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War preparations and stuff ongoing!
Chapter 52: A Lull in the Action
The Riders have finally finished their accounts of their adventures with the elves, including the hatching ceremony and the Blood-Oath Celebration. King Orrin – an odd, odd man – even joined them, pitching in some comments every now and then.
They were soon assisted in outfitting themselves in armor, ready to ride into battle anytime that the Empire decided to attack them.
Leaving their things behind in Nasuada's command tent while personal tents were to be set up for them by the Varden, the Riders parted ways, armed with different tasks that they had to accomplish. Katrina brought Aesyr with her as they wound through the tents to search for Du Vrangr Gata. The two of them were tasked with uniting and mobilizing the Varden's spellcasters into a force fit for battle. One was chosen for her unrivalled skill in spellcasting, while the other was chosen due to her familiarity with the different factions of the Varden.
Katrina rolled her shoulder blades, unaccustomed to the lightness of the heavy chainmail that was masterfully restored by the dwarves, rid of the stains and dents that dotted it during the Battle of Farthen Dur. Behind them, Luneria and Sardonis walked lightly through the narrow camp path, careful not to destroy or damage anything in their way.
"This Trianna, what is she like?" Katrina asked. She heard a few things from Eragon and Arya, but it was better to know more. After all, it was difficult to believe everything that a jealous elf would say.
"She is quite skilled in her own way, and does her tasks in thebest that she can. But I would not call her loyal to the Varden. She is loyal to Du Vrangr Gata, nothing more." Aesyr shrugged. "She is beautiful, and would not mind using that to her advantage. She has attempted to ensnare many powerful men in the Varden. One gave in two years ago, I hear, but he was assassinated by spies before Trianna could use him to her advantage."
"So she is dangerous."
"Quite so. But there is nothing to fear. She may be powerful among her peers, but you or I could easily crush her."
Katrina, I sensed someone's shielded mind nearby, Luneria announced in excitement. It must be one of the Varden's magicians!
Or someone important enough to have trained in blocking their mind,Sardonis commented quietly. I have heard Aesyr talk about some.
It does not matter, Katrina told them. We could at least ask directions.
The dragons kept their disapproval about asking questions to themselves. Apparently, a dragon's pride meant that they should find their own way. Katrina just grinned as she headed to a small green tent with a donkey picketed right in front of it. They wound their way through the campsite, greeting familiar faces and acknowledging others who took note of them.
"So how do you think should we proceed?" Aesyr asked.
Katrina frowned. "Well, this woman that we speak of is a serpent, slippery and sneaky. Making her see our intentions would be dangerous, so we must take it step by step. It would do us no good to startle her, make her do something reckless."
"That would be quite a feat, as we are not the Riders who have sworn fealty to Melikir," Aesyr noted. "But we are still members of the Varden, so I believe that will lend weight to our words."
Katrina nodded. She crossed her arms, trying her best to look intimidating. That should have been some rite of passage among Carvahall's women, instead of learning how to knit and cook and pamper their husbands. They were women, not slaves!
They eventually found Trianna's tent after half an hour. They had to ask around for quite some time since only a handful o people knew of its existense. Even fewer knew where it was since the tent was concealed behind a rocky outcrop that protected it from being seen by enemy magicians.
Six human females stood ouside the tent, arguing loudly. A cluster of frightened-looking spellcasters turned to the Riders, their faces familiar. Most of them were quite visible during the Battle of Farthen Dur. They blinked in surprise as they recognized Katrina, though some of them gave Aesyr puzzled looks. As the younger Rider claimed, she just knew her father's acquaintances, and eventually Brom's. She never met anyone from Du Vrangr Gata aside from Trianna and the treacherous Twins.
One of them was a woman was taller and older than the rest. She was probably as old, or a little older, than Melikir. Her dark hair fell around her face and down her back in lustrous waves, framing an olive-skinned face and deep blue eyes.
That is Trianna, Aesyr said.
As the two Riders approached, the other five women turned, watching them warily. All of them were around Aesyr's age, one with similar features as Trianna, but with mahogany-colored eyes. They could have passed as sisters. One had honey-colored hair, with a fierce, hawk-like face that belied her youth. Her pale hazel eyes glinted dangerously. The third had fair, fair hair like Elaine of Carvahall, her face mellow. Deep violet eyes that were almost blue flashed angrily as she regarded Trianna. The fourth had chestnut-colored hair that was braided down her back. Her pale blue eyes regarded the Riders with an icy aura that could have matched an elf's. The last was a fiery-haired girl with pale green eyes like glass marbles.
