The Dragon Riders
Chapter 5: Advanced Training
Branch to branch. Leaves scattered with every movement, allowing the rays of the sun to break through. Twigs snapped and various animals scurried away, frightened from their slumbers. Birds flapped furiously into the sky; squirrels climbed quickly to higher positions. The array of colours of the leaves formed a collage of time; red, orange, and a few remnants of the natural green that once thrived vibrantly in the forest, although fading to a dull yellow. The various scents clustered in such a condensed section perfumed the air in a confusing manner, reminiscent of hope. A cold breeze worked its way through every inch of space, encompassing everything in a grip of discomfort. The land seemed to be frozen in place, moving within a certain boundary, limited by an unknown force. While it seemed life stretched on endlessly in each direction, it was a desolate existence, void of freedom and held rigidly, qualitatively worthless and quantitatively plentiful. The tree bark felt firm and provided good grip, similar to burnt lumber. Now to the ground, still a moist cushion at this time; the perfect texture to stalk and pounce on unsuspecting prey. A leaf fell, glistening in the light, highlighting the decaying shade of green. It fell gracefully, caressed lovingly in the air before meeting the ground as gently as a mother would place a newborn down. Of course a newborn could be picked back up.
Eragon's eyes flew open. He felt tense, shaken. The dream he had just experienced was so life-like, so extremely realistic, it was as if he had felt the trees and the ground with his own limbs, smelt the unique air with his own nose, seen the leaf fall to death so suddenly that life still thrummed within it. He could still almost feel the rough tree bark on his hands, the cold wind blanketing him. Carefully he sat up, afraid that he was still in the branches high above the ground. His surroundings were quite ordinary and actually caused him disappointment. Compared to the splendor and vividness of the dream, the experience around him was extraordinarily dull. In his dream, still fresh in his mind, things seemed more, alive. Colours were sharper, finite details were much more apparent; every sound had reverberated in his head, echoing with euphony. The sheer vibrancy of his dream juxtaposed with his reality was so great, he hoped that he was dreaming now. Unfortunately, as he rose to his feet, it became much clearer that this was what he had come to know for the past 15 years. Despite this realization, he could still recall how far he could see in the forest, how he could feel the life in it, fading away ever so slowly. Perhaps it's better not to see things for their full truth.
Now alert, Eragon rose from his bed, surprisingly comfortable despite consisting of a simple array of blankets. Beside it was a darkened patch of dirt, with peculiar animal prints heading into the woods. The prints took a carefree route before stopping at the foot of a rotting stump, the trunk devoured voraciously. Claw marks were gouged all the way to the top before disappearing into the air. He approached the trunk, wondering at the ferocity and strength such a miniscule creature could possess.
A twig with a single leaf dropped on his head, startling him from his study. As he looked up, he was blinded by a blaze of golden light as a generous weight slammed into his head. Immediately knocked to the ground, Eragon rolled about aimlessly, desperately attempting to shake off the intruder. Despite his efforts, he eventually found himself on his back, spent of energy, staring up into two molten eyes wide with curiosity. An overwhelming sense of joy overtook Eragon. He did not know where it came from, but his happiness resonated with the dragon's and its with his. It gave him a long, sloppy lick on the face, which caused him to burst out in laughter. The dragon attempted to make an effort at this verbal feat, mimicking Eragon's movements and sounds. A small puff of smoke emerged from its mouth and sparks flew from its nostrils, searing the tips of Eragon's tattered collar. He recoiled slightly, unaware of this power. He sat up and set the dragon on his lap, tickling it under the chin. A humble growl emanated from within the depths of its throat.
Amazing. Only a few days old and already his powers are developing. I wonder what I'm capable of at this point.
Not much greater than what you possessed a few suns ago, jested Glaedr. Dragons are born with vast potential. We are capable of performing many abilities with unusual amounts of power. I am only beginning to tap into a well of infinite abilities, with much time ahead of me. You, as great as you may become, are limited in what you can do and will not learn your talents as naturally as I do. There is a reason dragons are the mightiest race in all of Alagaesia. You've already experienced first-hand how developed my senses are.
Eragon smiled at the amount of pride and regality Glaedr carried. His thoughts carried a sense of self-righteous purpose, an unflinching certainty that could persuade even the most stubborn minds. The last sentence of Glaedr's self-praise escaped Eragon for a few fleeting moments.
I was seeing through your eyes!? Eragon asked, bewildered. I've never experienced something so real in all my years. Do you always see, hear, smell, and feel this clearly?
