Chapter Fifty-Six: Divergent Paths
Part I
Bright as a flaming sun, the dragon hung before Eragon and everyone clustered along the Crags of Tel'naeir, buffeting them with the gusts from its mighty wings. The dragon's body appeared to be on fire as the brilliant dawn illuminated its golden scales and sprayed the ground and trees with dazzling chips of light. It was far larger than Saphira, large enough to be several hundred years old, and proportionally thicker in its neck, limbs, and tail. Upon its back sat the Rider, robes startling white against the brilliance of the scales.
Eragon fell to his knees, his face upturned. Awe and relief coursed through him. No more would he have to bear the responsibility of the Varden and of Galbatorix by himself. Here was one of the guardians of old resurrected from the depths of time to guide him, a living symbol, and a testament to the legends he had been raised with. Here was his master. Here was a legend!
As the dragon turned to land, Eragon gasped; the creature's left foreleg had been severed by a terrible blow, leaving a helpless white stump in place of the once mighty limb. Tears filled his eyes.
A whirlwind of dry twigs and leaves enveloped the hilltop as the dragon settled on the sweet clover and folded its wings. The Rider carefully descended from his steed along the dragon's intact front right leg, then approached Eragon, his hands clasped before him. He was an elf with silver hair, old beyond measure, though the only sign of age was the expression of great compassion and sadness upon his face.
"Osthato Chetowä," said Eragon. "The Mourning Sage… As you asked, I have come." With a jolt, he remembered his manners and touched his lips."Atra esterní ono thelduin."
The Rider smiled. He took Eragon by the shoulders and lifted him upright, staring at him with such kindness that Eragon could look at nothing else; he was consumed by the endless depths within the elf's eyes. "Oromis is my proper name, Eragon Shadeslayer."
"You knew," whispered Islanzadí with a hurt expression that quickly transformed into a storm of rage. "You knew of Eragon's existence and yet you did not tell me? Why have you betrayed me, Shur'tugal?"
Oromis released Eragon from his gaze and transferred it onto the queen. "I kept my peace because it was uncertain if Eragon or Arya would live long enough to come here; I had no wish to give you a fragile hope that might have been torn away at any moment."
Islanzadí spun about, her cape of swan feathers billowing like wings. "You had no right to withhold such information from me! I could have sent warriors to protect Arya, Eragon, and Saphira in Farthen Dûr and to escort them safely here. If you would have told me the others might still be alive!"
Oromis smiled sadly. "I hid nothing from you, Islanzadí, but what you had already chosen not to see. If you had scryed the land, as Is your duty, you would have discerned the source of the chaos that has swept Alagaësia and learned the truth of Arya and Eragon. That you might forget the Varden and the dwarves in your grief is understandable, but Brom? Vinr Älfakyn? The last of the Elf Friends? You have been blind to the world, Islanzadí, and lax upon your throne. I could not risk driving you further away by subjecting you to another loss."
Islanzadí's anger drained away, leaving her face pale and her shoulders slumped. I am diminished," she whispered.
A could of hot, moist air pressed against Eragon as the gold dragon bent to examine him with eyes that glittered and sparkled. We are all well met, Eragon Shadeslayer. I am Glaedr. His voice – for it was unmistakably male – rumbled and shook through Eragon's mind, like the growl of a mountain avalanche.
All Eragon could do was touch his lips and say, "I am honored."
Then Glaedr brought his attention to bear on Saphira. She remained perfectly still, her neck arched stiffly as Glaedr sniffed her cheek and along the line of her wing. Eragon saw Saphira's clenched leg muscles flutter with an involuntary tremor. You smell of humans, said Glaedr, and all you know of your own race is what your instincts have taught you, but you have the heart of a true dragon.
During this silent exchange, Orik presented himself to Oromis. "Truly, this is beyond anything that I dared hope or expect. You are a pleasant surprise in these dark times, Rider." He clapped his fist over his heart. "If it is not too presumptuous, I would ask a boon on behalf of my king and my clan, as was the custom between our people."
Oromis nodded. "And I will grant it if it is within my power."
"Then tell me: Why have you remained hidden for all these years? You were sorely needed, Argetlam."
