Answers to reviews:
Spedyalarm: No, he still can use Shouts just in human form. He doesn't need to be a dragon just to use Shouts. This is the Dragonborn who killed MIRAAK! The First Dragonborn himself! If you think Daemon needs to be a dragon just to use stronger Shouts, which he could easily do in human form due to training, patience and meditation, then you underestimate him. And he's trying to be discreet and not attract attention, using the Shouts regularly would draw attention.
ItsDaKoolaidDude: Well, what you see is what you get.
Dreagon D. Dragon: I was thinking of making him a black-scaled dragon... then decided to go with silver.
Disclaimer: I do not own The Elder Scrolls or The Inheritance Cycle.
Saphira, I don't think I can do this! Daemon said, edging away from the cliff that dropped away to the valley far below.
Coward. Saphira chortled, halting Daemon's retreat from the edge with her graceful form. It's easy, just jump off, instincts will do the rest. If all else fails, at least what's left will make a nice set of dragon scale boots. Such a pretty color.
She nipped at his tail, causing him to jump forward away from the persistent dragoness. He wheeled around to face her. Saphira, stop it!
Saphira reached forward with one claw and tapped his nose with a scaly knuckle. Daemon started to slide backwards. His hind legs scrabbled for a rock, a crack, anything that would stop his fall. When he had leapt away from Saphira, Daemon had hopped backwards onto the edge of the cliff. Saphira's soft nudge had tipped his balance, causing him to slip off.
Eventually, only his front legs were left scrabbling for something to grip. His right claw found a ledge, grabbed it, and stopped his descent.
Oh no you don't, came Saphira's mirthful voice. Her tail came whipping down and rapped across his claws. Daemon's arms instinctively recoiled from the sharp sting of her tail's blow, and it was a second before his mind realized its mistake.
Saphira, what's gotten into y- Oh CRAAAAAAAAAAAAAP! Daemon bellowed mentally, giving a frightened roar as his body tumbled off the edge of the cliff. Wind whistled past his head as he fell towards the tree-dotted valley. He heard roaring laughter from Saphira, who had gone into a dive next to him, watching his progress.
It might help if you extended your wings, you know, Saphira said sagely, attempting to sound calm and helpful, but just barely managing it. Laughter was hidden behind every syllable that issued from her mind.
Daemon fought to try to make his wings extend, but didn't know which muscles to move. Saphira, I DON'T KNOW HOW!
Oh, right, Saphira murmered, We probably should've gone over that first.
Saphiraaaaaaaaaaa! Daemon howled as the ground came ever closer, closer, and closer. He closed his eyes and cringed, waiting for the inevitable impact. Suddenly, the wind roaring past his head changed direction, he heard a loud CRACK that resounded off the cliff wall. He felt a tug on his back, then the wind eased, brushing past his scaled head at a much lower pace. He eased his eyes open to see the sky instead of the ground. Clouds flew past his vision.
Daemon looked around to see the forested plain far below him, and Saphira soaring next to wings shifted with the breeze, catching the wind under their membrane, propelling him forward through the bright blue sky.
I'm flying? I'M FLYING! SAPHIRA! I'm not dead! Daemon roared with sheer relief.
Yes, I can see that, Saphira chuckled, Didn't I tell you that instinct would handle the rest?
He swooped over and bumped into her, making her flight path wobble, then stabilize. You could have killed me! You couldn't have known that was going to work.
True, but there was no other way to find out, either! she laughed, bumping back into him in retaliation. He wobbled, dropped a few feet, then rose again.
Hey!
Baby, Saphira snorted, sending a small plume of smoke from her nostrils, which almost immediately dissipated in the swirls of the wind.
Daemon and Saphira spent hours flying together, with the dragoness showing her male companion many different techniques of flying; basic defensive maneuvers, how to swoop in as if catching prey, and many others, all of which was mastered quickly. His dragon instincts seemed to be helping him quite a bit, much to his relief.
The pair landed by a stream for a rest after a particularly tiring set of tricks.
You...learn fast, Saphira told Daemon wearily, her exhaustion evident in her voice.
It helps to have an excellent teacher. Daemon replied.
Aww, you're sweet, Saphira said, nuzzling her neck against Daemon's. She moved away and craned her neck down to drink from the stream. Daemon stared at her, trying to ignore that fuzzy feeling that began in his stomach at Saphira's action.
He shook it off and took a drink himself. Shouldn't we be getting back to the others?
Saphira looked up, licking water from her lips, No, we still have to do your first hunt and combat lessons, remember?
Oh joy... Daemon said with a sigh, knowing this was not going to end anytime soon.
"Why do you think those two Urgals were still in Yazuac?" asked Eragon, after they had been on the trail for a while. "There doesn't seem to be any reason for them to have stayed behind."
"I suspect they deserted the main group to loot the town. What makes it odd is that, as far as I know, Urgals have gathered in force only two or three times in history. It's unsettling that they are doing it now."
"Do you think the Ra'zac caused the attack?"
"I don't know. The best thing we can do is continue away from Yazuac at the fastest pace we can muster. Besides, this is the direction the Ra'zac went: south."
Eragon agreed. "We still need provisions, however. Is there another town nearby?"
Brom shook his head. "No, but Saphira can hunt for us if we must survive on meat alone. This swath of trees may look small to you, but there are plenty of animals in it. The river is the only source of water for many miles around, so most of the plains animals come here to drink. We won't starve."
