Frelsa had been expecting something dramatic to happen. Maybe Eragon and Saphira would rise to their feet and confront the danger that ailed them. Or maybe Eragon would use his powers to transport them to some far away land to do battle with a mythical beast.
Eragon looked at her, then at the bottle in his hand. He placed the bottle on the ground. He put his hands on his knees and with difficulty rose to his feet. He swept back some of his wet hair and smoothed down his tunic. He looked at Frelsa, "Let's Ride."
And then his eyes rolled back in their sockets and he toppled backwards onto the huge bed.
"Ebrithil!" She rushed forward and bent over his body. Saphira snorted. Leave him, child better to wait until he is sober and alert then go off when he is tired and drunk.
She looked at the behemoth, nearly invisible in the dimming light of the werelight, distinguishable only by her sparkling scales and twinkling eyes.
Master, is it possible you could perhaps, shed some light on the situation? She asked timidly.
The dragon bared her teeth. Speak not of it! I have had enough pain for a lifetime, I would not relish telling the story of how it came about. You'd be better off seeing it for yourself, or at least from Eragon.
Frelsa retired herself to Kalla's side. The dragon still slept peacefully. Staring out at the impenetrable wall of rain, she wondered how Shepherd had fared when Eragon found him.
Shepherd woke up in a tree. He had not been expecting that. He was also not expecting to have woken up hanging upside down. Water trickled down the branches and down his upside down body. His legs had an immense weight bearing down on them. He twisted over and looked up, and saw in the branches of the tree was Errol, upside down with his back facing his Rider and right wing spread out and pierced by many branches while the left was pressed close to his body, supported only by the strength of the tree's branches. Shepherd realised his legs were still strapped into the saddle.
It was too dark to see much else past a metre, and the rain didn't help. The storm still poured, but here the roar of the rain seemed muted by the leaves. Rain flowed down the leaves and dropped upon Shepherd. A boom of thunder reached his ears. He twisted up and tried to undo the straps on his legs securing him to the saddle. If the branches gave way under Errol's weight, and they would, Shepherd knew that it wouldn't be healthy for him if he was crushed between Errol and the wet ground.
Errol? Mind waking up? No response. Looks like he would have to do this solo.
As he undid the first strap, a heavy drop of water struck him on the forehead. He growled and wiped it on his sleeve, then realised that water shouldn't be that dark or thick. It was too dark to see much, but he could see that it was a deep, dark colour. He then looked down and realised his whole tunic was caked in the stuff. He cursed to himself. This is bad.
Errol? He asked again, fearful, though he knew there wouldn't be an answer. Another drop of the viscous liquid hit him again, this time on the cheek. Shepherd begged whatever Gods were watching that their situation wasn't as bad as he thought it was.
A bolt of lightning flared above, illuminating their surroundings for a second. Shepherd saw why Errol hadn't answered. His left wing wasn't pressed close to his body, it wasn't there.
Where there had once been a magnificent, beautifully long wing, there was nothing but a bloody stump, flesh cut raggedly but straight through, splintered bones visible through the flesh. Blood still flowed down from the wound. Shepherd looked at the wound, and cried. He had never felt this helpless before. His dragon was dying before his eyes and he couldn't do anything about it.
"Waíse h-h-heill!" he stammered out. He didn't even have enough magic left in him to stem the blood flow. He had to try again. "Waíse heill!"
A tiny spark of magic, just enough to slow the down the bleeding slightly.
This tiny interaction seemed to stir Errol to consciousness. He didn't budge, just opened his eyes and looked upside down at his Rider hanging below him.
Hey, Shepherd… Errol spoke slowly and with difficulty.
Shit, Errol, shit, shit, shit…
I think… I think my wing is gone…
Oh you think?
Errol laughed at his Rider's distress, before that small effort forced him back into unconsciousness and his head flopped aside uselessly.
Shepherd twisted up and tried again to heal the wound. "Waíse heill!"
He wasn't going to try and save himself by unstrapping his legs from the saddle and running like a coward. If Errol was going to die he knew he couldn't live without him.
"Waíse heill!"
Nothing.
The raining seemed to grow more intense. Shepherd snarled as he spat out the words again, "Waíse heill!"
As the storm raged on, he wondered what happened to Drukjl. They'd been riding close enough to see each other, competing to see who could reach their destination faster. Then lightning struck the mountain. They saw a pine far up topple forwards and roll down the wet and muddy mountain side. They saw how the pine slammed into a boulder, like a ramp, and bounced off the mountain side and up and towards them. They saw the huge tree fly through the air like in slow motion. How the trunk slammed into Dýrgrir and sent him and Drukjl falling like a stone. Errol had been faster, and almost escaped. Almost. The tree had struck the tip of Errol's left wing and in the furious winds, such a blow was enough to send them careening away.
"Waíse heill!"
Another flash of lightning. Shepherd turned away, he had no wish to see the stump of Errol's wing. He didn't have any hope of replicating the whole wing with that single spell. The most he could hope to do was to prevent further blood loss.
"Waíse heill!"
He felt the link between him and Errol deteriorating. Errol's subconscious thoughts scattered, and his desire to continue living began to slip.
"Screw you, Errol! You're not dying on me, heal, you stupid lizard!"
Amazingly, the bleeding stopped. Shepherd had expected such a feat to have killed his exhausted body, but then he saw something else. The severed left wing, a deathly pale colour that sickened Shepherd, appeared out of the corner of his vision and was held in place next to the stump as the flesh began to join together. Had he done this?
Then he looked to the left and saw a great blue dragon with the wing in her teeth as another man, also upside down, held his palm over the sever and murmured, "Waíse heill."
Shepherd suddenly remembered that he was the one handing upside down, not them. He recognised them as Saphira and Eragon. So high were the trees and their perch that even at Saphira's great height, with Eragon standing up in the saddle, he could just barely reach Shepherd and Errol.
The skin of the wing and Errol's stump began to join together like a spider web, sections of it filling up. Through the gaps in the web Shepherd saw the bones replicating themselves and making a new joint for the wing. Flesh began to fill up the gap.
Soon the wing was good as new and Eragon gingerly folded it close to Errol's body, doing the same to the right wing. Eragon then attended to Shepherd, but seeing that he was awake, touched his forehead with his index and middle finger and whispered, "Slytha."
