Thank you to all reviewers! I don't know how fast I can keep churning these out as I start a new job and amp up into annual family drama time, but right now my muse is on fire.
After several days straight of lessons in Will, Eragon was greeted to the unusual sight of Caedmon knocking at his door rather than simply dropping by on the balcony. He arched an intrigued brow at the man's leather armor.
"Shall I be needing my sword then?"
"This is just an assessment of your abilities. Live steel will play no part in it."
Eragon followed the crown prince down to the armory. There he was fitted for a suit of leather armor. Once fully adorned he was pleased to discover his movements barely encumbered. The treated hides moved almost as easily as a second skin. The armorer, a grizzled beast of a man, pressed a blade into his hand. For all it looked like a true weapon pale runes shimmered down its fuller.
"Does the blade suit you, my prince?"
Experimentally he swung the blade once more. Again it was no Zar'roc, but of fine enough weight to spar with. "It will do for a practice."
"Good. Now give it here." Eragon handed the blade back. The armorer stared intently down, nodding at the warm orange glow that lit up the runes. "There you are, my prince. Can't risk you stabbing the future Righ on accident."
Eragon's brow furrowed when Caedmon handed his own practice blade for the armorer to enchant. His uncle smirked at him. "Honor demands a neutral third party to keep the blades blunted in a practice spar like this. It does good Ualan no good for any Ruadhluan to injure themselves on his watch."
"Damn right, my prince." The armorer grinned Eragon's way. "At least not to a degree Airmid can't bring you back from."
From the armory Eragon followed his uncle through the warren of tunnels to a familiar empty storeroom. Crown Castle's only open land was the wide open plateau atop the sea stack. Eragon grimly supposed neither of them wanted to make a spectacle for the whole damn isle to watch.
"The terms of this bout I propose are thus; in the shape of men only. Any use of Will is restricted to your body alone. We aim to disarm. The purpose is assessment of your current prowess. It ends when I declare I have seen enough, if you yield, or the rules of engagement are broken."
Eragon blinked at the formality. He knew from Saphira's own training under Brede honorable terms structured spars with clear terms to prevent death or maiming. Dragon pride and human idiocy tended to drag things too far otherwise. He grinned and accepted the terms. A solemn weight of obligation settled on his heart. It was no true oath, to strike him dead if he dared break the rules, but still a responsibility he was loathe to betray. Especially when he had actual hope of victory this time.
Finally, something he stood a fighting chance at.
Brom had been a wiry man whose speed and low blows belied his apparent age. Oromis was light and swift, who aimed to finish fights before his lack of stamina kicked in. Murtagh swung with relentless power and gave no quarter. Caedmon was a brute of a warrior that loomed above them all, with broad shoulders and a longsword of formidable reach.
When the match began Eragon ghosted forward to test the man's speed. And barely dodged the blade that swung down like a guillotine. Caedmon was no lumbering giant. He was a dragon in his prime and charged relentlessly after him. But Eragon was swifter still, small and lean enough to weave his way around the testing strikes. But he could not get close enough to strike, not with the longsword's reach.
In rolling beneath the a blade Eragon caught a boot to the chest. The blow sent him sprawling against the wall. Only the armor prevented a broken rib. Still wheezing for breath he scarcely somersaulted out of Caedmon's path, leaping back to his feet. His sword lightly deflected a strike from his uncle's. His arms ached from even taking a glancing blow from such brutal arms.
Caedmon had never stated he would fight fair. Galbatorix certainly wouldn't.
Eragon whirled back into the fray, testing the dragon's defenses. Caedmon blocked every time, but only because his longsword compensated for his slower parries.
Eragon wove his blade as if chancing another thrust. With the wall so close Caedmon stepped the other way, just as planned. His nephew swept low instead.
Caedmon stumbled, narrowly tumbling his bulk to his advantage. When Eragon swung his blade down he brought up his own to block it. Their swords met in a shower of sparks. With his uncle on his knees Eragon supposedly held the higher ground. Sweat broke out along his brow as Caedmon refused to break. He rose, inch by inch, baring his teeth in excitement.
