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After a bland chapter that barely deviated from the original, I'm back with a vengeance ten pages long in Calibri, font size 11!
Chapter 13: A Misty Future
Garrow woke up a few hours before sunset to find the valley blanketed by dark, murky storm clouds. The villagers were all in various stages of rest. Some were clustered around massive nets woven from wires, brambles – anything that could be used to deter or weigh down a dragon who flies over the wall.
"It was my idea," admitted Baldor. He looked at the sky. "Though if the enemy told us the truth, there aren't any dragons around – for now. They'll be back with reinforcement soons, though."
"I know. Best be prepared," Garrow told him. "Good job."
Rain began to pelt them as night began to fall. The thick layers of dark clouds filled the place with a heavy mist that plunged the place into freezing temperatures. The trench was muddied and then filled with water as time began to crawl.
The men guarding the walls switched, relieving the previous guards and letting them rest. Spears were distributed among all the able men. Nothing else happened as the night passed, and the stormy rain abated by midmorning. A faint drizzle still sprayed from the sky, though. Garrow was soaked to the bone when he marched to the barricade at the main road to accompany those that will replace the guards in the area. Even with his hooded cloak, it took effort to ignore the bitter cold.
Anger filtered through his anxiety. He hated the Forsworn and what they stood for. He hated the Empire, for trying to tear his home apart. Most of all, he hated Galbatorix, who was the root of all their misery and troubles.
Seeing the children helping their mothers weave more nets sent a pang of sadness and worry to him. He could imagine Roran, Murtagh and Eragon running around with them with handfuls of wire and ropes, hollering to each other to keep up. It would never happen. The three boys were somewhere on the other side of Alagaesia, doing whatever it is that was needed to defeat Galbatorix and his remaining Forsworn once and for all.
He hoped that they were safe.
The rain began to pound on them again, but Garrow stayed in his post until he grew hungry and Larne, Loring's youngest son, took over for him. He moved through the eerily quiet village to get himself a meal. He rounded a corner and saw Albreich on the house's porch, arguing violently with a group of men.
"You're blind, Albreich," Ridley growled. "Follow the cottonwoods and they'll never see? You took the route only a fool would take!"
"Why not try it if you want?" snapped Albreich.
"Then I will!"
"How about trying to taste the arrows, then?"
"Maybe we're not all as clubfooted as you are, Albreich," argued Thane.
Albreich snarled. "Are you that thick? I'm not the kind of person who would compromise the safety of my family by covering myself in few leaves that I never saw before." When the only response from Thane was for the farmer to redden angrily, Albreich pushed him further. "What? Did the Forsworn cut off your tongue?"
With a roar, Thane charged, striking the younger man on the cheek with a fist. Albreich laughed tauntingly. "A woman can do better than that," he growled, grabbing Thane by the shoulder and hauling him off the porch – and into the mud. The man lay on his side, stunned.
As quick as his aging body could, Garrow ran to Albreich's side, brandishing his issued spear to prevent the other men from attacking. "Stop it! Are we going to fight among ourselves like little boys, now that we're in a crisis?" Thankful for the chance to channel his fear, worry and anger, he took a deep breath. "We can call an assembly to settle this and provide compensation to which it is due but we can't fight like children."
"Easy for you to say," Ridley said, spitting at him. "Your wife is dead and your children are fugitives." With a dangerous glare, he helped Thane get to his feet and left with the group.
"Lad, please don't tell me that you started it," muttered Garrow.
Albriech rubbed his jaw absentmindedly. "I went scouting with Darmmen earlier, but the Forsworn posted some solders on several hills. The area across the Anora and down the valley are very visible. One or two of us might be able to creep past them without being seen but it's not sure either. We won't be able to get the children to Cawley's farm without killing the soldiers first, but that means that we will be alerting the Forsworn of where we're going."
Garrow fought back the growing dread that had taken root within him. He reigned it, like he always did when something bad was happening in his household. He was worried for the children, knowing that no parent could bear to see their child being caught in the middle of a battle – especially one that they could not win. They would either be captured, enslaved or killed.
