Answers to reviews:
Spedyalarm: No, they know OF the Dragonborn, but there's no personal history.
Dreagon D. Dragon: You'll have to see how that goes when they do reunite.
Disclaimer: I do not own The Elder Scrolls or The Inheritance Cycle.
Eragon, Murtagh and Saphira forced themselves to rise early in the gray predawn hours. Eragon shivered in the cool air. He looked around, expecting to see Daemon waking up with them only to see no sign of him... and remembered that he had left them last night. Multiple questions of concern filled his mind. Would they meet again? Where will they meet again, the Varden? Will Daemon be okay at the Varden? Before his mind can become too tormented by these questions, he pushed them away. He had to focus on getting himself and Saphira out of the Empire and across the Hadrac Desert.
Saphira was also trying to keep her mind off of Daemon, saying anything or doming something to distract herself. However, it hadn't been easy. Multiple times during the night, she'd wake up when she didn't feel him against her side and only then would she remember that he left. The dragoness sighed to herself, he wasn't gone a day and she already missed him terribly. She felt Eragon link his mind with hers and they comforted each other. However, she knew they couldn't waste any time. The sooner they can get to the Varden... the sooner she-they can see Daemon again. Shall we go? She asked.
Eragon repeated her question to Murtagh who smirked. He glanced back the way they had come, where smoke from soldiers' camps was clearly visible, and said, "I always did like races."
"And now we are in one for our lives!"
Murtagh swung into Tornac's saddle and trotted out of the camp. Eragon followed close behind on Snowfire. Saphira jumped into the air but flew low to the ground to avoid being seen by the soldiers. In this fashion, the three of them made their way southeast toward the distant Hadarac Desert.
Eragon kept a quick eye out for pursuers as he rode. His mind repeatedly wandered back to past events, actually thinking about the journey he's been on since leaving Carvahall al those months ago. It struck him that if he ever returned to Carvahall, he would have a hard time convincing anyone that his adventures had actually occurred.
For the rest of the day, Eragon and Murtagh sped through the land, ignoring discomfort and fatigue. They drove the horses as hard as they could without killing them. Sometimes they dismounted and ran on foot to give Tornac and Snowfire a rest. Only twice did they stop—both times to let the horses eat and drink.
Though the soldiers of Gil'ead were far behind now, Eragon and Murtagh found themselves having to avoid new soldiers every time they passed a town or village. Somehow the alarm had been sent ahead of them. Twice they were nearly ambushed along the trail, escaping only because Saphira happened to smell the men ahead of them. After the second incident, they avoided the trail entirely.
Dusk softened the countryside as evening drew a black cloak across the sky. Through the night they traveled, relentlessly pacing out the miles. In the deepest hours of night, the ground rose beneath them to form low cactus-dotted hills.
Murtagh pointed forward. "There's a town, Bullridge, some leagues ahead that we must bypass. They're sure to have soldiers watching for us. We should try to slip past them now while it's dark."
After three hours they saw the straw-yellow lanterns of Bullridge. A web of soldiers patrolled between watch fires scattered around the town. Eragon and Murtagh muffled their sword sheaths and carefully dismounted. They led the horses in a wide detour around Bullridge, listening attentively to avoid stumbling on an encampment.
With the town behind them, Eragon relaxed slightly. Daybreak finally flooded the sky with a delicate blush and warmed the chilly night air. They halted on the crest of a hill to observe their surroundings. The Ramr River was to their left, but it was also five miles to their right. The river continued south for several leagues, then doubled back on itself in a narrow loop before curving west. They had covered over sixteen leagues in one day.
Eragon leaned against Snowfire's neck, happy with the distance they had gone. "Let's find a gully or hollow where we can sleep undisturbed." They stopped at a small stand of juniper trees and laid their blankets beneath them.
"I'll take the first watch and wake you at midmorning," said Murtagh, setting his bare sword across his knees. Eragon mumbled his assent and pulled the blankets over his shoulders. Saphira came over and curled around him to keep him warm, her tail curling around him and pulling him close. He could feel what she was feeling. she did it to comfort him... and herself Her mind kept drifting to their missing companion, and he understood because it was the same for him.