It is as ordinary to me as anything. Glaedr's attempt at modesty was blatantly feeble if that, and he seemed to revel in the compliments Eragon ferried, his assertiveness in his superiority solidifying. This also warmed Eragon inside, as if someone had made a pleasant comment about his appearance. Would you like to look again?
Eagerly, Eragon closed his eyes. Glaedr had sensed his longing to feel the world as a dragon does. Eragon opened them again, and was astounded at the difference. He could see the patterns in the bark of trees, the veins of leaves, the individual colours in the dirt. A minty, flowery scent wafted over his nostrils, entrancing him in a state of awe. He then saw himself sitting before his very own eyes. The tears and stains on his clothes were highlighted, his boots peeling off, the colours fading with a greyish hue. The imperfections on his skin were also apparent. Various gashes, scars, and bruises were much more contrasted with the paleness of his face. His scruffy brown hair seemed to have been rolled in dirt several times, and his eyes were a much more distinct shade of chestnut then he had remembered.
The more he studied his face through these omniscient eyes, the more he thought about his life. The joys and hardships of a past that was so plain, simple, and straightforward it was almost complicated how one could create a pleasant life from it all came to light. From trips with Garrow down to Yazuac to extort ransoms for limited supplies, to helping his younger brother keep a dog in secret, to simply sitting down in front of a roaring fireplace and exchanging stories with his family while sipping on tea and eating treats. It was peaceful solitude between the three of them, and just them. His thoughts turned sour when he thought of the guard who had given him the battle-scar on his right forearm, when soldiers had unjustly confiscated an entire wagon's worth of supplies as taxes from Garrow during one of their excursions to Yazuac, to his brothers bloodied body, abandoned in a forest, alone. He had left his family, the only people and life he had ever truly known, behind in an instant, and had barely dwelled on that thought. What could be going through his father's mind; anger and fear at why his eldest son had disappeared spontaneously, leaving an injured child and an aging farmer to fend for themselves with the upcoming winter being one of the harshest in years. Those were just a few of the questions Eragon saw in himself, and he had no answers, nor wanted to hear them, let alone ponder the possibilities.
Enough¸ said Glaedr, and within an instant Eragon was himself again, seeing the world as hollow again, all surface, no depth. I did not mean to cause you pain and sorrow, Eragon. It pains me greatly to see you suffer in any way. Don't forget your family, Eragon, but you must push them aside for now. What good will it do to contemplate endlessly on something that you aren't going to find out? None. It only harms the soul to busy oneself with unnecessary thoughts. Focus on the task at hand; invest all your efforts in getting to Ellesmera as quickly and safely as possible to begin our training, together as Dragon and Rider.
Glaedr's reassurance resonated deeply with Eragon. It was exactly what he had wanted and needed to hear. The dragon's understanding of his psychology, of the emotional implications that would result from the journey Eragon was about to undertake, was greater than Eragon's own. It was as if Glaedr knew him better than Eragon did himself, yet his input was that of a separate entity. He now gazed at the golden dragon, now kneeling down and staring intently and questioningly at Eragon. He had never felt so protective of anything. His attachment bordered on obsession, a bond so strong it would never, could never, be broken. He had previously only ever cared for his insignificant family, supporting them, maintaining their well-patterned lifestyle, keeping things as pleasant and orderly as possible. Now that was gone, snatched away in a single moment, yet the urge to employ these behavioural feelings persisted. Again his eyes rested on the dragon, and calm came over him. The basic sight of him safe, healthy, and sound, was enough to ease all of his ailments, mind, body and soul. He would transfer the care he had built up for his family to Glaedr, for they could no longer exist in the present situation. The dragon was all that was left that he could invest in intimately, and their relationship, although a few suns old, was as intense and strong as anything Eragon had ever experienced, still growing with each passing second. Together, as Dragon and Rider.
He cradled the dragon now, his eyes sweeping over its glistening scales. He then found the blue stone incrusted in its forehead, every shade of blue swimming within its depths. He recalled the how that was the aspect of the dragon he was most drawn to, the hypnotic colours bending his will effortlessly. He remembered the storm of visions that had swept through his mind, but pushed them out immediately, when he began to see where they led. Eragon now looked at his right palm, his Gedwey Ignasia, as Arya had labelled it. With trepidation, he placed it evenly across the blue stone. To his surprise, his mind remained in the present. His palm, however, warmed at the touch, and he felt rejuvenated, almost healed. His aches disappeared, his muscles relaxed, any and all hurts vanishing. It was a different sensation then the one he felt when Arya had supplied him with energy. This was a warm, calming feeling, whereas the transfer of raw power was more of a shock, as if he had been plunged in freezing cold water.
