CHAPTER SEVENTEEN: Closer To The Edge
"I cannot save you,
I can't even save myself."
- Save Yourself, Stabbing Westward
Galbatorix had been livid when he had learned that Murtagh and Thorn had escaped – along with Ashen. He had already killed a half-dozen people before he'd calmed down enough to summon the magician Zander and the Shade Mordecai to him. He glared down on them, his black eyes burning.
"You failed me," the king spat at Mordecai, "You fled Belatona as soon as the city was taken. What's the matter? Scared of a Rider?"
Mordecai sneered, unafraid. "I do not need to prove myself to you. I am assisting you of my own free will. I retreated because I knew we did not stand a chance when Daemyn's son killed his people and assisted the Varden."
Galbatorix ground his teeth. "That boy will suffer, to be sure. Yet still the problem remains that I stand alone against three Riders. Not to mention that Morzan's spawn took the Eldunari with him when he left!"
"His true name must have changed," muttered Zander, looking thoughtful, "I wouldn't doubt that it is because of the girl…"
Galbatorix threw him a withering look. "Thank you for stating the obvious. If his true name had not changed, he would never have been able to defy me."
He looked down at the map of Alagaesia he had put down on the table. A dagger had been slammed straight into the city of Dras-Leona. Galbatorix jabbed a finger at it.
"This is where the Varden will go next. They are accompanied by Eragon, and I would not be astonished if Murtagh joined them. I have not been able to locate Tristan thus far, yet he is still a danger to me. Mordecai, it is your task to go to Dras-Leona. Do not let them take the city."
Mordecai's eyes were hard, but he inclined his head and turned to leave, his blood-red cape swirling behind him as he stalked from the room. Galbatorix watched him go. The Shade was unpredictable. He was not as loyal as Durza had been and he tended to do things for his own self-gain rather than for Galbatorix.
"We need the girl back."
Zander's eyes flashed with surprise. "Ashen?"
"What other girl do you think I mean?" snapped Galbatorix, "Yes, Ashen. I have come to the conclusion that she is the key."
Zander started to smile. He could see what the king meant. She was Tristan's sister. Murtagh was in love with her. The only uncertainty was what Eragon's relationship with her was, but that hardly mattered. With all the other Riders against him, Eragon would have no choice but to bow to Galbatorix's wishes.
"I need her alive," Galbatorix instructed, making sure that Zander understood. "Bring her to me – unharmed."
Zander looked a little disappointed at the 'unharmed' part.
"What of the Riders?"
Galbatorix waved a hand dismissively. "Leave them for now. Your focus is capturing the girl. No doubt she will put up a fight, but if we are to triumph we must have her. We cannot gain the Riders otherwise."
"Solembum tells me he spoke to you."
Ashen whirled around to see Angela making her way into the tent. She flushed red and staggered backwards. She hadn't meant to intrude. She had only been looking for a herb that would help her sleep: the nightmares had been frequent of late.
"I…I'm sorry…I didn't mean…"
Angela offered the girl a warm smile. The witch had not been with the Varden long, yet already she was beginning to see the destinies of those around her take shape. The fate of this fifteen-year-old girl with a tragic past was something she was eager to discover.
"Only three others have spoken with Solembum," Angela's voice was quiet, "The last being the Rider Eragon. This makes you special, Ashen. It means that I can read your fortune. Be warned, though: it is not always pleasant. In fact, most of the time it is harsh and bleak. If you consent, I will cast the bones for you."
The prospect of a dark future grimly amused Ashen. She had already experienced much pain in her past. How much more difficult could her future really be? She'd lost Colton and it had broken her heart. Unless her future involved losing Tristan, she thought she could probably handle it. She licked her lips and nodded.
"Cast the bones, please."
Angela sat down on one side of the makeshift table and Ashen sat across from her. Solembum prowled around the edges of the tent. The witch picked up the bones and barked a few in the ancient language that Ashen did not understand, before casting the bones onto the table. Angela examined the bones with interest for a few minutes, sighed, and then nodded.
