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Chapter 51: Earth, Fire, Water, and Air
Aesyr's hand flew to her nose as Sardonis wearily descended through the layers of smoke. The young dragon was strained so much, struggling to keep up with the larger, older dragons. Tears welled up in her eyes as the noxious fumes of the Burning Plains greeted her. She heard someone cough and retch ahead of her.
Tilting his wings, Sardonis followed his elders in their descent. This is vile, he said, disgust evident in his feelings.
I know, Aesyr replied, drinking in the terrifying landscape. It is like a taste of your kind's combined powers.
The air began to clear as they flew closer to the ground, giving Aesyr a better view of the Burning Plains. The layers of black and crimson smoke created a thick blanket over the ground that gave it a sickly orange hue. Clear patches in the dark sky let pale shafts of sunlight light up the area, like columns of light and hope.
The Jiet River snaked ahead, thick and twisted like a serpent, glowing with the same hazy tint as the rest of the plains. The patches of light that hit it every now and then gave it a white, chalky look that looked like poisoned, glowing milk.
Aesyr wrapped her arms around herself. "This is not natural," she murmured.
Along the eastern banks of the river were two opposing armies. To the south lay the Varden and their Surdan allies, camped right behind multiple layers of defense. Brightly woven standards, proud tents, and mighty cavalry horses stood out in their side. Strong and magnificent though they were, they looked pitifully small compared to the size of Galbatorix's army. Aesyr found the enemy force's size difficule to wrap around her mind. It spanned three miles across on its leading edge. In length, it was impossible to tell just how massive it was. The individual men all merged into one big shadowy mass in that distance.
What she feared the most would be the enemy Riders in that army.
A patch of empty land spanning two miles divided the two forces. The entire field was pockmarked, colorful tongues of fire dancing in those openings. The smoke that concealed the sun came from those. No vegetation could grow on that parched land aside from sparse bursts of lichen, looking like disgusting scabs from the Riders' vantage point.
It was horrifying and disturbing. The dragons swooped over the land that separated the wo armies, the angling toward the Varden as fast as they could. They could not expose themselves to the Empire, not when enemy Riders and magicians could strike upon them. Aesyr extended her awareness, still finding it challenging. Not as frustrating as those first days learning them, but it still took some effort. As they did during the one time that the senior and junior pupils trained together after Vanir's defeat against Eragon, the eight Riders and their dragons joined their minds, searching for hostile mind.
The panic from the Varden's sentinels hit her like a stunning blow to the head. Naturally, not many have seen the dragons before, and their fear took over them. A number raised their bows and shot barbed arrows toward the Riders to intercept them.
I will take care of this! Katrina raised her hand, her coppery hair rippling behind her. She was beautiful and intimidating. "Letta orya thorna!" The arrows froze in place, completely stopping before the Riders or the dragons were fatally shot. "Ganga." She flicked her wrist, and the arrows landed in the no-man's-land harmlessly.
She missed an arrow that was shot a bit later than the others, though. Arya grinned plucked it from the air with a swift hand as Firnen flew past it. That was too easy. I thought they would test us properly.
We almost got turned into pin cushions! You call that easy? Eragon asked with a mental roll of his eyes. Pride tinged his thoughts, though.
Now that they were a hundred feet from the ground, the dragons flared their wings, slowing their descent. They alighted on their hindlegs, slowly touching their front legs down into a running stop among the Varden's tents.
A cursing Orik dismounted Thorn from behind Murtagh, rubbing his forehead. "Fighting a dozen Kull would be a better experience than landing like that." He cursed some more as he dusted his mail.
"That was a fool thing to do, I tell you," Brom said, leaping roughly off Saphira's back.
"It was fun," Eragon grumbled.
Dozens of awestruck warriors, armed and ready for battle, surrounded them, murmuring praises and sharing their amazed opinions. Some of the moved aside, creating a path for a tall man that Aesyr recognized. She smiled as she recognized her adoptive father, Fredric, who worked as the Varden's weapon master. He wore his familiar ox-hide armor. "Get back to your posts, you slack-jawed louts! You're not paid to stand here gawking! I'll have anyone who stays here at the count of ten chalked up for extra watches!"
The men scrambled away, mumbling irritably.
"Father!" Aesyr said, running toward him with a smile.