"Peculiar powers a dragon and Rider share," a melodious voice stated behind him.
Eragon looked up quicker than usual. He had forgotten the elf's presence. He felt somewhat embarrassed at showing so much emotion to a stranger, this one in particular. Her translucent blue eyes lingered over them. Her words seemed to hold a hint of envy.
"Peculiar indeed." Eragon felt Glaedr's sense of accomplishment resonate within him.
Arya allowed herself a weak smile, and then stood up. The grace and flow with which she moved was overwhelming even in the simplest movements. Eragon stared, transfixed. She was elegant and regal, sleek and nimble. Yet she had displayed tremendous amounts of power and speed, dispatching five well trained soldiers without a twitch of effort on her face.
"We should be off. From the map we secured, there is a military outpost stationed not too far South from here. No doubt they'll be wondering what happened to the patrol they had sent out. I'd rather not have to deal with such petty distractions. We are still two suns from reaching the edge of Du Weldenvarden, my homeland, and from there it will take roughly a fortnight to reach Ellesmera, which resides in the heart of the Great Forest."
She began gathering and packing supplies, and Eragon followed suit. Within fifteen minutes they had wrapped up the blankets and placed the food supplies in the many compartments of the saddle. As he climbed the steed (something Arya did by simply jumping from her toes), Glaedr hopped on as well from a branch above. The bat-like wings had grown somewhat, and the tail was already developing miniature spikes. Arya turned around.
"It's alright for him to be in the open, but if I say hide him, do it." It was a command, not a request. Eragon nodded solemnly, Glaedr's displeasure screaming inside him, his pride insulted at being deemed too weak for engagement. A low growl emerged from him, surprisingly vicious.
It is too dangerous, Arya warned, communicating directly with Glaedr, allowing Eragon to hear as well. Any sign of something even remotely close to a dragon will arouse great suspicion, and we won't be facing common foot soldiers that are simply doing their job. We would encounter much darker, stronger entities hand-picked by the King himself. I'd rather not lose another Dragon and Rider to the clutches of evil.
Eragon agreed, Glaedr reluctantly; the dragon had not put the matter to rest. And off they rode. Despite the beating sun, the atmosphere was abnormally cold; the appearance of brightness and warmth was a mask for a bitter cold that shadowed the land. They travelled on a rough road that seemed to have not been travelled upon for years. Overgrown grass and obstructive logs spilled over the path, forcing them at one point to dismount and clear a path. The forest was deafeningly silent, any minor sound magnified tenfold. The shrubs shivered in the wind, leaves crackling. It wasn't solitude, it was isolation.
As they turned they turned the corner, they encountered an unexpected problem. A river, approximately twenty feet across, lay before them. The rapids lashed angrily, frantically trying to reach its destination. Jagged rocks protruded from the water, creating a violent combination that portrayed pain. Eragon examined his surroundings. The river's width seemed to be consistently wide, with no way to pass safely. Far down the river to the left he saw the remnants of an ancient bridge in the river, having collapsed from prolonged exposure to the elements. The rotting wood was covered in moss and was on the verge of snapping clean from the intense pressure of the current, which no doubt had also contributed to its destruction. Arya spoke.
"I guess we'll have to make a way across." Perplexed, Eragon watched as she dismounted her steed and stood by the side of the river, peering over the edge, cupping some of the water in her hand and examining it closely. She then stood up and looked around, seemingly measuring her surroundings with her deliberate eyes. She walked over to a nearby fallen tree, dead for some time. With both arms, she stood it on its base, and lifted it over to the river shore. Eragon was astounded, and he felt a great respect rise within Glaedr at this miraculous feat of strength. With a slight nudge, she tipped the log over the river so it would lie across both sides. However, the log did not fall at a natural space. Instead, it slowed half way through its fall and seemed to be placed on the ground by an invisible hand. She repeated this process several times with other similar sized logs that she seemed to find instantaneously and from great distances. At one point she set off into thick brush and out of nowhere grabbed and dragged, with ease, another two logs. Eragon wondered how she could see, let alone carry them as if they lay there before her. After a few minutes, she had assembled a makeshift bridge, with half a dozen or so logs laid across the river from one side to another.
