"Concentrate! The weapon is not a weapon, it is an extension of your arm!"
Eragon sidestepped a hack from Drukjl, parried a blow from Shepherd and leaned back against a slash from Frelsa. Duelling three Riders at the same time, even young ones such as them, was a feat many deem impossible.
Eragon raised his blue blade against the blade of Drukjl's axe, an enchanted, unbreakable mahogany handle fitted to a copper coloured axe blade of brightsteel, so that the axe hooked over his sword. He spoke again. "You have strength in you, Drukjl. Use it!"
He stepped back and feinted in one direction before striking at a weak spot in Shepherd's armour with a blow to the ribcage with the flat of Brisingr. He stabbed again but Shepherd hopped back and parried the blade.
"Ha! You are learning, good! Don't stop, parry and strike! Parry, strike!"
This Eragon seemed a completely different person to the one who taught of fairths and wanted only to lay against Saphira and close his eyes. Saphira was currently on the other side of the island, teaching their dragons of how to properly utilise thermals and where to strike when attacking another dragon. Frelsa was faintly aware of the information being passed from Kalla to her.
She gripped her blade, a long, green, slightly curved one sided blade which tapered ever so slightly, Delswoir, elegance in the Ancient Language. Eragon spun and slashed across Frelsa's face. Taken by surprise, she raised the flat of her blade to deflect it but the blow was too strong and the weapon was knocked aside.
"Do not block the attacks of a stronger opponent. Dodge them! Lean back, sidestep. Be a reed and bend in the winds."
Eragon stabbed again, and Frelsa followed his instruction and quickly stepped to the left. He smiled and raised his blade to parry another strike from Drukjl. She didn't know the names of Drukjl's bronze coloured axe or Shepherd's steel coloured sword. It was something of a tradition in the new Rider's Corp to keep the name of their weapon a secret.
She swung Delswoir in an overhand strike which Eragon casually leaned back to dodge. It was then Shepherd and Drukjl struck simultaneously, the Urgal swinging at Eragon's bare head while the human swung at his legs. Their master raised his sword and blocked the axe swing before raising one leg, allowing Shepherd's grey sword to pass under it, and before it touched the second, stamped down on the blade with such force that it was yanked straight from its owner's hands.
When Ebrithil finally stopped the sparring session, Frelsa suspected it was more for them then for himself. His silk tunic didn't have a bead of sweat on it nor a speck of dirt. He looked as if they had not just sparred for an hour. Shepherd nursed his bruised knuckles while Drukjl inspected his axe. Urgals and dwarves had requested to break the norm of only swords for weapons in the eighth year since their admittance into the fold. When the request was granted, the variety of their weapons blossomed. Axes, hammers, clubs, even crossbows with brightsteel bolts that magically reappeared in their quiver. This was all made possible by a collection of brightsteel laden meteors said to have crashed in the North side of the island, the side of the Wild ones. The weapons were made by the dwarf Hothgeir, a dwarf whom Kalla seemed to favour. He had been taught by Rhunön herself and now made the Rider's strange, assorted weapons.
They all sat there on the sparring field, bruised and battered from whacks by the flat of Brisingr. Eragon stood before them. "It matters how you were taught, but you must make a style for yourself that suits yourself. If you are strong, you must learn to hit hard and block well against faster opponents. If you have technique, adapt it to your opponent. You would not raise a shield against a giant or a weighted hammer to slay a fast rabbit. And if you are the rabbit, learn to be quick and nimble. The enemy cannot kill you if their weapon cannot touch you. Furthermore, I must-"
Eragon paused. He stared at a point somewhere behind them. Shepherd asked, "Ebrithil, is something the matter?"
"Yes, the matter is that I will never get used to a Kull charging at me."
Frelsa turned around. There was a nine foot tall Kull sprinting right at them, disrupting lessons he cut through and barrelling past duellers. Frelsa gripped Delswoir's handle. She knew she shouldn't be fearful of Urgals, she was Drukjl's second closet human friend after all, but she'd heard enough tales of their deeds on the mainland.
