Inherit the Wind
Just so everyone knows this takes place a month after the last chapter.
Disclaimer: Don't own. Don't sue. Thank you.
Luce was sitting with her chin resting on her hand. She was trying to tune out Mort, who was talking incessantly.
He'll take offense if you keep doing that, Iormungr pointed out.
I really don't care, she snapped back.
He is rather insipid, Iormungr conceded.
I wish he knew that, Luce replied.
I'm sure you're bound to tell him, Iormungr told her.
Solaera was observing them from the corner. Her child-Luce thought his name was Alexandros-was resting on her shoulder. She had heard people say the child wasn't really Tábor's. They paid particular attention to the fact that he had tawny hair, something neither Claudius nor Solaera had. She seemed only bored now.
Luce didn't blame her. Listening to Mort talk was enough to put anyone to sleep.
She got up and left. She slapped Mort as he opened his mouth to protest. She was not in the mood for his haughtiness.
Galbatorix's spy at the Varden had reported that Eragon and Ardis would be coming back from Ellesméra soon. She knew what would come then: an order to capture and possibly kill her sister. She knew she couldn't do that, but she would be made to. It was a hateful paradox.
She heard somebody following her, and she ran. The person must have been Mort, for the sound of footsteps soon faded behind her. She reached the dragon-hold. Iormungr was not there. She remembered too late that he was out flying with Thorn and Shruikan.
She left the hold and ran towards the secret room. She and Murtagh had somehow discovered it when they were nine. Nobody else knew about the trapdoor that led to it except perhaps Galbatorix.
She pushed the door out and raised herself through it. She stared around the room. A candle was burning in the corner. She watched it flicker and burn to distract herself.
Fire had always fascinated her. She didn't know why. Perhaps it was because she had saved a woman from the flames by sending her to her death. Perhaps it was something entirely different.
When the candle flickered and died, she summoned her own flame. It blazed in her palm, yet it did not burn her.
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Murtagh sat down at the table with the king.
"Where is the girl?" Galbatorix demanded.
"I don't know," Murtagh replied. He picked at his food. Luce was probably just late again.
"Know one's seen her since this morning. I heard from Mort Tábor that she ran off appearing rather unbalanced. I believe he thought it was of the chemical variety," the king continued. He seemed to be amused by the last part of the statement.
"I'll look for her if you wish," Murtagh said, getting up from the table.
"Sit back down and finish your dinner, boy," Galbatorix spat.
Murtagh obeyed. Things didn't look too bright. Murtagh reached out for Luce's conscious. She seemed intent on keeping him out.
"Belinda, please find my daughter," he told the raven-haired girl in the corner. She nodded, curtsied, and left the room.
"You go look for her after you have eaten," the king ordered Murtagh.
The red rider nodded and ate his food. He knew where Luce probably was.
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Belinda stood in a corner. She was to follow the red rider when he went to search for Luce. The king had ordered so. She knew this was her moment for revenge Luce was sure to trip herself up this time. If the red rider fell with her, well, Belinda didn't like him either. In fact, she thought he was even worse.
Murtagh pushed the trapdoor. He saw Luce sitting in a corner, staring at the fire in her hand. The shadows on her face made her appear first old, then young, and then herself. She seemed fascinated by its movement.
She didn't look up when he entered the room. She only stared at the flame in her and said, "Ironic, isn't it?"
"What's ironic?" he asked.
"Seems like you always get the opposite of what you want, and when you do get what you want, it turns out that you didn't really want it. And if you try to get it, it only fails and makes things worse," she replied.
"It does seem that way," Murtagh whispered. He thought of the freedom he'd tried to gain. It had been his downfall. He had been as badly off as he had been before, perhaps worse. Maybe it was worse to taste freedom and lose it than to never know it at all.
"What is it about fire that fascinates you?" he asked after a moment of silence.
"It goes out, and yet it always comes back. It destroys, and it creates. It is the ultimate and most bitter paradox," she explained. She seemed to ignore him again.
"Why have you been hiding?" he pressed after a few minutes.
"I fear what will happen when Ardis returns from Ellesméra. I fear that I will have to kill my own sister. I know you fear it too. Eragon and Ardis. Either or both will die. You can't win. I can't win. If they do not die, we die," Luce replied. Her voice was filled with an awful bitterness.
Murtagh stared at her. "Mort does not understand anything," he muttered half to himself, half to her.
"What did he say about me?" Luce asked. She sounded mildly interested.
"He said you were chemically imbalanced," Murtagh told her.
Luce shook her head. "It beyond that," she murmured.
"Do you hate him?" he inquired.
