CHAPTER 19

A magnificent and reassuring sight, thought Eragon as he sat idly on the steps to Ristvak'baen, observing the armies of Nuada as they marched proudly through the plains of Alagaesia. Their armours lent them a steely shine, making the march look all the more majestic from the height of Utgard. The plains were filled by thousands of Illirian soldiers marching in orderly ranks, kicking up a faint sheen of dust into the air.

Utgard however was serene and undisturbed as ever, its deciduous trees and its sloping meadows seemed pristine despite the dust created by the vast army led by Nuada. A wave of longing overtook him for but an instant as he recalled the feeling of Laetri's magic becoming one with his, the feeling of bringing the light of his soul and the timelessness of Laetri's into being with their songs of power.

"Who is that Rider, Uncle Eragon?"

Eragon turned to find his niece descending the crystal steps towards him and looking towards the brown Dragon ascending from the marching armies towards the summit of Utgard where they sat. "It is Domiel and his Rider, Nuada. One of my Nine companions, and a dear friend. There is no need for alarm", he replied, glancing at her hand which was upon her sword hilt. The Nine were the pillars that held him up in his effort to resurrect the Riders; There was no doubt in his mind that without them, he never would have come this far.

"Palencar sends his armies at last", said Ismira musingly as she too glanced upon the troops that occupied the entire plain in their thundering march. "Uncle, You do not believe that the Urgals are of any significance here, do you? They never have been", she said, disdain apparent in her brown eyes. "They are just brutes, instruments of war that are only fit to stir up chaos in Alagaesia. Why you included them in the pact of the Riders, I will never understand."

Eragon sighed. The truth was that he wondered the same thing today, about the foolish idealism of youth. He had been more so than most and had possessed the unfortunate propensity of self-righteousness. He simply had included whatever races he saw fit into the pact, not caring about the larger consequences.

You are wiser now, Eragon.

I know. But it is too late now…the spell has had time to take hold of the Urgals. There is little I can do about it now. But Nuada approaches; Keep Belegroch occupied for now, Saphira.

As you wish.

He rose as Domiel rose above the mountain peak, raising a hand in greeting as the Dragon began his landing towards Ristvak'baen. Ismira's face betrayed her wariness as Domiel landed with a shaking of the ground, allowing Nuada to dismount with all the grace of his people. Eragon saw the wonder in his friend's eyes as he took in the change; The elven Rider's eyes lit up with pure happiness as he saw the forests blanketing the slopes of Utgard with their golden leaves, shining in the daylight like paradise itself.

Then his face tightened as his eyes fell upon Ismira who was standing stiffly behind Eragon. Nevertheless, he controlled himself like a true player in the Elven games of intrigue as he strode forward and bowed to Eragon.

"You have accomplished beautiful and great things here, Eragon-elda. I stand in awe of your strength once more", he greeted melodiously. Ismira snorted lightly at the greeting but Eragon paid no attention. He grasped Nuada's forearm firmly, communicating to him that such formality was unnecessary.

"My friend, do not speak so. We have too much to discuss to dote on such protocol. I thank you, though", he said. Nuada smiled, and turned to Ismira and his smile became fixed. Eragon could see the tension between the Riders, an instinctive knowledge that they had very little in common with the other. Nuada had been beyond repulsed when Eragon had told his Riders of Ismira. He could see that same repulsion blazing openly in the elf's eyes as he acknowledged Ismira's presence.

"I can feel your taint", he said flatly as he met Ismira's eyes. "Know that if you were not who you were, I would strike you and your Dragon down here and now."

"You could try, I suppose", replied Ismira with an absolute lack of concern. "My Uncle's might is far beyond my conception…I know only of two other people who can stand up to him and one other who can possibly match him. But you, Nuada Icthorian, you are not him. You will not like it if you challenge me", she finished. Nuada's lip curled in a faint snarl, and Eragon intervened.

"There is little use in such bickering, Riders", he stated. "Ismira has been a great help, though unwilling. We now know much about the situation, and even some amount about the Shade. Plans have been made, Nuada. She will be accompanying me and Laetri in our forthcoming journey."