The Kull dug in his heels and slid to a stop before them, chest heaving. He was going incredibly fast, even for a Kull of his physique. His entire body was stretched with sinewy muscles and his magnificent horns curled several times over.
"Nar Firesword!"
"Ah, Durlek. What brings you here? Where is your dragon? And what news?"
"He hunts on the far side of the island. A ship has arrived and I was told to report to you."
"The usual? Scholars?"
The new Riders had less strict security measures than the last, their island could actually be reached through ship, granted it had to be made at the right time of year, under the right moon and with good omens from soothsayers. All passengers had to swear oaths of secrecy and passages to their island were granted only to the extremely learned, extremely skilled in crafts taught or just elves.
"Yes, Nar Firesword. But there was, something else."
Eragon was intrigued. They usually didn't get many special shipments from the mainland. "What was it?"
"A Rider and her dragon!"
Frelsa found this strange. Riders and their dragons would usually return from quests on the mainland through flight.
"Who were they?" Eragon asked. From his expression Frelsa could tell he thought he had gotten his hopes up for nothing.
"A green dragon and an elf."
"What?"
Eragon was stunned.
"Nar Firesword, she bore a crown."
He was running to the pier before the Kull finished.
Frelsa, Drukjl and Shepherd, as they had nothing else to do, decided to follow Eragon as fast they could, but still fell far behind him. Seeing the clouds of dust kicked up in his wake, it was as if the Rider was possessed by some strange demonic frenzy.
Frelsa!
She was taken aback by the unexpected call from Kalla. What is it?
Did something happen? To Eragon? Ebrithil's going crazy, she's flying fast back to Festa eom Líf, said something about a pier?
Eragon's running to the pier too! Something about the ferry, a crowned elf Rider with a green dragon.
Crowned elf, green dragon. Got it! Dýrgrir, Errol, faster!
Drukjl soon pulled ahead of them. Judging by how he had already grown to seven feet tall by this age, seventeen, he was most definitely a Kull.
They raced across the sparring field, they'd passed the Men's Corner and were passing the Dwarves Corner. Most of the Riders and dragons present were making their way to the pier as well. News travels fast.
A great beating came from above, like giant folds of canvas flapping in the wind, Frelsa looked up and saw Saphira's huge shadow pass across the sky.
They were not the first to reach the pier, but there wasn't much of a crowd there. The ship, a huge custom ship designed for the utmost comfort with huge sails of Elfin design, stretching out to either side like the wings of a dragon. The Red Bull was written across the side in white paint. The three of them jostled for space and to get to the front to see their Ebrithil.
Another huge shadow passed across the sky. Frelsa looked up, expecting to see Saphira. But this was another dragon, a green one. And by the Gods was it huge. At least Rimgrun's size, maybe larger. Definitely larger. Big as Saphira? She came into view, another shadow, Saphira's definitely, the sunlight reflecting off hundreds of blue scales like innumerable mirrors. Frelsa was shocked to see that they were both around the same size. She'd never seen a dragon to equal Saphira.
She called out to Kalla. Kalla, where are you?
I'm in the sky, behind you.
Frelsa looked behind for a moment, three shapes circled the pier like vultures, soon joined by innumerable other shadows of curious dragons.
The Big Green? Frelsa asked.
No idea. B-But you better get to the front of the crowd. T-There's s-something you should see.
Kalla was stuttering. She only stuttered when she as excited.
Frelsa pushed and slipped under an Urgal's arms and in between two scholars and squeezed through a group of elfin Riders and finally got to the front.
On the old wooden pier, Eragon stood there with the crowned elf, in plain view for all to see, locked in an unbreakable embrace with her.
Far above, the two dragons, green and blue, were locked in a deadly dance, executing complex aerial turns and twists that Frelsa could never imagine would work. They bellowed gouts of fire and roared in joy.
She heard Eragon conversing to the crowned elf in hushed tones, she could tell that it was in the Ancient Language but that was all.
Soon, Eragon released, almost reluctantly, and walked forth towards the crowd. His eyes shone with tears of joy. Ebrithil is capable of tears?
