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Another fresh update! Let's cross our fingers and hope I stay this consistent all the time!
Chapter 22: Different Kinds of Legends
Nasuada was awake a little before dawn, feeling well rested. She hadn't felt that way since her father's death, and she was surprised to realize that peace finally replaced the aching sorrow she felt whenever she remembered him. Taking it as a good thing, she strolled to Solaris and found the golden dragon already awake, though her eyes were still quite bleary. She smoothed her thick, wavy dark hair carefully, realizing that she finally grew it out of the shoulder-length style she had since childhood.
She peered at the forest as the sun began to ride across the sky. The forest glistened in the morning dew that reflected the golden hue of the early morning light. It is a beautiful morning, she told Solaris.
Solaris jumped out, hovering right in front of Nasuada with glee in her eyes. She looked like a living sun with her sparkling scales and her vivid hue. It is.
Nasuada turned back to her bedroom, and noticed something she failed to see before. Two trays of fruits were placed by the entrance during the night. There was also a bundle of clothes with a paper note pinned to it. It was from an elf named Bellaen of the House Miolandra, explaining that meat was not to be had in any elven city, and that any hunting must be done and left in the forest. Apparently, an elf named Niduen wove the clothes as gifts.
Niduen… why does that name sound familiar?
Because I think Faolin mentioned her before. I believe that she is a sister of his dead friend. Solaris regarded the breakfast and snapped up a couple of seed cakes. I don't want to appear rude.
After eating the rest of the food, Nasuada placed the bundled clothing on her bed to examine them. The tunics were all of a beautiful golden hue trimmed with gold. Her leggings were black, and she had three new pairs of socks that were so soft that they felt liquid. The dwarf-made clothing she always wore was shamed by this – except the clothes she wore for her father's funeral.
Still, she was grateful for the new set of clothing. Her traveling clothes were so worn from ther journey, exposed to the rain and sun since departing Farthen Dur. She donned one of the new tunics, pleased with the softness. She put on her boots when someone knocked on the screen to his bedroom. "Come in, come in," she said, though she reached for Skymning idly.
Arya clambered up after poking her head in. Her long, dark hair was disheveled, but it didn't seem like she cared. She wore a green tunic trimmed in blue. "Good morning, Nasuada! Good morning, Solaris," she chirped with a smile. She nodded to Solaris. "I trust that you slept well?"
"Like a rock," Nasuada agreed. "And you?"
"Well enough." Arya crossed her arms. "Faolin and my mother are at the base of the trees with many other elves, Orik, and the others. Something important's going on, but nobody tells Riders about it. Right. Anyway, I'm not sure what they want, but my mother's really tense."
"Something big is going to happen, don't you think?"
"Aye." Hearing a word like that from an elf's lips was enough to make Nasuada grin. "Let's go. My mother is not a patient creature."
The two descended through the stairs, while Solaris glided to the earth to join her fellow dragons. Their shuffling and humming could be heard even before Nasuada's feet touched the ground. Islanzadi stood at the head of the small crowd, dressed in her crimson tunic but with a cloak of ruffled swan feathers that looked out of place in the forest. She greeted them and turned to the other Riders, who wore clothes that matched the colors of their dragons. "Follow me."
They wound through the forest city, right to its northern edge, where the buildings were scarce and the paths were barely used. They headed up a small knoll with clusters of trees. Islanzadi stopped. "Before we go any farther, you must all swear in the ancient language that no outsider is to know of what you are about to see without the permission of me, my children, or anyone else who is to succeed us to the throne."
"And why, pray tell, would I want to gag myself?" Orik asked.
Why, indeed? Saphira added. Don't you trust us?
Islanzadi smiled faintly. "This is not a matter of trust, but of safety. This knowledge is important and must be protected at all cost. It is our greatest advantage over Galbatorix, which cannot be willingly revealed if you are bound by the old tongue. Orik-vodhr, you came to supervise the training of the Riders. Unless you give me your word, you may as well return to Farthen Dur."
"Very well. I believe you mean no harm to the dwarves and the Varden. If you didn't, I wouldn't agree. I hold you to the honor of your hall and clan. This is not a ploy to deceive us. Just tell me what to say."
After being instructed by the queen, they all gave the oath and the queen nodded. "Thank you. Now we may proceed."
The top of the hill wasn't filled with trees anymore, but a bed of red clover that ran to the very edge of a stone cliff, which estended a league in either direction before dropping to a thousand feet to the forest below, where it spread onward to the horizon.