But what can he do?
Pushing the matter aside for the moment, he put a hand on Albriech's shoulder. "Let's go. Gertrude might want to take a look at you."
Albriech shrugged him off. "No, her attention is needed elsewhere." He sighed, nodded to Garrow and plunged into the rain, heading for the forge.
Garrow watched him go, shook his head and entered the house. He closed his eyes, wondering what Marian would do – what the young Riders would have them do. Brom would have been a big help as a former Rider who no doubt has dealt with the Forsworn numerous times – without the powers and the dragon that Riders should be equipped with.
He nodded to Elain, who sat on the floor with a row of children. They were busy sharpening spearheads – a task nobody would have dreamed of letting their little ones work on. Garrow gestured to Elain and they headed to an empty room, where he promptly informed her of what happened.
Elain swore harshly, taking Garrow by surprise. The demure woman never used such coarse language in her life before – and probably never had a need for it either until the Forsworn came barging into their valley. "Is it a reason for Thane to declare a feud?"
"It's possible, but both insulted each other. Albriech made stronger oaths though Thane struck first. You could declare a feud yourself." Garrow shrugged.
Elain wrapped a shawl around her shoulders and gave him a thoughtful look. "That would be nonsense. The arbitrators will have to resolve this problem. We will pay a fine if we have to, just to avoid bloodshed and further problems." She nodded to reassure herself, and headed out the front door with a finished spear in hand.
After eating some bread and meat in the kitchen, he sat down and helped the children sharpen more spearheads. Felda, one of the mothers, soon arrived so Garrow left the children in her care. He moved through Carvahall, thinking about how to deter dragons even better and how to protect the children.
Sunlight broke through the clouds, lighting up the falling rain and turning the valley into an even more beautiful and wondrous place. He shook his head, berating himself for getting distracted by something that could be easily seen whenever rain fell upon the valley. He walked through the main road and saw movement. There was a soldier standing down the road, mail glinting.
The man was gazing in awe at the fortifications that the villagers made. He turned and was about to head back to the golden mist when Garrow collected his wits. "Soldiers!" he yelled, leaping to his feet.
Villagers – both men and women – filed out of their homes, armed and ready to defend. They gathered around the tench and peered through the overlaping pines. Garrow stood beside Sloan, feeling uncomfortable about it. He was aware that the butcher – armed with a shield and a curved cleaver – still hated him because his daughter ran off with his boys. The two men nodded briskly before focusing on the spot where the soldier ran off.
As if on cue, the shrill, female voice of Formora broke the silence. "Foolish, crude humans and your rounded ears!" she shrieked. "By continuing to defend your puny village, you have proclaimed your choice. You have sealed your doom! You shall die!"
Loring stepped forward. "Your maggot-riddled faces are not welcome here, lily-livered milk-drinkers! We will crack your skulls open and use your blood to keep our soil rich!"
Garrow realized it a second before it happened. "Take cover!" he yelled, and everyone knelt behind their massive shields, locked together to prevent any arrow from flying through. A spear flew into their midst, embedding itself in a door near Gedric.
Six more spears flew over the wall of trees and landed among the villagers. Someone screamed in agony somewhere in the mist and drizzle. Garrow's heart leapt to his throat as he heard shattering sound somewhere in the norther part of the village. There was an explosion and crashing timbers.
Acting in unison, Garrow and sloan led the run through Carvahall, followed by other fighters. They found six soldiers dragging away the splintered, burning remains of several trees. Kialandi and Formora stood behind them, pale, proud and mad, looking like phantoms in the heavy rain. With a war cry, Garrow jabbed his spear at the nearest man, blows deflected until he hit his foe on the hip and jabbed the spear into his throat.