"Ah," said Oromis. "Many sorrows exist in this world, and one of the greatest is being unable to help those in pain. I could not risk leaving this sanctuary, for if I had died before one of Galbatorix's eggs had hatched, then there would have been no one to pass on our secrets to the new Rider, and it would have been even harder to defeat Galbatorix."
"That was your reason?" spat Orik. "Those are the words of a coward! The eggs might have never hatched."
Everyone went deathly quiet, except for a faint growl that emanated from between Glaedr's teeth. "If you were not my guest here," said Islanzadí, "I would strike you down myself for that insult."
Oromis spread his hands. "Nay, I am not offended. It is an apt reaction. Understand, Orik, that Glaedr and I cannot fight. Glaedr has his disability, and I," he touched the side of his head, "I am also maimed. The Forsworn broke something within me when I was their captive, and while I can still teach and learn, I can no longer control magic, except for the smallest of spells. The power escapes me, no matter how much I struggle. I would be worse than useless in battle, I would be a weakness and a liability, one who could easily be captured and used against you. So I removed myself from Galbatorix's influence for the good of the many, even though I yarned to openly oppose him."
"The Cripple Who Is Whole," murmured Eragon.
"Forgive me," said Orik. He appeared stricken.
"It is of no consequence." Oromis placed a hand on Eragon's shoulder. "Islanzadí Dröttning, by your leave?"
"Go," she said wearily. "Go and be done with you."
Glaedr crouched low to the ground, and Oromis nimbly climbed up his leg and into the saddle on his back. "Come, Eragon and Saphira. We have much to talk about." The gold dragon leaped off the cliff and circled overhead, rising on an updraft.
Eragon and Orik solemnly clasped arms. "Bring honor to your clan," said the dwarf.
As Eragon mounted Saphira, he felt as if he were about to embark on a long journey and that he should say farewell to those who remained behind, but before he could so much as smile, he was gone, swept into the sky by the eagerness of Saphira's flight.
Together the two dragons followed the white cliff northward for several miles, accompanied only by the sound of their wings. Saphira flew abreast of Glaedr. Her enthusiasm boiled over into Eragon's mind, heightening his own emotions.
They landed in another clearing situated on the edge of the cliff, just before the wall of exposed stone crumbled back into the earth. A bare path led from the precipice to the doorstep of a low hut grown between the trunks of four trees, one of which straddled a stream that emerged from the moody depths of the forest. Glaedr would not fit inside; the hut could have easily sat between his ribs.
"Welcome to my home," said Oromis as he alighted on the ground with uncommon ease. "I live here, on the brink of the Crags of Tel'naeir, because it provides me with the opportunity to think and study in peace. My mind works better away from Ellesméra and the distractions of other people."
He disappeared inside the hut, then returned with two stools and flagons of clear, cold water for both himself and Eragon. Eragon sipped his drink and admired the spacious view of Du Weldenvarden in an attempt to conceal his awe and nervousness while he waited for the elf to speak. I'm in the presence of another Rider! Beside him, Saphira crouched with her eyes fixed on Glaedr, slowly kneading the dirt between her claws.
The gap in their conversation stretched longer and longer. Ten minutes passed… half an hour… then an hour. It reached the point where Eragon began to measure the elapsed time by the sun's progress. At first his mind buzzed with questions and thoughts, but those eventually subsided into calm acceptance. He enjoyed just observing the day.
Only then did Oromis say, "You have learned the value of patience well. That is good."
It took Eragon a moment to find his voice. "You can't stalk a deer if you are in a hurry."
Oromis lowered his flagon. "True enough. Let me see your hands. I find that they tell me much about a person." Eragon removed his gloves and allowed the elf to grip his wrists with thin, dry fingers. He examined Eragon's calluses, then said, "Correct me if I am wrong. You have wielded a scythe and plow more often than a sword, though you are accustomed to a bow."
"Aye."
"And you have done little writing or drawing, maybe none at all."
"Brom taught me my letters in Teirm."
"Mmm. Beyond your choice of tools, it seems obvious that you tend to be rackless and disregard for your own safety."
"What makes you say that, Oromis-elda?" asked Eragon, using the most respectful and formal honorific that he could think of.