"We still can't cross with the horses, the logs will separate," Eragon stated. He doubted the horses would even attempt to cross. Arya, ignoring his theory, kneeled by the log-bridge and placed her palms on them. She then began to mumble indistinguishable words that, despite being barely more than a whisper, pounded relentlessly against Eragon's ears. He knew not what the words meant, but could feel their weight pressing against him, the power and authenticity they carried astounding. He walked over to where Arya knelt, and stared wide-eyed. The logs had begun to mold together, melting and reshaping until they lay, unified, as a solid, single platform. He jumped as he felt tremors below him. The ends of the logs were being absorbed into the ground, providing stability to the contraption. With a few more unsettling words brimming with knowledge and preciseness, the bridge was complete.
It was an amazing piece of work, Eragon thought. The top was smoother than the finest hardwood floors found in the homes of the upper-class. The bridge was a natural extension from the soil, appearing to grow out of one end and into the other. Any human would be dumbfounded as to how such exquisiteness was achieved, and why in such a desolate, mediocre part of the land.
"Quickly now," Arya beckoned, and Eragon recovered from his fixation on the bridge, mounted his steed, and followed her across. The horses seemed indifferent to this new development, disregarding the river below. He started to comment on her work.
"That was - " Eragon couldn't think of a word to sum up his feelings of awe, fear, respect, desire, and pure bewilderment at the act Arya had just performed. Sensational, remarkable, unbelievable, Glaedr finished. Once again the dragon was able to capture and communicate the feelings Eragon felt within with the greatest clarity and exactness. Arya's razor teeth glinted in the light as she gave a smile, looking more animalistic than usual. The powers she possesses are extraordinary; can you imagine what other members of her race are capable of. Eragon agreed. He also felt a twinge of fear; if elves as mighty as Arya were a dime a dozen in Du Weldenvarden, and had remained dormant for decades in the shadow of Galbatorix, just how powerful an enemy were they facing?
Focused on his thoughts, Eragon barely realized Arya had stopped three quarters of the way across the bridge. She stared intently into the forest, still as a rock. Silence overtook them; even the river was muted. "Hide him."
Confused, Eragon opened his mouth. As he was about to speak, his horse let out a gargantuan bellow and stood on its hind legs. Eragon fell hard on the spell-bound bridge, landing on his good arm. The steed, packed with supplies Arya had previously stored and the remnants of the roving cavalry they had encountered, bolted with lightning speed in the opposite direction. Eragon stood up groggily, wondering at the animal's sudden disappearance. He turned around. Arya's steed had also vanished, having sensed danger as well. She had, unlike Eragon, managed to retain the saddle. Her sword was drawn in her right hand, her right palm open. She was frozen in space, unflinching. Eragon also drew his sword, gripping it tightly, ready to react to any oncoming attackers. He drew closer, silent. After a minute of inactivity, he felt it was safe to speak once again.
"What's going on - " he was cut off instantly. A force, unlike any he had felt before, hit him all over his body at the same time. He was thrown back several feet to the beginning of the bridge, landing hard again, this time on his back.
"HIDE HIM!" she screamed.
Eragon lay there for a moment, recollecting himself. The impact with which he had landed was not great, but jarring nonetheless. He sat up slowly, trying to figure out what was happening. Ahead of him, he saw what had disrupted their journey. A dark figure, ragged and decayed, stood before Arya. A hood covered the creatures face. From what Eragon could make it out, it bore no clothing of any sort apart from the hood. Its body seemed to be burnt and rotting, flakes of skin peeling off much like the wood on the walls of the tool shed in Palancar Valley. The body seemed hollow yet solid. Along the forearms were jagged black spikes running from the wrist all the way up to the elbow, darker in contrast to the rest of the body, which had a grey overcast. He could not make out the hands, if that is what the beast had. The creature had a demonic, unholy demeanor, its presence a sign of impending doom. And then it spoke.
"We are hhheeere for it. Ssstand down and die quickly. Or not, I enjoy the thrill of ripping the life from one in a feebele sstruggle, and it has been eessspecially long since we've indulged on the blood of an elllf." Every word came has an echoing whisper, the words hanging in the air with malice, casting a shadow of despair upon the land. They didn't feel ferocious, or angry. They were systematic, intent on destruction and inflicting punishment. Arya didn't budge. In fact, she assumed a ready stance. The creature laughed, and it was beyond terrifying. It was a harsh, cacophonic noise, akin to the snarl of an angry animal. "Verrry well." It enjoyed the opportunity to bring death unwillingly against a struggling opponent.
