Chapter Fifty-Eight: Secrets
The moment that Oromis and Glaedr were out of sight, Saphira said, Eragon, another dragon! Can you believe it?
He patted her shoulder. It's wonderful. High above Du Weldenvarden, the only sign of habitation in the forest was an occasional ghostly plume of smoke that rose from the crown of a tree and soon faded into clear air.
As Saphira rambled on and on about Glaedr, Eragon could feel the emotions roiling in her: eagerness and enthusiasm, twined with longing adoration. He tried to tell her what he had learned from Oromis – since he knew that she had not paid attention – but he found it impossible to change the subject of conversation. He sat silently on her back, the world an emerald ocean below, and felt himself the loneliest man in existence.
Back at their quarters, Eragon decided against any sightseeing; he was far too tired from the day's events and the weeks of traveling. And Saphira was more than content to sit on her bed and chatter about Glaedr while he examined the mysteries of the elves' wash closet.
Morning came, and with it a package wrapped in onionskin paper containing the razor and mirror that Oromis had promised. The blade was of elvish make, so it needed no sharpening or stropping. Grimacing, Eragon first bathed in steaming hot water, then held up the mirror and confronted his visage.
I look older. Older and worn. Not only that, but his features had become far more angled, giving him an ascetic, hawklike appearance. He was no elf, but neither would anyone take him to be a purebred human if they inspected him closely. Pulling back his hair, he bared his ears, which now tapered to slight points, more evidence of how his bond with Saphira had changed him. He touched one ear, letting his fingers wander over the unfamiliar shape.
It was difficult for him to accept the transformation of his flesh. Even though he had known it would occur – and occasionally welcomed the prospect as the last confirmation that he was a Rider – the reality of it filled him with confusion. He resented the fact that he had no say in how his body was being altered, yet at the same time he was curious where the process would take him. Also, he was aware that he was still in the midst of his own, human adolescence, and its attendant realm of mysteries and difficulties.
When will I finally know who and what I am?
He placed the edge of the razor against his cheek, as he had seen Garrow do, and dragged it across his skin. The hair came free, but they were cut long and ragged. He altered the angle of the blade and tried again with a bit more success.
When he reached his chin, though, the razor slipped in his hand and cut him from the corner of his mouth to the undersize of his jaw. He howled and dropped the razor, clapping his hand over the incision, which poured blood down his neck. Spitting the words past barred teeth, he said, "Waise heill." The pain quickly receded as magic knitted his flesh back together, though his heart still pounded from the shock.
Eragon! cried Saphira. She forced her head and shoulders into the vestibule and nosed open the door to the closet, glaring her nostrils at the scent of blood.
I'll live, he assured her.
She eyed the sanguine water. Be more careful. I'd rather you were as ragged as a molting deer than have you decapitate yourself for the sake of a close shave.
So would I. Go on. I'm fine.
Saphira grunted and reluctantly withdrew.
Eragon sat, glaring at the razor. Finally, he muttered, "Forget this." Composing himself, he reviewed his store of words from the ancient language, selected those that he needed, and then allowed his invented spell to roll off his tongue. A faint stream of black powder fell from his face as his stubble crumbled into dust, leaving his cheeks perfectly smooth.
Satisfied, Eragon went and saddled Saphira, who immediately took to the air, aiming their course toward the Crags of Tel'naeir. They landed before the hut and were met by Oromis and Glaedr.
Oromis examined Saphira's saddle. He traced each strap with his fingers, pausing on the stitching and buckled, and then pronounced it passable handiwork considering how and when it had been constructed. "Brom was always clever with his hands. Use this saddle when you must travel with great speed. But when comfort is allowed-" He stepped into his hut for a moment and reappeared carrying a thick, molded saddle decorated with gilt designs along the seat and leg pieces. "-use this. It was crafted in Vroengard and imbued with many spells so that it will never fail you in time of need."
Eragon staggered under the weight of the saddle as he received it from Oromis. It had the same general shape as Brom's, with a row of buckles – intended to immobilize his legs – hanging from each side. The deep seat was sculpted out of the leather in such a way that he could fly for hours with ease, both sitting upright and lying flat against Saphira's neck. Also, the straps encircling Saphira's chest were rigged with slips and knots so that they could extend to accommodate years of growth. A series of broad ties on either side of the head of the saddle caught Eragon's attention. He asked their purpose.
Glaedr rumbled, Those secure your wrists and arms so that you are not killed like a rat shaken to death when Saphira performs a complex maneuver.