He was immediately overcome with the desire to sleep, even if it was hanging upside down from his saddle. Before his eyes closed and his conscious mind shut its doors, he saw Saphira extend her open mouth through the boughs of the tree and extract Errol, with Shepherd still hanging upside down from the saddle, with her teeth, gingerly holding the dragon with her mouth like a mother towards a new born hatchling.
Shepherd's last thought before sleep found him was that his back was gonna hurt from all this hanging.
Frelsa stared out into the night. She lay one hand on the side of Kalla's scaly head.
We're in for an adventure, Kalla. She didn't get an answer. She didn't need one.
Saphira raised her huge head and realised her students were still awake. Sleep, little ones. We've a hard road tomorrow, if Eragon remembers tonight of course.
Frelsa gave a little laugh at Ebrithil's expense. Saphira had pulled Eragon's immobile body close to her warm scales and they slept peacefully. Frelsa leaned against Kalla's belly and held onto the hope that she'd dream a dream of the time before she had washed up on the island's shores. A dream of the past she didn't know.
She did not.
In her dream, she was in Angela's shop again, but the plants were gone. The animals were caged, and she saw the song birds tweeting sadly from behind metal bars.
Angela was bent over a large crate, packing into it a huge assortment of strange instruments, a crystal ball, a cup of knuckle bones and other strange items whose use escaped her. The Salamander, Red, had grown slightly larger and tiny little armour plates were beginning to grow on his powerful legs. Red serenely chewed on a sprig of a plant she recognised as fireweed, still with a crimson flower attached at the end, as a large, shaggy black cat lay on his armour plates atop Red's head.
The cat seemed to be aware of Frelsa's presence. He turned and looked straight at where she was. She hurriedly reminded herself, It's just a dream… none of this is real…
Angela noticed where the cat was looking at and turned around. She seemed annoyed more than anything. "Don't you know it's impolite to barge in on people without knocking?"
She pulled out a potatoe and fed it to Red.
"So, how's Kalla? Oh what am I saying, you're dreaming!" Frelsa for one didn't know how the two things were connected. Angela spoke as if visiting people in dreams was totally normal.
"I was actually trying to get Eragon with my spell but I've never been much of a magic user. Anyway, while you're here, I can read your fortune! Fortunate, isn't it? See what I did there?"
Frelsa knew she definitely did not want to get her fortune read. As Angela laughed at her own pun, Frelsa tried to walk out, but it was as if her limbs were not her own. They moved of their own accord, like she was trapped in someone else's body. Her body forced her towards the herbalist's table. Angela walked over to the table as well and pulled some strange, long, delicate bones from pocket on her dress.
"You know, I used to use dragon knuckles for fortune telling, but I um… lost them. Yes, and I found toad bones work quite well if used properly. Oh what am I saying? I meant frogs. Toads don't exist."
Angela pulled out a cage from inside a box, and spoke, "I've found dragon bones to be slightly unreliable, their prophecies are never the whole truth. One customer, Bandalor I think his name was. Well, the bones said that he and his dragon would have a great feast. They failed to say that this was a feast of Nïdhwal flesh, and he'd eat it from the inside of the Nïdhwal itself. Oh, these dragon bones are so troublesome."
Bandalor's plight had not seemed just troublesome when he spoke of it.
Before she began Angela smiled at Frelsa. "I don't usually operate like this but since I'm in a good mood, I'll give you this prophecy free of charge!"
Frelsa wasn't sure if the method the herbalist used was deemed as proper. Angela sprinkled some fragrant leaves over the bones and placed the hand holding the bones flat on the table. She released her huge pet lizard, the one the giant spider had chased. The lizard scurried over to the bones and swallowed four of the nine delicate instruments.
Angela nodded as if this was very informative.
The lizard hurried back into its cage. "I'll extract the bones from his faeces later."
She picked up the rest of the bones and shook them like dice before throwing onto the table. Most of the bones amazingly, did not break, except for one. Angela shook her head at the broken one.
"Now do you wish to be told your fortune?"
No.
"You have no choice! Isn't that wonderful?"
The herbalist studied the bones from all angles. "Hm, yes, yes. Very intriguing. Oh indeed? How wonderful!"
"My precious frog bones predict that in your near future, it says a deception will end in death… a happening to decide all fates, the breathe snuffed out from one noble and great."
How do you read all that from those bones? She didn't like the sound of this fortune.
"This is dire, very dire. These events may not all happen to you, but more likely affect those around you. I'd tread carefully."
Frelsa really wanted to leave. The black cat looking at her was unnerving her.
Her dream began falling apart, pieces of it crumbling to dark. Angela seemed to know what she saw and spoke in a somewhat lamentful tone, "Looks like our time is up, unfortunately. I hope you found your fortune… informative."
Before the scene changed to dark she saw Angela produce another potato and feed it to Red, saying in an uncustomary sinister tone, "Frelsa, you cannot let Eragon fail in his quest. It would mean the end of us all. Who's a good boy, Red? Who's a good boy? More potatoes for you!"
When she woke, Kalla was already arisen. She had not moved an inch, careful not to disturb her Rider's sleep.
Kalla?
Oh no, I'm obviously a Lethrblaka come to eat your flesh and crush your bones. Who else could it be? Kalla's voice was giddy with happiness.
You're in a bright mood today.
Definitely am. Thought my flying days were over once I hit the cave mouth, but when I wake up, good as new. She stretched out her right wing and gave it a few experimental flaps.
Frelsa got up off Kalla's side and allowed the dragon to stretch her legs, arching her back like a cat.There's something that happened last night that I have to tell you.
If it's about that whole talk with Eragon, it's fine. I took the um, liberty, of looking through your memories. I must say, there was some pretty embarrassing stuff in there.
Kalla! Frelsa looked at her dragon accusingly.
No worries. We're dragon and Rider. We can share our secrets, can't we?
What happened to privacy?
'You'll have no privacy. Your mind must be open to your partner at all times'. Kalla smugly quoted Eragon. And what's this about Shepherd?
Where's Eragon and Saphira? Frelsa hurriedly asked.
Saphira's still sleeping on her bed, behind us. Eragon is under her wing.