Eragon remained quiet, satisfied with Brom's answer. As they rode, loud birds darted around them, and the river rushed by peacefully. It was a noisy place, full of life and energy. Eragon asked, "How did that Urgal get you? Things were happening so fast, I didn't see."
"Bad luck, really," grumbled Brom. "I was more than a match for him, so he kicked Snowfire. The idiot of a horse reared and threw me off balance. That was all the Urgal needed to give me this gash." He scratched his chin. "I suppose you're still wondering about this magic. The fact that you've discovered it presents a thorny problem. Few know it, but every Rider could use magic, though with differing strengths. They kept the ability secret, even at the height of their power, because it gave them an advantage over their enemies. Had everyone known about it, dealing with common people would have been difficult. Many think the king's magical powers come from the fact that he is a wizard or sorcerer. That's not true; it is because he's a Rider."
"What's the difference? Doesn't the fact that I used magic make me a sorcerer?"
"Not at all! A sorcerer, like a Shade, uses spirits to accomplish his will. That is totally different from your power. Nor does that make you a magician, whose powers come without the aid of spirits or a dragon. And you're certainly not a witch or wizard, who get their powers from various potions and spells.
"Which brings me back to my original point: the problem you've presented. Young Riders like yourself were put through a strict regimen designed to strengthen their bodies and increase their mental control. This regimen continued for many months, occasionally years, until the Riders were deemed responsible enough to handle magic. Up until then, not one student was told of his potential powers. If one of them discovered magic by accident, he or she was immediately taken away for private tutoring. It was rare for anyone to discover magic on his own," he inclined his head toward Eragon, "though they were never put under the same pressure you were."
"Then how were they finally trained to use magic?" asked Eragon. "I don't see how you could teach it to anyone. If you had tried to explain it to me two days ago, it wouldn't have made any sense."
"The students were presented with a series of pointless exercises designed to frustrate them. For example, they were instructed to move piles of stones using only their feet, fill ever draining tubs full of water, and other impossibilities. After a time, they would get infuriated enough to use magic. Most of the time it succeeded.
"What this means," Brom continued, "is that you will be disadvantaged if you ever meet an enemy who has received this training. There are still some alive who are that old: the king for one, not to mention the elves. Any one of those could tear you apart with ease."
"What can I do, then?"
"There isn't time for formal instruction, but we can do much while we travel," said Brom. "I know many techniques you can practice that will give you strength and control, but you cannot gain the discipline the Riders had overnight. You," he looked at Eragon humorously, "will have to amass it on the run. It will be hard in the beginning, but the rewards will be great. It may please you to know that no Rider your age ever used magic the way you did yesterday with those two Urgals."
Eragon smiled at the praise. "Thank you. Does this language have a name?"
Brom laughed. "Yes, but no one knows it. It would be a word of incredible power, something by which you could control the entire language and those who use it. People have long searched for it, but no one has ever found it."
"I still don't understand how this magic works," said Eragon. "Exactly how do I use it?"
Brom looked astonished. "I haven't made that clear?"
"No."
Brom took a deep breath and said, "To work with magic, you must have a certain innate power, which is very rare among people nowadays. You also have to be able to summon this power at will. Once it is called upon, you have to use it or let it fade away. Understood? Now, if you wish to employ the power, you must utter the word or phrase of the ancient language that describes your intent. For example, if you hadn't said brisingr yesterday, nothing would have happened."
"So I'm limited by my knowledge of this language?"
"Exactly," crowed Brom. "Also, while speaking it, it's impossible to practice deceit."
Eragon shook his head. "That can't be. People always lie. The sounds of the ancient words can't stop them from doing that."
Brom cocked an eyebrow and said, "Fethrblaka, eka weohnata néiat haina ono. Blaka eom iet lam." A bird suddenly flitted from a branch and landed on his hand. It trilled lightly and looked at them with beady eyes. After a moment he said, "Eitha," and it fluttered away.
"How did you do that?" asked Eragon in wonder.
"I promised not to harm him. He may not have known exactly what I meant, but in the language of power, the meaning of my words was evident. The bird trusted me because he knows what all animals do, that those who speak in that tongue are bound by their word."
"And the elves speak this language?"
"Yes."
"So they never lie?"
"Not quite," admitted Brom. "They maintain that they don't, and in a way it's true, but they have perfected the art of saying one thing and meaning another. You never know exactly what their intent is, or if you have fathomed it correctly. Many times they only reveal part of the truth and withhold the rest. It takes a refined and subtle mind to deal with their culture."
Eragon considered that. "What do personal names mean in this language? Do they give power over people?"
Brom's eyes brightened with approval. "Yes, they do. Those who speak the language have two names. The first is for everyday use and has little authority. But the second is their true name and is shared with only a few trusted people. There was a time when no one concealed his true name, but this age isn't as kind. Whoever knows your true name gains enormous power over you. It's like putting your life into another person's hands. Everyone has a hidden name, but few know what it is."
"How do you find your true name?" asked Eragon.
"Elves instinctively know theirs. No one else has that gift. The human Riders usually went on quests to discover it—or found an elf who would tell them, which was rare, for elves don't distribute that knowledge freely," replied Brom.
"I'd like to know mine," Eragon said wistfully.