Feeling his arms wavering Eragon dipped his blade and leaped back. Caedmon laughed and hounded after him.
Apparently impressed enough to no longer held back, Caedmon pushed relentlessly onward. Eragon exhausted every trick and his superior speed just to avoid that beastly blade. He was not yielding, not until the weredragon beat every last breath out of him.
Eventually and inevitably, Eragon's speed finally faltered. Once more their swords met. His arms screamed as the weredragon bore down.
It was hopeless. It was a lesson he had learned before, long ago.
He broke the root of his stance to jam his knee up with every last bit of strength he could Will. Caedmon's armor padded him from the full blow.
Still he flinched enough for Eragon to slip his blade just so, between Caedmon's fingers and the cross-guard. He gritted his teeth and sent the blade clattering him his hands.
Caedmon was not proud enough to tolerate the blade toward his neck. Pinning Eragon beneath his dragon bulk still made the Shadeslayer smirk. This stubborn shift was as close to surrender he was ever going to get out of him.
"Peace, nephew," the gold dragon told him in blunt satisfaction. "You have just proven why the border guard always took great care to slay Riders well before they came within striking range."
Eragon did not tell him he'd had Brom's story of Vrael's final fight against Galbatorix flash through his desperate mind. His blow had caught Caedmon in the lower gut rather than the fork anyway. Much to their mutual (and Caemon's unwitting) relief.
"You proved we didn't have to fight honorably," he pointed out.
"Aye, I did." The good humor soon drained from Caedmon's shoulders as the usual solemn dignity returned. "You defended yourself heroically, nephew. Enough that now I must strongly recommend you use the next hour to make yourself presentable."
Eragon slumped down to the floor. "The Righ?"
"The Righ graciously requested his only great-grandson before him, so that together we might discuss your progress thus far." Caedmon hesitated. "Since the Lord Moon passed his judgement you have advanced tremendously in your studies. It is not my place to presume our grandfather's Will... but perhaps the time has come to allow you the fuller freedoms afforded to proven members of the clan."
Eragon swallowed any spiteful comment that might sabotage a chance of slipping his oaths altogether. Dignity demanded he remain silent. Instead he blurted out, "He has two others."
Caedmon peered down at him in confusion until understanding dawned. He flinched back, raising his paw from Eragon's chest. For a moment Eragon wondered if he would push for more information on more proof his mother had a life in her exile, ask after nephews that were human to the core. But he only quietly withdrew, sweeping off with the longsword in his maw. By the time Eragon returned his borrowed equipment to the armory Caedmon was long gone.
Darkly he returned to his chambers to find Saphira already there. He frowned at her anxious preening.
"You too?"
I am your bonded, aren't I? Saphira fussed with the edge of her wing. Apparently that means the equal opportunity for the fucking Righ to disparage us both.
Eragon sighed. "It's a chance to prove our case. Maybe we'll miraculously catch the bastard in a good mood and he'll let us free if we vow to keep his damned people secret. Or at the very least gain ourselves a longer leash. One easier to slip."
The she-dragon bared her teeth at him. Aren't you at least family now? Who is the Righ to imprison his own blood?
"Apparently the only thing between this world and utter annihilation, if the weredragons are to be believed," he answered sourly.
With no better option Eragon stormed into the bath. The clan colors were red and silver, for Amalia and her mate. Purposefully he chose the nicest clothes in blue.
Then came of the struggle of what shape to settle on before the Righ. His human shape expressed defiance at the cost of being loomed over. His dragon shape allowed him to stand evenly by Saphira this time but perhaps proved his 'facilitated' transformation justified. After much deliberation he settled on dragon. In this form his unease was more easily hidden behind the bravado of his other instincts. At least it reminded the Righ he was now supposedly an equal member of the clan, not a bastard invalid best kept locked away.
Caedmon came for them in his scales, more than twice their size, with Brede following diligently. Both weredragons studied them critically. Eragon jutted his chin out. Saphira evenly returned their stare.
