Answers to reviews:
phoinex slayer5: I haven't even gotten started on it. I want to try and finish at least most of the remaining seven stories that I've got, then I'm going to work on at least eighteen new stories, one of which may be the rewrite of my DMC/Justice League crossover.
Spedyalarm: You'll have to see how that goes.
Dreagon D. Dragon: Indeed.
Disclaimer: I do not own The Elder Scrolls or The Inheritance Cycle.
While they rode, Eragon tried to remember what he knew about elves. They had long lives—that fact was oft repeated—although he knew not how long. They spoke the ancient language, and many could use magic. After the Riders' fall, elves had retreated into seclusion. None of them had been seen in the Empire since. So why is one here now? And how did the Empire manage to capture her? If she can use magic, she's probably drugged as I was.
They traveled through the night, not stopping even when their flagging strength began to slow them. They continued onward despite burning eyes and clumsy movements. Behind them, lines of torch-bearing horsemen searched around Gil'ead for their trail.
After many bleary hours, dawn lightened the sky. By unspoken consent Daemon, Eragon and Murtagh stopped the horses. "We have to make camp," said Eragon wearily. "I must sleep—whether they catch us or not."
"Agreed," said Murtagh, rubbing his eyes. "Have Saphira land. We'll meet her."
They followed Saphira's directions and found her drinking from a stream at the base of a small cliff, the elf still slouched on her back. Saphira greeted them with a soft bugle as they dismounted their horses. Saphira gave Daemon and Eragon happy nuzzles.
Together, they removed the elf from Saphira's saddle and lowered her to the ground. Then they sagged against the rock face, exhausted. Saphira examined the elf curiously. I wonder why she hasn't woken. It's been hours since we left Gil'ead.
Who knows what they did to her. Daemon said grimly, sighing as he leaned against her warm side. Exhaustion finally catching up to him after what he pulled off in the courtyard at Gil'ead, battling all those soldiers and not giving himself a break. Saphira merely hummed and wrapped her tail around him. she had to admit, she was very impressed by what she saw back at Gil'ead, and she doubted he knew what that display of strength meant to her. it had caused her feelings for him to stir so much stronger. when it comes to male dragons, they would display their strength in front of a female to try and impress her as potential mates. Daemon had unknowingly done the same for her.
Murtagh followed their gaze. "As far as I know, she's the first elf the King has captured. Ever since they went into hiding, he's been looking for them without success—until now. So he's either found their sanctuary, or she was captured by chance. I think it was chance. If he had found the elf haven, he would have declared war and sent his army after the elves. Since that hasn't happened, the question is, Were Galbatorix's men able to extract the elves' location before we rescued her?"
"We won't know until she regains consciousness." Eragon said, then looked between his companions. "Tell me what happened after I was captured. How did I end up in Gil'ead?"
"The Urgals are working for the Empire," Daemon said seriously.
"And, it seems, the Shade as well." Murtagh added. "We saw the Urgals give you to him—though I didn't know who it was at the time—and a group of soldiers. They were the ones who took you to Gil'ead."
It's true, said Saphira.
Eragon's mind flashed back to the Urgals he had spoken with at Teirm and the "master" they had mentioned. They meant the King! I insulted the most powerful man in Alagaësia! he realized with dread. Then he remembered the horror of the slaughtered villagers in Yazuac. A sick, angry feeling welled in his stomach. The Urgals were under Galbatorix's orders! Why would he commit such an atrocity on his own subjects?
Because he is evil, stated Saphira flatly.
Glowering, Eragon exclaimed, "This will mean war! Once the people of the Empire learn of it, they will rebel and support the Varden."
Murtagh rested his chin in his hand. "Even if they heard of this outrage, few would make it to the Varden. With the Urgals under his command, the King has enough warriors to close the Empire's borders and remain in control, no matter how disruptive people are. With such a rule of terror, he will be able to shape the Empire however he wants. And though he is hated, people could be galvanized into joining him if they had a common enemy."
"Who would that be?" asked Eragon, confused.
"The elves and the Varden. With the right rumors they can be portrayed as the most despicable monsters in Alagaësia—fiends who are waiting to seize your land and wealth. The Empire could even say that the Urgals have been misunderstood all this time and that they are really friends and allies against such terrible enemies. I only wonder what the king promised them in return for their services."