Brom's brow darkened. "Be careful. It can be a terrible knowledge. To know who you are without any delusions or sympathy is a moment of revelation that no one experiences unscathed. Some have been driven to madness by that stark reality. Most try to forget it. But as much as the name will give others power, so you may gain power over yourself, if the truth doesn't break you."
"I still wish to know," said Eragon, determined.
"You are not easily dissuaded. That is good, for only the resolute find their identity, but I cannot help you with this. It is a search that you will have to undertake on your own." Brom moved his injured arm and grimaced uncomfortably.
"Why can't you or I heal that with magic?" asked Eragon.
Brom blinked. "No reason—I just never considered it because it's beyond my strength. You could probably do it with the right word, but I don't want you to exhaust yourself."
"I could save you a lot of trouble and pain," protested Eragon.
"I'll live with it," said Brom flatly. "Using magic to heal a wound takes just as much energy as it would to mend on its own. I don't want you tired for the next few days. You shouldn't attempt such a difficult task yet."
"Still, if it's possible to fix your arm, could I bring someone back from the dead?"
The question surprised Brom, but he answered quickly, "Remember what I said about projects that will kill you? That is one of them. Riders were forbidden to try to resurrect the dead, for their own safety. There is an abyss beyond life where magic means nothing. If you reach into it, your strength will flee and your soul will fade into darkness. Wizards, sorcerers, and Riders—all have failed and died on that threshold. Stick with what's possible—cuts, bruises, maybe some broken bones—but definitely not dead people."
Eragon frowned. "This is a lot more complex than I thought."
"Exactly!" said Brom. "And if you don't understand what you're doing, you'll try something too big and die." He twisted in his saddle and swooped down, grabbing a handful of pebbles from the ground. With effort, he righted himself, then discarded all but one of the rocks. "See this pebble?"
"Yes."
"Take it." Eragon did and stared at the unremarkable lump. It was dull black, smooth, and as large as the end of his thumb. There were countless stones like it on the trail. "This is your training."
Eragon looked back at him, confused. "I don't understand."
"Of course you don't," said Brom impatiently. "That's why I'm teaching you and not the other way around. Now stop talking or we'll never get anywhere. What I want you to do is lift the rock off your palm and hold it in the air for as long as you can. The words you're going to use are stenr reisa. Say them."
"Stenr reisa."
"Good. Go ahead and try."
Eragon focused sourly on the pebble, searching his mind for any hint of the energy that had burned in him the day before. The stone remained motionless as he stared at it, sweating and frustrated. How am I supposed to do this? Finally, he crossed his arms and snapped, "This is impossible."
"No," said Brom gruffly. "I'll say when it's impossible or not. Fight for it! Don't give in this easily. Try again."
Frowning, Eragon closed his eyes, setting aside all distracting thoughts. He took a deep breath and reached into the farthest corners of his consciousness, trying to find where his power resided. Searching, he found only thoughts and memories until he felt something different—a small bump that was a part of him and yet not of him. Excited, he dug into it, seeking what it hid. He felt resistance, a barrier in his mind, but knew that the power lay on the other side. He tried to breach it, but it held firm before his efforts. Growing angry, Eragon drove into the barrier, ramming against it with all of his might until it shattered like a thin pane of glass, flooding his mind with a river of light.
"Stenr reisa," he gasped. The pebble wobbled into the air over his faintly glowing palm. He struggled to keep it floating, but the power slipped away and faded back behind the barrier. The pebble dropped to his hand with a soft plop, and his palm returned to normal. He felt a little tired, but grinned from his success.
"Not bad for your first time," said Brom.
"Why does my hand do that? It's like a little lantern."
"No one's sure," Brom admitted. "The Riders always preferred to channel their power through whichever hand bore the gedwëy ignasia. You can use your other palm, but it isn't as easy." He looked at Eragon for a minute. "I'll buy you some gloves at the next town, if it isn't gutted. You hide the mark pretty well on your own, but we don't want anyone to see it by accident. Besides, there may be times when you won't want the glow to alert an enemy."
"Do you have a mark of your own?"
"No. Only Riders have them," said Brom. "Also, you should know that magic is affected by distance, just like an arrow or a spear. If you try to lift or move something a mile away, it'll take more energy than if you were closer. So if you see enemies racing after you from a league away, let them approach before using magic. Now, enough talking! Back to work on that pebble!"
"Again?" asked Eragon weakly, thinking of the effort it had taken to do it just once.
"Yes! And this time be quicker about it."
You ready for this? Saphira asked Daemon as they flew together, searching for a meal to hunt.
Born ready. Daemon replied, feeling a little excitement building up inside of him. The feeling of flying gave off a sense of freedom he had never felt before, and he loved it!
Found one! GO GET IT! Saphira pointed with one claw at a buck bounding through the brush below, breaking through brittle branches to bury itself in the brambles behind a bush.
Daemon shot a glance at the sapphire dragoness before diving between the trees to chase the evasive prey. The buck panicked and tried to veer left to avoid Daemon's reaching claws, but to no avail. Piercing white talons punctured the buck's side, and warm blood flowed over Daemon's scales. He brought his head down in a vicious arc towards the prey's neck, tearing a large piece of flesh out with his teeth. It was exhilarating, to say the least. He placed down his catch, and began to devour it, bones and all.
Saphira landed nearby. Well done, she said. A fine first catch. Are you sure you haven't done this before?
