A/N: Hey guys, it's been longer than expected. Originally I decided this chapter was meant to be split point of view with three segments, two for Eragon and one for Garrow. As it is, the chapter became so large (8000 words without having written the third part yet) that i decided I would need to split it.
If the third part is short enough, I will tag it on to the end of the next chapter, but at this stage that seems unlikely. So, the next chapter is going to be from Garrow's POV and will probably be out within the next 24-48 hours.
A note on the ExA part of the story: I intended to have Eragon come back to Alagaesia around chapter seven, but as I look at my chapter outlines, I think I might be lucky to have that happen within the first 10 chapters. There will be interaction between them before Eragon goes to Alagaesia, but the real ExA stuff won't start for a while. Sorry about that; I hope you will stick with the story to that point.
I recently discovered that I can actually reply to your reviews! Apparently I have had this account since 2008, but I've never used it, so I don' really know what I'm doing most of the time. Anyway, I promise that I will try to reply to as many of your reviews as possible, and I really appreciate you guys taking the time to give your opinions on this story
(also, the more reviews the story has, the more likely it is to get new readers, so reviews will mean I bake you a batch of imaginary cookies!)
A couple of reviews though Eragon executing that dude last chapter was questionable, so at the end I'll explain why I had him do it (It's to long to put up here)
Eragon descended swiftly down flight after flight of stone steps, moving deep into the bowels of the earth. He was within the heart of The Roost, spiralling ever downwards beneath the keep. There were no decorations on the walls here, nor was there much light emitted from the few elvish lamps dotting the walls; this was a sacred place for the Riders, a place which could not be defiled by the presence of those who were not members of the Order.
Faster and faster, Eragon continued his desperate descent; somehow sure that everything would be alright if he could only reach his destination in time. High above in the courtyard, Saphira waited with Murtagh, Thorn and his apprentices for his return. The only one of his apprentices who knew of the place he sought was Vanir, who was away from The Roost, but Murtagh and Saphira both understood his desire to visit the place deep beneath the keep; the very soul of the Dragon Riders' Order.
The floor began to level out in front of Eragon; he was no longer moving down steps, but running down a narrow hallway. The lighting was such that Eragon knew no person aside from a Rider or an elf would be able to see anything but pitch black now.
The floor sloped downward once more, and Eragon was running on an angle towards the core of the world. Every so often, there was a sharp turn in the corridor; Eragon was running in a square pattern, but so long as he continued to descend, he paid no mind to it. The bare stone walls of the narrow corridors created a sense of claustrophobia within him; he felt confined and short of breath, as though he had been buried alive.
Eventually, the sloping series of passages came to an abrupt end, and in front of Eragon stood a blank stone wall, cutting off his path. He had arrived. Eragon raised his hand and placed his bare palm, his right one, against the wall. In a clear voice, he stated his true name. A vertical crack appeared in the wall, running up and down the middle of it. Out of the crack poured a bright white light, blinding Eragon temporarily. The secret doorway parted, granting Eragon passage into the hidden vault which lay beneath The Roost.
Eragon stepped forward into a massive, well lit chamber. On stone shelves lining the sides of the chamber which rose as high as thirty feet to the roof of the vault, hundreds of Eldurnari were nestled. At the centre of the room, standing in front of a magically lit brazier, was the guardian Cuaroc in his polished metal body, the head in the shape of a dragons'. He wore a segmented loincloth made of the same metal as the rest of his body; in his left hand he held a metal shield and in his right the iridescent sword of a Rider. Eragon knew that enclosed within Cuaroc's metallic chest was a large purple Eldurnari.
The vault had been built even before The Roost was created on top of it. Eragon had been guided by the Eldurnari in the spells needed to create a hidden place similar to that on Vroengard for the Eldurnari to reside in. Their protection had been his primary purpose when leaving Alagaesia; along with the raising of the new dragon hatchlings.
Eragon took a deep breath to calm himself after his mad rush down the stairs beneath The Roost, and then called out to the elder dragons.
"Old Ones! 'Tis I, Eragon; the Riders are in need of your guidance and wisdom once more."
