A cold wind rustled over her. The hair on her arms stood on the ends. Silvarí slowly bent over in her armored suit, the metal clinking as she scooped up a rounded steel shield. It wasn't as fancy as her other armor.

After Roran and Katrina had left, and before she had returned to her sleep, she had a private moment of sitting on the dungeon floor to study her newfound armor.

A great part of it was a strange metal smelted with iron. It was understood that the little metal loops connected together made up a chainmail jerkin. She also had a chainmail coif, and a gold trimmed helm with leaf designs on the side. Her greaves and bracers also followed a strange, golden leaf-ridden design but unlike the others, had unnatural scratches on them. They look like they had been rushed over sharp rocks. Silvarí remembered turning them over and finding baffling runes on the inside. She tried to make them out, but after several minutes, she gave in.

The suit also acquired a strange green woven tunic with tights that went under. Silvarí remembered rubbing them against her skin, feeling the soft fabric as she moved it back and forth and in little circles. It had to be possibly the softest fabric she had ever felt.

Her shield was most curious. It was not fancy or elaborate, but ancient looking. Similar runes from her greaves where present in the metal, but the carved picture on the front was what she was interested in. The picture was a small dragon reaching up toward an apple tree. One apple was golden, the one the dragon was reaching toward. But that was not all. A malevolent shadow stood behind the tree, his sharp blade by his side. Although his face couldn't be made out, Silvarí could tell that the shadow wanted to cause harm to the dragon.

So now, she stood over the empty dungeon, in full armor, staring down at the unforgettable face. Her sword was in her scabbard, and her bow was on her back. The armor was definitely made for her. It fit as if she herself had been its mold.

She shivered again at the cold dungeon air, and made her way up the stone steps. One the way, however, she stopped and thought about Roran. She had been stabbed, and sent to watery grave. Then Ismira, the village girl who was Roran and Katrina's daughter, had saved her. And now, after just one day, she had been called a warrior and an elf, and asked to save Carvahall from a problem she did not even know of. But why did Ismira have to save her? Was she worth this much care and treatment? And how would Roran know if she was powerful when he had only known her for a day? Was he just so desperate to trample upon elves and use them for his problems? Silvarí liked Roran, and felt he was a good person. No, a good warrior. Katrina seemed perfectly capable of defending herself. Ismira, was a mix of both, which made her seem almost unstoppable. Why, then, would they need her help? She didn't even have a clue to who she was anyway.

Silvarí continued to trudge around the dungeon until she came to the steps.

Outside the dungeon stood Roran's daughter. She glared at Silvarí.

Without a smile, she said, "You look like you did when I found you, elf. I knew you are one of them from the moment I touched your mind. The music of your mind was so solemn and stable that the fact that your stomach was gaping open didn't have any effect on what you were. You had no memories, however. It seemed as if you had died, and then the gods decided to give you back to Alagaesia."

"You need to train hard, Silvarí. If you want your honor here, make it by doing as my father asks. You could go home after, and if you can't find your home, you can become our guard here. You have talent. I know that by your structure and by the things you carry. You can be big here, just follow my advice I am about to give you."

"Why now, Ismira? I have to go fight with your father, and then save you town from something I don't even know about. Then… I can go home. How is that a convenience to me? Why speak to me now when I'll just be here, forever serving you?" Silvarí questioned with a tone of sarcasm and annoyance. The fact that she was fighting this girl's father was a bit odd and distressful. Training to service them was not what she was looking forward to.

"Now, because I want to speak with you now! Do not question me, elf. You do not know what I am capable of. In fact, you do not even know what you are capable of! You are just pathetic without our help and will never find your way without us. You owe me, and my family. In fact, if my magic hadn't saved you down by that river, you would be dead."

Silvarí thought for a moment and then retorted to Roran's daughter.

"Maybe I didn't want to be saved, Ismira. If I was found flowing through a river, with everything still intact within me, then somebody cared about me enough that they gave me the respect I needed when I would die! You ruined my peace by doing this, and you ask for my help. Now move, so I can continue to serve the grand people of Carvahall, as you command. Move!"

