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book two

Súndavar, Istalrya, Fëonar

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Prologue

The town was crowded, colours whirled around on the clothes of every kind of people, soldiers and merchants and the citizens of Feinster. The warm spring sunshine broke on the mirrors; the little rainbows played with the people, springing here and there. On either side of the wide road, stalls were standing, their owners shouting in large voice. A little further, an inn offered rest for the travellers and beer for the exhausted. A brunette market woman let every passer-by know about the precious liquid she had worked out to increase a soldier's strength and speed.

In any other town in the north, it would have been something making the women beautiful, the men handsome, the humans immortal. In other towns in the north, scarlet soldiers would have glared at people, mainly at the young boys, inviting them in loud voices to the army for the Empire's glory. The walls were not covered with summons to join the special group of warriors for the lifelong wealth of their family, or warnings showing always the same some faces under the bloody 'WANTED' word.

Feinster changed to its new leaders. Inside the town nobody would have been able to find out there was an army outside the gates, but their presence had let marks behind.

Yet, it was painfully alike to some city of the Empire.

The woman didn't get noticed by anybody as she headed towards the gates of the palace. Under the long grey cloak she clutched her sword with sweated palms. The hood was big and loose, covering her whole face from any curious eyes. She kept taking cautious small steps in the crowd, her eyes on the ground, hoping nobody would notice her. She had a mission to fulfil.

When she reached the gate of the palace without difficulty, she took a shaky breath. Through the gate, a straight road led to the main entrance of the palace and the tower high above the town. The leaders and important people used the main entrance while the soldiers, maids and servants turned into the right to a backward, farther door. The people hurried everywhere around her, the guards were standing calmly on their positions. Obviously nobody cared where she went.

So much for the Varden's defence… she thought wryly walking quickly into the garden. She followed the line of the high walls hugging the garden and the palace. She turned around taking a huge circle in the garden then found the back entrance he must have used. She hid behind a green bush, and, deeply amongst the shadows, observed her situation. She could not get into the palace; these people were not so careless. She was still weighing her options when fate decided to help her decide.

Rhythmic dumb, dumb sounded in the air, a familiar noise. At the same time, the back entrance opened and a man stepped out she didn't know. The next one though, following him, was one she knew well, maybe too well considering they had never met in person. The man was inhumanly handsome, his hair short and brown, his eyes almond-cut. He had something cat-like in his features, something not clearly determinable. She instinctively felt he was other.

A slim elf woman followed him, her hair raven-black, her features holding the same elegant cat-like shapes. She was almost as tall as the Dragon Rider, she wore embroidered black corset and trousers with black leather riding-boots. Both of them wore a sword on the belt and were obviously… used to the battles and the war. She shuddered at the thought of their power – it radiated from them even as they didn't do anything just stood there motionlessly. She hurried to think about something else.

The woman was fully at ease in his company – her clothes however, were more than weird. She never saw any other woman have it as main clothing, but the natural way she wore it, made the corset seem designed for it. She was visibly a warrior; there was something in her graceful movements, fluid motions which made her yet more alike to a cat – a powerful, dangerous cat.

She was prepared to see a dragon – considering she was here to find it she had had to, but the size of the sapphire dragon frightened her. She had got quite used to Thorn at her time with Murtagh, but this was the first time she considered a dragon her enemy. It was a frightening image.

She focused back to Eragon, trying to forget about her: the man looked strong, but he had some gracefulness, something unfamiliarly refined in his appearance. She understood now what Murtagh meant saying he looks more an elf than a human – although it was only a few moments ago she herself first saw an elf in her life.

The other people coming out after them were talking, but neither the elf woman, nor the Rider did anything besides standing there. Sometimes their gaze met for a moment but they didn't show any emotion, they wore masks. She wondered if it was something usual for the elves or they felt uncomfortable in the presence of the leaders. The latter was not very probable, so it must have been in their 'magical blood'.

Murtagh was so other than this icy, cruel man, that her eyes got filled with tears. She closed her eyes. She had to concentrate on her mission, no matter what she felt. For his sake. At his mental image her heart began to ache. No matter what he felt, she was in love with him. She dived into one of her most pleasant memories with him to get some strength from it.

