Angela furiously rummaged through the rear, more bulged saddle bags where optional supplies usually resided.
"Aha," Angela exclaimed, her left arm rushing to the aid of the other. Eragon's eyes widened with astonishment.
Sticks?
Angela, after seeing his expression, favored him a smile and removed several wooden sticks thick enough to resemble pieces of a staff from the bag. After she was done, she stopped for a moment to inspect the useless bits of wood. Eragon opened his mouth to ask why was she in need of them, but Angela reached into the same bag and pulled out two medium sized steel blades. They were sharp enough to cut…
Blades for cutting grass and other plants?
Puzzled, Eragon merely watched. Observing Angela was better than obtaining a useless and probably offensive answer.
Angela, focused on placing the sticks with their ends tied, did not observe Arya who crept close to Eragon, placing a firm hand on his shoulder.
"There aren't any edible plants around, and the deer are restless," Arya whispered. "While flying, I felt a herd of deer, and they've all dispersed before we landed."
Eragon looked at her inquisitively. "What relevance does that have?"
"Maybe it's not them, but something scared those creatures. Something that may be close enough," Arya said, turning her head towards Angela. "At least she seems to value precaution."
Angela was indeed hard at work. After she finished attaching the sticks next to each other so that they resembled a quarterstaff, she attached the blades to each end and murmured something Eragon did not understand.
A huthvir! Eragon thought, looking at the two bladed staff curiously. The steel edges gleamed, touched by sunlight that scattered when it hit the clean, shining metal. As if confirming his thoughts, Angela smiled at Eragon and picked up her new weapon, holding it with the expertise of a trained warrior.
"Don't look so smug dear," Angela said, lowering the huthvir. "There are dangerous creatures out here, and a frail thing like me needs protection."
"I can accompany you," Eragon intervened, kindness present in his voice. "I wouldn't want a swarm of red-eyed rabbits to descend upon you."
"You would both distract me and step on mushrooms that are small and too important to destroy."
Eragon frowned, but did not reply.
"Don't walk on mushrooms and avoid entangling your feet in vine grass," Angela said and began her trek through the forest, her body quickly obscured by the oversized and deep vegetation.
"Do you really think she's going to collect herbs?" Arya asked, her empty stare towards where Angela used to be betraying her uncertainty. "There was no herb pouch attached to her waist."
"She's one being I will never succeed to decipher," Eragon concluded. "Whatever she does is a mystery to me, and a riddle to the rest of the world."
Solembum padded next to Angela, occasionally leaping to avoid a boulder or a fallen twig that blocked his way. The soil felt cold and moist under his paws, an extra nuisance that added to the numerous ferns and bushes that had pointy leaves and jagged spikes. The Beors were an inhospitable place for werecats and a doom to their beautiful and lavish fur.
This place always held a significant meaning for him, with its sounds and smells, shrubs and unearthed roots, moist ground that made him feel dirty and unkempt. He knew how important the Beors were for Angela, the reasons behind her rare visits, and for that, they were important to him also.
Soon, Angela said in his mind, her delicate touch and warm voice unchanged by the ravaging time, or past errors. That's why precaution is necessary.
Solembum glimpsed at Angela, purring with contentment. He never liked humans. Their huge and frail bodies were weak and useless compared to the lithe built of a werecat, or other animals. It was humans and their nature that made the world what it was, never satisfied with what nature offered them. No, they had to assert dominance over everything and proclaim themselves masters over a land that never rightfully belonged to them. It was that pride an arrogance that made them so disgusting and worthy of extinction. Nature will eventually take care of them.
Angela, however, was special. She was so different that Solembum wanted to rake everybody that stained her by saying such insults and blatant lie to her. Maybe she looked like one, but that was a whole different matter.
Suddenly, she stopped and lowered herself to the ground, touching the soil with her paws with long fingers. A smile sketched on her face. Solembum knew what facial expressions meant to humans, but to werecats, they held no meaning. Angela was so used to blending in among humans that she even borrowed their habits.
