Chapter 7: Escape
Readers of Eragon, read the chapter name and do the math. I'm pretty sure you can figure out what it's about.. May the wind sing to your souls!
Miranda waited anxiously by Eragon's bedside in Gertrude's hut. He stirred. "Eragon?" she asked. "What?" he groaned. Miranda grinned, he sounded like a grumpy teenager. Which is kind of what he is, she thought, giggling. "Wha'so funny?" Eragon grumbled.
"Oh, nothing. I'm just happy you're up." Gertrude jerked awake from her rocking chair. "Good, he woke up." Eragon sat up. "Where's Garrow?" he asked urgently.
"In Horst's house. It's kept me on my toes, running from here to there and back to make sure the two of you are still alive," Gertrude told him gravely, a touch of weariness in her earthy eyes. Eragon sat up straighter. "I have to go see him!" Miranda pushed him back down. "Oh, no you don't, not without eating something first. Your fever only broke last night."
"How long have I been asleep?" he asked.
"Three days... That's quite a scar on your palm," Gertrude remarked. Eragon groaned. That meant he hadn't eaten in four or five. Then he figured out what she'd said and his mind raced in alarm. "Where'd you get it?" Gertrude inquired. Eragon ran through several possible scenarios and chose the simplest one. "I've had it ever since I can remember. I never asked Garrow where it came from." He thought tiredly of the events that had befallen him while Gertrude made soup. He eagerly gulped it down, and then had a second bowl. When he had finished, he said, "Can I see Garrow now?"
Gertrude sighed. "You never give up, do you? All right, you can go see him." She and Miranda respectfully turned their backs while he got dressed. When he had finished, Miranda held out a gloved hand to help him up. Gertrude watched while he took a few steps, then observed dryly, "Well, at least you won't have to crawl there." They walked slowly to Horst's magnificent house on account of Eragon's wounded legs. Elain, Horst's wife, greeted them at the door. Rubbing her belly, several months pregnant. "Garrow's in the room upstairs. Do you need any help getting upstairs?" Eragon shook his head. "No, I can manage."
"Well, I'll be in the kitchen if you need me," she said in her soft voice. Miranda followed her down the hall to the kitchen, knowing that the boy needed as much privacy as he could get with his uncle. "Elain, is there anything I can do to help?"
"Aye, there's a pie that needs to be made, if you can."
Miranda grinned."My father always did say I made a mean pie. I always did love making them!" Elain laughed tiredly.
About half an hour later, Miranda was sliding her masterpiece into the oven when a suspicion came to mind she knew she had to act on. "Elain, I'm going to my house. I have some things I don't want those strangers getting their hands on." Elain nodded. "Be careful," she warned. Miranda ran outside and raced full speed to her tree house, which was quite fast for a girl of her age and height. When she reached the house, she swung up and became a living whirlwind, throwing her belongings into a pack with panic. I need to hurry! She finished packing and saddled Windsoul, her dappled gray filly. "Hlaupa, Windsoul!!" she cried, nudging the horse's sides. The filly nickered and raced into the forest, faster than most horses. Miranda heard an explosion blast through the forest. Looking back in panic, she saw that her suspicion had been correct; the strangers had set some sort of trap. She started to speak in the wind tongue she'd known since before she could crawl, and the fire disappeared, leaving the surrounding area scorched. Miranda shuddered and turned away. Her steed only increased in speed. She reached Horst's quickly and tethered the horse behind the house. Miranda walked into the kitchen and saw Elain, Horst, Albriech and Baldor, Horst's two sons, and Eragon gathered there. "Why do you look like your home was torn apart instead of Eragon's?" Baldor inquired.
"Because I do have a destroyed home," Miranda stated flatly. She silenced their astonished exclamations with a raised hand. "I ran home to gather my things on the chance that the strangers had set a trap. While I galloped away, I heard an explosion. The house was gone, leaving the trees scorched." Albriech made a fist. "They can't get away with this! With a pair of horses we could catch up with them in a few days, and-"
"Get that nonsense out of your head, Albriech. They could probably pick you up like a baby and throw you in a tree. Look what they did to the house! We want nothing to do with those people," Horst said forcefully. "Your father's right, Albriech," Miranda informed him. "I've never personally dealt with these fiends before, but from what I know, they'd be more likely to kill and eat you. You should stay away from them. If only a Rider still existed to eradicate them..." Miranda said wistfully. Eragon glanced at her in alarm. Miranda!
What?! It's what any person nowadays would say.
Just be cautious.
I always am.
