Chapter XX of Shadow, a work of fan fiction based on Christopher Paolini's Inheritance Cycle.
Every Friday, a new chapter will be published, so keep checking!
I feel like I should edit a couple of chapters, my earlier, painfully short ones especially. Any suggestions (foreshadowing, fixing plotholes, fixing discontinuities, or even typos)? Make sure you tell me which chapter.
Since this is the twentieth chapter, you shall get three different strands of story. Enjoy!
Ÿreven panted with exhaustion. The swarm of Volans Scolopendra had followed him everywhere, even after each time he incinerated them. The undead insects were kept animated by a little sliver of electromagnetic force, and whoever was feeding them the force was not tiring. The only reason he even knew this was because Shadow had whispered the secrets of necromancy in his ear. The energy generated from the gems combined had made the corpse rise. The information the corpse had given them though, had been simply a ruse by Letæst, a trick to separate them before they could do anything. Shadow was such a blabbermouth—Ÿreven was surprised Letæst hadn't gotten rid of Shadow yet.
Watch your thoughts, beast.
White-hot pain suddenly built up in his chest and rushed to all other parts of his body. Sensing a disturbance, Asterdiopsidus enveloped Ÿreven's mind before it was overwhelmed with Shadow's presence. Shadow hissed with annoyance, attacking Asterdiopsidus' mind. Four strands of mental energy wrapped around Asterdiopsidus' dark mirror, each trying to leak into its reflective surface. Ÿreven could feel Shadow battering away at Asterdiopsidus' mind, the starlit dragon's defenses weakening. Just as Ÿreven was about to plunge into the mental struggle, the whoosh of cold air blew back his cheeks. Snapping back to reality, Ÿreven's stomach lurched. They were about to crash into The Spine.
Jinaë trekked through Du Weldenvarden, her home forest somehow seeming menacing and hostile. She was walking through parts far from elven cities, though she knew it was impossible to penetrate fifty feet into Du Weldenvarden without being spotted and tracked by the elves. Queen Arya had become quite paranoid about security recently, after humans had gotten as far as the Menoa tree without being detected. Gïrnięn had vanished at Lake Leona, after the Lethrblaka got to him. He was probably a piece of waste on some mountainside now. Jinaë still had only the vaguest idea why Gïrnięn was singled out and attacked. Was it because of his relationship to Eragon Shadeslayer? Brushing the thoughts away, Jinaë cast her mind out to Chrosiuä.
How's it going up there?
I'm fine! You don't have to check in every five seconds, you know.
Jinaë sighed. At this rate she would end up as paranoid as Queen Arya. It wasn't like a flock of Fanghur would suddenly appear and attack the magenta dragon.
Close.
Shadow?
The mocking voice seemed to taunt her.
You gave me an idea.
What did you just do?
Dark, menacing laughter rang from Shadow's mind, a four part harmony that was somehow both synchronized and dissonant.
How is your precious dragon faring?
Alarm and shock filled Jinaë. If anything happened to Chrosiuä—
Chrosiuä?
There was no reply. The rosy dragon's normally warm and soft presence was gone, but Jinaë could feel something similar to a remnant of her existence, like smoke after a candle's flame is snuffed out.
Have you ever heard of wyverns?
Shadow's dissonant laughter rang once more, and then he too was gone.
"No," Jinaë whispered. "No!"
Wyverns were relatives of dragons, long forgotten. The last wyvern was reported to have stalked the mountains north of Du Weldenvarden. Wyverns had the ability, like Fanghur, to manipulate their prey's mind. Unlike Fanghur, however, wyverns were intelligent, sentient, and sapient. Due to this, wyverns had developed the added ability to isolate their prey's mind…
Jinaë cast out her mind and reached the wyvern's mind.
What are you doing? You cannot possibly eat a dragon!
The wyvern's voice was cold and sharp, reflecting the barren northlands it was native to.
Why not? Scales are easily enough peeled.
Eating a dragon would be like cannibalism!
Yet many dragons have had no qualms consuming us or even the Nïdhwhal.
The wyvern's mental voice was touched with bitterness.
They will eat the babies, the most vulnerable. And when the parents get back, the dragons kill them as well, leaving the child helpless, with no mentor to teach them in the ways of flight or hunting.
The wyvern's voice had developed an edge, cold and hard.
Dragons killed my parents. I was barely able to escape.
But you did.
That's not the point. The point is that I will kill your dragon and you will stand by helpless. The canopy of Du Weldenvarden is too thick.
What might translate as a smile touched the wyvern's voice.
Sweet, sweet revenge.
Orœthmis was worried about Gïrnięn. When he had collapsed, Queen Nasuada had ordered the court physician to check his vitals. The physician had reported that Gïrnięn was healthy and well, only unconscious. That didn't explain why he'd been laying in a sickbed for three days. It must have been some sort of spell. Some sort of spell that rendered Gïrnięn's mind unconscious and consequently ineffective. Many magicians had been called, and now the witch-woman Elva had been summoned to diagnose the strange ailment.
Orœthmis had disliked Elva the moment she walked in. Her face was hidden behind a veil, and the rest of her was covered in a shapeless purple robe. Only her hands showed, and they were pale and almost translucent. The dwarf shivered. Any manner of thing could be hiding in that shapeless robe. Anything at all.
The witch-woman glided up to Gïrnięn, none of the mechanics of walking visible under her robe. A pale, long-fingered hand stretched out to touch his cheek, none too tenderly. Elva turned, a surprisingly strong and resonant voice coming from behind the veil.
"I can feel a familiar magical signature within him—something that brings back memories of my childhood."
The Queen spoke, her commanding voice filling the room. "He is the grandson of Roran Stronghammer. Perhaps that is it?"
Elva shook her head. "No, it's more than simply that. He carries the signature of the one who both gifted and cursed me."
The Queen suddenly tensed.
Confused, Orœthmis spoke carefully. "And who is that?"
"Why, Eragon Shadeslayer's of course."
Nonononononononononononononononono
Jinaë couldn't let Chrosiuä die. Not like this, eaten by a wyvern, Jinaë right below her, yet powerless to help.
Pleasepleasepleasepleasepleasepleaseplease
Someone. Someone had to help. Jinaë would give anything for Deus Ex Machina right now.
Helphelphelphelphelphelphelphelphelpsomeonehelp
A growl sounded from above, and a scream of pain that could only be the wyvern's rang out, pure and clear. A foreign presence was out there.
Who are you?
I am Bloodbiter.
I am the Traitor.
A fleeting impression of red flashed through Jinaë's mind.
You may know us as Murtagh and Thor