Beside him, Sloan howled and roared like an angry beast, whirling around and jabbinga t the soldiers before he threw his cleaver and cleanly split a soldier's skull. When two others ran to him, drawing their blades, Sloan sidestepped them with a mad laugh and blocked their swords with his spear. He drew a second cleaver and circled his opponent, grinning as madly as the Forsworn. He stabbed one soldier after deflecting more blows, then circled the enemy with a bloodthirsty glint in his eyes. "I'm sorely tempted to gut and hamstring you."
Garrow lost his spear after facing the next two men. There was barely enough time for him to grab his flail and stop a sword from tearing his leg off. The soldier grabbed his fallen spear and aimed for his chest, so Garrow dropped his flail and caught the shaft in mid-air – astonishing the soldier and himself. Since when was he fast enough to do that?
He drove his regained spear through the armor and ribs of the man who threw it to him and retreated before the remaining soldier could catch up. He felt terrified for his life, and desperate to live long enough to see the boys again. He stumbled over a corpse and fell. He felt the fiery, searing pain as a sword cut across his calf. He yelled and rolled over – narrowly avoiding a blow from the soldier. His hands scrambled around, shaking and nerveless, to find something that he could fight with. He grasped a sword hilt and raised a sword in time to deflect another sword blow.
He was getting too old for this.
With a lucky slash, he managed to sever the soldier's thumb. "This comes from not shielding myself," the unlucy man said, staring at the stump.
"Aye," Garrow said. "And this comes from not being on guard." He beheaded the man.
The last soldier panickeda nd took off, toward the immovable Forsworn watching the proceedings. Sloan was screaming profanity at him with an unholy mixture of anger and glee. When the soldier neared them, Garrow felt horrified when Formora strode nearer to the man, teeth bared in a mad smile. She held out her hand and her voice rang loud and clear even in the heavy downpour.
"Brisingr."
Flames – which shouldn't be possible in the rain – flew out of her hands, white-hot and vivid. It engulfed the man, incinerating him until he was nothing but ashes. Formora staggered back, as if casting a spell like that dealt a heavy blow to her body. She regained her composure after a second and motioned to Kialandi.
"Sons of sandworms," the male elf said, and the two stalked away, into the pounding rain.
Garrow stared at the ashes turning into mad in the steady rain. The Forsworn were powerful enough to do that to them, but it seemed to cost them a lot. What happened to the tales of elves and their near endless magical powers?
"You fought well," he said as he turned to Sloan. Though the man had an ill temper, nobody could possibly expect him to contain such ferocity.
"They have it in them to harm my daughter – now a Rider and a fugitive. I had to – had to help in my own way. I have made a lot of mistakes and I will correct them," Sloan said with a growl. "I will skin them all or drown Urgals in their own blood if I have to. I'd kill the king, tear down the sky or lead the Empire to its doom if they try to harm her – or get to me just to gain her cooperation. But don't talk to anyone of that, oh Father of Riders."
The two men quietly worked on the ruined section of the wall, fortifying it the best they could with the ruined pines until they could get fresh trees. Then they headed to the scene of the first attack, where two dead soldiers hung on the branches of the wall.
Horst and the others knelt, circling a small, lifeless body. Garrow and Sloan tensed. It was Elmund, Delwin's eldest son, struck in his side by a spear. The grieving parents sat in the mud beside the boy with blank faces.
Garrow tiredly and sadly dropped to his knees. "We have to do something."
"Aye," Sloan said grudgingly. "Few survive their first five or six years but this is worse."
Losing a firstborn child when he was healthy, when he was bound to grow tall and strong was worse. It was enough to crush the parents and dampen the spirits of the villagers. "We have to protect the children. But where?"
"Hate to say this, but I think I have an idea." Sloan glanced distantly at the Spine.
The Riders followed the Az Ragni for two days, not daring to fly too high and alarm anyone who might see them. The dragons took a lazy pace to keep up their strength, and they left to hunt whenever the journey stopped for meals.
During these moments, Eragon felt content with eating his meals by the river, watching the kingfishers and jackdaws fluttering above the river. Blue herons stood on the marshy bank, where splotches of light fell through the hazel, beech and willow trees. The river sparkled beautifully, which is why the dragons were tempted to swim there on their first day.