"Argetlamar," Trianna purred, giving her companions warning looks. She flicked a stray lock of hair from her face. The very movement was calculated to appear sensual. "I am Trianna of Du Vrangr Gata, and I am truly honored by your presence."
"Spare us with your talk," Katrina said. She watched the older woman in distaste. She would not like the likes of her to be around the male Riders.
The five girls shooed the other spellcasters away with a look and advanced upon the two Riders. "Riders," the honey-haired girl said. As one, they curtsied. "It is truly an honor to finally see legends walking the land once more."
"We are the Daughters of the Serpent, mages from Petrovya who specialize in sorcery." The red-haired girl smiled beatifully. "As I see, you are familiar with one of our members."
"Trianna?" Aesyr asked wonderingly.
"Yes, Argetlam. Our order has dwindled in recent years, as many of our members have been targetted by the Empire. We who stand before you are the remnants of what was once a thriving group that aided the Riders in an age long past."
"Trianna's younger sister here, Rishaelle, is quite a talent too, and we hope to see her join our ranks. But as blood-sister, Trianna must agree for us to test her," the brown-haired girl mused. "Trianna does not wish to see someone with such promise become one of the Daughters, which is such a shame."
"I do not want to expose Rishaelle to the dangers of your craft," Trianna scoffed.
Rishaelle bristled. "I am not a child anymore, Trianna." She turned to the Riders with a pleading look. "Shur'tugal, please convince my sister."
Trianna's face went white as Sardonis approached her, growling. Luneria merely loomed behind Katrina with a dangerous light in her eyes. "Very well. We shall proceed with the ceremony later."
"Proper introductions shall also be done much later, once we have met with Lord Brom," one of the other Daughters said. Together, the five of them departed.
Trianna watched them depart with narrow eyes. "Children," she sniffed. Then, realizing that the Riders were still there, she broke into a languid smile. "So, how may I please the esteemed Dragon Riders today? Why grace us with your presence now? None of you have ever deigned to visit us before. We are more your brethren than any in the Varden."
"You and we have different notions of brethren," Katrina said. She still marvelled at the fact that she would have cringed and hid behind Luneria if she heard Trianna say that a year ago. She was not as good as Eragon, but she could still sense – and jab against – the probing thoughts of other magicians trying to probe her mind. A pair of men and a small young woman flinched. "We are here to take command of Du Vrangr Gata, as I recall one of you filing a petition for a Rider to take the position."
"Someone has ordered you to wrest this position away from me," Trianna hissed.
"No one orders a Rider. No one. Lord Melikir has asked us to, and we decided to honor the request."
Trianna smiled gloatingly. "The Varden has no direct authority over us. We decided to help the Varden out of our own free will."
Katrina crossed her arms, calculating it in such a way that it was not defensive nor forcibly imitating. "Melikir is a very intelligent and capable young man. He and his father have both done so much for your group. I think it would be in poor taste if you make him think that you do not need the support and protection of the Varden anymore." She smiled at Trianna's horrified expression. "And did you not implore one of us to take this post? If you must know, I am better than he in casting spells."
Trianna regained her composure. "Oh, but he refused the offer, and the rest of you ignored it." Her defensiveness was quite obvious.
"It would have been the wrong time. We were bound to leave soon."
Trianna scowled, all thoughts ofmaintaining composure lost. She waved a hand, motioning to the spellcasters behind her. "We have spent most of our lives in learning our art. Have you spent even just two years in casting spells? You are not qualified. I do not think so. Do you have any strategy at all? Any plans?"
"Naturally she already does, or else she would not have approached you," Aesyr said.
Arya just departed from Angela's quarters, leaving Nasuada behind to discuss some "important Varden matters" with the witch. Apparently, the other girl seemed to have some gift with witchcraft and Angela wanted to hone ti. Nasuada also had some messages and important notes from Melikir to deliver to the witch in question, so it was going to work out.
That left the elf alone to assist in overlooking weapon inventories and relaying a few more messages. She hoped that Murtagh and Vanir were having a much better time collecting and sorting out information from some spy reports. As much as she loved spending time with Eragon, she wouldn't want to join him and Roran in shoring up the defenses of the camp. That was tedious work, and she would rather be moving around than toiling in just one place.
Well, I would not mind sitting around for once, Firnen noted. We have been too busy as of late.
Does it matter? Arya wound her way through the tents, finally done with all of the tasks she was loaded with. War is brewing. We cannot just sit and watch. The Varden needs all the help it could get.
They are too few, even with us around. What difference could we make?
