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Thank you all for your encouragement, Readers! Please enjoy this update, and leave reviews as always.

Regards,

karldin.

CHAPTER 18

Varda's breath caught as Arya opened the doors to the Great Library at Tialdari Hall, swinging them open with a single word of command. The Queen's face lit up with a gentle smile as she saw her young charge's absolute delight at the rows of bound tomes that stretched from one side to another, seemingly holding infinity of knowledge. Massive shelves towered from the floor to the high ceiling, lit by Erisdar lanterns at appropriate intervals.

The fair folk sat reading studiously at several tables and strewn across the Great Library, preserving a respectful silence that almost seemed sacred. For several years of her youth this place had been an escape for Arya, those years of gloom and despair as Galbatorix had consolidated his black grip on Alagaesia. Here were contained histories of mythical lands, deep thoughts of centuries and the concerted knowledge of the Elvenkind.

"You may go. Try not to lose yourself among these volumes", she said quietly to the young Rider who she saw was standing stationary only by the smallest thread. Varda nodded quickly, and immediately made off towards the furthest end of the library with a spring in her step. A deep fondness reared in Arya as she saw her momentary apprentice act like the joyful child she truly was.

I can see why Eragon sees her the way he does, she remarked to Firnen, discreetly signalling to the librarian to keep watch on Varda who was diligently trying to grasp the scope of their library. Images of Firnen's mind floated in her mind, images of a magnificent but small white Dragon performing several feats of acrobatics high in the air.

The hatchlings do show considerable talent, mused Firnen in return as they watched their charges through each other's perspectives. Arya walked out of the library and eventually Tialdari hall itself at a leisurely pace, her long raven tresses stirring in the gentle wind that blew through Ellesmera.

Not much longer from now I will be free of this duty, she thought, acknowledging the respectful bows of the elves moving silently about the leafy expanses of Ellesmera. For the sake of necessity she had taken her mother's throne after the Dark King's fall, leading her people through times trying and melancholy. But her heart had cried long and silently for the companionship of the Riders.

She chuckled softly as Firnen's excitement saturated her mind, and a moment later her pale cheeks were flushed pink as her Dragon's amorous thoughts of Saphira rushed through her. Stop, Firnen!, she exclaimed loudly to her Dragon, sighing slightly with relief as the influx of passion stopped.

My apologies, Arya. She is far too beautiful to not appreciate, I fear. My hundred years of endurance was not in vain!

I am happy for you, Firnen, she replied with all her heart as she walked through the tranquil woods of her capital. Du Weldenvarden was home, but her heart was not here anymore. The passing of a hundred years had not dulled the grief of her mother's passing, nor had it soothed the heavy burden of royal duty.

She laid her hand on the bark of a truly ancient oak, as if trying to soak in its ageless tranquillity and acceptance unto herself. How weak I have become, she thought with disdain. What she had experienced was a blissful peace compared to Eragon's sufferings. The habits of a hundred years and more died hard, and she had out of necessity refined the art of controlling the emotions to a rare finesse.

She doubted Eragon would truly understand how proud she was of him, how much she respected him for who he had become. Giving up the most precious love of the heart for one's people…no other act could have endeared Eragon more to her. Here in the privacy of Ellesmera's blissful green forests she could let her eyes fill with tears at her and Eragon's story.

Arya, I must give you the same advice Saphira gave Eragon all those years ago, said Firnen seriously to her. Before she could berate him for the threads of pity running through his thoughts, he continued: You will be hurt if you pursue Eragon. One hundred and twenty years ago, he was the naïve human boy to your wondrous elf-maid. But now things are different. The tables are turned.

I know, said Arya sadly. I know. He has gone beyond anyone's understanding, except Laetri's.

At this thought, uncomfortable and unfamiliar feelings dominated her mind for several moments; she had to clear it with a true effort. Firnen remained silent, observing as she shelved away the strangely burning sensation in the depth of her heart. The leaf covered ground behind her rustled gently, causing her to turn with wariness.