When Eragon did wake up, he moaned something about drinking and headaches. Frelsa heard an incantation spoken from beneath Saphira's wing and saw her master slip out under the blue membrane, perfectly fine. His hair had somehow rearranged itself and his tunic looked brand new. She did not want to know if he had changed and washed up in the shower station, in full view, just ten metres from her.
He looked confidant, Brisingr swinging from his side and chin held high, but she still could not get the sight of the dejected man sitting where he stood last night. He seemed surprised that she was there. "What are you doing here?"
Had he forgotten his drunken rant? "Ebrithil, you said we'd go to confront the threat that ails you?"
His frown deepened. "So it was not a dream?"
"No, it wasn't."
"And you heard me…" He made a general gesture of talking. She nodded.
"Yes, Ebrithil."
"It's true isn't it, Saphira?" She growled affirmatively. "The day has come to pass. I could finally be rid of this curse."
He spoke wistfully. Eragon snapped his neck back towards Frelsa. "Frelsa, Kalla. Come. We must away."
"What? That was easy," Frelsa exclaimed.
Eragon turned back towards her as he saddled Saphira. "I've made a promise. I do not break them. And I am due to make my trip there anyway."
Frelsa was quite taken aback by the suddenness. "Aren't you going to tell us any information, Ebrithil? Nothing at all? Just like that?"
"Eragon, not Ebrithil. Not after you've seen me in the state I was in. And yes, we must leave as soon as possible. Before he senses our efforts and struggles to stop us."
"He?"
"You shall learn on the way. Come." With that Eragon saddled Saphira even as she jumped out the cave entrance.
Don't lie to me, Fírnen!
Arya paced the deck, sailors shying away from her as she conversed silently with her dragon, lying serenely on the wooden planks, already dry in the hot sunlight.
I've told you, it was the storm.
Then back in Ellesmera? Was that the storm too?
She had never known Fírnen to keep any secrets from her, even the worst or most embarrassing. She felt angry, she felt frustrated, but most of all, she felt betrayed.
When an answer was not forthcoming Arya slumped to the deck and leaned against the railings. Fírnen bent low and gently nuzzled her leg.
If it is what I fear it is, then we have no hope of survival.
Fírnen was not usually this melancholic. You can tell me, Fírnen. Are we not Dragon and Rider? Are we not one?
He stared at her with his huge, amber eyes. We are. But there are some things that supersede such bonds, even the one we have. Things branded within us dragons.
Arya hung her head. First Eragon, now you! What has happened to me? Have I failed as a queen and am now being punished?
You have not failed. Fírnen's answer was short and absolute, leaving no room for dispute.
Then why, why must this happen to me?
Because you are the Queen. You will suffer through more than most, but they will respect you for it. You will be admired for it.
She gave a smile a placed one hand on his snout and smiled at his endearing eyes.
Oh, Fírnen, I-
"My Queen!" a clear voice sounded out in the Ancient Language.
She looked up for the source of the call. Not on the deck, not there, not over there, but one of the steps leading up to the wheel was a lanky elf with a lute in hand. Handsome, even by elven standards. A few strands of black hair hung over his smiling face.
"Would you like to hear the new song I composed in your honour?"
Arya sighed. Another burden of being royalty. This great fool followed her everywhere she went. She had seen him at every celebration she'd attended, she'd seen him in the crowd the times she visited the new human king, she'd seen him following her and blowing melodies on his flute as she walked through the forest paths. And now he was here. She didn't even know he had boarded the ship. The first few times she'd left him alone for comic relief, to relieve the stress of her duties, but after a while he had become an annoyance. But she still couldn't punish him for so selfish a reason as annoying her. Unfortunately.
"Is that a yes, My Queen?"
"Go ahead, Ilian," she waved dismissively at him, humouring him.
His face became animated with joy. Ilian sprang to his feet and proceeded to sing a ballad of how great and beautiful and majestic and 'awe inspiring' their gentle queen was.
She didn't even know why he bothered. Was he seeking her favour? Companionship? Her hand in marriage? He never told her, just annoyed her with his songs.
As he strummed impossibly fast tunes on his lute, he sang in an amazing voice like a chorus of song birds. He sang an impressive tale of Arya, telling of her deeds and great accomplishments through the war and during her reign. Somehow he managed to rhyme all his words even though he sung in the Ancient Language. She'd been impressed the first, second, third time he had sung to her. By the fifteenth it was torture.
While he strummed, she smiled serenely as she talked to Fírnen, not paying Ilian any attention at all. By the end of four hours, she was surprised he still sang. Seeing how passionate he was, Arya decided to give him some satisfaction. "Bravo, Ilian. You have outdone yourself. The best song by far!"
He did not stop strumming, looking up at her confused. "I have not finished yet! I still have fifty-seven more verses!"
"I have heard enough of your beautiful ballad, I fear if listened much more I couldn't stop."
This pleased him. Ilian gave a small bow and opened up the entrance to the cabins below decks open for Arya.
She cursed. How did he know I wanted to leave?
Years of following you must have given him a great understanding of your mannerisms, Fírnen suggested humorously.
But instead of speaking out, Arya smiled at him as she walked down the steps.
Unfortunately, he followed her.
"My Queen, I was writing the one hundredth and eighteenth verse of my ballad when it occurred to me that despite the time we've spent together, we have not had a meal together yet."
Yes, why not? Fírnen asked sarcastically. You've 'spent' so much time together after all.
"So, My Queen, I was hoping you could join me above decks tomorrow night to share supper with me by candle and moonlight."
Very romantic, Fírnen remarked between mental laughs.
Arya didn't really know why Ilian actually expected a yes after she found out about him stalking her for so long, but she wasn't sure she wanted to break his heart. "I'm not sure, Ilian. I have many duties to attend to and preperations to arrange for when I return to Ellesmera, but if I am free I shall join you."
Ilian's smile seemed too big for his long face. He bowed to her and as she walked away heard exclamations of exaltation from behind.
She heard Fírnen's thoughts from above. So…
Not. A. Word.
Eragon had cast a spell over himself and Frelsa, so that they and their dragons were camouflaged to all but each other. They circled the mountain to the side on the Wild side of the island. As they flew, Kalla spoke.
Frelsa, do you know what we have gotten ourselves in to?
