When Arya woke up, she was in Ellesméra. Or at least she thought she was. She lay on her back on a soft bed of fallen leaves, looking up. Mellow fingers of sunlight fell through gaps in the boughs of leaves above.

"Atra esterní ono thelduin."

She imagined Ilian stalking her again, then realised that he was dead.

"Are you awake, my Queen?"

Arya shifted her hands and pushed herself into a sitting position. She was still wearing her bloodied nightgown, complete with a hole in the cloth and a waterfall of dried blood. She felt the skin beneath the gown, perfect, without a single scratch. She noticed a large wall of leaves to one side.

She turned to the source of the voice, an elf with short, black hair stood nearby, dressed in the fine robes of healers. Arya remembered to finish the greeting he had started moments ago, "Mor'ranr lífa unin hjarta onr."

"Un du evarínya ono varda. How do you feel, my Queen?"

"Well… I think." She rubbed her stomach gingerly, the feeling of the icy blade slipping between flesh into her body still fresh in her mind.

"Where's Fírnen?"

"Besides you, my Queen."

She turned and realised that what she had assumed was a wall of leaves was actually Fírnen. He lay still in slumber, green scales refracting and reflecting light as his huge body moved up and down with each breathe. She tried to speak with him with her mind, but he could not be roused. Arya looked around and noticed that she was in the healer's building, a collection of rooms sung out of a grove of Maplewood trees. This must be one of the largest rooms to accommodate Fírnen.

Arya felt the dried blood that caked her gown. "Might I ask what happened aboard the ship?"

"You were found on the deck of The Red Bull unconscious, bleeding profusely from a wound in your abdomen. None of the spellcasters present were able to heal you, and Bjartskular was in a magically induced sleep."

Seemed to match up with what she remembered.

"We were able to wake your dragon after a time, and he saw your condition and despaired. As you began to slip away he touched you with the tip of his snout and both you and him fell into a deep sleep. We have not been able to rouse either of you since."

She wondered how many spell casters it took to move a sleeping Fírnen. She laid one arm on his scaly belly. He had saved her.

A thought sprung to her mind. She did not tear her eyes from Fírnen to avoid letting the healer see the emotion within them. "Might I ask when the next ship will leave for Doru Araeba Nyr?" She rarely used the formal name for the island, 'New Doru Araeba'. Few people did anyway.

The healer hesitated. She knew something was wrong.

"The ships will be restricted to port due to unforeseen… complications."

She turned to him. "What has happened?"

"You should rest, my Queen."

"As Queen, I demand you speak the truth to me or I shall force it from you." Even in her state she was more than a match for a Healer.

He still seemed hesitant. She waved him aside. "I shall just find out myself then. Bring me my scrying mirror, the one with a sister mirror on the island."

The mirror had been a gift from Eragon, but was still rarely used, on account of his 'duties'. The Healer bowed quickly, "I'm sorry, my Queen, but your rest must remain uninterrupted save by us Healers."

Something was definitely wrong. She began to slide out from her bed of leaves, limbs sluggish and slow to respond. The Healer seemed torn, wanting to obey his Queen but not wanting to disobey orders from a higher ranked Healer. Arya muttered a spell and her limbs felt infinitely more limber. She advanced towards the doorway, which the Healer was standing in.

"Step aside, Healer." He obliged, bowing low and quickly moving to the left. She cast one look at Fírnen, who was not waking up any time soon, and ran out into Ellesméra.

She immediately began making her way to the coast, the far North fringes of Du Weldenvarden. Arya did not bother to use the pathways, just cutting straight through the thick forest. A few elves who saw her gazed in shock at the blood on her gown, but she payed them no heed. All around her were signs that something had happened. More than a few melancholy melodies floated through the branches, there were fewer elves on the paths. Even the werelights floating through and between the trees seemed dim.

Then she heard a dragon roar. Not uncommon in Ellesméra, there were usually quite a few resident Riders, but no Wild Dragons however. Wild dragons preferred their new island home far away. Arya looked up expecting to see one of the familiar dragons and their Riders passing overhead, something to bring some sanity to the situation. But instead of one, two, even three, there were six dragons. The thunder of dragons flew past, the power of their wings shaking the trees, rustling the boughs and branches and making it rain with leaves. That was strange. There were few Riders in Ellesméra at the time, last she checked, only two or three. The rest had gone on some quest.

Arya hastened to the coast, calling to mind her old lessons on the landscape of Du Weldenvarden. If she continued straight then she could cut through the forest and reach the coast relatively quickly. Another roar, this time from another direction, not where the thunder of dragons had headed. This was bad.

She was now sprinting through the forest, hindered slightly by her long gown. She realised why she had not favoured these ridiculous clothes in her youth. Ferns slapped against her legs, she ducked low to pass unscathed under low hanging branches and boughs of leaves. Arya scaled up a fallen log. Not far now.

Two roars, from another direction again. How many dragons were there in the forest? They would not be here in such numbers unless… unless something had happened.

Arya vaulted over a large root and the hem of her dress caught on a low branch. She yanked it forward, ripping a large tear in the fine silk. She did not care.

A vault, a leap, a duck. She ran and ran through the forest, until she left it behind. The trees ended abruptly, sensing that there was nothing further beyond. She emerged onto the huge stone cliffs that rose thousands of metres above the sea. A strong sea wind blew through her hair and gown, making them flap like a flag in the sky. Blue waves crashed onto the pale stone far below, but she only had eyes for what was before her.

The gloomy sky was filled with dragons, dragons of all colours and age, some huge and nearly as large as Fírnen, others tiny and carried by larger dragons, probably mothers, in their jaws. Some were saddled with Riders atop them. Most were not. They all flew from the North, from the island.

But the real horror lay behind the exodus of dragons and Riders. A huge black cloud spread from the North, its arms reaching to envelop the horizon and consume all.

They appeared on a hill, tumbling down the grassy slopes.

When she stopped rolling, Frelsa got up and sat down, trying to wipe away the tears, but they just kept coming. Kalla lay down next to her, resting her green head next to her Rider.

