"Katharean! What are you doing?" A familiar voice asked. She looked up and smiled at her sister.
"It's been so long since I've ridden in the woods. It's such a fine day, I thought I'd take Dennes for a ride."
Selena folded her arms, eyeing her sister disapprovingly.
"Not like that, you're not. Ladies ride side-saddle, you know that. What would father think if he saw his youngest daughter straddling her horse like a boy?"
Katharean shrugged, grinning mischievously.
"Father always wanted a son. And besides, whoever heard of anybody having great adventures whilst riding side-saddle?"
"Bah! You and your childishness! Adventures are for poor fools. When will you ever be content with the life you have been given? You are thirteen years old, Kathy, you're not a child anymore." She insisted, placing her hands on her hips.
"And you are not my keeper, Sel." She retorted, still grinning.
"When will you ever learn, Katharean?"
"Soon enough, I imagine." Lord Athem's voice answered from behind Katharean. She turned in her saddle to see a sad smile playing on the man's face as he reached out a hand to pat her horse's flank. "Soon enough, you will wake to find a world on it's knees. You have to be brave, my daughter. Wake up. You're dreaming, Katharean. Wake up. The world needs you, now more than ever before...wake up."
Her eyes snapped open as the ghost of her dream faded from her vision to be replaced by a small, dark room. She squinted in the half-light provided by a single, barred window, but there was little to see. She was alone.
By her bed stood a square chest of drawers with several unlit candles melted firmly into the polished wood.
"Brisingr." She muttered, and flame sprang from the wick of the candle closest to her, bathing the room in a soft, orange glow. She did not recognise her surroundings, nor could she figure out why she was there or how she came to be there. Her mind was still sluggish and heavy with sleep, but gradually she started to remember...
Obsidian, what happened? Did we win?
Silence answered her, and she rubbed her eyes, desperately trying to make sense of the situation.
Think...what was the last thing that happened before I fell unconscious?
She remembered the battle, remembered how the soldiers had crumpled before Obsidian's rage, remembered the bloody chaos of it all...she remembered Eragon and Murtagh, fighting alone against a blood-red sky. She saw Saphira fall hopelessly to earth. She remembered fighting in the air, red dragon and Rider, with tooth and claw and biting steel. She remembered blinding pain as a long white fang as hard as diamond pierced the flesh and muscle of her right shoulder, crushing her bones with sickening strength.
A deafening cry that was both Obsidian's and her own. Whispering words in the ancient language which bore no discernable meaning invaded her mind and then...darkness. Nothing existed beyond the pain and confusion of her fragmented memories.
And now here she was, alone, in a strange place and, she realised self-consciously, she was completely naked beneath the bed-sheets. She tried to sit upright and gasped in agony as her muscles cramped in protest. Gritting her teeth, she forced herself into a sitting position and swung her legs gently over the side of the bed. With great effort, she reached a trembling hand out to open the top drawer of the chest beside her and pulled out a pair of black leggings. Fishing into the open drawer again, she found a large grey tunic and a thick black belt.
Boys clothes. She noted. Whose room is this?
In her weakened state, it took her almost an hour to dress. She found with dismay that her body, once uncommonly supple and graceful, was as stiff as a board and every new movement brought with it debilitating pain as hot pins seared her tired muscles.
Eventually, after exhausting effort, she was fully-clothed and after stretching and straining her limbs, she was able to move more easily, although the painful cramps did not subside. Once again, she tried to call for Obsidian, but to no avail. She could not feel his presence, no matter how hard she tried.
Failing this, she reached out with her mind and felt several servants bustling around in nearby rooms, and their thoughts and feelings bombarded her mind without prompt. She withdrew into herself in surprise at the ease with which she had touched their minds.
In stark contrast to her physical condition, her mental abilities seemed to have strengthened ten-fold in the time she had been asleep. How is that possible?
Several possible explanations for this change crossed her mind, each as impossible as the last and, seeing a mirror of polished silver on the opposite wall, she rose slowly from the bed and walked unsteadily over to it, almost losing her balance more than once as she did so.
She did not know what she expected to glean from her reflection: an answer to her questions, perhaps, or some hint of change in her appearance that might confirm the differences she felt in herself.
As she approached the mirror, a strangled gasp escaped her dry throat and she reached a hand to her cheek, confirming that the girl staring back at her was indeed her own reflection.
Certain aspects of the girl's features she recognised as her own: they shared the same mahogany locks which tumbled over her shoulders in sleek waves; the steel-flecked blue of their eyes were identical and their lips, full and red as ripened cherries, opened and closed in time as she gaped wordlessly at the impossibly familiar stranger.
