The Knife's Edge

Eragon slowly strode over to the elves standing by the foreshore of the humongous inland sea which they had just crossed, in total it had taken them over a week and a half to cross the sea, and that was with the wind to their backs the whole time. For Saphira it had been a week and a half of utter boredom, the Talita was hardly big enough to support her frame let alone mass, any landing had to be carefully calibrated to ensure that the Talita would not capsize, which would be disastrous and could potentially spell the end of the dragon rider order. She was very tired and it was only through sheer luck they had avoided any bad weather, which would have made life extremely difficult.

Every part of his body ached from his training routine, he had bruises all over his body, his head hurt from everything that he had to learn and he could hardly lift his arms by the end of the day. The worst bit he thought was the burning sensation from all of the stretching that he had to do. Now he was even more wary of doing strenuous exercise than before the Blood-Oath celebration, when his back had been killing him. Now they were expected to sail up a rapidly flowing river, even though the wind was at their back it was almost certainly going to demand the use of oars, which were stashed whereabouts unknown. Everyone was going to have to take shifts, worse yet, the Eldunari refused to grant their strength as it was still recovering. The next week would be one hell of a time, Eragon had his doubts, and so he thought, did the other elves, but they kept whatever they were thinking to themselves.

*(A/N: Used to signal the passage of time, *** dictates a change of POV)

As he started his session with the oars he though back over how the two weeks had progressed since they had left Hedarth, well actually since Arya and Firnen had left them. He had not expected that they would find a destroyed city, a humongous lake and documents dating back to Du Fyrn Skulblaka. As of yet the elves had not decoded all of the documents, but the ones they had decoded the only one that gave anyone interest was a map of Alalea and a huge unfinished map of Alagaesia and the surrounding area. Most of the map was familiar to Eragon but there were a few things that stood out. One being that above Alagaesia was the forest, which was Du Weldenvarden, stretched all the way out to the top of the map. To the left the coast suddenly jutted out and strangely there was an unshaded place, close to where Murtagh was, marked with El Harim and a large question mark. Another point of interest near the place where Murtagh might have settled down was the word for fear in the ancient language coupled with a drawing of a small building. All in all, it would appear to be shaping up an interesting time for Murtagh. But that was not all; there was no sign of land beyond Vroengard even though he knew there was, in the south beyond the Beors lay what appeared to be an extent of some great plains and on his side of the map there was a strange river that forked, half of its water going to the inland sea which he assumed where they had been a few days ago, and the other half going to a 50 league wide stretch of sea. This sea was marked with a drawing of a human skull, which he assumed to mean that it was dangerous. Beyond this stretch of sea was a dotted line indicating that there might be a stretch of land, but this too like El Harim was marked with a question mark.

He hoped that they would find a place to raise the dragons within the next two months; it had already been a month and he did not want to be too far from Alagaesia, otherwise their apprentices might get lost, despite the numerous magical beacons which he had placed and yet to place. According to the map they were still a few days away from the fork in the river, although he did not think it was strange but the older, wiser elves told him that it was strange to find a river, or for that matter a creek or stream, that split in half, normally they combined to form a single, big river. From there it would be another week before they got to the actual sea, and judging from the map another week before they could reach the other side of the stretch of sea.

In addition to the session at the oars, he also had to still continue with his training which made him more tired than ever, and now in the evenings he hardly could stand up straight and think coherently, yet the Eldunari continued to push him further. Even Saphira had objected to the extreme training he was subjected too, but it was no use they didn't budge. He could now hold off Umaroth for a few minutes, but his strength, cunning and experience made him too good a match. And once he could it would be no picnic, when he would be able to hold off Umaroth consistently even if he couldn't defeat him, Glaedr told him that he would then join Umaroth's side. He now sparred with two elves at the same time or sparred with Blodhgarm who was a master with a blade. He did not just spar with swords, but a range of other weapons. The one weapon where he was least experienced with was not a Mace or a club as he thought he would be, but rather actually his fists. The elves were a lot better at using their body as a weapon, consequences of growing up with almost infinite time on their hands. His balance and flexibility were neither close to that of the elves and thus he suffered when it came to things that required precision feats.

Standing at the prow of the ship he watched the landscape slowly glide by in the golden glow of the aftermath of the suns descent towards the horizon. On either side of the river, were a thick line of trees that all but obscured the view of the surrounding landscape. Although according to Saphira, this line of trees only extend a third of a league from either side of the river banks, beyond those trees were grassy hills and knolls, stretching into the distance as far as the eye could see, or more accurately, Saphira's eye could see. Looking down he watched as the bow of the Talita smoothly cut the rapidly flowing water in half, if he closed his eyes and concentrated hard enough he could hear the slight slap as the oars hit the water behind him. At the moment there was no wind at all, so they had had to double the number of elves rowing and shorten the shifts, which made everything that little bit more hectic. Looking back at the rest of the Talita, he saw that most of the elves were either sleeping or standing like stone statues watching with glazed eyes at the landscape passing beneath their fiery gazes. To Eragon this indicated that that they were reflecting on the fact that they were going further and further away from their beloved forest, Du Weldenvarden, with every yard the ship flew across the water.