Daemon scoffed. "I wouldn't be surprised, really. An Empire in control can easily try and spin things around, make others appear as the villain. I know that from experience when the Empire of my land tried to have my head cut off, believing I was with the rebels when I was merely minding my own business that day. Kings and Emperors always do whatever they want when they have the power."
"Your land as a King and an Emperor?" Murtagh asked in interest.
"Well, a High King, and used to." Daemon said darkly.
"used to, what happened?" Eragon asked. "Isn't there still an Emperor and High King?"
"Well, the previous High King's wife took over as High Queen, as for the Emperor, a new one was elected a couple of years ago after the previous one was assassinated ." Daemon said with a sigh, remembering how the last Emperor was assassinated.
"Did you find out who did it?" Eragon asked. "Assassinated the Emperor?"
"Yes." Daemon said and gave him a serious look. "It was me."
Eragon and Murtagh stared at him in shock, but then Saphira showed Eragon the memory of that day, when Daemon murdered Emperor Titus Mede II as part of a contract with a group of assassins known as the Dark Brotherhood. Daemon had been a different man back then, stung by betrayal of an ally named Astrid.
To take his mind off it, Eragon got back onto the conversation they were having. "It wouldn't work, No one could be deceived that easily about Galbatorix and the Urgals. Besides, why would he want to do that? He's already in power."
"But his authority is challenged by the Varden, with whom people sympathize. There's also Surda, which has defied him since it seceded from the Empire." Murtagh pointed out. "Galbatorix is strong within the Empire, but his arm is weak outside of it. As for people seeing through his deceptions, they'll believe whatever he wants them to. It's happened before." Murtagh fell silent and gazed moodily into the distance.
His words troubled Eragon, even Daemon looked at him with a frown.. Saphira touched them with her mind: Where is Galbatorix sending the Urgals?
What?
In both Carvahall and Teirm, you heard that Urgals were leaving the area and migrating southeast, as if to brave the Hadarac Desert. If the king truly does control them, why is he sending them in that direction? Maybe an Urgal army is being gathered for his private use or an Urgal city is being formed.
It's possible that he's building an army to add to his current one. Daemon said, musing on the thought. Or he has something else planned. Perhaps he's using the Urga;s to wipe out the Varden as they are the biggest thorn in his side aside from us.
Eragon shuddered at the thought. I'm too tired to figure it out. Whatever Galbatorix's plans, they'll only cause us trouble. I just wish that we knew where the Varden are. That's where we should be going, but we're lost without Dormnad. It doesn't matter what we do; the Empire will find us.
Don't give up, she said encouragingly, then added dryly, though you're probably right.
Thanks. He looked at Murtagh. "You risked your life to rescue me; I owe you for that. I know Daemon and Saphira would've stormed the jail to rescue me, but I guess they saw how stupid that would be." Daemon and Saphira shot him looks for that. "I couldn't have escaped on my own." It was more than that, though. There was a bond between the three of them, between him, Daemon and Murtagh now, welded in the brotherhood of battle and tempered by the loyalty Murtagh had shown.
"I'm just glad I could help. It..." Murtagh faltered and rubbed his face. "My main worry now is how we're going to travel with so many men searching for us. Gil'ead's soldiers will be hunting us tomorrow; once they find the horses' tracks, they'll know you didn't fly away with Saphira."
Eragon glumly agreed. "How did you guys manage to get into the castle?"
Murtagh and Daemon laughed, with the former speaking. "By paying a steep bribe and crawling through a filthy scullery chute. But the plan wouldn't have worked without Saphira. She," he stopped and directed his words at her, "that is, you, are the only reason we escaped alive. Though I guess we can also thank Daemon for making less trouble for us by drawing every soldier to him."
"What can we say?" Daemon shrugged before smirking. "We love to show off."
Mind that ego of yours, Daemon. Saphira teased him and licked his cheek.
Eragon gazed at the elf's face, captivated. Daemon saw it and smirked at him knowingly, causing him to blush before he tried to change the subject. "We should make a bed for her."
Daemon got to his feet and stretched out a blanket for the elf. When they lifted her onto it, the cuff of her sleeve tore on a branch. Eragon began to pinch the fabric together, then gasped.
The elf's arm was mottled with a layer of bruises and cuts; some were half healed, while others were fresh and oozing. Eragon shook his head with anger and pulled the sleeve up higher. The injuries continued to her shoulder. With trembling fingers, he unlaced the back of her shirt, dreading what might be under it.