Eragon merely scratched her chin as she came to rest her head close to him. I miss him, little one.
So do I, Saphira. Eragon replied, staring out at the Beor Mountains. So do I...
That's when I found out I was Dragonborn. Daemon said to himself, seemingly, but really he was talking to the unresponsive elf strapped to his back while he flew. Of course, all he had was silence but a part of him believed that somehow Arya was listening and hearing his words. It helped him in keeping distracted, as well as focused on his goal. He did like to talk about his adventures, and he had a feeling Arya would ask him about it whenever she'd awaken and see him again. Or maybe he was just being stupid and talking to himself right now.
Since he had taken off from the outskirts of the village he passed through, he had flown without stopping until the very early hours into the morning where he had to tend to his needs such as hunger and thirst. He made sure to gouge himself on an animal that will keep him fill for the next couple of weeks since dragons can go several weeks without food, as well as several weeks without sleep. After he had eaten his prey, Demon found a nearby stream to wash off the blood and take long gulps to satisfy his thirst.
Once that was done, and he was well fed and drank, he took off back into the air to continue his journey to the Varden. It occurred to him that he had managed to cover quite a lot of ground with his speed Below him, he could see the snaking profile of the Ramr River, and he used that to point him in the direction of the upcoming Hadarac Desert. Considering how much faster he was able to traverse distances with his mighty wings, he reasoned that by this nightfall he should at least make it to the sandy expanse.
Hopefully by some point tomorrow, he can reach the Varden or the day after that... if he goes fast enough to the point he exhausts himself. But then that would mean he'd need one night of sleeping, then go without it in the coming days to ensure he'd get to the Varden earlier than he expects. If he does get there, and they accept him in, then he could safely rest for days until his companions would catch up.
As the sun began to set later on, the first sign of nightfall, Daemon felt the air change. It became dryer and warmer, and his sensitive nose could smell nothing but sand and scrappy clumps of grass for leagues around. He was out of the Hadrac Desert!
Not to far now. Daemon said to Arya, even though she wouldn't respond. Sighing, the Dragonborn flew down to the ground to get in one night of sleep before he'd push himself to his limit tomorrow.
However, sleep did not come easily for the silver dragon. Daemon huffed, turned, snorted even growled at his predicament. No matter how much he tried, he could not get comfortable enough to sleep. There was an itch at the back of his mind, one that would not go away. He knew what it was, a feeling he hadn't felt in a very long time, not since the death of his father and his siblings went off to pursue their own lives.
Loneliness.
He inhaled then let out an exhale that sounded more like a growl, when suddenly something invaded his nostrils and he snorted, lifting his head up in confusion. He took a deep sniff of the air, trying to locate this strange new smell with his incredible sense of smell. Being a dragon, his senses were far more heightened and better than they were as a man. And as he tried to locate the source of this new scent, he found it was quite a nice scent... he was just annoyed he couldn't find where it's coming from.
Turning his head, he followed the scent in the directing that it was getting stronger in, not stopping... not until his nose bumped into Saphira's saddle on his back where the smell came at it's strongest, invading his nose and giving him the smell of cinnamon but with the added hint of wild berries. Of course, due to it being her saddle, it would have her scent on it... and it smelled so good that Daemon found himself nuzzling the saddle, inhaling more of the wonderful scent.
He snapped his eyes open and looked in a direction, feeling ready to surge to his feet and fly back to her but he wrestled with himself and his instincts, forcing himself to stay where he was and he growled.
Thinking about her brought up the subject of his evolving feelings for her. They had agreed to remain friends for now, but he couldn't stop ignoring the way his heart sped up at just the thought of her, the sensation he'd feel around her whenever she's laugh, give a fanged smile, nuzzle her body against his, lay with him. He almost slumped in shock as he realized what his heart was trying to tell him, what he should've known a while back.
He was falling in love... He has falling in love with Saphira.