Positive. Daemon said, spitting out a hoof before continuing his bloody feast. However, he only took a few chunks out of the dead animal before nudging it over to the surprised Saphira. Here, consider this a thank you for helping me out with this.
Are you sure? Saphira asked glancing at the buck and her stomach gave off a rumble for food. This is your first hunt as a dragon, I shouldn't-
Saphira. Don't argue, I've taken my share so now I give the rest to you. You deserve it for helping me with my situation. Daemon said, giving the dragoness a look to not argue with him.
Saphira huffed but nodded. Fine. She gripped the buck and moved closer to Daemon. But you're eating with me.
I suppose I can accept that. Daemon nodded and leaned his head down, the two dragons taking bites out of their shared meal. As they did so, Saphira glanced at Daemon. She had to admit, he wasn't bad looking. She'd even go as far as to say he was a striking young male; his colors complemented her own nicely, which wasn't surprising really, considering it was her blood that caused this to happen. And she was enjoying the fact that she could finally spend time with another dragon her age, considering she had originally thought herself to be one of the last free dragons.
She shook the thoughts from her head as one came to the front of her mind, one that she was quite eager for and made it known to her companion.
After we've had our fill, we do some combat training. Saphira said eagerly, getting a groan from Daemon.
Daret was on the banks of the Ninor River—as it had to be to survive. The village was small and wild-looking, without any signs of inhabitants. Eragon and Brom approached it with great caution.
They rode into Daret, striving to be silent. Brom gripped his sword with his good hand, eyes flashing everywhere. Eragon kept his bow partially drawn as they passed between the silent houses, glancing at each other with apprehension. This doesn't look good, commented Eragon to Saphira. She did not answer, but he felt her prepare to rush after them. He looked at the ground and was reassured to see the fresh footprints of children. But where are they?
Brom stiffened as they entered the center of Daret and found it empty. Wind blew through the desolate town, and dust devils swirled sporadically. Brom wheeled Snowfire about. "Let's get out of here. I don't like the feel of this." He spurred Snowfire into a gallop. Eragon followed him, urging Cadoc onward.
They advanced only a few strides before wagons toppled out from behind the houses and blocked their way. Cadoc snorted and dug in his hooves, sliding to a stop next to Snowfire. A swarthy man hopped over the wagon and planted himself before them, a broadsword slung at his side and a drawn bow in his hands. Eragon swung his own bow up and pointed it at the stranger, who commanded, "Halt! Put your weapons down. You're surrounded by sixty archers. They'll shoot if you move." As if on cue, a row of men stood up on the roofs of the surrounding houses.
Stay away, Saphira! cried Eragon. There are too many. If you come, they'll shoot you out of the sky. Stay away! She heard, but he was unsure if she would obey. He prepared to use magic. I'll have to stop the arrows before they hit me or Brom.
"What do you want?" asked Brom calmly.
"Why have you come here?" demanded the man.
"To buy supplies and hear the news. Nothing more. We're on the way to my cousin's house in Dras-Leona."
"You're armed pretty heavily."
"So are you," said Brom. "These are dangerous times."
"True." The man looked at them carefully. "I don't think you mean us ill, but we've had too many encounters with Urgals and bandits for me to trust you only on your word."
"If it doesn't matter what we say, what happens now?" countered Brom. The men on top of the houses had not moved. By their very stillness, Eragon was sure that they were either highly disciplined... or frightened for their lives. He hoped it was the latter.
"You say that you only want supplies. Would you agree to stay here while we bring what you need, then pay us and leave immediately?"
"Yes."
"All right," said the man, lowering his bow, though he kept it ready. He waved at one of the archers, who slid to the ground and ran over. "Tell him what you want."
Brom recited a short list and then added, "Also, if you have a spare pair of gloves that would fit my nephew, I'd like to buy those too." The archer nodded and ran off.
"The name's Trevor," said the man standing in front of them. "Normally I'd shake your hand, but under the circumstances, I think I'll keep my distance. Tell me, where are you from?"
"North," said Brom, "but we haven't lived in any place long enough to call it home. Have Urgals forced you to take these measures?"
"Yes," said Trevor, "and worse fiends. Do you have any news from other towns? We receive word from them rarely, but there have been reports that they are also beleaguered."
Brom turned grave. "I wish it wasn't our lot to bring you these tidings. Nearly a fortnight ago we passed through Yazuac and found it pillaged. The villagers had been slaughtered and piled together. We would have tried to give them a decent burial, but two Urgals attacked us."
Shocked, Trevor stepped back and looked down with tears in his eyes. "Alas, this is indeed a dark day. Still, I don't see how two Urgals could have defeated all of Yazuac. The people there were good fighters—some were my friends."
"There were signs that a band of Urgals had ravaged the town," stated Brom. "I think the ones we encountered were deserters."
"How large was the company?"
Brom fiddled with his saddlebags for a minute. "Large enough to wipe out Yazuac, but small enough to go unnoticed in the countryside. No more than a hundred, and no less than fifty. If I'm not mistaken, either number would prove fatal to you." Trevor wearily agreed. "You should consider leaving," Brom continued. "This area has become far too perilous for anyone to live in peace."
"I know, but the people here refuse to consider moving. This is their home—as well as mine, though I have only been here a couple years—and they place its worth above their own lives." Trevor looked at him seriously. "We have repulsed individual Urgals, and that has given the townspeople a confidence far beyond their abilities. I fear that we will all wake up one morning with our throats slashed."