They're gone, she realised slowly. She buried her face in Kalla's scales and cried.

The first rays of light of dawn began to creep from the East, made strange and beautiful through her tears. She felt a presence next to her and saw Dýrgrir and Drukjl next to her, the Urgal sitting with head between his knees, just like Eragon back in the cave. Another wave of tears. Shepherd leaned against Errol, looking up at the last of the stars before the light spirited them away.

They sat there for a long time, Frelsa did not know how long. She felt the cool night winds give way to the warmth of the Sun, the dew on the grass blades beneath her. Time seemed to have left them alone for the moment, giving them a safe little bubble within which they could grieve.

A shadow fell over her. Drukjl stood over her, one hand on Dýrgrir besides him. The brown dragon's eyes were sad and forlorn. We must go.

Go? She could not rouse herself to use her own voice.

"Yes," Drukjl reaffirmed. His voice sounded even hoarser than usual. "Or our masters' sacrifice would have been in vain."

She knew it was true but she did not want to believe it. She wanted to believe they had never made a sacrifice, that this was just a bad nightmare that she and Kalla were sharing and soon they would wake up.

Shepherd was beginning to rouse himself, he seemed almost like he was shaking himself awake. "Ram's right, we have to go...have to go, fast as we can."

Go where? Kalla asked dejectedly.

Eragon spoke of his cousin's castle, yes? Errol answered immediately. Then we go to his cousin's castle.

Frelsa saw a hand enter her field of view. She looked up and saw Shepherd, solemn, the usual animated joy missing from his face. "Come on, we can't do it without you. We weren't with him down there."

Frelsa remained on the ground.

"He wouldn't want us to waste time mourning them," Shepherd reminded. "He would want us to finish our job."

She reluctantly accepted the hand. Errol bent down and used his shoulder to help support Kalla as she got to her feet.

Drukjl mounted Dýrgrir and flew up for a better view. When he returned, he informed them that his best guess was that they had landed within Surda.

"The nearest form of civilisation," He pointed South-West, "Is a human city far from here."

Shepherd scratched his chin. "I'd guess that it would be Feinster."

Frelsa did not bother chipping in. She could not remember her life in Alagaësia at all and all her knowledge on the towns and cities came from dusty old tomes and yellowed scrolls, and that could not match up to Shepherd's intuitive knowledge of his homeland.

Let's go then, Errol said, eager to be off, already spreading his wings.

Actually, I don't feel that up to flying. Kalla seemed to be in a worse state than the rest of them, but still Frelsa was amazed. Flying was one of Kalla's greatest pleasures in life.

Errol immediately agreed, contradicting his earlier statement. You're right, Kalla. We should all take it a bit slow for a while, after what happened…

Mm hm, Kalla responded.

And they began their march.

Drukjl and Dýrgrir decided that he would escort them from above, as a lookout just in case. And after a while, Shepherd agreed to do the same, giving the excuse that 'four pairs of eyes are better than two'. Errol was slightly upset, but Shepherd could tell Frelsa and Kalla wanted some alone time.

He kept on replaying the scene in his mind, his view of Eragon and Saphira getting fatally slashed by the Rider's own weapon. He wondered if maybe, maybe if he was faster he could have changed something. The outcome might have been different. He cast these thoughts aside. He had to keep moving on.

Dýrgrir flew some distance in front of them. Errol glided for great distances, barely flapping at all. Shepherd was not sure he would have bothered to anyway, the grey dragon's attention was entirely focused on the two figures they escorted below. Or more specifically, one of the two figures.

Love's a strange thing, huh, Errol? Shepherd asked slyly.

It sure is, Errol rumbled in affirmation. Then he seemed to have realised what he just agreed to. What I meant was… uh, no, of course not! I... I... why would you even ask something like that, Shepherd?

He gave a small smile. You know what I'm talking about, 'Grey Head'.

I hate names.

But you weren't complaining when she called you that were you?

Uh…

Shepherd actually gave a short laugh. Even after what had just happened, he still remembered how to tease his dragon.

Come on, Grey Head, I saw how desperate you were to break through those doors at the Healer's. And at the volcano top. There must be a reason you were so frantic to reach Frelsa and Kalla, or perhaps just for Kalla maybe?

Wonderful, I had hoped you would've matured, Errol grumbled.

Errol, we're dragon and Rider. You can tell me.

He was obviously reluctant to answer. Dýrgrir's not listening is he?

Shepherd checked if anyone was. Nope.

His dragon seemed to loosen up a bit. It's just that, I mean… she's just so… so… just look at her!

Shepherd took a look. Green and scaly. I like your taste.

Laugh at me again and I'll drop you. You don't have a saddle, remember?

That, of course, made Shepherd laugh again which only evoked a grumble from the steel dragon.

But you have to agree that she's quite pretty... I-I mean attractive, for a dragon, Errol said extremely awkwardly.

I'll take your word for it.

But, she's only got an eye for those Wild ones, Errol sighed sadly as he returned his gaze to the green dragon far below. Shepherd felt sad as he saw his dragon stare at Kalla so wistfully. She'll never feel the same way about me.

Don't worry, Errol. Everything changes, even dragons, he consoled.

You really think that?

I really do.

I wish nothing had ever changed.

Frelsa turned and looked at Kalla as she walked sullenly besides her Rider.

It can be again, Frelsa.

How?

Kalla lowered her head and pushed her snout under Frelsa's arm. Just close your eyes. I'll keep you on track.

She closed her eyes.

Feel the wind in your hair, Frelsa?

Yes.

Feel the Sun on your skin?

Yes, I do.

Now imagine yourself back on the sparring field, sitting next to all of us.

She could almost feel the grass under her.

What do you see?

I see…

And what was amazing, was that she did see. The image seemed to paint itself on her eyelids, showing her what once was.

I see Eragon, and Saphira and all of you. He's teaching us about how to sing to flowers to make them bloom.

I remember that one.