"Beautiful," he said, as a bullfrog hopped into a bed of ferns.
"Aye," Orik said with a lazy smile. He lit his pipe and leaned against a tree. "Peaceful."
Eragon picked up a twig and began drawing figures on the ground. "Has Brom been in the Varden for long? Sorry if I'm prying too much, but it's hard coming to terms that the grumpy village storyteller is a member of the Varden and a former Rider to boot."
"For about as long as the Varden existed. He didn't exactly join." Orik chuckled. "By the time Galbatorix rose to power, Brom is the only surviving Rider outside the Forsworn – but without his dragon, of course. He organized the friends and allies of his order, who were naturally forced into exile. He convinced Hrothgar to allow the Varden to live in Farthen Dur and obtained the help of the elves."
"Then why does he act like nothing more than a messenger and servant – and as an occassional warrior?" Murtagh asked, tossing a round pebble on the water.
"I don't think he wanted to be the leader. That happened long before I was adopted by Hrothgar so I barely knew Brom until he brought you there. He was always off fighting and engaged in some plot or another."
"The life of being an adviser must be boring him right now," Eragon said as Saphira came into view, jaws flecked with the blood of the doe that she slew recently. She plunged into the water with a teasing hum, splashing Eragon, Murtagh and Orik with water.
"Cut that out, woman!" Murtagh said jokingly as he wiped the water off his face.
"Are both of your parents dead?" Eragon asked as he glared at Saphira.
What? Even a mighty dragon such as I need a bath.Saphira submerged herself in the water and began to swim around. Firnen was complaining about my, er, bloody kill so I had to show cleanliness, don't I?
Oh, Saphira.Eragon snorted.
"The pox took my parents when I was very young. Hrothgar not just welcomed me into his hall, he made me his heir since he has no children of his own. He has been very kind to me." Orik's eyes gazed at the distant mountains.
"He has been kind to us as well," Murtagh assured him quietly.
Orik provided them with their own lanterns when the early twilight arrived so that they could see beneath them. The dragon snaked low, skimming the river with their bellies to know follow its direction. They eventually landed for dinner and made camp, preparing themselves for sleep.
Eragon studied the lantern in his hand curiously. "How are these made?" he asked no one in particular. "As far as I could see, it's flameless."
"Yes, it is," Faolin said eagerly. "We elves taught the spell to the dwarves long, long ago. They use it more skillfully than our own people could."
"Do the elves have something like the dwarf clans?"
Faolin shook his head. "We have houses. Every elf is a member of one house or another. If a member of a house does a great feat to earn a place in our songs, then he or she may start a new House if so wished, I believe, though it has never happened for centuries. My family is the House Drottning, but if my mother passes and I become the head of the house, it will become the House Konugur."
"Why is that so?"
"My house is… special." Faolin shrugged. "You will learn more about it when we reach Ellesmera. Just be wary of the other elves. They're not as outspoken with their emotions as Arya – or me."
"What was life like in Ellesmera? Do you and Arya have a big family there?" Eragon paused, unsure of how to proceed. "She told us once, of your father."
Faolin chuckled, and a glint of mischief lit up his forest-colored eyes. "Eragon, are you asking because you are curious, or are you asking because of my sister?"
Eragon flushed in discomfort. He had always been fascinated with the elf who was more like a human in her actions and mannerisms. She was a good friend, loyal but sometimes a little too protective – but it was appreciated, especially when she rescued him from Trianna's advances.
The elf smiled knowingly. "Eragon, I've been through that." He laughed and moved away to converse with Orik.
Saphira soared overhead, circling Firnen teasingly. The green dragon seemed to stare at her the way a young man would when the girl he was infatuated with passed by. Eragon half-expected him to start following her around with a dazed look.
You are a fantastic flyer, the green dragon was saying as Eragon linked minds with Saphira.