The archer hurried out of a house with a pile of goods in his arms. He set them next to the horses, and Brom paid him. As the man left, Brom asked, "Why did they choose you to defend Daret?"
Trevor shrugged. "I was in the King's army for some years."
Brom dug through the items, handed Eragon the pair of gloves, and packed the rest of the supplies into their saddlebags. Eragon pulled the gloves on, being careful to keep his palm facing down, and flexed his hands. The leather felt good and strong, though it was scarred from use. "Well," said Brom, "as I promised, we will go now."
Trevor nodded. "When you enter Dras-Leona, would you do us this favor? Alert the Empire to our plight and that of the other towns. If word of this hasn't reached the King by now, it's cause for worry. And if it has, but he has chosen to do nothing, that too is cause for worry."
"We will carry your message. May your swords stay sharp," said Brom.
"And yours."
The wagons were pulled out of their way, and they rode from Daret into the trees along the Ninor River. Eragon sent his thoughts to Saphira. We're on our way back. Everything turned out all right. Her only response was simmering anger.
Brom pulled at his beard. "The Empire is in worse condition than I had imagined. When the traders visited Carvahall, they brought reports of unrest, but I never believed that it was this widespread. With all these Urgals around, it seems that the Empire itself is under attack, yet no troops or soldiers have been sent out. It's as if the King doesn't care to defend his domain."
"It is strange," agreed Eragon.
Brom ducked under a low-hanging branch. "Did you use any of your powers while we were in Daret?"
"There was no reason to."
"Wrong," corrected Brom. "You could have sensed Trevor's intentions. Even with my limited abilities, I was able to do that. If the villagers had been bent on killing us, I wouldn't have just sat there. However, I felt there was a reasonable chance of talking our way out of there, which is what I did."
"How could I know what Trevor was thinking?" asked Eragon. "Am I supposed to be able to see into people's minds?"
"Come now," chided Brom, "you should know the answer to that. You could have discovered Trevor's purpose in the same way that you communicate with Cadoc or Saphira. The minds of men are not so different from a dragon's or horse's. It's a simple thing to do, but it's a power you must use sparingly and with great caution. A person's mind is his last sanctuary. You must never violate it unless circumstances force you to. The Riders had very strict rules regarding this. If they were broken without due cause, the punishment was severe."
"And you can do this even though you aren't a Rider?" asked Eragon.
"As I said before, with the right instruction anyone can talk with their minds, but with differing amounts of success. Whether it's magic, though, is hard to tell. Magical abilities will certainly trigger the talent—or becoming linked with a dragon—but I've known plenty who learned it on their own. Think about it: you can communicate with any sentient being, though the contact may not be very clear. You could spend the entire day listening to a bird's thoughts or understanding how an earthworm feels during a rainstorm. But I've never found birds very interesting. I suggest starting with a cat; they have unusual personalities."
Eragon twisted Cadoc's reins in his hands, considering the implications of what Brom had said. "But if I can get into someone's head, doesn't that mean that others can do the same to me? How do I know if someone's prying in my mind? Is there a way to stop that?" How do I know if Brom can tell what I'm thinking right now?
"Why, yes. Hasn't Saphira ever blocked you from her mind?"
"Occasionally," admitted Eragon. "When she took me into the Spine, I couldn't talk to her at all. It wasn't that she was ignoring me; I don't think she could even hear me. There were walls around her mind that I couldn't get through."
Brom worked on his bandage for a moment, shifting it higher on his arm. "Only a few people can tell if someone is in their mind, and of those, only a handful could stop you from entering. It's a matter of training and of how you think. Because of your magical power, you'll always know if someone is in your mind. Once you do, blocking them is a simple matter of concentrating on one thing to the exclusion of all else. For instance, if you only think about a brick wall, that's all the enemy will find in your mind. However, it takes a huge amount of energy and discipline to block someone for any length of time. If you're distracted by even the slightest thing, your wall will waver and your opponent will slip in through the weakness."
"How can I learn to do this?" asked Eragon.
"There is only one thing for it: practice, practice, and yet more practice. Picture something in your mind and hold it there to the exclusion of all else for as long as you can. It is a very advanced ability; only a handful ever master it," said Brom.
"I don't need perfection, just safety." If I can get into someone's mind, can I change how he thinks? Every time I learn something new about magic, I grow more wary of it.
When they reached where the dragons had chosen to make camp, Saphira startled them by thrusting her head at them. The horses backstepped nervously. Saphira looked Eragon over carefully and gave a low hiss. Her eyes were flinty. Eragon threw a concerned look at Brom—he had never seen Saphira this angry—then asked, What's wrong?
You, she growled. You are the problem.
Eragon frowned and got off Cadoc. As soon as his feet touched the ground, Saphira swept his legs out from under him with her tail and pinned him with her talons. "What are you doing?" he yelled, struggling to get up, but she was too strong for him. Brom watched attentively from Snowfire. Daemon watched from where he laid, a look of amusement in his eyes.
Saphira swung her head over Eragon until they were eye to eye. He squirmed under her unwavering glare. You! Every time you leave my sight you get into trouble. You're like a new hatchling, sticking your nose into everything. And what happens when you stick it into something that bites back? How will you survive then? I cannot help you when I'm miles away. I've stayed hidden so that no one would see me, but no longer! Not when it may cost you your life.