He was in love with Saphira...
Well... that's new. Daemon thought, feeling more... relaxed that he had admitted it to himself. Being the Dragoborn, Daemon had many women trying to be with him, to be his wife and mother of his children, but he rejected them all, knowing they only wanted to be with him because he was the Dragonborn and he didn't want that in a relationship. he wanted someone to see him for just him, not the legendary hero that slayed the World-Eater, that killed Harkon and stopped the Vampire problem, destroyed the First Dragonborn, ended the civil war between the Imperials and the Stormcloaks, became leader of the College of Winterhold, the Companions, the Dark Brotherhood and the Thieves Guild, was Thane of several different holds around Skyrim. All of that... is why women wanted to be with him, not for him alone. He had tried to find love, but it never worked out.
He will admit he did have something of an affection for Aela when he first met her, but those feelings changed to him loving her as a sister. There was that brief fling he had with Camilla Valerius in Riverwood, but that had just been one night and that was it. They never saw each other again afterwards. There was Astrid, but she had a husband even if a selfish part of Daemon wanted her regardless. And it didn't help that Astrid seduced him to keep him subservient to her before he learned of her betrayal. That had stung and hurt hard. and he had no desire to try and find love again... and then he met Serena. He had to admit, she did make him move on from Astrid and he found himself attracted to her, but refused to act on those feeling and they slowly faded from him, seeing her only as a friend. throughout it all, he did feel... unsatisfied, like a part of him didn't find satisfaction with mortal women.
It now occurred to him that it had been his dragon side, growling at the thought of being with a mortal woman for a mate. Mortals age and die, while he would forever stay the same because of him having the blood of a dragon within.. He had the lifespan of a dragon, so any lover he'd take on would just grow old and die before his very eyes while he would stay young. And it now occurred to him how much of a bad love life he's had, never found the right woman, the right female.
Not until Saphira... A part of himself whispered to him.
Daemon merely growled and tried to sleep, but Saphira was now at the front of his mind, refusing to leave, and the scent drifted off her saddle and into his nostrils, taunting him. Daemon turned his head and stared at the saddle before he buried his nose into it and inhaled the scent, finding himself relaxing and sleep finally coming to claim him. Before he fully succumb to it, the sapphire dragoness was all he thought about as an image of her appeared in his mind.
I'll tell her when I see her again. Daemon thought as his eyes closed. I'll tell her that I love her...
Nightfall found them worn and drowsy but determined to continue. They headed through the hills, avoiding the tops for fear of being spotted by sentries. Saphira stayed with them on the ground for the same reason. Despite her bulk, she was stealthy; only her tail could be heard scraping over the ground, like a thick blue snake.
Eventually the sky brightened in the east. The morning star Aiedail appeared as they reached the edge of a steep bank covered with mounds of brush. Water roared below as it tore over boulders and sluiced through branches.
"The Ramr!" said Eragon over the noise.
Murtagh nodded. "Yes! We have to find a place to ford safely."
That isn't necessary, said Saphira. I can carry you across, no matter how wide the river is.
Eragon looked up at her blue-gray form. What about the horses? We can't leave them behind. They're too heavy for you to lift.
As long as you're not on them and they don't struggle too much, I'm sure that I can carry them. If I can dodge arrows with three people on my back, I can certainly fly a horse in a straight line over a river.
I believe you, but let's not attempt it unless we have to. It's too dangerous.
She clambered down the embankment. We can't afford to squander time here.
Eragon followed her, leading Snowfire. The bank came to an abrupt end at the Ramr, where the river ran dark and swift. White mist wafted up from the water, like blood steaming in winter. It was impossible to see the far side. Murtagh tossed a branch into the torrent and watched it race away, bobbing on the rough water.
"How deep do you think it is?" asked Eragon.
"I can't tell," said Murtagh, worry coloring his voice. "Can you see how far across it is with magic?"
"I don't think so, not without lighting up this place like a beacon."