She saw in her mind's eye, Eragon with a tiny Orchid bud. He sung softly to it, the lullaby gently goading the flowed out of its nest. The song was beautiful, it brought tears to her eyes when she had first heard it.

What is this? She asked Kalla in wonder as the scene played out before her.

A trick I was taught, the Dragon responded, slightly gladdened that at least one of them was happy now.

The flower seemed to sway in accordance with the song. The walls of the bud twitched once, then twice, then opened with an unearthly 'crack.'

Frelsa frowned. She did not remember that sound. What happened, Kalla?

… Just step back slowly.

She lifted her right foot and brought it back slowly, but something was barring it from moving. She began to open her eyes, saying, What is this-

Frelsa had stepped into a rib cage.

She gave a cry of shock and yanked her foot back, but the collapsed ribs held fast. Pulling again and again, she placed her other foot on the ribcage and pushed back. Her foot popped free with a disgusting series of crackling noises.

What? How is this thing here? Her mind flashed back to under the volcano, the Grinning Skeleton who she had nearly died against. A shiver shot up her spine.

Seems there are more, Kalla said with disgust.

Frelsa looked up and saw the landscape before them littered with long rotted corpses, blackened and charred bones from countless bodies.

Frelsa, what is it? Shepherd asked. Why did we stop?

You can't see it?

See what? They must be far too high up to see the bones that spread out across the field.

What is this place? She asked in horror.

This place, you know it as Melian. Drukjl answered sombrely as Errol and Dýrgrir descended.

This place of death? She asked in disgust. A few ruins remained here and there, a few cornerstones, a pile of charred wood, mounds of collapsed roofs and walls. The grass here was sparse, as if even nature could barely encroach on this damned ground. She remembered reading that Melian was a small but bustling town that was known for its bread tinted with seaweed.

"It was Melian once," Shepherd called as he got nearer. "Burnt down years ago, most of the tomes on our island were not very up to date on recent events."

Frelsa walked through the burnt ruins, possessed by some morbid desire to see how these people had been ended. She was powerless as the images flashed through her mind. Men and women running through the streets, running from the fire. Neighbours falling to their knees as acrid smoke enveloped their lungs, their stiff bodies rolling into the gutters and drains. Buildings collapsing as their wooden supports burned to dust. She wondered if this was what their Island was like now. Frelsa immediately dispelled the thought.

Her companions reluctantly followed her and Kalla into the ruins. Drukjl stepped over a blackened skeleton. "At least we know we tread the right path."

She remembered that Melian was only a short distance from Feinster. Frelsa glanced through a hole in a pile of stones and saw a skeleton within, hands wrapped around its neck. It had died choking on smoke, the horrid black fumes forcing their way into their victim's throat as he gasped for air.

The Rider placed one hand on a fallen beam and stepped over a corner stone. The beam shifted and tore down a small section of the rubble, exposing another skeleton on its belly, leaning against the last wall of the building. There were a thousand scratch marks on the stones where the skeleton had in life tried in vain to claw its way out.

They needed to go, to abandon this place of death. Only the dead were here, and if they tarried they might end up dead like them. Like that one on the ground. Or that one in the drain. Or that one…

Frelsa shook her head to clear it of disturbing images. "Let's leave. Now."

Scaling Kalla's side and taking her place on her back, they turned around and headed for the exit.

Even at their reasonable speed, it was half a day's journey to Feinster from what once was Melian.

Frelsa asked Shepherd and Errol to help plot a course so as to not run into anymore unexpected anomalies. The two of them knew this place best. They had drawn a crude map on some dirt and Shepherd was using a stick to point out their course. A very, very crude map.

"So we want to get to Feinster, yes?" he carved a line in the dirt straight from his diagram of Melian to Feinster.

Your art is impeccable, Dýrgrir noted.

"Indeed, if you were aiming to draw two circles and a line," Drukjl chuckled.

"Who's the 'High Chief Navigator' here?" Shepherd replied curtly. "So if we want to get to Feinster, we'll need to cross the Jiet River." He jabbed his stick at the line.

"Please do not tell me that line is supposed to be the Jiet," Drukjl asked.

"Hello? High Chief Navigator, speaking here!"

What is wrong with them? Frelsa asked Kalla in exasperation.

This is their way of mourning, I suppose.

The two continued to insult and bicker with each other. Frelsa sighed and joined in, "Boys, we can decide whether artistic skill or being the 'High Chief Navigator' is more important, but now we need a course."

Drukjl shot Shepherd a look and retreated. Shepherd dusted some non-existent dust from his tunic. "So, as I was saying before I was so RUDELY interrupted."

She rolled her eyes as he glared at Drukjl.

"We need a course to follow. But we just can't cut straight through to Feinster and across the Jiet."

"Why not, oh High Chief Navigator?" Drukjl asked.

The Burning Plains, Errol explained. If we were to forge a line through to our destination, then we would be treading across the tip of the Plains. An unpleasant experience

"Right, so we skirt around the Plains," He drew a line that angled up sharply to the Jiet, then sloped down sharply to Feinster, "Then head to Feinster. From there it would be a simple matter to charter a ship to Teirm and then to Palancar Castle. And if we can't do that then we could just take a flight down and easily get there anyway."

Simple enough, Dýrgrir said.

Simple. Frelsa knew that a journey down the length of the Spine would be anything but.

"Then off to Feinster it is!" Shepherd said, swiping one hand across the dirt map.

The journey itself was incredibly bleak and boring. Frelsa and Kalla walked on foot, while Shepherd and Drukjl followed from the air. Eventually, sparse vegetation began to appear on the plains and soon the grasslands gave way to groves of tall pines. They followed a cobbled path that cut through the forest.

Frelsa noticed that the pines here were young, as least compared to the trees on their Island. The smallest of trees there rivalled the largest giants here.

What's wrong with you all? Frelsa asked as Dýrgrir dived down like a falcon to pounce on Errol. Our masters are gone! And you all are acting like another day on the field.

You can't change what has happened, Dýrgrir answered. If this happening has taught us anything it would be to enjoy life while we can.