"Woah!" Daemon grabbed Eragon's wrist. "What are you doing?"
"We need to see what's under there!" Eragon said, then blushed as Daemon raised an eyebrow at his words, the implied double meaning. "I-I mean! She could have worse scars underneath!"
"Hey, while you might have dreamed about her, I doubt she'd be happy that you tried to peak under her clothes while she was unaware of it." Daemon remarked with a look. "But I get what you're saying. If she wakes up and finds out, I'm blaming you if I end up castrated."
"Noted." Eragon laughed nervously. Daemon slowly lifted the elf's shirt enough to see her back and nothing else, respecting her privacy and modesty. However, when they saw her back, they had different reactions. Eragon gasped, Murtagh gasped and Daemon whistled at the damage.
The elf's back was strong and muscled, but it was covered with scabs that made her skin look like dry, cracked mud. She had been whipped mercilessly and branded with hot irons in the shape of claws. Where her skin was still intact, it was purple and black from numerous beatings. On her left shoulder was a tattoo inscribed with indigo ink. It was the same symbol that had been on the sapphire of Brom's ring. Eragon silently swore an oath that he would kill whoever was responsible for torturing the elf.
"Fuck..." Daemon spoke after a few seconds of silence. "Fucking bastards."
"Can you heal this?" asked Murtagh, looking at Eragon.
"I—I don't know," said Eragon. He swallowed back sudden queasiness. "There's so much."
Eragon! said Saphira sharply. This is an elf. She cannot be allowed to die. Tired or not, hungry or not, you must save her. I will meld my strength with yours, but you are the one who must wield the magic.
"Move." Daemon said, pushing Eragon and Murtagh out of his way gently and crouching to his knees. He looked at his hands and applied a healing spell to his hands, creating a soft, orangy glow before he pointed it to the elf and began to heal her. Eragon, Murtagh and Saphira watched as every single one of the elf's wounds healed and faded into simple scars. Even the ones that looked recent looked like scars from a few years ago.
Daemon stopped there and cut off the spell. "What was that?" Murtagh asked, looking at him. "Was that magic? But... you didn't say the words."
"In my land, we have magic... but we have no need of words to say in order to cast our spells." Daemon said casually. "I healed everything I can, though I sure as hell hope there isn't any internal injuries because my healing spells can only heal physical, outside wounds. Let's hope she'll be grateful for it whenever she awakens."
"We'd better start riding again." Eragon said after a moment of silence.
"No." Daemon shook his head. "We should get in whatever sleep we can."
"I can sleep on Snowfire's addle, you can do the same on Shadowmere's." Eragon suggested. " But we can't afford to stay here, not with the soldiers closing on us."
"Dammit, you're right." Daemon sighed, running a hand through his long hair.
"In that case I'll lead the horses while you two rest." Murtagh offered.
They resaddled the horses, strapped the elf onto Saphira, and departed the camp. Eragon ate while he rode, trying to replace his depleted energy before he leaned forward against Snowfire and closed his eyes.
When they stopped for the evening, Eragon felt no better and his temper had worsened. Daemon only shared Eragon's dark mood, not his temper. Most of the day had been spent on long detours to avoid detection by soldiers with hunting dogs. Eragon dismounted Snowfire and asked Saphira, How is she?
I think no worse than before. She stirred slightly a few times, but that was all. Saphira crouched low to the ground to let him lift the elf out of the saddle. For a moment her soft form pressed against Eragon. Then he hurriedly put her down.
Murtagh made a small dinner. It was difficult for them to fight off the urge to sleep. When they had eaten, Murtagh said, "We can't keep up this pace; we aren't gaining any ground on the soldiers. Another day or two of this and they'll be sure to overtake us."
"What else can we do?" snapped Eragon. "If it were just the three of us and we left the horses behind, Saphira could fly us out of here. But with the elf, too? Impossible."
Murtagh looked at him carefully. "If you want to go your own way, I won't stop you. I can't expect you and Saphira to stay and risk imprisonment."
"Don't insult me," Eragon muttered. "The only reason I'm free is because of you. I'm not going to abandon you to the Empire. Poor thanks that would be!"
Murtagh bowed his head. "Your words hearten me." He paused. "But they don't solve our problem."
"What can?" Eragon asked. He gestured at the elf. "I wish she could tell us where the elves are; perhaps we could seek sanctuary with them."
