Chapter Five: More than Apt
Warning: This chapter contains blood and violence, hence the 'M' rating of the fic.
There is a point in the summer's day, when the sun appears to burn in the sky directly over its vast dominion.
So, as Eragon stood beside his weeping dragon, ethereal light shone all around, bursting from the mighty star and splintering into brilliant fragments from where it touched Glaedr's ancient golden scales. The dragon was laid in the centre of a vast field with his honourable rider beside him, all wounds healed with magic to ensure an undisturbed burial. All around his huge bulk the elves stood, void of their weapons and void of any expressions of sadness or doubt. Just that calm, unquestioning gaze, that he had seen so often upon Arya's immaculate features.
Music began slowly, a lone harp etching a web of sorrow across the flawless day, and it was joined, gradually, by flutes and a low soft wail, as all around the elven composure began to slip.
Eragon would have been alarmed at the sudden change in demeanour, were he not utterly transfixed on the two elders as they lay in the smouldering light. Merging his own despair with Saphira's he allowed himself to succumb to the absolute, agonising sorrow and joined in the darkly beautiful song, tears slipping freely down his cheekbones and nestling in a two week old beard.
It seemed like hours before Islanzadi stepped forward and severed the supports that were buried beneath the bodies with her mind. The earth seemed to quiver, and then gradually collapsed all around, and the ancient dragon and his rider were claimed by the earth, the vast dust cloud still punctuated by light, reflected by the disappearing scales.
Eragon approached Arya cautiously after the funeral, unsure as to how long it would take before the elves fully regained their composure.
"We are lucky" he whispered "to ever have trained, with one so mighty." His speech was jarred and unfamiliar, his tongue broken by the communal anguish.
"What should we ever do, without our teachers, Arya… I"
She cut him off, placing a single finger across his lips and her emerald eyes, glossed with tears, cut into every fibre of his being. Her lips twitched slightly, before she spoke.
"If Oromis could see you now, Eragon, he would wish himself a thousand times dead. He taught you everything you need to know, yet you flounder, like salmon in the jaws of a bear."
Eragon stepped back, stunned by the response, "I flounder because I'm grieving Arya, and because despite our 'completed training' Saphira and I failed yet again to kill or even capture Murtagh! I'm floundering because we must leave in four hours time to do battle at Belatona, and because I'm like to meet my brother there once more and not leave until Brisingr is wedged burning in his chest, destroying his very essence and that of the only living male dragon, besides Shruikan." He paused, panting heavily before the equally startled elf. There was something more to his words, a longing for intimacy and consolation that she recognised and that disturbed her.
"Eragon. I am truly sorry."
"But you must understand, there is no time for procrastinating, nor for grieving over what might have been. Oromis allowed you to leave because he thought you ready, and he rode to battle with the knowledge that, were harm to befall him, he had left Alagaesia with an apt protégée… More than apt."
The silence that grew between them had none of the contentment with which they had grown used to, travelling together. Eragon saw the sense in her words, but to him it was heartless sense.
"To you, to Alagaesia, I am a mere machine with which to shape the future." He spat, ignoring her earlier compliment.
Three Hours Passed
Eragon leaned into the scales on Saphira's underbelly and sighed. He regretted his earlier outburst, but the funeral spirit had kindled something inside of him, and he had noticed many such arguments between the normally flawless elves during the first hour after the ceremony. And yet, another part of him was proud that he had managed to stand up for himself before the ceaseless pestering that seemed to encompass his life, ever since Saphira had hatched. Perhaps he was finally moving out of the shadow of his teachers.
We have never been forced under anyone's shadow Eragon. I would not allow it. We followed Oromis and Brom because we willed it, and we shall do so in the future when it serves us best. Still, I am glad you spoke to Arya as an equal, even if it did sound at times like an adolescent tantrum.
Eragon snorted at her bluntness and gazed up as an elf approached.
"Eragon Shadeslayer. Might you join us for a while?"
Eragon was about to decline before he remembered Nasuada's plea to rekindle the elven fighting spirit. Moving towards a cluster of twenty elves, he unsheathed Brisingr.
"Hail friends, might anyone spar with me in memory of the great elders?"
"Those elders your brother slew?" a snide voice remarked,
"Whilst you danced with the humans, a hundred miles south?" another chimed in.
"The very same, who understood my reasons, even when their pettier brothers could not." He replied, steel in his voice and a glint in his eye. "If you believe me an unworthy apprentice, perhaps you are willing to test my skill with the blade and thus, by inheritance, my masters skill, against your own?"
Two elves stepped out of the crowd and unsheathed identical one-handed blades. Another strode forward, axe in hand.
"The twins may wait their turn. My sorrow hungers for an outlet, Argetlam."
"Then your sorrow is self-centred and misdirected, brother."
"I shall engage the three of you together." Eragon held a dramatic pause, in the centre of the newly formed ring.
Little one… I hope you know what you're doing. Our powers have grown, but three elves? Tis a doomed fight.