Oromis helped Eragon relieve Saphira of her current saddle. "Saphira, you will go with Glaedr today, and I will work with Eragon here."
As you wish, she said, and crowed with excitement. Heaving his golden bulk off the ground, Glaedr soared off to the north, Saphira close behind.
Oromis did not give Eragon long to ponder Saphira's departure; the elf marched him to a square of hard-packed dirt beneath a willow tree at the far side of the clearing. Standing opposite him in the square, Oromis said, "What I am about to show you is called the Rimgar, or the Dance of Snake and Crane. It is a series of poses that we developed to prepare our warriors for combat, although all elves use it now to maintain their health and fitness. The Rimgar consists of four levels, each more difficult than the last. We will start with the first."
Apprehension for the coming ordeal sickened Eragon to the point where he could barely move. He clenched his fists and hunched his shoulders, his scar tugging at the skin of his back as he glared between his feet.
"Relax," advised Oromis. Eragon jerked open his hands and let them hang limply at the end of his rigid arms. "I asked you to relax, Eragon. You can't do the Rimgar if you are as stiff as a piece of rawhide."
"Yes, Master." Eragon grimaced and reluctantly loosened his muscles and joints, although a knot of tension remained coiled in his belly.
"Place your feet together and your arms at your sides. Look straight ahead. Now take a deep breath and lift your arms over your head so that your palms meet… Yes, like that. Exhale and bend down as far as you can, put your palms on the ground, take another breath… and jump back. Good. Breathe in and bend up, looking toward the sky… and exhale, lifting your hips until you form a triangle. Breathe in through the back of your throat… and out. In… and out. In…"
To Eragon's utter relief, the stances proved gentle enough to hold without igniting the pain in his back, yet challenging enough that sweat beaded his forehead and he panted for breath. He found himself grinning with joy at his reprieve. His wariness evaporated and he flowed through the postures – most of which far exceeded his flexibility – with more energy and confidence than he had possessed since before the battle in Farthen Dûr. Maybe I've healed!
Oromis performed the Rimgar with him, displaying a level of strength and flexibility that astounded Eragon, especially for one so old. The elf could touch his forehead to his toes. Throughout the exercise, Oromis remained impeccably composed, as if he were doing no more than strolling down a garden path. His instruction was calmer and more patient than Brom's, yet completely unyielding. No deviation was allowed from the correct path.
"Let us wash the sweat from our limbs," said Oromis when they finished.
Going to the stream by the house, they quickly disrobed. Eragon surreptitiously watched the elf, curious as to what he looked like without his clothes. Oromis was very thin, yet his muscles were perfectly defined, etched under his skin with the hard lines of a woodcut. No hair grew upon his chest or legs, not even around his groin. His body seemed almost freakish to Eragon, compared to the men he was used to seeing in Carvahall – although it had a certain refined elegance to it, like that of a wildcat.
When they were clean, Oromis took Eragon deep into Du Weldenvarden to a hollow where the dark trees leaned inward, obscuring the sky behind branches and veils of snarled lichen. Their feet sank into the moss above their ankles. All was silent around them.
Pointing to a white stump with a flat, polished top three yards across that rested in the center of the hollow, Oromis said, "Sit here." Eragon did as he was told. "Cross your legs and close your eyes." The world went dark around him. From his right, he heard Oromis whisper, "Open your mind, Eragon. Open your mind and listen to the world around you, to the thoughts of every being in this glade, from the ants in the trees to the worms in the ground. Listen until you can hear them all and you understand their purpose and nature. Listen, and when you hear no more, come tell me what you have learned."
Mariah's up.
He flicked open his eyes after Thorn's comment and watched her padding off into the darkness silently. With an inward sigh he stood, glancing toward Kieran who seemed to have nothing on her mind save for sleep. Thorn's tail twitched as he listened to Murtagh follow.
The forest they had camped just outside of was dense and glowed slightly with starlight, as it was nearly a full moon. Looking up through a gap in the canopy, he reasoned that it was near midnight with the moon so high in the sky. He couldn't blame her for not sleeping though; the longer they were gone the more he was concerned about what this was all really about. Murtagh narrowed his eyes at the darkness and listened hard, able to hear running water just a ways off. Deciding that was likely where she went, he headed in that direction.
"Couldn't sleep?" He asked, staring at her, leaning his hand against a tree.
She turned her head slightly from where she sat, not fully looking at him. The tight grip around her dagger betrayed her seeming composure. Her head moved back toward the water and she dropped the weapon back down beside her. "I never sleep well."
