For some reason, I wasn't able to upload this yesterday like I'd planned.
Thank you, reviewers!
13BlacKAnGELs: Glad you liked it. Circe's loyalties will be questioned in this chapter, but that won't be the end of it.
Skycrasher498: New reviewer! Glad to see you like it. Continue to review in the future!
Dragon Rider of Alagaësia: Lmao. Reading your review had me rolling on the floor laughing out loud.
G.A. Clive: Aye. It is quite sad that he's just like Morzan.
Voyfan7: Glad you liked it. Yes, perhaps, he was 'talking' with Arya. Lol
Raindancer20: Another new reviewer! Glad to hear you love it so much.
Chapter Eighteen: "Roots" of the Menoa TreeNeedless to say, Murtagh was dreadfully hung over the next morning. His head was pounding, his stomach was overcome with nausea and he could barely remember what had happened the night before. He knew that Roran and Katrina's wedding had been last night, but why was he feeling this bad? Had some evil spell been cast on him?
No sooner had he stumbled over to the window than Thorn came and landed on the balcony with him. The red dragon flared its nostrils in anger. What in the name of Alagaësia do you think you were doing last night? he glared at his Rider.
To tell you the truth, Thorn, I really haven't a clue, Murtagh growled. I feel like death warmed over. Would you care to tell me why?
Thorn looked ready to attack him. You really don't remember? It's worse than I thought then. I can't even leave you alone for a minute and you go and get yourself drunk!
Drunk? Murtagh asked. Things were slowly starting to make sense and come back to him. He was irritated with the frivolous party that was going on and had been quite inclined to accept when Roran offered him a drink. Why in the world had he been so stupid? He knew that he'd inherited his father's alcoholism. He knew that it was only going to take him to his father's demise.
Yes, Thorn snapped, drunk! You know you really should be a little bit more careful. Perhaps you've forgotten, but we're in the middle of a war. It will only help Galbatorix if you die from your bloody alcoholism.
Murtagh sighed and leaned against the balcony railing. Die… if I ever find himself back in Galbatorix's clutches, then I would be happy with death. I would be no help to Galbatorix if I killed myself. He sees me as his pawn just like he did with my father. I think he expects me to die for him. It would only help the Varden. I would rather die than help Galbatorix again.
That's very noble of you, said Thorn grimly. But you can't kill yourself. If you die… so does your dragon! Remember!
I'd forgotten, Murtagh responded, stroking Thorn's scaly neck. I'm sorry.
Thorn nodded, gazing down into the courtyard. Your girlfriend's there, just walking around. She seems sad.
Murtagh nearly struck the dragon, but stopped himself when he remembered how hard his scales were. She's not my girlfriend! he told his companion indignantly.
Thorn chuckled. If you say so.
Oh, go flirt with Saphira or something and leave me alone! Murtagh shouted back, stumbling back into his room. He snatched his black cloak from the floor and fastened Zar'roc to his belt before making his way out the door and down to the main courtyard where they had first met Nasuada.
When he arrived, Circe was just standing there in the middle of the courtyard by herself. She wore a green cloak over a borrowed tunic and breeches and the hood was pulled around her dark hair. She seemed to be fixated with a spot out on the horizon, to the north towards Urû'baen. Murtagh came up behind her. "What's wrong?" he asked.
She was surprised by his sudden presence, but didn't turn around to look at him, yet. "I had a dream last night. Actually, it was more of a nightmare or a vision," she said with a distant voice. "He knows that I' here. He wants me back. He's having problems with his soldiers and wishes that I were there to stop them. He's willing to come and get me… and you… and Eragon and Roran and the dragons too."
Murtagh was puzzled. "How can he know that you're here? You are free from Galbatorix. He cannot touch you here."
Circe turned around to face him. "You don't know his power. He has grown much, much more powerful since my father's murder. The veins of the Rider King now flow with Kylrian blood. He now has the power to do many things that you've never even dreamed of. He has opened the Vault of Souls. He'll kill the men in the army who I used to talk to since they won't obey him anymore. I have to go back. His reign of terror will be too great for anyone to stop if I don't."
"Go back?" Murtagh asked. "You can't go back. Who cares if he kills some men? Who cares if he's killed your father? Circe, you have to stay here. You're not safe anywhere else until Galbatorix is dead."
But Circe wasn't going to listen. "I have to go back," she repeated. "I am safe nowhere, especially not here. Galbatorix has unlocked the secret of the Vault of Souls and no one is safe anywhere. Perhaps if I go back willingly, my punishment will be less severe."
Murtagh sighed. "Nasuada was right to lock you up," he whispered. "Go back to Galbatorix now, and everything we've worked for will be destroyed."
"I would rather that than be destroyed by unstoppable evil," she whispered back, brushing past him and striding back toward the castle. But she didn't get very far before several armed guards stopped her with swords and spears at her throat. Circe growled in frustration. "Please let me pass, sirs," she said through gritted teeth.
"We can't do that, Milady, not after such treacherous words," replied one of the guards.
Circe groaned and looked back at Murtagh, standing there with a rather smug 'I told you so' grin on his face. She glared at him before turning back to the soldiers. "Sir, I am ordering you to let me pass," she repeated. "Now, please, we don't want me to have to resort to my magic, now do we?"
"We are under orders of the King, Milady," replied the guard.
"Fine," Circe said curtly. "Have it your way." With a flick of her wrist, several of the guards were knocked unconscious by her magical ability. One of them shouted to one of his comrades at the door to run for the King and more men. Within a few moments, Circe was surrounded by the best of the King's men with their blades at her throat. Soon enough, Nasuada and Orrin came out into the courtyard.