"Not elda," corrected Oromis. "You may call me master in this tongue and ebrithil in the ancient language, nothing else. You will extend the same courtesy to Glaedr. We are your teachers; you are our students; and you will act with proper respect and deference." Oromis spoke gently, but with the authority of one who expects absolute obedience.
"Yes, Master Oromis."
Mariah wiped the blood from the corner of her mouth, staring up at Hal. He was much bigger than she was, taller than Murtagh and he towered her by a few inches. They were fighting dirty, no blades and no magic. He's starting to vex me. My tolerance for this nonsense is just about used up.
A little more patience darling. He's only doing what he's been told. Andrar's eyes flickered over towards Galbatorix watching them from a ways off by Kieran, who was giving him an update on the status of the new riders' training.
She avoided another punch to her face and whipped around behind the boy. I can't take this much longer. I'm about ready to put him out for the rest of the day.
Just pretend he's Mark or something darling. He insisted, turning his gaze back to her.
His footing was better than most of the others'. Hal had been trained as a soldier. Mariah could have figured that much out on her own, but he'd told everyone instead. The little she had seen of his previous training was actually quite impressive. On an off day he might actually be able to beat her in a fight, but today wasn't one of those.
As he turned around, she caught that half-smirk of an amused smile on his face. It was like he was actually enjoying the fight; and considering how many hits she'd managed to land on him so far, it was no wonder. His tanned skin had seen more fights than he probably cared to admit. There were faint scars here and there from brawls he'd been in during his youth. But mostly, she was intrigued by his eyes. Stormy blue flickers of his soul. Out of all the new riders, he always seemed to have an opinion about everything, yet said nothing. His serene calm was unnerving and quite annoying at times. Those eyes though, betrayed everything he presented and told her he was just itching for a fight on the inside.
She felt the confirmation of her thoughts in the fist that landed against her cheek. Picking herself up off the ground, she snarled and pounced back up, punching him once in the face and then whirling around to kick him in the chest. Hal let out a groaning gasp as he landed flat on his back. Mariah stood up straight and flicked her hair back, blood trickling from the corner of her mouth. "If you wanted the fight to last longer, you shouldn't have hit me so hard." He groaned for a minute, holding onto his stomach as she walked off.
Murtagh smirked a bit as she walked over, "You could have gone a little easier on him."
"A little easier? Do you see this blood?" She pointed to her face.
"Oh, what, this?" He ran his thumb across her cheek, pulling the red away. "You're tough, you can handle that much, right?"
She muttered under her breath and huffed at him a bit, trying her hardest to stay upset. The others were waiting in line for their turns to fight. Up next was Camilla, and Kieran was insistent on sparring with her herself.
Kieran drew her blade and charged Camilla, who smirked at her, sidestepping and slashed at her with the rapier she held. The thin sword seemed unfairly matched against a Rider's sword; however after a few moments of quick-moving swordplay, it was clear Camilla used it to her advantage.
Camilla held back, barely attacking at all, avoiding Kieran's assaults and then retaliating when she was off balance or had her back turned. The woman was dressed in a fur-collared coat that flicked out just below her waist. The brown fur trimming the sleeve cuffs and tails seemed to be from a bear or wolf, certainly not some tiny pathetic animal like a rabbit. The buttons were made out of bone and her boots, supple leather. The day they had met her she had seemed almost harmless, her bark certainly worse than her bite, but after seeing her armed and in battle, there was certainly something more disconcerting about Camilla than before. Her curling brown hair drifted around her waist, flowing with her every movement.
Reaching up to her face, Mariah pushed her own hair behind her ear, fingertips running along the points on the tips. It had been a few months now since she had cut her hair off in Gil'ead and now it was starting to trail around her shoulders again, finally. At least she could pull it back when she needed to, but she missed it being so long, like Camilla's.