"Yaela?", she asked with surprise. A seed of foreboding grew in her as she saw the anxiety and sorrow in her fellow Rider's eyes. Yaela said nothing, simply gliding forward to take her hand in both of her own. Their eyes closed simultaneously as thought and memory flowed through their link for several seconds, and the wetness in Arya's eyes became even more pronounced.

"Barzul", cursed Arya softly as the tears dried up on her beautiful face. The two Riders stared at each other for a long moment, before Yaela began to speak.

"I contacted Saphira not an hour ago, and this is what she had to show me. Carvahall is safe under strong wards, and Ismira is captured. On the southern front, Nuada has almost reached the spine with his armies. Leya has made garrison within the city of Teirm, securing the coastal lines from invasion."

"And what of him?", asked Arya softly. Yaela shook her head in a worried manner, her calm demeanour breaking completely to show her sorrow.

"He has retreated to Utgard with Laetri, and is healing her even as we speak. I cannot find him with my mind anymore, Arya", she confessed wearily. "I have tried. When I touch Utgard, my mind slides away like water slides away from sloping glass. He is far too skilled for me to find him in such a way."

I do not know how much more he can endure before he breaks again, whispered Fundor in their minds. Arya stood wearily with her hand not leaving the stout trunk of the oak, her mind spiralling with the memories of Eragon's rout of the Urgals. Old thoughts of simply leaving her people to their machinations and returning to her rightful place by his side surfaced, and to deny them once more took almost all the determination she possessed.

"Why is she so careless?" spat Yaela furiously, her eyes flashing with a desperate rage as she paced on the soft loamy forest floor. Arya looked at the infuriated Rider with surprise, watching as Yaela's anger became visible upon her solemnly beautiful features.

"Of whom do you speak?" inquired Arya gently.

Yaela turned abruptly, and Arya saw her consciously stop a sharp reply from stinging the air.

"Laetri", she said quietly. "I speak of Laetri. Eragon-elda depends on her in ways even he cannot understand, Arya. They are bonded in a way deeper than even the bond between Riders and Dragons. It is almost as if they are one! If she had died..."

"You speak of how Sahloknir has two Riders?"

"I do", acknowledged Yaela. "But not only of that-", she paused suddenly, looking deep into Arya's shining green eyes. Arya fought not to break off the gaze between them, she knew Yaela saw deeper than she wanted to reveal.

"Are you sure you wish to know?", asked Yaela gently.

Arya leaned fully against her tree, calming her internal turmoil even as a shaft of sunlight pierced through the salubrious forest's canopy. Even though she had little right to Eragon's personal matters, she wished to know. She wanted to know what was truly happening with him; the explanation she had obtained from the Lead Rider was at best unsatisfactory. In manner, Eragon had learned to fence verbally with even the most manipulative of her people.

For some reason, it saddened her to see Eragon so.

"I wish to know", answered Arya firmly. "I must help him, thus I must understand."

Approval and something else flashed through Yaela's face for an instant, before she nodded her assent.

"Very well", she said. "I will tell you what Laetri has told me, Arya. He has confided to the nine some measure of what he has undergone, and more to Laetri. But I doubt if even Saphira knows everything that happened to him. Sahloknir remembers nothing either…he has developed a deep and pure rage towards spirits, however."

"What you can reveal would be welcome", said Arya quietly. Her green dress glimmered beneath the tree as the shaft of light fell upon her; Yaela reached out with her mind once more, requesting passage into Arya's. Without hesitation the Elf Queen lowered her barriers, letting memories flood into her mind in a familiar torrent.

The waves of the sea washed against the beach with its dreary roar, and the mountains on the island were bathed in a melancholy red twilight. The Island seemed isolated but for the presence of a small hut some distance from the beach.

It was more of a cottage than a hut, and within its space was a small cot containing the prone form of Eragon. His face showed an alien change…something had changed him terribly. His features seemed far too refined even for the Elves, and his hair was a colour of pure burnished silver. It flowed down to his waist, framing his long and pale face.