With a gust of air, Saphira took off and soared over the Ramr. After a short time, she said, I'm on the other bank. The river is over a half-mile wide. You couldn't have chosen a worse place to cross; the Ramr bends at this point and is at its widest.
"A half-mile!" exclaimed Eragon. He told Murtagh about Saphira's offer to fly them.
"I'd rather not try it, for the horses' sake. Tornac isn't as accustomed to Saphira as Snowfire. He might panic and injure them both. Ask Saphira to look for shallows where we can swim over safely. If there aren't any within a mile in either direction, then I suppose she can ferry us."
At Eragon's request, Saphira agreed to search for a ford. While she explored, they hunkered next to the horses and ate dry bread. It was not long before Saphira returned, her velvet wings whispering in the early dawn sky. The water is both deep and strong, upstream as well as downstream.
Once he was told, Murtagh said, "I'd better go over first, so I can watch the horses." He scrambled onto Saphira's saddle. "Be careful with Tornac. I've had him for many years. I don't want anything to happen to him." Then Saphira took off.
When she returned, Eragon led Tornac to Saphira, ignoring the horse's low whinnies. Saphira reared back on her haunches to grasp the horse around the belly with her forelegs. Eragon eyed her formidable claws and said, "Wait!" He repositioned Tornac's saddle blanket, strapping it to the horse's belly so it protected his soft underside, then gestured for Saphira to proceed.
Tornac snorted in fright and tried to bolt when Saphira's forelegs clamped around his sides, but she held him tightly. The horse rolled his eyes wildly, the whites rimming his dilated pupils. Eragon tried to gentle Tornac with his mind, but the horse's panic resisted his touch. Before Tornac could try to escape again, Saphira jumped skyward, her hind legs thrusting with such force that her claws gouged the rocks underneath. Her wings strained furiously, struggling to lift the enormous load. For a moment it seemed she would fall back to the ground. Then, with a lunge, she shot into the air. Tornac screamed in terror, kicking and tossing. It was a terrible sound, like screeching metal.
Eragon swore, wondering if anyone was close enough to hear. You'd better hurry, Saphira. He listened for soldiers as he waited, scanning the inky landscape for the telltale flash of torches. It soon met his eye in a line of horsemen sliding down a bluff almost a league away.
As Saphira landed, Eragon brought Snowfire to her. Murtagh's silly animal is in hysterics. He had to tie Tornac down to prevent him from running away. She gripped Snowfire and carried him off, ignoring the horse's trumpeted protestations. Eragon watched her go, feeling lonely in the night. The horsemen were only a mile away.
Finally Saphira came for him, and they were soon on firm ground once more, with the Ramr to their backs. Once the horses were calmed and the saddles readjusted, they resumed their flight toward the Beor Mountains. The air filled with the calls of birds waking to a new day.
Eragon dozed even when walking. He was barely aware that Murtagh was just as drowsy. There were times when neither of them guided the horses, and it was only Saphira's vigilance that kept them on course. He could feel she was tired as well, but she pushed herself to ignore it, determined to reach their destination and see her silver friend again.
Eventually the ground became soft and gave way under their feet, forcing them to halt. The sun was high overhead. The Ramr River was no more than a fuzzy line behind them.
They had reached the Hadarac Desert.
A vast expanse of dunes spread to the horizon like ripples on an ocean. Bursts of wind twirled the reddish gold sand into the air. Scraggly trees grew on scattered patches of solid ground—ground any farmer would have declared unfit for crops. Rising in the distance was a line of purple crags. The imposing desolation was barren of any animals except for a bird gliding on the zephyrs.
"You're sure we'll find food for the horses out there?" queried Eragon, slurring his words. The hot, dry air stung his throat.
"See those?" asked Murtagh, indicating the crags. "Grass grows around them. It's short and tough, but the horses will find it sufficient."
"I hope you're right," said Eragon, squinting at the sun. "Before we continue, let's rest. My mind is slow as a snail, and I can barely move my legs."