Nasuada wore a satisfied grin on her face. "I knew I smelled a rat," she told the witch. "I was right in having you locked up and wrong in heeding the wishes of Roran and Katrina. Your loyalties have been revealed, traitor."
Circe stuck her chin in the air proudly. "Aye," she agreed. "My loyalties have been revealed, but I am no traitor. Is it such a crime to not want to betray and help murder the men I've known my whole life, to want to keep myself safe from the Rider King? I am no suicidal freedom fighter!"
"Loyalty to the King's Men is the same as loyalty to the King himself," said Orrin. "If you will not fight the Empire's armies, you will not fight at all."
"I've known these men their whole lives. They hate the King. They were either pressed into service unwillingly or had to join the army to support their families. They're fathers, husbands, brothers and sons. I will not kill them. My quarrel is with Galbatorix, not his pawns," Circe insisted. "But if you are so stubborn and heartless that you are willing to sacrifice countless innocent lives, so be it. Leave me out of it."
"Very well," Nasuada agreed. "Guards! Arrest her. Show her to the dungeons. She will no longer be a problem to us until we've destroyed Galbatorix."
The only thing in Circe's eyes as she glared at the two rebel leaders was pure, intense hatred. The guards bound her hands and led her away, back down into the dank dungeons. But this time, she didn't plan on sticking around for very long.
After the return of the newly loyal to the Varden Urgal armies came another pleasant surprise for the Varden: the arrival of the remainder of the elves from Du Weldenvarden including Islanzadí herself and several of the older, noble elven families seeking to put an end to Galbatorix's reign of terror. Combined with Orik's dwarven armies, and the human armies of Nasuada and Orrin, they truly were an accurate representation of how the peoples of Alagaësia felt about Galbatorix. If members of every species in Alagaësia had gathered together to fight the King, it was safe to say that he was quite unpopular.
Saphira! Eragon called through his mind link to his friend and dragon. Have you seen Wyrda? I can't find the sword anywhere.
It was a moment or two before Saphira sent her reply. No. I haven't seen it. Why are you always loosing things?
I am not always loosing things! Eragon shouted indignantly. I've simply misplaced it, that's all.
Well I suggest you find it, said Saphira. It looks like the armies are getting ready to march out.
I know. I know, said Eragon, searching around his room frantically for Wyrda. Leave it to a sword from Galbatorix to get lost when he needed it most. He sighed and left his room when it was clear that Wyrda really wasn't hiding in his room. Perhaps he had lost it someplace else.
On his way down the corridor, he ran into two elves, both very old and wise looking. He smiled and nodded to them in acknowledgement as he passed by, but the older, male elf stopped him put two fingers to his lips, saying, "Atra esterní ono thelduin, Shur'tugal"
Eragon nodded, recognizing the significance of his speaking first. This elderly elf was giving Eragon status higher than him. The Blue Rider responded with the correct phrase, "Atra du evarínya ono varda."
"Un atra mor'ranr lífa unin hjarta onr," said the elf, giving the third response that was only given if you were being especially formal.
His female counterpart bowed low to Eragon. "Finally, we meet the greet Eragon Shadeslayer," she said with a warm smile. "Argetlam, for a long time have we waited for this moment."
"You've been waiting to meet me?" Eragon asked, confused. Why would these elves, which were no doubt very venerable in their community, wait so long just to meet him?
The male nodded. "We hear that you have been trained by the late Rider Brom."
Eragon nodded. "Aye. Brom was my teacher before Oromis. Why do you ask?"
The elf drew a sword from his belt and held it out to Eragon. It was very similar to Wyrda, the sword that Galbatorix had had made for him, but Eragon could sense the elven magic flowing through the crystals in the hilt. "This was Brom's sword," said the elf. "He lost it in a battle against the Empire. My family recovered and it has been in my possession ever since."
"We thought it was only fitting that it was given to you," said his companion.
Eragon reached out to take the sword as the elf unbuckled its sheath from his belt. "What is its name?" Eragon asked, admiring Brom's sword with an awestruck expression.
"Mor'ranr," said the elf.
"Peace," Eragon whispered with a smile. "It's fitting. Brom was always one to strive for peace. He hated the war." He looked back up at the elves. "Thank you."
The elves smiled. "You are most welcome, Shur'tugal. May Mor'ranr serve you as well as it served Brom." They bowed to the Blue Rider before turning and continuing on their way.
As Eragon put Mor'ranr on his belt, Arya came over. Her eyes fell on the retreating elves that had given Mor'ranr to Eragon. She looked at him in confusion. "What did they want with you?" she asked.
Eragon drew Mor'ranr from its sheath and showed it to Arya. "This is Mor'ranr, Brom's old sword. They gave it to me, said it was fitting that I have it. It's funny coincidence too. I'd lost Wyrda and was looking around for it when I ran into them."
Arya looked at Mor'ranr like she'd seen a ghost. "What exactly did Solembum tell you when you first met him in Teirm?"
"When the time comes and you need a weapon, look under the roots of the Menoa tree. Then, when all seems lost and your power is insufficient, go to the Rock of Kuthian and speak your name to open the Vault of Souls. But why do you ask?"
"Those two elves are of one of the oldest families in Ellesméra," Arya explained. "Do you remember the story of the Menoa tree? About Linnëa's singing herself into a tree?" Eragon nodded. "'Roots' has more than one meaning. Those elves were of Linnëa's family, her 'roots'."
"When the time comes and you need a weapon, look under the roots of the Menoa tree!" Eragon exclaimed. "Solembum's prophecy has come true!"
"The time has come and you needed a weapon. The roots of the Menoa tree have given you one," Arya said. "Come on, let's hurry before they all march out without us."