Fredric gave her a confused look, as if struggling to recognize her. That stung. Then, a wide smile broke through his gruff façade. He shot a speculative look at Sardonis. "Aesyr! You're looking well! You and I will have a long talk once you have all settled down." He turned to the other Riders, also startled by their changes. He nodded a bit nervously to Vanir, who was trying his best to look aloof once more. "Welcome, Riders. You have just arrived in time. You are sorely needed. Forgive me, my men have shamed me by attacking you. Every man's honor has been blackened by this mistake. Are any of you hurt?"
"We are fine, Fredric. Don't worry," Brom grunted. "You should teach your men to learn if one is an enemy before shootihg, though."
Fredric nodded, relieved. He put a hand on Aesyr's shoulder. "Good to hear, then. I've had the men responsible pulled from duty. I'll have them whipped and reduced in rank. They not only tried to harm Riders and dragons, but also my daughter."
"Father, I am hardly defenseless now," Aesyr said with a smile. She still appreciated the thought, though.
Eragon frowned. "I would like to see them." He glanced at the others, as if asking for their support.
Murtagh immediately nodded. "Not just see them, of course. We would talk to them."
Concern emanated from Fredric, possibly because he feared that the sentinels would experience terrible retribution, possibly aided by magic. He shot Aesyr a fleeting look before turning back to Eragon and Murtagh. "Very well, you simply have to follow me."
What are you planning? Aesyr asked her brothers as they wound through the cluttered camp. More and more people began to peer out of their tents, watching the group. The dragons trodded gently, afraid of damaging – or outright destroying – tents.
Murtagh smiled. Peace, sister. We will not harm them, of course not. As a matter of fact, we have far from harmful intents. I would love to tell you, but maybe you should just watch.
They reached a massive command tent striped black and white, where a group of twenty or so men were removing their armor and laying down their weapons under the watchful eye of guards twice as many as they. Seeing the Riders arrive, the prisoners went down on one knee and their guards bowed. "Hail, Riders!" they said, though looking slightly confused that there were more than six, and none looked human.
Eragon and Murtagh stood side-by-side at the head of the Riders' group, watching the men kneeling before them. An uncomfortable silence filled the tent. Aesyr found herself giving her brothers nervous glances.
"You should be proud." Eragon grinned. "You reacted so quickly to our appearance. We must expect nothing less from sentries, especially since we might get attack at any moment without being notified in advance. That is what you must do, should the Empire's men and their Riders suddenly decide to attack us."
Murtagh winced and made a face. "I am not sure how effective those arrows would be against any Rider, but still you must be commended. Please just remember something in the future. Make sure to identify your target before shooting. We might all be too distracted to prevent your arrows."
"We understand, Shadeslayers," the soldiers said.
Arya stepped forward, holding the arrow that Katrina missed. She stood before the man second to the last in the line. "Hello. I believe your name is Harwin?" The young soldier barely looked older than the Riders themselves. "This is yours."
Harwin's eyes widened, a look of wonder in his face. He smiled at Arya, bowing to her as he accepted the arrow. "So it is, so it is! My Da always told me to paint a white band on my shafts so I can identify and retrieve them later. Thank you so much, Argetlam."
"Maybe I should try that too," Murtagh said. "Good way to avoid wasting perfectly good arrows."
Eragon turned to Fredric. "These are good and true men. The Varden needs more men like you and they, believe me. Please do not let any misfortune befall them just because of what happened today."
Fredric nodded and smiled. "I will personally see to that."
Aesyr turned to her brother, a frown on her face. "I wish you two could have at least told me what exactly you were planning. You had me half-scared for a time."
Eragon smiled widely. "Sorry."
"Fredric, could you take us to my brother?" Nasuada asked.
Vanir followed his comrades – his new friends, he supposed – through the tents. He began fearing for this little resistance group, knowing the sheer size of the Empire's army. Their forces were too few, and most likely not with the best equipment. I thought the Varden and Surda were allied with the dwarves, and yet I have not seen one aside from Orik-elda.
Diamanda voiced her agreement. Even with us on their side, we could still be easily overwhelmed if the Forsworn appear. But the dwarves' absence might have a reason. Maybe we should hear out this Melikir first.
People watched them as they walked through the main part of the camp. Soldiers, families, and other camp followers like smiths and farriers looked up to watch their small procession. So many hopes and dreams that could be easily maniplated and crushed. Vanir wondered how they could be saved.