They stood on the edge of knife with every decision they had to make, one wrong move or decision and everything could collapse. For example a few days ago the elves had expressed their uneasiness at crossing the stretch of sea which was marked with a danger side, and they also questioned the wisdom of forcing the young dragons, that would eventually hatch, and their riders to cross an apparently dangerous stretch of sea. This had put them at loggerheads with the Eldunari, which had thought it was necessary for them to seek a safe place far from human, elven, dwarven and Urgal influence. According to them by definition, it included crossing a sea deemed dangerous enough to be marked on an ancient map, so that any person, whether they were a magician or not, would have a hard time reaching their dragon settlement, and would also think twice about trying to attempt their voyage. In the end the Eldunari had won out, but they had also agreed that it would be necessary for a dragon, whether it be wild or tame, to escort them over the passage of the sea. The main thing was that it highlighted the decisions that they would have to make, which would ultimately affect many people.

Arya stood and watched as the elves continuously sung, their voices carrying away to the heavens, setting all the birds in a mile radius up in delight. It was nice having a break from singing, her voice was hoarse but she could not even begin to comprehend how the elves that had started singing before her were able to cope. Her meeting with the other elven leaders, Dathedr and Fiolr among them, through scrying mirrors allowed her to rest her parched throat and drink some soothing water. The leaders were spread out through the forest's borders to direct the elves and to make sure that nothing went amiss. So far it was going well, they had completed almost completed the first part, which was the enchantment to draw strength from the forest and the land. But then again, they did have about 10 more parts to finish, which would take them, if they went right on schedule, a month.

Thankfully they did not have to do all the enchantments at once which had allowed them to schedule regular breaks, the first of which was coming up in the next few hours. It had taken a few days for the elven leaders to delve into the libraries in all of their cities and unearth the documents dating back thousands of years to the time when the dragons and elves had just finished their war and when Rhunon-elda was still young. This was no easy task however as the combined amount of documents they had to sort through was massive, and they could not get regular elves to help as some of the information contained within the sacred documents should only be seen by people who have no intent in using them, such as dangerous spells. This was also not helped by the fact that since it was so long ago they actually had use for the documents they did not know what they were written specifically about and therefore were not able to summon them with magic, no matter how hard they tried or the words and phrases they directed their search using.

Her partner, Firnen, was flying barrels of water to specific spots along the edge of the forest as to provide some relief to the elves, for that she was grateful, firstly it would raise their respect for her dragon, and thus herself, which was all the more needed in these trying times, and secondly it would make their efforts go all the more faster and successful. He was also, through his own volition, lending his strength to the elves that were on the verge of collapse. Firnen was like a welcome home gift from Du Weldenvarden for her success in surviving the numerous battles which she had participated in and for also sacrificing her personal feelings, needs and wants for the betterment of people. He was sorely needed when he had hatched for she was a broken person inside. Although she did not think before the death of her sole remaining member of her family would affect her. Afterwards she had realised that much of her feelings for the Queen were positive, even if her queen didn't share them. She was surprised when the queen, correcting herself 'mother', had died she felt a deep loss, to her it seemed unfair as it would have been to Jeod when he had seen Brom and then in a flash he was gone, but this time he was actually dead.

It was like living with the Varden when she had joined the elven army; people you had known for innumerable years had died in an instant. Yet the Varden had been there all along fighting for what they believed in, all those brave men and women dying from things that should not have happened, there they were, risking their short lives for true freedom while the elves cowered in their forest. She had met many good people in the Varden and she would never forget them as long as she lived, which could be thousands of years, even as their ancestors fickle memories forgot about them. But she did not begrudge humans for what they did, as Eragon had once said, they did the best with what they were given. At first she had rebuffed him, but the more the idea wormed its way into her mind, forcing her to think about it, the more she realised he was right, humans did an awful lot more with what they were given relative to the elves, and to a lesser extent the dwarves.

Orik surveyed the ruins of Orthiad, or Ithro Zhada as they thought of it when faced with a massed Urgal army. He lamented of what had become of this once beautiful city, it was sad to see the Dwarven cities so empty, many had died in the battles over the years and many had decided to not have children with the looming resource crisis's they had had over the past hundred years. The stone had weathered significantly since they had abandoned this place, moss and lichen and many other unknown plants which Orik knew not the names of were growing upon the weathered stones. Although he was sure if he bothered to ask around, or Eragon was here, he would soon find out.