"Come," the crown prince beckoned at last. "The Righ expects us in the great hall."
Not the strict formality demanded in the throne room. Neither was it the intimate reception a true family might host in an intimate solar. But the Righ certainly wasn't true family in that way. A setting more neutral than the throne room seemed... promising.
In true weredragon fashion the great hall rivaled those of Tronjheim. During mealtimes the dais might comfortably fit at least now ten diners. Now it served as yet another perch for the Righ to loom above them like a dragon hewn from stone.
Brede shrunk from dragon shape into human, kneeling to present her neck in a full bow. Even Caedmon dipped his head before his grandfather. Before flashing silver eyes any fight drained from Eragon. His dragon instincts beheld a clan elder, the patriarch, and urged submission. To not do so was to issue challenge capable of snapping his back like a terrier would a rat.
Together he and Saphira bowed, though not to the extent Brede did. They were clan. However begrudgingly.
"Standa," the Righ rumbled without preamble. "How fares Saphira Ruadhluan in the training she demanded of you?"
"Admirably, my Righ," Brede answered. Saphira puffed up before her proud glance. "This past week Saphira has proved herself vastly competent beyond her equivalent peers in the guard. She is a quick learner and even quicker improviser. I have the utmost confidence she can master the full physical demands of being a flier in arachtide as a full adolescent of the clan."
Silver eyes snapped to Caedmon. "And how fares your nephew in the time since his rebirth?"
"The gap between him and those his age born duine-arach closes by the day," Caedmon replied succinctly. "Remarkably so. As a caster he is weakest in his Will, but what he yet lacks in precision he more than makes up for in sheer drive. There is little left to teach him in human form. He is no child, but an adolescent ready for the rigors of full training in fang and fire."
Once more the Righ swung his head to bore into their souls. Eragon thickened his shields but the old bastard never actually bothered to breach them. "So be it," he growled. "Saphira Ruadhluan, as your Righ and elder I hereby revoke my earlier orders. From now on your range is restricted to the outermost of the Isles sworn to me. Once more, your oath in the Fae tongue marks the cost in breaking your word."
Saphira nodded stiffly. They both vividly remembered the Righ's ultimatum: "Swear to me in this damned tongue that you'll obey every order given by me or your bonded will pay the price of your defiance."
Eragon awaited his own turn. Seconds dragged by into minutes as the Righ stared stoically down at him. Caedmon and Brede exchanged a dark look. Ice shivered down his spine.
Their place in the Pact had burned away with his transformation. That spell had been to bind him and Saphira together until death, to join their souls on the most intimate level. It endured because their bond was far stronger than the outside magic that had first formed it. No spell since humanity's entrance into the Pact had been so powerful. Why should lesser vows have endured the flames that burned away far stronger?
He snarled dangerously, smoke billowing from his maw. "The ancient language can't hold me anymore, can it?"
"Of course not," the Righ rumbled disdainfully. "The Fae tongue holds no power over daonna-arach." Saphira bared her fangs as his gaze fixated on her. "One-souls have no such reprieve."
Eragon's heart shuddered. It mattered not he had burned his way free of the Righ's web. Not when Saphira was still snared in the vow. "Should I try to fly off right now..."
"If Caedmon and Brede and a whole castle did not kill you first, then Saphira dies the moment you cross the border. Should she seek to weasel her way back to your people instead..." The Righ bared yellowed fangs of his own. "Then I snap your neck. I need no geas to remain a man of my word."
Monster! Saphira roared, throwing her mind open to them all. He is your child's blood!
"Do not speak to me of monsters!" The Righ's bellow was thunder, white-hot flames and crackling sparks of lightning tumbling form his maw. "Your Order created a monster that near swallowed the rest of this world. Where are your people, hatchling? Where are their Riders? Why are there still daonna-arach? Because I stood between them and the endless maw that reached for them! Because I held this world together against what that abomination let slip inside, time and time again, to devour souls by the thousands!"