"Considering how they've protected themselves, I doubt she'd reveal their location. Even if she did, the others of her kind might not welcome us. Why would they want to shelter us anyway? The last Riders they had contact with were Galbatorix and the Forsworn. I doubt that left them with pleasant memories. And I don't even have the dubious honor of being a Rider like you. No, they would not want me or Daemon at all." Murtagh said. after seeing what Daemon can do, and his skill at Gil'ead, Murtagh only believed he was a incredibly skilled warrior, but still a man. He still did not know of Daemon's true nature.
They would accept us, said Saphira confidently as she shifted her wings to a more comfortable position.
Eragon shrugged. "Even if they would protect us, we can't find them, and it's impossible to ask the elf until she regains consciousness. We must flee, but in which direction—north, south, east, or west?"
"Then that's what we do." Daemon said after being silent for a while, thinking. "We ask her." The others looked at him like he was crazy. "Elves can use magic, so they should be able to communicate mentally as Eragon, Saphira and I can do. Eragon and I will link our minds to the elf's and we will try to talk to her. If we can't get anything from her physically, then we have to try mentally."
While it is one of our only options, Daemon, I doubt she'd be happy if we invaded her mind without her permission. Saphira said worriedly. She may think of you two as enemies.
"Perhaps." Eragon rubbed his chin, thinking about it. "But it may be our only way to get answers."
"Can it be done?" Murtagh asked.
"If Daemon and I linked minds and entered hers together, yes." Eragon nodded.
"Look, I don't like the idea myself, especially since we're doing it without her permission, but... we don't have any other choice." Daemon said with a sigh. "Unless anyone else has other ideas?"
Neither Saphira or Murtagh said anything, so it was what they were going for. Daemon and Eragon knelt on either side of the elf.
"You should initiate contact." Daemon told the Rider.
"Me? This was your idea!" Eragon retorted.
"She's the girl of your dreams, that makes you more qualified than me, now get to it!" Daemon said in a bit of a snappish tone that he didn't really mean. Eragon blushed at his words but nodded with a sigh. He felt Daemon link his mind with his before Eragon placed his palm on her brow.
Eragon closed his eyes and extended a tendril of thought, like a probing finger, toward the elf's mind. He found it without difficulty. It was not fuzzy and filled with pain as he had anticipated, but lucid and clear, like a note from a crystal bell. Suddenly an icy dagger drove into his mind, and by extension Daemon's. Pain exploded behind his eyes and he could sense Daemon wince. They recoiled from the attack but found themselves held in an iron grip, unable to retreat.
The Rider and Dragonborn fought as hard as they could and used every defense they could think of. The dagger stabbed into their minds again, causing them to frantically throw their own barriers before it, blunting the attack. The pain was less excruciating than the first time, but it jarred their concentration. The elf took the opportunity to ruthlessly crush the defenses.
A stifling blanket pressed down on them from all directions, smothering their thoughts. The overpowering force slowly contracted, squeezing the life out of them bit by bit, though both Daemon and Eragon held on, unwilling to give up.
The elf tightened her relentless grip even more, so as to extinguish them like a snuffed candle. Eragon desperately cried in the ancient language, "Eka aí fricai un Shur'tugal!" I am a Rider and friend! The deadly embrace did not loosen its hold, but its constriction halted and surprise emanated from her.
Suspicion followed a second later, but he knew she would believe him; he could not have lied in the ancient language. However, while he had said he was a friend, that did not mean he meant her no harm. Especially since she had two minds trying to enter her own. She turned her attention to Daemon and prodded at his own mind, demanding his identity.
Dragonborn... Was all Daemon could say to give his idenity. Surprise followed, greater surprise than when Eragon admitted he was a Rider. To show he meant no harm, he allowed a few of his memories to be shown, like his friendship with Odahviing and Paarthurnax and he felt shock, surprise and some joy come from the elf. Perhaps she would now be curious to question them.
She was. The pressure lifted, and the barriers around her mind hesitantly lowered. The elf warily let their thoughts touch, like three wild animals meeting for the first time. A cold shiver ran down Eragon's side. Her mind was alien. It felt vast and powerful, weighted with memories of uncounted years. Dark thoughts loomed out of sight and touch, artifacts of her race that made him cringe when they brushed his consciousness. Yet through all the sensations shimmered a melody of wild, haunting beauty that embodied her identity.
What are your names? she asked, speaking in the ancient language. Her voice was weary and filled with quiet despair.
