2 reviews! Nice! You will have to wait and see how the Galby fight turns out to be, I'm not spoiling anything. Keep reading and be sure to leave a review. They make me very happy.
A cold gust of wind blew through the forest, ruffling the orange leaves rustled as they were pushed by the unstoppable force. The now frail leaves that hanged on the boughs of the once verdant trees were now at the mercy of the wind that carried them on its whistling wings until they would settle on the ground and decay, transforming into nutrients for the sprouting flowers.
However, something interfered in the natural order imposed by the nature as a few stray leaves brushed against an unmovable blue obstacle which stood defiantly in the path of the chilling gale.
Eragon shifted his stiff body uncomfortably, bringing his knees closer to his chest after a frosty breeze sneaked under the protective wing of his partner-of-mind-and-soul, gradually draining the pleasant warmth that contrasted with the temperature outside.
The young Rider lay limp, oblivious to the irritating sensation that bit at his back. His mind barely had enough time to process what happened in the last few days of his troubled life. Everything had happened so fast and sudden, like a powerful storm that would grind a city that lasted for entire generations to dust.
Oromis, one of the last free Riders of the old order perished at the hands of the evil king, who used the blade of Murtagh to uphold the vengeance he had sworn on the Riders ages ago. His mentor's death was the last piece needed to complete this chain of misery that was forced upon the people of Alagaësia the moment Galbatorix seized the throne. Eragon tightened his fists at remembering the deep, powerful voice of the king before he decided to take the life of someone that was close to him. He did it without any trace of remorse, like Oromis was a simple threat that needed to be erased.
We will soon meet, usurper, and I swear upon the blood of my father, my mentors and all the ones you mercilessly slain that I will strike you down without the slightest hesitation, he thought, imagining a dark figure sitting upon a large throne, smiling defiantly each time his servants took the life of anyone who would dare opposing him.
The sinister embodiment of the dark king shimmered out of existence as Eragon snapped his eyes open, a small tear slithering down his cheek until it was consumed by the heat radiating from his face. The Rider rolled dexterously on the squashy soil so he could face the blue membrane of Saphira's wing. He gently placed his hand on the warm, velvety membrane and lifted it slowly, careful not to awake the sleeping dragon.
A shiver stiffened him as a cold rush of air drained the heat from his exposed torso the moment he crawled out from under the warm shelter he rested a moment ago. Ignoring his protesting body, he quickly raised up to his feet, his brown eyes fixed upon the form of the blue dragon whose large nostrils flared in rhythm with her breathing.
Eragon couldn't help but sketch a smile when seeing the peacefulness and lack of concern Saphira displayed while sleeping. It was almost hard to believe that the dragon in front of him would not hesitate to tear to shreds anything that would pose a threat to her or her Rider.
A small flick of her tail tip made Eragon snap out of his reverie and knowing what this sleeping cuteness would do to him should she find out what he is up to, the Rider quickly turned his head away and started to run wherever his legs would take him.
After distancing himself well enough from Saphira, Eragon's speed increased drastically as he broke into a swift run. It took only a few moments for him to reach a small, flat area that was perfect for a morning exercise. The aching muscles, the sweat that rolled down his brow after an intense exercise, it all helped him focus on a single objective: improvement. By keeping himself preoccupied, he wouldn't have to suffer and eventually wither in dark memories like leaves in winter. With a resolute sparkle in his eyes, he took a deep breath and shuffled forward, where he suddenly stopped.
Without hesitation, Eragon unbuckled the sword which rested at his hip and moved away a short distance so he could perform the Rimgar, an exercise that was excellent to remove his stiffness.
Although he had done this several times, Eragon couldn't help but groan under the strain his muscles were put every time he bended his body and stretched his limbs as much as his muscles would allow. It was anything but pleasant, even painful, yet Eragon did not even hesitate for a second before doing the more complicated maneuvers of the Rimgar.
Only a few minutes passed since he started the morning warm-up and his body was drenched in sweat due to the intense effort he underwent. Panting heavily, Eragon limped towards his sword and collapsed on the ground, his muscles too sore to support his whole weight.
Pain; it never seems to leave me, he thought with bitterness, scolding himself for yet another mistake he committed due to his quick judgment. Without being able to do anything in his current lethargic state, Eragon rolled onto his back, staring blankly at the cloudless sky. The darkness of the night still held strong as the sun barely crept on the horizon, painting the sky in nuances purple and hues of dark blue.
Except for the tireless crickets and the occasional rustle of leaves, there was a complete silence; such stillness instilled a feeling of peacefulness, along with the mysterious veil of the night. Peace…how Eragon wished that every day would be like this. He would awaken and spend all the day in the middle of nature, with no concerns of the raging war nor the fear of losing his loved ones.
And it will be like this, but only when the black heart of Galbatorix stops beating! Thought Eragon with a strong resolve as he jumped on his legs, unsheathing the glittering blue blade created by his own hands. The Rider ran a hand across the smooth blade, stopping as he reached the rune that meant "fire" in the common language. Then, with incredibly alacrity, he brought the sword to the level of his head, parrying an invisible blow which was followed by a flurry of quick slashes.
"Not quick enough!" he screamed as he ducked and rolled to the side, followed by a quick thrust combined with a backhand slam. After a series of wild swings, Eragon realized that it was not strength or skill, but grace that lacked from his fighting style. By trying to include more mobility into his sword moves, he attained certain uniqueness that he previously lacked, but the ferocity of his attacks diminished. Mobility claimed strength, which was needed to imbalance an opponent and seize the opportunity.
