The Swarm's Host
A/N: Thanks for the reviews everyone. I hope you guys will follow this and favorite it as well!
Edboy4926/Distrxy: Thanks, I hope it peaks your interest when we actually get to the juicy bits
Kane: Thanks for the tips and I'll try to fix the mistakes you were referring to.
Phoenixbat: No, nothing will be, oh god, good at all for them muhahahaha.
DaLinTyMan: Yes, this will not be a "Person becomes overmind" story. Its more of a "Person gets infested" sort of story but less in the sense of the infested part. I don't like how the Zergy bits overshadow everything else so I wanted to get the one zerg and one world thing established.
Anyways, thanks and please keep on following!
Chapter 2: The Culling
It had been several days since the storm had subsided before Eragon had gone back to the Spine. He scanned the horizon, tracking the deer prints the led deeper into the dark and destroyed mountain forests ahead. The doe he had been tracking had injured her left forefoot about a day ago falling. So far, she barely lagged behind, staying with the herd despite the numerous predators that would have killed her in an instant.
The sky was clear but was almost, if not as, dark as the storm from before. A fog rolled over him as it glowed within the evanescence of the moon's presence. He slowed to a crawl – the fog was hiding his presence, but it also hid the dangerous edges of cliffs as well as the doe itself.
As the nervous sweat formed over his face, Eragon wiped his dark eyebrows to like his brown eyes focus. They were intense, not from age per-say but from a life of hard labor and struggle. The fog started to dissipate and Eragon strode towards an unfamiliar glen. It had probably been formed recently, but he was still sure to find the deer resting there.
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 had tracked was at the edge of the herd, her left foreleg stretched out awkwardly.
Eragon slowly moved in closer, keeping his form hunched down. As he readied his bow, he edge closer to the doe's silhouette. His patience was on the brink of tipping as all his work of the past days finally led to this moment. He too a last steadying breath and aimed.
But in a single moment of hesitation, his foot inched forward and tapped an inconspicuous object leading to one of the most surprising things in his life. In the instant his foot touched whatever the thing was, a sudden and excruciating wail rang through his mind.
He jumped backward into his back and exclaimed, "Gah!"
The herd bolted. Eragon scrambled up just in time to see the doe disappear, as if it was passing on a last insult to his already injured ego. He cursed, throwing his hunting knife to the ground.
What happened? He thought, That scream came from no where.
Looking back to where he had been standing, Eragon searched frantically to enact vengence upon his wrongdoer. A turned bush and tree branch later, Eragon spotted his culprit.
It was a polished stone, one that gave off an eerie green hue. Eragon watched for a sign of potential danger in the stone, but the only thing that moved was the colors as it shifted within itself. Peculiar wasn't enough to describe the fascinating features the stone had; mesmerizing was more like it.
Cautiously, he released his long held breath and moved forward. The fog's presence had been cleared and now the moon's light cast his shadow over the jewel of a stone. It turned out the stone really did glow.
He nudged it with his foot and jumped back. Nothing happened, so he picked it up. What ever this stone was, natural wasn't or couldn't describe something as beautiful or intricate like this. The surface of the stone was a shade of emerald green, except for the thin veins of royal purple that wrapped around the surface in a spiderwebbed fashion. The stone was actually quite warm and frictionless in his hands, much like a clean egg. Oval and about a foot long, it weighed several pounds, though it felt lighter than it should have.
Eragon found the stone hypnotizing in its light, but he couldn't help questioning to himself.
Was this really what caused the scream?
He looked at it again suspiciously and gave it a shake. The stone wasn't reacting.
Even if it didn't scream, where did it come from? Does it have a purpose?
Then a 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.
Hmm, he pondered slightly, but the thought passed him, So 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.
Three days had passed since the stone's discovery, and, as it turned out, holding on to the stone seemed to have brought some good luck. On most days, Eragon would have to deal with a modicum of animals ranging from the annoying scavenger to the deadliest predator. But on those three days, not a peep or whisper was heard from an animal. The trails were calm and quiet, allowing Eragon to divert his attention to the difficult terrain. At night, the birds that screeched through the night even silenced themselves, a phenomena that had never happened before.
Eventually, he made his way back out the Spine. Hidden within the Valleys of the spine was Carvanhall, a small village of wooden abodes and tents. While his family only lived on the out skirts of the village's limits, Carvanhall and the people inside was as familiar to him as the back of his hand.
By the time he had gotten back to Carvanhall, dusk had fallen over the Valley. Carvahall's lights shimmered in the distance and the stout log buildings cast long shadows. Eragon weaved through the houses and those that were still up and made his way to the butcher's shop, a broad, thick-beamed building.
Despite the smells of previous activity, the spacious room was a warm and well lit storefront with a fire snapping in a stone fireplace. The counter that stretched across the far side of the room was cleaner than a whistle, with straw placed all around in neat piles just to add to the "decor." Behind the counter was the butcher, Sloan, a small man, but one that made sure to get his way.
Sloan's mouth twisted as Eragon entered. "Well, the mighty hunter joins the rest of us mortals. How many did you bag this time."
"None," was Eragon's response. Sloan was never the type to like. The butcher always treated him with disdain and bitterness, as if he associated Eragon with a rotten sack of meat. The widower only seemed to care for one person, his daughter Katrina.
"I'm amazed," said Sloan sarcastically, "And that's your reason for coming here?"
"Yes," Eragon admitted.