He looked at the radiant elf woman then back at the crowd. He spoke in a stentorian tone.
"The Queen of the Elves has graced us with her presence!"
This was greeted with gasps from many. Frelsa almost couldn't believe it. This elf before them was the Queen? All the way from Du Weldenvarden? But indeed, the elf there radiated a sense of stability, of confidence. She was tempered with years of hardship and mastered herself with a fiery will. Her fine silk robes and crown betrayed a power deep within.
"We must celebrate this joyous occasion! Prepare a feast! We shall dine tonight!"
Another of the senior Riders came forth and announced that all would play a part in the celebration. Each student was to be given a task to complete by their mentor.
When the crowd had at last cleared, Eragon still stood there speaking to the Queen. And judging by their expressions their vigour had not faded. Few were still there except the most passionate of elves and Frelsa and her class.
Drukjl dared to ask Eragon, "Dur Firesword. Our task to complete?"
The Queen looked at Eragon. "Dur? You've earned their respect."
"I would hope so," Eragon spoke giddily. Frelsa was stunned to see her cool master acting like this. "You three, go to Hothgeir. He should have a task for you. Now shall we tour the grounds of Darnan Esta, Arya Dröttning?"
"Yes, yes we shall."
As they walked away, Shepherd asked Drukjl excitedly, "What'd you make of that, Ram?"
Drukjl scratched the bit of stubble he had on his chin. "Remember the elf princess in stories old?"
"No way, the one he charmed?"
"Indeed."
Frelsa scoffed. She knew quite a bit about charms, she had read up on them in the process of trying to find one that would make Shepherd grow a beard. "Come on, if she was charmed she'd be swooning over Eragon, irresistible to his 'charisma'. In fact, she'd be so clingy he'd be dying to get away from her. Did you see the look on their faces? This was no charm."
They both stared at her like she was speaking Dwarvish. She sighed and continued walking. She called for Kalla to come down and get Dýrgrir and Errol to do so as well.
The six of them passed into the Dwarf Corner and looked for Hothgeir. Frelsa was the most familiar with this area so she led the way. She'd always wondered how the dwarves had managed to fit their population of eighty-two Riders and dragons and nearly as many dwarven artisans into this area where the houses were no taller than one story. There were rumours of huge underground caverns excavated below the Corner that were big enough for the dragons to fly in and had enough houses for a thousand dwarves.
Most of the houses here, many were more of gigantic huts actually, were made of bricks, some of metal. They passed a door and saw a single dwarf hold a strip of metal in a forge as a large dragon breathed fire on it. They passed another door and saw another smith holding a bar of metal on an anvil as a dragon bent it into strange shapes.
The buildings were arranged like polka dots on a huge quilt, none coming within a five metres of the other.
Okay… straight, a left, right till you hit the left mountain arm then straight.
They came upon Hothgeir's forge. It was actually Hothgeir's home, he slept in the same room as his forge. He was given a chance to live in one of the larger, more luxurious homes as the brightsteel weapon smith but he declined. Apparently he thought that sleeping next to his forge improved his forging skills, though they were already at their peak.
He was currently forging some strange sort of metal bow with a million tiny sights on it, some with glass pieces inside that would magnify or reduce the size of the target in your sights. He carefully smelted on one hinged sight, buffing the smelt line till it was non-existent, then smelted on another. After a moment, he seemed to notice he had visitors and turned to them.
"High ho! Vorlvazk my friends!" The Dwarf exclaimed, using the dwarf greeting for close friends as he wiped his bare hands on his apron. He was slightly taller than the average dwarf and incredibly stout. His strong arms were branded by countless different burn marks and his large hands hid a nimbleness which could not be matched. He knew every Rider by name and had learnt of their fighting style and mannerisms before forging them an unbreakable weapon.
"So, what brings you to mine forge and hearth?" He absentmindedly swatted at a patch of his wild brown beard that had caught fire.
Master Eragon said you've work for us, Kalla stated enthusiastically.
"He did? Well, sorry to say, I've no work for you mine hands cannot handle. But while you're here, I'd like you to bring this to Eragon for me."
