Arya came for the four again that night. Embrald sat in his nest and growled at Mellary until she put aside the scroll with an exaggerated sigh and agreed to go with the elf.
They drifted down nicely to find Eragon and Arya already waiting for them. Despite the gathering twilight, Mellary could clearly see the put-out expression that drifted over Eragon's face when they arrived.
Arya led the way, the Riders and dragons falling into step on either side of her.
"I have seen no children," Eragon said suddenly.
"Aye, we have few children," Arya replied. "Only two are in Ellesméra at the present, Dusan and Alanna. We treasure children above all else because they are so rare. To have a child is the greatest honor and responsibility than can be bestowed upon any living being."
An 'honor', Mellary thought suddenly. An honor, and they resented her for it. Her voice wasn't sad, but resigned.
She must have forgotten to limit the thought to her own mind, because Embrald answered.
Your mother? He asked.
She hesitated, but finally answered. Yes. Little flashes of memory, whittled away by time and sorrow, whirled through her mind. A warm smile, straight fiery hair ablaze in the sunlight, green eyes brimming with life, an emerald band on an ivory finger.
Arya just stated that children are precious to the elves.
Yes, they are. And because they are so rare, there were some who disdained my mother for the 'dilution' of their precious blood.
They harassed her? She couldn't read his thoughts from his neutral tone, and no emotion was leaking through his mental shields.
I do not know, Mellary answered honestly. She raised me away from here.
A deep, old sorrow grew in her heart, a sorrow that she thought she had gotten over long ago.
Her steps slowed, then stopped entirely.
The other two continued on for a moment before Arya realized that Mellary was no longer beside her.
"Are you well?" The elf asked in a voice that didn't carry past Mellary's ears.
"Carry on without me," She said in the ancient language, continuing the pattern the other two had set. Her voice sounding as normal as it would any other time. She had trained herself to efficiently hide her emotions. "I would not be good company just now." Spoken in that tongue, her words could have no lie.
Arya nodded once. Without glancing at Eragon, Mellary climbed up onto Embrald's back. The dragon crouched, his wings taking up the entire street as he spread them wide, then lunged into the air.
They arrived back in their quarters in minutes. Embrald remained crouched on the balcony as Mellary wordlessly removed her boots and socks, shoved the bed and desk into a tight corner to bare the middle of the room, and unsheathed her two swords.
She took a warrior's pose in the middle of the room, blades held loosely in both hands. Mellary stayed there until her heart had settled into a slow, easy rhythm. Moving in a manner similar to the Rimgar, she began a dancing duel with her shadow.
Embrald left as soon as she started moving. Out of the corner of her eye she saw his form slip off the balcony and into the air, rising against the sky like a shadow.
By the time she finished her dance and bathed he was back, lounging in his nest. She paused, eying the contented way her dragon was lounging in the puddle of soft leather. Was it a good hunt? She asked.
Very good. The deer here are smart, much smarter than elsewhere. It was almost a shame to kill one.
It's all the magic in the forest, Mellary said as she meticulously cleaned her swords. She tapped her nail against the tip, listening to the crystal ring with a small smile. She slid the blades back into their sheaths. Her jaw gaped in a wide yawn. After everything that had happened today, all she wanted was to curl up next to her dragon.
Leaving her weapons to the side of the nest, she did just that.
Visions ruled her sleep. Mellary jolted awake, sparks dancing through the air as words of magic burned unspoken on her tongue. Before she could quell the magic a spark stung Embrald's wing above her, leaving a jagged black burn on his green wing before it flared out. The dragon hissed in pain. Mellary gasped, her breath rasping in her throat that ached as if she had been smothering screams.
The green canopy above her, which had always seemed so comforting, was suddenly pressing in around her. Thin threads of panic wrapped around her mind. Before she knew it, she was reacting. Sparks flared up anew.
The magic fought her as she wrestled for control, welling up as it had before.
Let me out, She begged. Embrald raised the wing, letting her scramble from the nest. Off balance, Mellary stumbled out onto the balcony. Silvery light washed over her as she sat down hard.
The night air gusted, cooling the sweat that pasted her thin clothes to her skin. Her red curls were rusty in the moonlight, damp. Mellary sat motionless, waiting for her rapid pulse to slow. She had bad dreams often, but she never remembered them. She only know she had dreamed from the uneasy feelings she had as she awoke.
Never had she seen a dream so vividly. Never had she felt one so strong that it shocked her from her sleep.
Do these dreams of yours have any meaning? Embrald asked.
Is your wing alright?