One man could be the difference between victory and defeat, Arya said. Though the odds are most definitely not in our favor.
She found herself back outside the command tent, where the other Riders were waiting. Vanir nodded to her, rubbing his eyes tiredly. "Most of the reports were mostly hidden beneath piles of textual gibberish, but we have learned many things. But none of the reports indicated the Forsworn," Murtagh explained.
Eragon scowled. "That's not very helpful, then."
"I suppose," Roran said. "But we still need to be prepared. Maybe not even Galbatorix's army knows that they would be supported in this battle by the Forsworn."
Melikir stepped out of the tent, armed and ready for battle. He was smoothing a stray lock of dark hair away from his face. Brom was right behind him, Undbitr in hand. The Riders turned to face them.
"What is happening?" Katrina asked. She looked exhausted, as if working with Trianna drained her of energy. That was probably true, in a way. The sorceress was an insufferable wench.
"Urgals," Brom spat.
Nasuada turned to her brother. "Is this true?"
"Aye," Melikir confirmed. "A company of sum hundred Kull have been spotted from the northeast, steadily heading toward ourcamp."
Arya's hand flew to her sword, but she remained calm. Flying into a rage might get them in trouble. "Well, there are eight Riders here. Six if you wish to keep the newer pair behind," she said quickly. "We might be able to do something about it."
"Do something about it? Eliminating them would be easy," Nasuada said quietly. "We can handle it by ourselves. No need to deploy soldiers. We will need all of them safe and unharmed."
Melikir's face fell. "Forgive me, sister. We will not be able to do that. They are flying the white flag of truce, and they have specifically requested for an audience from me."
Arya's jaw practically dropped. "An audience. With you."
"Do not tell me that you intend to talk to them," Eragon argued. "That would be madness."
Melikir shook his head. "I am a leader and a diplomat. Father always told me that we must offer all of our foes proper courtesies if they come under the banner of truce."
"Are you mad?" Eragon continued before Murtagh restrained him.
"Forgive my brother for his choice of words, but I beg you to reconsider. These… creatures have slaughtered and destroyed. They caused so much pain and suffering, Melikir. You know what they can and have done first-hand. This might be a trap."
"They are correct," Jormundur said, stepping out of the pavilion. "You may not want to listen to us, Melikir, but at least listen to them."
"Forgive them, Melikir, their training is truly unfinished," Brom said quietly.
Melikir drew himself to his full height, which was quite impressive. He looked so much like Ajihad. "I believe you have all forgotten one thing, my friends. I fought in Farthen Dur and saw their horrific feats myself. But can you not say the same for men who have also commited so much attrocities?"
"But what could they provide you with?" Arya asked. She had a sneaking suspicion, but it was too terrifying to think of.
"Allies. I cannot ignore that possibility, not when our forces are too outnumbered."
Arya quietly relented. Being raised as the princess of the elves, she learned some things from her parents and her brother. She saw some of her fellow Riders argue with their dragons, though. Vanir stayed apart from the rest, quietly assessing the situation.
Melikir ordered his guards to tie back the pavilion's panels, exposing it to everyone and letting the dragons crouch low next to their Riders, who took their place behind Melikir as he sat down on his desk. Brom himself stood to the young leader's right, hands clasped together. He would no doubt be ready to draw his sword or cast a spell if need be.
Jormundur and the other guards stood around the pavilion, making sure that the anyone who sought an audience needed to go through them. Arya exchanged looks with Nasuada, who nodded to her determinedly.
Less than five minutes passed before a roar of anger erupted from the eastern borders of the camp. Men's jeers and insults could easily be heard, following a tall Kull who came into view. Members of the varden insulted and screamed at him as he approached the pavilion, where Melikir patiently waited. The Urgal – a ram, as he was called by his own people – held his head high and proud. He bared his fangs but did nothing else in reaction to the abuse directed at him.
He's quite impressive, Firnen noted.
Arya quietly agreed. The ram was more than eight feet tall, his features grotesque but strong and proud. He would have been esteemed among his kind. He was quite big and beefy. Arya wondered if he could win in an unarmed wrestling match against a bear. She tried not to think about whether his loincloth and crude iron armor could provide proper protection during a full-scale battle. She also assessed the elven hair mixtures that could relieve his long black hair of its greasiness.
Eragon bared his teeth beside Arya, as tense as a drawn bow. He stared at Arya, a bewildered look replacing the anger in his features for a while. His mind is protected, he said.