"I wouldn't know," he admitted, still watching her. The moonlight glanced off the rippling water and illuminated her pale face.
Mariah blinked once and looked toward him. "Why did you follow me?"
He shrugged slightly, "Thorn said you were up."
"Didn't answer my question," she said. Her gaze locked with his for a moment before she turned back to look at the water.
Murtagh pushed off the tree and went over to her, sitting beside her. "No. I suppose I didn't."
They sat soaking up the silence for a while, not speaking, not touching, not even looking at one another, simply waiting for the other to speak.
Mariah broke first. "I still have nightmares."
"About what?"
"Farthen Dûr… Durza… the Twins… Galbatorix… and now Cederic… Hal… Camilla… and that's just the top of the list." She said, "At first I would wake up screaming… now I wear a charmed necklace when I sleep so I don't wake anyone else up. My subconscious usually warns me awake now, when it realizes it's about to happen, but occasionally I just wake up in a pool of my own tears."
Murtagh stared over at her and blinked. He was always forgetting how she was sometimes still just a child with petty things such as nightmares to contend with. When she was awake, she hid everything so well from everyone. Though she was getting better, she still hid things from him. But it's okay, because… I still hide things from her. There's no reason to tell her things she doesn't need to know, it's only cause to upset her more.
"That's why I left camp in the middle of the night."
"What was it this time?" He asked, reaching over and brushing her black hair behind her ear.
"…Durza."
Murtagh tipped his head slightly, "You wanna tell me about it?"
She waited a moment, as if thinking about it and shook her head. "Not really."
He smirked a little, suppressing a chuckle. Of course. He shook his head, "Well, if you feel like sharing."
Mariah nodded and twisted her fingers together.
Just tell me what it is Mariah. I feel so useless when you don't share what's bothering you. I can't help if you won't let me. It's my job to take care of you, you know. I did make a promise after all. Murtagh thought to himself, watching her, not going to pry.
"I just…. I don't know," she said, turning back toward him again. Her lip was quivering slightly. Murtagh tensed, waiting for her to burst into tears. He frowned a little and sighed at her, reaching over and pulling her into a warm embrace, feeling tears soak into his shoulder as she shook with sobs.
He kissed the top of her head and whispered quietly to her. "They'll go away eventually Mariah… don't worry… nightmares don't last forever."
Mariah hugged him tighter and he set his chin on her shoulder, rubbing her back to calm her down. Finally, she pulled away.
He smiled a bit, "That's why I followed you." Murtagh wiped her face free of tears and nodded, "Better."
A small smile feathered across her lips before she leaned up and kissed him.
Murtagh hummed a bit, holding her close, welcoming the kiss. It always felt reassuring, like he was doing something right. He made her happy and that satisfaction alone was enough for him to keep going. He was doing his job, protecting her in more ways than one. "You should probably try and get some more sleep… we'll be getting to the fortress tomorrow morning, so you're going to need all the energy you can get."
"I don't want to go back yet…"
"That's fine, we can stay here a while longer." Murtagh said. She smiled, leaning her head against his shoulder and holding his hand.
When he could hear her breathing calm down and smooth out he glanced down to see her dozing off. Murtagh gave a little sigh of relief and snatched up the dagger on the ground beside her, jamming it through his belt and picking her up carefully. Standing, he adjusted his grip so her head fell back in against his shoulder before he turned and headed back toward camp and their dragons.
Thorn twitched his tail in greeting as he walked back, laying Mariah back down on her blanket. You should get back to sleep as well, before the sun is up and we must leave.
I'm not really that tired anymore. He said, looking at the dragon. Thorn flicked his eyes open and raised his head at him, snorting quietly.
Come here Murtagh, he said. After he was close enough Thorn nosed him in the chest, making him hit the ground. You cannot even keep your balance. You need rest, so sleep.
Murtagh shook his head and moved over next to Thorn, settling in against him and falling asleep, with his arms folded across his chest and face lifted toward the sky. The next time he woke, it was to a sharp kick at his leg. He snarled, glaring up at Kieran as she smirked at him.
"Time to get up," she said, striding back to Nasreen and climbing easily into her saddle.
Looking over, he saw Mariah already awake and securing her sword to her waist. At least she slept the rest of the night it seems. She looked towards him and smiled before looking at Kieran as she spoke. Murtagh turned and hoisted himself into Thorn's saddle, strapping in for the morning flight. They took off with Nasreen in the lead, flying lower to the ground to avoid freezing in the morning air. I hope this is as simple as Galbatorix made it out to being. Where we simply go in, find the sword and leave.
