THE DRAGON RIDERS

CHAPTER 3: RUDE AWAKENINGS

Eragon stirred feebly, feeling a pleasant warmth beside him. His head felt as if someone was trying to smash it open from the inside. He opened his eyes half way, studying his surroundings. He was deep in the forest, or so he thought, due to the many pine trees and small bushes encircling him. He lolled his head in a circle, searching for the source of the heat he felt. A small campfire was lit a few feet from him, and across it he saw a woman, a young looking woman, with red hair and glassy blue eyes, studying a large piece of parchment. With a sudden flash, Eragon remembered what had happened. His head throbbed as he relived the punch and kick the stranger had delivered to his head, and how he had seen his brother's bloodied body upon the ground. His mind began to work a little faster, although it was hard to focus with the dull pain in his head. He did not stir anymore, and closed his eyes, becoming much more conscious of his breathing. He knew that he probably couldn't run away from his assailant, for if she could knock him out with two effortless blows, she could probably overtake him when he had such a huge pain in his head. Eragon opened his eyes again, looking at the woman with more intensity.
Her eyelashes were thin and slanted, her ears slightly pointed at the tips, and her jaw was a little longer than most of the people he had encountered in his days. Her fingers were long and bony, as were her arms. Her skin had the slightest red tinge to it, despite her pale demeanor. Her other features otherwise looked entirely normal. She wore a brown travelling cloak, and her blue eyes were fixed on scanning the large parchment in front of her.

Eragon thought desperately of how to get away. If he made any quick movements, the woman was sure to look up. He looked in the opposite direction. There was an endless maze of trees and grass on the ground. On top of that, Eragon did not know where he was, or for how long he had been blacked out. He then realized he was wrapped in thick blankets and cloth to keep him warm. This confused Eragon. If the mysterious woman had meant to take him hostage or kill him, why keep him in such a condition. He could not feel any cuts or bruises on his body either. She doesn't want to hurt me, I think. She wants to take me somewhere, perhaps as a prisoner. But what could I bring? My family is as poor as anyone could get. What do I have that she wants?
With another flash of memory, Eragon remembered the small, strange, golden, six-limbed creature. He remembered what he had seen when he had touched the paralyzing blue stone.

That has to be it, thought Eragon. That must have been significant in some way. He then noticed through a cracked eye-lid that the woman with strange features had turned around and began to walk away. Before she left, however, she waved her hand around the fire, saying "Skolroko abn finduro." The flames beside Eragon became a lot livelier, and began to wave more violently with the wind. The woman disappeared into the darkness beyond.

Eragon's mind raced. What kind of dark art was that? He was sure he could feel something travel through the air towards the flames, like a great rush of energy. He sat up now, thoroughly confused and afraid. He decided then and there to run, for it was his only chance. He slowly got up and edged carefully away from the fire, the blankets still wrapped around him. When he was a safe distance away, he dropped the many layers of warmth and bolted into the unknown.

As he ran, he still could not fathom what the woman had done. He was absolutely sure that he had felt something dark when she had muttered those incomprehensible words. Eragon ran as fast as he could, ignoring the protest of his body to exert so much energy after laying peacefully sound asleep for that long. As he ran, he looked around for a high spot where he could examine his surroundings. He eventually found one; a large rock that looked out over the valley on the other side. As Eragon reached it, his heart leapt. He had could not have been out for that long. A few kilometers to the south was the town of Yazuac. He remembered the weeks where he and Garrow would travel down to the city to trade items with fellow merchants. He could easily traverse that distance within an hour, maybe even less. With a feeling of defiance and hope, the same feeling he had when he had snuck into the mayor's office at Carvahall, he skipped down the steep path, running with all his might. But then he remembered that his home was to the north, not too far away. No, thought Eragon. I can't endanger their lives by going back their. This person wants me, and she'll even kill my family to get to me. Again Eragon's mind reminisced about Murtagh's crimson body on the ground near the watering hole. Eragon felt disgusted with himself for bringing his brother with him. I'll never come back home again, I can't.