It attacked, throwing its arms up and then down hard, the spikes screaming for fresh blood. With even greater speed, Arya brought her sword up to catch the blow, but was thrown off balance, something Eragon had not yet seen from her. With unnatural agility, the creature began to swing wildly with its arms. Arya deflected all the blows, backing off and dancing on her toes as she did. The creature jabbed, slashed, and hacked furiously, but to no avail. Arya's was able to anticipate his each and every move, and Eragon could sense its growing frustration. Its movements grew wilder, allowing Arya to land small nicks and cuts here and there, which it seemed to ignore altogether. No blood oozed from the open wounds. Instead, a few plumes of dust emerged as metallic dust spilled to the ground.
Don't just stand there like a fool, act! Glaedr roared. Eragon stopped admiring the fight, rising to his feet again, faster this time. The words Arya had shouted at him and what had transpired finally took effect.
Where are you, I can sense you nearby.
Hiding like she told me to do. Now help her, I'm safe in the trees, do not worry. The one thing Eragon couldn't do was not worry. He advanced towards the fight, Arya and the creature still exchanging frantic blows with inhumane power and speed, especially for their size. As he did, however, he felt something. It wasn't Glaedr, he knew that much. It was foreign, unknown, and held him in place. It also wasn't the same feeling as when Arya had subdued him magically. He could still move, but an anxiety kept him frozen to the spot, fearing any movement would cause tremendous harm. He became aware of his body, his breathing, every single nerve responding unnecessarily to an approaching danger. A danger that came a moment later, as a sharp object slashed him across the upper back, knocking him down and sending him tumbling forwards in fear. Eragon let out a wale as the scar tore further, the blood seeping through his shirt. There was a burning sensation as well, as if someone had doused his wounds with salt. His sword was luckily still in hand. He spun around and swung aimlessly, not caring what he hit as long as he hit something.
He had swung with his injured right arm, and the sword moved slowly through the air. It stopped mid-flight, making contact with his attacker. Eragon looked up. Another one of the dark, hooded creatures had emerged. It held the blade of the sword he had retrieved earlier in its grip. Eragon could now inspect the hands of the creature. They were thick yet skeletal in nature, and the texture was consistent with the rest of its body; flayed, rotted, and burnt. There was an ink-like substance coursing throughout the hand and dripping on the ground, colouring the grass a deathly shade of black. There were five fingers, identical to a human, but the nails extended much like daggers, and had serrated edges. The feet were much like that of a bird; three toes, each with a talon used to capture, subdue, gouge, maim, and ultimately kill prey. Eragon dared a glance upwards. The body had a rough exterior, sinewy and unwrinkled. As he looked further upward, he saw just the underside of the face, the rest hidden beneath a hood. A small beak curved downwards, covered in red with meat hanging from the sides, no doubt from the creatures last indulgence. A waft of air came over Eragon, bringing with it the scent of the creature. It was a vile, putrid odour that reeked of the most foul and loathsome combinations he had ever experienced in his life. His eyes watered and skin burned. A green leaf beside him crumpled and turned brown at the creature's devastating breath. It walked over to him purposefully, almost dutifully.
At this point Eragon had recovered from his trance and had withdrawn several feet. But still the creature came closer, more horrific and disturbing than anything Eragon had ever seen, heard of, or even imagined. Another wave of its aroma came over Eragon, forcing him to cover his eyes and cough hard. The cuts on his arms burned greatly as he brought them up to shield from the stench. Closer it came. Closer, closer, until it as standing right over him. Eragon stared up into the hood, and thought he saw a glint of red.
At that moment, a single green leaf fell on the head of the creature, singed at its touch. This momentary distraction caused it to look up. As it did, from another section of the forest, there was a flash of dazzling light. Before Eragon could comprehend what had happened, the creature was rolling on the floor, desperately flailing. Glaedr had pounced on its unsuspecting head, and began clawing and biting with disturbing viciousness. The creature let out several squeals as the dragon punctured every bit of skin it could reach, avoiding the heavily spiked forearms and sharp nails. Again Eragon sat still, too scared to act upon this advantage. It rolled and rolled until finally it had regained some measure of composure and stood up. With one head shake, the creature flung Glaedr into a nearby tree, sending him to the ground hard. Eragon felt a jolt of pain run through his spine and knees. It shocked him back into reality, and he lunged for his sword. Except the creature's talons clutched the blade. It stooped down and picked up the sword. The cling was abnormally loud as the metal snapped in two pieces. Eragon gazed at the monster, defeated. He had no way to defend himself, and Glaedr was injured. Glaedr, his dragon, his partner-in-life. The one he had sworn to protect, not only because of their bond, but as homage to Garrow and Murtagh, to make sure their sacrifices were not in vain. And this thing had tossed him aside, as leisurely as a toy a child grows tired with.