When she came back to the surface, she immediately felt something had gone wrong. The people stopped talking, nervous icy silent filled the garden. Suddenly, as though the birds had stopped chirping too. When she slowly opened her eyes, suspecting something very bad, her eyes glanced a sword.

It was insane how much detail her mind processed in that one, precious last moment: the refined, detailed work of the sapphire blade, the elegance shape matching the elegance way he held it. Flaming pattern clambered up on the murderous tool from the hilt where a graceful rune named it. She knew the meaning although she couldn't read the letter – Brisingr. The sword pointed exactly at her throat, she felt the sharp blade on her skin.

She glanced up at the man whose mask became yet more solid than it had been, then back at the sword. Slowly it began to wander up on her throat and although the Rider hadn't said her a word, she immediately understood him. Slowly, very slowly, she stood up behind the green bush. The leaders gasped, she could hear it, but she just stared at him, not being able to tear her eyes away from his elegant features, not being able to choke out a word – she should have had to, she knew. It would have meant her life. Still, she wasn't able to.

"An assassin!..." One of the men shouted angrily as he found his voice again. The Dragon Rider didn't answer him. His face was hard and determined. He was going to kill her. She closed her eyes and let her secret, her precious memories overwhelm her, memories from the time when nothing had gone wrong yet.

She heard an annoyed sigh and she opened her eyes. The menacing blade disappeared from her throat. His hand reached out towards her with a waiting look on his face. As the man understood her confusion, he half smiled at her and explained his will shortly.

"Your sword." She realized only now that she was still clutching the hilt with sweated palm. She quickly offered it for him who grabbed the shaking blade easily with his gloved hands and threw it behind his back onto the ground. She wondered why he wore gloves when nobody else did.

"I…" She managed to choke out, but the gaze of those brown eyes paralysed her once again. She thought of the 'gift' she had to deliver him and was about to pull it out from under her long cloak when he stopped her, nodding as if he was reading her mind. Suddenly, she wanted to slap herself for her stupidity – Murtagh had warned her for that, only she hadn't believed him... entirely. He was reading her mind.

About your relationship with Murtagh… We will talk later. She instinctively took a step back gasping. The voice in her head was powerful and… ancient. Other, unfamiliar. Her imagination showed her the image of herself roaming in the endless labyrinth of his mind – she quickly swept the image away. She thought she heard the Rider chuckle, but she was uncertain. She must have imagined it.

"What about her? What will we do with her?" An older man asked, fighting his disorientation at the Rider's behaviour. Eragon glanced at him as if first noticing they were not alone.

"Checking her mind or locking her up." A dignified woman answered him calmly. Reinna immediately recognised her from her dark skin – Nasuada, leader of the Varden. She was cold and calm and she didn't understand why. She could have been a spy, an assassin, as the man had pointed out – why weren't they afraid, the main leaders were all completely at ease. Was it such an everyday-thing here, catching an assassin?

"It is too dangerous. We can't know what she's capable of." The others started to regain their consciousness, protesting against her decision. She wondered how other this system was than Galbatorix's.

"You can't know what she's capable of." The elf replied mockingly in a sharp voice. The man just glanced back at her tiredly. Obviously, her behaviour didn't surprise him the least bit. He sighed.

Eragon waved her towards the entrance they had just stepped out. She turned to follow him and this was the moment when it happened.

She had half turned towards the door. Something had caught Reinna's attention unconsciously and she was deeply wondering what was missing, what was wrong. The woman was heading towards the waiting sapphire dragon, she lifted her hand to touch the scales at Saphira's neck. And she found the distracting detail immediately.

She gasped for air for a moment, forgetting about everything. She stepped back leaning against the cold wall and felt sick. She should escape this palace immediately, she discovered some precious moments later. The image in her head suddenly clicked with a harsh sound as every piece of the puzzle found its place.

Eragon was not sick, he was not dying, the Varden didn't give up, they did have a reason for not provoking the Empire, they did have the reason for resting for the winter, they did have the reason for keeping silent for almost six months. A reason which changed her whole mission. She quickly turned around but saw she had no chance to get out of the palace, and she knew she was far too late for this. She was trapped.

The silverish gedwëy ignasia glinted mockingly in the spring sunlight on the woman's palm.

To be continued...

Tell me what you think... (I decided I love flames but I guess there isn't much to flame about yet... :P)

Amiréa