Eight elves stood around his bed. One knelt at his side, more beautiful than any of her companions. Her hair shone the same silver colour, and her loveliness was rarer than the captured strands of moonlight. As Eragon tossed and turned in his bed and Saphira keened mournfully outside, the elf woman let a single tear flow down her flawless face.

Her hand lay lightly upon Eragon's forehead, and she muttered arcane words of the ancient language in a voice of soft melody. Her companions watched solemnly, many of them shedding tears and wearing expressions of pure sorrow as they saw the spectacle.

Their faces tightened with anxiety as the silver haired elf woman rose from her position, turning to her companions with a despairing expression.

"Laetri", said Blodhgarm softly as he stepped to face her. She was as tall as him.

"Laetri. Tell us what he has done. I can only sense that his being is broken to pieces. Tell us!", he urged. Laetri met their eyes individually, the gravity and awe in her eyes increasing the solemnity of the situation more than was possible.

"Blodhgarm is right", she said in a voice that throbbed with an unutterable regret. "But he does not know how right he is. In trying to heal my Sahloknir, he destroyed a part of his soul completely. Perhaps that is not right…"

The silence in the small room was deafening.

"We all know what Spirits are, yes? We know that Sorcerers draw their strength from the very thing that makes them human. It is our emotions that can hold and conjure spirits, the one thing that adds an unknown dimension to our magical feats. The one thing the spirits cannot comprehend. This we all know well", she said.

She sat on the edge of the bed, her hand almost involuntarily caressing his cheek tenderly. His disturbed sleep calmed somewhat under her touch, and grateful awe filled Laetri's shining blue eyes completely as she looked upon him.

She looked back at them, seeing an inkling of comprehension upon their faces.

"I could glean from his…his mind", she said in a shaking voice. "I could glean that he spent several months with Spirits, his mind is rife with their fell magics. Humans torture inflicts physical…and sometimes debilitating combinations of both mental and physical torments", she said in a haunted voice.

"Are you saying he was tormented?", questioned Invidia softly.

Laetri shook her head slightly, closing her eyes as more tears escaped her eyes. Her companions watched with a shocked sadness at her distress; She had not cried even when Formora had driven her to the depths of madness, nor when Oromis had died in the skies of Gil'ead. Her tears now made their hearts heavier than even they could bear.

"There is no word for his suffering in any language", she whispered. "He is suffering here", she said in the same low voice, laying her hand upon his heart. "The spirits took away his humanity. They played with his very mind and instincts, befuddling his very soul, perhaps seeking to foil his magic. They reached into his mind and twisted it; He will not be human or elven anymore…his mind is not even in madness. They cut out parts of what held his being together, of what made him Eragon. It was a torment beyond anyone's endurance or imagination, and he is falling apart", she finished in a low tone.

"What can be done to stop this?", asked Blodhgarm, ignoring the despairing wails of his companions.

Laetri kissed the sleeping Eragon's brow gently before she turned to face Blodhgarm, ignoring his raised eyebrows. "I need you all to lend me your strength, Blodhgarm. He has made the highest sacrifice for me and Sahloknir freely. There is nothing I can do in return for him, except for what I have planned.", she said as she looked at Eragon with a gratitude and respect that seemed to pour out of her very being.

"What have you planned?", asked Yaela uncertainly.

"Something similar to what he did for me", replied Laetri, and the room lapsed back into silence.

"The memory of what Laetri did to alleviate him, I do not have", said Yaela softly as she readied another set of memories. "It is an intensely personal matter, what she did to save him. I believe she has already told you briefly of it?"

"She told me that the voids in his soul needed to be full, and she took that task upon herself", answered Arya uncertainly, still feeling the pathos of the memory she had seen sink into her. Yaela inclined her head, lost in thought for a few moments.

"That is true. But it is more absolute: They are like the fire that cannot exist without air. ", said Yaela after her contemplation. "No, that is not apt; I think I can best explain by this analogy. It is the only way you will understand how fundamentally they are bound. Imagine that his soul is a cloth", said Yaela, bringing out a silken piece of white cloth. "What do you do when the cloth is torn terribly, barring buying a new cloth?", she continued, murmuring words to make the white cloth tear and fray everywhere.