Eragon continued parrying, dodging and evading blows while retaliating with impressive slashes of his hand and a half sword. After a particular combination of strength and finesse, in which he did a whirling spin, an upside down slash swung lowly while ducked, Eragon lowered his sword and jumped back. His breathing became slightly accelerated and his blank stare made it impossible for anyone to determine what was going on in his mind.
After a short while of recovering, Eragon groaned like a ferocious warrior and jumped upwards, bringing his sword down in a mighty slash that would end any one unfortunate enough. Without wasting a moment, he rolled on the ground, slashing at the enemy's feet before he brought his sword in a powerful side slash.
The Shadeslayer combined unrelenting blows with implacable defenses, and while his battle frenzy possessed him, the ferocity of his strikes increased. His Elven speed allowed him to do moves no other Human could, yet his proficiency with the sword lacked the determination, the grace and the finesse the Elves innately had.
Fatigue quickly started to take its toll on Eragon's body as his sweat covered brow acquired a more pronounced reddish tint. Still, he did not falter under the strain imposed by his weakened body as he quickly grabbed his sword with the other hand, bringing down the blade in a diagonal slash.
In an instant, the image of Oromis's flesh being torn apart by the red, bloodied blade flashed before his eyes, its vivid quality resembling the moment when the tragedy happened.
Enraged and scared, Eragon slashed the air in front of him with wrath and hatred.
"Brisingr!" he cried out. The blade suddenly burst into dazzling blue flames and swished through the air before Eragon redirected it into a furious blow that slashed the ground before his feet open. The dried leaves caught flame as the soft soil was split like a fruit by the sharp burning sword.
In the following second, Eragon collapsed on the ground, stroke with grief and exhaustion after his recent outburst. No matter how hard he tried to get over the tragic moment, the death of his masters was fused within his mind, threatening to never let him have the well sought peace.
Taking a deep breath, Eragon extended his right palm as his eyes looked down at the Gedwëy Ignasia, the mark of the Riders. Brom sacrificed his life to save me, and Oromis rode out into the heart of the battle to meet an enemy I was supposed to defeat. Both of them passed their knowledge onto me, having faith that I will be the one to slay the dark king and bring peace to Alagaësia. I must not fail them! The Rider thought to himself reassuringly, his eyes drifting towards a fallen branch in front of him.
Mourning them will not make me stronger, Eragon thought as he silently chanted a few words in the ancient language, releasing the branch from its inert state as it suddenly sprang upwards.
Eragon bolted to his feet and darted towards the branch. He skillfully brought his blade upwards in a quick slash and then twisted around, doing a circular motion with the blade. Multiple fragments of wood detached themselves from the main branch as it was cut long before it had the change to drop safely on the ground below.
The Rider looked briefly at a fragment of wood he snatched from the falling pieces, his face expressionless before he just disposed of it. Lifting his head, he took a brief look at the sky, which acquired a much lighter color since the last time he looked at it. Exhaling loudly, Eragon sheathed his sword and started to run, his body slowly disappearing into the dense forest.
He only needed to stop once to catch his breath due to the intense training session, but except that short break he made no further stops until he reached a small area surrounded by large trees. This was where he and Saphira had rested and by the looks of it, nothing much had happened as the blue dragon lay in the same place, oblivious to what was happening outside the realm of dreams.
Eragon moved towards her with slow steps to avoid further problems, should he ruin whatever dreams she was experiencing. Her breathing became louder with each step that brought him closer to her large, horned head. Then, when he was close enough, Eragon ran his hand across her snout with a slow, gentle move before settling down with his back against her front leg. From that position he could easily pat the smooth scales that covered her neck, which he eventually did, even if there was a small risk of waking her up.
Fortunately for him, that was not the case and the Rider slowly retracted his hand and placed it on his leg while he let his mind wonder aimlessly through the vast chain of events that occurred since Saphira hatched for him. Eragon pondered about this until he turned his head to his right. There, near the blue dragon's large wing, was a small bloated pouch that could contain a multitude of things.
Extending his hand, Eragon grabbed the small bag and stuck his hand in it, pulling out a few scrolls. A closer inspection revealed that the scroll contained different information about spells and their effects, something which Eragon had requested the day before from one of the Elven spell casters.
Hmpf, it seems the one who delivered these did not wake Saphira, he thought, picturing an angry Saphira staring down at a scared elf.
These better be important, he said to himself as he carefully rolled open one such scroll.
Do not bother checking those rolled-to-be-small papers, little one, came the voice of Saphira as she slowly opened one large sapphire eye.
Why not, Saphira? The knowledge written here could offer me the upper hand in this war. Besides, I have nothing better to do, said the Rider as he extended the parchment so he would have a clear view at what was written on it.
Eragon barely had time to decipher the first words as the scroll slipped from his hands under the force of an unnatural rush of air. Raising an eyebrow, he looked towards Saphira, who turned her head in the opposite direction, like nothing happened.
We could always fly together in the sky,unrestrained by any bonds. It is a much better choice than read a few meaningless words.
Eragon frowned slightly, How can you know that? There is a reason why I asked one of the elves to deliver me these scrolls, and I do not intend to put them aside without even looking at what's inside!
Saphira seemed unimpressed by Eragon's plea as she yawned widely, completely detached from what her Rider tried so much to obtain, You are making such a big fuss about it. I have already read them and I tell you there's nothing of importance. Now, let us fly before I decide against and go hunting.
You… have read them? Then tell me, wise one, what does this particular rune means? Asked Eragon as he quickly grabbed another scroll, unfolding it with great haste while a victorious smile stretched across his face.
Saphira brought her large snout closer to the scroll, but the piece of paper quickly bended as she exhaled the air from her nostrils.
Eragon couldn't help but release a loud chuckle at Saphira's attempt to read a scroll which clearly defied her, I guess the dislike is mutual.