"He's not worth wasting hatred on," Luce replied. "I don't want to marry him. If I do, I'll probably end up killing him and not caring. I'll know what I'm really like. Anyone would be better."
"Are you saying you would rather marry Claudius?"
"He would be better, but he could never be…" Luce began. She stopped herself at the end.
Murtagh stared at her. She returned to watching the fire. She seemed determined to avoid eye-contact with him.
He put the hand with the gedwëy ignasia over hers and put out the fire. His hand descended upon hers. He leaned in and whispered in her ear, "Do not play with fire lest it consume you." With that he kissed her.
Luce's breath caught in her throat. She returned the kiss after a moment of shock. Her arms encircled his neck, as Murtagh bit down on her lip and leaned back. Her lips parted a little, and he slid his tongue through the opening. They pushed each other back and forth playfully.
Murtagh broke the kiss. Her forehead rested against his, and they were both panting. They both jumped at the sound of someone entering and then leaving the room through the trapdoor. They both looked at each other. They both knew who had seen them.
"Run," they said at the same time. Each got up and went a separate direction. They knew it was useless, but they chose to try.
Murtagh had no sooner gotten back to his rooms then a messenger boy came up to him. He followed the boy to the throne room without a word. It wasn't worth killing a child. He wouldn't escape punishment anyway.
He entered the throne room. Galbatorix's black eyes bored into his skull.
"What have you done, Murtagh? I warned you about her. Why will you never listen? You chose to let Eragon go! You let Ardis go! Now you chose her! You are fool. Menander, show this rider how to be obedient," the king snapped. Menander came out of the shadows.
Murtagh felt a terrible probe in his mind. He could have killed Menander, but Galbatorix was protecting the guard.
He was three. His father was yelling about the cowardice of someone named Ligan. His bloodshot eyes caught sight of Murtagh lurking in the doorway. The little boy tried to run, but Morzan had already grabbed Zar'roc. He raised it to strike. It cut open his back with terrible force. Blood gushed from the wound. Murtagh was screaming even as he tried to pull himself out of the room.
"That is where this gets you, boy!" Murtagh heard Morzan yell drunkenly. Tornac had been summoned by his screams and tried to pick him up. Morzan slapped him across the jaw with incredible force, and then fell over from drunkenness.
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He cried as Selena slipped away into the void. She whispered the words, "I am sorry, Murtagh," before she breathed her last. He now thought he knew what she had meant.
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He was still three. He heard his own screams of agony, and Luce's screams of fear.
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He was thirteen when he saw Ardis whimpering in pain as Luce tried to comfort her.
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He saw Tornac gasp as the sword went through his back. The servant staggered forward and fell. His eyes were open even in death. Murtagh let out a howl of grief and rage. His bloodlust would not be satisfied as he cut down each and every one of Tornac's murderers.
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He saw Lenori's frightened face as she looked up at him. He saw that dragon keeper's too. He saw Luce looking frightened, sad, and bitter. He saw Eragon staring at him in disbelief and pain as he told him that they were brothers.
Murtagh writhed through the memories of pain and death. He felt a blind rage at it all coming over him. He stood up and punched Menander in the forehead with even more force than Morzan had used against Tornac. There was a sickening crush of bones breaking, and the guard fell over.
Galbatorix strode over to him rather nonchalantly, put his hand on the guard's pulse, and stated very blandly, "He's dead. Excellent application of force, Murtagh. Be sure to direct it at the right person next time."
Murtagh shouted as Galbatorix drove into his mind with even less mercy than Menander. He could feel Thorn lending him strength the whole time.
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Belinda stood over Luce.
"You really thought he wouldn't find out, didn't you?" she whispered to the rider.
Luce raised her head and spat. Belinda raised the whip again.
"He told me to punish you. These wounds will heal by tomorrow. You know what tomorrow is, don't you?" Belinda inquired as she brought the whip down again.
Luce shook her head.
"Your sister will be back from Ellesméra very soon. You and the other rider are to capture her and take her to Helgrind as bait for the rider Eragon. You two capture him, and the Varden falls. Then you come back and marry that Tábor boy," Belinda explained, laughing hysterically the whole time.
Luce gasped in pain as the whip came down again. She wished she could kill Belinda, but she was too weak. Her back pained her. She briefly wondered what it would have felt like to have it laid open by a sword.
Iormungr tried to take her into his mind to shield her from the pain, but he ended up having to block his mind from hers because it hurt them both worse.
At last Belinda stopped.
"No use killing you," the maid stated as she left the dungeon.
Luce felt herself hanging between dreams and reality.
She was Siloa. She had sunken to her knees in the snow.