The vault was eerily silent. Cuaroc turned to face Eragon, leaning upon his sword, point down in the ground. Then Eragon felt the familiar presence of Cumaroth, the great white dragon, touch his mind.
'Such a terrible tragedy which has befallen us', Cumaroth bemoaned. 'And under our very noses. This crime cannot be allowed to go unpunished, Eragon.'
'I know, Old One; yet what can I do. We know nothing of these strange enemies, nor of the darkness stirring within Alagaesia. That is why I have come here; to seek your guidance and wisdom in these matters.'
It was Glaedr, this time, who spoke. 'You should have come to us before these evil events occurred, Eragon. It is your duty to protect the dragons!'
His comments roused Eragon's anger. 'If you knew something, Ebrithil, you should have reached out to me!'
'Enough; this arguing is pointless.' Cumaroth's voice cut through Eragon's emotions, calming him.
'I apologise for my outburst, Ebrithil. It was rude of me to infer that you allowed these murders to happen.'
'There is no one to blame for this but the evil beings who committed the foul act, Eragon.' Cumaroth said. 'All we could have told you was what you already felt; there is a dark force stirring within Alagaesia, some terrible blight threatening to sow chaos throughout the world. We did not contact you with our concerns because it is not our place to question the actions of the Head of the Riders; only to offer our advice when it is asked for.'
Eragon was suitably cowed. 'I should have come to you with my fears, Old Ones. I have failed in my duty as a Rider.'
'Do not worry over the past, Eragon; no matter how much we might wish to, it cannot be changed. We can, however, save the future through our actions on this day. You are here now; that is all that truly matters.'
'What must we do, Master?'
'You must have Murtagh return you to the nest of the slain dragons, and use your magic to search for clues as to who the attackers were. After much deliberation, we have decided that we will all accompany you.' Cumaroth's words shocked Eragon.
'Master, the Eldurnari should remain here, safe within the vault! It would be too dangerous to for you to leave this place with our enemies still unknown to us.'
'Peace, Eragon; the Eldurnari will not be leaving the Vault of Souls.' said Glaedr.
'Then how do you plan to accompany me?' Eragon wondered.
It was Cumaroth who replied. 'Over the past few weeks, we have developed a spell in anticipation of a situation such as this arising. This spell will serve to use your ring as a conduit to link our minds regardless of the distance separating you from us. In this fashion, you will be able to make use of our energy and mental powers while we remain safe here. It will also allow us to be present with you at all times, so that we might give you the advice you will need to overcome the challenges ahead.'
It only took Eragon a moment to consider the solution put forward by the Eldurnarya.
'Very well, Old Ones; what is the wording of this spell?'
Cumaroth spoke a few lines in the ancient language and, once he was satisfied that Eragon had memorised them, the spell was cast. Eragon quested towards Aren with his mind, and found himself in mental contact with Cumaroth and Glaedr and through them, hundreds of Eldurnari.
'It seems to have worked', he said.
'Then go swiftly, Eragon Shadeslayer, for you might yet catch up to our enemies; I doubt that they flew away from the scene of their crime.'
Eragon sprinted from the vault, barely aware of the stone door closing behind him, and began his ascent to the surface.
After emerging from the hidden doorway which led to the stairs below the keep, Eragon found himself in the main hall of The Roost and stopped to catch his breath.
Running up a hill is slightly more taxing than going down, he thought wryly.
Eragon walked past the life-like dragon statues and out the front doors of the building. He made his way towards the group of dragons and Riders who awaited him, noting that the rain had stopped while he had visited the Eldurnari.
That's odd; it looked to go on for hours. I haven't been that long.
As well as Saphira and Thorn, a brown scaled dragon was now sitting in the courtyard with the group of Riders. Her scales were the same texture as mud, and Eragon thought that she was probably the ugliest dragon he had seen, though he would never tell her that. She was Enurfala, bonded to the urgal Yarbog.