"I would sew it back as best as I can", whispered Arya, comprehending what she was being told.

"Sew it, yes", agreed Yaela softly. But then she looked up at the queen with her eyes shining with emotion. "But we need thread to sew it, do we not? For a cloth as frayed as this, we need a delicate but strong thread to even return it to some semblance of wholeness."

"What could possibly sew a torn soul back together?", asked Arya in a shaking voice. She was the queen of a people to whom magic was inherent, who understood magic on an instinctual level. But not even she had imagined using magic on so fine and terrible a scale; this was beyond even her. This was territory elves did not dare venture into.

"Thread is what makes cloth", said Yaela as they began their walk back towards Tialdari Hall. "Laetri used powerful magics to shape her very being to help 'sew' up his torn soul, if you will. Threads of her soul are what hold the torn core of Eragon together. Without her…", trailed off Yaela.

"The threads disappear, and the cloth will be undone once more", whispered Arya horrified. The more she understood Eragon's predicament, the higher climbed her own unrest and anguish.

"And he will be no more", finished Yaela softly.

The bright day and calm of her fiefdom brought no peace to Arya at this deeper understanding of Eragon's state. Eragon will be no more, she heard Yaela's voice once more. Tears filled her eyes as that damning sentence echoed through her mind like her own death verdict. Pain like physical torment ripped through her at the thought of Eragon's unmaking. She paused in her walk, taking deep breaths to slow her wildly beating heart. Yaela looked at her with eyes that saw too much, too deep for comfort.

"You understand now, do you not?", asked Yaela softly. "Laetri is holding a large part of him together with her very being. Saphira supports him like a true Dragon of Legend, choosing to suffer by his side through madness that would surely drive her mad as well. But there is one thing he did that made him impossible to be truly whole no matter what, one missing part of his soul that belongs to none of them."

Arya sank down slowly upon the grassy ground, leaning against a mossy rock that sat beside the path. Several of her people looked at their distraught Queen with concern, before looking at Yaela who had seated herself similarly next to Arya. The air vibrated almost painfully as Fundor and Firnen descended from the skies from opposite directions, spreading their wings around their Riders to hide them from the politely curious gazes of the Elves.

Within the protective cocoon of their Dragons' wings, Arya shook slightly against her rock. Yaela slowly reached out and took her hand, squeezing it gently in support.

"It is me, is it not?", Arya asked finally. "He cut me out of his soul, his name; That is why he is not yet whole. He waits for me. That is the real reason you brought him here to Alagaesia, even against his wishes. He needs me."

"Yes", whispered Yaela. "Yes. He does not know he misses you, Arya. That is part of his sacrifice…he will feel troubled and tormented to the end of his days, not understanding why there is a final void in his soul no one can fill. Laetri saved him from a mental unmaking, true, but he is still not whole no matter what he might think. But-", she stopped her explanation as Arya's voice echoed through her mind.

He still waits for me even though he does not understand it?... I don't deserve him. Not once have I made him happy, like she has. When he sees her, I can see him light up like the sun…but when he sees me all he has in his eyes is pain and despair. He shies away from even the slightest notion of my affection!, said Arya to her in a voice laden with regret and shame.

Yaela simply took her hand in both of hers, projecting her reply with a gentle firmness.

He needs you, Arya. All the Riders on Aiedail have sworn to stand by him come what may, for the debt we owe him is great. The Elves' need to define and categorize, to name and understand is good. But what is more sacred is a pure and undefined love that breaches boundaries and definitions, a beautiful thing that needs no justification…something that just is. Like Anurin and Ancalima, like Irnstad and Naina, Like-

"Like him and Laetri", whispered Arya in equal parts of amazement and despair.

"I see you understand. Can I be more honest, Arya?", asked Yaela directly. Arya nodded; There was no use in euphemism or consolation with the Riders. They were not the elves of Du Weldenvarden…oftentimes seeming closer to the human race in their laughter and open emotions.

