Chapter Fifty-Seven: Divergent Paths

Part II

"Kendra?"

She slammed her door closed, Nyx lying outside the door, whimpering. The door opened momentarily, only long enough to let the wolf in before slamming shut again.

They glanced at one another before Trevin stood up and walked down the hall. Rowan shook his head at the ginger archer and sighed. He tapped on the door gently, waiting silently for an answer. After minutes of standing still, where most people would have shouted or gave in, Trevin merely blinked and smiled slightly as the door finally opened. He stepped over the threshold and looked at Kendra, curled up against the wall with Nyx's head in her lap.

"What happened?"

She shuddered a little. "Galbatorix has already set his plans in motion… he… he already has Riders for his Forsworn again. I don't know how it happened so fast."

"Where's Mark?"

"Still alive. He went to the castle."

"I'm sure everyone would like to hear about your trip Kendra."

She flicked her dark eyes up toward him and nodded. Nyx pounced down onto the floor and led the way out, Trevin following with Kendra behind him. He slipped down into a chair and waited as she paced around the room, speaking rapidly of their exploits to the spies' den.

"You met with Nasuada?" Rowan stared at her for a moment. "And she didn't have you arrested?"

"Mark clearly has more pull than I initially thought. She wouldn't do anything if he asked her not to. She seemed fully ready to cooperate with me, which gives us more room to maneuver. Let's just continue with what our initial plans were and go from there."

"If it comes to a fight," Rowan said, "Are you going to oppose the Empire on your own or are you going to battle alongside the Varden?"

"Why would you ask me such a thing?"

He watched her, "Are you siding with them then? Or are you still set on your earlier goal of simply freeing the people of the Empire?"

"Nasuada is no queen… I couldn't stand to see her sitting atop a throne. If the Varden mean to take over the Empire, I'm certainly not siding with them. In any case, it's not to that point yet. When the time comes I'll make my decision."

"Yes, we all know, you'll make your decision half a moment before the enemy steps foot on the battlefield." Rowan scoffed a bit at her, shaking his head.

She narrowed her eyes at him, "You know better than anyone that is not how I decide my fate. A person does not get this far in their life with these types of goals in mind without years of hard work and planning. Don't act like a split second decision is how I'm going to end it – throw it all away. I am still on my own side; there is nothing more important to me than seeing my people free of my father's grasp. The fact that he has Forsworn Riders coming to his hand means we are going to have a harder time of it. Unless you wish to quit on me now, we have much more work to do before the day of that battle arrives."

He looked at Glaedr for a moment, then said, "Stand and remove your tunic. Let me see what you are made of."

After a few exercises that left Eragon riddled with pain, they broke for lunch and entered Oromis' house. On the inner pane of the door, set within the heart of the wood, was a flat panel one span high and two wide. It depicted a beautiful, towering city built against an escarpment and caught in the ruddy light of a rising harvest moon. The pitted lunar face was bisected by the horizon and appeared to sit on the ground like a maculated dome as large as a mountain. The picture was so clear and perfectly detailed, Eragon at first took it to be a magical window; it was only when he saw the image was indeed static that he could accept it as a piece of art.

"Where is this?" he asked.

Oromis's slanted features tightened for an instant. "You would do well to memorize that landscape, Eragon, for there lies the heart of your misery. You see what was once our city of Ilirea. It was burned and abandoned during Du Fyrn Skulblaka an d became the capital of the Broddring Kingdom and now is the black city of Uru'baen. I made that fairth on the night that I and the others were forced to flee our home before Galbatorix arrived."

"You painted this… fairth?"

"No, no such thing. A fairth is an image fixed by magic upon a square of polished slate that is prepared beforehand with layers of pigments. The landscape upon that door is exactly how Ilirea presented itself to me at the moment I uttered my spell."

"And," said Eragon, unable to stop the flow of questions, "what was the Broodring Kingdom?"