"You have a reason for this, I hope?", looking unpleasantly surprised at the news.

"He believes my mentor will come looking for me eventually. Clever of you, Uncle, to use me as bait. A simple and workable strategy; He was never like that…always favouring extremely complex schemes over what he called pedestrian intelligence", she said dryly. Ismira's humour had reminded Eragon of Garrow, and he found himself reminiscing more and more about the man. The civil circumstances under which he kept Ismira had allowed him a chance to converse with his niece at length. It had been a distraction he had much sought in the last few days, a distraction from Laetri.

"We will be gone for a while. Let us talk later", said Eragon as he laid a hand upon Nuada's shoulder. Ismira watched them steadily as Indigo light consumed them with a bright flash, turning her head upwards as the same flash occurred upon the top of Ristvak'baen. She watched as Nuada and Eragon join a female Älfakyn with flowing silver hair, the elf Laetri. Ismira had seen elves before in her travels in the past half-century, but not like Laetri who possessed a beauty that would perhaps bring tears to the eyes of men. Even he had said she was the most beautiful elf to ever walk Alagaesia after Dellanir.

When she had probed Ismira's mind she had been extremely gentle, with such respect and understanding that Ismira had willingly parted her defenses for her. It was how she imagined the touch of her mother would feel…she could not help but remember the tears she had shed after being searched by Laetri's mind. The elf-woman had seen too deeply and too much, and her compassion had been far too real.

She asked for my friendship, Belegroch. Her mind showed no deception, and we spoke almost exclusively in the Old language. She told me she too had once been held captive by Formora the forsworn. That one was the cruellest of them all. How did she remain sane? wondered Ismira. She had had few friends during her upbringing…her mentor had melded her to be without attachments or bonds, save for her Dragon. He did not understand the need for them, or had perhaps forgotten such feelings a long time ago. It was a flaw in him, thought Ismira as images of Belegroch trying to outstrip Sahloknir in flight came to her. He had never been physically cruel to her, at least not wantonly. He did not have to be.

It after all did not take much to change a seven year old child. She remembered his glowing crimson eyes terrifying her during their first years as he instructed her. Contrary to what Eragon had first believed, her mentor had preferred only a very limited interaction with her. He had left her raising and education to his subordinates, who were also strict taskmasters but not wantonly cruel. Their darkness had a purpose so focused that they detested wastefulness. And as a young woman, that had scared her more than anything else.

You must have faith, Ismira. Murtagh told us that if he and Eragon worked together, they could break our bindings. All we can do is hope.

Belegroch, even if that happened there is nothing else for me in this world except you, Murtagh, and Thorn. I cannot do anything else but retreat into solitude like Murtagh did; My father probably hates me after all I did to him…I would certainly not forgive me in such a situation. My family does not know me either. My siblings are all dead.

What of Eragon?

Belegroch, I cannot see myself with the other Riders. The Elves will want my head after what I did to that captain. No matter that I did not have a choice; The fact that I was merely defending myself will never hold weight with them. No, Eragon is not an option.

What will happen, will happen, said her Dragon fatalistically. We can only bow to fate and hope for the best.

…..

The road goes ever on and on, thought Palencar wistfully as he saw the King's highway cut through the fertile lands around Illirea and disappear into the horizon, leading towards the Lake Isenstar. It would then follow the Ninor River and to the bridge at Yazuac. And then, thought Palencar, it will be but war, blood and steel once more.

The day was fading into a dull orange colour and Palencar turned back to see his army marching behind him, filling the entire highway and snaking behind him for several miles. Barden had been appointed Steward to see to the Kingdom in his stead; The people needed to see the Shining King lead them once more. It was the perfect opportunity to unify the Kingdom once more, to remind them that despite anything they stood together.

He glanced up to see the grey Dragon Cirnathor flying high in the sky with Barristan, and sighed. Arya Drottning had been right when she said that Riders heralded great change for the land. Already the war that had been brewing with the Urgals had come out into the open; Eragon had begun the first salvo of what would most likely be a bloody and long campaign when he had wiped out two entire armies of Urgals singlehandedly. That would definitely push them back, give Palencar's armies time enough to assume their positions and posts throughout the Spine.