They ate, then lay in the shadow of a dune for a nap. As Eragon settled into the sand, Saphira coiled up next to him and spread her wings over them. This is a wondrous place, she said. I could spend years here and not notice the passing time.
Eragon closed his eyes. It would be a nice place to fly, he agreed drowsily.
Not only that, I feel as though I was made for this desert. It has the space I need, mountains where I could roost, and camouflaged prey that I could spend days hunting. And the warmth! Cold does not disturb me, but this heat makes me feel alive and full of energy. She craned her head toward the sky, stretching happily.
You like it that much? mumbled Eragon.
Yes.
Then when this is all done, perhaps we can return... All of us. He drifted into slumber even as he spoke. Saphira was pleased and hummed gently while he and Murtagh rested.
They slept just long enough to clear their minds and rest the horses. No soldiers could be seen to the rear, but that did not lull them into slowing their pace. They knew that the Empire would keep searching until they were far beyond the king's reach. Eragon said, "Couriers must have carried news of my escape to Galbatorix. He would have alerted the Ra'zac. They're sure to be on our trail by now. It'll take them a while to catch us even by flying, but we should be ready for them at all times."
And this time they will find I am not so easily bound with chains, Saphira said with a growl.
Murtagh scratched his chin. "I hope they won't be able to follow us past Bullridge. The Ramr was an effective way to lose pursuers; there's a good chance our tracks won't be found again."
"Something to hope for indeed," Eragon nodded. "I place no faith in luck right now, though. The Ra'zac could be on our trail even as we speak."
At sunset they arrived at the crags they had viewed from afar that morning. The imposing stone bluffs towered over them, casting thin shadows. The surrounding area was free of dunes for a half mile. Heat assailed Eragon like a physical blow as he dismounted Snowfire onto the baked, cracked ground. The back of his neck and his face were sunburned; his skin was hot and feverish.
After picketing the horses where they could nibble the sparse grass, Murtagh started a small fire. "How far do you think we went?" Eragon asked.
"I don't know!" snapped Murtagh. His skin was red, his eyes bloodshot. He picked up a pot and muttered a curse. "We don't have enough water. And the horses have to drink."
Eragon was just as irritated by the heat and dryness, but he held his temper in check. "Bring the horses." Saphira dug a hole for him with her claws, then he closed his eyes, releasing the spell. Though the ground was parched, there was enough moisture for the plants to live on and enough for him to fill the hole several times over.
Murtagh refilled the waterskins as water pooled in the hole, then stood aside and let the horses drink. The thirsty animals quaffed gallons. Eragon was forced to draw the liquid from ever deeper in the earth to satisfy their desire. It taxed his strength to the limit. When the horses were finally sated, he said to Saphira, If you need a drink, take it now. Her head snaked around him and she took two long draughts, but no more.
Before letting the water flow back into the ground, Eragon gulped down as much as he could, then watched the last drops melt back into the dirt. Holding the water on the surface was harder than he had expected. But at least it's within my abilities, he reflected, remembering with some amusement how he had once struggled to lift even a pebble.
As night came, they settled down to sleep. Saphira and Murtagh were quick to fall asleep, but Eragon didn't join them right away as he tried to get comfortable while resting against Saphira's side. His mind was once again filled with worry about Daemon, if he was okay, if he and Arya were any closer to the Varden. But his attention soon shifted when he heard growls and discomforting sounds come from Saphira. He looked at her and saw her expression tighten to a grimace.
This was nothing new. Ever since Daemon left, Saphira had not been able to sleep properly. At times, Eragon would see her reaching out, like she was trying to grab someone or trop them. Eragon wished he could help her, because he knew Daemon's absense was affecting her greatly and that brought him back to a subject he had not thought about since before Brom's death. The growing relationship between Daemon and Saphira.
He had suspected something was going on between them, that they were much closer than ever, especially after their talk at Leona Lake. He knew it wasn't a romantic relationship, but something told him that they had those kind of feelings for each other as time passed. And Eragon... found himself approving. Saphira and Daemon were the only free dragons in the land, and Eragon could think of no other male for Saphira to be with than Daemon, his best friend, his brother in all but blood. He knew Daemon would take care of her and Eragon would approve of the relationship between them.