I know this place, Eragon told them. The vision I had…
A strong, loud thud filled the air, which seemed to shiver from it. The six Riders clustered together, hands on the pommels of their swords. Eragon and Murtagh jammed their fingers in their ears, but it didn't seem to help. Only the elves stood relaxed, but Arya was nervous, ready to cast a spell anytime.
The clover bent under a sudden gust of strong wind, and something rose. More like three somethings. A huge bronze-gold dragon rose from below the edge of a cliff, flanked by a midnight-blue dragon and a bloodred one.
They all had Riders on their backs.
Garrow was supposed to be pleased, but he wasn't. The he was in Horst's dining room though he was itching to head out of the village. The last seven soldiers in the valley who managed to escape the most recent ambush were not yet found, but the Forsworn might return full-force, and with an entire army to back them up. Horst was speaking to the men in front of them. "We've been dragged into one of Brom's mad tales, and it is something best left to stories. We mustn't experience them like this."
"And your point is?" Garrow asked.
"Look. You can chase down the few soldiers who fled if you want. There's barely a handful of them, and we can easily overpower them, but we must get our strength back first. You'll have plenty of volunteers. Everyone trusts you in battle."
Garrow still wasn't pleased, but he watched Horst leave with his sons. Since he was kidnapped and his sons fled with their dragons, he didn't really have much left behind in Carvahall. He could have come with them to the Varden if he wanted. But no, he didn't. He returned. He didn't understand his decision at times too, but what he knew is that he owed it to the villagers. He had to warn them first, and then now he had to protect them. He can't just abandon Carvahall.
But reinforcements were coming. More soldiers. More blasted Riders. More terrifying dragons. They would bring Carvahall's demise. He had to do something.
"You do know that this moment of peace will be brief, right?" Sloan said, striding into the room. He set down a bundle of meat on the table, patting it securely. "We can't just sit around and wait for dragons to come and destroy us."
"I know." Garrow rubbed his forehead in frustration. He wasn't good at arranging his thoughts. Roran and Murtagh could, though, and Eragon was creative enough to think of something. "There must be a solution."
His thoughts began to wonder. Sloan stayed, arms crossed, watching him expectantly. He didn't know what the butcher wanted. There was no use for reassuring words. They needed to save Carvahall. His panicked mind danced through the thoughts of Surda, the quiet haven for people who supported the Varden and opposed the Empire. He knew it was impossible, of course. They were on the opposite end of Alagaesia.
"You know, I would have led you all to Surda if I could," he finally said with a bitter chuckle. "We could traverse the Spine. Travel to Teirm. Rent a ship. Anything."
Sloan sat on the chair across the table. The butcher didn't look surly, resentful or angry, like he always did. He merely looked thoughtful. "It could work, you know. But how are we to convince people to abandon their lives? Their fields? Their jobs? I wouldn't think twice of doing it to save my hide, but what about the others?"
Garrow bowed his head. Selfish though Sloan may be, he had a point. "It is ridiculous. But the alternative is slavery. Or death."
"Exactly. The Varden. Varden. They are the only group who would harbor fugitives, and they would surely be delighted to have an entire village's worth of recruits. Our village has proven itself in battle."
"If we are to succed, we need to work quickly and do it before the reinforcements reach Carvahall. We barely have a few days to accomplish it. Three hundred people? It would be challenging."
"Challenging. Yes." Sloan trained his usually spiteful eyes on Garrow. "A reasonable leader would not convince them. A person who can stir up their emotions though, now that is someone they could listen to. Someone who can make them feel deep within them that it is the only way to do it. Fear isn't going to help them. A sense of purpose would."
"Passion, then."
"Passion. You used to have it, Garrow. Your son – sons. They inherited it. You showed it once more when the Forsworn came. You can use it to save the village."
Garrow pursed his lips, deep in thought. He knew, deep down, that he could do it. He could convince the people to leave their lives, throw their fortune away. He could lead them to a march of freedom – or death. "Let's do it."
He rose to his feet, followed by an amused Slaon. He found Elain folding towels in the hallway. "Garrow, what is going on?"
"Come, it is important," Garrow said. He saw Baldor step out of a doorway and beckoned to him in the same way.
They found Horst and Albreich talking in the entrance hall. Garrow also told them to come. He ignored their questions. They will have to be answered later. He breathed in the sweet evening hair, taking a short time to admire the gold clouds streaked with purple. There was no time for him to wish for his sons to be with him.
He marched to the edge of Carvahall, summoning every villager he passed by to come with him. He went around the village, grabbing a pole with a torch mounted on it. Once he was sure that he had everyone's attention, he led them back to the very center of the village. He stabbed the pole on the soft ground and said, "Come!"