"I know you shared true names with him before he left these shores a hundred and twenty years ago. The study of magic has consumed me for much of my life; So I must impress this upon you: The moment you exchanged true names with each other, a connection was forged between the two of you", she said calmly.

"Not even elf-maid and man share their names lightly when they become mates. It is an expression of trust and love which has few peers! It is an act possibly only exceeded in sanctity by how Laetri became one with Eragon! ", she emphasized. Arya's pale skin was suffused with a pink blush at this, and Yaela could not help but laugh gently.

"I forget how young you are, Arya. You have been wiser far beyond your years, and a worthy queen. No matter how much we elves try to be like perfect beings that are in control of their feelings, we fail at it in truth. In the matters of the heart we are similar to humans though we tend to express such things over years rather than days", said Yaela, watching as the Queen regained her composure.

"I must abdicate as soon as possible, then. It is apparent that my future lies with the Riders, and by extension, at his side.", said Arya as she stood once more, her composure returned. The Queen turned to her fellow Rider with an expression filled with gratitude. "You have always been my friend, Yaela. Thank you for explaining this to me. Thank you for your support", she said gratefully. As the Dragons removed their wings, the two Riders looked at each other solemnly.

"You have a pure heart, Arya, to offer your help unhesitatingly in this matter", said Yaela quietly. "And you are one of us. But Eragon-elda must wait, I fear. Our troubles lie here and now; The Elven nation must have a suitable successor, worthy enough of carrying forward your legacy."

Arya bounded up Firnen's side on light foot, seating herself on the saddle with a leap like a leaf rising on the wind. She looked at Yaela who had seated herself on her Dragon as well. Belgabad was drifting around the two massive Dragons happily, and they were suddenly reminded of Varda.

Why are you so happy?, she asked the little white Dragon curiously. Belgabad linked her mind with his.

An image of a mountain of books in Tialdari Hall came to her mind along with feelings of smug happiness. She knew Yaela and their Dragons were watching too, watching as several Alfakyn cautiously approached the heap of books on the ground.

A few books of bound leather were pushed aside as Varda poked out of the mountainous heap of tomes, glaring at the shelves as though they had done something terrible.

The clear melodious laughter of the two elf women split the air brightly, and was joined the peculiar and earth shaking amusement of the Dragons as they took to the air. The heaviness in her heart was tempered slightly by gladness, and Arya lay comfortable in the embrace of one overriding belief. She would not let Eragon suffer any more. A new feeling became known to her and a new baffling sentiment echoed through her and her Dragon's mind from the depths of her being:

She would not let Laetri suffer, either.

…

The cobblestoned square of Carvahall was populated by the first few women and children, the only ones who dared to come out to the open after the battle. Far too many had they seen not to be wary, far too many to simply walk back into their town and blanket themselves with a sense of naïve safety. They threw wary and slightly fearful glances at the large clouds of smoke rising from the passes in the mountains, seemingly both relieved and cautious at the presence of two majestic Dragons floating protectively over Carvahall.

A little blond girl skipping innocently near the silent town square screamed in fright as the dim courtyard was lit up by a harsh flash of Indigo light, revealing the presence of a tall white-robed figure, with a lethally beautiful blue coloured sword sheathed at his side. Eragon Kingslayer bore no scratch or blemish from the battles he had fought, nor did he seem tired. His entire countenance seemed to give off a fey vitality as he took in the sight of the few inhabitants of Carvahall staring at him silently.

They flinched away when they met his eyes, glowing Indigo eyes that seemed haunted and relieved beyond perception. A door to the Baron's Keep that stood before them opened, and a young woman in brown working robes appeared. The square was cast into shadow as the great Dragon Saphira turned in the skies quietly, even as the mothers of Carvahall gathered up their little ones and made back to the safe-houses. Isidar followed Saphira, veering away from Carvahall gracefully with his light green scales shining like a solitary sculpture of emerald in the gloomy skies.