Within fifteen minutes, Eragon had managed to half the distance between him and the city, tears streaming down his eyes. He felt, however, alone. It was not because of the daunting prospect of just leaving his father with two missing children, one possibly dead without knowledge of the other. No, it was a different feeling, having nothing to do with them. There was some part of him missing, something inside him that he loathed being without. He had never felt like this before. And again his mind turned to the golden creature, and the feeling in the pit of his stomach seemed to ease. The very thought of the creature made Eragon smile for reason's he did not know. He even remembered how he had felt towards it after he had grazed its head. Eragon looked down at his right palm. The black slash was still there. He fingered it, and it did not smudge this time either. His pace slowed to a trot, then to a standstill. How could he abandon the creature? Eragon did not have the faintest idea why he felt such a strong pull towards it. For a few moments, Eragon's head went slightly crazy, and he considered going back for the creature, even though he did not see it at the campfire. He came back to his senses after realizing what might happen if his captor found him running away. He shuddered at the thought.
Eragon suddenly realized that he still had to march on, despite how his heart raged with anger. He began to start to run again when he felt something within his head. It was a foreign feeling, not his own. He could feel it like a real person as it searched his memories. Eragon was too shocked to even try to run. The thing inside his head suddenly became angry as it located the thoughts and memories of Eragon trying to run away. Suddenly, Eragon was immobilized, just like he had been when at the watering hole. He could not move no matter how hard he tried, and eventually fell to his side, rigid as a statue. The feeling in his mind searched farther in his memories, farther than Eragon himself could remember. The thing processed information so quickly that Eragon at times didn't know what he was seeing, even though it was inside his own brain. The last thing he saw was a face. It was a man. The person was young, maybe in his thirties. He had jet black hair, round, dark, deep black eyes, and a serpentine tattoo on his neck. The person's face was hard, unforgiving, and seemed to have hatred in its features. With that, the foreign feeling in his head had vanished.

Eragon was so confused, shocked, and afraid that he just wanted to run and not look back. But he couldn't. He did not have the strength to resist the power that was compelling him to stay still. After a few minutes, he heard soft footsteps running through the grass. Eragon stared with silent terror at the woman who had captured him. Despite her obvious anger, for her eyebrows were slanted downwards, her face seemed calm and welcoming. She lifted Eragon up with ease to his feet. Eragon felt the thing immobilizing him disappear.

"Walk, and please don't try to run away, for I do not wish to hurt you." said the woman. Her voice was very pleasing to listen to, almost lyrical. It sounded so beautiful that Eragon took a moment to respond. "Yes, of course." For a split second, the fear in him had subsided. But then he remembered the feeling of loneliness that had engulfed him a few moments ago, and that he had decided not to return to his family, that something strange had happened inside his head, and that the woman had been able to will the fire to do something extraordinary. He followed slowly, prepared for the woman to strike at him. They walked in silence for the entire walk back to the campfire, which seemed to take a painfully long while.

When they finally did reach the place, Eragon was too dumbstruck to say anything. This woman had been able to knock him unconscious and kill his brother and drag him all the way to Yazuac in the forest. She could even make inanimate objects do her wont, like the fire. Eragon sat there for a long while, shivering from fear at what might happen next. Then, thinking about his dead brother, he summoned the courage to speak. She had killed Murtagh, and she had to answer him. Sorrow welled up within Eragon's heart as he thought of his brother gingerly picking up his bow and running with him to the watering hole. Tears blurred his vision.

"What did you do to my brother?" he asked, trying to keep his voice as steady as possible. The woman looked up. "I healed him. Do not worry; he is not injured too severely. But I had to leave enough of a bruise and a few broken ribs so no suspicion would arise. He is probably resting in his bed right now with his and your father. Garrow is his name, yes?" Understanding dawned upon Eragon. "That, that thing inside my head was you." Fear crept up the nape of his neck, making his hairs stand on end. The woman sighed. "Yes, it was me, and it was also I who immobilized you."