Answer the question. He was determined to know the answer; Mellary wasn't going to be able to shrug this one off.
No, She said with finality. Your wing? Embrald was silent, waiting.
Mellary sighed. They don't. They're just dreams, Embrald.
Even I can feel the power in these dreams, Embrald said with a snort. You haven't noticed that your bad dreams occur before bad events?
No, I haven't, because there is no pattern. They are just dreams, Mellary snapped testily.
They have not ceased since we arrived here, Embrald said, refusing to back down.
I am constantly on edge…
I noticed.
…and it has been affecting my sleep, Mellary finished calmly. Sometimes, a dream is just a dream.
Sometimes. But not every time.
Let it go. Her words were snappish, but her voice was weary, her tone flat.
Tell me about the dream.
I don't remember my dreams.
You remember this one. It wasn't a question. He knew. Mellary sighed, burying her head in her arms.
"It was night," She said softly, out loud. "I was high above the ground, standing on a spire of ice. It rose up out of the glacier behind me. In front of me was a green land, spread out as far as I could see. To my left was a golden desert, to my right a sapphire ocean. Above me, I could see every single star. All the colors seemed to glow so bright.
"I could see the magic. It was all around me, like the stars had come down from the sky. That's what I was seeing earlier; become imbued with enough magic, and you begin to see it around you, I guess.
"In the distance was a castle. People were bustling around, going about their lives. The castle was covered in dark shadows that stretched across the land. Behind me, I could hear someone calling out words that made no sense.
"I opened my mouth and I said… something. I don't know what it was, but it as powerful. The people in the town heard me. The turned and looked, and then they began to scream. The glacier below me moved. It spread so quickly, moving across the land like a wave. The screams were cut off, and the voice behind me went quiet. Everything was covered in ice. It was so silent. It was so beautiful." She whispered the last part so quietly that she could barely hear herself.
Embrald didn't say anything. Mellary began to shiver as the sweat dried in the breeze, felt the tree sway beneath her slightly.
You are not a killer, Mellary, despite your claims to the contrary, Embrald told her, cutting straight to the heart of the issue. Dragons do not choose ruthless killers.
I know twelve minions and a crazy king that would disagree with you.
I would not choose a ruthless killer.
It was just a dream, Mellary insisted.
Embrald was silent for a while. Do you remember what you said? He asked just as she was about to drift back off into sleep.
I remember… the word. But I do not know the meaning.
A word in the ancient language that you do not know? Embrald commented, amused. Mellary laughed softly.
I guess so. I might have to look it up, out of curiosity. The slight bite of the wind made her shiver as it cooled the sweat that soaked her through. She stayed like that until dawn, afraid to go back to sleep. Her hair dried and began to drift on the breeze, surrounding her like she was underwater.
Mellary stirred just before the sun crested the horizon. She stood up slowly, working warmth back into her muscles as she slouched across the room, winding the little device before it could start screeching.
As she prepared for the day Embrald rose from his nest and flew off. She was settling her swords around her waist when she felt a surge of dread strong enough to make her drop her blade.
Embrald? She asked, questing down their bond. What happened? What's wrong? She reached for her bow and arrows, feeling magic stir in the back of her mind and pushing it away hastily. She already had it strung when Embrald replied.
It is nothing. His tone was careful and measured. Mellary pushed further down their bond and fetched up against his mental shields. She withdrew without testing them, knowing she wouldn't break through.
Tell me what's wrong, She insisted, but he had elected to ignore her.
Hesitantly she unstrung the longbow, putting it carefully away. She finished cinching her sword belt. Mellary paused, debating with herself, then took her only balanced knife out of her bag and slid it into a sheath that fit against the small of her back. She tugged on her tunic for a moment, trying to get it to sit just right to hide the crease of the sheath but still allow her to reach the knife easily.
Embrald wouldn't approve, but something had startled her normally placid dragon. Embrald didn't startle.
As if drawn by her thoughts, her winged green lizard landed on the balcony. Mellary walked over and climbed up, gripping on of his neck spines as the dragon slid off the balcony and began to coast down.
Do you remember Oromis informing you that another elf would be your sparring partner today? Embrald asked suddenly.
I overheard something that may have suggested it, but I don't think that was intended for my ears, Mellary replied casually.
He sent someone. His voice rumbled with a contained snarl. The hairs on the back of Mellary's neck rose.
There were three elves in this city that she believed would recognize her after fifteen years. Rhunön already had, and Arya believed her dead. The last… the last, with any type of luck, would never lay eyes on her.
I would not be certain, Embrald said cautiously.