Oromis's eyes widened with dismay. "You don't know?" Eragon shook his head. "How can you not? Considering your circumstances and the fear that Galbatorix wields among your people, I might understand that you were raised in darkness, ignorant of your heritage. But I cannot credit Brom with being so lax with your instruction as to neglect subject that even the youngest elf or dwarf knows. The children of your Varden could tell me more about the past."

"Brom was more concerned with keeping me alive than teaching me about people who are already dead," retorted Eragon.

This drew silence from Oromis. Finally, he said, "Forgive me. I did not mean to impugn Brom's judgment, only I am impatience beyond reason; we have too little time, and each new thing you must learn reduces that which you can master during your tenure here." He opened a series of cupboards hidden within the curved wall and removed bread rolls and bowls of fruit, which he rowed out onto the table. He paused for a moment over the food with his eyes closed before beginning to eat. "The Broddring Kingdom was the human's country before the Riders fell. After Galbatorix killed Vrael, he flew on Ilirea with the Forsworn and deposed King Angrenost, taking his throne and titles for his own. The Broddring Kingdom then formed the core of Galbatorix's conquests. He added Vroenguard and other lands to the east and south to his holdings, creating the empire you are familiar with. Technically, the Broddring Kingdom still exists, though, at this point, I doubt that it is much more than a name on royal decrees."

Afraid to pester the elf with further inquiries, Eragon concentrated on his food. His face must have betrayed him, though, because Oromis said, "You remind me of Bom when I chose him as my apprentice. He was younger than you, only ten, but his curiosity was just as great. I doubt I heard aught from him for a year but how, what, when, and, above all else, why. Do not be shy to ask what lies in your heart."

"I want to know so much," whispered Eragon. "Who are you? Where do you come from?... Where did Brom come from? What was Morzan like? How, what, when, why? And I want to know everything about Vroengard and the Riders. Maybe then my own path will be clear."

"What were you thinking about earlier anyway Mariah?"

She sat silently for a moment, leaning into him and feeling him twirl her hair around his finger. Kieran had nearly killed her, as was always the case when battling with Kieran. Murtagh had helped her back to her room, sitting and assisting her in healing up all her bleeding wounds. By the time she was healed back up, they were both borderline exhausted and had simply sat together, leaning against the chair in front of the fireplace. She was getting used to being so close to him so much, it was nice and felt comfortable at last. More than anything she felt secure knowing he was with her, for both their sakes. "I suppose I was just worried about fighting…" she lied.

"You?" He blinked and glanced down at her, "Worried about fighting? You must be joking."

"I donno, I just sort of drifted off."

"Right before a spar?" He scoffed. "People don't just drift off like that."

Mariah sighed. "Pearce then… I get the feeling he's a lot like me. The others are more like Kieran… or you. They all know how to fight well because they've been formally trained. They're from wealthy, but broken families. Pearce though… he doesn't seem like that. I think he had to teach himself how to fight, as a survival skill."

"Perceptive," he said, smiling a bit. "I would assume you're right."

"Why so?"

"The others have family names, or at least their parents are influential enough where their children use their names as a title. Reikena, for example, is a family name. Pearce has neither."

"I don't understand what you mean," Mariah said.

"They all have surnames. Mine, since my father was a Rider and member of the Forsworn, is Morzansson. Camilla on the other hand has a family surname, passed down from her, most likely, father's side of the family. It's that simple. Usually, wealthy families have a surname. Commoners usually don't…"

She let it sink in for a moment, mulling the thought over. "Do you think less of me because I have no lineage?"

"No," he said in assurance. "There is nothing more special about anyone with a surname than there is about you. If anything I would believe you to think less of me because of my title…"

"Your father is no concern of mine."

"I believe you would say differently if he were still alive."

"Perhaps," she said, yawning a little.

He smiled, "So you were thinking about Pearce earlier?"

Mariah nodded. "I was, just before we started battling. I thought it odd he uses a shield and then digressed from there. His fighting style just isn't much like the others."