This soil used to irritate me when my feet were not protected by these footguards, Angela said, looking at her feet. I knew you will not like it. Solembum padded to her and brushed his silky fur against her knees. Although he did not like humans, he relished the contact between his fur and Angela's warm skin.
Soon. Very soon, Angela reassured him and lowered her face enough so that Solembum could brush his tongue against her face. Even if Angela was human, he liked when she did that. The werecat purred joyfully, thrilled by the pleasant caressing touch against his fur. After Angela ran her hand across his back one last time, she got up, her weak human eyes scouting the area inefficiently.
He's not here, Solembum said. Don't strain yourself.
But he has to be somewhere, Angela sighed. I can't be wrong. I'm never wrong.
Solembum meowed affectionately and walked forward. At his suggestion, Angela did the same. She was never wrong, but the eyes of a human were deceiving and often accepted nature's lies in order to preserve their host. Werecats were different. They saw the truth in everything, for they could see the Primal Color and easily ignore the strident, infinite in number colors that tricked the mind of lesser beings. In the present world, such ability was not even needed, and werecats had a distinct affinity to colors and beautiful things. Compared to the bounties of nature, the Primal Color was dull and unattractive, but important nonetheless.
They both continued to walk, the uneven ground with holes covered by fallen leaves failing to slow them down. Angela had a good balance for a two legged being, moving lithely through the cone littered ground at the base of a huge tree.
He is there.
Not far away, on top of a ridge that overlooked their location, sat another human. Angela could not see him from such distance, but Solembum's eyes were different. Just like a prey concealed among trees, Solembum had a clear picture of the male who turned around. There was no reason to hide their presence. Humans were still weak, no matter how feared they were among their kind.
We should greet him. Angela stretched her limbs and readied her weapon, holding it firmly. Their plan worked. The male shot downwards into a sprint, unsheathing his own weapons. They were two swords: one red and one blue, like Saphira. Why had humans colored their weapons if their purpose was the same?
Angela waited patiently, her weapon ready for the upcoming battle. While the human was still too far to discern his shape, Solembum stealthily crawled to a nearby bush to conceal his presence. This was Galbatorix's puppet, and dumb as he probably was, he wouldn't had figured that he was no normal cat. Not drawing attention to oneself was something werecats preferred, and this time, it was no different.
What if he is tired after all the running? Angela asked. I think that's something we haven't thought about.
Solembum said nothing. He did not have to reply. The human almost reached Angela, and for a brief moment, Solembum wondered whether this human will talk with her or just attack. The answer was obvious when he increased his speed and slashed obliquely with both of his swords. He attacked.
"How rude!" Angela chuckled, stepping to the side to dodge the attack. "That means you're even more stupid than Eragon. Maybe there's something in your blood, yes..."
"I don't know you," the human said, resuming his attack. "But if you know Eragon, then you must die to grant him life."
Murtagh unleashed a flurry of fast attacks, his two swords dancing skillfully due to his aggressive battle stance. Angela swiveled her weapon and ducked while one edge hit a blade and rotated her wrist, cleaving at the enemy's legs with the other edge. The blade stopped in midair. Wards.
Murtagh brought down his swords, but Angela used her weapon to block his attacks and used the momentum to slash at Murtagh's exposed chest. This time, instead of blocking his attacks, Angela jumped backwards. He could not attack; his weapons were short, but Angela's situation was different.
"My body is not my own," Murtagh lamented pathetically. "Galbatorix told me what must be done, and nothing can change that."
"You can't know until you try," Angela chuckled and acquired her specific fighting stance, her body leaned forward and the weapon held at her back almost vertically. "Your future is likely to be different, for you have something he doesn't."
Angela struck at the enemy with quick, terse attacks, like a snapping eel. Murtagh tried to fend her off with wide, sweeping counters, but the staff was unknown to him, and Angela maneuvered it with great expertise. By dodging one blow, Angela slashed with her weapon at a sword while the lower edge blocked the other. Before Murtagh had a time to react, she pushed violently and Murtagh was forced to relinquish the grip on the red blade. It was too fast for him, and the choice had been made. He ducked, going down on one knee, letting Angela's weapon cleave empty air.