Have some faith, my dragon. The elves are too honourable for their own good. Besides, I have you to watch my back and lend me strength, right?
After blunting their blades, the elves leapt forward as one. The first twin dummied a swipe at Eragon's head, pulling out at the last minute and allowing his brother to strike in his stead, but the rider read the move flawlessly, side-stepping and cutting in an upward arc that knocked the blade sideways in a flash of sparks.
Eragon followed through, smashing his hilt into the elf's unbalanced ribs and spiralling away with flawless grace as the axe-man reached them. His blade moved with uncanny speed, but was easy enough for the rider to avoid.
The twins were young by elven standards, and their technique was hindered by a reckless enthusiasm. They leapt from foot to foot like boxers, tiring themselves unnecessarily whilst Eragon remained steady, knees bent and ready to spring. The axe-man came first this time, feinting towards the abdomen before slashing upwards at Eragon's chin and he blocked the attempt with both hands, muscles rippling and then buckling to the older elf's superior strength. As the twins engaged, Eragon moved quickly from side to side, repelling their needle like flurries whilst avoiding the axe-man's sweeping strokes whenever he could.
The battle continued, Saphira alerting Eragon whenever one of the elves made to strike at his back, and the rider felt his shoulders ache from the strain.
Sensing his moment Eragon ducked a lunge from the axe-man and swung his own leg into the exposed back, sending the elf sprawling into the first of the twins. Keeping his momentum he pivoted expertly and sucked in his stomach at Saphira's warning, as the second twin's blade whistled through the air.
A look of resignation graced the elf's sweat stained features as Eragon's own blade darted forward mercilessly. The other elves had barely risen as he rode a tired lunge and dragged Brisingr against the pale throat, to cheers from the eager crowd.
The elf bowed quickly and rejoined the assembly, which had grown to three times its original number. With a start Eragon noticed Islanzadi amongst them, and beside her, Arya.
And that means you have to put on a show. Saphira remarked smugly.
The remaining elves locked eyes, nodded and made to engage. Pre-empting the gesture however, Eragon was already upon them, and the first twin had barely raised his blade before Brisingr smashed into it, inches above his startled face. With eyes trained on the blade he was unaware as Eragon smashed a knee into his groin and he fell back with a soft moan.
Axe at six o'clock!
Eragon spun one-eighty and flung up Brisingr to parry the elf's blow, but again he held his ground, using an inhuman strength to push Eragon backwards, where, as Saphira duly observed, the first twin was getting shakily to his feet.
With the words of Oromis and the demonstrations of Brom pounding in his skull Eragon kicked at the axe-mans shin, and, with the brief respite of pressure, forced him backwards.
Head shot, four o'clock
As he felt the warning Eragon's lips twisted into a feral grin. Placing a boot on the axe-mans leg he vaulted into the air, his shin disappearing as the axe cleaved down, and somersaulted backwards. Landing directly behind the first twin he raised his blade to the exposed throat.
The final elf stepped forward and raised his axe, to cheers from the crowd and Eragon felt a twinge of surprise at the eagerness with which they had embraced the fighting atmosphere.
Nothing like a brawl to bring men together.
Hypocrite. Eragon replied, with a chuckle.
He circled his final adversary warily. The elf had not worked well with the twins, but Eragon could tell he was an accomplished individual fighter, and his strength and experience were outstanding. Furthermore, he could tell from the crowd that he was popular among even the elven warriors.
Eragon initiated hesitantly, swinging Brisingr from left to right and back again but the elf parried his blows with ease before launching a blistering counter-attack. Moving expansively, now that the twins had been vanquished, he swung his axe at an unnatural speed, using the full length of his arm to attain maximum power, and Eragon felt his bones jar as he turned away the strike and leapt out of harms way. Blunted or not, one slip and the axe would take his head off.
He is limping, slightly, Saphira commented as they circled again, and Eragon saw she was right. The elf's left leg was unbalanced and moving gingerly, a result of Eragon's instinctive kick, so the rider stepped to the right and moved in for the kill, addressing the weaker left side.
Arya just nodded with approval, Saphira teased, and Eragon lost his concentration for a split second, as the axe whirred menacingly inches from his face. Taking advantage of the opening before the elf could recover; Eragon swung his blade upwards, towards the exposed sonar-plexus, but somehow the elf turned the blade aside with an immaculately timed swipe of his hand, eliciting roars of approval from the crowd as Eragon feinted a fall-back and then lunged forward again, his blade clashing into the axe with such ferocity that both weapons spun out of their wielders hands.
"Mano a mano" the big elf surmised with a grin, as his thick legs split into a fighting stance, fists guarding his face and torso.
Remember Roran's battle with the Urgal?
It's not like he'd ever let me forget! Eragon replied as he circled his prey.
The grace from the previous encounter was brushed aside in an instant as the elf blocked Eragon's jab and smashed a huge right fist into the riders jaw, following through with an uppercut into the exposed ribcage, which Eragon felt buckle alarmingly, as blood trickled from between his teeth.