Now she really thought hard. She had to fight Roran, get her behind kicked in the process, and save Carvahall. In fact, if not for Ismira, she wouldn't ever be here. She would've remembered her family, friends, and everyone else she cared about. Her home. And then, she would've died with honor, like everyone should. Ismira took that away from her. They all just wanted to use her for her services. The thought made her sick.

"Thrysta" Ismira spoke firmly in a language Silvarí had definitely heard before, but could not place. It seemed as if she was trying to read runes again.

Silvarí tried to stop it, but it felt as if all the wind in Alagaesia were locked up in a small bottle, and then suddenly released. The terrible wind blew Silvarí down the long flight of stone steps, and into the far dungeon wall. Her back cracked against the wall with a hard thump. Silvarí groaned and tried to move.

Within a few moments of thrashing about, she sorely stood. She drew her skinny blade, and held it out in front of her. Every part of her body felt broken and bruised.

Roran's daughter appeared somewhere in front of her. "Since I've had my fun, I suppose your training should continue, since you just can't wait to start. But, your turn with me will follow shortly after Mirelth… Don't give me that look. I am here to train you, and getting you riled up was well worth a few rude exchanges. Get your weapons ready."

At the name, another shadow appeared on the steps. Before Silvarí could respond to Roran's daughter, the male figure charged her, raising his blade in a deadly arch.

Silvarí thrust her blade in front of her vision with a quiet grunt. The boy had on very similar clothing to Silvarí. But clothing was small to his ferocity.

He knocked her blade aside with ease, and slung his thick sword low in hope as to hit her hip. Silvarí blocked that with her shield and parried with a single blow to the head. The boy raised his blade in defense and then jabbed at her with amazing speed. Silvarí jumped out of the way and saw his blade whistle by where she had just been.

"Who are you?" Silvarí grunted and slashed twice in a quick session. Both were blocked with the boy's square shield. He danced around her and performed numerous strikes.

"Call me Mire." He blunted and threw his shield away to the side. Silvarí didn't want to, but she did likewise. She had to fight with fairness.

Now Silvarí was first to slash. In the first few flurry of blows, she noticed that she was much quicker, as an elf should be. She did not have elf ears, or anything similar to an elf in her opinion, but she was sure she was the more agile one of the fighters. She moved like a jungle cat, calculating where Mire would hit next. It seemed that she could do nothing else but use instinct even she didn't know she should have.

He had powerful and skillful strokes and cuts, but he was somewhat overconfident in hope that he would beat Silvarí. Silvarí thought of other ideas.

Mire slung his thick blade to the right, but then faked left. And as fast as Silvarí was, she could not help but to be cut on the right shoulder. Mire backed off of Silvarí, and retreated to a nearby cell. "Come on, elf! I have not ever seen as lowly as a fighter as yourself, especially not in your race! Fight!"

Silvarí grunted and shook her wounded shoulder. She thought of how the boy moved, and how he wanted to bait her into doing something foolish. So this time, she charged, but not at the boy.

Silvarí's shoulder burned with irritation, and refused to budge as so much as to swing her blade in circles. But for the task she was about to perform, she wouldn't need it. Switching her blade from her right hand to left, she charged at the cell Mire was in. He raised an eyebrow through his iron helmet, and lifted his blade. "Here so soon...?" He asked sarcastically. Silvarí continued her charge at the iron bars, and slashed through them like butter. A clang filled the air as the remainder of the bars fell to the ground.

Iron bars were clutched in her hands, while her sword lay on the ground. The poles were about five feet long each, but Silvarí was confident that the two sharp iron stakes would make worthy weapons and prove ethical tricks. Two swords were more than enough. The boy raised his blade over his head, hoping to strike in an overhead blow. But this time, Silvarí was too quick.

She dashed under his blow and cut at his legs. The sharp iron cut both of his knees. Gratitude fell over her. She was not to be defeated.

He dove to the ground with unusual grace and rolled out of the cell. Next, he was up on his feet with his shield in his right hand and his blade in his left. Silvarí's shoulder felt as if it was sizzling.

Exchanging sharp blows the next half an hour left the couple aggravated and tired. Silvarí danced back and forth and away from Mire's blade in hope to wear him down. Usually, though, she used the two poles to jump around the cells and catch Mire's feet with and unwanted surprise.