Your majesty?

Barristan? Is there a problem?, replied Palencar, shooting a glance at the Dragon high in the angry skies. His eyes widened with alarm and surprise as Indigo light flashed before him, dropping into his hands a sealed letter. Barristan's mind touched his once more, and he heard the Rider explain.

That, your Majesty. Ebrithil has sent all of us letters detailing his findings. He believes that we might all be busy with our own duties for an extended scrying conference; After you finish reading the letter, it will catch fire and destroy itself…so be careful.

That is convenient, agreed Palencar as he looked at the seal, which boasted a glyph that said Aren. He paused and look back at the train of his army, and raised his hand assertively. The skies were darkening anyway, and they could march no further. It was time to make camp.

"General Haraldsson, we make camp here", he announced loudly and he could hear the men sigh in relief. He dismounted from his white charger absently as he moved away from the men who were dispersing to set up the tents; They had marched for three days and three nights with no significant pause, and had covered an enormous distance in a short time. Palencar knew the rest was well deserved. Carefully breaking open the seal of the later, he unfolded it to see elegant and flowing script of the Liduen Kvaedhi written almost with an artistic hand.

King Palencar,

I have captured Ismira, my niece, during the battle of Carvahall. She has been a source of alarming information for us, and as a consequence I must disappear from public view to track down our enemies.

Apparently, the Elven Shade's name is not known to anyone, not even to Ismira with whom he had only minimal contact throughout the decades. No, what concerns me is that she was trained by twelve men and women; Sorcerers and Shades of great strength and power, some of them almost as terrible as their master who Ismira is convinced is a match for me. This group move in the Shadows…we do not know who they are or what their purpose is. We do not know how long they have been active.

But they are a threat potentially devastating to the peace. Twelve warriors, six Shades and six sorcerers and at their head an Elven Shade who is stronger than any of them. From what Laetri gleaned from Ismira's mind…the weakest of them is stronger than Ismira. They have been alive for several centuries for certain, and Ismira is convinced that their resurgence is planned.

The war I must leave to you and my Riders. It is necessary for me to return to Ellesmera, and from there I will begin my search. I have pushed the Urgals back, and I have taught them to be wary of me. They will not attack Carvahall without a significant force, not again. Therefore I have directed Nuada to occupy Carvahall and Therinsford with his armies…a slight change to the plan. The elven Shade is the root of this evil, and it is my duty to defeat him and his group. Laetri will be with me, of course, as will Ismira. Please do not attempt contact with me, for I seek to hunt down our enemies and destroy them.

If you truly need my aid, Barristan will have the means to contact me. I have sent separate letters to all my Riders and allies informing them of the situation. This evil cannot be allowed to sweep over Alagaesia like Galbatorix's. As Lead Rider, it is my duty to stop them.

Keep the Urgals at bay, High King Palencar. This is a war not on one, but several dangerous fronts.

May peace live in your heart,

Eragon Bromsson.

Palencar's eyes reflected the fire that now burnt the letter into ashes, and his hands shook slightly. A cold feeling of dread crept up on him at Eragon's words…He knew, he knew that the Urgals were a distraction thrown at the Kingdom for some reason. If it were not for the reappearance of the Riders, the enemy would have had him and the kingdom on their knees. The Elves were of no aid; they sat still in their forests, not wanting to walk the world as they once did.

They had been divided, and the enemy could have defeated them one by one without fear of a united opposition. The Plot had gone on far enough, and if it were not for Eragon the Elves and Dwarves would have been at each other's throats and the humans would be left alone to face such terrible foes.

This is why we need the Riders, thought Palencar as he sat himself on a rock watching as his army of seven thousand men began pitching tents. Cirnathor was spiralling to the ground on a downdraft of wind, and Palencar smiled. I owe them much…the enemy is revealed because of them. The races are ready to stand united because of them. I can only imagine what paradise it was during the time of the Old order!, he thought wistfully.