"But, but how? That's impossible. You cannot make me do what you want. And what did you do to the fire?" The woman smiled. From within the depths of the many folds of her cloak, she pulled out a small pouch, and from it, pulled out the small golden creature. Eragon gasped, and without thinking, lunged for it. The woman stopped him with her hand. Her strength was amazing, thought Eragon. She pushed him back "You have become very special, Eragon." He began to speak, but the woman said quietly "Treyka." Eragon fell silent at once, immobilized once again. "You wonder how I entered your mind, and how I control you, and how I know all these things about you. Well, listen, and you shall receive your answers." She blinked once, took a deep breath, and began.

"This creature," she gestured at the golden creature, "is a dragon. That is right, a dragon. They are not myths created by old nut jobs, they are real. This one has chosen you to be its rider. That black gash on your right hand is called a Gedwey Ignasia. It is the mark that symbolizes the pairing between a dragon and a rider. You are now a Dragon Rider. The Riders are expected to be the mightiest warriors in the land, and also to be scholars, teachers, healers, and peacekeepers. A Rider never raises an arm against another in the act of intentionally inflicting some sort of distress. The order of the Riders has existed for thousands of years, and it is with the power and wisdom of the dragons that they became exceptionally powerful. The bond between Rider and dragon is as sacred as any religion or belief, for it has extreme realistic complications. The bond was originally forged by the elves of Du Weldenvarden after the two races met many years ago. The natural power of dragons coupled with the capabilities of the elves proved to be formidable. They originally formed the pact to fight a common enemy. There was a group of creatures, all controlled by a demon overlord, who ravaged Alagaesia, purging the land and casting a great shadow over everyone. The sun itself may have been blocked out. It was here that the two greatest races forged a bond so powerful that they could defeat the demons. The elves had the intelligence and the super senses, and the dragons had immense power, wisdom, and magical capabilities. That's right, magic. That is how I stopped you from moving. The elves were already spell casters, but were no match for the demon lord's slaves. The dragons enhanced the power of the elves, and, coupled with their already immense power, became the most formidable force in Alagaesia. Only a select few became Riders, though, ones who had certain traits and characteristics that drew the dragon to them. Still, the Legion, as the army of the demon lord was called, was a great force, and was not going to go down without a fight. History does not have many facts about how the Legion came to be, or how the Riders vanquished them, for it would take a tremendous amount of energy to perform such a task, along with the complex rituals and magic. Because of this great spell, the energy that is needed to sustain it still leeches off the land and all living things today, even you and I. The power of the elves and the dragons has withered somewhat compared to their former might, but they are still the fiercest races in all of Alagaesia. The order of the Riders was also nearly obliterated, along with the dragon race. But there was one Rider who understood so much more than the others. His name was Morthngal, the very first Dragon Rider. He looked beyond what he saw, and exploited the weaknesses of the entire Legion. He managed to eliminate some of the most powerful servants of the demon overlord, and he was eventually the one to kill the lord himself. The only fact about how he performed the killing was that he had to sacrifice himself to bring the demon lord back down to the fiery depths of hell. Other than that, no one knows truly what happened on that fateful day. With their leader and most trusted and educated of their order gone, the Riders then established a Council of Elders. This council consists of the three oldest Riders of the current order. For the next few thousand years, the land enjoyed the greatest age of all, with no war, prosperity everywhere, and none to defy the power of their rightful gods, the Dragon Riders. Nothing was powerful enough to defeat, them, nothing except one of their own."