Hothgeir searched through panels laden with finished and fantastical products. He found his target, a ring with many tiny perfect gemstones arranged into a flower. He passed it to Frelsa.
"Pass it to Queen Arya for mine honour. Say that Ingeitum Hothgeir pays homage to her. Mine seating as Rider's weapon smith is an honour that keeps me tied to my forge."
Shepherd looked at the ring. A solid gold band widened slightly at one section, and at that section gemstones were fitted into tiny alcoves on the widened section to resemble a lotus, each petal a different type of gem.
"Skilfully wrought Firebrand."
Hothgeir smiled at the title. "Don't go screaming that name about your Corner, Drukjl. Some of them might not take ah, kindly to it."
Drukjl bowed but Frelsa spied a smile on his lips.
"Remember, you are supposed to be working. Don't let anyone think otherwise, stick with the working crowd. And if you're not, then just avoid the elves. They won't take too kindly to you slacking off on a celebration for their Queen."
When they left, Kalla a little dejected that Hothgeir didn't need help around the forge, Frelsa asked Drukjl about the title.
"Do you know the name Razhid?" Drukjl asked in his gravelly tones.
A shake from Frelsa.
"He challenged a dwarf to a wrestling competition."
Frelsa remembered the Urgal gang leader from yesterday.
"Well, he could not bear to lose the fight, so like a Drajl he broke the rules of the game and called his tjirel, friends as you say, to aid him. Hothgeir saw this and grabbed Razhid by the skin of his neck like a cub and branded his fur."
"Branded!" Frelsa asked in amazement. She'd never known Hothgeir to do such a thing.
"Bah, it was a small brand, just a square patch on his shoulder. Razhid came back in shock. Made a big drajdal over nothing."
As they walked out onto the sparring field, Shepherd asked, "Wonder where Ebrithil went?"
We should try the Elf Corner, Dýrgrir suggested. It was strange for him to even speak when it wasn't needed or when it wasn't an insult directed at Errol or Shepherd.
But she thought over it and realised it was the most logical decision. "Dýrgrir's right. Let's go."
She knew they wouldn't have the stomach to enter but they still had to believe they were doing something. They crossed the sparring field, a buzz of commotion with everyone setting up fine tables and padded chairs for the feast that would commence in a few hours. The chefs in each corner were probably doing their best to whip up their fantastical dishes in the time limit.
Kalla was nearly stepped on by a big beige dragon and Frelsa was almost knocked over by an Urgal barrelling past that she would've fallen if she hadn't grabbed onto one of Kalla's back spikes. When they reached the Elf Corner, it was just as mysterious as Frelsa had thought it would be, in fact more so.
Ghostly lanterns, like will-o-the-wisps or spirits floated deep within the forest, and every now and then a mournful song of time lost by flute or joyous voices singing in clear crystal cool voices reached their ears. Every now and then a light would be blocked by the silhouette of a passing elf.
"So-o-o-o… we going in?" Frelsa asked.
"Ladies first," Shepherd said as he bowed to her, gesturing towards the archway of trees.
Cowards first, it should be, Kalla shot at him.
Yes, go on right ahead Errol. Your Rider should follow close behind, Dýrgrir growled as he gave a sharp fanged grin.
Oh ha ha. Don't remember you saying that when I trashed you over the field.
"I've no wish to say this," Drukjl said, the way he gave an almost comical sigh showed that he had every wish to say this, "but Dýrgrir is right."
As they bickered, Frelsa saw something down the forest path leading into the Elf Corner. She asked her companions to kindly 'shut up' and gazed into the forest.
"Everyone hide! Someone's coming!"
They all scrambled for a hiding place. Shepherd and Errol sprang to a cluster of trees on the left while Dýrgrir and Drukjl slid to the right. Seeing no other option, Frelsa climbed onto Kalla's back and she gave a short burst of energy, just enough to reach the branches up above.
With the strong branches supporting her and Kalla's weight, Frelsa shifted till she felt slightly more comfortable then looked through a gap in a bough of leaves. She say the Queen, what was her name? Arya Dröttning? Yes. She walked hand in hand with Eragon, exiting the Elf Corner. She'd never seen anyone go into the Elf Corner, or come out.