Did you read the letter? What is your next move?

I did, Barristan, he replied with a heavy voice. I did. We can only fight what we can see, you know. Urgals are a visible and immediate threat to the peace, no matter the purpose. With yours and the other Riders' support, I can throw them back deep into the spine and make sure they fear the sight of humans. Shades and sorcerers are beyond my ken, I am afraid.

Oh, replied Barristan in a surprised tone. I have faith in Eragon, your majesty. The Elves have always stood behind him. The Dwarves see him as his kin, and his bond with humans is deep. He will be the one around whom the races rally, once again.

Come down to the ground with your Dragon, Barristan. I feel a need for the educated conversations only Riders can provide, sighed Palencar. He was an old man, and though his father had extended his life by his magic he was still an old man. His mind felt tired of eighty years of strife and authority and he longed to pass on the throne to the son he had not since birth. He was literally an old man in a young body, and he felt strained.

He had not seen his wife and son for fifteen years now, not since a son had been born to him at last during his sixty-fifth year of life. His wife would not feel the ravages of time as he should have, she was born of magic after all. It had broken his heart when his wife had left him after his sonhad been born. She had told him their son's name and claimed that she had seen danger in his future if he remained at the palace. The next day she had simply disappeared despite his reassurances, leaving him a tear stained note of apology.

Are you quite fine, two-legged-leader?, came Cirnathor's rolling deep voice.

I am fine, Dragon, replied Palencar grimly as he turned away from wounds of years past, getting up as his men erected the grand pavilion of the King. It would do for him to sleep when he could, for during war such rest was precious beyond gold. He opened his mind, and cast out a last thought at Barristan.

Bring a keg or ten of ale for both of us, Barristan. I feel like getting drunk.

….

Pointy-eared-queen-teacher will not be pleased that you crept out of your room without telling her, came the voice of the white Dragon Belgabad as Varda slowly let herself out of the small hut she was told belonged to Togira Ikonoka, the Mourning Sage.Ellesmera was quieter than ever as moonlight cast the world into silvery shades, and the countless lilies around the crags could be heard bending gently to the wind. Her steps were light enough that even that faint sound was masked by the noise of the forest, and she walked to the edge of the crags swiftly.

Varda, what if we get caught? , questioned Belgabad anxiously as he landed beside his young Rider. Varda looked quite uncertain for a moment, before her face firmed in determination. I want to know what is going on, she said in a stubborn tone as she glanced down at the letter she held in her hands. The seal of Aren was broken upon it, the symbol on her Ebrithil's ring. The moment she had seen that letter she had known and she had repeatedly asked Arya for its contents, but had been denied calmly every time.

In her opinion, if it was good news why would Arya refuse to share it? So it could not be good news. The fact that she had not seen Master Eragon for close to a month now had made her very uncomfortable and slightly scared. No one save Yaela knew of how much she missed him and Saphira; Even though Yaela had repeatedly and firmly assured her that tears were normal over people who were sorely missed, she could not help but feel she had done something wrong. Riders did not cry, after all. She had never ever seen her Ebrithil cry…he was like the ocean's calmness itself made manifest.

She missed him terribly. Though she loved Ellesmera and Arya's teachings it was simply not the same as Eragon. It was just not. Varda, you have to hurry. Queen Arya sleeps very lightly, urged Belgabad hurriedly with his own eyes shining with anxiety as he nudged Varda's side. Varda nodded, looking once at the Crags and back at the hut and deciding she was alone. With a rustle she opened the letter and saw the familiar elegant script of her Ebrithil. She and Belgabad exchanged excited glances and began to read the letter together:

Varda,

You mischievous girl. Do you think I would not know you would do this? You are far too curious for your own good. The fact that you are reading this means you stole the letter from Arya. While I admire your stealth, I think you know how wrong it is to steal from her. I can understand how much you want to know everything; you are very young after all.

Now, go to Arya and give the letter back to her. I have enchanted it so only she can read it. Laetri specifically enchanted it this way for your sake, we both know you too well. And Belgabad, you indulge her too much. You would not believe how stern Saphira used to be with me when I first bonded her.