You should know from experience that is not how this usually works. Thorn said, glancing back at him. If anything, he lied to us about the ordeal entirely. There is no sword and he merely wishes to punish you for coming back to him having failed.
Now that you say it, I wouldn't doubt if you were right. Murtagh said, staying low against his neck to try and soak up some warmth, wishing he would have worn some warmer clothing.
"Ah, there you are. You need to come with me now." Eirika said, snatching up the cuff of his sleeve.
Mark stumbled for a moment before following her quickly, "What's wrong?"
"Kendra left early this morning and no one knows where she went. It's nothing particularly unusual but considering the state she's been in recently, no one wants her out on her own for very long." She insisted, turning them down a side street. "Rowan insisted I come find you so that you two can go look for her. You'd best not be busy with something at the moment." Eirika halted abruptly and looked both ways before opening a door that was well hidden in the alleyway.
Mark watched as she grabbed up her skirts and walked them down a steep staircase. The walls were lit with torches blazing every ten feet or so, allowing light to walk by but not as much as one may have hoped for. He brushed his hand against the wall as they went, able to hear people talking up ahead. The stairs ended and a black stone floor appeared, opening into a vast room that could easily have matched the Surdan Palace's main hall. At several points did the room flow into hallways and out of sight, leading Mark to believe there was likely a network of rooms laying beyond his vision.
As their feet hit the floor, the room fell silent for a moment as eyes flickered over to them, but as Eirika started walking again the din resumed and they were ignored. Mark looked around at the people as he followed, most of them were around twenty, a few younger and some older. Their clothes were well worn and mismatched, except for a few with matching uniforms. He returned his gaze forward and saw Rowan hunched over a table with Delaney and a few others. There were maps and other various papers scattered over the tabletop. Behind Rowan was a line of bookshelves and a locked doorway.
"Good you found him," Del said, looking towards his cousin. Eirika nodded and went to stand next to him.
Rowan looked up from his map, "I do hope you remember the way in next time Marcus, because you won't be shown it again. As Kendra has no doubt mentioned to you, this is what we all call the Black Palace. Most people who know about it wish it didn't need to exist, the few of us who are fortunate enough to have homes to return to do what we can to assist those who need it. Welcome to the underground of Surda." He stood up fully, grabbing the map and turned to the doorway. "You'll have time to get accommodated and shown around later; right now we have to go find Kendra. Normally I would leave her to go wandering around for days on end, but with a war on our hands we don't have time to be losing a leader. Del, you're in charge while I'm gone." He pushed the door open and walked into a black hallway.
Mark blinked after him dubiously and followed, the door shutting behind him. As soon as the door was closed, Rowan pulled a small chain on the wall, opening a hidden second hall illuminated with torches. He turned and walked for a ways without saying a word, leaving Mark to follow.
"How does a lord's son, raised in riches and wealth turn into the King of an underground city and spend his time helping poor people and assisting the princess of the Empire?" Mark asked, his hands in his pockets. It was a valid question and he figured he deserved some after getting dragged off like this.
Ahead of him, Rowan stopped. "Why does a bird fly?"
"You're going to give me an answer like that, honestly-"
"You wanted an answer. That's mine. Now drop it." He said, continuing on.
Mark rolled his eyes as they walked quietly. After a couple miles of twisting hallway, they arrived at a door. Rowan pushed it open carefully and stepped outside. When Mark followed, he realized why it had taken so long. The entryway was hidden well, in a thicket outside of Surda's walls. An easy way to get in or out of the city without being noticed, it was no wonder the palace guards didn't know anything about it.
"Lynette was still tethered outside when we realized she was gone so she must have gone on foot."
"Wait a second," Mark said, "Her horse's name is Lynette?"
Rowan blinked, "If you want to debate horse names with her highness, then we'll have to find her first. Now c'mon. She's on foot; she can't have gone too far for too long. Plus she's got Nyx with her; we'll be able to find a set of pawprints fairly easily."
He shook his head and pulled out the glass orb that Angela had given him. Holding it in his palm he focused at it and watched the smoke shimmer a dark blue color before clearing the way for an image: Kendra and Nyx strolling through the forest. She had her quiver strapped to her back and an arrow strung on her bow between her fingers. "She's hunting something… and they're near a river."
Rowan turned to look at him, "There's a small river to the west. It cuts through for a time before eventually turning south towards the ocean."