I can understand why you're upset, said Eragon, but I'm much older than you and can take care of myself. If anything, you're the one who needs to be protected.
She snarled and snapped her teeth by his ear. Do you really believe that? she asked. Tomorrow you will ride me—not that pitiful deer-animal you call a horse—or else I will carry you in my claws. Are you a Dragon Rider or not? Don't you care for me?
The question burned in Eragon, and he dropped his gaze. He knew she was right, but he was scared of riding her. Their flights had been the most painful ordeal he had ever endured.
"Well?" demanded Brom.
"She wants me to ride her tomorrow," said Eragon lamely.
Brom considered it with twinkling eyes. "Well, you have the saddle. I suppose that if the two of you stay out of sight, it won't be a problem." Saphira switched her gaze to him, then returned it to Eragon.
"But what if you're attacked or there's an accident? I won't be able to get there in time and—"
Saphira pressed harder on his chest, stopping his words. Exactly my point, little one.
Brom seemed to hide a smile. "It's worth the risk. You need to learn how to ride her anyway. Think about it this way: with you flying ahead and looking at the ground, you'll be able to spot any traps, ambushes, or other unwelcome surprises."
Eragon looked back at Saphira and said, Okay, I'll do it. But let me up.
Give me your word.
Is that really necessary? he demanded. She blinked. Very well. I give you my word that I will fly with you tomorrow. Satisfied?
I am content.
Saphira let him up and went back to her spot beside Daemon, who looked highly amused until Saphira nipped him on the shoulder.
As usual, Eragon dueled with Brom before dinner. In the midst of the fight, Eragon delivered such a powerful blow that he snapped both of their sticks like twigs. The pieces whistled into the darkness in a cloud of splintered fragments. Brom tossed what remained of his stick into the fire and said, "We're done with these; throw yours in as well. You have learned well, but we've gone as far as we can with branches. There is nothing more you can gain from them. It is time for you to use the blade." He removed Zar'roc from Eragon's bag and gave it to him.
"We'll cut each other to ribbons," protested Eragon.
"Not so. Again you forget magic," said Brom. He held up his sword and turned it so that firelight glinted off the edge. He put a finger on either side of the blade and focused intensely, deepening the lines on his forehead. For a moment nothing happened, then he uttered, "Gëuloth du knífr!" and a small red spark jumped between his fingers. As it flickered back and forth, he ran his fingers down the length of the sword. Then he twirled it and did the same thing on the other side. The spark vanished the moment his fingers left the metal.
Brom held his hand out, palm up, and slashed it with the sword. Eragon jumped forward but was too slow to stop him. He was astonished when Brom raised his unharmed hand with a smile. "What did you do?" asked Eragon.
"Feel the edge," said Brom. Eragon touched it and felt an invisible surface under his fingers. The barrier was about a quarter inch wide and very slippery. "Now do the same on Zar'roc," instructed Brom. "Your block will be a bit different than mine, but it should accomplish the same thing."
He told Eragon how to pronounce the words and coached him through the process. It took Eragon a few tries, but he soon had Zar'roc's edge protected. Confident, he took his fighting stance. Before they started, Brom admonished, "These swords won't cut us, but they can still break bones. I would prefer to avoid that, so don't flail around like you normally do. A blow to the neck could prove fatal."
Eragon nodded, then struck without warning. Sparks flew off his blade, and the clash of metal filled their campsite as Brom parried. The sword felt slow and heavy to Eragon after fighting with sticks for so long. Unable to move Zar'roc fast enough, he received a sharp rap on his knee.
They both had large welts when they stopped, Eragon more so than Brom. He marveled that Zar'roc had not been scratched or dented by the vigorous pounding it had received.
Settling in between Daemon and Saphira's flanks, he massaged his sore muscles. Daemon offered his praise at Eragon's first battle with a blade, but he merely grunted in response. Saphira, however, leaned in and gave her Rider a tender lick on the cheek.
You did well, little one she said softly. Then in a slightly harder tone, Don't forget your promise to me. Tomorrow we fly together.
Eragon nodded, and when she lay her head down and closed her eyes, he turned to Daemon. So, how did your lessons with her go?
In response, Daemon just lifted his wing, showing the myriad of cuts along his side. How do you think?
Eragon saw this and suppressed a chuckle. He gave his friend a pat on the shoulder, to which he received a small hum, then they both laid back and fell asleep.
When Daemon woke up the following morning, he noticed two things. One: He was human again. Two: He was completely naked. Quickly running over to Shadowmere, he took out his Nightingale armour, as well as some fresh and clean undergarments, quickly putting them on before anyone could wake up and see him in his state. Once he was fully dressed, he walked over to a small pond to look at his reflection.
Being a dragon had given his body some changes.
His eyes, once just dark blue, had a hint of silver in them. His body build was more defined, more toned, as were the muscles in his torso, arms and chest. He felt stronger too, like he did in dragon form. His long black hair had silver tips now, which was another new but welcome change.
Grabbing his sword, he sheathed it when Brom woke up. The old man crossed the camp and joined the Dragonborn.
"I see you've rejoined us mere humans." Brom joked.
"So it seems." Daemon said, looking at his hands as he clenched and unclenched them.
"What was it like?" Brom asked curiously.