"Milady, we are almost there," the executioner was saying.
She cried. She saw the pity in the man's face. "Why can't you let me go? You could tell all you killed me. I'd never do wrong again. I swear," she begged.
"I cannot allow a traitor to live," the man said in a stern voice after contemplating it for a moment.
"I could make you forget letting me go. He would never know what you did," Siloa continued to plead. She couldn't use magic, but there were drugs that could make people forget things they'd rather not remember.
"They told the truth. You are a witch," the executioner breathed. "Up!" he yelled. He forced her to her feet. Siloa felt her stomach clench when she saw that they had reached the top. A small shelter stood near it. It emanated such strong magic that even a novice potion brewer like herself was aware of it. It was Vrael's stronghold, the place of this great leader's death.
She saw the man had raised his axe to kill her as her back had been turned. She threw herself to the ground and tumbled out its way. Her leg hooked his, and he fell to the ground.
She pulled herself up and ran towards the shelter. The executioner had already risen and was chasing her.
When she reached the top of the steps, she pulled on the door handle. Maybe she could get inside and find another entrance down the mountain and away from him. It was locked.
She screamed as the executioner grabbed her ankle. She was being dragged down the steps. She clawed desperately at the steps. Then something stranger than strange happened: someone came through the closed doorway.
It was the ghost of a man. No, wait. He wasn't a man. His ears were pointed. He grabbed Siloa and pulled her through the door. The ghost spoke words of terrible power. The executioner stared blandly onward and walked down the mountain.
Siloa stared up at her rescuer. The ghost of an elf had saved her from death. Was she dreaming?
"Who are you?" she asked. Her voice shook.
"I was Vrael, leader of the riders, in life," the spirit answered in a mournful voice. "I failed them. That false king had savaged Alagaësia during his rule. I have seen it."
"If you are still here, why have you not done something?" Siloa demanded. "I was going to be killed for being part of the Varden."
Vrael put up a hand to silence her. "I know who you are. I have watched the Varden. To answer your question, I cannot do anything. If I leave this stronghold, my spirit will go where it belongs, the Vault of Souls on Vroengard. I need a host to leave it. I have waited for someone from the Varden to come here. You are the first I was able to rescue. None were able to come close enough to my shelter," the old rider explained.
"Host?" Siloa protested.
"I would only share your body. I would be an isolated part of your mind. It is not an orthodox method, but I would be mostly dormant within you. I would only take full possession of you when need be, and I would warn you when those times came," Vrael told her.
"Isn't that an abomination of magic?" Siloa questioned.
"I said it was unorthodox," Vrael responded. "It is also a necessity."
"I'm loosing my mind," Siloa muttered.
"I assure you: you are quite sane," Vrael comforted.
"What do you propose I do?" Siloa demanded.
"I believe this is a 'we' statement, Siloa, is it?" Vrael answered.
"What do you propose we do?" Siloa corrected herself sarcastically.
Vrael was quiet for a moment. Then he replied, "I will take up residence in your mind. Then we must get off the mountain. The first thing you should do is take a new name and disguise yourself."
Siloa thought for a moment. She stared at her hair. Its tawny color would identify her before anything else. She would have to dye it. She then looked at the ring on her right middle finger. The symbol on it caught her eye: the Solaerix.
"I shall call myself Solaera," she told Vrael.
"Interesting choice for a name," the rider stated. "I'd get rid of that ring or at least hide it."
Siloa nodded. She put it in her pocket. "Should we sell it?"
Vrael shook his head. "It would be traceable," he explained.
Siloa nodded. She should have thought of that.
"I think I'll die my hair black," she said after a moment's thought.
"Why black?" Vrael inquired.
"I've come back from the brink of death because of one of the dead. Black would be an appropriate color," Siloa explained.
Vrael nodded. "You have an interesting mind," he remarked.
"Thank you," Siloa replied. She gasped as Vrael came towards her and then vanished.
She heard a voice in her mind saying, Siloa, can you hear me?
Yes, she thought.
Good. I want you to go around the cities of the empire. Get some hair dye. See what information you can garner. Pass it on to the Varden if you can. I want to settle in Dras Leona eventually. I have heard of two creatures called the Ra'zac. They need to be watched, the voice, who was presumably Vrael, explained.
Siloa nodded. She walked out of the house and made her way down the mountain side.
Which city do we go to first? she asked.
I think Melian. It's a small one near Surda, Vrael answered.
Then so be it, Siloa replied.
Luce came back to reality. That dream couldn't be true. It couldn't be. Could it be?
She does resemble you, now that I think of it, Iormungr put in.