While many of the buildings were still standing, a testimony to dwarven building skills, they had lost much of the fine details which were carved in to the blocks. Once upon a time stories about the ages would have been inscribed on the numerous stone walls but they had faded away into Oblivion. Maybe once they had had enough Dwarves they could repopulate this place and turn it into something spectacular, although maybe containing a few defences to stop dragons from attacking. Not that there would be any of those ever again, or so Eragon had assured him, but you could never be careful around Dragons, knowing Saphira he had deemed it more than likely for a dragon to suddenly lose their temper and in their foul mood destroy buildings, whether intentional or not. After all Dragons were very fierce and strong, not a good combination for those trying to make accommodate them.

From observing Thorn, albeit from a distance, Firnen and Saphira, he had concluded that strangely, female dragons were a lot more ferocious than male dragons. Not that he had much to fear from dragons now, with the only dragon still in Alagaesia to his knowledge was Firnen, and even then he was a few hundred leagues away, almost as far away as Eragon was, or where he was supposed Eragon was. Dwarven maps were not very accurate beyond their own kingdom and more so beyond the borders of Alagaesia, he could only guess at the path Eragon had taken, although he was following a river, that much he knew. The only races he knew that would have a more accurate knowledge of the area's outside Alagaesia were elves and probably the Eldunari, for the wild dragons must have travelled across much of the land in search for isolation and a good place to hunt. It would be preposterous to propose that the only good hunting locations were in Alagaesia.

Turning his head he watched as the dwarves marched slowly by, carrying the magician, who was half eaten by the now dead Raz'ac, lying on a long slap of stone, salvaged from the ruins. The slab and the dwarf were so heavy that they required four knurlan to carry it, one at each corner. Even still, it was preceding at a very slow pace, out of respect or because it was so heavy, he did not know, but he had no doubt that the four knurlan carrying the stone slab were very strong. The dwarven magician himself was very much dead as well. He faced a dilemma of what to do with his situation regarding the dwarven magician. On one hand the dwarven magician had obviously helped the Raz'ac live for much longer and allowed the monstrosity to kill numerous dwarves and humans alike, but the tortures that the Raz'ac had probably subjected him to were beyond contemplation to all those not having experienced it first-hand. He wondered what he would tell those in his letter to those who cared for him. A handy escape would be to tell the dead magicians fellow magicians to explain his death but this did not seem right. Neither could he punish the corp of magicians for their folly in allowing one of their brethren, a knurlan by blood and friend, to be dragged of by one of the most evil creatures in Alagaesia, if not the most. First it would alienate them from his rule and that could someday prove to be a costly mistake, secondly he needed all the magicians he could get to defeat the dwarven shade if it ever decided to pay a visit, not that it would make a timely appearance when all of his magicians were gathered in one place. Thirdly, they had not meant any harm, anyone would have been exuberant had they managed to kill a raz'ac.

The way they had defeated the Raz'ac or so he had been told, was that the humans and dwarves split up into 10 man teams, the magicians split between them. They then conducted a magical search using a spell that the lead magician had contrived. It had tracked the dwarven magician not the Raz'ac itself, as the Raz'ac was undetectable by magic of any sort, Orik knew not how but he did not question those more knowledgeable in the arcane arts than himself. After the groups had tracked the Raz'ac and his lonely cohort throughout the mountains for 10 days, two groups finally found the outlaws hiding away in a cave hoping to be missed by the searching humans and dwarves. By which time the other threat, the dwarven shade, was no longer be able to be seen and Orik had decided to embark on a journey to Orthiad to deal with the unpleasant situation from there. Just as one of the groups was about to wrest the Raz'ac of his dwarven prize and deal him a mortal blow, another group turned up and then they attacked together.

According to his sources, the Raz'ac fought with the strength of 10 men but he was eventually killed by a blow to the head with an axe. This mighty feat had been done by one of the few remaining member of the two groups. The sad thing was, before the raz'ac had died, he had time, in one final act of evil to turn his weapon on the dwarven magician, whom he had abducted, and to smite him in the head, delivering him to death's kingdom with a simple act of desperate murder. What a terrible ending to the tale he had thought; things were never happily ever after there was always something to darken the day, the trick he had thought, was to live in the positive. The dwarf, the one he now knew as Hefthyn, reminded him of Eragon. Both had survived numerous bad things but life had a way of dealing underhand blows to the most deserving of people. Eragon by being forced to leave, despite killing one of the most powerful, evil, people the land had ever seen. The dwarf being cruelly killed when he was almost saved. Thankfully, overall there had only been 10 killed and the same amount of injured, although many critical enough that they had needed immediate magic attention. As he walked to the command tent he admired the comradeship that the humans and dwarves shared, thinking that the only positive lining of this saga apart from killing the Raz'ac was that it reinforced the bond between men and dwarves that they had made during the fighting, well at least some of the men.

A/N Hello again. You will have noticed I posted this early. This is because I felt that I, for want of a better word, pissed off many people with Saphira's POV, I promise I will redo it but not now so I decided to work extra hard on the next chapter. The reason I did it the way I did it was because I needed to distinguish between the way dragons think and humans think.

I will update the POV timeline as well. Thanks for reading, please review and have a good day.