You must not think like that, Diamanda told him. We are their hope, and we must keep it up at all cost.
You are too young to face something like this. We all are.
We do what we must, Vanir, and never shrug off our duties.
Near the back of the camp was a large red pavilion flying a penant that rippled in the ghastly air. Brom gathered the Riders around him. "I know that you are all eager to help and also know the situation, but let me talk to them first, understand? Just follow me and stay silent until I tell you otherwise, or unless someone directly asks you a question."
Fredric ushered them into the furnished tent, a massive table acting as the centerpiece. Two heavily armored males stood beside it. One was Faolin, arms crossed as he regarded a scroll set down on the table. The other one was human, with skin as dark as Nasuada's. His eyes were also golden, but not as bright as his sister's. He seemed barely more than a boy, even by human standards.
This is the leader of a Varden? He is a child! Vanir told Diamanda.
He is, but he seems very capable. He would make a good Rider, but not one that I'd like to be with.
Melikir smiled widely and bowed to the Riders. "Greetings, great Riders. You do not know how pleased I am to see you, after all that Faolin has told me." He turned to Vanir. "You must be Vanir. I am Melikir, leader of the Varden."
Vanir twisted his hand over his sternum and bowed his head slightly. "May good fortune rule over you, Melikir-elda," he said, trying his best to sound courteous. It wasn't easy.
"And may the stars watch over you," Melikir said with a smile. "I am not well-versed in the way of your people, but Faolin has been educating me. I wonder though, how did you get our message so quickly?"
Brom grunted. "None of us did, as a matter of fact. These young ones seem to think that it is already their task to scry recent events in Alagaesia without completing the proper training for it. They bullied all of us to let them leave Ellesmera."
I tried to stop them, Vanir told Diamanda.
The dragon was amused. Yes, but you were also eager to follow them.
Melikir smiled. "They did the right thing, Brom. Do not berate them for that. We need you all. Your knowledge, your might, your experience… they are important here, of all things." He regarded the human Riders – could they still be called that? – with a look of wonder. "I have heard fragments from Faolin but… what happened to you? You have changed so much."
So far, so good. Garrow watched the sloops slowly drawing closer to their ship, but for what they were planning, Uthar could buy them enough time. They just needed to outrun the smaller vessels for a bit more.
With the ship tidied up after the storm, and the villagers prepared for the next ordeal, every light in the ship was extinguished a little after nightfall to confuse their pursuers and try to buy more time. By sunrise, they did gain more distance from the sloops, who have fallen back to the northwest, farther by at least another mile or so. They would make up the lost distance, but the ruse gave them the edge that they needed.
Sadly, the sloops were gaining on them again later that morning. They must have realized that they were tricked. Ahead was the Boar's Eye, a great disk of foam swirling north to east. They were too late, as the high tide already passed. The Boar's Eye was gaining in speed and strength. The knotted rope that Uthar tied as a way to know if they were already in the pull of the whirlpool now floated alongside the only good thing that Garrow saw would be the fact that they were following the current, not fighting it.
They would have had to wait if it had been the other way around, and they couldn't afford to wait.
Uthar was already shouting for the villagers to man the oars. In just a few minutes, two rows of poles were already set up on other side of the Dragon Wing. Accompanied by an ox-hide drum and Bonden's chanting, the oars began to move as one.
The Dragon Wing gained speed, moving faster than the sloops which were still well outside the influence of the Eye.
Helping young Baldor into the basket of the crow's nest, the two men shared some biscuits and a dried apple. They took turns watching the eye, concentrating hard on distracting themselves by eating.
The foamy disk accelerated quickly over the next half hour, the water churning like a massive vortex, mist spinning around it, dancing with the velocity of the winds that carried it up. The watery maw grew and grew, emitting a massive roar that drowned out the sounds of the men below.
"It's about time," Garrow muttered. "Go on, lad, you better tell Uthar."
Baldor nodded. "Make sure to tie yourself to the mast. You might get thrown off, Deftblade."
Garrow nodded grimly, leaving his arms free to reach for his belt knife if worst came to worst. He felt nothing aside from anxiety, as he began to grasp their situation. They were but a mile past the median of the Eye, and the sloops two miles behind. The Eye was steadily building up its strength, ready to unleash its full fury soon. The wind blew from one direction and then another, rendering the sails useless.