Daemon tried to speak but shook his head. "No word can describe it exactly, but it was... amazing. it was unlike anything I've felt before, and it was enjoyable."
"I imagine so." Brom chuckled. "You're the first of something totally new, Daemon. No one else has been able to transform into a dragon. Saphira's blood may have done more than simply transform you, as the changes in your human form have shown, but there may be mental changes."
"Like what?" Daemon asked curiously.
"Well, it could have created a link from you and onto the bond between Eragon and Saphira, creating a three-way connection." Brom said, rubbing his chin in thought. "Like that of the bond between a Rider and their dragon, only with a third party added to it. You'll have to develop these skills along the way, and I look forward to seeing the progress of these interesting developments. Would make for a fine story one day."
Daemon snorted. "The Dragonborn who can become a dragon."
"Needs a bit of work, but I'm sure it can be a great story to tell." Brom said with a small smirk and patted Daemon's shoulder. "Now, in the off chance you encounter beings that want you to speak in the Ancient Language, it's best I start teaching you how to speak it. So pay attention."
Daemon listened intently as Brom taught him the Ancient Language, claiming there is no need for him to try and learn the magic of this land since he had his own land's magic which was enough to defend himself. The Ancient Language would help in him ensuring to some that he wasn't a friend, so it proved useful rather than using magic. During Brom's tutoring, Eragon and Saphira awakened and were surprised, as well as happy, to see Daemon back in human form and saw the changes done to his human body. Soon enough, it came time for Eragon's flight with Saphira.
Brom and Daemon helped Eragon to saddle Saphira, and he climbed into position. "Now remember, grip with your knees, guide her with your thoughts, and stay as flat as you can on her back. Nothing will go wrong if you don't panic." Brom said. Eragon nodded in response.
Saphira waited impatiently while Eragon tightened the bands around his legs. Are you ready? she asked.
He sucked in the fresh morning air. No, but let's do it! She agreed enthusiastically. He braced himself as she crouched. Her powerful legs surged and the air whipped past him, snatching his breath away. With three smooth strokes of her wings, she was in the sky, climbing rapidly.
The last time Eragon had ridden Saphira, every flap of her wings had been strained. Now she flew steadily and effortlessly. He clenched his arms around her neck as she turned on edge, banking. The river shrank to a wispy gray line beneath them. Clouds floated around them.
When they leveled off high above the plains, the trees below were no more than specks. The air was thin, chilly, and perfectly clear. "This is wonderfu—" His words were lost as Saphira tilted and rolled completely around. The ground spun in a dizzying circle, and vertigo clutched Eragon. "Don't do that!" he cried. "I feel like I'm going to fall off."
You must become accustomed to it. If I'm attacked in the air, that's one of the simplest maneuvers I will do, she replied. He could think of no rebuttal, so he concentrated on controlling his stomach. Saphira angled into a shallow dive and slowly approached the ground.
Although Eragon's stomach lurched with every wobble, he began to enjoy himself. He relaxed his arms a bit and stretched his neck back, taking in the scenery. Saphira let him enjoy the sights awhile, then said, Let me show you what flying is really like.
How? he asked.
Relax and do not be afraid.
He felt her mind tug at his, and she drew him into her mind. He saw the world as Saphira did. He felt what she felt. Pure joy radiated from Saphira as she climbed high into the sky. She loved this freedom to go anywhere, and Eragon began to understand. He could feel her body as it strained against the air, her muscles were like his own. The connection deepened, until there was no distinction between them. They clasped their wings together and dived straight down. Their tail whipped in the air, and their joined minds reveled in the experience.
Eventually, their minds began to diverge. Eragon found himself back in his own body, and slumped forward into the saddle. His heart was hammering. Saphira! That was amazing. No wonder you wanted me to do this with you.
I'm glad you enjoy it Eragon. Will we fly together more often now?
Absolutely! You'll have to tie me to the ground to keep me off you now. Saphira hummed with pleasure and contentment at his words. Rider and dragon soared through the sky, exchanging thought and emotions, talking as if they hadn't for weeks. This was freedom.
Meanwhile, with Daemon and Brom, they rode along the path on the horses, following the Ra'zac's trail. However, the trail started to get more complicated until it ended in a mess of tracks. Confused, both men got off their horses and walked over to inspect.
"Something happened here." Daemon noted as he crouched down and ran a hand along the tracks gently. "It's like they... took off on something."
"Perhaps." Brom nodded. "But this makes things more difficult, for we have no trail to follow." Brom's face went blank for a few seconds, then changed to one of anger. "Bah! That idiot friend of yours is blocking me out! See if you can get in contact with him and tell him and Saphira to meet us here."
Daemon nodded and extended his mind towards Eragon's, only to be met with the same resistance Brom encounter. Rather than fighting, Daemon turned to Saphira. The dragoness recognized his mind easily from the many times they've communicated, as well as when he was in his dragon form, and she lowered her mental defences for him to enter and relay Brom's message. She acknowledged and told him they'll be down soon.
Daemon and Brom waited for several minutes, during which Daemon looked around for anything that could help them stay on the Ra'zac's path when his foot brushed against something metal. looking down, he spotted a metal flask of some kind and picked it up, turning it around before spotting a symbol on it.
"Brom!" Daemon turned to the old man and walked over, showing him the flask. "I fount this! it was near the tracks, and it's got some kind of symbol on it."