"'If only's' won't get rid of these monsters," Horst muttered. Turning to his two sons, he said, "Baldor, Albriech, let's go saddle the horses." Albriech looked at Eragon. "I'll break it to him gently," he promised. As the three men left the room, Elain looked at Miranda. "Miranda, you could stay here if you like. Eragon, that offer is extended to you, too. Gertrude could have her bed back, and you'd be closer to your uncle," she offered.
"Do you have enough room?" Eragon queried.
"Of course. Miranda, go get your things and put your horse in the stable." Miranda nodded and ran lightly outside. When she returned with her pack, Elain led them upstairs. When they were settled, she said, "Dinner's in an hour. Get some rest, Eragon." Eragon nodded. Miranda followed her downstairs. "Want some more help?" Elain looked at her gratefully.
"You never tire of asking that, do you? It would be just wonderful if you could help me with dinner."
Sleep came easily that night for Eragon. He awoke just before dawn, jumping out of bed as a terrible premonition filled his heart with fear. He ran out into the hall and was alarmed to see Garrow's door open. He walked inside and saw people clustered next to the bed. Garrow was dressed in clean clothes, his hair was combed back, and there was a peaceful expression on his face. He might have been sleeping if not for the sprig of dried hemlock on his chest and the silver amulet clasped around his neck, the last gifts from the living to the dead. He began to shake. Someone led him back to his room, murmuring consolations. He walked to the window and looked to the sky in anguish. "What god would do this? Show yourself!" he shouted. He heard footsteps rushing to his room. "He didn't deserve this!" he cried, tears streaming down his face. Elain led him back to his bed and held him while he cried.
Miranda sat in the kitchen. I can't believe Garrow's really dead...I feel so sorry for Eragon. She heard something that sounded like yelling from outside. She frowned as she heard it again. What is that?
MIRANDA! The twelve year old fell out of her chair from the force of that roar. She realized that the yelling had been mental. Getting up, she asked, Seraphina?
Yes, deaf one.
You haven't talked to me in a couple days. Where have you been?
At first, I picked a hiding place a bit farther than where Saphira would have liked, but I pretty quickly saw the wisdom in her choice of hiding. After waiting for two days, we had to hunt.
Has Saphira talked some sense into Eragon? I think we should leave Carvahall; it will only put the villagers in more danger if we're here, but I don't want to confront him and make him more upset. He's a good friend, but... Somehow I think that it'd be best if she talked to him instead. There was a pause.
Miranda?
Saphira?
You'd better run and catch up with Eragon. I just convinced him to leave. The poor boy is half delirious. He's at Gedric's. I think you need to join him.
Thanks. I'll go join Eragon in a moment. They broke contact and Miranda left a hasty note with twenty crowns on the counter. Then she ran up to her room, grabbed her still full pack, leaving several of her deerskin blankets, and ran outside. She quickly saddled Windsoul, putting her pack on top, and sent her galloping off to Eragon's demolished farm with a whispered word. Clutching her bag of coins so they wouldn't clink, she ran to Gedric's. Miranda found the other Dragon Rider cutting down two ox hides. "Eragon." The boy whirled on her, eyes flashing, when he realized it was she. "What're you doing here?"
"Eragon, I talked with Saphira. I understand your need to go; I have that need myself. But we'll do better as a team; you know that. Here," she murmured. She cut down two more ox hides, since she wouldn't be able to employ the wind all the time. Taking out an extra pouch from a pocket, she put the correct amount of money inside, hanging it from the beam where the hides had been. They jogged toward Sloan's butcher shop and grabbed a pile of wrapped meat. Miranda repeated her method of payment. Walking back out to where they'd hidden the hides, Miranda wasn't surprised to see that they weren't there. "Going somewhere?" a voice demanded. The two whirled around. Miranda didn't have to look to see that it was Brom, who happened to be holding the hides. "Give them back," Eragon snapped. "Why? So you can run off before Garrow is even buried?" Brom scowled. The accusation was sharp and biting. Eragon began trading words with Brom again and lunged for the hides. Brom gave them up without trying to stop him. "I hope you have enough meat to feed your dragons," he commented casually. I hope I did the right thing to hint at this to him, Miranda thought, listening to the two men talk. Eragon turned to her. "Miranda, maybe you can do something about this," he hissed into her ear. Miranda shrugged. "I trust him. I'll let you decide whether to travel with him or not," she muttered back. Eragon turned back to Brom with an exasperated air. He talked with Brom for a few more minutes, and then turned to Miranda once again. "All right, let's do it. Come on, we'll go to the farm so I can salvage some of what we need." Miranda nodded and cocked her head. "There are people looking for us. Shall we go?" Eragon grunted. They walked the miles to the farm in only an hour, even with Eragon's injured legs. As the charred remains came into view, Brom's eyebrows beetled with anger. Miranda's only response was shock at how fast nature was reclaiming the site. Windsoul nickered and trotted to her side. "Good girl," she murmured. Brom's head snapped up as he heard Saphira and Seraphina land. He started to murmur quietly, but when Miranda approached to hear his words, whatever else he might have said was lost as the two dragons proudly approached. Tears glistened in Brom's eyes, but only one escaped down his cheek. "What are their names?" the old man queried. "Seraphina and Saphira," Miranda answered, pointing to each one as she said the names. A strange expression came about Brom's face. "Greetings, honorable dragons. I am privileged to make your acquaintances," he greeted, twisting his hand in a strange gesture over his collarbone.