"This bone indicates you will live for a long number of years, or infinity," Angela frowned and looked at Ashen with her head cocked to the side, "The only other time this came up was when I read Eragon's fortune. You are not a Rider, are you?"
Ashen shook her head fervently. "Nor do I think I will become one."
Angela smiled wryly. "Ah, but the future can hold many surprises." She studied the bones again and then looked across at Ashen, a grin crossing her face. "Despite your hard past, there is hope in your future. There is romance in your future. As the moon indicates, this will be powerful enough to break empires. Your love will be powerful, strong and extremely handsome."
Ashen brushed a strand of hair behind her ear self-consciously, feeling her cheeks burning. Why would such a man be interested in her? She was only a soldier of the Varden.
"There is a betrayal," Angela stated bluntly, "From someone close to you. There is a great doom associated with this, although whether it is your own or someone else's, I cannot tell."
Ashen was silent.
"Many conflicts will be centred around you. Why, I cannot say. All I can tell you is that the pain in your life – and I am sorry about this – will not come to a close for some time. You have a great destiny ahead of you, Ashen. You are more than just a Varden warrior."
Ashen found this hard to believe. If Angela was implying that she would become the next Rider, she highly doubted it.
"There is a battle closing in. During this battle, you will see the one you fear the most. You will confront him."
Ashen felt cold, knowing who Angela meant straight away.
"Durza."
Murtagh had been teaching Ashen about magic ever since he discovered that she had accidentally healed herself after Zander's torture. He was surprised that she was a magician, and even more so at the first magic she had used.
"Healing yourself isn't easy," Murtagh admitted, scratching at the back of his neck, "But you're right. Most of the time when people first use magic, it's completely by accident."
Ashen could only nod. It was alright for Murtagh. He was a seasoned magician by now. In fact, apart from Galbatorix, he was the most powerful person in Alagaesia. It scared her to think that he could overpower her at any moment.
"I know the ancient language," Ashen explained, "So do I just use the words for what I'm trying to do?"
Murtagh sighed heavily. This was probably going to take a long time to explain.
"Yes and no. You need to get it precise. If it's not specific enough, it probably won't work. Also, you need to use a method that doesn't drain all of your energy and kill you."
Ashen looked uncomfortable. "Well, I can't be too good then. I just healed myself, barely, before passing out."
Murtagh's grey eyes were fierce. "Ashen, you had just been tortured. You're lucky you were able to access magic at all."
He leaned over and picked up a rock. "We're going to start easy, alright? To lift this rock from the ground, say 'stenr risa '. Don't be surprised if it doesn't work the first time. It takes a lot of time and effort. You will probably feel drained by the time you're done."
Ashen considered this. "How long would it take me to become as good as a proper magician? Like…" She tried to look thoughtful. "Zander?"
Murtagh's expression hardened and a stern look came over his face as he shook his head. He leaned forward and gripped Ashen by the shoulders. He knew that she wanted revenge for what the magician had done to her.
"Stay away from him. If Zander ever comes, let me deal with him. Even a year from now, you wouldn't be powerful enough to confront him. Zander has been training for years. You can't hope to compete with him."
Ashen nodded sullenly, feeling like a scolded child. She realised that fighting Zander would be about as advisable as fighting a Shade. He was probably Galbatorix's most powerful magician, apart from Murtagh.
Sighing, she focused her attention on the rock. "Stenr risa."
The rock wriggled on the ground, but apart that, nothing happened. She glared at it, as Thorn watched her efforts with slight amusement.
You can't just say the words, Ashen. You have to mean them.
Placing her right hand over the rock, Ashen stated more firmly, "Stenr risa."
Her magic streamed from her hand, a cerise colour somewhere between pink and red. Murtagh moved forward a little, watching with fascination as the rock wobbled off the ground a few centimetres. Ashen's mouth opened slightly and she smiled – and then the rock dropped back onto the ground. Ashen's smile fell with it.