Down the Righ stormed from his dais. The air around him smothered from the very weight of his presence. Those burning eyes fixated on Eragon, looming so close he gagged on sulfur and the smell in the air before a storm. "Beline was my only child, the one piece of my Marit the Sky-Father deigned breathe the spark of life into. She was our light, our life. When t-that... that taint wormed its way inside her too, I kept this family safe." He spat sparks at Eragon's paws. "Then you show up, to drag my people into the doom we have defied three thousand years. I spared you when Brede should have slain you. I did my damnedest to ensure Amalia's Will did not burn you from the inside out."
The Righ drew disdainfully back, spewing flames onto the stone between them. Soot stretched on the gray floor deep and dark, oozing out into shapes that Eragon's eyes ached to look at. "Do you two even know today is the equinox? Today moon and sun rule as one. Tomorrow the night weighs out the light. The unquiet dead stir in their graves. Your abomination once more tries his damnedest to take us all with him. Still I am the rock that seeks to wash all I know and love away. So I stand. Against whoever or whatever gets in my way."
The Righ stalked off, the air steaming in his wake. Only then was there space for Caedmon to leap before them. Eragon was distantly relieved for the living barrier between them and the Righ. It kept him from doing something utterly foolish in return.
"Are you injured?" the gold dragon asked softly.
Eragon flexed a paw thoughtfully. His scales weren't even singed by the firestorm. "No," he muttered.
Saphira only shook her head, mind solidly walled off from them all.
"Come," Brede murmured. "Let me escort you back to your rooms."
For once Eragon was glad to be shepherded. He nudged his wing gently against Saphira's side. She prowled mindlessly after Brede, eyes glassy and far away. Ciar appeared beside his partner as a silent shadow, eyes looking everywhere but behind him.
Caedmon brought up the rear like an anxious sheepdog. Their path was undisturbed, perhaps because the crown prince projected loud and clear for the halls to be emptied before them. He followed them all the way to their chamber door. Brede parted the stone silently.
"Caedmon," Eragon murmured, for there were no others in earshot. "What happened to your mother?"
The silence dragged on eternity. "We were children. He was in duine-tide. It was M- her first chance holding his place. Father's job was to bring her back down again. But... something went wrong. Direly wrong. I-I never heard anyone scream like that and they dragged him away where we couldn't see... And then she was dead and she was..." Caedmon drew himself up sharply. "It was needed. Necessary. We were six. How could we have lost our father too after what had to be done?"
"Prince Caedmon," Ciar broke in. "Princess Myrna requests you in your chambers."
"O-Of course." Amber eyes flicked anxiously to them. "Fear not. The Righ's chambers will be well-watched tonight so that... things pass easily. For all of us."
Eragon watched the prince leave with Ciar. Once he had safely slipped inside his chambers he turned quietly to Brede.
"I am younger than even your uncle is, my prince," she hissed. "That Long Night ended with the Queen dead, the Righ a grieving wreck, and the crown princess exiled by sunset. All I know is that it was a miracle only two of the royal clan left us that day. If all four had perished, then only Prince Berach, Princess Imke, and two orphaned boys would have stood between us and the Final Night."
Eragon thanked her. Before he could open the door to their own chambers Brede leaned a hand against his paw. He opened it reflexively and stared at the thing she pressed there.
"A gift from our cousin Lord Torin Standa, my prince. Blessed by his own druid."
Eragon stared. Even Saphira rose from her fugue to gawk. It had begun as a turnip. Now the root was carved with a gods ugly face that looked something like a dragon-man's. His nostrils twitched at the overpowering scent of heather and other herbs stuffed inside. He swiveled his head from the turnip to gaze blankly down at her.
"Tomorrow the night holds sway over the year, my prince. Things... more subtle than Serpents slip through the cracks sometimes. Crown Castle is well-warded against them but the Standa clan has a vast and often messy history. It is a charm for your bedside so any unquiet dead from your great-grandmother's side do not find you."
Eragon did not scoff. The concept was nothing new to him. Those in Carvahall grew especially concerned in amulets and restarting all fires in their homes in mid-autumn, when they believed the worlds to be at their thinnest.