With a start she realised her answer. I don't know. Gods, Kalla, what have I done? I've just volunteered to fight what may be the only thing Ebrithil fears. Eragon! The man who turned the tide of a war and has the name Kingkiller!
You bit off more than we could chew, Frelsa.
Thanks for reminding me.
Kalla glanced up at her Rider. Long as we're together huh? I doubt anything would dare to touch Master Saphira.
What are you talking about Kalla? By the time they've gotten that close, she'd have eaten them up!
When she asked Eragon if anyone would notice her absence, he replied that he had cast a spell that convinced all who knew her that she and Kalla had suffered a flight injury so severe that she would be under intensive healing for what could be several days. She felt it was a rather cruel joke to play on her friends.
"Ebrithil!" She called to Eragon. He replied with his mind, What is it, Frelsa?
She took his response as a sign that he did not want to waste breath. Why did you accept my request so easily? I had assumed you would be reluctant to do so.
Eragon's mind grew dark and shadowy. I must undertake pilgrimages such as the one before us every so often. I shall tell you why, but not now. And perhaps if you see the magnitude of my ailment, you would see...
Frelsa knew how he would finish. You would see how hopeless it was.
The clearings where the veterans taught soon disappeared and were replaced by a huge, unbroken forest. She thought she spied a huge shadow of a dragon near a clump of trees but it immediately disappeared when she tried to focus on it. Saphira began to circle in large spirals, lazily nearing the ground. Kalla tried to replicate the blue dragon's flawless technique but soon opted to simply swoop down and pull up to land.
Don't raise your wings at that high an angle, Kalla, or you might be cast into the air again, Saphira chided as she landed with a soft thump.
Yes, Ebrithil.
Eragon waved a hand and stated that his spell of concealment was dispelled. Saphira began to crawl through the forest, slipping easily between giant oaks.
As Kalla followed, Frelsa realised why this place was called the Wild side. There were no sounds of clashing swords or smell of parchment. The only sounds here were the cicadas' songs and the birds' love ballads.
Kalla seemed more at home here, crawling between huge tree trunks and leaping over streams and fallen logs, than she ever did back at the Corner. Suddenly she paused. Her head turned to the right.
What is it, Kalla? We can't fall behind!
Look…
Frelsa followed Kalla's gaze. There, nearly hidden by a huge pine, a dragon. A tall, orange dragon just watching them.
Do you think that might be Rimgrun? Kalla asked excitedly.
I don't know… it might…
The orange dragon flared his wings once and then turned and disappeared into the shadows.
Wow… did you see how big he was! His wings… they must have been fifty metres tip to tip!
She sighed. Hurry up! Look how far ahead Saphira is!
Not far now, Eragon said to Frelsa mentally.
They soon came to a wall of oaks, the tallest and thickest trees she had ever seen. The trunks were so wide that they must've been ten metres from side to side. They grew so close together that there was no space for the smallest creature to slip through. The ground was filled with fallen and rotting logs. There was no getting past this barrier.
Kalla hopped over a half rotten log and looked up the height of the wall, in awe of the trees' magnificent size. How old are these trees, Master Saphira?
If I'm correct, five weeks.
What?
Saphira stood on her hind legs and fell forwards, supporting herself on the tree. Her claws gouged out the tree bark. She bared her teeth in a snarl and pulled backwards. The tree's flesh immediately began to splinter, the dark bark splitting open and revealing the soft, light wood beneath.
What are you doing! Kalla screamed.
Don't trouble me, Kalla, this is hard enough as it is.
The tree seemed to be reluctant to bow to Saphira, putting up a fight as she struggled to topple it. The back roots were unearthed, an impossible net of soil laden tendrils. Saphira let go and shifted around to the front, placing the bottom of her claws on the back of the trunk and using her weight to push down on it. The tree gave way much more quickly.
As the trunk slammed into the ground the tremor that emanated from it shook Frelsa's bones in her flesh. Kalla looked at the tree in shock then at Saphira and Eragon. How could you do that! That tree must've stood there for thousands of years!
Saphira answered between pants as she tore down another tree, I've told you, it has only… been five… weeks… since we came through here."
"Eragon?" Frelsa asked expectantly.
He patted Saphira's side. "These trees are the product of a spell. An incantation put into effect ages past. Tis' a wall of wood, stretching all around the mountain. Impassable. Their branches are so thick and sharp that to try and go through them would be to court death. But to remove them, simply pull them down. A new tree will grow to the same size in five days, maybe less."
"What?" Another tree crashed down, crushing the rotten shells of other trees torn down long ago.
"Elf magic. Come, our destination is up ahead."
They slinked through the new gap between the trees, Kalla glancing at the fallen tree, and followed Saphira through the path her great body cut through the forest as she seemingly waded through the thick undergrowth.
The branches of the trees in either direction for a great distance were as Eragon described, thick and sharp. Barely any light filtered through to them, casting the forest here in a sinister light. Frelsa knew that if a dragon tried to fly through those branches their wings would be shredded. Her master had conjured a werelight and held it in one hand as a beacon for Kalla and her to follow.
Saphira simply walked in a straight line, stoic and silent, whereas Kalla chose this moment to display her nimbleness, leaping onto a fallen log, perching on a small boulder, tipping and tossing her Rider on her back.
Walk straight, Kalla, or I'll- wo-o-o-a-h!
That last part had been due to Kalla flying up to a low branch on a nearby tree. She snorted at Frelsa. If you'd actually brought your saddle it wouldn't be this uncomfortable.
Granted. Next time, we can go running through the woods and flying through the branches all we want, but for now, please try and go in a straight line. Frelsa pleaded. And on the ground.
Kalla shot her a sly grin. Your wish is my command.
Wait, wha- GODS, KALLA!
Her dragon had deemed it an appropriate time to perform an inverted spiralling corkscrew, towards the ground, upside down. She didn't even know Kalla could do that. Frelsa came this close to being a greasy smear on the path. But eventually Kalla decided not to torture her Rider any longer and follow Saphira at a leisurely pace.
Frelsa heard a crackling leaf and spun around in her seat to see a single squirrel picking a nut up off the ground. The darkness here had put her on edge. The most innocent noise became the signature of a deadly predator. There were no cicadas here, as if they knew something in this part of the forest was wrong.