"Kingslayer", greeted the woman with a short bow. Eragon inclined his head slightly in response, casting his gaze towards Therinsford and beyond. His eyes grew distant for a moment, before he shook his head disappointedly.

"Maira Nighthawk. How fares my cousin?", he asked as he assessed Carvahall's wards with small gestures, imperceptible to the untrained eye as he wove wards of his own. Maira's eyes widened as a gentle wave of heat emanated from Eragon, washing over her and Carvahall like a spreading blot of ink.

"Forgive me. Ildarien often tries to be overly clever with his spells, and tends to overlook certain obvious loopholes. I check for those when I can", said Eragon quietly, a brief expression of mirth crossing his visage. Maira hid her smile with her hand, watching with an impressed face as Eragon warded Carvahall with a second layer of spells at the speed of thought itself. He was not the Lightbringer for nothing, after all.

"It is fine, Eragon-elda. Roran is fine, and is sleeping at the moment. Broken bones are healed easily, though it consumes a considerable amount of energy to do so. I had to ask Ildarien to help me in this regard", said Maira, for some reason feeling at ease with the Lead Rider. She had heard stories about him, of course. Everyone had. Her very rational side told her there were limits to a man's strength, that the stories about Eragon Kingslayer were most likely exaggerated. What she had not expected, however, were for those very rumours to be understated.

The sight of Eragon's battle with the Urgals would remain burned into her mind forever. She had not understood when Ildarien called his master unconquerable, not until she saw him defeat an entire army of Urgals. What put the seed of wariness in her heart, however, was not his frighteningly prodigious skill at battle. No. It was the fact that he did not seem remotely tired after his deed.

"At least he is fine", muttered Eragon. "I can see a question you are holding back, Maira-finiarel. You must ask if you are to know", said Eragon chidingly. Maira stared at him with surprise, and after an instant even the Lead Rider seemed surprised with himself. Then he chuckled softly, shaking his head.

"Forgive me. I am first and foremost a teacher, I think. A century of teaching young and curious Riders have ingrained certain responses in me", said Eragon apologetically, holding out a hand to her. She looked at him quizzically, causing the haunted look in his eyes to increase exponentially.

"Ildarien has no idea what Ismira is capable of; She has used several Dark magics…I can feel their aura even from here, their natures cling to her like a tight-fitting cloak. Ildarien does have a curious sense of irony", he commented as he firmly took Maira's hand in his. "He has chosen to confine my niece and his Dragon in the ruins of our old farm."

"Will you not take Roran?", she asked him hesitatingly. Eragon shook his head at that.

"No. Roran must heal and quiet his mind before he sees her; It is far too easy to be provoked when one does not see clearly. I myself am prone to that weakness, I fear", he said with a hint of shame. Before she could ask further questions, Indigo light consumed her vision completely. Before even she could blink in reaction the light cleared, leaving them on a well-beaten path to wooden ruins blanketed in snow and weeds. Seated on a somewhat flat plank of weather-beaten wood was Ildarien, keeping watch on the black Dragon chained to enormous stakes in the ground. A dash of red hair was visible near the enormous Dragon's foreleg, and Maira caught sight of Ismira manacled to the stake.

"Ebrithil", said Ildarien with a short bow as the motes of indigo light faded into oblivion. Eragon nodded to him, turning his gaze back to the captive Dragon and Rider who were watching him steadily. "There have been no struggles or bids for freedom. It almost seems they were waiting", whispered Ildarien quietly to him. Belegroch was watching him with brilliant golden eyes, a colour that contrasted majestically with his deep black scales. Eragon inclined his head politely to the Dragon, and waved his hand as he uttered a single word.

The massive stakes and manacles that held the Riders captive shattered into smithereens, and Maira cried out in surprise as the Black Dragon and his Rider was set free. Eragon simply watched them as they stood, Ismira using Belegroch's limbs to support her. Ildarien just watched in mute surprise as Ismira limped towards her uncle, standing before him and unable to meet his eyes.