"Please thank Lord Torin for his thoughtfulness," he answered diplomatically.
"The unquiet dead do not happen often, my prince," Brede was swift to assure. "But the spirits of daonna-arach are... confused at times. Dragon souls know to fly straight up. Most other souls happily sleep forever in the earth's embrace. The decade before the Rising should pass in bliss. Some spirits wake up early. Or stir restlessly in their dreams if left to lie too long. If not all ties to the earth are broken as they should..."
Eragon wearily assured her the effigy had a place of honor by their bedside. And that he of course understood the Standa clan was always prompt in both burying and burning their dead.
And also invited to the Rising of Lady Eithne and Lord Torsten come the spring. Because only then did he remember that weredragons interred their dead ten years before burning and scattering their ashes. It was his and Saphira's only chance to meet his great-great grandparents on earth, before their bones were given to the fire. Through gritted teeth Eragon promised to think about it.
Once Saphira slipped inside he eagerly threw up the stone barrier to its thickest setting.
He near hurled the damned turnip at the wall. He sullenly placed it atop the desk instead. "If anything tries to fucking haunt me I'm setting it on fire."
Hopefully he turned toward Saphira, for a partner to share his scorn with. She gazed up at him with hollow eyes.
Eragon, how far do you think my ancestral memory spans?
He rumbled anxiously. This was a topic they had not tread since the dark day in Du Weldenvarden they had tried pressing their mentors for more exact details of the Fall. Their answers had not been satisfactory. They had fled Ilirea before the final siege, when it had become known the Forsworn were hunting down the last elders of the Council. The rest of the Fall had been spent in captivity or else recovering from near death in Ellesmera.
"Close to the end, aye?"
Nothing in the last century, when all sane dragons but Glaedr were annihilated. For those in Ilirea and Doru Araeba before the... very end. She swayed dizzily. There is only fear. From dragons. Those early in the Fall died in rage and defiance. Then Galbatorix started targeting the big clans. And we still don't know what the seven hells he did to them, all those Riders. Every elf outside Du Weldenvarden.
Eragon could do nothing but pad to her side. For once he could be the shoulder to lie on, the one to offer a dark wing to hide under. "One more reason to get out of here and ask them then."
Saphira pressed closer and said nothing.
Trauma, trauma everywhere! :D Like it wasn't obvious most in the royal clan weren't near lethally repressed anyway. Eragon and Saphira are just joining another long family tradition. I am sure everyone will remain stable pillars of emotional stability right when they're needed most. Really.
You know, I don't remember any details from Brisingr about how Galbatorix actually brought down the human kingdom and a hundred thousand elves and Dragon Riders in Ilirea alone. (Oh, Paolini, that scale.) And don't believe Inheritance ever actually bothered either. Oh well. I've claimed all creative license on those fronts anyway. And, yes, I'm sure Galbatorix and the exact details of the clusterfuck that resulted in Beline's exile are not related whatsoever ; )
Yes, Eragon will be poking more at the ancient language puzzle next chapter. Because now technically neither he or Saphira are under oath to avoid it. A geas is a Celtic curse or oath that usually results in disaster for the heroes. Like a guy magically sworn not to eat dog meat but also to accept every meal offered by a woman being made to eat dog meat by such a woman. The average weredragon doesn't have actual experience with unbreakable vows but by gods do they have dramatic folklore over it.
A lot of historical 'magic' went into warding against bad spirits and bad luck. This is why people renovating historical homes in Britain keep finding Satanic-looking carvings in old posts, horse skulls under foundations, and creepy little poppets in their walls. Such charms warded off bad spirits but also helped supposedly prevent things like house fire or sickness in the home. The jack-o-lantern we know today originated as a turnip lantern burned to ward off spirits on Samhain, the time when the veil between the two worlds were thinnest. And thanks to certain psycho kings and certain Grey Folk the barriers between Alagaesia and what lies beyond it aren't as thick as they should be...