"Let's head that way then, shall we?" Mark asked rhetorically, waiting for him to lead since he knew the way.
Hours later, Eragon found Oromis in his hut, writing with a goose-feather quill. The elf finished his line, then wiped the nib of the quill clean, stoppered his ink, and asked, "And what did you hear, Eragon?"
Eragon was eager to share. As he described his experience, he heard his voice rise with enthusiasm over the details of the ants' society. He recounted everything that he could recall, down to the minutest and most inconsequential observation, proud of the information that he had gathered.
When he finished, Oromis raised an eyebrow. "Is that all?"
"I…" Dismay gripped Eragon as he understood that he had somehow missed the point of the exercise. "Yes, Ebrithil."
"And what about the other organisms in the earth and the air? Can you tell me what they were doing while your ants tended their droves?"
"No, Ebrithil."
"Therein lies your mistake. You must become aware of all things equally and not blinker yourself in order to concentrate on a particular subject. This is an essential lesson, and until you master it, you will meditate on the stump for an hour each day."
"How will I know when I have mastered it?"
"When you can watch one and know all."
Oromis motioned for Eragon to join him at the table, then set a fresh sheet of paper before him, along with a quill and a bottle of ink. "So far you have made do with an incomplete knowledge of the ancient language. Not that any of us knows all the words in the language, but you must be familiar with is grammar and structure so that you do not kill yourself through an incorrectly placed verb or similar mistake. I do not expect you to speak our language like an elf – that would take a lifetime – but I do expect you to achieve unconscious competence. That is, you must be able to use it without thinking.
"In addition, you must learn to read and write the ancient language. Not only will this help you memorize the words, it is an essential skill if you need to compose an especially long spell and you don't trust your memory, or if you find such a spell recorded and you want to use it.
"Every race has evolved their own system of writing the ancient language. The dwarves use their runic alphabet, as do humans. They are only makeshift techniques, though, and are incapable of expressing the language's true subtleties as well as our Liduen Kvaedhi, the Poetic Script. The Luduen Kvaedhi was designed to be as elegant, beautiful, and precise as possible. It is composed of forty-two different shapes that represent various sounds. These shapes can be combined in a nearly infinite range of glyphs that represent both individual words and entire phrases. The symbol on your ring is one such glyph. The symbol on Zar'roc is another… Let us start: What are the basic vowel sounds of the ancient language?"
"What?"
Eragon's ignorance of the underpinnings of the ancient language quickly became apparent. When he had traveled with Brom, the old storyteller had concentrated on having Eragon memorize lists of words that he might need to survive, as well as perfecting his pronunciation. In those two areas, he excelled, but he could not even explain the difference between a definite and indefinite article. If the gaps in his education frustrated Oromis, the elf did not betray it through word or action, but labored persistently to mend them.
At a certain point during the lesson, Eragon commented, "I've never needed very many words in my spells; Brom said it was a gift that I could do so much with just brisingr. I think the most I ever said in the ancient language was when I spoke to Arya in her mind and when I blessed an orphan in Farthen Dûr."
"You blessed a child in the ancient language?" asked Oromis, suddenly alert. "Do you remember how you worded this blessing?"
"Aye," he said slowly. Mark had had a similar reaction when he'd mentioned it before as well.
"Recite it for me." Eragon did so, and a look of pure horror engulfed Oromis. He exclaimed, "You used skölir! Are you sure? Wasn't it sköliro?"
Eragon frowned. "No, skölir. Why shouldn't I have used it? Skölirmeans shielded. '…and may you be shielded from misfortune.' It was a good blessing."
"That was no blessing, but a curse." Oromis was more agitated than Eragon had ever seen him. "The suffix o forms the past tense of verbs ending with r and i. Sköliro means shielded, but skölir means shield. What you said was 'May luck and happiness follow you and may you be a shield from misfortune.' Instead of protecting this child from the vagaries of fate, you condemned her to be a sacrifice for others, to absorb their misery and suffering so that they might live in peace."
No, no! It can't be! Eragon recoiled from the possibility. "The effect a spell has isn't only determined by the word's sense, but also by your intent, and I didn't intend to harm-"
"You cannot gainsay a word's inherent nature. Twist it, yes. Guide it, yes. But not contravene its definition to imply the very opposite." Oromis pressed his fingers together and stared at the table, his lips reduced to a flat white line. "I will trust that you did not mean to harm, else I would refuse to teach you further. If you were honest and your heart was pure, then this blessing may cause less evil than I fear, though it will still be the nucleus of more pain than either of us could wish."