We will discuss this and other matters when I come to Ellesmera tomorrow.

May peace live in your heart, my young Riders.

The abashed look the Rider's face was replaced by overwhelming relief as she read the last lines. She giggled softly through her relieved tears, and promptly clasped a hand over her mouth looking horrified that she had alerted Arya. Before she could make a move, she heard an elven chuckle behind her and she spun swiftly.

An elf stood before her, an elf with flowing white hair and a noble face that seemed to glow with amusement. His features reminded her faintly of Gilderien-elda, and her Ebrithil. All three of them possessed eyes with the same look in them…eyes that had seen far too much for any one lifetime, eyes that possessed the wisdom of uncounted decades and the experience of a thousand human lives; bright eyes that seemed to literally draw her in when she stared at them.

"I stopped the sound from reaching Oromis' hut. Her majesty needs rest, and you both seemed to be rather involved with that letter", explained the ancient elf quietly, still exuding that same merriment. He stepped towards Belgabad and examined the white Dragon approvingly. "A fitting name you have, Dragon. You will surpass both your namesake and your sire; But you, Rider", he said wonderingly as he stared at Varda who watched him with wide eyes. "You seem to be far more of an enigma. After what Gilderien told me, I wanted to come see for myself. And I am not disappointed."

"Who are you?", whispered Varda softly. The elf smiled at her, and then looked away towards the lit trees of Ellesmera with a wistful look. "I have watched over Elvenkind since before Tarmunora Drottning took the knotted throne two thousand years ago. I remember many things, young Rider. The First Eragon, Anurin, Vrael and all the countless wars between the races", he mused as he looked back to see Varda's awed expression. "I even remember Alalea", he said with a distant and haunted look.

"Haindar", said Varda in a hushed voice. Belgabad had fixed his eyes upon the elf who nodded in acknowledgement.

"Yes. You are a very precocious child for your age, human or elven", praised Haindar and Varda blushed faintly. The elf laughed, and even that sound seemed to carry the weight of ages in it. "I cannot help but remember my own daughter when I see you, my child. I can see why Gilderien liked you so much…", he trailed off into his own thoughts, watching the moon and the stars distantly.

"Haindar-elda, who is your daughter?", asked Varda hesitantly.

"So curious", replied Haindar with a shake of his head. "Do not attach those suffixes to me, child. I may not show it like Rhunon does but all the politeness does grate on me. Call me Haindar, or whatever name you prefer like my granddaughter used to. She had insisted on calling me by a very long name when she was but three years old: The most boring person to ever walk the earth", he chuckled ruefully. "She was convinced it was my true name."

"But you are not boring!", said Varda in scandalized tones and Belgabad agreed with an emphatic nod. "Your granddaughter was wrong!", she said in the same outraged tone as Haindar beckoned for her to sit beside him on the cliff overlooking the crags. As she sat beside the ancient elf, Belgabad took to flight over the fields of lilies and the moonlight shone off his white scales with stunning magnificence. Haindar nodded even as he watched Belgabad's graceful flight.

"My granddaughter was wrong", he agreed, laughing. "When her mother convinced her that it was indeed not my true name, she cried for hours. But she, like you, had an unnatural skill with Gramarye. As did her mother and grandmother before her. Only after Gilderien taught her to sing to plants did she smile…I think she still is very stubborn. What fascinates you, young Rider?", he asked curiously.

"Stories", mumbled Varda. Haindar nodded understandingly. But Varda's eyes suddenly grew alert and she looked sharply at Haindar. "You are distracting me from my question, aren't you? Ebrithil does that to me so many times that I have become used to it!", she declared firmly.

"Does he now?", asked Haindar smiling. "Your Ebrithil is a very great Rider indeed, as great as his predecessors were. But", he said noting Varda's downcast look, "I am not distracting you. My daughter was Dellanir, once queen to the Elves. I see you are surprised", he said gently as Varda looked at him with wide and surprise filled eyes.