The woman's face became troubled now, as if she was thinking about something that caused her pain. "It had been over many centuries since the Riders had been truly threatened by any force. No matter what problem had arisen, they could always, together, eliminate it. But they failed to keep their guard up. When one of their own, you may know his name, Galbatorix-" The word came off her mouth with disgust, for it seemed she did not even want to mention the traitor's name. "- had finished his first section in training, and had moved up in the ranks of the Riders as a Thor'gual, a rank that gave him the power to travel anywhere he wanted without repercussions, he travelled into the mountain range we are in now, called Du Lefs Janear, which translated into your tongue is The Hills of Death. Throughout the years, the Riders had forgotten what lay in these mountains; spirits, spirits of great power and evil. One should never enter too deeply into these mountains, for they would join the spirits and be enslaved for eternity. He travelled as far north as one should dare travel in Du Lefs Janear. When he reached the northern tip of the mountains, he found something; at least, that is what accounts of his travels can give us. What exactly that was, only the leader Council of Elders knows, and he loathes parting with such powerful secrets. He has only told a select few, among them Queen Islanzadi of the elves, and one other elf. There, Galbatorix lost his dragon, Jarnunvosk, most likely while trying to fend off the spirits that possess the land in that area. He went mad, for he had felt a living death. You remember, Eragon, how you felt when you were trying to escape, that feeling of being engulfed in darkness, of being alone, of wanting to turn back, abandon everything just to see the dragon again. That is why I was able to catch you, for if you ran for another minute or so, it would have taken me many hours to track you down if I did not guess the right path you had taken. Now, imagine if the dragon had died. You feel all the pain and joy your dragon does, as it feels all your pain and joy. You saw how it screeched in pain when I kicked you in the temple. Your thoughts are his, as his are yours. The bond intertwines your fates so tightly that the free exchange of thoughts and emotions, of feelings and hurts, and of every other want and need is constantly passed back and forth between you two. Now imagine if you lost such a part of yourself, after having many decades to share your life with another that was not another. Galbatorix went mad, and became exceedingly dangerous. Because of this, he returned a few months later to the Riders stronghold. There, he sought the Council of Elders, and begged for another dragon, for he wished he had another to share in his sorrow, for the grief overwhelmed him to such a degree that he could not contain himself on his own. The Elders refused his request, for they said that such an ignorant Rider that had been taught for almost thirty years had made such a grave mistake did not deserve another partner-in-life. They would not force a dragon into servitude, for it takes uncommon skill to make a dragon submit. Even if the dragon was favorable to Galbatorix, the Elders cast a spell, banishing him from becoming a true Rider once again. But the spell only prevented him from once again becoming a true Rider. He stole a dragon egg from the nesting place of the dragons, which he was able to do despite his flaws, for the dragons trusted him as much as they would any Rider, for the dragons who had lost their Riders and still lived sympathized with him. The rage in his heart gave him two paths, the two paths that automatically present themselves to any dragon or Rider that loses the other half of their soul. Either commit suicide, or suffer in silence and perform many acts of revenge. Galbatorix chose the latter. The dragons entrusted him with one of their eggs to give to the Council, which he accepted graciously. Instead of travelling to the ancient grounds of the Riders stronghold, he took a different path. He went back to the site of his first dragons death, and there, waited for the dragon to hatch. When it did, he most likely attempted to touch the stone incrusted in its head, but was unable to. Only the dragons true Rider, the one it deems worthy, is able to touch it."

"The magical implications forced Galbatorix not to lay a finger upon the stone. When he couldn't, as he probably expected, he performed some sort of ceremony and forced the dragon into servitude, which I previously said takes many arduous hours of great magical skill. What he did exactly remains a mystery, although the Council of Elders has most likely been able to deduce what he had done. It took almost a whole month before the Riders realized what Galbatorix had done. From their, they sent three of their order to search and destroy Galbatorix. They split up, each going to certain areas that he may be hidden. One travelled to the sight of Jarnunvosk's death. Their, he met Galbatorix, who engaged him in fierce battle. Galbatorix had been able to build his power up over the weeks, and was able to overwhelm Valengur and his dragon, Inglvard. Before he broke them, he stole the vast reserves of energy they had as well. With that power, he travelled south, gathering about him a group of twelve loyal minions. He sent them out as scouts and undercover agents. With them, he was able to steal large amounts of stored energy. Any magician may be able to store their energy in any sort of ancient form of rock, like a gemstone or a diamond. With even more power, he defeated the second Rider named Kialandi, and her dragon Mundrath. With such vast energy, he easily killed the last Rider, who was the weakest and least experienced. His name was Hortall, and his dragon's name was Firundra."