Also waiting for Eragon were Murtagh; Alanna and the dwarf Ivaldn. The dwarf was stocky and short; the norm for his race. His was roughly half of Eragon's height, and had thick black hair. A bushy beard covered his face, running halfway down his chest. He had a large, hooked nose which gave him the fierce appearance of a bird of prey. He wore plate armour made of Brightsteel; the polished metal was grey to match his dragons colour, and slightly muddied from his sparring with Yarbog, and he was leaning on a large grey-headed axe which had a dull looking gem set into the end of its handle.
Yarbog and Murtagh also wore their own sets of Brightsteel armour, coloured for their dragons. Zar'roc was on Murtagh's left hip, whilst Yarbog's own Riders sword; a massive two-handed affair, was strapped to his back. The urgal himself was huge, taller than all present, yet not large enough to be called a kull. He had large, curving yellow horns on top of his head, which was protected by a shaped plate of Brightsteel.
Like Eragon, Alanna was not outfitted for battle, but still had a teal coloured Riders sword on her left hip. She wore a blue tunic over a soft white shirt made of some seamless elvish fabric Eragon could not recognise. Her trousers and boots were black.
Eragon was hit with a flurry of questions when he reached them; all three of his apprentices seemingly confused about where he had run to and why. He silenced them by holding up his right hand.
"We must investigate the site of the murders. It is imperative that we move swiftly; if we are lucky, the egg-thief will not have gotten far. Murtagh; can you and Thorn lead us to the nest?"
"Of course, Brother. We know the way."
"Good. Yarbog and Enufala; you are with us. Alanna, Ivaldn; call your dragons back to The Roost and await our return."
"Yes, Ebrithil." All three chorused.
After retrieving her saddle and mounting Saphira, the pair launched skywards and followed Thorn's progress east, with Enurfala following not far behind.
The terrain far beneath them was a sea of grassy plains, stretching further than the eye could see in nearly all directions. North of them, however, the land became uneven and hilly, forming into a range of small mountains in which the wild dragons made their homes.
The flight to reach the nest of the murdered dragon pair was nearly an hour, during which Eragon quizzed the Eldurnari on what they could guess of the plans of their unknown enemy. Eventually Thorn descended into the foothills of one of the mountains, and the metallic scent of blood filled Eragon's nostrils.
Saphira landed heavily outside the entrance of a large cave. A few yards away, Murtagh dismounted from Thorn's back. When Yarbog arrived a moment later, he gave a heavy grunt and spoke loudly.
"There was a fearsome battle here; I smelt the blood from a mile away."
Eragon and Murtagh said nothing in reply as the three Riders move towards the cave entrance, their dragons following closely behind them. Ten feet in, Eragon noticed blood sprayed on the walls. With a muttered 'Garjzla' the cave was illuminated by a bright blue light. What Eragon saw before him shocked him to his core.
Fighting the urge to gag, Eragon continued further into the cave. The walls had literally been painted with the blood of the murdered dragons. Purple in the light of Eragon's blue magic, the patches glistened and dripped, revealing strange, runic writings in a language Eragon had never seen before. Unnatural shadows surrounded these runes, making them glow with a malicious light. Despite not knowing the language of their origin, Eragon felt that they could only be descriptions of madness and death.
Suddenly wary of traps and enchantments, Eragon halted their progress. He spoke rapidly in the ancient language; spells to detect magical interference. All he felt was the strange spell which had been cast on the bloodied walls. Eragon looked towards the entrance of the cave. The opening seemed like the maw of some great beast, and he felt as though it would close at any moment, engorging them in darkness.
Only after hearing Saphira's pained whimpering did Eragon notice what he had missed while he was preoccupied with the walls of the cave. Another twenty feet in lay the corpses of the dragons themselves.
"You were wrong, Yarbog," he whispered. "This wasn't a battle. It was a slaughter."
The dragons were shifting nervously, and Eragon knew that for the first time they were feeling the cold fear which had plagued him for weeks. The corpses of the murdered dragons were not true bodies. Instead, there were large chunks of bloody flesh strewn about as though a giant child had forgotten to put away his toys. Eragon couldn't even make out any scales on them, so badly had they been dismembered.
'What a terrible fate', said Saphira. 'Sorrow breeds here.'
"Drajl!" cussed Yarbog. "This place is cursed." He was making odd signings in the air, as though to ward off evil spirits.
