A streak of midnight blue hair rushed into view and vanished just as quickly.
The night sky gleamed beautifully with its many shining lights. A gentle breeze brushed his skin, and the grass tickled his feet.
It has been long since my boots have touched this dirt, Murtagh admitted to his blood red Dragon that stood in a low crouch just to the side of him. He was bigger now than he ever was. Fifteen years had passed in the blink of an eye, and both of them agreed to return to their old roots. Something felt different about Alagaesia, however. The grass was green, the birds still tweeted from tree to tree, the trees were tall and thick, the mountains still towered over the land, and the wind blew like it did fifteen years ago. Everything seemed to be in the same place as when they had left it.
But it had changed, and this time, for the worse.
All things that normal beings viewed, such as people who were not Dragon Riders, were normal as could be. But for a pair of Galbatorix's former slaves, the ones who were cursed and hated by everyone in the land, knew that ground underneath their feet grew cold. A sudden malevolence had stricken all of Alagaesia. The time of evil would ring again.
So that's why they came. And there they stood, just outside the northern border of Du Weldenvarden.
The midnight lock of hair had given her away. Thorn snarled at the elf girl, but she did not cower away from them. Thorn repeated the process and Murtagh even drew out his florescent crimson sword, Zar'rock. Within a few seconds, the elf girl with the midnight blue hair drew out hers. She aimed it at the Rider's heart.
Let me rid of her Thorn spoke in a casual tone. His ruby bulk glistened in the moonlight.
Let me speak first. Murtagh answer and glanced back at the little shadow with the dark hair. It flowed in straight streaks to just below her ribcage. A red band of fabric held it back, and her pointed ears were visible. The green cat eyes she had stared at the Dragon and his Rider with a yellow tint. Fangs fell from her mouth. And, as far Murtagh was concerned, she matched him in every piece of armor, including how they both wore no helm.
In the ancient language, Murtagh shouted. What are you here for, elf?
A small smile touched her lips. For the first time, Murtagh noticed a white steed a few feet away from her and behind some trees. Before she spoke again, she touched her two fingers to her lips and greeted Murtagh and his Dragon with Elven honors.
Rider Murtagh, I have found you just by chance. My horse, Anurin, has wandered many moons in search of something of huge importance. It seemed she has found what she was searching for. The elf said without emotion. She seemed, almost in a trance.
Hatchling, we cannot tarry. We must gain entrance to your city and seek your monarch, Queen Arya. Thorn snorted again. Murtagh could feel his surprise in how the elf had reacted to their reveal.
The elf with the midnight blue hair sheathed her slim blade and motioned with a swift jerk for them to follow.
The forest of Du Weldenvarden amazed them both. Thick pines surrounded the needle-covered forest; so thick, that the moonlight no longer fed throughout the forest in streams of silver light. Lichen and rocks blanketed the ground. Every direction they went in, Murtagh hard birds chirping, wolves hounding, and even the light footsteps of a lone deer. They walked for at least an hour, it seemed, and then the elf stopped. In front of her stood another elf. He was an older elf who wore robes of silver. A circlet adorned his solemn face. Suspicion itched the Dragon and Rider's scales and skin. The little elf nodded her head, and the marched on past the elf. When Murtagh turned his had to look back, the elf was gone.
On and on they walked for days until they entered Ellesméra. Delights and displeasure followed the party. Murtagh grew tired of the relentless walking and Thorn longed to stretch his sore wings. The delights, however, were also to great pleasure.
The homes of the elves were amazingly made out the pine trees themselves. And, and as Murtagh had never had before, several elves they made contact with stopped and greeting him and Thorn with a bow. How my brother had felt, he relayed to Thorn. He had not spoken of Eragon or Saphira in such a long while, it seemed that they no longer existed. Murtagh was determined to visit him though. Sometimes when they were free. Arya and he could go.
The elf led them into a magnificent hall. On a beautiful throne sat a raven-haired queen. Next to her, a huge forest green Dragon stood, his gaze settled on Thorn. Within a short while, the queen's gaze lay on Murtagh.
The little elf ran up to the queen and knelt by Arya's feet. She spoke something so quiet, Murtagh did not hear. The green Dragon and the queen grew restless at Murtagh and Thorn's approach. The Dragons met, sniffing one another with their tongues. Murtagh followed the elf's example and reluctantly knelt. A frown covered his face. Arya, Queen of the Elves and Rider.