Eragon. He's Daemon. And yours? Her consciousness lured him closer, inviting him to submerge himself in the lyric strains of her blood. He resisted the summons with difficulty, though his heart ached to accept it. For the first time he understood the fey attraction of elves. They were creatures of magic, unbound by the mortal laws of the land—as different from humans as dragons were from animals.
...Arya. Why have you contacted me in this manner? Am I still a captive of the Empire?
No, you are free! said Eragon. Though he knew only scattered words in the ancient language, he managed to convey: I was imprisoned in Gil'ead, like you, but I escaped and rescued you. You've not stirred nor said a word since.
Ah... so it was Gil'ead. She paused. I know that my wounds were healed. At the time I did not understand why—preparation for some new torture, I was certain. Now I realize it was you.
It was Daemon, actually, he healed all of your wounds to the point they look like faded scars.
Then I thank you, Daemon the Dragonborn. But I am curious as to why a dragonslayer would befriend a Dragon Rider.
While I have slayed dragons before, I no longer do so to every one I encounter. Daemon said strongly. You must understand, the dragons of my land are more wild, bloodthirsty and bred for war. They destroyed out of sport and amusement than just for the sake of hunting, killing innocents. They had to be stopped. When I slain their leader, Alduin, most of them stopped their attacks and chose a better life... but that didn't stop some from loving the old days and trying to kill innocents to get my attention. It took a wise old dragon mentor for me to understand I didn't have to slay what is my own kind.
Then you are no enemy of mine. Arya said softly before she added. You are both puzzled by my not awakening, yes?
Yes.
During my captivity, a rare poison, the Skilna Bragh, was given to me, along with the drug to suppress my power. Every morning the antidote for the previous day's poison was administered to me, by force if I refused to take it. Without it I will die within a few hours. That is
why I lie in this trance—it slows the Skilna Bragh's progress, though does not stop it... I contemplated waking for the purpose of ending my life and denying Galbatorix, but I refrained from doing so out of hope that you might be an ally... Her voice dwindled off weakly.
How long can you remain like this? asked Eragon.
For weeks, but I'm afraid I haven't that much time. This dormancy cannot restrain death forever . . . I can feel it in my veins even now. Unless I receive the antidote, I will succumb to the poison in three or four days.
Where can the antidote be found?
It exists in only two places outside of the Empire: with my own people and with the Varden. However, my home is beyond the reach of dragonback.
What about the Varden? We would have taken you straight to them, but we don't know where they are.
I will tell you—if you give me your word that you will never reveal their location to Galbatorix or to anyone who serves him. In addition you must swear that you have not deceived me in some manner and that you intend no harm to the elves, dwarves, Varden, or the race of dragons.
What Arya asked for would have been simple enough—if they had not been conversing in the ancient language. Eragon knew she wanted oaths more binding than life itself. Once made, they could never be broken. That weighed heavily on him as he gravely pledged his word in agreement.
It is understood...Eragon spoke slowly.
Aye, Daemon nodded. After all, I am a dragon, he added lightly.
A series of vertigo-inducing images suddenly flashed through their minds. They found themselves riding along the Beor Mountain range, traveling eastward many leagues. Eragon did his best to remember the route as craggy mountains and hills flashed past. They were heading south now, still following the mountains. Then everything wheeled abruptly, and they entered a narrow, winding valley. It snaked through the mountains to the base of a frothy waterfall that pounded into a deep lake.
The images stopped. It is far, said Arya, but do not let the distance dissuade you. When you arrive at the lake Kóstha-mérna at the end of the Beartooth River, take a rock, bang on the cliff next to the waterfall, and cry, Aí varden abr du Shur'tugals gata vanta. You will be admitted. You will be challenged, but do not falter no matter how perilous it seems.
What should they give you for the poison? he asked.
Her voice quavered, but then she regained her strength. Tell them—to give me Túnivor's Nectar. You must leave me now... I have expended too much energy already. Do not talk with me again unless there is no hope of reaching the Varden. If that is the case, there is information I must impart to you so the Varden will survive. Farewell, Eragon, Daemon. Rider and Dragonborn... my life is in your hands.
As they broke contact, the two sagged back, and breathed heavily from the effort. Murtagh and Saphira stood on either side of them, radiating concern. They quickly recounted the discussion they had held with Arya, and Murtagh asked, "So how far away are the Varden?"