She could hear their voices as they carried up to the treetops, and felt slightly bad for unintentionally eavesdropping.
"This place is beautiful, Eragon. Reminds me of Du Weldenvarden."
"Yes, though I could only hope to ever capture a shadow of the beautiful city."
They stopped at the archway at the end of the Corner.
"You seem troubled, Arya."
On first name terms with the Queen. Definitely got a past with her.
"Tell me, what troubles your heart."
When the Queen next spoke, her confident voice was tinged with anxiety.
"Back in Du Weldenvarden, Fírnen felt something stir here. We lost contact with the island for a month and I… I just had to know you were safe."
Eragon paused for a moment. He seemed to grip her hands tighter.
"I am touched by your concern, truly. And I know what you will say next. And I must…must say no."
"Eragon…"
"I cannot leave this island." Eragon sounded forlorn, as if this wasn't a choice he could make, it was written in fate. "My duties here bind me."
"I sense more than your duties bind you here."
Eragon up till then had found great interest in looking at his shoes, and when he finally stared into Arya's eyes Frelsa could see from her perch the loss and sadness in them.
"There is something else. But we shall not sully our minds with these dark thoughts. We should enjoy the time we have, and wish for more only when it is over. Come, follow me."
Only when she was sure that Eragon was gone did she even dare to speak mentally to Kalla. What do you make of that?
There's something on this island. Something Big Green could sense in Du Weldenvarden, and if we're very, very, very lucky, it's something dangerous.
If we're not?
We'd all be dead.
"I raise mine glass, to ERAGON!"
A muscled dwarf had planted on foot on his table and another on his chair. He held his 'glass' high, ale sloshing out from inside the tankard.
"Argh, screw you shorty, I raise my glass, to QUEEN ARYA!" a man bellowed as he adopted the same pose.
It was one of the greatest celebrations Frelsa had seen. Long tables had been set up, overflowing with drink and food. Dwarves, men, Urgals and Elves laughed and ate and drunk and sang. Music filled the air and enchanted lanterns floated lazily across the starry sky.
Another, obviously more intoxicated, dwarf adopted the pose and thundered, "I raise mine glass, to- BARZUL!"
The Dwarf had taken a head dive straight off the table. Normally it would be unacceptable to speak like that before the Queen of the Elves but as the night wore on formalities were discarded. His brethren laughed and slammed their tankards on the table.
Urgals were even wilder, a Kull drunk on their harsh beer had challenged a dragon, whom he seemed to think was another Kull, to a head butting match. They roared at each other and whatever pleasantries they had in the presence of other races were gone.
The elves did not drink much besides wine and their strange faelnirv. They produced lutes, flutes and harps and drums and strummed up a melody for their Queen. They sang of her deeds past and feats great.
Eragon had requested his students and past students join him at his table. But besides Drukjl and Shepherd, Frelsa knew none of the other Riders present except those recognised in tales of valor. There was Bandalor, the Dwarf hero who alongside his dragon Knurlkorda had been consumed by a giant Nïdhwal and escaped by cutting and biting through the Nïdhwal and swimming to the surface. Then there was Dran, the man who'd fought the skeletal dragon and Rider conjured up by a necromancer. The skeletons had all the power they possessed in life without the constraints of flesh. But Dran and his dragon had prevailed, splintering bones and destroying the necromancer.
Frelsa realised that Eragon must be very old to have mentored these legends. She glanced at him and realised that the Queen sitting next to him at the head of the table was behaving rather recklessly. She looked at the elf and realised by the sluggish way she moved and how reckless she seemed, regularly laughing with fey, that the great Queen of Elves was drunk. She laughed again and her voice was like the sweet ring of a bell. Frelsa noticed an elegant flask in her hand that probably contained faelnirv of some kind.
Next to her Shepherd burst out laughing at some outrageous joke Dran made about a cow and her adopted goat son. She looked at him in incredulity and at the tankard in his hand. "How much did you drink?"
