The Herbalist's Apprentice

by the Lady of the Mists

Chapter Nine: Sword Duelling

The death of their leader had struck a hard blow for the Varden, although the fact that they still had their Rider made hope remain in their hearts. Sandry hadn't actually met the man who had led the rebels, though she had seen him pass once or twice. He'd obviously heard about her, because he had nodded and smiled to her, but hadn't stopped to talk. Still, it was a hard time after the news of his death came to all of them, even more with the deaths of Murtagh and the Twins.

Sandry was with Eragon and Saphira when he had been summoned before the Council of Elders, talking with them. Saphira had genuinely liked her and talked to her whenever she came. She didn't disapprove of Sandry's relationship with her Rider; in fact, she encouraged it, if nothing else. When Sandry asked her why, Saphira had responded that since he had met her, Eragon had grown up. In some ways, a lot of ways, she was responsible for that. She had helped turn a boy into a man.

You have helped him become the hero that he is now, Saphira told her simply. Sandry wasn't sure if that was true, but she didn't want to argue with the dragon. For once reason, because dragons were known to be stubborn creatures and for another, she didn't want to argue with someone who was as connected to Eragon as she was.

When they were eating the midday meal when a young boy appeared, pale faced as he regarded Saphira, explaining to Eragon that he was to take him to the Council of Elders. Sandry, pretty sure that she knew the reason for why they wanted to speak to him, motioned for Eragon and Saphira to go with the boy. "Go," she told him, kissing him on the cheek. "It's almost time for Peter and my training session anyway."

"All right," Eragon sighed, resigned, but he insisted on giving her a proper kiss before he followed the boy, Saphira following closely behind. "I'll see you later at dinner, all right?" She nodded as they left with the boy, leaving her alone in the dragon hold.

Suppressing a sigh as she left, taking her time as she made her way to the lower levels of Farthen Dûr, Sandry wished not for the first time that she and Eragon were just two ordinary people. Because his being a Rider was such an important job to the Varden, they weren't able to spend as much time with each other as either of them wanted.

Walking into the training field, Sandry spotted her brother almost immediately, talking with one of the dwarves that were standing there, overseeing the practices.

Both of them stopped talking as Sandry approached, pulling her brown hair into a quick bun to keep it out of the way while they were practicing. "Good afternoon, sir," she said politely as she curtsied to the dwarf. He, however, bowed to her.

"It is more fitting that I should bow down before you, Lady Sandry," he said simply. "You have saved one of my own and in that simple act, you have gained a great respect with my people. Should you ever need of it, you and your family would remain safe with us."

"Um . . . thank you," Sandry said, not knowing what else to say. She shook her head, clearing her thoughts as she straightened, looking at the dwarf directly. "I thank you for your generosity, but I truly hope that I will never have need for protection."

"As long as this war goes on, I think you'll be glad that you have such allies, sister," Peter observed dryly. The dwarf smiled and bowed to them as he left the siblings alone. When he was out of hearing range, he added more seriously, "Especially so long as you are involved with one of the most powerful people in the Varden."

Sandry sighed. "Well, I said that I 'hoped,' not that I expected that I wouldn't need it. Besides, why should the people that I'm involved with affect how much danger I'm in?"

Peter stood up, pulling out his sword and instructing Sandry to do the same. As he moved in for an attack, he said, "First rule of combat, know your enemy." Sandry blocked the attack. "Second rule, know their style. Third, know their heart."

"What?"

"Only the most dangerous and bloodthirsty enemies ever use number three," he told her. "Galbatorix is one of them. If Eragon ever reaches a point where he'll need to use number three, then you could be placed in great danger. Right now, with the Varden, you're protected and not many outside of it are aware of your relationship with him. So he's focusing on Eragon's cousin."

Sandry had heard about Roran from Eragon; they seemed more like brothers than actual cousins, but that was more likely because Eragon had been raised by his uncle than his parents.

"But think for a moment if Galbatorix captured you, knowing of your relationship with him," Peter continued as they duelled. A few of the fencers had stopped to watch the siblings. "What if he decided that you would be an easier target and sought to capture you? It might be easier to capture you than it would be the Rider."

In annoyance, Sandry blocked the next attack and pushed him violently away from her. "I can't believe that you just said that I would be easy to capture," she snapped.

"Easier," Peter corrected, "than Eragon. I didn't say that you would be easy to capture. He'd know you're an asset, so he'd keep you alive long enough for Eragon to come running to your rescue." Sandry stopped for a minute, realising the reality of the situation. "Look, I'm just trying to show you that you need to be careful. Especially if Éamonn does come after you. That little brother of ours is clever. Vile, but clever," he added more quietly. "So just promise me that you'll be careful."