"Far," admitted Eragon. "Across the Hadarac Desert and deep into the Beors."
"And you expect us to cover this distance in less than four days?" the response from Murtagh was understandably harsh.
"If we don't she dies!" Eragon insisted.
"Yes, I understand that but..." Murtagh sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "But how are we going to cover that distance in less than four days? We have a desert to cross, have to keep our horses fed, as well as ourselves!"
"There is a way." Daemon said suddenly, having been silent. He looked at the others and he saw the realization dawn in Eragon and Saphira's eyes.
No! No, you're not leaving us! Saphira persisted strongly.
It must be done. Daemon said to her privately, his words for her and her alone. Eragon refuses to leave Murtagh behind, and you won't leave him behind. I will take Arya and Shadowmere and fly to the Varden in my dragon form. You three take the desert way and go to the mountains. If we do nothing. Arya dies.
Saphira wanted to argue with him, to find something to dissuade him... but she could not. She knew he was right. She turned her head away from him in acceptance... and so nobody would see her eyes glistening with tears.
Daemon looked at Eragon and Murtagh. "I will take Arya and Shadowmere to the Varden. I'll be able to cover the distance faster than any of you can."
"How?" Murtagh eyed him.
"I have my ways." Was Daemon's mysterious response. "And Shadowmere is faster than any other horse, so I have him to count on. You three can continue at your own pace, I will push myself to the limit to get there."
"You don't have to do this! You shouldn't!" Eragon said as Daemon went over to Shadowmere, getting him ready for travel. he knew he'd have to send Shadowmere back to the shadow realm, or tell him to meet him at the Varden. One thing about Shadowmere is he always knew where to find Daemon, even when it's in a location neither have been at before. "We shouldn't split up!"
"Eragon, this is the only way to get Arya that antidote or she will die." Daemon said urgently. "You know I can get there faster."
Like with Saphira, Eragon tried to find a way to argue, to give another idea that meant Daemon had to stay and not leave them... but his mind came up blank and he could not argue, because he knew Daemon was telling the truth. He is the only one who can get Arya to the Varden in time. But he did not want to see the man who had come to be a older brother to him leave them.
Daemon checked his saddlebags, ensuring he had his spare clothes though still wore his Nightingale armour as always. He had his sword sheathed at his side, and that was really all he needed on himself right now. Murtagh moved away, seeing the three friends needed to talk privately and say goodbye.
"You shouldn't do this." Eragon said, fighting the tears.
"Eragon, stop. Nothing you or Saphira say will make me change my mind." Daemons aid sternly before his expression softened and he placed his hands on Eragon's shoulders. "We will see each other again, brother. I promise you that."
Here. Saphira came over with her saddle in her mouth. You will need this so Arya does not get hurt by your scales.
Daemon nodded and took it. I'll ensure it's brought back to you in the condition it's in right now. Now, let's get Arya onto Shadowmere.
Saphira stepped back and watched as they carefully placed Arya's limp body over Shadowmere's saddle, leaving space for Daemon to get on when he does. nce they were finished, Saphira approached. May I have a few words alone with him? She asked, causing Eragon to nod before he gave Daemon a brotherly hug and walked away to where Murtagh sat by the fire. Saphira lowered her head to look Daemon in the eyes, then pressed her snout into his chest, whispering in a soft, begging voice. Don't go.
I have to. Daemon said in a equally soft tone.
But... I don't want you to go. She said with a choked sob. They had just started to become closer after that talk they had at Leona Lake, and their friendship had grown stronger and deeper than ever before. It felt like she was losing part of herself. Daemon had come to mean just as much to her as Eragon did, and she couldn't stomach the idea of losing either of them. She wouldn't survive it.
Daemon placed his forehead against her, shutting his eyes and she did the same as he sent her images of their time together, from the first time he became a dragon, her lessons, the joy he felt at the feeling of being a dragon, how much he enjoyed that day. Then their time in Teirm together, to afterwards, when they sorted things out at Leona Lake, he kept the warm affections and images, trying to ensure she felt some form of happiness and not just sadness... though he understood.
He stroked her cheek, looking like he was contemplating something, then placed a long kiss on her snout and she choked back a sob again and just pressed her snout deeper into his chest, nearly lifting him off of his feet.
We will see each other again. Daemon said firmly. Nothing in this world will stop me from coming back to my friends... coming back to you.