But right now, he had to try and calm Saphira down to sleep peacefully then he could get his own peaceful sleep. He connected his mind to hers and a whimpering voice came as Saphira spoke in her sleep. Don't leave me... come back...
Returning to his own mind, Eragon fought to keep the tears from rolling down his face. Eragon looked around, wanting to prove his suspicions, and soon spotted one of Daemon's old shirts hanging out of one of Eragon's saddlebags. Walking over, Eragon took it and came over to Saphira's head, but hesitated. If he did this... then his suspicions would be proven correct, but he'd approve anyway. with that in mind, he crouched down and placed the shirt against Saphira's nose.
Instantly, the dragoness inhaled the scent drifting off it, recognizing it as that of her silver friend and Eragon watched as her body relaxed and slackened, with her even nuzzling the garment with a small hum. Ergaon smiled at the sight and left the shirt there for her, to keep her relaxed and he went back to his position at her side. As soon as he sat down, Saphira curled her tail around him and he felt waves of gratitude and love from her, thanking him for what he did and he returned the feelings, rubbing her side gently before he settled in to sleep.
While Eragon and the others had their first night in the Hadarac Desert, Daemon was leaving it. He had woken in high spirts and was eager to get going, must've had something to do with Saphira's scent he suspected. He had taken another gulp from a river and hunted for breakfast because he had vowed, once he was in the air, he would not stop flying nor come down until he was at the entrance to the Varden.
Once his belly had been filled, he spread his wings, made sure Arya was safely secured on his back, then took off with a mighty flap of his wings. he pushed himself to the limit, going as fast as he could. Soon, as midday came, he was flying over grassy knolls and rolling hills. The air became cooler, and he could feel the comforting breeze blowing from the snow-capped peaks high above.
He kept having the images of what Arya showed hi and Eragon pop into his head, so he knew which directions to go in that would lead him to where he has to go. Seeing he was going in the direction he was meant to go, he kept flying. It had been three days since the rescue at Gil'ead and them finding Arya, which meant she had to get to the Varden before tomorrow or she'll die. That in mind, Daemon gave a mighty hard flap of his wings.
He was not stopping for anything this time.
It was freezing when they rose the next day. The sand had a pink hue in the morning light, and the sky was hazy, concealing the horizon. Murtagh's mood had not improved with sleep, and Eragon found his own rapidly deteriorating. During breakfast, he asked, "Do you think it'll be long before we leave the desert?"
Murtagh glowered. "We're only crossing a small section of it, so I can't imagine that it'll take us more than two or three days."
"But look how far we've already come."
"All right, maybe it won't! All I care about right now is getting out of the Hadarac as quickly as possible. What we're doing is hard enough without having to pick sand from our eyes every few minutes."
They finished eating. As they left the camp, a line of dark smudges became visible on the horizon, indistinct in the hazy air. Murtagh thought they were distant hills. Eragon was not convinced, but he could make out no details.
At midday they stopped for a brief rest. When they resumed their journey, Eragon noticed that the haze had thinned since morning, and the distant smudges had gained definition.
No longer were they indistinct purple-blue lumps, but rather broad, forest-covered mounds with clear outlines. The air above them was pale white, bleached of its usual hue—all color seemed to have been leached out of a horizontal band of sky that lay on top of the hills and extended to the horizon's edges.
He stared, puzzled, but the more he tried to make sense of it, the more confused he became. He blinked and shook his head, thinking that it must be some illusion of the desert air. Yet when he opened his eyes, the annoying incongruity was still there. Indeed, the whiteness blanketed half the sky before them. Sure that something was terribly wrong, he started to point this out to Murtagh and Saphira when he suddenly understood what he was seeing.