She heard another rustle to her left. Frelsa turned her head and saw a pair of eyes staring back from the shadows. The eyes seemed to be unable to decide on a particular colour, settling on a certain section of the colour palette. The slit pupils followed her as she and Kalla made their way through the forest. Just before she lost sight of it she saw the eyes close. Seemingly gone, Frelsa returned her attention to keeping track of Eragon up ahead, only to see the eyes in the shadows within a bough of leaves overhead. Orange this time. They followed her and Eragon as they walked through the forest.
"Master, there are e-eyes in the shadows."
He sounded as if he were smiling. "Solembum, dear. A werecat. It's no wonder. He has a companion, who likes to be where things are happening."
"Would that companion's name be Angela?"
She saw him perk up in his saddle. "Might be."
"And is she strangely eccentric, a fortune teller, witty and the owner of a potato eating Salamander named Red?"
"Now that last one is new. She's got a salamander? Last I saw her she had an interest for frogs and had proved they were no such things as toads."
"Not really a 'wet' kind of salamander, more like an armoured red lizard which breathes fire and curls into a ball and rolls around."
She had neglected to tell Eragon the prophecy Angela had read for her in her dreams. She wasn't sure whether she had actually been spirited to Angela's shop, and if the scene had been her imagination or a vision of reality.
"Ah, I'd like to see him. I have seen few Salamanders of their ilk in my lifetime. So, how is- wait."
Saphira halted so suddenly that Kalla accidentally treaded on her tail. Saphira gave an outraged snort of fire as Kalla apologised meekly. Frelsa saw Eragon dismount Saphira and draw his sword. He gestured for her and her dragon to come forward.
Saphira moved to the side to allow space for them. The branches where they were seemed even thicker, allowing no light through at all. Eragon's werelight was the only illumination in the whole area. There, at the foot of the mountain, where the ground just began to slope up, was a portion of the ground that had seemed to cave in on itself, a giant hole, roughly circular and fifty metres in diameter in most directions. Large steps, swathed in dry leaves and big enough for Saphira to walk down stretched away deep underground. A cold draft blew out as Frelsa peered over the edge and into the hole. It was unnerving just to be near it.
At that moment, a soft howling noise, a barely audible whine, seemed to emanate from within the opening.
"Ebrithil?" She asked fearfully as she back away from the hole.
The howl, more of a demented cry now, grew steadily louder.
She back up until she bumped into Kalla. Frelsa looked to Eragon for support, but saw him gripping his sword with shaking hands so hard his knuckles turned white, taking a step back as he fixed his widened eyes on the opening. His whole body seemed to be quivering as the howl continued. Saphira was trying to stay still, eyes squeezed shut and claws digging into the dirt.
Frelsa shielded her ears and squeezed close her eyes, trying to shut out the unnerving wail, but her discomfort was nothing to her master's pain. Eragon cried out, his voice echoing for kilometres and dropped his sword onto the leafy ground next to him. Saphira roared and she seemed to dig a hole in the dirt with the crown of her head.
She really wished Drukjl and Shepherd were with her. Even if Shepherd was spouting some stupid nonsense.
When the wail stopped, Eragon was curled up in a foetal position, werelight hovering over his figure, dim. Saphira still kneaded the soil between her claws nervously.
Frelsa knelt next to Eragon. "Master?"
His eyes opened so fast she jerked back in surprise. He stared at her hollowly. "Has…it stopped?"
"Y-Yes."
Saphira stopped kneading the soil and shook her head to clear it. She craned her neck forward and allowed her Rider to use her scaled head as a support to stand up. Eragon stared at an indistinct point in the darkness within the opening, then reached for Brisingr. "We… we should go."
When he spoke, it seemed like he had lost all conviction to go on. Frelsa saw her master slipping and spoke to him, "Frudhe wiol Thorna Iknol caan frudhe neo, un Thorna Iknol wilean neo."
He glanced at her.
"Remember, Ebrithil! Don't let go!"
He stared at her eyes, then a light that was gone returned. "Eragon, not Ebrithil."
His werelight flared to its full power. Eragon reached down with a hand, one that Frelsa noticed shook slightly, and picked up Brisingr. "So? Are we going?"
Frelsa gave a sigh of relief as she saw Eragon and Saphira disappear into the hole. If he lost his mind she knew she couldn't leave this place.
Come on, Frelsa. We must go into the breach.
As she mustered the courage to take the first step, nearly slipping on the stones still wet from last night's downpour, she wondered how Shepherd and Drukjl were.
When Shepherd woke again, he was in his bed. He hurriedly sat up and immediately wished he hadn't. His head pounded as if he'd drunk like a dwarf the past night. Judging by the light filtering down through the skylight it must be morning. He fell back onto his mattress. "Hell of a night, huh, Frelsa?"
There was no response. Shepherd glanced around the room. The shower rooms were open. The two beds at the far corners were empty, as usual, but Kalla's was as well. He tried to ignore the little monkey beating his brain like a drum and sat on the side of his bed.
"Errol? You there?" He called up at the skylight. Silence. Seems not, he thought.
Shepherd got to his feet unsteadily, and after wobbling a bit decided to use the wall as a support. He realised he was in a new tunic. He didn't want to know who had changed his clothes.
He found his sword on the ground some distance away and picked up the grey sword, Shorren, a perfectly straight sword, unnaturally long for a sword of its ilk, and attached it to his belt. But when you forged with brightsteel you could add certain features that would be devastating for a regular sword. Shorren was made to slash and hack, similar to an elven sword, but also made to stab through even the thickest armour easily.
He staggered to under the skylight to double check that Errol wasn't there. A mental probe brushed against his mind and he immediately retreated within his consciousness and erected walls of protection around his mind in anticipation.
The probe seemed perplexed that he had created his defences, tapping curiously on the walls. He heard it say something tinny to him. Shepherd cautiously lowered a section of his defences.
-ome down here, Shepherd!
He recognised the voice as Drukjl's. What?
Drukjl snorted in annoyance. About time you woke. I am here at your Human Corner's healer. Come down here, the blasted human won't let me in!
Why did you want to go visit the healer? Shepherd asked, bewildered. Urgals almost never entered Men's Corner, Drukjl included.