Thank you, but you are a more fearsome hunter. Why was she sounding so coy?
"I believe that we are watching the dragon version of, um, flirting." Arya went to stand beside Eragon, a smile on her face.
"They're not exactly keeping it private," Eragon replied with a shrug. He did his best to keep calm and act natural. "I've never done it. With a girl. Flirting, I mean."
"And you're telling me that because…?"
"Because you must be thinking that I am a complete fool because of that, er, fiasco with Trianna." Eragon felt himself flushing again. He looked away, avoiding the elf girl's gaze. "I didn't understand her motives at first."
" Well, now you do and you should be wiser in the future." Arya crossed her arms, eyes fixed firmly on the dragons. "I won't be pleased if you associate yourselves with slatterns like her."
"Slatterns." Eragon broke into a smile. "I never thought you could resort to such a language, elf."
Arya smiled. "I've always had it in me, Eragon."
Firnen and Saphira suddenly landed in front of them, knowing looks in their eyes. Would you like to fly with me, little one? The blue dragon regarded her Rider with mischief.
I always love being with you, Eragon told her with a grin.
How about letting Firnen and Arya join us?
Eragon caught the other dragon and Rider pair staring at them with a grin. No, it won't be a problem, he said slowly.
Night was steadily falling around them as the two dragons launched themselves unsaddled into the sky. Their Riders clung to them warily, uncomfortably noting the hard scales rubbing against their thighs. "Look," he called out to Arya and pointing at the Az Ragni, which was merely a purple streak beneath them.
"It's beautiful," Arya said.
"Not as beautiful as you." Eragon paused and blinked. Did I just say that?
Yes, little one. Saphira let out that coughing growl laugh of hers again.
Arya smiled at him, and she did look lovely. "Thank you, Eragon."
A fire took hold inside Eragon, burning brighter and brighter. He didn't want to push it too far though. He smiled back. "I meant it, elf."
"Stop calling me that!" Arya yelled jokingly, and Firnen rammed against Saphira.
Saphira tilted to the left and began to rise on an updraft. Three brown specks launched themselves from the mountainside below them. "Falcons! Look!" he said, pointng at them.
Eragon? Those aren't falcons, Firnen said, breaking into his mind. Look closer!
The creatures were around twenty feet long, their tails long and narrow. Their wings were leathery. They resembled dragons but they were smaller, thinner and more serpentine. They didn't have glittering scales either – they were dappled green and brown.
"Dragons?" Arya asked.
I don't know. Saphira floated in place, Firnen positioning himself protectively in front of her.
The creatures spiralled around them, looking puzzled. They darted toward the dragons but hissed and swooped overhead. With a smile, Eragon tried to touch their thoughts with his mind. The three recoiled at the contact and began to shriek both mentally and physically. It was piercing and almost incapacitated him. Arya and the dragons felt it too. The creatures began to attack with their claws.
Saphira began to spin, avoiding two of the creatures and rising above the other. Firnen mirrored her move fluidly while the Riders cleared their minds. It was all that they could do to block the piercing keen. Eragon caught Arya's eye. She was as bewildered and terrified as he was.
Saphira flipped upside down and kicked the animal in the chest, lessening the shrieks as it retreated. Then the two dragons flared their wings and faced the two that converged on them. They arched their necks, as if they trained for it their entire lives. Eragon felt a rumble begin between Saphira's ribs, and flames shot out of the dragon's maws. Halos of blue and green engulfed them, making their scales sparkle jewel-bright, as if lit by an inner fire.
With a dismayed squawk, the animals veered to the side and began to speed away.
"Terrifying, but fantastic!" Arya yelled in glee. "Aside from the life-threatening situation, I would love to fly with you and Saphira again."
Eragon! Murtagh barked in his mind. What hare-brained scheme have you gotten yourself into? Are you all unharmed? We could see everything all the way down here! You know that we can't help with the other dragons busy hunting!
Eragon rubbed his head. Sorry about that. We're going back now.