"With three of the Rider's order gone, Galbatorix quietly assembled an army through his twelve minions and attacked some small cities, sacking the town and building up an army. Soon, he controlled the entire northwestern section of Alagaesia. The Council of Elders had underestimated Galbatorix's power and knowledge, for he had experimented with new kinds of magic he had discovered in nature. They had only sent one Rider, a Thor'gual as well, Bertrive, with his dragon Kolbant. He was an extremely able warrior, and he led an army three thousand strong to invade the Empire of Galbatorix. The army was still not able to overwhelm Galbatorix's, whose warriors had uncommon skill, power, and magical capabilities, no doubt that Galbatorix had bestowed upon them using his knowledge of dark magic. It had been an invasion planned for a whole month, so Galbatorix was able to once again build up his power through unknown means, and set out to a one on one meeting. Along with Bertrive, there were seven other Dragon Riders, four of whom were young by the standards of Riders. The Council of Elders would not leave to fight unless their enemy proved to be a great foe. Since they had not had one in living memory, they could not believe that they were being overthrown. When Bertrive was battling with Galbatorix, his dragon was killed by the one Galbatorix had forced into servitude. Despite it being only a few months old, Galbatorix had increased his growth at a rapid rate, and placed many enchantments that leeched off the energy of its surroundings. With such dark magical protection, an experienced and well-trained dragon like Kobalt was unprepared for such a fight, and was caught napping when Shruikan, the name of Galbatorix's slave dragon, bit her head and twisted it, breaking her neck. The loss of his dragon shocked Bertrive so much, that he froze in mid combat. Given a few more minutes, he probably would have overwhelmed Galbatorix, but alas, he did not have such a stroke of luck. Galbatorix took advantage, for he knew that the rage in Bertrive's heart would allow him to immediately kill Galbatorix. He lopped off his head, and declared himself king of Alagaesia, for he had been able to defeat four of the mightiest warriors, the Dragon Riders, on his own."

"The Elders realized that they would have to send one of their own to topple the self-proclaimed king, so they sent second-in-command Rider Felwin, and his dragon, Leatran. They could match Galbatorix's knowledge and power, even exceed it. In the process of killing off the four Riders, Galbatorix had expanded his grip on the empire as far south as Dras Leonna and Uru'baen. He even sent small cavalries to raid the shipping cities of Teirm and Narda, which gave him substantial amounts of royalties to hire mercenaries. With his power, he even managed to infiltrate the levels of government in Surda. With no threat from the south or the west, Galbatorix assembled his forces, readying himself for a great battle. When Felwing arrived at the gates of Uru'baen with an army over ten-thousand strong, all of the soldiers bestowed with magical energy, he sought out Galbatorix, and asked him why he had committed such treason. He simply replied that the thirst for his revenge could never be quenched, and the only way to relieve his sorrow was to alleviate it by making others suffer as much as he did. With that, he engaged, mind and body, with Felwin. Unlike before, Felwin proved to be too great an adversary for Galbatorix. His mind was much stronger, his knowledge astounding, and prodigious skill in swordsmanship and magic proved to be more than Galbatorix could chew. But again, the matter of dragons arose. Unlike Felwin and Leatran, or Valengur and Inglvard, or Bertrive and Kobalt, or the other Riders he had defeated, he was not mentally linked with Shruikan. He did not feel his pain or his suffering, and exchanged his thoughts with him only when Galbatorix consented to. Felwin constantly felt jolts of pain through Leatran, and it was then that he decided to fight upon his dragon's back. Together, they could both obliterate Galbatorix and free Shruikan. Eventually, Felwin joined Leatran, as Galbatorix did with Shruikan. The slave dragon's inexperience was a great flaw, as with his master. Within minutes, Felwin disarmed the ex-Rider, and was about to finish the job when something strange happened. Three golden orbs from within Shruikan spurted from his mouth, and sped towards Felwin. He did his best to fight off the objects, but they drew blood wherever they met skin, and burned like the greatest fire. With Felwin distracted and weakened, Galbatorix once again proved his superior intellect by stabbing one of the greatest Riders through the heart. When this happened, Leatran used an inexplicable amount of energy to blow away the burning orbs, and sought out to tear Galbatorix limb from limb for destroying his soul. But with rage comes misjudgment, even with the oldest and wisest; once again, Shruikan was able to elude death and, with Galbatorix's help, slowly tortured the great dragon into defeat. Galbatorix struck the final blow, cracking the stone in Leatran's head, which is a very rare feat, for the hardness of the stone is unmatched by any diamond or gem."