"I understand how you reached that decision. But it doesn't mean he's any less capable than the rest of them. They are all equally dangerous, even that frail girl with the bow-"

"Odette-"

"-yes her. She is possibly more frightening than Camilla. It's clear what a wolf will do to you, it's a frightened dog I'm always more cautious of."

They say quietly for a long while. Murtagh stretched out a little and leaned his head back, humming quietly as he spun her hair around his fingers. Mariah listened quietly, content leaning her head against his shoulder, watching the flames lick the sides of the fireplace. She closed her eyes and mouthed the words to the song he was humming, thinking of home.

Silence fell between them as Oromis meticulously disassembled a blackberry, prying out one plump segment at a time. When the last corpuscle vanished between his port-red lips, he rubbed his hands flat together – "polishing his palms," as Garrow used to say – and said, "Know this about me, then: I was born some centuries past in our city of Luthivira, which stood in the woods by Lake Tudosten. At the age of twenty, life all elf children, I was presented to the eggs that the dragons had given the Riders, and Glaedr hatched for me. We were trained as Riders, and for near a century, we traveled the world over, doing Vrael's will. Eventually, the day arrived when it was deemed appropriate for us to retire and pass on our experience to the next generation, so we took a position in Ilirea and taught new Riders, one or two at a time, until Galbatorix destroyed us."

"And Brom?"

"Brom came from a family of illuminators in Kuasta. His mother was Nelda and his father Holcomb. Kuasta is so isolated by the Spine from the rest of Alagaesia, it has become a peculiar place, full of strange customs and superstitions. When he was still new to Ilirea, Brom would knock on a door frame three times before entering or leaving a room. The human students teased him about it until he abandoned the practice along with some of his other habits.

"Morzan was my greatest failure. Brom idolized him. He never left his side, never contradicted him, and never believed that he could best Morzan in any venture. Morzan, I'm ashamed to admit – for it was within my power to stop – was aware of this and took advantage of Brom's devotion in a hundred different ways. He grew so proud and cruel that I considered separating him from Brom. But before I could, Morzan helped Galbatorix to steal a dragon hatchling, Shruikan, to replace the one Galbatorix had lost, killing the dragon's original Rider in the process. Morzan and Galbatorix then fled together, sealing our doom.

"You cannot begin to fathom the effect Morzan's betrayal had on Brom until you understand the depth of Brom's affection for him. And when Galbatorix at last revealed himself and the Forsworn killed Brom's dragon, Brom focused all of his anger and pain on the one who he felt was responsible for the destruction of his world: Morzan."

Oromis paused, his face grave. "Do you know why losing your dragon, or vice versa, usually kills the survivor?"

"I can imagine," said Eragon. He quailed at the thought.

"The pain is shock enough – although it isn't always a factor – but what really causes the damage is feeling part of your mind, part of your identity, die. When it happened to Brom, I fear that he went mad for a time. After I was captured and escaped, I brought him to Ellesmera for safety, but he refused to stay, instead marching with our army to the plains of Ilirea, where King Evandar was slain.

"The confusion then was indescribable. Galbatorix was busy consolidating his power, the dwarves were in retreat, the southwest was a mass of war as the humans rebelled and fought to create Surda, and we had just lost our king. Driven by his desire for vengeance, Brom sought to use the turmoil to his advantage. He gathered together many of those who had been exiled, freed some who had been imprisoned, an with them he formed the Varden. He led them for a few years, then surrendered the position to another so that he was free to pursue his true passion, which was Morzan's downfall. Brom personally killed three of the Forsworn, including Morzan, and he was responsible for the deaths of five others. He was rarely happy during his life, but he was a good Rider and a good man, and I am honored to have known him."

"I never head his name mentioned in connection to the Forsworn's deaths," objected Eragon.

"Galbatorix did not want to publicize the fact that any still existed who could defeat his servants. Much of his power resides in the appearance of invulnerability."