Violent trembling overtook Eragon as he realized what he had done to the child's life. "It may not undo my mistake," he said, "but perhaps it will alleviate it; Saphira marked the girl on the brow, just like she marked my palm with the gedwëy ignasia."
For the first time in his life, Eragon witnessed an elf dumbstruck. Oromis's gray eyes widened, his mouth open, and he clutched the arms of his chair until the wood groaned with protest. "One who bears the sign of the Riders, and yet is not a Rider," he murmured. "In all my years, I have never met anyone such as the two of you. Every decision you make seems to have an impact far beyond what anyone could anticipate. You change the world with your whims."
"Is that good or bad?"
"Neither, it just is. Where is the babe now?"
It took a moment for Eragon to compose his thoughts. "With the Varden, either in Farthen Dur or Surda. Do you think that Saphira's mark will help her?"
"I know not," said Oromis. "No precedent exists to draw upon for wisdom."
"There must be ways to remove the blessing, to negate a spell." Eragon was almost pleading.
"There are. But for them to be most effective, you should be the one to apply them, and you cannot be spared here. Even under the best of circumstances, remnants of your magic will haunt this girl evermore. Such is the power of the ancient language." He paused. "I see that you understand the gravity of the situation, so I will say this only once: you bear full responsibility for this girl's doom, and, because of the wrong you did her, it is incumbent upon you to help her if ever the opportunity should arise. By the Riders' law, she is your shame as surely as if you had begotten her out of wedlock, a disgrace among humans, if I remember correctly."
"Aye," whispered Eragon. "I understand." I understand that I forced a defenseless baby to pursue a certain destiny without ever giving her a choice in the matter. Can someone be truly good if they never have the opportunity to act badly? I made her a slave. He also knew that if he had been bound in that manner without permission, he would hate his jailer with every fiber of his being.
"Then we will speak of this no more."
"Yes, Ebrithil."
Eragon was still subdued, even depressed, by the end of the day. He barely looked up when they went outside to meet Saphira and Glaedr upon their return. The trees shook from the fury of the gale that the two dragons created with their wings. Saphira seemed proud of herself; she arched her neck and pranced toward Eragon, opening her chops in a lupine grin.
A stone cracked under Glaedr's eight as the ancient dragon turned a giant eye – as large as a dinner plate – on Eragon and asked, What are the rules three to spotting downdrafts, and the rules five for escaping them?
Startled out of his reverie, Eragon could only blink dumbly. "I don't know."
Then Oromis confronted Saphira and asked, "What creatures do ants farm, and how to they extract food from them?"
I wouldn't know, declared Saphira. She sounded affronted.
A gleam of anger leaped into Oromis's eyes and he crossed his arms, though his expression remained calm. "After all the two of you have done together, I would think that you had learned the most basic lesion of being Shur'tugal: Share everything with your partner. Would you cut off your right arm? Would you fly with only one wing? Never. Then why would you ignore the bond that links you? By doing so, you reject your greatest gift and your advantage over any single opponent. Nor should you just talk to each other with our minds, but mingle your consciousnesses until you act and think as one. I expect both of you to know what either one of you is taught."
"What about our privacy?" objected Eragon.
Privacy? Said Glaedr. Keep your thoughts to thyself when you leave here, if it pleases you, but while we tutor you, you have no privacy.
Eragon looked at Saphira, feeling even worse than before. She avoided his gaze, then stamped a food and faced him directly. What?
They're right. We have been negligent.
It's not my fault.
I didn't say that it was. She had guessed his opinion, though. He resented the attention she lavished on Glaedr and how it drew her away from him. We'll do better, won't we?
Of course! She snapped.
She declined to offer Oromis and Glaedr an apology, though, leaving the task to Eragon. "We won't disappoint you again."
"See that you don't. You will be tested tomorrow on what the other learned." Oromis revealed around wood bauble nestled in the middle of his palm. "So long as you take care to wind it regularly, this device will wake you at the proper time each morning. Return here as soon as you have bathed and eaten."
The bauble was surprisingly heavy when Eragon took it. The size of a walnut, it had been carved with deep whorls around a knob wrought in the likeness of a moss-rose blossom. He turned the knob experimentally and heard three clicks as a hidden ratchet advanced. "Thank you," he said.