The entire village resounded with his voice, and the people stirred.
A huge crowd gathered before him, with expressions ranging from sympathy to anger. Garrow kept calling to them with Horst's family and Sloan at his side. No house was left occupied. "We have lost so much," he began. "And we will lose more unless we fight the curse that cruel fate has left for us." He gazed at the people watching him, waiting, listening. "Your family and friends will be bound in chains and enslaved in foreign lands, else they would be slain before your very eyes by the soldiers or worse, the Forsworn themselves. Galbatorix will destroy the richness of our land."
No one spoke. Few resentful glares could be seen in the crowd. It didn't matter. "My sons have been forced to flee. I was kidnapped by a monster. We have lost many villagers, and one of them was a mere child with a bright future ahead of him. We have been hurt. Wronged. Hunted. Our land desecrated. We barely have enough to feed our families with, even if we toil on the earth all day. We pay Galbatorix's high taxes that are surely too much. We should not have to endure this insanity, this nightmare too."
The tension in the crowd was obvious. One word could send them into a frenzy, but the right word can lead them to their new path.
Garrow dropped his voice to a merely audible loudness, and continued. "We know the true nature of the Emire, of Galbatorix and his Forsworn. They are evil. Galbatorix and his Forsworn are blights upon these world, unnatural monsters born of darkness. They destroyed the Riders and an era of peace and prosperity was lost. They are foul demons dreamt up only in ancient, evil takes. But they are not content to grind us beneath their heals. No, they wish to spread the poison of misery throughout Alagaesia. We, our children and all our descendants will wallow in sadness and slavery that he can torture when he wants to."
"Unless," Sloan supplied when he lost the words to continue.
"Yes. Unless we have the courage to resist evil." Garrow gazed upon the wide eyes that peered at him, of the sadness, pain and misery that persisted upon them, even before the Forsworn and the soldiers arrived on their collective doorstep. "We fought enemies off, but we could die here, alone and forgotten like the shifting sands that cover the tracks of animals in the desert. We cannot stay here and wait for Galbatorix to destroy us. I would rather lose my life in a horrifying way than let him succeed. I will defy him and fight. I will step from my grave. Blast my enemies and let them be buried in it!"
"And how will you do that?" Someone in the crowd asked.
"I will leave Carvahall. I can cross the Spine and take a ship from Narda to Surda. I will join the Varden who are struggling for decades to save us all from oppression. Brom, my sons, Katrina and their dragons are there. But I do not wish to go alone," he said, registering the shock on the villagers' faces. "Come with me. Let us take the opportunity presented to us. We can make a better lives for us and our families. Let us not be bound by the shackles of Galbatorix's rule."
No one spoke. A song could have been sung in the mountains, and it could have been heard in the pure silence.
"A hundred years from now, bards shall sing of our feats. Horst. Birgit. Kiselt. Sloan. Thane. They will retell our tale, recite our sagas, remember the deeds for years to come. Nobody will forget the only village brave enough to defy the Empire." Garrow looked at the sky. "We are no Riders, but what else could be as noble as helping to cleanse the stain of darkness from Alagaesia? We do not have to live in fear and terror anymore. We will keep our harvest and send an occassional sack to the rightful ruler. We could live happy, safe and prosperous. It is our destiny."
Silence remained. Nobody wanted to respond, and it took Garrow some time to realize why. They wanted to hear more about the future he wanted to give them, the things they wanted to achieve. Garrow straightened up and proceeded to speak once more. "This age is about to end. Trusting the Varden and helping them shape the future is imperative, if we wish to provide the best for our children." He remembered his sons, and the last look they gave him – half-elated, half-disappointed, but full of hope. The hope that Alagaesia needed. "I will be marching in two days. Come with me if you wish, but I will go whether you come or not."
He bowed his ehad and stepped away from the torchlight. Silence engulfed them, save for the blowing wind and a creaking weather vane. Above them, a waning moon stood witness.
Sloan stepped forward. "My wife came from them and now, my daughter – as a Rider – has cast her lot with them. I have nothing left to live for here. And we could be doing something instead of wallowing in our misery. Better to die as heroes, than to die starving and forgotten."
Then, Birgit threw back her auburn hair and stepped forward. She did her best to avoid tripping on her dress. She looked speechless for a few seconds. Pale pink colored her cheeks. "It is hard to speak after that. Garrow…" She shook her head, and a terrifying fire filled her eyes. "I do not like his plan. But it is the only necessary one I can follow. I will do it for a different reason. I wish to hunt down the Forsworn and avenge my husband. I will go with him and take my children." Then she, too, stepped away.