Lady Reikena was thin and graceful, every bit Kieran's equal. Anyone would have been able to tell she was raised in a wealthy family. What might not be so obvious is how vicious that family was. Her brother, Cederic, strutted around like a wild cat. His concerns were only of himself. Though younger than his sister by little more than a year, he was stronger and larger than her, having just turned twenty-one. He donned their family's prominent curling brunette hair and dark brown eyes, nearly black. Cederic stood just a few hairs shorter than Murtagh. And unlike Hal, his brand of crazy was obvious. The way he walked, spoke; even what he said made Mariah tense around him. If he was nearby, so was her blade. He watched his sister fight with Kieran with such intensity, she was sure he was getting ready to jump in and assist her.
Shortly after the thought flickered through Mariah's mind, Kieran had the woman pinned, bashing the rapier away and claiming victory. Galbatorix still seemed impressed enough to let Camilla retrieve her blade and take a seat.
"Who's next then?" The king asked, looking toward the other three. "Odette?"
"Y-yes!?" She squeaked, standing up smoothly. The small girl looked younger than Mariah, but was truly two years her elder. Odette was taller, thinner and paler than she was. Today, she'd had enough sense to tie back her long, flowing hair so it wouldn't get caught up in her face. It had already been proven that she wasn't much with a sword, but surprisingly she wasn't too bad of a shot with a bow.
"Would you care to demonstrate how your practice has been going lately?" It wasn't much of a question as he stood tapping the hilt of his sword.
She nodded quickly, "Of course." Her long fingers pulled an arrow from the sheath at her hip and she drew back her bowstring – it was a self-longbow. Mariah still couldn't figure out how she could pull it back, the draw looked like it would be too much for such a frail girl. A second later however, there was a yellow-fletched feather sticking out of a target all the way across the court yard to prove her wrong.
"Very good," Galbatorix nodded. "Have a seat." She slipped back down without a word, her fingers fiddling with her bow string. "Which of you two boys would like to be next?" His eyes flicked between the two blond boys.
It was Murtagh's turn to spar with one of them, so Mariah hoped it would be Pearce. Lately, they'd been so busy training the newcomers she hadn't had enough time to teach Murtagh any proper magic and Innes seemed all too eager to show off what his in-home mage had taught him already.
Of course, knowing all this, Galbatorix pointed towards Innes and said, "Stand up."
His curly pale hair was pulled back into a ponytail to keep it tame, his bright brown eyes eager and willing, though not openly offering to take on an opponent as he got to his feet. Innes was thin and wiry, shorter than Murtagh by more than an inch, closer to Mariah's own height.
From beside her, Murtagh sighed a little under his breath and stepped forward towards the other boy, wanting to draw his sword, but knowing better. The last time he'd bothered with the blade, Innes had caused it to burn red-hot and scorch his hand through his gloves. He hadn't been able to pick up as much as a spoon for a week.
"Begin." Galbatorix said, watching between them.
It was over in a few seconds. Innes had already been planning his attack out, leaving no time for Murtagh to retaliate. Mariah watched as he dropped to the ground, coughing. The blonde had started whispering under his breath before the king had even parted his lips. She growled quietly and met eyes with Innes, barreling into his mental defenses and breaking him out of his magic reverie. He sneered at her as Murtagh got back to his feet, spitting out a few harsh words and attacking back at him.
Now that the opening round was over, they were a little more evenly matched. Murtagh managed to hold his own and defend himself better when they were both thinking as fast as they could. Thanks to Mariah's tutoring, his Elvish vocabulary had vastly improved, but Innes had been studying magic longer and didn't have to search so hard for the words he did know.
At last they were both drained and Galbatorix saw fit to end it. "Enough, the both of you, neither of you need to wear out your energy preserves. Make room for Pearce, Innes… take a seat Murtagh. Mariah, come here."
She looked over Murtagh who gave her a small smile, showing he wasn't too worn out from the magic usage. Feeling a little relief, she walked over to Galbatorix and looked at Pearce.
"At your ready then," he said, observing the two of them.
Mariah drew her sword, watching the blade in Pearce's hand. Unlike the rest of them, Pearce's aura seemed different, more familiar. His gray eyes were vacant of most emotions; he was quiet but not silent. His skills with both a blade and magic were little above average. His hair was straight, blond and fell just over his eyes. He favored a shield to magic, choosing to defend himself physically rather than mentally or simply attacking full on with just a sword.