I thought you had cut yourself, Luce said.
I cannot bear to be cut off from you for too long, the green dragon replied.
Neither can I, the rider told him. It hurt greatly to be cut off from your dragon. She didn't know how either of them had born it.
Her thought went back to what Iormungr had said of Solaera. It was true.
She's thirty seven, Luce began slowly.
That is how old your mother would be today, right? Iormungr added.
Yes, and s he has black hair. She said she wanted to die her hair black, Luce continued.
Her child has hair like yours, Iormungr observed.
Yes, and she wouldn't come to dinner because she was afraid Galbatorix would recognize her. But how did I get this dream? Luce thought, half to Iormungr and half to herself.
"Because I sent it to you. Vrael taught me how to," a female voice said from the doorway of the cell.
Luce rolled over and saw Solaera standing there. The rider didn't know how to react. Solaera/Siloa moved towards her. She didn't seem sure of how to react to a daughter she hadn't seen in seventeen years.
"Did he hurt you badly?" she asked nervously.
"One of his spies punished me," Luce muttered.
"Which spy?" Siloa asked.
"A girl named Belinda," Luce replied.
"She's the little dark-haired one, correct?" Siloa asked.
Luce nodded.
"Selma's niece," Siloa murmured. "That spy figured out who I really was in Dras Leona. I killed her before she could tell the king what she had found. I see I should have gotten the niece while I still could."
Luce stared up at her. "Could you not get me out of Urû'baen?" she asked.
Siloa shook her head. "You were too well protected. I told Deandra to take care of you. She was always better with children than I," Siloa explained mournfully. She hugged Luce suddenly.
After a minute, the female rider hugged her back. "Seventeen years it too long, mother," she said at last. Siloa nodded in agreement. The older woman paused for a moment.
"Vrael wishes to speak to you," she told Luce. Her eyes changed from blue to grey in an instant. The expression upon her face had changed as well.
"Luce, I have heard tell that you swore on your sister's life," Vrael began. He looked at her for affirmation. Luce gave it.
"And the king has asked you to capture and possibly kill her?"
Luce nodded again.
"You can break your oath then," Vrael explained.
Luce looked at him. She was stunned.
"I have had a great deal of experience with this," Vrael stated. "Leaders of riders need to be. So many older riders tried to swear younger ones to them. I had to find loopholes. Yours was not difficult compared to some of the ones those riders came up with."
"What about Murtagh?" Luce put in before she thought about it.
Vrael fixed a steady glance on her. "I may be able to find his. It will be extremely difficult, though. Galbatorix has his true name."
"What must I do?" Luce demanded.
"You must let take Ardis to Helgrind. Your oath will have been broken then. You will be able to break any oaths sworn about your sister because you made the most binding of them on her life. Then you must free her and leave," Vrael informed her.
"And what of Murtagh?" Luce pressed.
"You or another must capture him. Maybe I can help him then," Vrael stated sadly.
Slight cliffy. I think that's the first one of those I've done. (Well, there were small, slight ones in chapter three and eight, I think.) There's a monster one in the next chapter. I expect eight reviews on this chapter because of the plot twist and reviewable material I threw in. I want to know how many people figured out that Solaera was really Siloa, or at least that Siloa wasn't dead. I'm willing to bet at least one of you did. There were a couple clues. I wanna know if anyone picked up on them. Here are the review responses from last chapter. You guys did well. I got one more than I asked for. Thanks.
P.S. I have "Beep" stuck in my head. I don't know why.
Teenchic: Actually, I think Roran mentioned it once. Shaheen had been falling for him a bit, and she was drunk. He was mad at himself, but he'll improve. I always thought Roran had a bit of a temper. I'm glad you liked Vanir in this chapter. I felt really sorry for Ardis too. I've had guys I like go to some other girl. It hurts. At least I've never heard them doing it though. As for the swords, I'd heard some theories that the weapon would be the first Eragon's sword, and I'd thought that too. They needed their own swords.
Elemir: I hope this was a satisfactory chapter. I'm glad you liked the last one.
Parnagan: Thank you.
Fiercer Dragon: I'm glad you thought I kept the character. I really didn't think Arya would do that either. I'm glad you liked the way I wrote Vanir. I just had to put that line in there. It seemed like something Vanir would say. Was that what surprised you, or was it the pairing in general. Actually, Roran and Shaheen are going to give each other the silent treatment for a while. There will probably be a few more fights. Mor'ranr means "peace." I chose the name because the first Eragon brought peace to the dragons and the elves.
Amantine: Thanks. I think you've reviewed every chapter so far. Thanks for that as well.