Mirelth had brute strength. He was not too big, or too small, but his professional strokes and techniques wore Silvarí out to the bone. Twice more he managed to mark her; one on her chin, and one on her ribs. It was easy to tell that he had practiced the sword since he was just a fletching. He performed baffling loops and abilities Silvarí could never understand with his extra arm. It was like he was made for fighting with complication. And, even though he was a formidable opponent, his speed was somewhat inadequate compared to Silvarí.

All of this she pondered while she fought and considered of where he'd strike next, but in the end, she had her bet that Mire would come out victorious and Silvarí's head would be separated from her body.

The short battle did not end that way however. Silvarí and Mire were exchanging blows when Silvarí's long pole managed to knock Mire in the right thigh. With all the speed she had, she tackled the boy to the ground and laid an iron pole against his neck. One of her feet held down his sword hand.

Silvarí sighed with exhaustion. "Surrender… I shall fight a stranger no longer."

"I am no stranger to you. You have no fury within your bones, and no attitude to fight. That is a recipe for a coward." He grunted and twitched on the stone floor, and then managed to twist Silvarí's ankle away from his hand. She whimpered in pain.

Both of the warriors had each other at neck point. Silvarí didn't have as sharp a weapon as he did, but one small thrust and he'd be dispatched. One slash and she would be leaving Alagaesia forever. "Now surrender, elf. You will not best me. Nobody in Alagaesia has. In fact, I am just toying with you...You do seem to take bait quite easily, as your demonstration with Ismira has proven."

Silvarí did not get angry, or mad, or furious. She could not be baited at the moment. She just stared at the blade that was forced upon her neck. The sword was wider than hers, but an inch shorter. It was perfectly made and unscathed, like hers. But unlike hers it had a purple gem on the end of the hilt, and ancient writing was carved into the blade by the tip. The same writing on her armor, she remembered. Banish she made out. The language seemed clear and full of meaning, unlike before.

"Banish," she whispered. And, before her very eyes the blade vanished, and Silvarí felt a release upon her neck. Silvarí gasped, and Mire grunted fearfully.

"How did you do that?" he choked, surprised. Silvarí did not trust him, or Ismira, whom she finally noticed was standing in the corner with a solemn look. Mire was at her mercy for once, and Ismira could choke all the spells she wanted, but Silvarí would just kill Mirelth before she killed her. Silvarí turned back to Mire. He tried to free his hands again, but a harder knead from Silvarí's boots were the only result.

"What did you do the blade? Where is it?" He choked again.

Silvarí loosened up a bit and arched her head down toward him so his helm was only an inch away from hers. "I read its name! I read it… the runes." She pushed harder against his neck. Again, he struggled to push her small frame off of him, but only freed his sweaty left hand. He raised it to his face quickly and unstrapped his helm. He pulled it off and chunked it across the floor toward Ismira. Sweat was pouring from his body and face. Silvarí imagined she looked much the same.

The boy was about a couple years older than Silvarí, but didn't really seem like it. He still had a sharp, childish face, and playful blue eyes. His long face reminded Silvarí of the blue wolf man's face, but instead Mire had a hooked nose and thin lips. He also had shaggy dark brown hair, and brilliant blue eyes. He was skinny and tall, but had plenty of wiry muscles among his arms, torso, and thighs. He smiled.

"How about you remove you weapons… er.. bars, and we talk a bit?" His breath was hot on her face. It smelt of mint leaves.

"You just tried to kill me, not to mention insult me, and now you want peace? I won't be tricked so easily, Mire," she spat. His smile still was planted across his face. How dare he talk to her that way? It was probably the highest insult yet, he asking her to lay down her bars so he can walk away freely.

"Well, I guess I'll start then. My job is to train you in about a day or two. Then, you will join me and all of the other soldiers and spellcasters in our small militia. The disease has been killing like mad lately. Not to mention the Varden hasn't-"

"Mirelth! Quiet yourself! Silvarí does not know of our problems here and would do well if I or my father explained," Ismira yelled and made her way over to the couple.

"Oh come on, Ismira. What's a little subsequent advice going to hurt?" Mirelth asked. Silvarí pressed the bars harder around his muscled. Mire winced and grunted at her. Ismira seemed unworried about her friend.