"Murtagh. I knew you would come." Arya spoke softly.
"Eragon, Queen. Where is my brother?" he asked. Thorn and the green Dragon exchanged memories with their minds, although Thorn recoiled when it came to a particular memory of the Dark Days. Arya sat still and gazed at the little elf with certain interest. The elf's gold trimmed armor sparkled brilliantly in the halls werelight. The girl looked like a formidable enemy even though Murtagh and Thorn could dispose of her quickly.
Arya gave Murtagh an uneasy look. "He has left Alagaesia…forever."
Unexpected anger erupted Murtagh. Anger he had not felt since Galbatorix. Murtagh quickly scrambled to his feet so swiftly, Thorn broke the connection with the green Dragon. Murtagh began to pace.
"What do you mean he-" he began, but a party of elves barged in, one carrying a strange wooden box.
"Queen Arya! Queen Arya! It's her!" they screamed. The fair folk were fair indeed, but they seemed hasty and reckless with joy. The little elf stood up and froze. Her eyes gleamed with fear. Arya leap up like a cat and the green Dragon's eyes narrowed.
The elves brought the box to Arya and she opened the heavy lid. It creaked open with a long groan. "Come, Little Elf."
The elf hesitated, but then reluctantly walked up to the throne in the crowd of the Elves. "It is for you, Little Elf."
Arya turned the box, and Thorn roared. Murtagh was surprised also. The egg was a golden color, but had a big crack in the middle that seeped in sunset pink color. It was not yet hatched. The Little Elf touched the shell. It cracked again around the small surface. Little Elf ducked her head, and the shell began to crack even more. With a quick motion, the elf shut the case and darted out of the hall. Arya screamed her name and began to run to the entrance.
"Fírnen!" she gasped. The green Dragon roared and trudged after Arya. Murtagh, Thorn, and the elves followed.
The race lasted for days. The elf trudged through rough forest terrain without stopping once. Only until at the Anora river edge, the Riders and Dragons had found her. She was huddled in a bed grass, bile dipping out her mouth.
The hatchling made herself sick. Something is wrong with her, Murtagh. She…. Is dying… her soul… Thorn grunted and shook himself. She is going to die. Someone is taking her soul from Alagaesia. Murtagh turned and faced his Dragon. He held tightly on to his snout, and tried to press Thorn with feelings of worry for him. Thorn did not reply, but just focused on the elf.
She is going to die. I must help. Fírnen stated to Murtagh and Thorn.
Fírnen let Arya's embrace and flew over to elf, but the child darted in the racing river.
"Little Elf, you have to except your destiny. You shall not be afraid. Remember what we talked about," Arya blurted. She was as exhausted as Murtagh. This race had caused him and Thorn much woe. Arya seemed determined to capture the little dead-like elf. Arya had to have some use for her.
"Hatchling, heed your master. Do not be scared to accept..." Murtagh started, but instantly felt unable to say anything more. It wasn't his opinions, just a way to lull the child into her destiny.
She is going to die. Leeching… her soul.
"I have no life to me Arya. I have not even a name to heed myself with. You use me, Queen. I am wiser than you have taught me to be. You know that with my duties, I will find you Eragon Shadeslayer and you will then be a happier Queen." Arya paled and Fírnen growled.
"You know within your heart that I care most about my duties. Little Elf, a cure may be possible. Give up this feat and join us. The Dragon may give you what you seek."
The elf unsheathed her blade. A single red tear trickled down her face. "I do not blame you Arya. I have no feelings of my own. I am a host for people. A creature wrought of talent, and not feelings. I am not worthy to uphold such an honor as having a Dragon. Even for you, my Queen."
She is passing into the void.. Fírnen moaned.
"Something is taking me to my next life Arya. Find the Dragon a worthy Rider. A one who has sympathy for a crying child, or one who cares about your feelings Arya. You can do better. Let go of me, so I can become anew. Find a new Rider. One who isn't… nameless."
Without any second longer, she lifted the blade and thrust it under her chest. A quick shriek pierced the air. A splash erupted as a body fell into a river. Dragon roars filled the air.
What had just happened?