The Urgal stopped before the pavilion entrance, cautiously watching the men lined along it. Melikir motioned for his guards to shut the crowd up, and everyone complied immediately. Melikir was young, but no one wanted to anger him. The crowd drew a collective breath, waiting for the events to unfold.
The Urgal lift his muscular arms towards the sky and took a deep breath. He opened his mouth and bellowed at Melikir. The guards raised their blades, pointing them toward the Urgal, who ignored them and continued his yell until all the air in his massive lungs were gone. Then he regarded Melikir calmly, ignoring the people who glared at him with open hatred – and probably wanted to chop him to pieces.
"What manner of treachery is this, Lord Nightstalker? Your people promised me safe passage. Is this what you call safe? Or do humans break their word so easily?"
Before someone else could speak, Arya leaned toward Melikir. "Relax, that is simply a way for them to greet war chiefs. They would then proceed to butt heads. You might want to try it, but I would advise you to spare yourself the pain."
Melikir kep his golden eyes on the waiting Kull. "The Varden are not liars. We are not like Galbatorix and those twisted Riders of his. Speak your mind freely. I will not judge you because of your race. We are holding council under a truce, and you will not be in danger. I promise you that on my honor."
The Urgal raised his chin higher, baring his throat. That was good news, as doing so was a gesture of friendship. Lowering one's head would have been bad. Really bad. No one wanted to be rammed by an Urgal's horns. Not even another Urgal. "My name is Nar Garzhvog of the Bolvek Tribe. I am here to speak for my people." His guttural accent was a little difficult to understand, even with Arya's incredible hearing. "We Urgals are hated more than any race together. Elves, dwarves, humans… you all hunt us, burn us. You have driven us from our halls many times."
"With good reason. Do you deny that?"
"I do not. Our people love war. But still, we have been attacked often too, just because you find us as ugly as we find you. We thrived since those Riders have fallen. Our tribes have grown, and our harsh land cannot feed us well anymore."
Melikir frowned slightly. "Is that what drove you to make a pact with Galbatorix?"
Nar Garzhvog nodded slightly. "You must understand, Lord Nightstalker. We were promised with good land, so long as we killed his foes. It was a trick. That flame-haired shaman of his, that Durza, bent the wills of our war chiefs and made them agree, going against our wills. He forced the tribes to work together. That is not our way." The Urgal growled softly. "We learned about this in that dwarf mountain. The Herndall, our dams sent my brood mate to Galbatorix. She was to ask him why he used us so. She did not return. Our finest rams died for that drajl, and we were abandoned like a broken sword. That snaked-tongued lack-horned betrayer destroyed us. Lord Nightstalker, our numbers are few now. But if you let us, we will gladly fight with you."
"There is always a price," Nasuada murmured.
"We seek the blood of Galbatorix and those black-souled Forsworn of his. And if we succeed in defeatin the Empire, we want land for breeding and growing. We swear on the bloods of our sires and the hearth of our halls that we will not battle with you in the future."
Jormundur murmured something to Melikir, but the young man's face was set in grim determination already. "Nature will not help us in our quest. We need allies. I will deal with the men. Nasuada, Roran."
The two Riders standing nearest to Melikir leaned forward. They confered with him quietly. Roran was the first to straighten up, looking nauseated. Nasuada followed, looking upset and a little angry with her brother.
Melikir nodded to the Urgal. "As you wish, Nar Garhvog. I will let you and your warriors take your place in the eastern flank of our army. Please stay away from the main body, and then we shall discuss the pact we will be making with you."
Garzhvog nodded, clapping both fists to his bow. "Ahgrat ukmar. You are a wise Herndall, Lord Nightstalker."
Melikir blinked. "Why do you call me Nightstalker."
The Urgal made an odd sound in his throat that must have been laughter. "Nightstalker is the name we gave your sire because of the way he hunted us in those dark dwarf tunnels. And the color of his hide. You are his cub, and I hear you are now in his place. You are worthy of the same name."
After a few more words, Garzhvog departed and Melikir made a proclamation that would provide protection for the Urgals. Orrin arrived, apparently outraged about the audience with Garzhvog, but before he could say anything, a sentry emerged from the tents.
"A horseman from the Empire is coming!"
The two plotlines are going to converge soon. War is about to erupt. What will happen here, and will the Forsworn pop up?
Will Hrothgar die like in the original book? Will someone lose his sword (either literally or metaphorically)? Will someone find out some chilling truth? Are there more long-lost family members lurking around? Stay tuned, guys!
Read and review, as always!
Someone is a little nervous about having her wisdom tooth yanked off on Friday. Awake and sedated.