Silvarí began from the very beginning, "Tell me. What is with Carvahall? Why isn't Roran training me? What is wrong with me that you aren't telling me? How is your sword so special? Tell me now or your friend dies Ismira. "

"Kill him. He is not of great importance to me," she said with a quick smile.

Mirelth frowned, "But what about that delightful piece of heartfelt poetry you and your lovely female friends wrote to me when we were young? I'm sure you ladies are just jealous of all the others I've faired since my manhood."

Now Silvarí cut in, "How many of them were women?" She laughed. Mirelth smirked at them. "All…" he answered," but one. That one night in my grandfather's barn this male ox had the wrong ideas while I was resting and-"

"-I'm sure you can tell I ate that one the next morning. His blood was probably the juiciest I've ever eaten. Anyway, if you wish me to introduce myself, you should probably remove your elven hands from my human chest. If fact, normal elves do not even touch humans. They say we are so un-pure that we shouldn't even be bonded with the Dragons. How I dislike them…"

"I'll request a visit from Queen Arya and when she hears you make racist jokes like those, she'll show you who's un-pure you pigheaded fool," Ismira stated.

Silvarí laughed and removed her bars. "You aren't a threat anymore anyway, " she answered and plopped down by his side. In truth, she needed some laughter. Mirelth seemed like the person to be next to.

"Queen Arya… the face that the greatest Dragon Rider of this time fell to his knees for. You elven woman can do that, Silvarí." He smiled, and then his face fell with a sour grin.

"From the beginning, I suppose. And I will try to answer your other questions also, elf."

" We will," Ismira reminded.

"Well, for one, I am a half breed. I'm probably the worst half-breed to ever walk upon Alagaesia, actually. My mother was a human, and my father was a…dwarf. Before the war, a lonely sorceress stumbled upon the Varden walls and fell in love with a dwarf named Nomínn. They had me, and fought in the big war. My father died in the Battle of Uru'baen, and my mother handed me off to her father, a human by the name of Morgan. When I was about two, my grandfather moved from Therinsford to Carvahall to help rebuild, and continued to stay there. Now I stay with my grandfather and mother, and learn the ways of a warrior with them. I heard oxen, and take care of most of the animals in Carvahall. I am also Captain of their army as of last month; after Roran of course. And well, Ismira has been my mage friend ever since I saw he walk for the first time."

"I'm sorry about Venian, Mire." Ismira spoke in a low tone. Now Silvari had time to realize that the people she sat next to were not her friends and could turn on her as quickly as she had turned up five days ago.

"Who is-" She asked, but was cut off by Mirelth.

"You questions, elf. Currently, Carvahall is being attacked by left over servants of Galbatorix, in hope to drag Eragon back to Alagaesia so they can attempt to lay waste to him with their Shade army. Also, a plaque that those wrenches created is threatening to destroy our villiagers. Next… Roran cannot train you because he has other matters to attend that keep him out of this war completely."

When she stopped, Ismira picked up, "You were found by the river with all of your things still intact. The only reason I had found you was because… I heard a Dragon roar. So I went down to the river and found two Riders, Arya and Murtagh, by your body. They said their farewells, and flew off. But before they did, I asked them to assist Carvahall in the fight. Both of them told me that the Elves needed time to reconstruct and that the issue wasn't important enough. Well, that's what the elf said. She was in distress, so I suppose she couldn't just agree to help."

"But still! If not for them, we wouldn't be attacked! They hide in their big forest, so no one can find them! The Dwarves and Urgals do the same. So, the torture falls upon us humans. Us humans of Carvahall have to fight an army of Shades, spellcasters, soldiers, and plaque! We cannot do anything anymore. We are doomed, just like she was…"

"Who is she?" Silvarí asked with concern. She grabbed her iron pole in fear of being attacked.

"You last question falls upon her, elf. She was a Dragon Rider. One trained by Eragon. She came here, and tried to fight off the thousand shades alone! Without any help, and perished in the process. All I found was her blade… Banish."

"That is not the full story Silvarí, but now you know why we need you. No more toying around. Follow me, both of you. We need to travel into the fields to train properly."

"I said go!" Ismira yelled, her eyes watery.