Her skin, previously darkened to a brown hue by the summer sun, now shone clear, radiant and alabaster in the polished silver, and the planes of her face had deepened and slanted. Her eyes, widened in surprise and disbelief, had taken on a more almond shape under the thin arch of her brows.
Katharean had always been complimented on her looks, although she had known that Selena was the true beauty of the family. She had always taken pride in her appearance and had, though she was ashamed to admit it, used it to her advantage at times.
Not even Selena, however, could hope to compete with the ethereal beauty gazing back at her from the mirror's depths. It was her, she knew, there was no mistaking it, but she had been transformed into something more than herself. She could no longer be mistaken as human. A volley of questions launched themselves into the forefront of her mind, but all she could manage was a croaky, "How?"
She had known that certain changes would befall her as a Rider, but they were supposed to be gradual, taking place over the span of months and years. Eragon, she knew, was different, because of the gift bestowed upon him during Agaeti Blohdren, but that was a chance occasion, and one that could not hope to be repeated for at least another hundred years.
With some effort, she turned away from the girl in the mirror, blinking the image of her new self away. Her mind raced in time with her quickening pulse and she took long steadying breaths, trying in vain to calm her heart as it hammered painfully in her breast.
Her shock faded, slowly, giving way to fierce determination. She span around, looking for a way out of the room, and strode to the one door, ignoring the burning pain in her muscles as she wrenched it open, almost colliding with a young girl as she did so.
The girl, dressed in simple servant's attire, let out a yell of surprise and promptly dropped the basin of water she was carrying.
"Narya! Whatever possessed you...to...?" An older woman started from the far side of the room, where she had been polishing a dining table large enough to seat twenty people or more. She stopped in her work and fell dumb as she caught sight of Katharean in the doorway. The woman's accent was rough and strangely familiar to Katharean. "Lady Athem! You are awake! This is glad news indeed! Glad news! His lordship must know of this at once! Narya."
The young girl nodded and backed away from Katharean, curtsying as she went, and ran from the room, her eyes not leaving Katharean's face until the door swung closed behind her.
"How are you feeling, m'lady?" The older woman asked, approaching her as cautiously as she would a coiled rattle-snake. Katharean shook her head.
"Terribly confused." She admitted. The woman regarded her with a sympathetic smile.
"Aye, I have no doubt. Master Rider is on his way, he will explain everything to you, I am sure."
Eragon! Katharean breathed a small sigh of relief. Knowing that he was alive and well lifted a weight from her shoulders she did not even realise she had been carrying.
"That is fine news. And what of my dragon?"
The woman's comforting smile faltered for a brief moment before she answered.
"Your dragon lives also, as far as I am told. We servants do not hear a great deal. The King keeps such matters well guarded in these troubled times."
The King! So that's where I am. She had heard whispers that Nasuada planned to move the Varden to Surda, under the protection of King Orrin. She realised that the battle must have taken a greater toll on her than she had first thought. I must have slept for days! Poor Obsidian must have had to carry me cross country like dead weight!
She brushed a lock of hair behind her ears, stopping as her fingers traced the outline of one ear into a rounded point: not quite as pointed as Eragon's, but certainly more so than she remembered. But that still does not explain what is happening to me.
"Thank you." She smiled, politely, and the woman curtsied, respectfully.
"Your presence here is thanks enough."
Katharean stiffened. Now she knew where she had heard the servant's accent before. It was smoother than Hearan's, but there was no mistaking the nasal tones of her words. She was from Dras Leona. Why would a servant woman from Dras Leona serve King Orrin?
She knew that, unlike the Varden, who were an assortment of all races and, indeed, species, the Surdans were a guarded people who did not store much trust in anyone from the Empire unless they had proven their allegiance to them and their defiance of Galbatorix's rule.
In an instant, the puzzle which had slowly begun to solve itself in Katharean's mind broke apart and joined together again to form a terrifying picture.
The King...not King Orrin. Galbatorix. And the Rider...
"His Lordship will be overjoyed to see you awake. He barely leaves your side, you know. I do not mean to be bold, but it is clear to anyone that he loves you dearly. All these months, he has been watching over you...hoping and praying for your recovery..."
She trailed off at the look of shock and terror on Katharean's face.
"Did you say months?" She hissed. Before the woman could answer, the door was flung open. Katharean spun around and, even though she knew who she would see there, it did not prepare her for the shock. She felt as though she had been kicked in the stomach, and the air rushed from her lungs. She managed to breathe a single word before the world tilted beneath her feet.
"Murtagh?"