The dragons landed in the camp. Orik ran to them with worried eyes. "Are you hurt?"
"No," Arya said with a smug grin. "We're fine. What were those creatures? Are they also unique to the Beors? They look a lot like dragons."
"Yes, they're the Fanghur. Not even half as intelligent as dragons and can't breathe fire. They're still formidable foes. Dragons are more than a match for them, it seems."
Of course, Firnen said, bragging to everyone in the camp about almost roasting the scaled monsters.
"My head hurts, though," Eragon said.
"That's how they hunt, by immobilizing their prey while they kill it," Orik said. He nodded to the dragons. "You could even try it when you hunt. Come to think of it, you might want to use it when fighting your battles too. I'm glad that you didn't kill them, though. They're very rare, but they manage to eat enough of our herds. Stay away from the skies until we get out of the Beor Mountains. Those wind vipers might harm you."
"As you wish."
"Tell the dragons to hunt closer from now on, too." Orik grunted and picked up a stick. He began to draw on the ground – a pair of hands with what looked like studs for knuckles. "Fists of steel – Ascudgamln. Fists with steel spikes. They're good for hitting things. Some dwarves get them."
"How are they made?" Arya asked, as the other Riders drifted to Orik to listen.
"A healer puts you in a deep sleep to feel no pain," explained Orik. "Then a hole is drilled through the joints and they embed a metal socket in each hole. Of course, you will need magic t o seal that in place. Once a warrior recovers fully, then they can thread various-sized spikes in the sockets."
"I wouldn't mind having something like that myself," Murtagh said, staring at the drawing with interest. Fist fights would end quickly and to his favor too. He vaguely wondered if having fists of steel would count as cheating.
"Ah, it's dangerous – the operation, I mean. Few knurlan get them because you won't be able to use your hands again if the drill goes too deep." Orik showed his plain fist to the Riders. "Dwarf bones are thicker than yours – even elves'. It will not work for you."
"I'll remember that." Murtagh's eyes flicked up as Thorn and Askanir came into view, fresh from their hunt. Imagine striking anything with impunity – even Urgals in their crude armor!
I can always do that, but I guess it is fantastic for someone like you. The dragon snickered mentally and made his way to his Rider.
That night, Murtagh was unable to sleep. His minds wandered to home. He wondered if his uncle made it safely to Carvahall, and if Palancar Valley was already experiencing a warm weather. He wistfully remembered waking up early with Eragon and Roran to water the plants and gather firewood for the night. He longed for the day when he could return to it, and felt sad for having to leave in the first place.
He filled a wood bowl from his packwith water and focused on an image of Garrow. "Draumr kopa," he muttered.
The water went black and showed his uncle sitting in a small, candlelit bedroom that he knew was in Horst's house. He once ended up in there as a child, staying the night with Eragon and Roran because their uncle was too ill to go home after drinking too much – because his wife, Marian, died recently.
His uncle now had an intent look in his eyes, as if contemplating on something big, potentially life-changing. He seemed well enough, though thinner than before. Reassured, Murtagh released his magic, emptied the bowl and went to sleep.
Ha! Sloan is not as jerk-y here as he is in the original story, I hope. I wanted to redeem him since he was so vile in the original story and for all his faults, he truly loves his daughter.
So, did you guys enjoy the moments with Firnen and Saphira? Oh, and I had fun with Arya this chapter!
If someone recognizes the Kefka reference from Final Fantasy VI, I am seriously pleased to inform you that I'm a big fan of the game.
Regarding the fairth incident in Eldest which a recent reviewer addressed, there will be a fairth-making project here but nothing like smashing them! It will be something more refreshingly hilarious. In my mind, that is.
Hmmm, the wind is evilly cold but the sun is shining as blistery-hot as ever. This has been happening for over a week. Should I dress for a warm or for a cold day?
Review, as always! It's a few seconds 'till noon here, but I'm looking forward to after sunset, when the sky will be lit up by the fire-breathing six dragons.