Delwin and his wife, Lenna, followed. The woman nodded to Birgit. "Sister, we all understand what you need. We, too, desire vengeance. More than that, we want to give a safe future to our remaining children and so too shall we go." Many women with slain husbands stepped forward and agreed to come.
The other villagers spoke among themselves before falling silent. Nobody wanted to speak up. Even Garrow could agree with them. The idea seemed too vast, and it was hard to take it all in at once.
Horst stepped forward and began to extinguish the torch. "It would do us no good to keep talking tonight. It is late, and we need time to think. We must all decide for ourselves. Tomorrow is a new day. Maybe it will make our thoughts clearer."
Garrow watched the crowd disperse with Sloan. "What do you think?"
Sloan grunted. "Good enough." He slapped Garrow's shoulder before heading home.
Albreich and Baldor were waiting for the former farmer. "That was amazing," Albreich said.
"Aye, you could have convinced an Urgal to cut off his horns and become a farmer tonight," added Baldor. The timid boy had a strange fire in his eyes.
"Preposterous," Garrow told them, as they headed to Horst's house.
"I would have grabbed my spear and dashed into the Spine to follow you to the ends of Alagaesia. We would all have. You know you won't be alone, old man. The question isn't about who will leave. It's who won't. Nobody heard anything like it before."
Garrow nodded. "But we will all have to be responsible for ourselves and our families. I was merely presenting an option."
"And we gladly took it," Albrich said.
"Father would lose most of his tools, though."
Smiths made their own tools, which were often customized to fit their needs. These tools were passed from father to son, and master to apprentice. The wealth and success ofa smith was measured by the kind and number of tools that he owned. Horst wasn't exactly going to surrender something bigger than what the others would leave behind. The only regret would be depriving his sons of their rightful inheritance.
Melikir led the march through the tunnel of Farthen Dur. Most supplies, equipment and people have left for Surda the week before. Only a few things were left behind, along with the people who had to finish the last of their business in Tronjheim. And now, they were also on their way, led by the new – albeit young – leader of the Varden himself.
He was surrounded by a wide circle of human guards who were intent on keeping him safe from ambushes that were highly unlikely. Beside him were Brom and Angela, who have decided to always, always accompany him as his mentors. It infuriated the Council of Elders to no end, but that obviously amused Brom. At first, being in their presence made him more uncomfortable than he let them know, but once he got to know them more, he began to feel safe with them around.
Of course, they had their secrets. But who didn't? It was just that their experiences were so vast. He was vaguely aware that even Angela was at least ten times as old as she looked. They must have had a lot of knowledge and experience that they can't just reveal on a whim.
Knowing that Angela talked a lot, her silence that day surprised Melikir. He was used to her telling him about this crazy theory and that between sharing her opinions on current events. He was used to constant chatter even when he was supposed to be concentrating, and the nonstop banter of Brom and Angela.
He wasn't someone who was used to breaking the ice. As a matter of fact, the Varden's leader would rather curl up in a corner and hide rather than start small talk between his two advisors – one who was surly, stubborn but wise, the other likely insane, but still also wise and smart in her own way.
"So, er, do you have any family in Alagaesia that we must account for?" he asked. "I mean, aside from your, um, lover, Brom. Like, great nephews and the like?"
"I have no family left," Angela said airily, like she was simply stating the weather. "My family is long gone. They have been wiped out long ago."
"Right." Melikir kept his eyes ahead, though the dim red light of the teardrop lanters were starting to make his head hurt. It was typical of the witch herbalist to overdescribe things. Wiped out? Possibly killed off or died off. "And you, Brom?"
"I was an only son of a long line of only sons," Brom said. "But I do have more. Of my family, that is. And they are all steadily heading north as we speak."
Melikir nodded. He vaguely understood that Brom could be refering to the Riders and the dragons that were sent away to train to Ellesmera. Unless there was something more to that statement that made a quiet idea build in the young leader's mind.
It was a possibility. Another piece of the puzzle named Brom.
Another BLEH chapter, in my opinion, but I'm sure everyone appreciates fillers every now and then!
I think Arya will do solo Shadeslaying, but it might change depending on how it turns out. And yep, Roran is a really, REALLY practical person who is kind of distrusting right now.
Islanzadi banished Faolin because of some disagreement, but she sent Arya away because she doesn't know how to handle motherhood alone.
For someone who noticed the mistake in the previous chapter, I thank you! I will edit it tomorrow!
And I agree, the dragon POV from the Inheritance Cycle were depressing. Erk. I ended up skimming through them on my first read.
Read and review, as always! Carvahall will get a lot of action next chapter!