"When am I ever anything but?" Sandry asked him softly. He sighed, raising his sword threateningly. "I promise."

"Good," Peter said lightly as he swung it through the air. "So where were we, anyway?"

"Right about here," Sandry responded as she spun around to block his next attack. He turned around to meet her sword and just barely managed to stop it as he whirled around to face her again. "Why would he even care about what happens to either one of us, anyway? I mean, since you've left and pretty much abandoned any duty that you had to your—our—father, wouldn't he have a straight shot to any inheritance that Father were to give you?"

"Probably, but he's still afraid that if we were to succeed, I wouldn't have to run and hide anymore," Peter pointed out. "If we were to kill Galbatorix and overthrow the Empire, then there would be a new King, one that we wouldn't have betrayed and we wouldn't be outlaws anymore."

"Which, of course, means that you could reclaim the title of . . . whatever our father was," Sandry sighed. "I still don't understand why he's so resentful towards me, though. Not only am I not his firstborn, but I'm also a daughter, which means that the only thing he could want me for is an alliance."

"You've studied your history," Peter said in mock astonishment.

"No," Sandry told him. Then she grinned. "Well, yes, but I also know nobles, Peter. There is a reason why I never married any of those bloody nobles who came around Angela's, looking to court me." Her brother grinned as she blocked his next attack. "I'm not looking to enter into that world."

"Mm-hmm." Peter grinned as he blocked her. "Good luck with that, sister," he told her. She glared at him and in response knocked the sword out of her hand, catching it with her free hand, turning around to face him. Peter held his hands up in surrender, but he was grinning. "I think we've practiced enough for today," he said as applause exploded in the field.

Sandry looked around and chuckled slightly when the Varden and dwarves that were training there applauded the embarrassed siblings. Peter bowed and Sandry followed suit as they left the field together. Pulling on her cloak around her shoulders, Sandry shivered slightly in the cool air.

"So, if you don't mind my asking," Peter said as he slid his sword into its sheath. "How did you learn how to handle a sword so well? I've seen few swordsmen handle a weapon so well and that was at the King's court."

With a small sigh, Sandry walked out towards a balcony overlooking the entire mountain range. Peter joined her as she leaned against the wall, glancing at him slightly. It was a long moment before she said, "All right, you really want to know?"

"Would I have asked if I didn't?"

She smiled slightly as she looked at him. "Her name was Camilla. She was my best friend. We met when I went to Teirm and Angela took me in. Her family owned an inn downtown, but she still came whenever she could. Camilla loved learning about all the different plants and stuff. Angela didn't mind teaching her with me, because healing was one of the most useful skills anybody could have.

"Camilla had four brothers, two older, two younger, all who learned fencing from a distant cousin at the King's court. The eldest, Patrick, knew that it was just as vital for a woman to know how to handle a sword as a man, in case she ever needed to defend himself. He told his parents that his sister would not always be around for them to protect and she needed to know how to, should danger arise.

"Patrick convinced Angela to let him teach me as well. He was a good teacher, patient and kind, but he warned us that the sword could kill as well as injure. If we ever used it for that purpose, be sure that it was for the right reasons." Sandry paused for a minute in the story, letting herself be pulled into the past.

"So . . . what happened to Patrick and Camilla?" Peter suddenly broke into her thoughts. She jumped in surprise, looked at him, then plunged on into the story.

"Camilla and I were helping out in their family's inn when I heard her mother scream for her father. We raced outside to see what the commotion was about and I saw Patrick and two of his brothers being led away by the soldiers, to serve in the army. Camilla, always impulsive, ran forward to stop them, and plunged her dagger into one of the soldiers.

"She killed him, but there were several others to stop her before she could do any more damage. They plunged their sword into her just as their parents came outside.

"Patrick went wild when he saw his sister's dead body lying helplessly on the ground. He snatched up his sword and attacked the soldiers, his brothers right behind them. Andrew, Tristan, and Marcus they slaughtered, along with their parents, but Patrick was left dying.

"I loved them all, Peter, they were like family to me. I ran to Patrick and tried to save him, but he was beyond my help. He died in my arms, his family right around him. His last words that were spoken were, 'Remember what I taught you and fight for justice, Sandry. Live, so that others can be reminded of the horror that have captured my family. Be safe, for all of our sakes, otherwise we shall be forgotten. So long as you are safe, our story will live on, in your own skills and what we have taught you. About fencing, about family, and about life. Live, Sandry, for all of us.'"

Peter was quiet when she finished. "That's . . . that's a pretty intense story," he said at long last. "How old were you when they . . .?"

"Fourteen," she answered. "So two years ago." She shook her head. "It feels like a lifetime."

"Do you ever think about what might have happened, had we grown up together?" Peter said after a minute. "What could have been?"

She looked at him. "Every day."