He swayed as he stared at her. Smiling he replied, "Just a sip… maybe two."
All their dragons sat behind their seats, and even with every single dragon and Rider assembled on the sparring field there was still space to dance.
Kalla craned her neck so it was over Frelsa's shoulder. If you're not going to drink your mead let me try some.
You! Are you sure mead is good for dragons?
Saphira says so.
Frelsa looked over at Saphira, surrounded by four empty casks of ale and rolling around on her back like she was a dog. She'd never imagined a giant like her reduced to this, but she'd pay good money to see Kalla do it.
Here, she said as she handed her tankard to Kalla, who gripped the top of the tankard with her teeth and bent her head back to swallow the rest of it.
She looked over at Saphira and saw the Big Green, Fírnen, trying to look disdainful as he stared down at Saphira, still acting like a little puppy dog. She heard his voice, deeper than even Dýrgrir's but more like a melody than a bucket of gravel.
Saphira… you're not a dog… I think…
She then noticed the empty casks next to him.
Frelsa didn't understand why everyone enjoyed being reduced to rambling children. Then she heard a clink on the ground next to her. Bandalor had toppled over his chair and a flask rolled out of his hands. The flask was made of silver and there were runes inscribed on it in the Ancient Language. She picked up the cool flask and inspected the runes: Faelnirv.
She glanced behind her. Kalla was gone. Half the dragons weren't behind their Riders.
If the Elves love it then how bad could it be? She thought as she pulled the cork out of the flask and took a swig and nearly gagged on it. The drink burned her throat on its way down but once it fell to her stomach a peculiar sensation of heat began to spread up throughout your body and to through her limbs to the tips of her fingers. She realised how much stress she had been under since she came to the island. Training every day, magic, mental, sparring, then the rules. So many rules that you didn't know whether they were made to help or kill you. She needed something to help her put all that behind her. And that something was in her hand.
Frelsa took another drink, and the same warm sensation spread out through her body. Her eyes felt…fuzzy? She saw Kalla trying to roll one of Saphira's unopened caskets of mead away. Kalla, that blasted, beautiful dragon. She'd have to kill a great beast or defeat some powerful fiend someday to be a Rider of any standing, but she had Kalla now, and that was all that mattered. Maybe the faelnirv did too…
Saphira had just noticed that one of her caskets was missing. Bandalor snored away peacefully and Shepherd was arm wrestling Drukjl, at a disadvantage due to all the strong Urgal brew he'd been drinking. An Elven Rider began to proclaim loudly of the time he'd slayed fifty seven Nïdhwal alongside his dragon while he hung onto her with one arm gripping her tail and the other wielding his sword.
Frelsa downed the rest of the faelnirv in one go. What was going to happen to her and Kalla? All the Riders? What was this thing Eragon and Arya spoke of? Some sober part of her mind asked these questions. Why bother? Answered the not-so-sober part. She remembered leaving her chair and seeing Saphira begging Fírnen, still like a dog, sitting on her hind legs and with forearms folded, for the cask he didn't steal, but he was still negotiating a deal anyway. Kalla had smashed a hole in the side of the cask and lapped up the mead.
She remembered the songs pouring through her soul, taking shape as beautiful far away landscapes and quiet forest paths. Then the dwarf songs materialised in her addled mind as battles of valour on the fields of war and huge gem filled caverns. The familiar sounds of men conjured visions of glory and victory, bravery and loyalty to their brothers while the Urgals' tribal tones contrived a setting of great beasts slain and herculean feats of personal strength.
Herculean. Hurrrrcuuuuleeeeaaaauuuuun. What kind of word was that? Where did it come from? Silly humans. Making up words.
Frelsa remembered dancing with Shepherd, then with a young elf, then a young man, then a wizened old man with a face of wrinkles. She didn't get the last part. She remembered seeing a dwarf steal a drum from an elf and start banging the drum dementedly as the elf chased him. An intoxicated Kalla offering her the rest of the smashed open casket of mead. Presenting Hothgeir's ring to Arya who slipped it onto her index finger and bore it proudly.