"There is nothing to find here, Eragon." Murtagh was facing him, his face pale in the blue werelight.
"If only it hadn't rained; there might have been tracks outside or some other sign of who the murderers were." Eragon was frustrated now; this expedition had yielded nothing.
"Powerful magic, Ebrithil", said Yarbog.
Eragon looked towards him quizzically for a moment, before registering what his apprentice was suggesting. The rain had been magical. The thief had used it to hide his escape. He turned towards Murtagh.
"Of course! The rain started so suddenly, and stopped almost immediately after arrived with the news of what you found."
Murtagh stroked his chin with a gauntleted hand. "The amount of energy such a thing would require, though... Is it possible?"
'With our aid', Cumaroth told Eragon, 'You could easily accomplish such a feat.'
"It's possible", Eragon said, "But it means that our enemy must be incredibly powerful with magic."
A realisation seemed to dawn on Murtagh, his eyes widening. "This means the murderer must be on foot! Why else use the rain. The bodies are fresh; that means it has only been a few hours, so they cannot have travelled far."
"We might have caught them", said Yarbog, "If only we knew which direction they fled in."
Somehow, Eragon was certain. "West", he said, "They are going towards Alagaesia."
Murtagh took his word for it. "Then we must make haste." He led them out of the cave in a run. Within minutes, they were back in the air, scanning the land for any sign of travellers.
Eragon opened his mind to world, scanning for any unknown presences ahead of them. Meanwhile, Thorn and Enurfala spread out to cover more ground. For the next two hours, they continued their search. Eragon had almost given up hope when he felt the touch of a well guarded mind.
'Look', said Saphira.
Below them was a four legged figure loping across the grassy plains. At first Eragon though it was one of the large predatory cats which inhabited the area, but as Saphira descended towards it he realised it was a werecat.
As Saphira landed in front of it, Eragon examined the werecat's appearance. It's body was sleek and muscled, covered in a layer of brown fur which had a shiny quality despite the sun still being hidden behind grey clouds. Yellow eyes examined Eragon and Saphira warily as it stopped in its path a few yards away from them. The werecat was too large to mistake for a normal cat, and too small to be taken for a large predator, but from a distance Eragon supposed it might be hard to make that distinction.
"Ho, friend werecat!" he called out. "A moment of your time, if you please."
The werecat's tail twitched. It yawned and stretched in a most catlike fashion, showing rows of sharp, pointed teeth. Then it lay down in the grass.
'Very well, Rider. What is it you want?' He spoke in a male voice.
'There was a terrible crime committed not far from here; two dragons were murdered, their eggs stolen from their nest. Might you perchance know anything about it?'
'Are you accusing me of something, boy? As though a werecat could defeat two adult dragons?'
'I never mentioned their size, friend.' Eragon placed his left hand on Brisingr's pommel.
The cat hissed, revealing pointed teeth once more. Its eyes were an angry red now.
'Fool', he spat into Eragon's mind. 'Do not seek to test me. You know well that you just told me there were eggs stolen. Was I to assume that hatchlings are mating now?'
'Apologies, friend. If you were guilty, then such a trick might have flustered you into revealing yourself.'
'Do not presume to call me friend, boy. I do not befriend those who come with hundreds of dragons at their backs to accuse me of murder so candidly as you have just done.' The werecat's tail twitched nervously once more, and Eragon realised his confrontational demeanour was due to the fact that he sensed Eragon's contact with the Eldurnari.
Should Eragon wish to, the werecat knew he could easily overcome his mental defences. Eragon took in the werecat's darting red eyes and twitching tail once more, noticing that his whole body was tense. This was not a creature trying to hide guilt, but a cornered animal lashing out in self defence.
Eragon sighed. 'I see you are not the one we seek, werecat, and for my brusque manner I must apologise; these past few hours have been trying for me. Before we go, perhaps you would be so kind as to grace us with your name, in case we meet again.'
An odd, throaty growl came from the werecat's throat, and Eragon realised that he was laughing. A derisive laughter. 'I have many names, Rider, as do all sentient beings, but you may know me as Wex. I have no doubt whatsoever that regardless of what may come, you and I will see each other again.'