Once again, Eragon was forced to revise his conception of Brom, from the village storyteller that Eragon had first taken him to be, to the warrior and magician he had traveled with, to the Rider he was at least revealed as, and now firebrand, revolutionary leader, and assassin. It was hard to reconcile all of those roles. I feel as if I barely knew him. I wish we had a chance to talk about all of this at least once. Perhaps Mark knows more about all of this. I'm sure he would have at least mentioned it to him one or twice. "He was a good man," agreed Eragon.

"Ah, Marcus, it's good to see you!"

"Angela." He said, walking into her room and looking around. "Looks like you've made yourself comfortable." The small room was overgrown, cluttered and smelled like something was nearly ready to burn. A cackling cauldron over a spitting fire was the most likely culprit. He noted to steer away from it.

"I have dear, but it seems as though you haven't. Sit down."

He sighed and did so, listening to a hiss and a snarl. The werecat sniffed at him and padded off into the clutter.

"Oh, don't mind him. Go on; tell me what's on your mind this time." She said, perching herself atop a stool.

Mark tapped his fingers together. Why was it whenever he was bothered he ended up at Angela's spilling his guts out? He shook the thought away and sighed again. "Riders."

"That much is apparent darling."

"Galbatorix is likely to have a half dozen of them by the time the battle starts."

She grinned, "Sounds like you should get the jump on him and attack now then."

"If only it were that simple."

"But it is! All you have to do is march straight up to that castle, knock on the door and draw your sword. Not the most life-saving strategy but definitely the most effective."

He smiled a bit at her. "And it's Mariah too… if she's with Galbatorix, as I suspect. She's likely now a member of his Forsworn. I don't want to believe it, I don't want it to be true, but I think it's the only scenario that is possible in my head. I just… if she's alive that's what's happened. If not, she would have contacted me by now."

"Perhaps you're right Mark," Angela said. "But perhaps you're wrong as well. One can, after all, be both right and wrong at the same time."

"That's not possible."

"Oh it is!" She insisted. "Things are sometimes not as black and white as they appear, there is much gray in this world. Miserable color if you ask me." Angela narrowed her eyes at him, "You have a new companion since last I saw you. A woman. She's strong and influential… much like Nasuada. What is her name?"

"Kendra. And she is the second thing on my mind." He assured her.

Angela smiled, "At least you admit it and care enough about those around you to keep them on your thoughts. Most men I know wouldn't spend more than a fleeting moment thinking about those women closest to him. They would much rather spend it on more manly things, such as hunting or fighting."

Mark's smile broadened and it brought relief. This was why he always ended up at Angela's. "You are quite possibly the most amazing witch that has ever lived."

"I do try darling, I really do." She insisted. "Now, is there anything else that's lingering on your mind?"

He thought about it and shook his head, "No. Thank you for asking and listening, as usual."

"You have to tell someone sometime, and I prefer it be me instead of someone else. I do enjoy a bit of gossip now and then," she teased. Mark stood with a chuckle, knowing she wouldn't say a word to anyone about his innermost problems. "Don't be such a stranger either. I am good for reasons than just an open pair of ears. You should take advantage of it once in a while."

"I'll keep it in mind Angela." He said, taking his leave.

He looked out one of the round windows that faced the edge of the cliff and allowed the afternoon warmth to suffuse the room. He watched Saphria, noting how she acted with Glaedr, seeming both shy and coy. One moment she would twist around to examine some feature of the clearing, the next she would shuffle her wings and make small advances on the larger dragon, weaving her head from side to side, the tip of her tail twitching as if she were about to pounce on a deer. She reminded Eragon of a kitten trying to bait an old tomcat into playing with her, only Glaedr remained impassive throughout her machinations.

Saphria, he said. She responded with a distracted flicker of her thoughts, barely acknowledging him. Saphira, answer me.

What?

I know you're excited, but don't make a fool of yourself.

You've made a fool of yourself plenty of times, she snapped.