"Aye, it belongs to them." Brom said, taking the flask and examining it. "That symbol belongs to them."
"What's inside it?" Daemon asked curiously.
Before Brom could answer, the sound of Saphira's wings drew their attention and they watched as she came in for a landing some meters away. Eragon unbelted the straps from his legs and dismounted from Saphira. The dragoness and her Rider approached the two men.
"What's wrong?" Eragon asked.
"Take a look." Daemon gestured to the tracks.
Eragon knelt and examined the dirt and found a confusion of impressions that were difficult to decipher. Numerous Ra'zac footprints overlapped each other. Eragon guessed that the tracks were only a few days old. Superimposed over them were long, thick gouges torn into the ground. They looked familiar, but Eragon could not say why.
He stood, shaking his head. "I don't have any idea what... " Then his eyes fell on Saphira and he realized what had made the gouges. Every time she took off, her back claws dug into the ground and ripped it in the same manner. "This doesn't make any sense, but the only thing I can think of is that the Ra'zac flew off on dragons. Or else they got onto giant birds and disappeared into the heavens. Tell me you have a better explanation."
Brom shrugged. "I've heard reports of the Ra'zac moving from place to place with incredible speed, but this is the first evidence I've had of it. It will be almost impossible to find them if they have flying steeds. They aren't dragons—I know that much. A dragon would never consent to bear a Ra'zac."
"We also found this." Daemon said, showing Eragon the flask. "It belongs to them. Contains some kind of contents."
Brom took the flask, opened the lid and gave it a sniff before grimacing. He then poured a bit of the liquid onto the ground and they watched as it burned away.
"Acid." Daemon realized. "They drink acid?"
"Harmful to others but not them." Brom told him. "What's in this is an oil from the petals of the Seithr plant, which grows on a small island in the frigid northern seas. In its natural state, the oil is used for preserving pearls—it makes them lustrous and strong. But when specific words are spoken over the oil, along with a blood sacrifice, it gains the property to eat any flesh. That alone wouldn't make it special—there are plenty of acids that can dissolve sinew and bone—except for the fact that it leaves everything else untouched. You can dip anything into the oil and pull it out unharmed, unless it was once part of an animal or human. This has made it a weapon of choice for torture and assassination. It can be stored in wood, slathered on the point of a spear, or dripped onto sheets so that the next person to touch them will be burned. There are myriad uses for it, limited only by your ingenuity. Any injury caused by it is always slow to heal. It's rather rare and expensive, especially this converted form."
"Hmm, an interesting thing for drinking." Daemon noted.
"But why would they leave it here?" Eragon asked, shaking his head. It didn't make any sense.
"It must have slipped off when they flew away." Brom said.
"But why didn't they come back for it? I doubt that the King will be pleased that they lost it." Eragon said.
"No, he won't," Brom shook his head, "but he would be even more displeased if they delayed bringing him news of you. In fact, if the Ra'zac have reached him by now, you can be sure that the King has learned your name. And that means we will have to be much more careful when we go into towns. There will be notices and alerts about you posted throughout the Empire."
Daemon, who had been silently contemplating something, suddenly asked. "How rare is the oil?"
"Like diamonds in a pig trough," said Brom. He amended himself after a second, "Actually, the normal oil is used by jewelers, but only those who can afford it."
"So people trade in it?" Daemon asked, hoping he'd get the right answer.
"Perhaps one, maybe two." Brom said, unsure where Daemon was going with this line of questioning.
"Good, because I know how to find the Ra'zac." Daemon said, shocking his companions. He held the flask up. "This oil is rare, people trade in it, maybe not a lot of people, but it's a start. If this is a rare thing, especially to trade, then that means it has to be marketed."
Eragon's face lit up as he understood what Daemon was saying. "Which means that if we find the records of the oil being sold, we can track it to the Ra'zac!"
Brom's jaw dropped and his eye's widened. "That's brilliant thinking!" the old man exclaimed. "I don't know why I've never thought of that before. Had I known, I would have hunted the Ra'zac down long ago and rid the world of those fowl demons."
"Are there any nearby cities with shipping ports?" Daemon asked, hope filling him now that they have a lead.
"The coast is dotted with numerous cities and towns where ships can land. I suppose that Teirm would be the place to start, as it controls most of the trade." Brom paused. "The last I heard, my old friend Jeod lives there. We haven't seen each other for many years, but he might be willing to help us. And because he's a merchant, it's possible that he has access to those records."
"How do we get to Teirm?" Eragon asked.
"We'll have to go southwest until we reach a high pass in the Spine. Once on the other side, we can head up the coast to Teirm," said Brom. A gentle wind pulled at his hair.
"Can we reach the pass within a week?" Daemon asked next, crossing his arms over his chest.
"Easily. If we angle away from the Ninor and to our right, we might be able to see the mountains by tomorrow."
"Then I'll see you two at dinner tonight." Eragon called as he climbed back aboard Saphira. They took of and spent the rest of the day flying. When they settled at camp for the night, Eragon had his usual spar with Brom, and Daemon joined in on sparring with Eragon when Brom gave up, now Eragon had to test what he's learned so far against Daemon, who made sure to teach Eragon some of what he knows as they sparred.
After they had worn themselves out, the lay down on either side of Saphira, and quickly fell asleep to prepare for the next day's journey.
And that's it for this chapter, sorry if it was way too long, but it's better than it being short... right?