"If that's the case, let's see your money." Sloan's fingers tapped rhythmically expecting something, but Eragon only responded with silence, "Come on – either you have it or you don't. Which is it?"
"I don't really have any money, but I do––"
"No money?" the butcher cut him off sharply. "And you expect to buy meat! Are the other merchants giving away their ware?"
"No, but I found something to pay you with." Eragon pulled the stone out from his bag and set it gently on the counter. The light of the flames danced over its surface.
"Stole it more likely," Sloan muttered. He looked closely with an interested expression.
Ignoring the comment, Eragon asked, "Will this be enough?"
Sloan picked up the stone and gauged its weight speculatively. He ran his hands over its smoothness and inspected the purple veins. With a caring hold, he even put his ear up to the stone and tapped.
Eragon flinched, but luckily it had been uncalled for. No scream had been made like before.
Finally, Sloan set down the stone, "It's pretty, but how much is it worth?"
"I don't know," admitted Eragon, "But it must have some value,"
"Obviously," said Sloan, "But how much value? Since you don't know, I suggest that you find a trader who does, or take my offer of three crowns."
"That's a miser's bargain! It must be worth at least ten times that," protested Eragon. Three crowns would not even buy enough meat to last a week.
Sloan only shrugged with a smirk, "If you don't like my offer, wait until the traders arrive. Either way, I'm tired of this conversation. Accept it or get out,"
The traders were a nomadic group of merchants and entertainers who visited Carvahall every spring and winter. They bought whatever excess the villagers and local farmers had managed to grow or make, and sold what they needed to live through another year. Most would have had the experience to gauge how much the egg had cost.
But Eragon couldn't wait for them to appraise the stone; it could be a while and his family needed the meat now.
"Fine," he snapped beginning to hand the stone.
"Good, I'll get you the meat." Sloan responded as he started to take the rock from Eragon's hand.
But as the stone started to get passed from Eragon to Sloan, something began . . .
. . . No . . .
All of a sudden, Eragon froze, holding on to the stone for dear life. Sloan noticed the struggle and stopped in place.
"What is it now?"
Eragon hesitated, "I . . . I – No,"
He pulled back taking the stone gently away from the butcher's hand, much to both their confusion.
"If you're not giving me that stone then get out,"
. . . I . . . hunger . . .
"This stone is worth more than three crowns," Eragon piped up defiantly, "I'm not leaving with only three crown's worth of meat when I've hunted for more than a week,"
Sloan's eyes suddenly grew dark, his rage was starting to rise.
"Leave before I beat your head in,"
Survival . . . is paramount
Leaning over the counter, Eragon aggressively responded with a look in his eye, "Try me,"
A look of unease flashed over Sloan's face, contemplating whether or not to actually follow up on Eragon's challenge. Suddenly, the door behind them slammed open. Eragon whirled around, ready for more trouble, but it was only Horst, the blacksmith of the town. Behind him, was Sloan's daughter, Katrina – a tall girl of sixteen – and her face had a determined expression.
"Sloan, what have you done now," the blacksmith said as he crossed powerful arms.
The butcher gave Eragon a murderous gaze, "Nothing. This . . . boy came in here and started to badgering me about paying me with a stone he found,"
"Is this true?" demanded the smith.
"Yes, but he's trying to buy it for three crowns. Something like this would never go for so low,"
Horst looked at the stone curiously, then returned his attention to the butcher, "This . . . looks interesting,"
"Yes but interesting isn't enough to sell something. The stone could be worthless for all we know"
A twinge of annoyance appeared on Horst's face, "If you're that stubborn Sloan, then I'll just buy the meat with Crowns. What were you going to get, Eragon?"
"As much as I could."
Horst pulled out a purse and counted out a pile of coins, "Give me your best roasts and steaks. Make sure that it's enough to fill Eragon's pack." The butcher hesitated, his gaze darting between Horst and Eragon. "Not selling to me would be a very bad idea," stated Horst.
Glowering venomously, Sloan slipped into the back room. A short minute of chopping and wrapping eventually passed and the butcher came out with a bag of meat. Horst scooped up the meat and walked outside. Eragon hurried behind him, carrying his pack and stone. The crisp night air rolled over their faces, refreshing after the stuffy shop.
"Thank you, Horst. Uncle Garrow will be pleased,"
Horst chuckled, "Don't worry. I've wanted to do that for a long time. Sloan needs some humbling from time to time. Though I must ask, why did your argument escalate so quickly. You both just started shouting out of no where by the looks of it,"
Eragon opened his mouth but no words came out. In fact, the entire situation was . . . absolutely mind boggling.
"I . . . I actually don't know," Eragon started off, earning a confused look from Horst, "Now that I think about it, I was going to take three crowns,"
"Really? What changed your mind?"
Eragon thought about it for a moment, ". . . I don't know,"
Horst shrugged, "Well in any case, just stay away from him for a few days, he'll be itching for any reason to hit you,"
The teen shook his head, "Yes and here, this is rightfully yours," he proffered the stone.
Horst put his hand up, "No, you keep your strange rock. As for payment, I'm going to need an assistant to replace Albriech. You can come and work off the debt on your spare days."
Eragon bowed slightly, delighted, "Again thank you, I better get going,"
"Keep that rock of yours safe," Horst said as Eragon turned away, but the comment barely grazed his mind.
A/N: Alright a lot of boring stuff out of the way, but I still got a long ways to go. If you can't tell, I've actually used a lot of the book's text to fill in the details, but there are some few changes. Anyways, thanks for reading and I'll see ya guys later.