Her reply was so unexpected, it stunned him. It was the sort of casually cruelly remark that humans often make, but that he had never thought to hear from her. He finally managed to say, That doesn't make it any better. She grunted and closed her mind to his, although he could still feel the thread of her emotions connecting them.

Eragon returned to himself to find Oromis's gray eyes heavy upon him. The elf's gaze was so perceptive, Eragon was sure that Oromis understood what had transpired. Eragon forced a smile and motioned towards Saphira. "Even though we're linked, I can never predict what she's going to do. The more I learn about her, the more I realize how different we are."

Then Oromis made his first statement that Eragon thought was truly wise: "Those whom we love are often the most alien to us." The elf paused. "She is every young, as are you. I t took Glaedr and I decades before we fully understood each other. A Rider's bond with his dragon is like any relationship – that is, a work in progress. Do you trust her?"

"With my life."

"And does she trust you?"

"Yes."

"Then humor her. You were brought up as an orphan. She was brought up to believe that she was one of the two last sane individuals of her race. And now that the other one is gone, she believed herself to be the only one left. And now, here she is, proven wrong. Don't be surprised if it takes some months before she stops pestering Glaedr and returns her attention to her."

Eragon rolled a blueberry between his thumb and forefinger; his appetite had vanished. "Why don't elves eat meat?"

"Why should we?" Oromis held up a strawberry and rotated it so that the light reflected off its dimpled skin and illuminated the tiny hairs that bearded the fruit. "Everything that we need or want we sing from the plants, including our food. It would be barbaric to make animals suffer that we might have additional courses on the table… Our choice will make greater sense to you before long."

Eragon frowned. He had always eaten meat and did not look forward to living solely on fruit and vegetables while in Ellesmera. "Don't you miss the taste?"

"You cannot miss that which you have never had."

"What about Glaedr, though? He can't live off grass."

"No, but neither does he needlessly inflict pain. We each do the best we can with what we are given. You cannot help who or what you are born as."

"And Islanzadi? Her cape was made of swan feathers."

"Loose feathers gathered over the course of many years. No birds were killed to make her garment."

They finished the meal, and Eragon helped Oromis to scour the dishes clean with sand. As the elf stacked them in the cupboard, the asked, "Did you bathe this morning?" The question startled Eragon, but he answered that no, he had not. "Please do so tomorrow then, and every day following."

"Every day! The water's too cold for that. I'll catch the ague."

Oromis eyed him oddly. "Then make it warmer."

Now it was Eragon's turn to look askance. "I'm not strong enough to heat an entire stream with magic," he protested.

The house echoed as Oromis laughed. Outside, Glaedr swung his head toward the window and inspected the elf, then returned to his earlier position. I assume that you explored your quarters last night." Eragon nodded. "And you saw a small room with a depression in the floor?"

"I thought that it might be for washing clothes or linens."

"It is for washing you. Two nozzles are concealed in the side of the wall above the hollow. Open them and you can bathe in water of any temperature. Also," he gestured at Eragon's chin, "while you are my student, I expect you to keep yourself clean-shaven until you can grow a full beard – if you so choose – and not look like a tree with half its leaves blown off. Elves do not shave, but I will have a razor and a mirror found and sent to you."

Wincing at the blow to his pride, Eragon agreed. They returned outside, whereupon Oromis looked at Glaedr and the dragon said, We have decided upon a curriculum for Saphira and you.

The elf said, "You will start-"

-an hour after sunrise tomorrow, in the time of theRed Lily. Return here then.

"And bring the saddle that Brom made for you Saphira," continued Oromis. "Do what you wish in the meantime; Ellesmera holds many wonders for a foreigner, if you care to see them."

"I'll keep that in mind," said Eragon, bowing his head. "Before I go, Master, I want to thank you for helping me in Tronjheim after I killed Durza. I doubt that I would have survived without your assistance. I am in your debt."

We are both in your debt, added Saphira.