His words had an air of prophecy about them. Even before he had finished speaking, Wex bounded past Saphira, long limbs stretching and red eyes glowing with a fierce pride known only to cats. Saphira watched after him for a long moment before launching herself into the air.
'A strange creature,' she said, 'even for a werecat.'
'Did you speak to him?'
'No. He would not open his mind to me.'
'It was strange. Alien; more so than the other werecats I have spoken to. There was a sense of discordance within him; the music of his mind had a haunting, desperate feel to it. And regardless of whether he had anything to do with the dragons, he was certainly hiding something of himself.'
Glaedr's voice sounded within his mind. 'He had a disliking for Dragon Riders, I suspect. And he was more than a little cautious of the Eldurnari. Besides; werecats are secretive creatures. But enough of this. We are unlikely to find the egg-thief now, with dark approaching. The bodies of the fallen must be cremated, and then we must make our plans.'
'But what can we do, Old One? We know nothing of those whom we seek.'
'It will be a waiting game, I fear. Inform the monarchs of Alagaesia as to what has happened here, and scry the land closely. In time, rumours will surface in regards to the missing eggs; such things cannot go unnoticed within the world. Wait a week or two, Eragon. If we still have nothing, then we will act blindly, but remember that knowledge is power in this game; if we move our pieces without knowing their positions on the board, it is our enemies who will have the advantage.'
They lapsed into silence for a long while after Glaedr finished speaking, and Eragon was filled with morbid thoughts. The events of the day, from Hector's execution to the vile murder of the dragons, forced him to consider the possibility of his own death, which he had not done since during the war against Galbatorix. Eventually he decided to question the Eldurnari on the subject, unable to contain himself any longer.
'Old Ones... will you tell me... what is it like to die?'
The pause before Glaedr answered was long and heavy. 'The worst part about death, Eragon... It is not the pain of death, for that is no greater than any significant wound. For me, it was the loss of awareness, the loss of sight. You feel the pain, and know in your heart that death approaches, but it is as your vision fades to black that you truly feel fear. It is a terrible emotion, fear, and it occurs due to a lack of knowing, a loss of understanding. As the world around you begins to darken you realise that you know nothing about what truly lies beyond this life, nothing about what lies in that great dark abyss, and it is that lack of understanding which breeds fear within us, it is why all living creatures know the fear of death... We will not speak of this again, Shadeslayer. It is important to keep our spirits high, even in the face of such loss. Thinking on such matters will do aught but add to the parasite that eats away at your mind. There will be time enough for such thoughts when you face the endless void. Forget your fear, for now. You have no need of it.'
They remained silent for the rest of the homeward journey, each of them apprehensive for the future, and consumed by their dark memories of the past day.
A/N: thanks for reading, hope you review as well.
Concerning the execution: The daughter of the village elder claims to have been raped by a lowly farmhand. The people are enraged on behalf of their elder, and go baying for blood. Eragon is denied the right to testify on Hector's behalf with his mental examination because he is known to be friendly towards Hector. Eragon could have done this anyway, and determined whether Hector was guilty or innocent for himself.
However, there are several problems with this course of action. 1) Eragon gave the villagers the right to govern themselves, so it is not his place to interfere, and doing so would sour his relationship with them. 2) Even if Eragon declared Hector innocent and refused to kill him, the villagers would not have believed him and would likely have killed Hector anyway, turning the whole situation into a disaster for the Riders relationship with the people. If Eragon wanted to save Hector then, he would likely have had to injure/kill other villagers to do so.
For all of these reasons, Eragon chose the best option (in my opinion) as it allowed him to give Hector a clean death and keep the Riders high in the esteem of the locals. Now, if Eragon is in a position where he can actually make a difference, the villagers will listen to him.
Definitely a hard choice to make, but Eragon did what he thought was right. He didn't examine Hectors mind for his own personal peace of mind because if Hector had truly been innocent, he probably would not have been able to bring himself to kill him.
Feel free to disagree with me; I am anxious to hear your thoughts.