"I just did not think Laetri-elda would have a grandfather. Eragon-elda told me she is really old", she mumbled. Then she looked at him with worry, "Don't tell her he said that, Haindar", she pleaded. "Ebrithil said women get very angry when they are called old. He gets very sad when Laetri-elda is angry at him", she said with large and beseeching eyes. Haindar's face grew speculative for a second, before he gently patted her hand.

"Your Ebrithil is very wise", replied Haindar appreciatively, "and your secret shall remain safe with me. I know how angry my granddaughter can get, child. And believe you me, men do not like being called old either. Try to remember that", he advised and Varda nodded seriously. Haindar gestured and the letter disappeared with a whispery sound.

"There. The letter is tucked back safely in her arms", said Haindar standing up slowly. Varda began to thank him effusively, but he halted her with a smile and a raised hand. "Young Rider, you and I will have much to speak of as long as you stay in Ellesmera. Ask any elf for guidance, and they will bring you to my bower. Now, go to sleep", he said sternly and Varda nodded forlornly. "Tomorrow I will tell you about the Riders of old. Stories that only Valdr, Umaroth and I remember to this day", he promised, watching as the downcast expression turned into excitement.

You were right Gilderien, his thoughts echoed throughout the forest even as Varda retired with apparent excitement. You were right. She is a precious child, and a painful reminder all at once. A reminder of what once was. Do you think Eragon Shur'tugal knows?

If he found Alalea, he must know. We expect his arrival tomorrow, Haindar. We must talk to him and make sure this knowledge is used wisely; Too many Alfakyn are making inferences that inch ever closer to the truth, the reply came.

But it will be buried during the succession, which comes at a fortuitous time. Eragon Shur'tugal is a worthy Rider, even if he does not know fully he must be informed of the truth as we know it, he said softly as he glanced upon Oromis' hut and then at the fields of flowers Eragon had sung. Not many know the real reason behind Dellanir's abdication. To study Gramarye? Bah! My daughter would never do such a thing, never leave her people for such trifles. If only they knew…

The buried truth will come out into the open eventually, Haindar. I think the Rider Eragon knows much. Can you meet me now?

Yes , Gilderien, sighed Haindar as he began walking towards the one entrance to Ellesmera. I will not bring Rhunon. The last time I invited her for one of our talks she bashed my head with that shield of hers and chased me away. She is far too angry, he said indignantly. Moments later he joined his companion's laughter at the thought and memory, walking onwards leisurely.

Truth would always see the light of the day, in one form or the other.

…

"Ma, this place is too hot", mumbled the child as he walked by his mother as fast as he could. They were covered by hooded cloaks for protection from the elements; the Hardarac desert was an unforgiving and merciless wasteland to all except the Dragons. Sands buffeted them indiscriminately, whipped up by the winds that raked through the vast and unending desert. The woman had a sword belted to her side, and her cloak was of rough but utilitarian make. But she walked with a posture that spoke of danger and grace, seemingly unconcerned by the harsh desert's furies.

"Just a little longer, son", she said softly to the faltering child, looking up to the bright sky. "They are coming. Cover your eyes", she warned and the child obediently threw a hand over his face. The hot sunlight was suddenly cut off by a large shadow and the small sandstorms seemed to abate their fury as a single word floated on the winds of the desert, called out by a deep voice.

"THRYSTA!"

The woman stood quietly with her son as a massive ruby Dragon descended from the calmed skies, shining like sparkling water as the sunlight bounced off its scales. The Dragon landed gently in front of the two, observing the two with brilliant blood red eyes. The Rider upon its back landed on the ground effortlessly from his high saddle, his brown hair whipping around his lean and hard face from the wind. Belted to his waist was a Rider's blade in a golden sheath and he seemed to move as if he were one with it. The woman saw that the blade well and truly belonged with him, now that its old wielder was gone from the world.

"Show yourselves", said the Rider calmly with a hand upon his sword. The Dragon watched with deadly alertness, exuding an air of menace and power as the woman threw back her hood. The boy did so as well, seemingly hesitantly. The Rider froze as he observed their faces, tears suddenly springing in his gray eyes when he set his gaze upon the boy who watched him innocently, bearing the same dark hair his mother did. He even bore a resemblance to the Rider as he possibly was during his own childhood, but his eyes were a bright Violet colour.