She had never understood why someone would choose to drag a shield around with them, thinking it seemed like a burden rather than aide, but the way that Pearce fought made it seem effortless. His clothes were simple, not like Camilla and Cederic's fur-lined outfits or Hal's soldier uniform, or even Innes' lordly attire. Pearce was nothing like the others, Mariah had decided, because he was like her – having come from a poor, broken family with fighting skills learned for survival, not showing off.
He blinked once at her, his cold gray eyes vanishing beneath pale skin, before he lurched forward with his short sword and attacked. As his blade clashed against her own, she watched him; there hadn't been much time to talk with the new riders since they'd arrived, so she didn't know him that well. However, there was some comfort in the familiarity she felt from him despite the fact it wasn't the same she received from Murtagh. Pearce was nearly her height, just a bit taller. The way he spoke, held himself, even his mannerisms were similar to Eragon's. Throwing the short sword off, she realized just how much she missed seeing him and silently prayed he was alright.
His blade swept against her cheek, drawing blood while she wasn't paying attention. Mariah's eyes alit with fire as she growled quietly and attacked him more ferociously than before. He stepped backward in a few smooth movements and twisted, knocking her down. Stunned momentarily, she blinked and rolled back onto her feet, throwing his sword away again as she regained her balance.
"Enough!"
She froze, instantly lowering her sword to the ground as she had now been trained to do when Galbatorix shouted. Mariah looked towards him and waited silently.
"It is clear you have been lax about your own training recently, Mariah. You will stay here with Kieran until you have properly trained. The rest of you, inside. Go on." He watched them all file inside the castle, then followed behind them.
Kieran glared over at her until the door shut, then sighed. "Look what you did, caused me extra grief is what you did. What's the matter with you?"
"Leave her alone Kieran. It was a little mistake, you've made worse." Murtagh insisted, leaning against the wall as Thorn spiraled down out of the sky and landed beside him. He snorted and nudged the boy, pushing him over. "Damnit, don't do that." He said lightly, smiling as he stood back up and patted his nose. Thorn towered over him now, nearly as large as Andrar after the growth spells Galbatorix had placed on him; he could even breathe fire already. As much as it worried her that Galbatorix could manage to do such a thing, she was grateful that he was large enough to carry Murtagh and that he was still alright after the ordeal – if a little warped. His body looked slightly unnatural, his torso more stocky than it should be. The effects weren't as bad as they could have been, and she was happy for that much at least.
"It was my fault," she said, looking toward the princess. "I wasn't paying attention."
"Then where was your attention focused?" She asked, leaning against her Rider's blade.
"Elsewhere… does it really matter?"
Kieran nodded, "Yes, it does, what if I need to snap you out of your little reverie?" She raised an eyebrow, "I won't be able to if I don't know what you're daydreaming about."
"It… it was nothing…"
"Are you sure?"
"Positive. Now… we're supposed to be training, yes?" She asked, changing the subject on her before she could inquire again.
"We have to tell Nasuada."
"What?" Kendra blinked at him, "Are you crazy? She'd kill me on sight!"
Mark swiveled around to look at her, coming face to face with the woman. "If we don't say something to her, everyone's lives could be in danger. Tell me, princess… is your life… the chance that she might kill you or simply throw you in jail worth endangering all of them?"
She inhaled deeply for a minute, her chest rising as her face reddened. Kendra closed her eyes and snatched the map off the table, storming out of the room down the hallway. "Come on!"
Mark smirked and hurried after her.
"Oh, Marcus there you are." Nasuada said to him, blinking as they rounded a corner. On either side of her was an armed guard. "I've been wondering where you'd gone off to. I had a few things I wanted to discuss with you."
"As have I. Could we speak somewhere more privately?" He asked her.
Nasuada nodded, "Yes, of course. And your… friend?"
"The three of us." He added.
"I see, very well then." She continued down the hallway to her quarters and left the guards outside. "What's the meaning of this then Mark?" Nasuada asked, folding her arms as she watched him put up silencing wards around the room.
He turned back to her once he'd finished, "It's of the utmost importance M'lady."
"Well get to it then."