A curious thing happened next. A tingly feeling swelled deep within him, nowhere in particular. A pulse of energy ran through him, coursing in his veins. He concentrated it, and directed it all into one single burst. With a yell, he released this pent up excess of energy, letting it spill into the external world. There was flash of bright blue light, similar to flames, and he sent the creature flying back, over the bridge, and into the water. His knees buckled and he collapsed on the spot, too weak to keep his frame upright. He could only watch as Arya continued dueling with the other creature. Both were still trading blows with enormous strength, neither seeming to gain the upper hand. Why doesn't she just use magic?
The other creature, now in the river, was squealing with displeasure. It struggled to stay afloat, and could barely hold on to the rock that kept it from being swept away. This noise pierced Eragon, reminding him of a severely injured yet conscious deer. The creature was calling out for its partner, which was too intently locked with Arya to pay any attention. The creature sparring with Arya recoiled as a few of the spikes on its arm went flying. It backed away further into the forest, leaving the other trapped helplessly in the water. Eragon watched as it retreated further into the forest, dismayed. It was surprised at how successfully the elf had fended it off. It let out choked, rasping snarl, and took a vicious swipe at Arya with its knife-like claws. However, Arya once again bettered the creature's technique, and with one simple movement, swatted the hand-claw down, making a crunching noise upon impact. The creature let out a high-pitched squeal, drowning out the whimpers of the one stuck in the river entirely. Clutching the injured hand in the other, it leaped to the side, attempting to evade further damage. It began to run, and the movements were eerily similar to how a human would run, albeit with twice as much speed. Arya made a slight motion with her hand, and the creature tripped on itself, landing hard at the edge of the river.
At that exact moment, the one in the river, devoid of energy, slipped past the rock, and was swept down the river, being thrown about like a rag doll. The creature on land managed to grab on to the outstretched arm of its helpless partner, the claws lodging in with the barbed arms. Arya methodically approached, her sword dangling at her side. The creature managed a feeble kick, at which Arya responded with a hard stomp, snapping the ankle. Another squeal. Arya pointed her sword directly at the throat of the thing, considering it for a moment. A gust of wind followed, removing the hood. Eragon could only make out a beak longer than what he had expected. Arya raised her sword, and let it fall gracefully upon the creature. The disturbing whines stopped, the body convulsing slightly. A hissing sound emerged from the remaining creature, still unable to remove itself from the water. Arya drew her sword to her hip, poised to land another fatal strike. Sensing doom, the creature twisted with every ounce of energy it had. Arya's swipe connected with its arm, slicing through effortlessly and sending it spinning high into the air. The creature's screams died away as it was swept down the river, ramming into rocks as it did so. Arya stood for a moment, collecting herself. She then sheathed her sword and made her way towards Eragon, labouring. She seemed noticeably weakened by the ordeal.
"Are you alright," she said, kneeling beside him and examining his wounds. Eragon drew a few deep breaths and readjusted himself, sitting upright.
"I think I'm fine, just a little weak." Arya placed her hand on his shoulder, preparing to transfer some energy into him. He swatted her hand away. "I don't need it. I can still walk. Besides, you look like you need every ounce of energy you can muster." She did not protest, and Eragon sensed relief emanate from her. Eragon's eyes lingered over her. She had not a single cut or bruise, her pristine skin still intact. Her hair had darkened with sweat and clung to her face. Her breathing was heavy, her frame looking more delicate. The pointed ears burned red. She had managed to deflect every blow that came her way, yet she looked as if all the blood had left her body completely. A sharp jolt ran through his back, snapping him out of his trance. Glaedr.
With reserves of energy he didn't know he had, Eragon leaped up and sprinted to the dragon, their connection guiding Eragon to him. He found Glaedr nestled in a bed of leaves, licking his paw. Eragon reached for him, only for his fingers to be nipped at. He withdrew as his crimson dripped from his fingers. He attempted to talk mentally with the dragon, but found this form of communication ineffective. Glaedr had blocked him out, and Eragon felt as if he was talking to a brick wall that blocked out all sound.