What they had taken to be hills were actually the bases of gigantic mountains, scores of miles wide. Except for the dense forest along their lower regions, the mountains were entirely covered with snow and ice. It was this that had deceived Eragon into thinking the sky white. He craned back his neck, searching for the peaks, but they were not visible. The mountains stretched up into the sky until they faded from sight. Narrow, jagged valleys with ridges that nearly touched split the mountains like deep gorges. It was like a ragged, toothy wall linking Alagaësia with the heavens.
There's no end to them! he thought, awestruck. Stories that mentioned the Beor Mountains always noted their size, but he had discounted such reports as fanciful embellishments. Now, however, he was forced to acknowledge their authenticity.
Sensing his wonder and surprise, Saphira followed his gaze with her own. Within a few seconds she recognized the mountains for what they were. I feel like a hatchling again. Compared to them, even I feel small!
We must be near the edge of the desert, said Eragon.
Saphira spiraled above the dunes. Yes, but considering the size of those peaks, they could still be fifty leagues from here. It's hard to gauge distances against something so immense. Wouldn't they be a perfect hiding place for the elves or the Varden?
You could hide more than the elves and Varden, he stated. Entire nations could exist in secret there, hidden from the Empire. Imagine living with those behemoths looming over you! He guided Snowfire to Murtagh and pointed, grinning.
"What?" grunted Murtagh, scanning the land.
"Look closely," urged Eragon.
Murtagh peered closely at the horizon. He shrugged. "What, I don't—" The words died in his mouth and gave way to slack-jawed wonder. Murtagh shook his head, muttering, "That's impossible!" He squinted so hard that the corners of his eyes crinkled. He shook his head again. "I knew the Beor Mountains were large, but not that monstrous size!"
"Let's hope the animals that live there aren't in proportion to the mountains," said Eragon lightly.
Murtagh smiled. "It will be good to find some shade and spend a few weeks in leisure. I've had enough of this forced march."
As the day wore on, the Beor Mountains seemed to get no closer, though the landscape changed dramatically. The sand slowly transformed from loose grains of reddish hue to hard-packed, dusky-cream dirt. In place of dunes were ragged patches of plants and deep furrows in the ground where flooding had occurred. A cool breeze wafted through the air, bringing welcome refreshment. The horses sensed the change of climate and hurried forward eagerly.
When evening subdued the sun, the mountains' foothills were a mere league away. Herds of gazelles bounded through lush fields of waving grass. Eragon caught Saphira eyeing them hungrily. They camped by a stream, relieved to be out of the punishing Hadarac Desert.
With a loud thump, Daemon landed and his wings dropped to the ground. He was exhausted from how much he pushed himself, but he felt it was worth it. He shook his head and stared at the waterfall that greeted him, listening to it's roaring sound and watching it hit the rest of the river. Looking through the images Arya showed him and Eragon, he remembered that there was a entrance beside the waterfall, in the rocky walls, and a phrase would ne needed to enter. But they would need to have their call be heard.
So that in mind, Daemon swung his tail and slammed it against the rocky wall, then shouted. with his mind, Ai fricai abr du Varden gata vanta! A friend of the Varden seeks passage! He roared with his powerful lungs to further illustrate his needs. After a few tense moments, nothing happened. He pounded the rocky face with his tail again and repeated the message. Nothing.
Daemon growled and was ready to do it a third time, and if that didn't work he'd force it down with the Thu;um. However, his keen eyes, beyond human ability, caught sight of movement that no human eyes would have been able to catch. Men were hidden above, armed with bows and arrows, of which were aimed at him. He growled lowly at the threat, raising his wings to keep Arya covered and protected from any arrow that may come close to hitting her. Before things could turn to bloodshed, another sound came. This one was a scraping sound like a rock being dragged hard along the floor. He looked and saw two massive stone doors opening in the cliff face, and he could see a tunnel leading into the mountain. He saw the light from torches reflect of a smooth, pale surface in front of him, and a cold, condescending voice reached his ears.
"Well now...this is a surprise..."
And so, Daemon reaches the Varden ahead of Eragon and the others. And now he has to deal with one of the Twins, which is not gonna be easy or pretty because... well, Daemon's still got that draconic pride.