Mellary glared at the back of his head suspiciously. A sudden thought made her scowl fiercely. I hope these two things aren't…. She glanced down, and saw a raven-haired elf striding towards their grove. Even from this height, she could make out every feature.
Her heart came to a full stop. Suddenly she was back in the dark, feeling the point of his sword as it bit into her shoulder and ground across her collar bone. The unforgiving sharpness of the metal swept across her throat as she desperately leaned away. In the nightmare, she could always feel the tug of the tip on her windpipe before it slid on, slicing through superficial veins and spilling red blood down her shirt.
Twin lines of very real pain down her palms brought her back to the present. Mellary gasped and looked down, loosening her fingers from Embrald's neck spine and leaving two bloody handprints on it. She had clenched the spine so tight that it's sharp edges had sliced into her palms. Blood welled up quickly, spilling between her fingers. Mellary murmured words of healing, watching at the deep cuts sealed themselves without a trace. A few more words, and the blood she had spilled burst into hot white flames, seared out of existence.
Her veins burned just as hot. Anger and fear mixed together, fueled by a deep anxiety. It all melded into an intense rage that suffused her from head to toe, making her heart race and her breath come fast. Her blood burned and her eyes sparked.
Embrald pumped his wings and they surged into the sky, the ground dropped away suddenly.
Where are you going? Mellary demanded.
Away from here until you can regain control of yourself, The dragon snapped back. His voice was sharp, but Mellary could detect something that was almost a hint of…. Fear. She hadn't lost control around him before, not in this manner. Every semblance of it had vanished, leaving her adrift in a burning pool of rage.
Why? She wailed. Why him? Clearly he had regained some standing after her attempt to frame him for her 'death', if he had been chosen to train with the pair of them. Mellary wondered why Oromis had not simply have her and Eragon train together. Perhaps because her style was so different, fighting with two blades. It didn't make sense, to have to bring in…. him.
Embrald suddenly plunged into a rapid corkscrew, then flipped over. Mellary was forced to drag her mind away to keep from falling off.
When he was sure he had her attention, Embrald spoke. You must let this go, He said gently. We must train, and what happened in the past is of the past.
He tried to kill me!
It may be that he has changed.
Unlikely, She muttered sullenly.
We have no other option, unless you would like to explain to Oromis why you would not train?
Mellary sighed, her shoulders slumping. She took a deep breath, using meditation to force the fire away. When it was smoldering just behind her mental shields, where it was undetectable to everyone except her dragon, she spoke.
"Let's go." Her voice was calm and reasonable, just a shade shy of normal.
She could feel his lingering concern, but Embrald stooped, dropping down to the group just as the elf finished introducing himself to Saphira. Now that she was braced against the memories Mellary was able to push them back this time, though it was a good thing Vanir chose to address Embrald first. She wasn't quite capable of speaking calmly and politely at that moment. Vanir turned to her and she folded one arm behind her back, her hand gripping the hilt of her knife.
They greeted each other, and Vanir turned away. "I will show you where you may practice with your blade," He said before taking the lead, not waiting for a reply from either Rider.
Release your dagger, Embrald told Mellary reproachfully. Mellary stuck her tongue out at him, but her fingers slid from the knife, smoothing the tunic back into place.
They followed him to that familiar training ground. Mellary stared it. Her vision wavered; for a moment she saw the shadows of night coloring the surroundings, saw her own blood splashed across the ground. She followed the others across the flat plane, pausing for a minute to scuff her boot against the edge of the long-gone pool.
Vanir turned to Eragon, disregarding her completely. Mellary supposed she was supposed to wait her turn. As the pair moved out onto a flat area she leaned back against a tree, propping one foot on the trunk. The dragons settled in around her to watch. Saphira's head was stretched as far forward as it could go, subtle tension in the lines of her body.
Mellary watched the fight, feeling a twinge of pity for Eragon. The boy was obviously trying to avoid another attack like the one that had occurred the day before, and it put him at a distinct disadvantage.
Vanir, who had no knowledge of the Rider's condition, took it as weakness.
Fluidly, the elf wove his blade around Eragon's and twisted, sending the red sword flying.
"Dead," He sneered as he touched Eragon's neck with his guarded blade. "How do you expect to defeat Galbatorix like this? I expected better, even from a weakling human."
Mellary bristled. Hasn't changed a bit, She thought furiously to Embrald.
"Then why don't you fight Galbatorix yourself, instead of hiding in Du Weldenvarded?" Eragon asked, taunting back.
"Because I am not a Rider. And if I were, I would not be such a coward as you." The silence was absolute, the other elves staring at Vanir in shock. Mellary smiled grimly, anger gripping her.