To visit, Frelsa! She's being healed right now, and this human won't let me see her!
Frelsa's being healed? Still? They must've crashed hours ago.
The healer says she and Kalla have suffered greatly, and even with their greatest spells they cannot release her for a number of days. Let go of me, healer!
Shepherd was already on his way out the door. On my way, Ram. Oh, and do you have an idea where Errol is?
OVER HERE!
Shepherd looked up as he left his quarters. Up there, far above, was the underside of a grey dragon. With two, beautiful wings.
A smile spread across his face. He laughed. Shepherd raised both his arms and whooped as he saw Errol swoop down. Some of those around him shot looks and stares at him, but he didn't care. He heard a scholar, dressed in a ridiculous purple robe and headpiece, muttured, "Unacceptable. The standard of Riders these days." His companion, dressed in equally ridiculous robes, nodded along with him.
Shepherd was still whooping when Errol swooped down like an eagle, nothing but a steel blur, and grabbed his Rider with his claws and taking flight in a split-second. Some part of him said that this wasn't very safe. Screw it, the rest of him replied.
He screamed in glorious exaltation as he looked up at Errol, carrying him as he flew at breakneck speed. He swerved left and right, around and under other dragons and their Riders who yelled at them. Shepherd felt the wind blowing his short hair about, making his tunic ripple as they flew.
He opened his mind to Errol and was overwhelmed by the joy that flooded through.
Your wing!
Better than ever! Errol shouted mentally back. He glanced down as he flew and Shepherd saw him trying as hard he could to replicate a human smile with a face designed not to.
Errol roared as he swooped straight down to the road, pulling up less than a metre from the ground, buffeting a nearby Rider, Shahnz the Creep, causing him to fall backwards onto his beige dragon nearby. Dayine didn't budge as Shahnz cursed at them and their children.
Shepherd and his dragon flew through the sky, executing perfect manoevours, Errol enjoying the fact that he was whole yet again. The short span of time he spent awake and without a wing had been so alien, so strange, he had felt stunted, handicapped. Like it wasn't just a wing that had been ripped off, a very part of his soul. Ah, but what does it matter. He had his wing now, he had Shepherd in his claws. Life was good. For now.
Yes, your wing has been returned to you, and I am glad for it, but you must make haste, Dýrgrir's voice rang out in their minds. Durkjl is not pleased with this healer.
Shepherd and Errol agreed. The dragon spread his wings and pulled into a steep dive towards the far side of Men's corner, where the healers' building was. Shepherd realised how dangerous it was to fly like that while Errol held him in his claws. He didn't care.
Within the tunnel, walking through the dank, dark passages was even worse than she imagined it would be. The tunnels themselves seemed to have been made with the size of dragons in mind, almost a hundred metres in width and half in height. It was so large that the ghostly pale light from Eragon's werelight, who himself walked in the middle of the tunnel, didn't even touch the far walls. Their footsteps echoed up and down the length of the tunnel, making it seem that there were a hundred Frelsas, Kallas, Eragons and Saphiras in the tunnel.
The tunnels had acute angles and were perfectly symmetrical and every inch was covered with grime or moss. There were countless junctions and crossroads they passed, side passages that stretched into darkness. Frelsa passed one passageway and thought she saw something down its length, a long bearded man with a yellowed scroll inspecting the wall. She backtracked hurriedly. Nothing but darkness. At one point, she saw out of the corner of her eye, an elf. He walked besides her, white cape billowing behind him. Tall and with handsome but weathered features, long white hair and sad eyes. His armour was beautiful and ornate, made of gilded ivory and joined with veins of silver. The elf held one arm up in the air and rested it on something invisible, like how one would while walking alongside their dragon. A white, sheathed sword hung from a fine leather belt. The elf didn't seem to notice that Frelsa was looking at him.
"Eragon… there is someone else…"
Her master didn't even turn around. "Don't touch him. His name is Vrael."
"Vrael? He's dead!"
"Indeed. The Last Leader before The Fall."
Frelsa noticed that his hand was resting on a huge white dragon, bigger than Saphira, but it seemed unsubstantial. Like the image of the dragon was seen from a distance underwater, constantly wavering. She asked Kalla, What was the name of Vrael's dragon?
Umaroth.
She then asked Eragon, "Master, I see Umaroth walking along his Rider, but he is faded."
Eragon's response was nearly silent and sounded as if he could not find the right words. "He has not… passed completely. Not yet…"
She did not ask him about it again. Vrael's wraith followed every turn Eragon made. Every path Eragon knew, Vrael's wraith knew. At first Frelsa suspected he was following them. But soon, she realised that he didn't even notice them. At one point, his armoured arm passed straight through Kalla's side, who jumped back exclaiming, Cold!
Frelsa walked closer to Kalla as another image materialised. A regal looking woman, armoured in flowing plates of armour. She also rested his hand like Vrael, but her hand rested on the substantial form of a large, copper coloured dragon clad in overlapping plates of tempered steel, just as or bigger than the image of Umaroth. The copper coloured dragon's tail swung from side to side and its tip grazed Frelsa's shoulder. She jerked away and realised what Kalla had meant by cold.
"Ebrithil…"
"Eragon, not Ebrithil. And fear not these wraiths. They are shadows of the past. They can't hurt you, they are here to turn back the meek."
She didn't say so but she was feeling pretty meek right now.
Down another passage, Frelsa saw an elf standing next to a pile of bricks before an empty space, before casting a spell and causing the bricks to fly into space, forming a wall. She blinked, and the elf was gone. The wall was like any other.
"Eragon, I realised you have not told me of your plight yet." Frelsa needed something to get her mind off the dead Riders and the beings here replaying the roles they had in life.
"I did say I would. Well, walk closer to me and Saphira. It would not do to lose you down here."
"Seventy years ago, King Galbatorix was in a mad search for one thing. A secret. When I confronted him, I realised that he had searched for, and found, the true name of the Ancient Language. Do not ask me for the name, I shall not tell you. But in the treasures we uncovered from the ruins of his collapsed castle after his demise, I found hundreds of tomes and crumbling scrolls in his quarters. I inspected each personally and found they were all from the old library on Vroengard. He had written unintelligible scribbles all over every page and made hurried side notes. I at first suspected that these books were the ones he had used in his effort to find the true name of the Ancient Language, but upon further inspection I found that he had studied the books the very day he had perished. He had found the name by then, so why study further?"