You better come back to me. Saphira said in warning to him, but her shuddering tone made it less threatening but Daemon understood it.
Reluctantly, he pulled away from her and made his way to Shadowmere. He got on the saddle and didn't hesitate to ride off away from them. He did not look back at them... at her... for he may not have the strength to keep going and will go back to them should he look at her.
Silence was all that could be heard as Eragon and Murtagh felt like saying nothing. Murtagh was worried. Even though he knew Daemon for a short time, he had come to be a good friend and he tried to reassure the others that Daemon will be okay and that they will see him again.
"if we're going to cross the desert, then we have one problem." Murtagh said, finally speaking up and drawing Eragon's attention. "As I'm sure you noticed, I bought supplies for us and the horses while I was in Gil'ead. But how can we get enough water? The roving tribes who live in the Hadarac usually disguise their wells and oases so no one can steal their water. And carrying enough for more than a day is impractical. Just think about how much Saphira drinks! She and the horses consume more water at one time than we do in a week. Unless you can make it rain whenever we need, I don't see how we can go the direction we need to without worrying about dying of dehydration."
Eragon rocked back on his heels. Making rain was well beyond his power. He suspected that not even the strongest Rider could have done it. Moving that much air was like trying to lift a mountain. He needed a solution that would not drain all of his strength. I wonder if it's possible to convert sand into water? That would solve our problem, but only if it doesn't take too much energy.
"I have an idea," he said. "Let me experiment, then I'll give you an answer." Eragon strode out of the camp, with Saphira following closely. The dragoness had been laying down, staring in the direction Daemon had rode off in. She had been doing so since he left, not even stopping when he was well out of sight. But now that she had something to distract her, she was taking the chance.
What are you going to try? she asked.
"I don't know," he muttered. Saphira, could you carry enough water for us?
She shook her enormous head. No, I wouldn't even be able to lift that much weight, let alone fly with it.
Too bad. He knelt and picked up a stone with a cavity large enough for a mouthful of water. He pressed a clump of dirt into the hollow and studied it thoughtfully. Now came the hard part. Somehow he had to convert the dirt into water. But what words should I use? He puzzled over it for a moment, then picked two he hoped would work. The icy magic rushed through him as he breached the familiar barrier in his mind and commanded, "Deloi moi!"
Immediately the dirt began to absorb his strength at a prodigious rate. Eragon's mind flashed back to Brom's warning that certain tasks could consume all of his power and take his life. Panic blossomed in his chest. He tried to release the magic but could not. It was linked to him until the task was complete or he was dead. All he could do was remain motionless, growing weaker every moment.
Just as he became convinced that he would die kneeling there, the dirt shimmered and morphed into a thimbleful of water. Relieved, Eragon sat back, breathing hard. His heart pounded painfully and hunger gnawed at his innards.
What happened? asked Saphira.
Eragon shook his head, still in shock from the drain on his body's reserves. He was glad that he had not tried to transmute anything larger. This... this won't work, he said. I don't even have the strength to give myself a drink.
You should have been more careful, she chided. Magic can yield unexpected results when the ancient words are combined in new ways.
He glared at her. I know that, but this was the only way I could test my idea. I wasn't going to wait until we were in the desert! He reminded himself that she was only trying to help. How did you turn Brom's grave into diamond without killing yourself? I can barely handle a bit of dirt, much less all that sandstone.
I don't know how I did it, Saphira said with a little aggression in her voice, her emotions were already all over the place after Daemon left them, she didn't need shouted at right now. It just happened.
Could you do it again, but this time make water?
Eragon, She said, looking him squarely in the face. I've no more control over my abilities than a spider does. Things like that occur whether I will them or not. Brom told you that unusual events happen around dragons. He spoke truly. He gave no explanation for it, nor do I have one. Sometimes I can work changes just by feel, almost without thought. The rest of the time—like right now—I'm as powerless as Snowfire!
You're never powerless, he said softly, putting a hand on her neck.
I couldn't stop Daemon from leaving us. She whispered softly.
I doubt any of us could, he's stubborn. Eragon said grimly, knowing from his memories that when Daemon is dead-set on something, he will not stop pursuing it. He crossed his arms and glared at the ground. Almost against his will, his eyes flicked back to where he had gouged the earth. He straightened, surprised. Though the ground was dry, the furrow he had made was lined with moisture. Curious, he scraped away more dirt and found a damp layer a few inches under the surface. "Look at this!" he said excitedly.