"I know you could have broken out of your manacles easily", said Eragon as he signalled for his companions to be at ease. "The drug Ildarien force fed you has not suppressed your magic at all, has it, Ismira? You are waiting for someone, I think, or you could have broken out of your bindings. We both know Ildarien is not strong enough to match you, not yet."

Ismira shot a glance at an openly ashamed Ildarien, and then at Maira who looked even more ashamed with herself. Belegroch had simply lain back on the ground, closing his eyes in an apparently relaxed position. Ismira turned her head to smile at him a little, and then fixed her gaze back at Eragon with some effort.

"I was preparing myself for torture or at least a beating by now, Uncle. Certainly not to be set free" said Ismira derisively. The light in Eragon's eyes blazed like living coals, and Ismira gasped out in pain as she slumped forward with a hand to her abdomen. Belegroch grunted, but made no other movement as his red-haired Rider gathered herself back up. Eragon was looking at her with a hard face, showing no hint of familiarity or pity at her reaction.

"Why would I torture someone", said Eragon slowly, "who is already tortured to a point where it means nothing to her? I can see the darkness in you. I know what arts you have practised. You cannot hide it from my sight, Ismira."

Ismira's eyes widened considerably as she froze, and Belegroch roared with terrible anger at Eragon who did not look in the slightest bit intimidated. Before the black Dragon could make a move, Saphira descended from the skies and landed in front of Belegroch with a sound that shook the earth. Eragon saw his niece's Dragon look at Saphira who towered over even him, and sink back into his relaxed position as if acknowledging her superiority.

The tense silence was broken at Ildarien's horrified exclamation.

"Necromancy? You reached into the void?", he asked with an expression that spoke of complete fear. Maira had stumbled involuntarily at that, looking from Rider to Rider with in a dazed manner. It was the blackest of black arts, higher even in malice than the magics a shade used. She watched as Eragon raised a hand, causing Ildarien to freeze in place as he drew forth his blade with a fearful glance at Ismira.

"You are recent to its practice, are you not?", he asked with a gentleness that belied the hardness of his face. Ismira looked at him with dead eyes, made all the more terrible by her humourless smile. "I should have known that I would not be able to look into your eyes, uncle. My mentor told me that to look into the Lightbringer's eyes was pain for those who have immersed themselves in the dark magics. Yes, he began to teach me very recently and I", she almost spat, "apparently take to it like a fish takes to water."

"You are my niece, after all", replied Eragon after a moment of silence. "You are more like Murtagh than you think, Ismira. The two of you share an inhuman will to survive and protect your Dragons from harm…it is almost like seeing my brother from a century ago. I failed him too", whispered Eragon regretfully. Ismira looked at him with curiosity, openly baffled by his rather amiable manner.

"Shouldn't you be rooting around in my mind for information?", she asked him. Eragon shook his head. "My touch is not delicate, Ismira. It is possible for me to entirely destroy your mind if I try to do such a thing. Much as you have suffered in your life, I do not want you to be crushed under the weight of the sorrows and torments that still live in me", he said. Saphira was slowly approaching Belegroch, who was staring at her like as if cornered. They stopped their speech to see the two Dragons' interaction, watching as Saphira bent her snout to lightly nudge Belegroch who shook slightly. The great Sapphire Dragon then turned sinuously, fixing Ismira with her forceful gaze.

You are a good Rider to him. You have both met Murtagh recently, have you not? I can smell Thorn on your Dragon here. The way you fight, said Saphira to the Black Dragon, It reminds me much of him. How did you come to meet him and his Rider?

"You met Murtagh?" asked Eragon with interest. For some reason, Ismira looked openly relieved at this question, so relieved that she seemed to slump for a moment. The transformation in her was absolute…one moment her face showed a coldness and hardness of the most seasoned veteran, but now her eyes filled with warmth and happiness. Eragon watched with confusion and no small amount of sadness as he could see Katrina's joyful face in her daughter for one moment, before it faded.