Frelsa mulled over the brown dragon's words as he was tackled from the side by Errol. They had a truth to them, but she still felt like they should be mourning their masters not participating in dogfights.

It must have been noon when they came across the Jiet.

It had a mask of peacefulness and serenity, but so did the sea. Frelsa remembered the time she had fallen off Kalla and into the sea. The face was beautiful, but beneath the currents raged against each other, each yearning to take dominance of the whole. She had a feeling that this river was like that. The water seemed almost milky, reflecting the sunlight into a thousand different hues and shades.

Frelsa stared quizzically at the river. The surface of it seemed like a rainbow, a timeless and strange array of colours.

"What makes the river like this?" She asked no one in particular.

"Who knows? Lots of strange things happen in this mad world. I suggest you don't drink the stuff," Shepherd called down from above.

Kalla offered her back to her Rider, who obligingly climbed on. She realised that Kalla had grown slightly. She could not scale up her side with only one move now.

Dýrgrir was already halfway across the river, Errol close behind. Kalla spread her wings and took off.

When they were nearly across, things started to go south. Drukjl gave a cry and seemed to just slide off Dýrgrir's back, the brown dragon roaring in pain and plummeting. Errol flapped his wings frantically and started to descend frighteningly fast for seemingly no reason at all.

Make a choice.

She paled as the voice rang out in her mind. It was familiar to her, the same voice she had heard under the volcano from a tempest.

Take your pick.

Frelsa knew that Drukjl could not swim, neither could Dýrgrir, they had always called it useless, but Errol could at least keep afloat in water. She said to Kalla, Head for Drukjl!

Kalla dived down like a stone. Dýrgrir seemed unable to right his fall and go to help his Rider. The green dragon reached Drukjl within seconds, grabbing him with her front claws. The Urgal jerked his head towards his dragon and bellowed, "Dýrgrir!"

Kalla swooped down towards the brown dragon, clamping her back claws onto him, careful to avoid the spikes on Dýrgrir's back. Dragons were not meant to carry other dragons larger than themselves, Kalla was barely able to fly straight. Frelsa frantically fed her energy to her dragon to keep her going. Thankfully they were close to the shore.

Kalla dropped Dýrgrir and Drukjl onto the shore and spun around to find Errol. Frelsa scanned the milky surface of the water, a thousand different colours entered her eyes, but not the colour of steel. The surface of the Jiet was completely unbroken by any dragon.

Errol! Kalla roared at the river. To which, she got a response.

Over here, came the sullen reply. To their left, a grey dragon dragged itself out of the water, his scales wet with the iridescent water and shining with a thousand colours besides grey. A shivering Shepherd clung onto his back.

Errol, are you fine? Kalla began.

Yeah, sure, he answered. Frelsa was puzzled by the curtness of his reply, and looked at Shepherd for an answer but he too seemed puzzled, even more so in fact.

They heard a snarl of pain from behind and turned. Dýrgrir was on the ground, evidently struggling not to start convulsing. They swooped down to the ground and realised why.

Both of the brown dragon's wings were peppered with dozens of holes, each identical in size. He lay spread out on the ground, each wing stretched to its full length. Not enough bleeding to kill Dýrgrir, but definitely enough holes to make flight impossible. He was grounded, and would be permanently if not healed quickly.

Drukjl was kneeling next to his dragon, healing the holes on the right wing. Kalla inched towards the left wing and placed her snout upon it, feeding her energy to Frelsa. She breathed, "Waíse heill."

The holes in his wing began to stitch themselves together again. When the last hole was healed she was so tired she nearly fell off Kalla. She shook her head to dispel the feeling of lethargy that had seeped into her bones. The wings of dragons were much more taxing to heal than other body parts. She did not know how Drukjl still seemed so energetic.

Thank you, that was an… uncomfortable experience.

What happened back there? Kalla asked as she helped Dýrgrir up.

"My saddle straps snapped," Drukjl stated simply. He inspected the line of torn leather strips down the sides of the brown leather saddle. "Strange, I had gotten them replaced only a month ago."

After Drukjl slipped off, the holes appeared in my wings, Dýrgrir explained, giving his newly healed wings a few experimental flaps. He was obviously still uncomfortable with his experience.

"Looks like you have to lay of the boar fat," Shepherd chuckled as he dismounted and walked forward to inspect the straps. Errol kept his distance.

"How about you two?" Frelsa asked.

"Hm? Strange, nothing this dramatic happened to us. Just felt like a huge hand was pushing us down."

Errol remained silent. Frelsa realised that he appeared as if he were glaring at them.

They travelled for perhaps two or three hours, before making camp some distance off the road in a clearing. Shepherd grabbed Errol by the snout and dragged him off to one side. He checked to see if anyone was listening before he said, Errol! What the hell was that back there?

What? I told you, felt like something was pushing us down.

You know what I'm talking about, why were you acting like that around Kalla and Dýrgrir?

I was just a bit upset about getting wet, you know I hate that.

No you don't. Shepherd knew for a fact that Errol actually enjoyed diving. So tell me the truth.

I have no idea what you're talking about, Errol promptly proceeded to sit down with his back to Shepherd.

He sighed in exasperation. Errol, we have a bond deeper than this. I told you before, you can trust me like I can trust you. Why did you think I hung on when you fell into the Jiet? I could have let go and swum away myself but I didn't. Why then?

Errol glanced back almost resentfully, before his expression softened. I…I don't know why I acted like that around them.

Shepherd gave his dragon one of those looks.

It's the truth! I don't know why I acted like an upset hatchling around them, I guess after she went to help Dýrgrir first I was just, maybe a bit…

Jealous?

The resentment returned to Errol's eyes and he turned away again before his body visibly relaxed. Maybe I was. But it felt different than any other time, almost like someone was whispering in my ear. Telling me bad things.

Shepherd smiled. Nothing he did not know how to remedy. Don't worry, Errol. That's just the love sickness talking to you.

Maybe… but-

Oh come on you big grey idiot! Shepherd pounced on Errol.