"Murtagh, it was very hard to find you. My son is not yet fully grown, as you can see. The least you could have done was to come sooner", said the woman in a hard voice. Murtagh looked at her regretfully, shaking his head. He was very surprised when his son had chosen to marry her, but then he had little right to interfere with the son he had little part in raising. He glanced upon the star on her brow, the star of silver given to her by Saphira when she was but a babe.

"Elva, I am truly sorry. I am being hunted by the Shadow and the Twelve. He was truly enraged when we last met; I just wanted to make sure you were not followed", he replied heavily, watching as Thorn's snout moved in front of the mother and son. What is your name, child?, echoed Thorn's deep voice in their minds but the question was directed to the boy beside Elva. The boy met the Dragon's eyes squarely, and his voice replied calmly.

Fanuil Elfstar.

"He is strong", replied Elva at Murtagh's surprised face. The mindforce behind the thought had been considerable. Elva released the boy's hand, and he went curiously and fearlessly to the ruby Dragon and began examining its nose. Murtagh chuckled disbelievingly at the sight of his Dragon's nose being petted by his Grandson, and then looked at Elva noting how the cynicism that once burnt in her every expression was replaced by a fierce protectiveness and love.

Why do your descendants have this fascination with my nose, Murtagh?, asked Thorn irritably as he bore the petting and pinching with some grace. Palencar used to do the same when he was a child. Now his brat is subjecting me to the same misery, he said growling. The boy seemed undeterred by the Dragon's displeasure and had climbed on to its snout in his preoccupation.

"You have changed, Elva", said Murtagh quietly. "It is as if the last traces of Eragon's foolish blessing have left you, making you what you were meant to be. Being a mother has completed you. I can see it."

"Perhaps", said Elva softly as she picked her son up from Thorn's snout and set him back on the ground. "Murtagh, I have important things to speak of with you before I and my son return to Palencar. Is this where you stay?", she asked amusedly as she indicated the fierce desert burning with excess sunlight. Murtagh shook his head.

"We stay not far from here. Thorn has offered to take us all to our dwelling", he said, watching as Elva gracefully bounded up the Dragon. He sighed; Elva was human in body only. Eragon had changed her too much with his youthful incompetence. After they were seated, he leapt up to Thorn's saddle with two strong leaps and secured their straps with a muttered spell. Thorn lifted off with a mighty roar, gaining height effortlessly with a forceful beat of his wings.

Angela met us near Marna, Murtagh, said Elva in his mind. She said she had tracked down one of the Twelve.

Which one? And you must explain everything from where you were to why you left Palencar, Elva. My son was broken for several months before I could put him back together. What reasons could you possibly have?

Murtagh, she whispered back in what sounded like a tear filled voice. My child was in danger. I knew because of my cursed ability given by Eragon... Angela she told me Fanuil could not grow up in the palace. Some people existed who knew his lineage. It was not enough that he was the royal heir; No, he carries my blood, your blood and he is Morzan's descendant as well! He is of a line of Kings and Riders!

Murtagh remained silent at her tirade, his mind churning agitatedly. Palencar could have protected him. My Rider's son could have protected his family, we trained him well enough for that. And you too were there, Shining brow, said Thorn chidingly. Elva shook her head as she wrapped her hand around her son's shoulders.

Styrax was in Illirea ten years ago, she whispered back. Murtagh's eyes glowed with anger and fire filled the air as Thorn roared at this statement. The Twelve were moving even then, and Angela feared what happened to Ismira would happen to my son as well. There was no other explanation, Murtagh. Why else would Styrax come to Illirea? He is among the strongest of the Twelve, and he is extremely dangerous.

I had to baffle them, if that was their intentions. Before my and Palencar's marriage could be made public I had to disappear completely, she said. You did not help matters by remaining as aloof as ever! You could have helped us, but I could not even locate you!