Mark nodded, "We have a mutual trust between us, so please keep that in mind as I speak. This is Kendra – her father-"
"Well if you're just going to jump straight to it, I'm going to tell her." Kendra said, quite agitated at being mostly ignored. "My father is Galbatorix."
"I wasn't aware the king had children." Nasuada told her, attempting to hide her surprise.
"I'll save you the back story. What's important now is that you know-"
"Know what?"
"Of his plans to attack the Varden with his new Dragon Riders."
"Mark, explain this to me. What does she mean?"
He nodded, "We've been keeping an eye out for anything that might prove useful in our war against the Empire. Recently, we captured and interrogated a group of their spies. They relayed information that assured us of his attempts at re-creating his Forsworn. Taking everything into account… he will have half a dozen Riders on the field the day of our attack… possibly. Nasuada, our numbers can't match that. Eragon alone can't fight one, let alone six… maybe more even."
"Then what do you propose we do Marcus?" She asked, standing still as she looked at him.
"I don't know Nasuada." He admitted. "I hadn't expected this… I…" Mark stopped himself. "If the king is forcing dragons to hatch and forcing them upon Riders, they will not be very well equipped at all. Their dragons will likely not even be large enough for them to ride on, let alone breathe fire. That in itself gives us greater chances against them. If need be we will call Eragon back from his training with the elves early. I am more than willing to take on anything Galbatorix wishes to throw our way. You can count on me to be at the front. I trust myself enough to defeat one Rider… I am strong enough to do that much."
"I appreciate it Mark, thank you." Nasuada nodded a little at him, "Can you show me everything that you've learned from his spies?"
"Of course." He said, spreading out the map on the table and going over the plans they'd uncovered. Kendra stood across from them silently, her arms folded across her chest.
Finally, Nasuada looked up once they'd finished. "Your sister?"
"Twin sister."
She walked to the princess, standing face to face with her, staring into her midnight blue eyes with her cold gaze. "Tell me I can trust you. That you won't turn on me in the middle of the tide. That you aren't really here for your father to stab me in the back."
Kendra smirked, "If I were here to kill you, I would have done it already. You shouldn't trust me. You don't have to trust me. I don't want you to trust me. All I want is for you to continue leading and to let me and my companions continue doing what we do best. Don't interfere with us and we'll have no problems. All I ask is that I am allowed to borrow Mark when I need him."
"He is not mine to command."
Kendra glanced at him, "It sure seems that way to me. He didn't pledge any allegiance to you?"
Nasuada shook her head, "He said he knows how to break oaths…"
"That I don't believe. But if you trust him and don't mind if I use him-"
"Not at all."
"Then we have nothing further to discuss. I only ask you tell no one you saw my face, know my name, rank or know of my existence. I was never here."
"Of course." Nasuada said.
Kendra nodded once. "Mark. I have to leave. I'll contact you later." With that she walked out of the doors.
He watched her leave and turned his gaze back to Nasuada. "Yes?"
"It's nice to know where you've been off to without my knowing… the princess no less. Did you know?"
"Not at first."
"About her sister?"
"Just a few hours ago…"
"Hmm… and do you trust her?"
"Do you?"
"I haven't decided yet… but I don't believe I have to worry about her killing me. Not yet at least."
"I would never have brought her here otherwise. Though I do suggest you keep your escort with you at all times." Mark said. "And about Eragon M'lady. I would rather not inform him of the news just yet… in case we're wrong about something. I don't see a need to call him away from his training on an assumption."
"No. You can make the decision when to call him back… you would know best. Is there anything else that has been weighing on your mind you wish to speak of?"
He paused a moment, thinking of Mariah. "No. Thank you for asking M'lady. Good evening." Mark insisted, walking out of her room.
"Magic, swordsmanship, and other such skills are useless unless you know how and when to apply them. This I will teach you. However, as Galbatorix has demonstrated, power without moral direction is the most dangerous force in the world. My main task, then, is to help you, Eragon and Saphira, to understand what principles guide you, so that you do not make the right choices for the wrong reasons. You must learn more about yourself, who you are, and what you are capable of doing. That is why you are here."