They took a left down a five way crossroads.
"I took his tomes and scrolls and inspected each and every page. In his scribbles I found reference to a curse, of sorts, a responsibility bestowed upon a Rider against their choice."
"What is this curse?" Frelsa asked.
"Do not interrupt, but you shall understand it in time. Galbatorix was a powerful Rider, but even at the peak of his reign he feared one thing."
"What is that?"
"No interruptions. I found in his journals dating to before the Fall that Vrael had grown weak and fallen from grace. I then researched into Vrael's life before the Fall and found he had been disowned by his parents renounced by his loved ones and friends. Now in the journal of Galbatorix's, I found that in his search for the Name, he had invariably discovered a secret. A secret revealed only to the Leader of the Riders at any time."
Eragon paused. "I am about to share information that could break the will of many if carelessly told. You must swear never to reveal what I tell you to others unless Saphira and I can no longer contain it."
She and Kalla swore as such.
"Now as time wore on, Galbatorix became more desperate in his search to learn of the secret. I found in many ancient tomes of his references to a great danger that would come to pass. I was intrigued, and found a scroll that connected this danger to the Riders. More specifically, the Leaders of the Riders. I was panning through a tome and found and found an interesting chapter on the Leader before Vrael, the War maiden Simal."
Frelsa glanced at the woman with the copper dragon.
"Her mother it appears died in childbirth, and her father was said to lavish his love upon his child. But when she ascended to her post as Leader he disowned her, much lilke Vrael's parents. I also found that she had a sister and a lover, both of whom renounced ties with her like her father. I found this strange, so I researched into the life of many previous Leaders of the Riders and was amazed to see that they had lost all connections with friends and relatives from their past upon ascending to their post. Not one of them had children or married. There were also reports of their power steadily weakening as they held their position which, along with death, seemed to be the prevailing reason that they eventually stepped down."
"Now Galbatorix found this intriguing too. He was a tyrant, but also learned. He knew that it could not have been coincidence that the Leaders had lost all close to them. And during his reign, many horrible plights struck the land. An earthquake, Ra'zac plagued the peoples and the Urgal clans ran rampant with an uncharacteristic rage. None of these were caused by Galbatorix himself, but even by his dethroning the king. I found that it was caused by his slaying of Vrael."
"How?"
"Ah, I asked the same question. After Galbatorix had scattered the Riders, the rest of the world continued as well they could. When he formed the Empire, they still continued as well they could. But the moment Galbatorix sought out Vrael and slew him, it all fell to turmoil. An earthquake struck just a year after, destroying several of the Beor Mountains. The Ra'zac ran wild in the streets until the King culled them and subverted the last two and their steeds and parents to his will. The Urgals burned villages and killed as never before, their reasons unknown. Galbatorix used his powers to halt their warpath and keep them under his thrall. He was a tyrant, yes. But through his actions he had saved many, even if it were to let them continue serving him. He searched for a reason why these horrors had plagued his kingdom. I discovered that in all surviving texts from periods when the Riders were without Leaders for long periods of time disasters sprung about all over Alagaësia, wars raged, droughts and famine. None of these could have all sprung about by one Rider's death."
Eragon exhaled, as if preparing himself to behold some great secret to her. "There were abscure texts in strange languages I had recovered in my journeys, through no little effort, and many referenced to some great danger chained and kept imprisoned under the dirt. So great was he that even the Dragon's might would pallor in his presence, and so spiteful was he that if let loose upon this world he would burn all civilisation to ashes. Age old bonds placed upon his cage were enough to hold him back, barely. But his power constantly assailed his prison, so much so that without a continuous supply of magic reinforcements they would crumble. That is the reason why it was said that the Rider's Leaders steadily deteriorated as they continued in this position, for this power came from-"
"Them…" Frelsa looked at Eragon with renewed awe. He had allowed an ancient spell to siphon off his powers every day and every night to hold back a threat which could mean death for all if released. "And this is this Danger's prison? Under the mountain?"
"Yes. I made this island the new Vroengard, as I could have easy access to the Danger to repair his prison and mentor my students."
All this time she had lived without knowledge that a stone's throw away from where she slept was a beast of some sort that could devastate their all Alagaësia.
"But why did-" she had nearly said 'you'. "-they lose all their loved ones."
Eragon stopped. He turned back to look at her and she saw endless sorrow and emptiness in his eyes. "Such is the manner of the curse. The Danger will find holes in his prison through which his magic can go forth and alter the lives and minds of those he chooses. His reach is far, but he cannot harm those that give their lives to keep him chained. But he takes great pleasure in turning those around them against them."
He subconsciously rubbed a scar on his lower arm. He could have healed it long ago, so why didn't he? He and Saphira continued walking. "You see why I did not wish to share this secret with Arya?"
"But… what will happen to me?" She wasn't sure she would want to live the rest of her life alone, with only Kalla as her confidant.
"You… I have no knowledge what plights the Danger will thrust upon you, if you survive the journey."
He resumed his account. "I chanced upon this island as Saphira, I and several elves sailed the seas to find a new home for the dragons and Riders. It seemed the perfect home, isolated from Alagaësia by the Northern length of the Spine that ringed the edges of Du Weldenvarden. I had not learnt of its deadly past until after the first eggs had hatched. Now this Danger, he uses those same holes in his prison to perform his deeds throughout Alagaësia. Implanting the idea to make a shade into the minds of a group of sorcerers. Bestowing upon a dragon the need to steal a few sheep from those farmers. It is my duty to take the Pilgrimage to his prison every month and endeavor to repair his bonds. It is... difficult, in my weakened state."
"Ebrithil, if you do this every month, then how have we not noticed your absence? Do you depart under cover of night?"
"No, I merely conjure a phantom of me and Saphira. I can control it from a distance and instruct it to teach you and your class as I normally would"
"As this Danger tries to break free, every second he comes closer to shattering his chains as I grow ever weaker and his power wanes. This Danger has come within an inch of freeing himself, and that inch will be halved by the time we reach him as he senses my presence. The chains binding him have grown more taxing to sustain. Occasionally, they take in a large portion of my energy in a short period of time. It is not very, comfortable."