He prayed hard, so hard, that he didn't make a foolish decision.
The Boar's Eye grew and grew, the current gaining speed as it drove the shift forward at a dangerous speed, it seemed less likely that their plan would succeed. They might never break free. The Dragon Wing tilted precariously, suspending Garrow over the rushing water. He really was getting too old for antics such as that.
The enemy sloops were still gaining on them, despite their efforts. Garrow sighed and tucked away his spyglas in his shirt, knowing that he won't need it anymore, no matter what the outcome would be. The sloops were close enough to be seen without it, and the Eye was nothing but churning clouds of white vapor leaping out of the funnel.
The Dragon Wing began to diverge from the current, Uthar doing his best to pull away from the whirlpool and plunge into the open sea. The keel began to chatter as they fought the churning water, their spead decreasing by half as they tried to break free from the Boar's Eye. The mast shuddered, the crow's nest swinging rapidly. Garrow hated being too old for adventures. He prayed that he could at least avoid throwing up.
They continued to slow, and Garrow felt afraid. He cut off his bindings, ignoring common sense, and leaped out of the crow's nest. He shimmied down the mast, almost falling to his death at least twice. He jumped off as he was just a couple of feet from the deck, and stumbled down, into the hatchway. He joined the villagers manning the oars, no one saying any word. Bonden's shouts and the rythmic drum was enough.
Did he tell himself already that he was too old for antics like this?
He could almost imagine the whirlpool fighting against them, and soon the Dragon Wing came to a standstill. They were not going to make it. Garrow was exhausted beyonf imagining, his body sore from the rowing. In simpler times, the only things he worried about was not having enough money to properly feed his lads.
Darmmen and Hammund stood up, relieved by Thane and Ridley. The two men – barely lads – collapsed in the middle of an aisle. Another person collapse somewhere down the aisle, replaced by Birgit and another woman.
Time seemed to drag on as Garrow worked the oar rythmically, his torn and blistered skin streaking the pole with his blood. He briefly ripped off his shirt, wrapped it around the oar, and continued without complain. His body eventually gave way, though, and he fell on his side, Orval replacing him on the oar. He lay still for a while, just enough for his breath to return, and for his body to listen to him once more.
Crawling to the hatchway, he straggled up the ladder deliriously until he reached the deck. He slumped over, relishing the fresh – though violent – air, before staggering to the helm. His legs cramped horribly, muscles clenching with every step.
His sons were lucky. As Riders, they most likely do not have to worry about old age.
"How are you faring?" he asked Uthar, who simply shook his head.
Peering over the edge of the ship, Garrow spotted the sloops at least half a mile away, slightly more to the west. They were closer to the center of the Eye, and appeared practically motionless compared to the Dragon Wing.
For a while, none of the four ships seemed to change positions. Then he felt something beneath him shift slightly, as if they crossed an invisible but very important line. Subtly, it felt like the Eye's hold on them loosened ever so slightly. It was just a few minimal feet per minute, but slowly, the distance between the Dragon Wing and the pursuers began to grow, every stroke of the oars pulling them away.
The sloops, built for speed but not endurance, could not fare against the whirlpool's great maw anymore. They slowed down, bit by bit, until they drifted backward, swallowed by the veil of mist that concealed the dreadful Eye.
With small crews and a small ship, they tired easily, unable to fight off the sheer strength of the Boar's Eye. Garrow bowed his head, murmuring a silent prayer for people plunging to their watery death.
Sorry, I just had too much fun making Garrow complain about his age...
War is brewing in Alagaesia and our Riders are about to get themselves caught in the middle of battle. I do know for a fact that Roran will be facing Enduriel and Murtagh will be battling against Morzan (for reasons I will reveal later)... but all of the others will be kept secret for now. And we'll be meeting a couple of OC Forsworn and a new generation of enemy Riders.
I really haven't noticed that Brom was spending too much time with Murtagh, to be honest. Though I would like to personally believe that he's trying to learn more about the boy's new skill (tracking) because it will be really useful in the future. Brom actually likes the twin Riders, and I think he has a personal interest (way more than personal, to be honest) in seeing them succeed and discover their full potential as Riders and people.
Now that I finished the Gathering Storm, I wanted to have a break from the Wheel of Time for a something lighter and happier... and ended up picking up Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone. Just because.