Thorn landed heavily behind Nasreen and Andrar, lowering his neck to allow Murtagh off. We certainly aren't getting in there. The doorway was half smashed shut and what remained was small. At least, not without tearing away what remains of the rubble. I suggest we take a quick flight around to see if there's anything amiss before you head inside.
"Good idea." He said, "Why don't the dragons take a fly around first?"
Kieran looked towards him and nodded, "Probably not a bad idea. This place is a bit unsettling." Her hair was ruffled as the dragons took flight, splitting off to search around some before returning unscathed.
Nothing particularly unexpected, considering everything, Thorn insisted. We'll remain alert while you go on ahead. Call if you need us.
Murtagh patted his nose a bit before tightening his sword on his hip and heading for the door, the girls following up behind him. When the inside of the tunnel proved too dark, Mariah muttered under her breath until a small ball of fire floated above her head. He smiled a bit, trying not to mention how funny she looked, "Thanks." He turned his eyes back ahead again and continued.
After a few minutes of walking, Kieran suddenly halted, staring at the ground.
"What is it now?" He asked, turning to look at her.
"There's going to be skeletons all over the place."
He blinked, "Probably. There was a fight here during the Rider War; I'm assuming they didn't drag everyone's body out of here…"
She visibly shivered and hugged herself, squeaking as Mariah and Murtagh took off again ahead of her, nearly tripping as she hurried to catch up.
"Yes, she'll tear into any living thing without a care, get blood spattered all over her but throw a few bones at her and she's terrified." Murtagh said, chuckling. "Why did you wear heels again, Kieran?" He asked, listening to them click against the stone floor occasionally.
"These are my riding boots."
"I'd forgotten. I'm sorry." He said, turning his head at the split in the hallway. "Well… which way now?"
"Left." Kieran said, eyeing up another skull sitting atop a spike to their right.
Murtagh headed that way and listened to the creaking noises of old wood as the wind blew into the fortress. When something would snap, dried up dirt would sift through the cracks. He glanced at the ceiling once in a while, unsure if it would hold while they were underneath it. As they rounded yet another corner, they came to a dead end, the hall filled to the top with rubble. Murtagh looked around for a moment, trying to see if they could shift any of it, "Not without caving this whole place in, we're going to have to head the other way."
Kieran huffed and turned around, jumping as a rat squealed up at her. "Brisingr!" She threw out her hand and fried it with a quick burst of fire. The charred carcass twitched once and she kicked it away. She turned and saw them staring at her. "What?"
"…remind me never to jump out and scare you." He said, pushing past her, heading back the other way.
When they arrived back at the spiked skull, Kieran huffed. "Maybe I should go check outside."
"If you want to leave, be my guest Kieran, you're probably scaring the sword off with all your shrieking." He said, looking over at the princess. "I'm sure Mariah and I can handle whatever's lying ahead: probably more dead people."
She pursed her lips, as if actually thinking about it before shaking her head and walking ahead of him. "I'll come with, you watch, I'll be perfectly fine-" She squeaked again as she tripped, slamming onto the floor and looking up at a decaying, yet fleshy, skull. Her scream echoed for minutes in the hallway after she stopped. He walked over, pulling her back onto her feet.
"You need new riding boots." He insisted, holding onto her wrist and walking with her down the hall, glancing at Mariah who was just smiling and shaking her head.
At the end of twenty minutes, they arrived at yet another dead end.
"How the hell are we supposed to find anything if the entire place is boarded up like this?" Kieran asked.
Mariah looked around a moment before glancing at her fireball, which was flickering slightly above her. "There's a draft…" she looked towards the wall and walked over, pressing her hand against the stone. "This section moves… look, you can see where it separates… there must be a switch or something. Help me look."
Kieran stood in the middle of the room, looking around warily as they searched. Finally Murtagh reached around a fallen rafter and pulled a chain down, listening to the doorway shift and open.
"I'm not going down there." The princess said adamantly.
"Then you're staying here by yourself." He insisted, heading down the staircase, Mariah on his heels. After they had vanished from sight, he could hear her following hurriedly behind them. At the foot of the stairs, they came upon an open hall, littered with tables and chairs. "It's like the whole place collapsed during the battle, everything's practically intact."
"Just a whole level down," Mariah added, looking past him. "Let's find the sword. It seems like a Rider would have defended from air, but if they were trapped down here then the sword could have easily fallen into a crevice or something."
"We'll just have to keep looking," he insisted, heading into the room. Kieran followed behind Mariah, crawling out of her skin at the skeletal figures littering the room. Swords, axes and lances impaling some, cracking into others' skulls, all in all it was a little unsettling. They preceded to yet another doorway without much delay.