They rolled in the dirt and fallen leaves for a few moments. Errol was larger than a war horse and could have easily killed or won against Shepherd, but he did not.

They stopped and the steel dragon looked into his Rider's eyes. Do you forgive me?

How could I not?

Just, don't tell any of them. Please?

Not a word.

When they got back, Frelsa was busy practicing extracting water from leaves. She had gathered a few leaves, only thirteen or so, and murmured the spell. The leaves instantly shrivelled and crumbled to ash, small globules of water rising up from the blackened pile. Frelsa brought her hand to her lips and the water slowly entered her mouth.

"Bravo!" Shepherd called from the side lines. "Congratulations on mastering the most impractical method of drinking known to Riders!"

"It is called mastering the finer arts of magic," Frelsa explained with a hint of haughtiness. "At least finer than all your simple spells."

"Granted."

He sat down next to her. Kalla was sleeping on Frelsa's other side and Errol hung back, still embarrassed by his actions.

"How do you manage to do it?" She asked, her voice hollow.

"Do what?"

"Get over them being gone."

Shepherd turned and saw that she was close to tears. She spoke again, "I mean, it's only been a few hours and you four are prancing about like sugar fed children!"

It did not surprise him that Frelsa and Kalla were taking the loss hardest. They were Eragon's and Saphira's favourites after all. After Frelsa mysteriously appeared on their island, Eragon had seen promise in her and brought one of the newer eggs before the girl with no memory. Kalla immediately hatched for her. Their masters had taken an immediate shine to them, Frelsa had always been better with magic than any of them, Kalla had been the fastest of the three dragons and the most agile in air. They unofficially became the favoured students.

Shepherd turned back. "Just like Dýrgrir said. It's no use mulling over the past, we've got to keep looking forward. If we don't we'll get trapped in the past forever."

"Is this the same Shepherd I studied with?" She asked with a hint of a smile on her face

"Guess again."

He took a nearby stick and began absentmindedly scrawling runes in the dirt.

"If we look back on the past then it's in the past we'll stay. No matter how much... how much it hurts, we've got to keep moving forward."

He paused for a while.

"Don't tell Drukjl I said this, supposed to be a secret between us, but this thing we have about moving on, it was kind of like a pact between us."

"Hm?"

"It's actually-"

"Feinster is close!" Drukjl called as he and Dýrgrir swooped down and entered the clearing. "A journey of half, maybe more, of an hour."

Sorry about what happened back there, Errol apologised sheepishly to Dýrgrir.

The brown dragon snorted. We are brothers, brothers will fight at times.

Shepherd got to his feet. "So how we gonna play this out? Our main priority is to find any means of transportation to Teirm, and if we can find some information on the other Riders from the Island."

Frelsa nodded. "We could all just go in together."

"That is not an option. They sent us a present." Drukjl pulled an arrow out of one of Dýrgrir's saddlebags. It was pierced through a slip of paper. "Dýrgrir strayed too close and this was shot at us. Would have stuck me between my horns if not for my wards."

Frelsa took the arrow and pulled the note off. She read aloud, "No Dragons. No Urgals. No Magic."

Drukjl broke the arrow in two and threw it aside, he made a guttural noise and shook his horned head at the note.

Feinster has become an Independent City-State in recent years, Errol explained.

Meaning? Dýrgrir asked.

They stick to the old hates, and have a few new ones. No Urgals, or anything affiliated with Urgals. Not sure what's this about Dragons though.

Frelsa frowned. "How do you two learn about them becoming independant? I thought we were disallowed from any contact with the world outside the island?"

It was true. Most Riders studying on the island were disallowed contact with the mainland so as to reduce the level of distractions to their education.

"We have our ways," Shepherd answered mysteriously.

Frelsa seemed in a much better mood than before, she started counting off on her fingers. "No dragons, no Drukjl, no Riders. What else will they shoot on sight?"

Shepherd already had a plan in mind. "So Frelsa and I'll go in, charter a ship, and as it's leaving we signal you guys, you four hop on and we go all the way to Teirm."

I still have my doubts, Dýrgrir said. Can we not just fly all the way to Palancar?

"We might be able to, but some of us may not be up for the journey," Drukjl answered, glancing at Frelsa with concern. She was still sleeping, or pretending to sleep at least.

Shepherd picked up Shorren and buckled it to his belt. "We stick to the plan. It was well thought out and a stroke of brilliance actually."

"Because it was your plan?"

"Exactly."

Errol watched his brother-of-soul-and-mind walk away, down the path with no-past-Kalla's-partner-Frelsa. It pained him to be parted from Shepherd but knew it was a necessary to find a big-wood-float-on-water-ship. He would have preferred to fly all the way to Palancar but did not voice his opinion for the sake of another.

Brother-of-another-nest-Dýrgrir spoke. We shall stay in this clearing, away from the path so none from Feinster might see us.

Agreed, he answered.

Errol returned to the sun-beam-clearing and lay down on the ground some distance away from Kalla. He'd known Kalla for as long as he had studied under blue-scales-great-strong-Saphira, but still felt a rush of emotion whenever he laid eyes on her.

She lay stretched out in the sun-beam-clearing, the light catching on her scales and shining like the flower-gem-ring that wise-hands-fire-hammer-Hothgeir had instructed Frelsa to give to strange-elf-queen-Arya. Kalla was as perfect as the ring to him, even more so.

See something interesting? Kalla asked. He realised that her green eyes were open and staring back at him.

Uh… I was, you… I thought you were sleeping? Errol managed.

So did I, she sighed sadly as she stretched cat-like on the leaf-bed-dirt-ground.

Brother-of-another-nest-Dýrgrir gave Errol a look, and he got up, I'll go um… hunt for a while.

Errol spread his wings and took off, flying into the strong-sea-wind-sky. He adjusted his tail for balance and circled over the tall-pine-forest for a while. From where he was he could see the rat-nest-by-the-sea-Feinster on the horizon. He was uncomfortable with Shepherd going to a place so evil. He found a little shadowy spot next to a stream and tipped his once-gone-new-wing down and began his descent.

