tightly before placing her lips to his ear and whispering his true name softly. Eragon responded in kind, a very intimate display.
An elven man cleared his throat and Eragon's eyes shot open. He made quick work of bowing to the man. "King Evandar." He rose to his feet slowly and glanced around. He narrowed his eyes at Galbatorix but figured if Arya hadn't run him through yet they couldn't. He stopped as he stared at Brom, Oromis and Glaedr. He stepped forward and bowed to them as well. "Brom, Master Oromis, Master Glaedr." The three males in front of him nodded their heads back. "Introduce yourself to everyone here." Eragon nodded before glancing at Arya.
He jumped onto the table and eyed everyone, "I am Eragon Bromsson." Brom's eyes went wide at this. "The rider of Saphira Brightscales. I am the slayer of the Shade known as Durza. I aided Arya in the death of Varaug the Shade." Everyone glanced at Arya and she just shrugged. Being the queen of her people made Shadeslayer a lesser title. Eragon stared Brom directly in the eyes with this next part, "I am the Slayer of the Traitor King, Galbatorix." Saphira snaked her head around Eragon and hummed lowly, "I am Saphira VervadasDaughter. The wild dragons call me Mother of Dragons and the other races call me Brightscales."
Eragon smiled and patted his dragon, "We have taken over the mantle as Head Rider and Dragon. We reside on Mount Arngor, A two weeks journey from Alagaesia." Brom eyed his supposed son. "I have a child with an elf?" Eragon shook his head, "Nay, I was born a man. Let us continue with the story and maybe you'll learn the truth."
Vrael nodded his head and kept on reading the story.
Eragon knelt in a bed of trampled reed grass and scanned the tracks with a practiced eye. The prints told him that the deer had been in the meadow only a half-hour before. Soon they would bed down. His target, a small doe with a pronounced limp in her left forefoot, was still with the herd. He was amazed she had made it so far without a wolf or bear catching her.
The sky was clear and dark, and a slight breeze stirred the air. A silvery cloud drifted over the mountains that surrounded him, its edges glowing with ruddy light cast from the harvest moon cradled between two peaks. Streams flowed down the mountains from stolid glaciers and glistening snowpacks. A brooding mist crept along the valley's floor, almost thick enough to obscure his feet.
Eragon was fifteen, less than a year from manhood.
Arya shivered slightly garnering Eragon's attention. He raised an eyebrow and she chuckled, "I forgot how old you were when the fate of Alagaesia was placed on your shoulders. Many of the riders were sizing him up, wondering his weaknesses and strengths. What could this man have done that they couldn't have? Riders that existed for years.
Dark eyebrows rested above his intense brown eyes. His clothes were worn from work. A hunting knife with a bone handle was sheathed at his belt, and a buckskin tube protected his yew bow from the mist. He carried a wood-frame pack.
The deer had led him deep into the Spine, a range of untamed mountains that extended up and down the land of Alagaesia. Strange tales and men often came from those mountains usually boding ill. Despite that, Eragon did not fear the spine-he was the only hunter near Carvahall who dared track game deep into its craggy recesses.
It was the third night of the hunt, and his food was half gone. If he did not fell the doe, he would be forced to return home empty handed. His family needed the meat for the rapidly approaching winter and could not afford to buy it in Carvahall.
Eragon stood with quiet assurance in the dusky moonlight, then strode into the forest toward the glen where he was sure the deer would rest. The trees blocked the sky from view and cast feathery shadows on the ground. He looked at the tracks occasionally; he knew the way.
Morzan spoke up for the first time, "You are definitely Brom's son if you are foolish enough to travel in the Spine." Brom glared at Morzan in aggravation. Angry that he could not strike him down still, "You mind your words Morzan." Morzan just rolled his eyes and grinned, "You could not defeat me wh-" Morzan never got to finish the sentence as Eragon drove his fist down into his face. Blood immediately gushed from the wound and everyone stared in shock. Eragon brought his fist back and hit him once more. "Do not speak to my father in such a way. Especially when you planned to taunt him for the fact that you slaughtered his Saphira."
He stalked back over towards Arya who raised an eyebrow at him. He shrugged and rubbed the blood of onto his trousers, "Please Vrael, keep going." Many eyed him warily now realizing that Eragon was capable of hurting them unlike they were. Brom stared at him, shocked that he had defended him.
At the glen, he strung his bow with a sure touch, then drew three arrows and nocked one, holding the others in his left hand. The moonlight revealed twenty or so motionless lumps where the deer lay in the grass. The doe he wanted was at the edge of the herd, her left foreleg stretched out awkwardly.
Eragon slowly crept closer, keeping the bow ready. All his work of the past three days had led to this moment. He took a last steadying breath and- an explosion shattered the night.
The herd bolted. Eragon lunged forward, racing through the grass as a fiery wind surged past his cheek. He slid to a stop and loosed an arrow at the bounding doe. It missed by a finger's breadth and hissed into the darkness. He cursed and spun around instinctively knocking another arrow.
Behind him, where the deer had been, smoldered a large circle of grass and trees. Many of the pines stood bare of their needles. The grass outside the charring was flattened. A wisp of smoke curled in the air, carrying a burnt smell. In the center of the blast radius lay a polished blue stone. Mist snaked across the scorched area and swirled insubstantial tendrils over the stone.
Eragon watched for danger for several long minutes, but the only thing that moved was the mist. Cautiously, he released the tension from his bow and moved forward. Moonlight cast him in a pale shadow as he stopped before the stone. he nudged it with an arrow, then jumped back. Nothing happened, so he warily picked it up. Nature had never polished a stone as smooth as this one. Its flawless surface was dark blue, expect for thin veins of white that spiderwebbed across it. The stone was cool and frictionless under his fingers, like hardened silk. Oval and about a foot long, it weighed several pounds, though it felt lighter than it should have.
"Are you calling me fat, Eragon? Even when I was an egg?" His dragon mused, smoke pooling from her nose. Eragon laughed and shook head, "I would never insult you in such a way."
Eragon found the stone both beautiful and frightening. Where did it come from? Does it have a purpose? Then a more disturbing thought came to him: Was it sent here by accident, or am I meant to have it? If he had learned anything from the old stories, it was to treat magic, and those who used it, with great caution.
But what should I do with the stone? It would be tiresome to carry, and there was a chance it was dangerous. It might be better to leave it behind. A flicker of indecision ran through him, and he almost dropped it, but something stayed his hand. At the very least, it might pay for some food, he decided with a shrug, tucking the stone into his pack.
The glen was too exposed to make a safe camp, so he slipped back into the forest and spread his bedroll beneath the upturned roots of a fallen tree. After a cold dinner of bread and cheese, he wrapped himself in blankets and fell asleep, pondering what had occurred.
Vrael shut the book and glanced around at everyone. "The next chapter is called Palancar Valley."
"Brom, take over and read. It will help you not want to murder someone." Brom scoffed but took the book, "Fine. I shall read."
A little shorter chapter but works since I've posted two today. I hope you all enjoyed it. Don't be afraid to call me out on stuff you don't like!