"You're starting to get it," Murtagh sounded neither pleased nor disappointed. "Again."
Tristan was drunk with victory. The taking of Teirm had by no means been his first battle – he had been an archer during the Battle of Farthen Dur, and again during the Battle of the Burning Plains – but it had been his first conflict as a Rider. He had been honoured when Delia had proclaimed he and Fafnir were capable of joining the elves in Teirm.
Never had Tristan felt more close to his dragon. He and Fafnir had worked together to avoid obstacles and take down enemies. He felt that the battle had strengthened their bond – although they had been nothing compared to Delia and Aziza.
The great purple dragon and her Rider had rocketed through Teirm, spreading chaos. Tristan had watched with admiration: Delia and Aziza had practically been one during the battle, doing everything as a sole entity.
Tristan had not relished taking the lives of the soldiers who had attacked him and Fafnir. It had been necessary, nothing else. Today had been the day that Sundavar first spilt blood while in Tristan's hands.
Delia had moved with a fluid grace when she had been on the ground, ducking and whirling, using Evarinya like an extension of her arm. Tristan had been impressed – he hadn't seen her fight in a battle before.
Taking Teirm had not been a necessity, yet Queen Islanzadi had thought it wise. This way, the port city could not attempt to help Galbatorix come the final attack on Uru'baen. The ruler of Teirm had been arrested, along with many others. Some chose to fight with the elves, which proved just how much they hated the king. However, these numbers were still few.
It had been just over five months since Tristan had been sent to Du Weldenvarden. Fafnir had grown a lot in that time, and so had Tristan – just in a different way. He was still worried about Ashen, although he knew once they reached Uru'baen he would have the chance to free her. While he wanted to believe that she was alive, he had the sick feeling in his stomach that she might meet the same fate as Colton.
Across from Tristan and Fafnir, Vanir and Delia were talking in low voices while Aziza watched them almost boredly. Tristan watched them a little enviously. He knew Vanir stood a better chance with Delia than he did, yet he also knew he shouldn't be thinking of Delia in that way.
Good, young one. You are learning. For now we must focus on the war. After that, you can contemplate your feelings. Fafnir sounded quite proud.
If I'm still alive, Tristan ruminated wryly.
Tristan knew that they were strong now. He could perform magical feats almost equal to Eragon. He knew how to draw on energy from other beings. He could wield a sword brilliantly – maybe even as well as Ashen, if he was lucky. Despite the fact that she was not a Rider, Ashen had always been an unusually talented swordswoman. Tristan still preferred archery.
It's closing in on us, Tristan. Fafnir was grim. The end of the war is near.
After all she had been through, Ashen had to acknowledge that it was quite stupid that she nearly cried when Murtagh said she'd have to cut her hair. They were approaching Teirm and there was no doubting that Galbatorix would have wanted posters of them plastered all over the place.
"I'm going to have to cut my hair?" Ashen was so horrified that Murtagh was trying not to find the situation amusing. She tugged at the golden blonde tresses that fell nearly to her waist and then glared at Murtagh.
"Not all of it," Murtagh assured her; "At longest it can be a bit past your shoulders."
Ashen looked murderous, so the Rider sighed and grabbed her by arms, pushing her down in front of him. He sat behind her and pulled out his dagger, thinking of how ridiculous this was going to be. He had gone from being a feared Rider to a rebel cutting a girl's hair outside of Teirm.
Please don't mess it up, Murtagh, Thorn pleaded, You do know that if a Rider is killed, his dragon dies with him.
You're hilarious, Murtagh responded dryly.
I was not joking. I do not understand why females get so distressed when you cut their hair, but I do not wish to find out what happens when you make a mistake.
I can only try my best, Murtagh growled, I'm not a hairdresser.