Murtagh recovered and attacked with renewed vigor, swinging his sword in a flurry of strikes. Angela aggressively struck out with broad, sweeping blows. Murtagh pulled away from one of these, Angela's the weapon passing just inches before him. He timed his next move, then dashed forward, ducking underneath Angela's strike and grabbing the sword he discarded earlier.
Feeling that he holds the advantage, Murtagh lashed out and used his left sword to distract Angela by stabbing near her ribs. With the staff unable to reach the right sword in time, Murtagh raised his left sword to knock the protective staff aside and stabbed with strength and confidence. Angela chuckled and easily knocked both of the swords from his hands with a flick of her staff that was now pointed towards Murtagh.
Clever, Solembum said, raiding a dirty paw to clean it. But quite unneeded.
It's better to remain subtle, Angela bragged. This way, he will bother us no more.
"Isn't that right?" Angela pressed her words, frowning. "Will you bother me again?"
"N-no," Murtagh said, drawing back in reflex. Angela's long weapon looked quite intimidating, especially in her hands. Humans…they made tools to compensate for their weakness. Regrettable and disgusting creatures indeed.
"My oath," Murtagh tried to explain, telling Angela what she wanted to hear. When cornered, the prey would do anything to escape the predator. How could humans call themselves dominant as long as they could lower so much, just to survive? Every creature accepts its fate, yet humans desperately try to fight it, using any means necessary.
"It does not imply death, but defeat."
Angela was not convinced. It was as it should be, and lowering her weapon might be a mistake. She did not.
"Maybe Galbatorix is no fool after all," Angela said, lowering her weapon. Murtagh blinked incredulously, but appear relieved. "Alas, he is not of interest to me. That's why you will promise something to me. Something deep, something that cannot be undone," she smiled deviously.
"An oath in the language of power, perhaps?"
Murtagh appeared shocked, his frame appearing unsteady as he took a step back. "The Ancient Languange?"
Angela laughed. "It's not that old, really. There have been others before the elves, but that will dissolve our dilemma."
"Why should I do as you say?" Murtagh spat, taking a step forward. "You may be as cruel as Galbatorix, or even worse than he is."
With a graceful swing of her arm, Angela flicked her weapon through the air, the blade passing dangerously closed by Murtagh's face. "I need no pitiful throne, nor do I have an interest in power. All that matters to me is my destiny, and ironically, you play a part in it."
"You are no mere human," the human said, his eyes glancing at the fallen swords for a moment before locking with Angela's. "You are more than that, and when I was almost certain of victory, you somehow evaded an attack that shouldn't be dodged. It could not be dodged!" He yelled.
"You're quite astute, just like everybody who seems to say that. But what exactly makes somebody human? The emotions, bonds, or perhaps, imperfection?" Angela said nonchalantly.
Murtagh said nothing. How could humans find an explanation to their own flaws? They were so deeply embedded into their own nature that they became part of themselves. Their ignorance could go as far as blaming everything, save for their faults. A race that created and accepted an illusion to block out the reality was truly disgusting.
"Even the most resilient of minds can be tricked when you find its craving," Angela said, her fingers tapping the wooden frame of her weapon.
Murtagh raised his head. "So it was magic?"
Angela rolled her eyes. "Why are Riders so stupid? It makes sense, why elves forced the dragons to obey them. You needed someone smart to guide you, because you can't do it yourself."
Murtagh clenched his fists, his body adopting a fighting stance.
"Now, you will do what I say," Angela demanded, readying her weapon. "Don't trade your destiny for fleeting emotions." While keeping close watch on him, Angela kicked the swords away, removing any hope of retaliation the human must had had.
"Will you do what I tell you?" Angela asked in the language of power.
"Yes," Murtagh responded, using words that belonged to the same tongue.
"Not rebellious like your brother, I see. That's why your destiny will carry you in different ways. But to make it possible, you will need to…"
Solembum got onto his feet, his interest suddenly piqued. Witnessing one's destiny being reinforced was a glorious thing indeed, even if the subject was a human. No human could change his fate, but everybody needed a guide.