Regaining his composure, Eragon moved in quickly, teasing the big elf with a flurry of jabs to the head before lashing out with a high right foot, which caught him in the side of the face with irresistible force, and a low stamp-kick onto the previously injured shin.
Both fighters moved back with a grimace and circled again, grudging respect enflaming their angry eyes. The elf dropped his guard and Eragon flung a right hook towards the exposed chin. His blow connected, but the elf grabbed his arm with a grin, and, before he could withdraw, threw him to the ground in a rush of wind. Pulling Eragon's arm, he forced it out straight and raised his boot for the crunch, to an intake of the crowd's breath.
With a snarl, Eragon threw up his right leg with as much force as he could muster, and he felt it connect with the required spot, judging by the elf's howling reaction. Rolling over sharply he grabbed a handful of bronze coloured hair and dragged the elf towards the ground, smashing an uppercut into the exposed face with a crack of cartilage and blood.
Eragon then leapt up smartly, grabbing Brisingr from its resting place near to where they had rolled, and placed it onto the big elf's neck with a relieved smile.
Eragon accepted the nods and smiles with a beaming grin and waves of his aching hand. Silently he thanked the God's for his decision to fortify his knuckles. With or without his elven strength, he had a suspicion that without the large calluses his punches would have done more harm to him than to his adversary.
Weaving through the dispersing throng he approached the elven queen hesitantly, remembering her frustration when he had last spoken to her of Sloan, and his recent 'disagreement' with the Menoa tree.
"Atra esterní ono thelduin." he stated carefully, completing the elven bow.
"Mor'ranr lífa unin hjarta onr." she replied with equal caution, bright eyes scouring his face, still caked in mud, sweat and dirt. Eragon had healed his injuries, but had not yet had time to remove the marks of the recent battle.
"You're prowess has improved Eragon Shadeslayer. To defeat Illarin of the Axe is a feat in itself, but accompanied by a further two elves. Impressive indeed."
"I had the good fortune to be instructed by three of the greatest teachers Alagaesia might offer. But I am thankful for your kind words, my queen." Her eye brows rose slightly, and her lips were pursed.
"Eragon I understand your reasoning." She paused and made sure they were alone. "I understand why you fought with the Varden, instead of at Gil'ead, and I am certain Oromis would not have had it any other way. Still, my elves are displeased by your continued absence."
Eragon nodded regretfully "I fear there are too many groups in Alagaesia for me to placate them all, but I hope that my duel with Illarin may have eased some of the pressure. What actions, then, would the elves have me take from here?"
"My queen, the Varden bring a message in the royal tent." Arya strode towards them confidently. "Good news, from Belatona, I am led to believe."
They entered the royal pavilion and encircled a basin of still water, from which Nasuada peered. After exchanging respectful greetings, she told them of the earl Bela's defection to the Varden, and their progress toward the city walls.
"What's more, our scouts report that Murtagh and Thorn were seen flying near to Uru'baen. It appears that Galbatorix has abandoned the city to Salius, Bela's former second, and the remaining guard which numbers no more than four hundred!"
Eragon forced a smile, to cover his unease. "A little too easy, don't you think?"
"That's what your cousin said," she replied, "but for once the men have hope, even without you… Eragon I know you wish to advance your training, I know you feel yourself unready to face Galbatorix. I can give you another week, perhaps two, to do what you will."
"But Belatona..?"
"Eragon, if we take the city without our dragon rider, imagine the lift it will give the men! Of course you must scry us regularly, and join as soon as possible should anything go wrong. But I have a good feeling about this, for the first time in years."
He left the tent, a paradox of emotions spilling from his brain, whilst Islanzadi remained conversing with Nasuada.
"What shall we do then?" Arya.
"We?" he turned his nervous gaze onto her.
"Did you think Nasuada or the queen would let you go alone?"
"But you are the ambassador, the Varden needs you." He replied hesitantly, and mentally slapped himself for trying to dissuade her.
"They need me… but are willing to let their rider take time off?" he returned her smile and they approached Saphira together.
"Arya, I should like to apologize for my outburst earlier. You know I appreciate your judgment more than…"
"I know Eragon, elven funerals have… odd effects on those unprepared, I should have warned you."
"And this place, Gil'ead…"
"Memories?"
"Yes."
Eragon mounted Saphira and pulled Arya up after him, tactfully avoiding the subject any further.
"Eragon!" Islanzadi had left the tent and was approaching Saphira quickly.
"I see you plan on leaving us already?"
"No matter, we stay camped at Gil'ead for the next few days, before we begin the march to Uru'baen."
"Where do you plan to go?"
"I… am unsure," he confessed, "have you heard of the Rock of Kuthian?"
The elven queen paused for a moment, and then shook her head.
"The name seems familiar… but I cannot place it. I come instead to offer a note that was found, addressed to you, in Oromis' hut." She handed Eragon a dusty envelope and turned away.
"Good fortune Shadeslayer, Arya" she murmured in the ancient language, and her farewell was echoed by elves from all around as Saphira beat her wings, and launched herself into the mist-ridden air.
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