The rays of the morning sunlight reflected on the lake's tranquil surface, giving it a mystical, dazzling look. The elf meditated calmly on the banks of the lake. Slowly, he opened his eyes and got up in a single fluid movement. He walked to the edge of the lake and stared at his reflection in the undisturbed water.

He saw a young face, with angled features, and deep blue eyes. Long, straight black hair reached the edge of his neck, curling slightly at the end. He wore a thin silver band to hold it back from obscuring his face. He saw a slim body, with a trace of muscle in his limbs.

Bending down, he picked up a small pebble from the ground, and tossed it into the lake. He watched as the previously undisturbed surface distorted with ripples, which gradually merged into the clear water, returning to the smooth sheen of water once again.

Just then a voice called out from behind him, "Come on, Aesir! We must start again! We must hurry if we are to reach the Burning Plains in time!"

He replied, "Coming, Vanir."

Aesir turned away and walked back to the camp they had set up near the Tudosten lake. He was one of the twelve spellcasters sent by the Queen Islanzadi to aid the Varden, and protect the Shadeslayer.

He was considered one of the most powerful spellcasters among the elves, which was no mean feat. Not only that, he was also one of the most formidable wielders of the blade, and his accuracy with the bow was equally high. This was the reason he had been selected by the Queen. However, he had never been able to surpass his closest friend, Vanir, in either of his skills. Vanir was, therefore, unanimously the leader of the group.

He mounted his noble steed, Ellidan and said, "Ganga," in the ancient language, meaning "Go." Ellidan started trotting at a medium pace. The other elves were beside him, on their own horses, all going at the same pace. It was an impressive display of co-ordination and power, with twelve noble elves, all on snow-white steeds, with swords hanging from their waists, bows from their shoulders, and quivers slung to their backs. The systematic sound of the horses' hooves added to the show.

Soon, the morning turned into the bright hours of the afternoon, and the sun shone down on the company. By now, they had crossed the borders separating Alagaesia from Surda, and were past Petrovya. Still the kept on riding, their pose never changing, though sweat rolled down their cheeks, their speed constant. By evening, they had reached the outskirts of Cithrí.

They camped on the city's outskirts, giving themselves and their horses, a well-deserved rest. Aesir dismounted smoothly, and once again sat down peacefully on the ground, contemplating what had happened to him in the past few weeks.

He remembered his peaceful days in Ellesmera, spent sparring, practicing magic, making fairths and exploring the forests, searching for adventure. Because of this, the elf had discovered many things that no other elves knew about, hidden paths in the forest, secret lakes in undiscovered clearings; all was exposed to his perceptive gaze.

Aesir had always been the adventurous type, so he had jumped at a chance to join the spellcasters sent to the Varden, also called Du Arget Oro, or the Silver Arrow. He remembered his duels with Vanir, his best archery practice when he had sent thirty-six bolts into the centre of the target within a minute and his fairth of a hidden lake surrounded by a ring of pines, with a small island in the centre, its surface obliterated by more trees, taken from an aerial view. The surface of the lake had been completely tranquil, calm, and the air had been unnaturally still.

Then he remembered the sparring competition held to select the best twelve swordspersons among the elves. He had reached the final round of that competition, only to lose to Vanir. The duel had been ferocious, and had lasted for nearly four hours. He also recalled the competition held to determine the elves most skilled at gramarye, and how he had lost, again, in the finals, to Vanir.

Then he went further backwards in his life, remembering his first meeting with Vanir, his friendship with him, the arrival of Princess Arya with the blue dragon egg, which had failed to hatch for him then…he remembered the disappointment he had felt after that…the eagerness which possessed him then to enhance his skills…He remembered Islanzadi's rage when Arya had disappeared, and her guards supposedly slain.

The young elf then remembered the arrival of the Shadeslayer in Ellesmera, and his stay there. However, as had never met him in person, he did not spend much time thinking about him. He remembered the Agaeti Blodhren, the Blood-Oath celebration, and his gift to the Celebration – a series of fairths depicting the gradual growth of a tree as he sang to it in the ancient language, and another depicting the gradual emergence of a stream from a gap between two hills.

Aesir went further back, remembering his family – his mother and father, slain in the Fall, and his elder brother, his rashness, a part of which he himself possessed too, and how he had decided to climb one of the great mountains of Du Weldenvarden, how he had slipped from one of the precipices, and fallen down, down, down in one of the rivers that originated from the pass in the mountains…his body had never been found…he shuddered again at that thought, even though the memory of it had almost faded away…he had never forgotten the terror he had felt when he had seen him fall.

He had been raised as an orphan by a widow in Ellesmera whose husband had been killed in the Fall of the Riders. She had died nine years ago due to a strange disease which slowly consumed her, year by year, unless she finally succumbed to it. Since then, he had lived alone.

They began the journey again next morning. They were nearing their destination with every second. At the end of the day, they had passed Dauth and were camped about fifteen miles from the city. The Varden were expected to be reached by the next afternoon.

Aesir sat down again, with nothing to think about. He tried to foresee what would happen once he reached the Varden. He had never seen any of the Varden so far, except for Brom and Eragon Shadeslayer, and he had never spoken to either of them.

He decided to practice sword moves to get rid of his boredom. He unsheathed his graceful, slim sword and settled into a defensive pose. He was about to leap forward and start slashing with his sword when Vanir called, "Need a partner, Aesir?"

Aesir replied, "I would be honoured."

Vanir walked forward, his face expressionless. He drew his sword and settled into his pose.

Neither of them moved as they unblinkingly watched each other for any sign of movement. Vanir's black eyes locked with his blue eyes as he crossed the distance between them in a single graceful leap, with the speed of a panther, slashing with his sword.

Aesir blocked it with a twist of is blade, and counterattacked, slashing at Vanir's left flank. Vanir blocked the blow and, lowering his head, tried to butt him with his head. Aesir rolled away and got up in an instant, kicking at Vanir's stomach. He missed however, and nearly lost his balance.

The next moment, Vanir's blade was swinging at his chest with blinding speed. With extreme reflexes, he parried it, spinning away and swinging his sword at Vanir's knees. Vanir jumped five feet high to avoid the blow, and thrusted his sword at Aesir's forehead.

Aesir ducked and tried to sweep out Vanir's legs from under him with a powerful kick, succeeding partly as Vanir lost his balance, swaying precariously. He regained his balance, however, just in time to block the next blow from Aesir. As he parried, he spun away simultaneously, jabbing at Aesir's right side.

Aesir dodged and spun his blade in a circle, moving forward with lightning speed. Vanir held his blade firmly to parry the blow, and at the end of the first blow, anticipating Aesir's next move, ducked, and slashed his sword at Aesir's knees.

Aesir's knees buckled out from under him, and, losing his balance, fell on the ground. The next moment, the tip of Vanir's blade rested on his neck.

After a moment, he sheathed his blade and pulled Aesir up. "That was a good duel," he said.

"Yes, indeed."

"You're getting better. You have improved a lot since we first duelled."

"Practice is the key," Aesir replied, smiling.

"True. Well, you should go to sleep. It's getting late and we must preserve our energy, bountiful as it may be."

"Aye."

The spellcasters moved on early the next morning. The landscape flew past as the elven horses galloped. By late morning, the tents of the Varden were visible in the distance. The banner bearing the Varden's symbol flapped in the centre of the settlement, and shouts echoed in the distance. A majestic sapphire dragon rested in front of one of the tents.

They had reached their destination – the Burning Plains.