In this hall, there were lit torches. Murtagh froze and stared at them. "Someone's been here recently." He put a hand on his sword, able to hear someone talking up ahead. He drew his bow and knocked an arrow, creeping around the corner before glaring back at Kieran. "Stay still, everyone will hear you coming." She blinked at him and stopped moving. He sighed inwardly and turned back, looking around the corner and seeing nothing. Lowering his bow a bit, he advanced and narrowed his eyes.
The muttering was coming from a hooded figure hunched over a table. A burnt smell hung in the air. He strained his ears and listened. The muttering was repetitive, a chanting rhythm. He glanced between the flickering candles and stared as unnatural wind began blowing. From behind him he heard one of the girls gasp before the bow was ripped from his hands.
Mariah drew back the bow and shot them in the back. A hiss and they turned around, shouting inaudibly with a hand pointed towards them. Feral creatures swept towards them from the darkness. Murtagh drew his sword and blinked as a wolf chomped down on the blade, biting rapidly; chewing on what he hoped was flesh. He stared at the creature for a moment, dumbfounded. Its eyes were bleeding and fur was missing in clumps along his body. In some places, bones were exposed. As it turned its face, the skin around its left jaw was missing entirely, showing off the sharpened teeth along its mouth.
Twisting, he stabbed downward, pinning its head to the ground. It was still squirming and trying to bite at him, the attack not so much as startling it. Why should it? The creature was already dead. He glanced at Kieran who was throwing fire at a group of un-dead birds. Mariah was already pinioned by a larger wolf. He left his sword in the wolf's skull and rushed over, knocking the animal back with a burst of magic, "Thrysta!" It slammed back into a wall, breaking its back leg. He watched as it stood back up, and then crouched low, ready to attack again.
Murtagh turned his gaze back to the person standing by the table. He snatched Mariah's sword and rushed toward them, slashing into their chest, spurting blood all over himself and the wall. She fell to the ground, clutching her wound and trying to heal herself. After a few struggling moments, the woman fell still. The scratching and growling coming from the wolf Murtagh had pinned ceased, the flapping wings of feral birds stopped as they dropped from the air and the wolf that had since resumed mauling Mariah fell into a heap onto her chest.
He hurried back to her, shoving the animal off and looking her over for wounds. She coughed and sat up slowly, holding onto her left arm, the one she'd been using to shield herself.
Kieran walked past them, ignoring the scratches and bits of missing flesh from her arms and face, walking to the table and stabbing downward with her dagger, jerking it to the side with finality. Her eyes were wide as she stared. "…as daring as my father is, he usually doesn't delve into necromancy like this." She stood up straighter again and looked at Murtagh.
Pulling Mariah to her feet, holding onto her, he asked, "What do you mean?"
"This… witch…" she spat, "was practicing necromancy. Somehow managing to breathe life into the dead. Those animals had been killed before… and so had he." She motioned to the table where her dagger was sticking out of a young man's chest. "I wonder where her research notes are…"
He stared at her as she began digging around the room. "You're kidding me right Kieran… we're here to find a Rider's blade, not a recipe for resurrecting the dead."
"Father would be pleased if we brought something like this back to him. Besides, we can't just leave it lying around here." Kieran said, "Besides, I already found the sword." Murtagh watched her pick up the sword from the table. "She must have been using the energy stored in it to help with her resurrection process… pretty clever really."
"Alright, can we go now? I think Mariah needs some serious help and this dark dungeon is not the place to do it in." He said, stabilizing her as she swayed in his grip. Murtagh winced and picked her up, carrying her back down the hallway. Kieran looked around the room quickly, snatching up everything she could find and jamming it in the witch's bag before running after him.
Brisingr- Fire
Thrysta – Thrust
It's kinda long… isn't it? Eh, you deserve long, since I can't seem to get you guys a chapter a week.
…Murtagh must become better. It makes me sad when people don't like Murtagh, as Murtagh is awesome. Ergo, Mariah's normal section is Murtagh's, this time. Hopefully it helped. And I liked trying to put it in his mind instead of hers, it was a fun change.
I skipped over the part about the ants with Eragon… really, we're going to read about ants for three pages? I think not.
Kieran is afraid of skeletons. Mariah has nightmares. Kendra is missing. Mark went to the Black Palace. Eragon stared at ants. Murtagh killed some un-dead stuff.
All in all I'd say this was a fun day.
With Love, As Always,
Mariah