Leave him be, he felt Arya say inside his head. Dragons are proud creatures and Glaedr is no exception. Let him tend to himself, and do not mention it later. He is fine; the only thing injured is his pride.
Eragon gave the dragon another long look, still ignoring him entirely, and then turned back. The second most pressing question burst from him.
"What attacked us?"
Arya gave a great sigh, resting against a nearby tree. "Those are called the Ra'zac. They are an ancient race of Alagaesia, almost as old as the dragons and elves. An evil breed, their strength and skill matches that of my race and can even exceed it. Consider us lucky that these two were quite young."
Eragon closed his eyes, an image of the hooded monstrosity standing above him forming in his mind. Everything about it suggested death - the colour, the smell, the build, the movements, and more. The very aura it gave off was paralyzing and toxic. And they were supposedly the newborns of the race. Eragon shuddered. "Why would they pursue us?"
"A host of reasons I'd think. Ancestral wars, attempted genocides of their kind occurring constantly throughout history, personal grudges, or purely for the pleasure of inflicting pain and suffering as much as possible, the ones they are doing it to an added bonus. But the overriding reason would be that Galbatorix is now aware of a new Rider, and is already sending out his most deadly servants to destroy him. He may already know where we are and attend to us personally." Arya wasn't fazed by her words, but they hit Eragon almost as powerfully as the magical language she spoke in to cast spells.
"He has enslaved them? How is that possible? Those things are ruthless killers that are determined to burn the world for their sick entertainment?"
"You've answered your own question, Eragon. You can see how useful such cruelty would be in the service of the King. It is also beneficial to the Ra'zac. With Surda to the south, and Du Weldenvarden making up the northern third of the land, the Ra'zac are forced into the heart of the empire, in Uru'Baen, Dras Leona, and other various cities situated within. Should they prove a nuisance to the people, for they are natural predators of life itself, the King would exterminate them without an afterthought. He also may have forced them to swear oaths of loyalty to the King and Empire, making sure they do no harm against him, for they could inflict catastrophic damage. By providing their skills to be at his disposable, they are guaranteed to survive and prolong the existence of their race. If not, no doubt the humans would've have worked hard to drive them out and attack them on sight. The ra'zac are not tolerated by any race, particularly humans, who inhabit the lands they naturally reside in. Many human communities have been decimated by the ra'zac, who are built specifically to prey on humans. Their vision is superb, they have great speed, omit a putrid odour, and their bodies are comprised of naturally grown weapons as you saw. They work best in the shadows, where you are at your most vulnerable, a part of the darkness themselves. These ones were clearly novices, attacking in the presence of light, which they find equally as disturbing as we do the night."
So the King had not only the greatest and mightiest army at his feet, with countless forms of magic at his fingertips, but an entire race committed to extinguishing the flame of life. And his power still managed a stranglehold on life. "How many ra'zac are there?"
"Only a few hundred, luckily. Their numbers have dwindled greatly after being hunted relentlessly by humans, elves, and Riders especially. They once numbered in the high thousands, wreaking havoc on any who ventured to far west. But enough of this history lesson, it isn't important at the moment. We are both tired and injured, and best make as much ground as we can. The other ra'zac will inform its brethren of what has happened, and we won't be so lucky a second time facing the greater members of their race." She walked over to the dropped saddle, hung it over her shoulder as a knapsack, and made her way to the dead ra'zac. Eragon followed, curious as to how the creature's face looked up close.
His face contorted with disgust. The face was caved in slightly, the beak cracked hand dangling to the side at the centre. Arya had obliterated it so brutally, that any semblance of its appearance could not be found. Arya withdrew a small jar from the saddle, and scooped up some of the smoke-coloured powder that had spilled from the ra'zac's wounds. It was fine, akin to sand. He noticed how careful she was not to get any on her. Eragon considered questioning this, but decided against it. She had exhausted most of her energy unexpectedly in his defense, and he did not want to tire her further with childish questions that could be easily and more elaborately answered later when they weren't aching from this intense confrontation. More importantly he wished to share his thoughts with Glaedr and discover his views on the matter, but the dragon remained guarded, angry at being humbled so effortlessly. Despite him distancing himself from his Rider, Eragon could still feel the resentment pulsing in the dragon's head.
"Let us be off. The longer we tarry the more time Galbatorix has to capture us."