"With this great victory, he had eliminated five of the twelve Riders and their dragons at the time. Knowing the power he possessed, the leader of the Riders, Vrael, retreated along with the remaining four Riders, moving the stronghold of the Riders deep within the forest of Du Weldenvarden, where it is beyond Galbatorix's reach. Since then, we have been able to produce one dragon egg, a golden one, which hatched but a few weeks ago. A dragon only hatches when the name of its Rider is uttered, which is discovered by an ancient ritual performed by a Shaman, a dark form of spell caster. I managed to track you down, and the rest you know. That is why I had to do what I did. Galbatorix would have felt the warping in the world when your hand was placed upon your dragon's stone, and would have sent his guards to capture you and bring you to him, so you could be enslaved until the end of time. I do not think you would have come peacefully, in fact, I know. I used telepathy to enter your mind and see if you had experienced any sort of odd behavior. I am sorry if I intruded upon memories that were private, but it was necessary. And I apologize for hitting you twice with such force, but again, it needed to be done. Now, you must travel with me to the elf capital of Ellesmera, where your training will commence. I know you did not ask for this, for I know you probably do not want to abandon the life you've known for fifteen years to serve under the rule of others, trying to bring down the most powerful enemy this land has seen since the Legion, but it is your duty. Including you, there are seven Riders, excluding Galbatorix. Despite what looks like favorable odds, his army has grown large, as many people have joined the empire out of fear and hopelessness. Not many openly oppose the king, except for a rebel group based in the dwarves mountains, who are solely dedicated to overthrowing the king, although they have little to no chance of doing so without the help of the Riders, elves, dwarves, humans, and everyone willing to help. That includes you, Eragon. You must do this, for the sake of all of Alagaesia, so we can finally end this tyranny. You hated how his soldiers invaded your village; now imagine that on a much larger scale. It would be horrible. Together, the races of Alagaesia may yet be able to overcome the odds and defeat Galbatorix. But there is little time, and we cannot spend decades training you, for it still won't be enough. Remember this, though. You can never return to your family, for the king's soldiers will be there, ready for an ambush. Your brother Murtagh will be fine, and so will your father, Garrow. But the choice is yours. Either stay here and risk capture, or join the legendary ranks of the Dragon Riders, and restore this land to peace and exact revenge on that oath-breaker Galbatorix. What will it be, Eragon Garrowsson?"

Eragon had listened the whole while with hysterical expression upon his face. It was too much to take in. He had often heard tales of Dragon Riders and of Galbatorix before, but he never imagined for once that they were real. This is happening too fast. His heart raced, his mind went numb. The amount of information he had just received was too much to comprehend. He floundered for a few moments, and then thought about what he had just heard. It has to be true. How else would Galbatorix's soldiers be able to kill fifty men when they were outnumbered over two to one? And now I must become one of these Dragon Riders. I am not a killer, and I'm still not even a man yet. I can't be of any use to them, at least, not right now. And what of my family? Given what has happened, I can return to them, but without the dragon, and I won't do that. I'd hate to tear myself in half like that. No, this woman is right. I have to never return, and never tell my father what has happened until Galbatorix is dead. Still, can I trust this person? She doesn't even look human to me? Finally speaking, he said "I, I will accept. But tell me, why should I trust you?"

The woman glared at him for a full five seconds. "Atra reyana de jo felio. That means, I mean you no harm. I spoke in the Ancient Language, the language of truth and magic. All spells must be performed in that tongue. One cannot knowingly lie in this language. For example, you should try 'Gi hath ono kona.' It means I am a girl. Try to say it, you won't be able to. Eragon repeated the phrase, but could not utter the final word. Try as he might, he choked upon the word, and could not force it out of his mouth. Amazed, Eragon conceded. He trusted that this woman meant no harm, even though he was not entirely sure that the phrase 'Atra reyana de jo felio' meant I mean you no harm. Her facial features along with her piercing blue eyes gave her a ferocious yet tender demeanor. She was beautiful in a terrible, exotic kind of why. He gazed at her, hunger in his eyes, and then found himself again. He asked "Can I perform magic as well now that I am a Rider?" He could not contain the eagerness from his voice.