At one point Dýrgrir tried to sing a poem to Queen Arya, but had seemingly forgotten how to communicate with his mind. The result was a humorous series of grunts, growls and even a squawk. She heard a few thoughts from Errol wondering how a dwarf would taste like and Kalla formulating a plan to steal another casket of mead from Saphira, who now lay on her side and hugged the casks possessively close. Eragon took Arya's hand and led her onto the grass for a dance.
Before she blacked out she remembered laughter, muted speeches, toasts to honour brethren, and a drinking contest with an Urgal.
When she came to it was in the wee hours of morning, the Sun's first fingers had not grasped the edge of the horizon. Many lay unconscious or asleep across and on tables, and many more on the grass. She got up and held one hand to her head. Each step she took seemed to jar her brain a bit out of place, sending it flying around her skull. She felt as if her brain were flying faster and faster and weakening the bones in her skull.
Frelsa stopped at one point and pounded her head against a table, realising why she didn't drink. She wondered if there was a spell to cure this torture. She reached for the kite in her mind, now swinging in lazy circles, and grasped it, spitting out the words, "Waíse heill!" Nooothing happened! She got up and started walking in no particular direction, tripping over a sleeping Errol who growled softly.
She stepped over any bodies she came across, feeling sorry for the torture they'd endure when they woke up.
Wait… is that vomit coming up I feel? After a couple of staged retches to goad it out she assumed that it wasn't.
She walked a bit more, and saw Saphira and Big Green lying as close as possible to each other, Big Green laying his neck across Saphira's. She looked at their spikes and realised that the pounding in her head was as if someone was trying to force one of those spikes through her skull.
She walked a bit further and walked into a huge oak. She regretted it soon after as the pounding redoubled and her world seemed to spin. Frelsa just lay down under the cover of a bush and closed her eyes, trying to shut out the pain. Somewhere, someone retched and another groaned.
"That was an… interesting celebration."
At first Frelsa thought she'd said it until another voice spoke.
"You should see the ones they make me attend on the mainland."
A laugh that seemed to echo in her mind. The first voice, that was Master Eragon. Then the second was almost definitely Arya.
"How do you survive back there?"
"It gets bleak sometimes, but when I am forced to attend celebrations at the capitol I find some pleasure in watching those suffering from the night's festivities and without knowledge of healing we know."
She'd kill for the words to a healing spell to cure her pain.
"Eragon…"
Frelsa opened one eye and saw through a gap in the leaves, Eragon cupping the face of the Queen in one hand.
"You know I would if I could, but duty binds me here."
"Eragon, I do not like being kept in the dark on such things. If it was just duty you could leave another in charge for a day. Maybe two. But you have not so tell me what binds you here?" Her tone had grown more serious.
Silence.
"After all we've been through you cannot confide in me? Tell me the truth, Eragon."
He looked at her in a pained way. "I cannot."
"Must it come to this?"
"You do not understand, I have sworn in the Ancient Language never to reveal this secret until another who has not sworn sees it for themselves. And it is a burden I would never wish to thrust onto another's shoulders, least of all the ones I love. You."
"You know I can handle the burden."
"But at what price? You have endured hardship but nothing like what consumes me from inside. But I can tell you that I did not chance upon this island."
An uncomfortable, awkward quietness ensued. Even the retching far away stopped.
"You do not trust me…"
"Yes I do, I do trust you. I do, but-"
Frelsa saw the Queen spin on her heels and walk off without another word. Eragon stood there, looking after her. For the second time ever, she saw a tear creep down his cheek. But this was no tear of joy.
She heard him mutter to himself, "So it has ended. What more will you take from me?"
Frelsa knew that the question wasn't aimed at Arya.
26-11-13
Hello to whoever may be reading. Didn't write as much as the last chapter because I tried to write the whole of chapter 2 in one day, but with luck, I'll probably have chapter 3 up in 24 hours. Btw. I updated chapter one recently, added some at the end. If you haven't seen it yet just check it out. God, I need sleep. Hopefully my sleep deprived state made describing the drunk scene a little better. See ya in chapter 3!