He swooped up as he neared the ground, the strain on his wings to stop his fall so great that it felt like his wings would be ripped from his body. But he landed on the leaf-bed-dirt-ground safely.

Bending down he lapped up some of the cold stream water, before he heard the voice again.

You can't trust him you know.

He shook his head to drive away the strange-bad-mind-voice. It had been talking to him for months, filling his head with bad-evil-thoughts. The bad-evil-thoughts were always directed to one thing.

Why do you think she helped him instead of you?

I've gotten past it… Errol reminded himself.

You say that, but even you don't believe it. She favours him and you know it.

Just the love-sick talking, just the love-sick talking…He chanted to himself. The strange-bad-mind-voice sounded so much like the dark-evil-hurt-Kalla-big-two-legs under the fire-mountain. But different still.

You know I'm right, don't you.

He wanted to believe what Shepherd had told him, but he just could not.

He is my brother-of-another-nest, Errol reminded himself. He had promised himself when he first heard the voice to tell Shepherd about it, but he never did.

He is my brother…

Not anymore…

The two of them reached the gates of Feinster in little more than half an hour, just as Drukjl had predicted. Shepherd banged on the tall metal gates with his fist. No one answered. He unsheathed his grey sword and whacked its pommel on the gates a few times, making a relatively louder noise, before sheathing it.

"Who goes there!"

Frelsa looked up. There, on the battelments eighty feet above was an armoured guard. He had no weapons save a bow and quiver of arrows on his back. Shepherd called up, "Two travellers, seeking rest and respite!"

The guard seemed to look at them almost pitifully. "You'll find more than rest and respite here."

He looked to his left and right, as if checking to see if anyone was watching, "I suggest you leave Feinster as fast as possible, don't set one foot within these gates."

"I'm sorry, my good man, but we are in dire need of provisions for our journey!" Shepherd called again.

"Two young fellows such as you have no business in a city like this." Another voice, this time from another battlement. A guard appeared there.

"We need to enter or our mother and father shall die from illness!" Frelsa pleaded. It took a lot of effort to get her voice to carry up to the guards above.

The first guard shook his head pitifully, and for a moment she feared he would not open the gates, but instead he said, "Let the God's witness that I tried. Open the gates!"

There was a great whirring noise, like huge gears turning. The tall metal gates grinded open a crack, before halting, then continued all the way.

A guard was standing behind the gates, armour dull and shineless. He gave them an evil smile, "Welcome to Feinster."

Frelsa thought that the place was a dump. The streets were lined with rubbish that gave off the stink of rot, there were piles of rubble here and there blocking off streets. There were few people on the roads except a staggering drunkard yelling curses at them and a couple of dirty beggars.

She shielded her nose with one hand. "We have to go in there?"

"Exactly. Great place isn't it?"

She heard laughing from above and looked up. A gang of children ran across the rooftops, shouting in glee. They were dressed in torn and tattered clothes. Someone shouted after them rather angrily, and Frelsa realised that the smallest child toted a cut purse in each hand.

"This is nothing like I remembered," Shepherd said as he stared around.

"When were you last here?" Frelsa asked.

"Fourteen years ago, when I was three. But still."

They navigated their way down one of the dirty cobblestone roads. Along the way, a drunkard caught sight of them. "Hey little lady!"

She paid him no heed.

The drunkard yelled a few disparaging remarks at her, before she flicked a hand and murmured a spell. The man's eyes rolled back and he toppled over.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you," Shepherd warned as they walked down the road. "Look."

A beggar on the curb had seen her act of magic and got up yelling at her fearfully, something about demons.

"They don't take too kindly to magic here."

"You don't say."

Shepherd looked at the Sun's position in the sky. "We should find somewhere we can get information. And maybe a bit of rest."

She did not disagree, but the state of this city made her wonder what kind of food they would get. Frelsa saw a man down an alley urinating on a wall.

Shepherd stopped a passerby who did not seem inebriated. "Excuse me my good man, but might I ask where is the nearest respectable tavern?"

The man looked them up and down, eyes resting for a moment on their swords. "My Gods, you two look pretty done in, what've you been doing, fighting dragons?"

"We've been on the road for some time now," Frelsa lied. "We need a place to rest for the night."

She realised how war-torn they must look, and made a silent promise to get some new clothes if she could. And something to hide their swords.

The man pointed straight down the road. "Continue down here and you'll find the Blue Monster Tavern, 'bought respectable as it gets in this city."

They thanked him and continued on their way. Frelsa heard him call, "Want my advice? Get out as soon as you can."

"That's cheerful," she grumbled.

They walked down the road. The houses on either side had light within them, but all the windows were boarded up. One or two walls were collapsed, and at one point she saw a pile of blackened char and burnt timbers where a house should have been.

The Blue Monster Tavern seemed anything but blue. A two-story building of stone that might have once been grey. But there was still one or two intact windows, which meant this building had to be better than others. She saw the sign and frowned. A sapphire blue dragon with a snarl on its face, holding one half of a slain soldier in one hand and the other half lay in her jaws. She wanted to draw Delswoir and slice the sign off its post right then and there, but she restrained herself.

Shepherd pushed open the door and bowed to her, "Ladies first."

The tavern seemed like a warzone. Tables were overturned, chairs broken in half. An ale bottle had been smashed against the wall, causing the dark alcohol to seep down. The tavern's patrons were scattered all around the area, some on the ground, some lying across tables and chairs or against walls. There seemed to be only three or four intact tables in the whole room. The bartender was leaning against the counter, sullenly pouring himself a drink. He noticed he had new customers and immediately brightened. "Welcome to the Blue Monster! Would you like a drink?"

Shepherd opened his mouth to order something before Frelsa cut him off, "No, but do you have any food?"

The bartender shook his head, "Afraid all the people in this city ever eat is ale and mead. How about a Red Orchid Shot? Or an Opossum Swill? That one's guaranteed to make you play dead for hours."