He started to hack at Ashen's hair with his dagger. She stiffened and he got the distinct impression that Thorn was right. He didn't want to find out what would happen if he made a mistake with cutting Ashen's hair. To him it didn't matter – it was only hair – yet for some reason, girls tended to be a bit stupid about this sort of thing.
"If you mess this up, Murtagh, I'm cutting your hair next." Ashen's tone was icy.
Murtagh didn't see what the problem was. He liked his hair how it was, but wouldn't mind a cut. Was that supposed to be a punishment?
"I'll cut it off. All of it."
Oh. Murtagh thought.
You really do have a way with women, Murtagh.
When Murtagh was done, he pulled his gleaming steel armour from one of the sacks and Ashen frowned in consideration as she examined her reflection. She noticed how gaunt she looked. Her shorter hair made her look older and she could hardly recognise herself. Ashen was definitely more woman than girl now.
"What about you? You can't walk into Teirm as you are."
In response, Murtagh pulled a fake beard down over his face, instantly making him look at least ten years older than he actually was. Ashen couldn't help but laugh and even Thorn made a strange, growling noise that she assumed meant he was amused.
"What?" Murtagh demanded.
Ashen shook her head slowly. "Nothing. You just look…different."
It was decided that Thorn would wait outside Teirm with the Eldunari and Murtagh's armour until Murtagh contacted him. Murtagh also chose their cover story: he was a hunter from Carvahall, come to visit his cousin in Teirm. Ashen was his young wife. They had debated her being his sister, but not only did they look nothing alike, but there was more likely to be trouble if she posed as an unmarried woman.
When they approached the gates of Teirm, both Murtagh and Ashen were astonished when they realised that two elves were slinking around with cat-like grace. There were no sign of any other guards.
"Excuse me," Murtagh called to them, "We seek passage into Teirm. What has happened here? Are you the guards?"
The silver-haired elf nodded. "We are. Teirm is now under the command of Queen Islanzadi. You may enter the city, but if you are discovered to be a spy for Galbatorix, you will be killed immediately. Is that understood?"
Murtagh clenched his jaw. "Yes."
As they moved through the gates and into Teirm, Ashen's mind was racing. The elves were allied with the Varden. If they had managed to gain possession of the city, then things must be progressing well for the Varden. Murtagh looked more troubled than anything. His narrowed eyes kept darting suspiciously from side to side.
The beating of huge wings made the pair of them look up. A mighty dragon passed overhead and Ashen's eyes widened as she registered that it was green.
"Tristan," she whispered.
She broke into a run, following the dragon's path. Murtagh cursed and set off after her. Ashen's heart was thumping wildly in her chest as she ran over to where the green dragon had descended. That was Fafnir. He was so much bigger than the last time she'd seen him! She wondered if Tristan had undergone any physical changes.
She pushed through the crowd surrounding the green dragon, vying for a glimpse of her brother, just wanting to know that he was alive and well.
"Tristan!"
The young man in battle armour turned. There was a sword sheathed at his side and a quiver of arrows strapped to his back. He saw the blonde girl pushing through the crowd and recognised her instantly.
"Ashen!"
She streaked towards him, crying out in joy as she threw herself into his arms. He laughed shakily and hoisted his little sister up, spinning her around. When he set her down, they both examined each other.
Ashen was thinner than she had been, although not dangerously so. Her hair had been cut short, almost as short as a man's. When she smiled at him, he could see the pain in her eyes and he knew just by that that she had been tortured.
The opposite could be said for Tristan. He had always been quite small and slim for his age, but now he had built up some muscle. He looked good, better than Ashen had ever seen him. His features were slightly slanted now, like an elf's.
"You're alive," he muttered, reaching out to touch her cheek, "But…how did you escape Uru'baen?"
The answer came pushing his way through the crowd. Ashen and Tristan both stared at the man, before he peeled away the beard and threw it into the dirt. His grey eyes were hard, challenging Tristan.
"Murtagh."