I like him, Seraphina said quietly. Miranda smiled and walked up to hug her neck in greeting. Eragon started to rummage through the debris, finding only a small collection of useful items. "Now what?" Miranda inquired at the same time as Brom. She looked at him and suppressed a giggle. Eragon ignored the humor in the situation and said, "We find a place to hide."
"Do you have someplace in mind?" Brom queried.
"Yes, I do." They walked a while before they came to a clearing that was only large enough for a campfire, two people, and a dragon. Miranda immediately set to work clearing more space so she, Seraphina, and Windsoul could fit comfortably. It took her about half an hour, with Eragon and Brom's help, as well as assistance from the wind. When they were all settled and a stew was boiling over a campfire, Brom took out his pipe. "Why do you want to travel with me?" Eragon demanded to Brom. The old man sighed. "Very well, if it's answers you want, it's answers you'll get. To answer your question, I happen to have a vested interest in keeping you two alive. You're the first Riders to exist outside the king's control for over a hundred years. Will you kill Galbatorix? Will you perish as martyrs? Will you join the Varden? All fascinating questions, and I will be there to see every minute of it, no matter what I have to do." He strode across the camp to where his pack lay and took out a wrapped object, about five feet long, and by the way he carried it, very heavy. Miranda raised her eyebrows; she had a pretty good idea what it was. The cloth came away, strip by strip, until it revealed a sword in it's iridescent crimson sheath. "This was once a Rider's blade," Brom said quietly, passing the weapon to Eragon. The boy slowly drew the sword, admiring the way it caught the firelight. "When a Rider finished his training, the elves would present him with a sword. Their methods of forging have always remained secret. However, their swords are eternally sharp and will never stain. The custom was to have a Rider's blade match the hue of his dragon, but I think we can make an exception in this case. This sword is named Zar'roc. I don't know what it means, probably something personal to the Rider who owned it." He watched Eragon swing the blade. The Rider reluctantly sheathed the sword and moved to hand it back. "Keep it," Brom commanded. "You have a greater claim to it than I, and I think you will have need of it before all is done. Before you ask, I will not say where I got it, only that it took a series of dangerous and rather nasty adventures to attain it. And the symbol on the sheath was the personal crest of the Rider who owned it." Eragon looked surprised.
"It is a princely gift, thank you. But how can you speak with Saphira and Seraphina?"
"Anyone can talk with their mind with the right training. And," he raised a finger for emphasis, "It doesn't mean anything if they can. I know more about dragons and their abilities than almost anyone else alive. I'm offering my knowledge as a shortcut. On your own, it might take you years to learn what I can teach you. As for how I know so much, I will keep that to myself." Turning to Miranda, he told her, "I don't have a sword for you. I'm sorry, but-"
"There is no reason to be sorry," Miranda smiled, a twinkle in her eye. Reaching inside her cloak, she unbuckled something and revealed a gleaming white sheath. Grasping the sword with her right hand, she drew it, a diamond the same size as the ruby in Zar'roc flashing in the pommel. "This is Vindr." Brom looked taken aback. "Where, by the Beors, did you get that sword?" he demanded. Miranda sat up straighter. She sheathed Vindr, saying, "My family protected many of the Rider's swords. This is one of many."
"Do you know who's that was?"
"I am well aware of it." At Eragon's questioning glance, she said, "This blade belonged to Na'imah, the first female Rider." At Brom's pressing look, she sighed and added, "Na'imah was the daughter of the first Eragon." Saphira's Rider raised his eyebrows in surprise.
"I see," was his only comment. Miranda looked down. She buckled her blade back onto her belt and reached for her pack. Digging into it, she came up with a set of panpipes. She began to play a wild, beautiful melody, soothing Eragon's pounding thoughts. Before long, he had rolled out his blankets and gone to sleep, as did Brom, the melody echoing through their dreams.