Frelsa remembered the fits Eragon and Saphira had suffered from that one moment in the caves and at the entrance to the tunnels.
"It appears that there are a few who can sense when the bonding spells do this, such as Fírnen who felt an anomaly on this island all the way from Ellesmera."
They took a side passage on the left wall.
"The fits are very unpleasant. My last master, Oromis, a Rider who had suffered through the Fall and survived along with his dragon, Glaedr, thought he could put an end to the blights on the land during Galbatorix's reign. He had learnt through great tedium of the curse, and thought himself strong enough to be its new donor of energy and journeyed to this island. It did not proceed well. Oromis had been cursed by one of the Forsworn during the Fall, and the curse had stunted his magical prowess to that of a complete novice. The curse under this mountain, coupled with the one the Forsworn had cast upon him, reacted violently. The bonds deemed him unsuitable as their donor of magic, and he would be plagued by fits akin to mine till the day he died."
"Might I ask something, Ebrithil?"
"Ask away."
"Could you not leave the chains without energy for a while? They lasted throughout the entire period of Galbatorix's reign without breaking."
"That they did, but they were much stronger then. They lasted so long only through the powers previous Leaders had invested in them. Galbatorix had never found the secret he searched for, but would not have willingly offered himself to the curse anyway. When I found the cage, the bonds were at their breaking point. I was honour bond to offer myself up to keep the chains linked in the hopes of holding back the Danger."
As he ended his story, Frelsa felt the same way she had when she first saw him with the magnificent blue behemoth by his side. Awestruck, speechless, in total wonder.
What do you think lies under the mountain? She asked Kalla.
I'd say a powerful being of some sort.
You know that's impossible right? How could something survive so long underground without light, food or water and still be strong enough to use his powers on those far away? It must be a magical anomaly of some sort, self-sustaining blob of pure energy.
Improbable, not impossible. Dragons can stay within our eggs for decades, and we can hibernate for years without food. It is not out of the question that one could induce such a state through magic. And to do such work requires the reasoning that comes with sentience. No magic blob lies chained there.
Frelsa thought about it. Kalla's words were true, and it frustrated her whenever she lost an argument. At least it wasn't against Shepherd.
She looked around and realised that there were many more phantoms following them, almost as if they had been drawn to Eragon's story, all strong Riders with grim faces, resting one hand on their dragon. Most of their dragon's seemed as real as Kalla, except one or two that shimmered like Umaroth. Some wore armour with signs that marked them as the make of one particular area of the mainland, a Dwarven rune, an Elven symbol, but many of them wore armour Frelsa had only seen in musuems of their ancient history. There must have been a hundred of them, up and down the tunnel, walking in the same direction. Each bore the same defeated look she had seen on Eragon's face the night before.
Eragon didn't look directly at them, but she heard his mutters carry over to her, "Vrael, Daleth, Simal, Drunherd, Jilith…"
She realised that she had read all those names before, in an old tome so full of dust she had choked on the cloud when she opened it. They were all names of legendary heroes, or more accurately, all had served as Leader to the Rider Corp in their time.
"…Philipe, Harlend, Qwynyl, Sílrith…"
Eragon continued reading off the names of the Riders' phantoms around them. Definitely all leaders of the Riders. Had they all walked this path once?
The phantoms were ghostly, many were crammed into the light provided by that werelight of Eragon's, as if hungry for it. Frelsa saw the indistinct shapes of more wraiths moving in the shadows.
Frelsa… Kalla's voice was in awe.
Don't worry, Kalla, stay close to me.
No, look! The green dragon jerked its head to the left.
She looked and saw another Rider. His hair was shorter than most elves and golden as sunlight. He rested his hand on his dragon, as white as Umaroth, but purer somehow. The elf's armour resembled the oldest Elven cuirass she'd ever seen, in the museum at the edge of Men's Corner. But the armour was different still, alien. The sword by his side was no Rider's sword, a simple steel sword of Elf design. His features gave off a feel of gentle power and humbleness. The white dragon he lay his hand on was by far the largest there, twice as large as Saphira, with brilliant scales that nearly blinded her and whose body was evidently extremely strong. The Elf and dragon radiated strength and greatness of ages past.
Who is it? Frelsa asked in awe.
I don't know, but he was powerful in life. His very shadow in here could subvert any one of us.
"Ebrithil, who is that?"
Both Eragon and Saphira looked back. She anwered, His name is Eragon.
"What? But how?"
Eragon spoke, "Eragon the First."
"The one who…"
"Who founded the Riders and made peace between Elves and dragons."
She looked back at Eragon the First with renewed wonder. He walked alongside them for maybe ten metres more, before he moved out to the edge of the sea of phantoms and was replaced by another.
"Master Eragon, when I asked why you allowed me to follow you so easily, you answered..."
"I was due to make my Pilgrimage to repair the tears ripped in the bonds."
"I understand, but you also said that-"
"Yes, resistance against this Danger is useless. I have made this journey countless times. I know. I have seen."
"But Ebrithil, surely with another Rider and her dragon at your side, you could-"
Eragon stopped. The path before them fell into an even deeper darkness, a black wall of death. Even though he stood on the edge of it his werelight could not illuminate one inch of the dark before them.
"We have finished the first leg of our Pilgrimage. Prepare yourself for the next."
28-11-13
These typos are really getting on my nerves. I have to look through the whole 9,000 word chapter that I'd already read through in Word and find these mysterious typos that pop up. If any of you know how to deal with this annoyance, please do tell. Anyways, chapter 4 is complete. I wrote up a 9,000 chapter this time in response to a private message from one of you. Hopefully, it doesn't sound too awkward when you read through it. I also didn't know whether to write from one of my OC's or Arya's pov, so why not both? Leave a review on how you think this chapter is, and if I am open to criticism. You can never get good unless you're told how bad you are. Also, if you have any suggestions on the directions this story could go from here you can add that in a review.
P.S. Chapter 5 probably won't be released on schedule, tomorrow that is, due to some complications. But it will be released, latest by the day after next.
29-11-13
I just updated the story and finally reached 10,000+ words. I added reasons to why he had allowed Frelsa and Kalla to tag along, I hope that this is the last edit I'll have to make. Won't be free to write chapter five for some time.