I was tracking Azaer down. He had given me the slip near Belatona, and did that only after he flung a Dauthdaert at Thorn, snared Murtagh as Thorn shivered involuntarily. He ran back to his master. You can deduce what happened after.

Thorn suddenly drifted downwards in a low dive, flying directly into a particularly fierce sandstorm. Elva's eyes widened with alarm at the Dragon's inscrutable actions, but the boy seemed undisturbed. Ma, the storm will not hurt us. It hides something. Grandfather, you have hidden something inside haven't you?, asked the boy with large and curious eyes. Murtagh almost choked up with emotion when the boy called him Grandfather…Palencar almost always called him by his name.

Yes, my boy. It only takes a little cleverness to bend the wild desert winds to your needs, he answered as he patted the boy's shoulder. Elva nodded appreciatively as the storm parted for them, closing again as the Dragon passed through. A large castle of white marble stood within, its grounds protected from without by the sandstorm.

"Welcome to Castle Shathur, the last remnants of the Dwarven city of Tzora from the ancient times. I have been here for several years at once during the last few decades", he said as Thorn flew towards the massive doors of the Keep. The Castle was cool, much cooler than the desert that surrounded it. Elva sensed ancient and powerful magics at work here, forcibly converting the desert grounds around the castle into an oasis. The castle itself was made of large and uniform blocks of white marble, full of soaring towers and abandoned ballistae.

The castle doors opened slowly with a grating noise, and Elva's heart caught as she spied an impossibility revealed when the Doors opened. Murtagh nodded sadly to her, and turned back to the fully opened doors. The woman behind them ran to Murtagh without even glancing at Elva, flinging herself into his arms. Murtagh hugged her tightly, his love for her shining in his face as he kissed her brow softly.

"Ma, who is she?" asked the child, glancing curiously at Murtagh and the woman who had reluctantly disengaged herself from his arms. Elva watched with wide eyes as she saw the woman turn to her, as a joyful smile lit up her still youthful features.

"You should be dead!", whispered Elva with shock.

"Elva", said Nasuada as she inclined her head regally. "You always did like my son too much. I am glad that you married him…it has done you much good. I cannot tell you how happy it has made me to see you at peace, and I cannot tell you how much I regret your sufferings on my behalf. Murtagh just finished telling me about you", she said and slowly turned to the boy holding Elva's hand, "and him. His face is much like my son and my husband's, but his eyes are yours.", she finished with wet eyes.

"Who is she, Ma?"

"I am Nasuada. Your Grandmother", she said softly as Murtagh's arm tightened around her shoulders. Elva's face became composed once more as Nasuada took her hand and squeezed gently, nodding towards the castle. "The twelve and the Shadow have come into the open, then", she sighed. "Come, we have much to speak of. It is not often we are visited by family; much less our daughter in-law and Grandson."

"Palencar knew about you, and he did not tell me?", asked Elva angrily, looking at Nasuada whose face became stern. "You had your own secrets, Elva. My son is entitled to his and he wanted to make my supposed 'death' absolute. A secret spoken of is no secret at all, as you well know. But you must both relax", she continued in a gentler voice.

"Yes", said Murtagh as they stopped near a hallway. "There is much to speak about, many tales to be told. We have met after a very long time", he said sorrowfully to Elva. "Our enemy is strong. There is only one reason they have not overrun the Kingdom all these years: me. But I cannot hold them all back anymore. It is time we spoke to the Alfakyn. But enough of this. Elva, grandson, refresh yourselves. We will wait for you in the main chamber", said Murtagh.

"Very well", said Elva softly. "Thank you, Murtagh and Nasuada, for all you have done for us. I am sorry for breaking your seclusion but I need your help-"

"It is fine, Elva. You are family", said Murtagh with a real smile lighting up his face. She is still the same wilful and otherworldly girl even if she has filled out, he said to Nasuada as they watched her and their grandson walk tiredly toward the baths. Nasuada snorted an unladylike snort as she swatted Murtagh's hand.

Our troubles are only starting. But she will make a fine queen, and her son will be a powerful and wise king when the time comes. I must commend Palencar the next time I see him. I really should.