The woman looked at him so sternly that he cowered under her gaze. "Yes, you can. But if would unwise for you to attempt it. Real magic is not like the tales you've probably heard in your village. You do not know its limitations, or how to even cast a spell. You have no knowledge of the Ancient Language, and therefore cannot perform any kind of magic. You also have to have the physical energy to sustain a spell that you cast. If you attempt to make a fifty foot tall tree rise in the air, you must have the actual energy within yourself to execute such a feat. If you try to do something with magic that you are not capable of doing through normal means, you will die from pouring all your energy into the spell. So do not try to use magic with the few words that you know. It is dangerous if you do not know how to stem the flow of energy. I will escort you eastward to Ellesmera during the next few weeks, and during those travels I will teach you basic skills with swords and magic. I know from your memories that you are quite familiar with a bow, so I would advise you to carry one at all times. For now, you must rest, so you can regain your energy for the morning."

The woman turned around, when a very simple question occurred to Eragon. "What is your name?" She stopped and looked back, her eyes hard, her face intensified. "Arya, Arya Svit-kona." Eragon thought for another second or two, and then made a bold move. "You're not human." It was a statement, not a question. She looked even more cold and distant than before, but still her voice was lyrical and soothing. Suddenly Eragon noticed the slanted eyebrows, the pointed ears, the long face, the bony fingers, and the thin neck. He felt a something rumble in his stomach. "No, I'm not one of your kind. I am an elf of Du Weldenvarden, although I am not like the other members of my race. I have been travelling Alagaesia for many years, being the ambassador and messenger of the elves. It is I who relays messages between the humans, dwarves, and elves, and it is I who connect the three races together. It is hard work being away from home, but it is necessary work. Because I am an elf, it is why I am entrusted with the secrets of the Riders and their ancient stories. And it is why I had the strength to overtake you, and knock you unconscious. It is also why I am able to perform telepathy and magic."

Eragon was in deep awe of this woman, no, this elf, named Arya. Her beauty, knowledge, and power astounded him. Are all elves like this, he wondered. Imagine the power. And if they, with their numbers, for the have been in this country for thousands of years, isn't enough, along with the Riders, to defeat Galbatorix, what use is a fifteen year old farm boy from Carvahall. Then again, it is my duty, if I understood what Arya said, and I have only one path ahead of me. "I will cooperate with you and do what you say, for I trust you." Arya's pose diminished somewhat, as she relaxed her flexed muscles. "Good, good. Now, please, get some rest. I can see the look on your face, it answers for you."

With that, she lay down in her small cot, closing her eyes and turning away from Eragon, who still had a hundred questions still pestering him. With reluctance, he lay down on the mat he had vacated about hour earlier, slipping into the land of dreams, his mind buzzing with the things he had just heard. But still, the elf, Arya, kept cropping up in his mind. He eventually fell asleep, with his last vision being seeing the elf kneeling over him with the stars glistening behind her, which was the last thing he had seen before she had knocked him unconscious.

And there he was, on a battle field. He saw thousands of people, bloodied and mangled, running around desperately. He saw to his left a dirtied river, full of crimson spots. A sea of blood seemed to be raining from the sky. Magnificent, unknown creatures with the most ravenous looks circled the ground, killing everything within reach. Above him soared a majestic golden creature, looking more powerful than the sun itself. Blood dripped from its underside. And there before him stood his younger brother, only a little older and less enthusiastic. And from his chest protruded a death-stained sword, so engulfed in blood that the true color of the blade was hard to see. The look on his brother's face was not of unease, but rather one of freedom. And he fell into the darkness, the most peaceful expression upon his bruised and scarred face.