Oromis smiled slightly and inclined his head.

"I've decided to send you three out on a mission for me."

Mariah blinked, turning her gaze upward toward Galbatorix as he spoke. She certainly hadn't been expecting this. After being called from her room early in the morning, before the sun had even risen, she had expected a scolding or some sort of punishment from the day prior. This, however, had been the last thing on her mind.

"Now that Thorn is able to fly with a Rider on his back, I am sure the three of you can take on this task easily enough. There is an item I wish for you to retrieve for me in the north, toward Gil'ead. I don't trust anyone less than a Rider to find it for me. A Rider's blade lies somewhere in the ruins of a fortress. When its owner fell, the sword disappeared in the rubble and I have yet to find it. While you are gone there will be no use of magic that is unduly needed." Galbatorix looked towards Mariah, then he turned his head, looking out the window. "You leave immediately and you have three days to return with the blade. Else you will all be severely punished." His eyes lingered on Kieran for a moment and she locked her jaw under his gaze. "Go."

Murtagh led the way out of the room ahead of them.

He's letting us leave, Mariah realized, her eyes widening. She turned her gaze toward Murtagh's back for a moment. We could escape. Instead of going north, head south toward Surda… or east toward the desert. We could escape.

My darling, aren't you forgetting something? Andrar asked, thrashing his tail a bit as they walked outside. His eyes looked her face over as her joy drained away. You are still bound by oaths that cannot be broken.

Mariah climbed onto his back and sighed inwardly.

I doubt Kieran would have let you leave her sight anyway. It's probably for the best right now, let's just return with the sword and save our deceptions for a better day. Andrar insisted, looking toward Thorn as he struggled for a moment against the wind before soaring after Nasreen.

Murtagh looked over at her and smiled. This is the first time we've really gotten to fly like this. It's exhilarating. I realize now why you love it so much. The idea that you're invulnerable seems like a possibility when you're up this high.

She nodded, pushing her hair out of her face. Just wait until you're more comfortable with it, you can do all sorts of things when you fly once you know how to move. Feeling a bit like showing off she stood up on Andrar's back smoothly, with little effort on her part, aware of the wind and how hard she had to brace against it. The movement of the dragon beneath her didn't hinder her movement or make her cautious, just more aware. She smirked over at him and spun in a circle before bowing and sitting back in her saddle. Andrar snorted smoke from his nose, chuckling at her.

Her gaze flickered back over to Murtagh who seemed about ready to have a heart attack. His jaw was slack and he was staring. How did you do that? I can barely sit still in this saddle; I can't even imagine standing up!

Practice, she insisted. Also, the ability to trust that your dragon won't throw you off, make any sudden moves or will indefinitely catch you if you by chance happen to fall. I happen to know that Andrar will catch me no matter what and that his flight isn't going to change much in the few seconds I'm standing.

Andrar glanced back at her, it helps that Rider's blood runs in your veins as well Mariah.

I don't think that has anything to do with it, Mark can't stand to be on a dragon. She blinked, looking at Andrar. Mark. I could scry him… we're out of the castle. I could scry him!

Yes, and right after Galbatorix explicitly told you not to use magic. He will know if you attempted to scry your brother Mariah, and then what? You'll be hurt or something worse… you know that's what would happen… you just can't. Andrar said, feeling sympathy for her all the same.

Hope you enjoyed both parts. It was long and tedious, I know, but I do hope you enjoyed all the new names and faces, some familiar, some perhaps not so. I think nearly every major character was in these two chapters at least once, so that's a feat in itself.

Again, hope everyone had a fun, safe holiday, got everything they wished for and is enjoying writing the wrong date on all their papers now that the year has changed on us again.

I wish everyone the best for the upcoming year. New Year's Resolution for me? Finishing Eldest and in turn A Rider's Heart. We're nearly halfway there... though it will seem longer, now that I've been brooding over the ending... yet again.

With Love, As Always,

Mariah