"Yes, yes I did, Uncle", she said, her voice shaking with the nearly tangible release of emotion. My mentor has an interest in the Word, and he knows Murtagh has it. They are old enemies, Murtagh and he. The last time they faced each other Murtagh managed to force a stalemate with the aid of the Name, nothing else was powerful enough. But the moment it was uttered my Mentor knew the nature of it. It frustrates him that he cannot grasp its meanings, she threw her thoughts at him.

This changes everything, Eragon, Saphira growled, and the ground vibrated at her anger. Eragon turned to Ildarien, who was standing confused and amazed at the happenings. "You must leave here, Ildarien. I will send you back to Carvahall", he said calmly. Before any objections could be raised, bright Indigo light consumed him and Maira as he sent them back to Carvahall's square. Then he turned back to Ismira who was quizzically watching his actions.

"We are going to Utgard", he said gravely. Ismira took a step backward involuntarily, and even her Dragon flinched. "Malthinae", whispered Eragon as he bound both Dragon and Rider with multiple weaves of magic that crisscrossed and twisted in a near infinite manner. The two froze in place as Eragon watched them sadly. Things were happening that he had little idea of…if the knowledge of the Word was in danger, then he himself would have to hunt down and kill the Shade.

I must leave the wars to my Riders and the King. It is time, Saphira. We need to find and kill that Elven Shade as soon as possible. If he gets the Word, there is no telling what he would be capable of. Even I fear to use certain powers; He obviously feels no such restriction if he uses necromancy, he said to Saphira. Certainty and determination flowed back to him from his Dragon as they prepared to leave the place where they had started it all.

"I cannot let you two leave", said Eragon firmly. "Oath or no, I will extract everything you know about this matter. Do not be apprehensive", he said as pure fear filled her face. "I will not torment you or violate your mental privacy. Laetri will be awake by now, and her understanding of mind and soul far exceeds even mine. She can extract what you know with you feeling no pain", he finished.

"So Azaer failed. But then he did not know it was no mere Rider that he faced", she said grimly, her face being the only part of her that was not stilled. Eragon gripped his sword involuntarily at the Shade's name, the rage in his eyes causing Ismira's eyes to fill with fear and apprehension. The air seemed to press down upon her cruelly, and she gritted her teeth in defiance.

"Be warned", said Eragon in a voice like an icy wind. "You might be my niece, you might be of my own blood. You might have my words of blessing resounding in your being. But if you defy my mercy today and cause harm to Laetri as part of some scheme, I will not spare you. That weakling of a Shade tried, and I consigned him to eternal torment by breaking every bone in his body to powder forever. When Laetri examines your mind, she will do it gently at my behest. Do not make it any more difficult than you must!"

Ismira nodded once with hesitation, averting her eyes completely from his. Eragon sighed and the air grew lighter once more as he subtly gathered magic from within; She will be fine, little one. She was already stirring when you finished healing her, said Saphira gently to him. Something in Eragon broke at that, causing Saphira to withdraw her mind completely for an instant. Eragon composed himself with practice born of centuries of such trials, knowing and hating that Saphira had seen the fear he had concealed within him. The fear of losing Laetri.

If I give into it, It will incapacitate me. That is why, he said as he twisted the world with magic, that is why I must strike at the heart of my fear. The Elven Shade tried to take her away from me. He even took away little Ismira from her father.

So what do we do?

I will not let Laetri from my sight. We must go back to our old travelling days it seems, Saphira. Hunting the elven Shade will most likely take significant searching and time. The spirits I summoned told me that he travels very much in Alagaesia, going from town to town for reasons that cannot be good. We will find him, and we will destroy him.

The Indigo light consumed them once more, this time causing them all to close their eyes at its intensity. A small thud was audible as the light cleared, and a magically Belegroch was staring helplessly at Ismira who had hit the ground in a faint. A grimly hopeful feeling rose in Eragon as he stared around the legendary and beautiful mountain that he had blessed. Belegroch's voice sounded at his mind:

What happened to her, Lightbringer?

This mountain is warded by my own magic and blessed by Laetri and I. The taint of necromancy will wash away from her here, as it is still not deep in her soul. I will see to her happiness and yours, Dragon. You have my word.