"Coward, I say. Your blood is as thin as the rest of your race's," Vanir continued. "I think Saphira was confused by Galbatorix's wiles and made the wrong choice of Rider." Next to Mellary the dragon in question snarled, flashing fang. The dragon was starring to her feet when Eragon whirled, his sword moving fast enough to rend the air. At the last second, the elf blocked the strike meant for his neck.
Unleashed and uncaring, Eragon drove Vanir to the center of the field with a skill that made Mellary raise one eyebrow in appreciation. Just as the boy scored a definitive hit, he crumbled with an agonized cry. Saphira tensed, clearly wishing to rush out. Mellary put a hand on the rippling blue scales of her shoulder.
Look, he is recovering, She said soothingly, though calm was the last thing she felt. The attack had only lasted a few moments, and Eragon was already straightening up. A line of blood tracked from his lips where he had bitten his tongue. The boy wiped it away and showed Vanir his red-stained fingers.
"Thin enough?" He asked the sneering elf.
Vanir sheathed his sword and walked towards the exit. Without making a conscious decision, Mellary pushed off the tree, drawing her twin blades. Her white fire rushed to cover them, making the sharp edges dull.
"Where are you going?" Eragon demanded.
"You are in no fit condition to spar," Vanir said, scorn heavy in his voice.
"Then try me," Mellary said, her voice low and dark with fury.
Vanir turned towards her, and the fire in her gaze made him instantly grip his sword. "I believe a more suitable partner will be found for you," He said in a lofty tone, insult obvious.
Her blood ignited and Mellary attacked. Vanir blocked her first strike easily, but barely avoided her second sword as it snaked in towards his heart. Vanir's eyes met hers for an instant, a hint of recognition in those dark depths. Mellary was beyond caring if he recognized her or not.
She attacked with abandon, moving faster than she ever had before. She flowed from strike to strike, one blade swinging under his guard to kiss his ribs. Vanir took advantage and struck, aiming for her heart. Mellary slid her other blade up, knocking his sword aside. Their swords met again and again, the ringing clashes winding together through the morning.
Mellary pressed forward, driving him backwards. Her swords seemed to be everywhere at once and, try as he might, Vanir couldn't block them all. Her blades snaked through his guard, scoring touches on his sword arm, his collar bone, and his stomach.
Exhaustion was beginning to weigh on Vanir. Mellary could tell; his strikes were flagging, his blocks slower than before. Unsurprising: at this point, her strikes could break a man's arm. She could feel exhaustion creeping around the edges, but her rage gripped her and fueled her, refusing to let her slow.
She dropped her arm slightly, opening up a hole in her guard. Vanir struck. At the last second, as his blade was sliding up to her ribs, Mellary twisted to the side. She whirled her swords trapping his blade between them, one above and one below. She reversed her grip on the top sword and pushed.
The sword was ripped out of his hand and flung high into the air, spinning end over end and glittering in the sunlight. Vanir's eyes followed it.
Moving so fast she blurred, Mellary swept her sword down, slamming the flat of the blade against the back of his knees. He crashed down as the sword began to fall. Mellary sheathed her blades and unerringly reached out and snagged his sword out of the air. She pressed the cold steel to the back of his neck.
Everything stopped. All the other pairs, who had resumed their training, froze. Vanir didn't move, but fury was burning in his eyes. The fire was tempered by their shared knowledge that, if Mellary swung hard enough, guarded blade or no, she would break his neck. Death would be instant, no healing quick enough to save him.
She could take his life.
The hand holding the sword was steady, but the rest of her trembled. The fury demanded she do it, pay back years of anger and exile and loneliness.
Mellary… Embrald said. You don't… He stopped, seeming to realize that no reason was going to make its way through her clouded mind.
Mellary growled, whirled the blade around in her hand, and slammed the sword down in front of Vanir. Two full inches of the blade sank into the dense wood and stood, quivering. Mellary turned and stalked away, rage still evident in ever line of her body.
"You're a cheat!" Vanir screamed at her. "A weakling not worthy to ride a dragon…"
Mellary whirled, her arm whipping forward, her drawn knife flying from her fingers in perfect rotation. It whirled through the air, moving so fast it was almost invisible. The dagger sliced past Vanir's face, missing his pointed ear by a hair's breadth, and sank up to its hilt into the tree behind him.
A lock of black hair drifted down like snow. Everyone stared.
"Don't. Push. Me." She said softly, her voice burning with barely contained rage, and stalked out, leaving her knife buried in the tree.