"Since you can't give us anything to eat, how about some information?" Frelsa asked as she stepped over a snoring man with a broken bottle in hand.

The bartender's eyes became fearful. Frelsa reached the counter and he leaned over, whispering, "Are you crazy? I don't know what information you want, but I don't have it!"

She placed her right hand on the counter and turned it over, revealing the gedwëy ignasia on her palm. The tender's eyes lit up in awe. He muttered, "Argetlam?"

"Argetlam," she reaffirmed. He turned to Shepherd, who revealed his gedwëy ignasia as well. "Now how about that information?"

The bartender quickly reached over and closed Frelsa's hand, concealing the silvery mark. He hissed, "You lot are either stupid or crazy to come here. Tell me what you want to know and get out."

"Are there any ships leaving for Teirm?" Shepherd asked.

He seemed to ponder that. "One, it was going to leave tomorrow."

"Going to?"

His voice became even softer. "The Dragon Wing, its captain, a man named Lod, brown hair, nice clothes, he said something bad about the Lord of this city. Off to the gallows with him."

"When's the hanging?" Frelsa asked frantically.

"Uh…"

"Tell us," She asked again.

The man answered, "Today, in less than an hour! He might already be dead."

"Where?"

"The city square. Just go straight down this road then take a left pass the rubble blockade and you're there."

"Thank you," Frelsa said gratefully and dragged her companion out.

Shepherd protested, "Wait, how about just one or two dri-"

"No."

Once they were out, they began Frelsa happened to glance back and saw through a gap in some of the window boards the man making a strange gesture over his heart. She had seen other Riders do that before, it was a gesture to ward off evil.

They began making their way to the city square. Frelsa asked Shepherd, "Did you see the way he looked at us? The way he spoke to us?"

"Yup, out of fear."

"And that sign outside the tavern, it was just so… so…ugh! The people around here must have something against magic and Riders."

He nodded along without listening. He was busy observing their surroundings.

"There are more people here," he noted.

She looked around and realised that he was correct. The street's only pedestrians were not only drunkards and beggars now, there was actually a number of sober people walking down the road. They took the same path as the two Riders so Frelsa concluded that they were headed to the hanging as well, but for a different reason. Many of them glanced nervously at their swords and shied away.

So how do you find Feinster? Kalla's voice resounded in her mind.

Frelsa was quite startled that she could communicate with her over such a large distance. How…

We were taught more than how to hunt and fly, you know.

They came to a huge pile of rubble blocking off the whole road and made a left turn, just as the man had instructed.

Truthfully, this city's a dump.

How so?

Frelsa relayed a few images and smells to Kalla, who broke off the contact for a moment. When she returned, she said, That was… unpleasant.

You don't know the worst of it.

It is certainly nothing like we heard about.

She remembered the stories of the Siege of Feinster, but the city in those stories was nothing like this.

Kalla still sounded pretty depressed despite whatever Dýrgrir had said.

So how goes the search? She asked.

Badly. We've only found one ship leaving for Teirm, and its captain is to be hanged today.

I assume you and Shepherd are on your way to rectify that?

Yup.

Just make sure that-

The connection ended abruptly. Kalla's consciousness just disappeared. Frelsa frowned. She turned to Shepherd, "Kalla just talked to me."

"Like just now?"

"Yup, but something weird happened. We were talking then suddenly she just disappeared."

She was still concerned but Shepherd seemed quite relaxed. "Don't worry, probably nothing. Just stick with the, sorry, 'MY' plan."

She rolled her eyes.

"Wait, this is it."

They emerged onto the only well-kept part of the city. Here, the pavement was freshly swept. Not the slightest piece of rubbish here. Beggars were gone too. It was a huge rectangular square, ringed on all sides by short buildings. Off to one side the keep could be seen, looming above the city. It was huge, a tall square structure adorned by many towers and turrets, one of which was caved in. The square was crowded with what seemed to be the entire population of Feinster, the citizens jostling for space and yelling insults at each other. Frelsa tip toed and saw the tip of the gallows above the heads of the people.

"Come on, we need to get closer," She said to Shepherd, forging her way into the crowd.

The stifling mass of people was almost unbearable to be within, she trod on another's feet many times and her feet were in turn trod on many more. She yelped as a tall man, wearing a white, long sleeved tunic with metal bracers and a beaked hood that covered his eyes, pushed her aside. Shepherd caught her as she fell back and several nearby citizens gave them disapproving looks. Frelsa almost wanted to say something against the man who had pushed her before she noticed the knives adorning his wide belt and the sabre at his side. He disappeared just as quickly as he appeared.

As they got closer to the front, they began to hear a voice shouting over the crowd.

"…has been accused of Arson, Thievery, Slander…"

The list went on and on. Frelsa could sense they were almost at the front. Here, the tension and excitement in the crowd was palpable.

"…Extortion, Perjury, Assault…"

Somehow she did not think the criminal had done all those things. And if he did, then this was one messed up man.

"…Treason, Defamation, and Piracy!"

The crowd roared just as she reached the front of the crowd. The people around her jeered and threw assorted articles at the man with the noose around his neck. Frelsa looked up at the gallows and saw a man standing under them on top of a barrel with a noose around his neck. The man was big boned, but his face was bruised and battered and peppered with bruises. His brown hair was still neat and tidy though, strangely. His clothes were colourful and fine, they would have looked quite beautiful if they were not stained with rubbish and rotten fruit. But he still held his head high.

To one side, a man with a sack over his head stood by a lever that undoubtedly opened a trapdoor under the victim which would let him fall till the noose pulled fast. Next to that man was the one who had read out the crimes, a short fellow in stained clothes that somewhat resembled an official's.

"And by decree of Lord Neoettr…"

'Neoettr'. 'Not fair' in the Ancient Language. Charming.

"…this despicable criminal shall be hanged by the neck, till dead."

The cheering intensified once more, the crowd's roar blotting out all other sounds. She looked besides her and saw Shepherd. What do we do?

I don't know, I don't-

"Would the accused like a few last words?" Asked the official.