When do we begin? Asked Saphira
Oromis began to answer when he stiffened and dropped his flagon. His face went crimson and his fingers tightened into hooked claws that dragged at his robe like cockleburs. The change was frightening and instantaneous. Before Eragon could do more than flinch, the elf had relaxed again, although his entire body now bespoke weariness.
Concerned, Eragon dared to ask, "Are you well?"
A trace of amusement lifted the corner of Oromis's mouth. "Less so that I might wish. We elves fancy ourselves immortal, but not even we can escape certain maladies of the flesh, which are beyond our knowledge of magic to do more than delay. No, do not worry… it isn't contagious, but neither can I rid myself of it." He sighed. "I have spent decades binding myself with hundreds of small, weak spells that, layered one upon another, duplicate the effect of enchantments that are now beyond my reach. I bound myself with them so that I might live long enough to witness the birth of the last dragons and to foster the Riders' resurrection from the ruin of our mistakes."
"How long until…"
Oromis lifted a sharp eyebrow. "How long until I die? We have time, but precious little for you or me, especially if the Varden decide to call upon your help. As a result – to answer your question, Saphira – we will begin your instruction immediately, and we will train faster than any Rider ever has or ever will, for I must condense decades of knowledge into months and weeks."
"You do know," said Eragon, struggling against the embarrassment and shame that made his cheeks burn, "about my… my own infirmity." He ground out the last word, hating the sound of it. "I am as cripple as you are."
Sympathy tempered Oromis's gaze, though his voice was firm. "Eragon, you are only a cripple if you consider yourself one. I understand how you feel, but you must remain optimistic, for a negative outlook is more of a handicap than any physical injury. I speak from personal experience. Pitying yourself serves neither you nor Saphria. I and the other spellweavers will study your malady to see if we might devise a way to alleviate it, but in the meantime, your training will proceed as if nothing were amiss."
Eragon's gut clenched and he tasted bile as he considered the implications. Surely Oromis wouldn't make me endure that torment again! "The pain is unbearable," he said frantically. "It would kill me. I-"
"No, Eragon. It will not kill you. That much I know about your curse. However, we both have our duty; you to the Varden, and I to you. We cannot shirk it for the sake of mere pain. Far too much is at risk, and we can ill afford to fail." All Eragon could do was shake his head as panic threatened to overwhelm him. He tried to deny Oromis's words, but their truth was inescapable. "Eragon. You must accept this burden freely. Have you no one or nothing that you are willing to sacrifice yourself for?"
His first thought was of Saphira, but he was not doing this for her. Nor for Nasuada. Nor for Arya. His mind flickered across Roran and then finally fell onto Mariah. He would give anything to have her back. What had happened shouldn't have; he could have done something. Knowing Mariah, she wouldn't want him thinking that way. It had happened for a reason, there was nothing he could have done. She wouldn't want him to get hurt because of her. She would never let him sacrifice himself for her, no matter what. It'd already been proven that she was willing to put herself in danger to protect him. He shook the thought away, it didn't matter now: she was gone and nothing could bring her back. What drove him, then? When he had pledged fealty to Nasuada, he had done so for the good of Roran and the other people trapped within the Empire. But did they mean enough to him to put himself through such anguish? Yes, he decided. Yes, they do, because I am the only one who has a chance to help them now, and because I won't be free of Galbatorix's shadow until they are as well. And because it's what we set out to do – it's what Mariah would have wanted. And because this is my only purpose in life. What else would I do? He was silent for a long moment before speaking aloud again, "I accept on behalf of those I fight for: the people of Alagaësia – of all races – who have suffered from Galbatorix's brutality. No matter the pain, I swear that I will study harder than any student you've had before."
Oromis nodded gravely. "I ask for nothing less."
This chapter is not late. Nor is it early. Authors are never late. A writer posts precisely when they mean to.
Hope everyone enjoyed seeing The Hobbit: Part I: An Unexpected Journey… because, well, this audience seems like the type to enjoy such a thing. Just between you and me, I love Tolkien so much, I started crying in the theater during the opening credits – it's true. I'm such a sap.
Happy Holidays – Happy New Year!
Two parts for you guys! It's a double feature - which should help make up for the month's vacation. Hope you enjoy and I wish you all the best for the upcoming year!
With Love, As Always,
Mariah