Saphira lowered her nose to his discovery. How does this help us? Water in the desert is sure to be buried so deeply we would have to dig for weeks to find it.
Yes, said Eragon delightedly, but as long as it's there, I can get it. Watch! He deepened the hole, then mentally accessed the magic. Instead of changing the dirt into water, he simply summoned forth the moisture that was already in the earth. With a faint trickle, water rushed into the hole. He smiled and sipped from it. The liquid was cool and pure, perfect for drinking. See! We can get all we need.
Saphira sniffed the pool. Here, yes. But in the desert? There may not be enough water in the ground for you to bring to the surface.
It will work, Eragon assured her. All I'm doing is lifting the water, an easy enough task. As long as it's done slowly, my strength will hold. Even if I have to draw the water from fifty paces down, it won't be a problem. Especially if you help me.
Saphira looked at him dubiously. Are you sure? Think carefully upon your answer, for it will mean our lives if you are wrong.
Eragon hesitated, then said firmly, I'm sure.
Then go tell Murtagh. I will keep watch while you sleep.
But you've stayed up all night like us, he objected. You should rest.
I'll be fine—I'm stronger than you know, she said gently. Her scales rustled as she curled up with a watchful eye turned northward, toward their pursuers. Eragon hugged her, and she hummed deeply, sides vibrating. Go. He lingered, then reluctantly returned to Murtagh. Saphira watched him go, then turned her gaze in the direction Daemon left in. At least, I hope so...
She tried not to picture him, tried not to think of him because it will hurt and fill her with more sadness and despair. But it was hard. Perhaps... he would be the strength she needed to keep going, so she can see him again and have him back with them, with her.
She whispered to the air. Be safe...
Daemon had to admit, being alone after a long time was... odd. Back in Skyrim, he'd stay to a 'lone wolf' image, rarelly letting his friends come with him on hunts or adventures that he deemed easy to do by himself. Sure, they didn't like it but accepted it because Daemon was always like that when he met them. Distant, a loner, preferred to be alone as it allowed him to work better. That did change over the five years since finding out he was Dragonborn, but he still stuck to the lobe wolf here and there, such as when he had came here.
He contemplated shouting for Odahviing, but it could take him days to reach him from Skyrim. He still didn't know how they managed it all those months ago in a short span of time, but he was further now than they had been when they arrived. Plus, the Empire will be on alert and if they spot what appears to be a dragon, they'll shoot Odahviing down, thinking it's... Saphira.
He shook his head as the thought of her invaded his mind. He didn't want to think of her, because doing so would bring that urge to go back to her. He felt like he was being pulled in two directions, the Varden and Saphira. His mind told him this was the way, his heart said differently.
Passing through a small village, and striking a rather intimidating image since he had his hood up which covered his entire face in shadow. It didn't help that he had a black as night horse with red eyes, and the body of a woman slung across the saddle behind him. He's lucky nobody tried to stop him for the villagers ducked into their houses, staying to their business and leaving him to his own.
Mmoving through the woods until he was sure he was far from the village, far from any settlements, Daemon got off Shadowmere and patted his old friend's side. "You'll have to go for a while, old friend. I will be in my dragon form from here on out, but you know I'll call you again... or you'll find me." he chuckled. "You always have a way of finding me, even in places we do not know or have been to."
Shadowmere snorted and iudged his face with his snout. Daemon patted his neck before he carefully took Arya off the saddle, then grabbed the saddlebags from the horse as well as Saphira's saddle. He'll tie them all onto his dragon body and carry them. Shadowmere gave one last neigh, before he galloped off and disappeared into the darkness.
Inhaling deeply, Daemon stripped himself of his clothing until he was just in his pants and shoved the rest of his stuff, including his sword, into one of the saddlebags. Once that was done, he tied Arya to Saphira's saddle, then tied the saddlebags to it before he proceeded to change into his dragon form and shook his massive body to get the feeling of it back. Next came the hard task of tying the saddle to his back with Arya and the saddlebags on it. Somehow, he wasn't even sure how to be honest, he managed it and Arya was safely secured on his back, tied to the saddle.
Spreading his wings, Daemon let out a roar as he took off with a mighty flap of his wings.
A few short leagues away, a sapphire dragoness raised her head and looked skyward, the faint sound of a distant farewell roar whispering in her ears.
And that's it for this chapter.