They began to walk along the river. The horses were too far to bring back magically she had said, to Eragon's dismay. Your mental reach can only go so far. This piece of information disturbed Eragon further. Galbatorix was able to assert his rule over an entire section of Alagaesia with ease. What was he truly capable of? Another thought occurred to Eragon, and he allowed his curiosity one more indulgence.
"One last thing for now." Arya did not make any motion to prevent him from continuing. "Why didn't you use magic to defeat the ra'zac? From what you've told me elves are blessed with powers of natural magic and have abnormal strength. Surely you could have performed a spell or two and end it quickly?"
Arya did not respond immediately. She simply continued walking, her grace somewhat withered. Without looking at him, she explained. "Galbatorix, whether personally or through one of his spell casters, has had all ra'zac protected from magical harm. Most spells I know that would be could be used directly against them would prove ineffective. Ra'zac cannot perform magic, which puts them at a severe disadvantage against magical beings such as elves and Riders. Another benefit of their allegiance, if it can be called that, with the King. I could have used magic to manipulate the world around me, as I did with the trees to make the bridge, but I choose not to." Eragon did not ask why she didn't use magic in this manner. He felt it was a personal matter and he didn't want to broach such subjects. After a few seconds, what she had said registered with him, and he responded immediately, as it contradicted with what had just happened.
"I used magic though, when I was cornered by the other ra'zac. I felt a surge of energy and just, let it go. It looked like flaming water."
Arya stopped and whirled around, looking at him intensely, a fear swimming in her eyes. "Y - you were c - cornered and…" she trailed off, unable to continue. Her hands trembled and her eyes bore deeply into his.
"Well, there was the other ra'zac that was in the water. You were fighting the other. This one came up behind me and struck me on the back. It was about to strike again when I just…snapped."
Arya didn't seem to hear him. Her eyes were swimming with water, her hands clenched and shaking violently.
"It's alright, I'm fine. And managed to use magic against it, which you said was impossible. So we have something to be happy about!"
Arya moved so quickly all Eragon saw was a blur. Silence. Then a cracking noise and a fair sized tree next to them tipped over, crushing the grass and shrubs beneath it, landing with a great thud. Arya's sword was drawn, covered in sawdust. She was breathing heavily, though not from the magnificent feat she had just accomplished. She dropped the sword and clutched her hair, almost pulling it off her head. She dropped to her knees, and let out a great scream full of anger, fear, and hint of disappointment. Eragon stood still, shocked at her sudden outburst. One observation he had made soundly about the elf was that she was extremely controlled in her emotions, never letting them get the best of her. Always steadfast and calm, she had now lost these qualities that magnified her grace, which heightened the significance of her rage. Eragon finally found the courage to muster a few words.
"What - what's wrong. Did I do something wrong?"
"No, no, you did wonderful," she croaked, her voice high. "But you never should have been put in that situation in the first place. It was my duty to protect you at all costs, and I was…overconfident in my abilities. You were as good as dead, and the fact that you found a hidden power within is extraordinarily lucky. I've travelled the land for decades and I made an error so fatal that even a novice recruit wouldn't. It isn't acceptable, and it can't happen again. I won't let it." She was talking more to herself than Eragon. Her concern was his protection, not him as an individual. A flicker of annoyance festered within him.
"We can't change anything now. All we can do is learn from this and be better prepared in the future. It's not your fault, we're - " He stopped himself; he was about to say 'we're all human.' "- we're not perfect." She still seemed distraught, absorbed in her own self-deprecation at almost costing the newest Rider, one of the seven remaining not including Galbatorix, his life. Eragon decided to take a bit of an offensive. "We are wasting time here. You said yourself Galbatorix knows of a new Rider and may already know where we are after killing a patrol and two ra'zac. Sitting here wondering what might've been is counter-productive." She nodded solemnly, standing up quietly and continuing down the path they were travelling.
Eragon mulled over what had transpired in his mind. The elf had shown a more human side, betraying her natural splendor. It made her seem young and inexperienced. They carried on without exchanging a single word or thought, nor any acknowledgement of the other, walking for hours until the sky was so dim Arya was required to use magic to create a false light so they could find their way to a safe and comfortable spot to rest. Glaedr, sulking behind him the entire time, didn't utter a sound, still moody over his unsuccessful encounter with the ra'zac. Eragon was essentially alone, and it reminded him of the countless times he had sat by the edge of Palancar Valley, pondering politics, what he would hunt the next day for his family, and most often wondering about the world beyond him. Perhaps it's better not to see things for their full truth.