"He dosen't deserve to speak!" Yelled someone within the crowd.

Lod smiled. "None of you know what my crime is do you?"

The crowd's jeering did not relent.

"You accept this bullshit streaming from Feinster Keep? I spoke the truth against our Lord and will be hanged for it. What crime did I commit?"

"Defamation!" stated the official.

Lod raised an eyebrow. "Granted, but besides that?"

The crowd's roars did not relent. The brown haired man seemed to sadden. "If I will not be judged fairly in this world, may I be judged fairly in the next. Pull the lever, Kronk!"

Kronk, the man with the sack over his head, grabbed the lever firmly with both hands, leaning back.

Frelsa placed one hand on Delswoir's pommel.

The lever began to crank back.

She nodded at Shepherd, Ready?

He nodded back.

Frelsa had taken her first step towards the wooden platform when she heard the official's cries, "Stop, stop, stop!"

Kronk let go of the lever and it fell back into its original position and Lod heaved a sigh of relief. Frelsa quickly retreated back into the crowd.

"Grave news has reached my ears, good people of Feinster!"

The official stepped aside and gestured to the shadows behind him. A man stepped out of the dark. Frelsa raised an eyebrow at the figure.

He wore a long white robe with cuffs embroided with gold thread. A wide blue belt spanned the girth of his waist and from it fell four long, wide strips of blue cloth longer than his robe, trailing behind him. He wore a blue hood that cast a shadow over his face and rendered it invisible, the blue hood expanding into a shawl of sorts that draped over his shoulders and stretched behind him like a cape. In his hand he held a golden staff, topped with seven gold circles that were suspended one within the other, spinning serenely. He had a wreathe of laurels on his crown, a golden ring of leaves atop his blue hood.

"The Sentinels have spoken!" The official cried fanatically.

The rings atop the Sentinel's staff began to glow with a red fluorescence.

"Good people of Feinster, there are, curse me for saying these words, magic users among us!"

A collective gasp spread through the crowd. Frelsa paled. She backed up but could not find a gap in the crowd behind her to leave through.

"Do not panic, the Sentinels are rooting out this cancer as we speak."

The Sentinel on the gallows turned his head slowly, examining the crowd laid out before him, his black shadow of a face seeming to zoom in on Frelsa. He raised his staff and thudded it against the wooden floors beneath him. The rings were literally burning with red light. Frelsa turned around, whispering to Shepherd, "Time to go."

"Agreed."

She tried to find a hole in the crowd to squirm through but there was none.

Another thud from the Sentinel.

The light from his staff changed from a glow into a spotlight, moving wildly across the crowd before it came to rest on two particular individuals at the front.

Frelsa placed her right hand on the shoulder of a man blocking her way, "Excuse me, sir, but I must-"

The man seized her hand by the wrist. Her eyes widened as she realised that was the hand with her gedwëy ignasia. The man stared agape at the silvery mark on her hand, before lifting her hand so high she was raised off her feet.

"Rider!"

The Sentinel trained his black visage on her. He thudded his staff one more time.

The crowd burst into turmoil, the people crawling and stampeding over on another in their haste to get away. Frelsa felt Shepherd pushing her into the crowd as the official shouted at them, "Magic Scum!"

She lost Shepherd in the crowd, and was sure she had lost herself. The crowd was a seething mass that squirmed and tossed in turmoil. Everyone seemed to want to reach a different exit. Frelsa thought she spied the man in the white tunic and hooked hood but blinked and he was gone. She searched frantically with her mind, trying to establish contact with Kalla but she was just not there.

Frelsa saw a gap in the crowds that led to a shadowy alleyway and immediately ran for it. She left the crowd behind, sure she would be safe, when she saw him. A red glow appearing in the dark, a white and blue robed figure stepping forth from the dark. He was hooded and indistinguishable from his brethren on the gallows. She entertained the thought that they were both one and same for a moment, before running back into the crowd.

Frelsa was not sure what those Sentinels were, but she did not want to find out. She tried to make her way to the opposite side of the courtyard, jostling and slipping through gaps in the crowd. Those that recognised her screamed and turned tail. She glanced behind her, checking to see if there was anyone following her in the writhing, faceless crowd, before she slammed into a pole.

Cursing, she turned back to the pole and got back up. Then she realised poles were not supposed to be robed in white and blue and carry a golden staff. She looked up and stared up at the black hole in the Sentinel's blue hood. Her vision seemed to zoom in on that black shadow, the throng around her disappearing. She could not bring herself to run away, or even try to resist.

The Sentinel raised one gloved hand to her forehead and laid the palm against her crown. She was powerless as sleep overcame her.

17-12-13

Someone asked me about the words in the Ancient Language I used in this story and the names of the characters, and asked me to share it in my next chapter. On the words of the Ancient Language I use not found in the books: What I found out about the Ancient Language is that a lot of the words, in fact I think it might be all, are actually Old-Norse words. I used to have an Old Norse dictionary, but couldn't find it and resorted to online dictionaries, which were slightly less reliable but still usable. On the naming of characters: The names for the main characters are not just made up, I found a suitable name for each of them through a few methods. The first was the Old-Norse dictionary, Dýrgrir's name was originally Dýrgripr, literally 'Animal Beast'. This name was confusing to find, because I found that while Dýr means animal, Dyrr could mean dear, precious or door (ancient languages. Go figure). Frelsa's name meant save, owing to her past and how she was saved after washing up on the shores of the island. Kalla's name meant call, or cry out, in reference to one of my earlier plot ideas. The second method was used on Errol, whose name means 'Wandering' in Latin. I chose this name because it was tied to one of the original plots I had where Errol was a wandering dragon whose Rider had been killed long ago. Then the third, and most mysterious method, is for Shepherd and Drukjl. I found their names through careful deduction and study of the movements of planets and stars, years of meticulous work devoted to just the subject of these two names, days spent working non-stop in the observatory... I thought up of those two off the top of my head at 3 am in the morning.

24-12-13

Changed the title of this chapter and moved the original title to the new Chapter, chapter nine.