Chapter Sixty-One: For King and Country

Oromis's timepiece buzzed like a giant hornet, blaring in Eragon's ears until he retrieved the bauble and wound the mechanism.

His bashed knee had turned purple, he was sore both from his attack and the elves' Dance of Snake and Crane, and he could do no more than croak with his ragged throat. The worst injury, though, was his sense of foreboding that this would not be the last time Durza's wound would trouble him. The prospect sickened him, draining his strength and will.

So many weeks passed between attacks, he said, I began to hope that maybe, just maybe, I was healed… I suppose sheer luck is the only reason I was spared that long.

Extending her neck, Saphira nuzzled him on the arm. You know you aren't alone, little one. I'll do everything I can to help. He responded with a weak smile. Then she licked his face and added, You should get ready to leave.

I know. He stared at the floor, unwilling to move, then dragged himself to the wash closet , where he scrubbed himself clean and used magic to shave.

He was in the middle of drying himself when he felt a presence touch his mind. Without pausing to think, Eragon began to fortify his mind, concentrating on an image of his big toe to the exclusion of all else. Then he heard Oromis say, Admirable, but unnecessary. Bring Zar'roc with you today. The presence vanished.

Eragon released a shaky breath. I need to be more alert, he told Saphira. I would have been at his mercy if he were an enemy.

Not with me around.

When his ablutions were complete, Eragon unhooked the membrane from the wall and mounted Saphira, cradling Zar'roc in the crook of his arm.

Saphira took flight with a rush of air, angling toward the Crags of Tel'naeir. From their high vantage point, they could see the damage that the storm had wreaked on Du Weldenvarden. No trees had fallen in Ellesméra, but father away, where the elves' magic was weaker; numerous pines had been knocked over. The remaining wind made the crossed branches and trees rub together, producing a brittle chorus of creaks and groans. Clouds of golden pollen, as thick as dust, streamed out from the trees and flowers.

While they flew, Eragon and Saphira exchanged memories of their separate lessons from the day before. He told her what he had learned about ants and the ancient language, and she told him about downdrafts and other dangerous weather patterns and how to avoid them.

Thus, when they landed and Oromis interrogated Eragon about Saphira's lessons and Glaedr interrogated Saphira about Eragon's, they were able to answer every question.

"Very good, Eragon-vodhr."

Aye. Well played, Bjartskular, added Glaedr to Saphira.

As before, Saphira was sent off with Glaedr while Eragon remained on the cliffs, although this time he and Saphira were careful to maintain their link so as to absorb each other's instruction.

As the dragons departed, Oromis observed, "Your voice is rougher today, Eragon. Are you sick?'

"My back hurt again this morning."

"Ah. You have my sympathy." He motioned with one finger. "Wait here."

Eragon watched as Oromis stride into his hut and then reappeared, looking fierce and warlike with his silver mane rippling in the wind and his bronze sword in hand. "Today," he said, "We shall forgo the Rimgar and instead cross our two blades. Naegling and Zar'roc. Draw thy sword and guard its edge as your first master taught you."

Eragon wanted nothing more than to refuse. However, he had no intention of breaking his vow or letting his resolve waver in front of Oromis. He swallowed his trepidation. This is what it means to be a Rider, he thought.

Drawing upon his reserves, he located the nub deep within his mind that connected him to the wild flow of magic. He delved into it, and the energy suffused him. "Geuloth du knifr," he said, and a winking blue star popped into existence between his thumb and forefinger, jumping from one to the next as he ran it down Zar'roc's perilous length.

The instant their swords met, Eragon knew that he was as outmatched by Oromis as by Durza and Arya. Eragon was an exemplary human swordsman, but he could not compete with warriors whose blood ran thick with magic. His arm was too weak and his reflexes still too slow. Still, that did not stop him from trying to win. He fought to the limits of his abilities, even if, in the end, it was a futile prospect.

Oromis tested him in every conceivable manner, forcing Eragon to utilize his entire arsenal of blows, counterblows, and underhand tricks. It was all for naught. He could not touch the elf. As a last resort, he tried altering his style of fighting, which could unsettle even the most hardened veteran. All it got him was a welt on his thigh.

"Move your feet faster," cried Oromis. "He who stands like a pillar dies in battle. He who bends like a reed is triumphant!"

The elf was glorious in action, a perfect blend of control and untamed violence. He pounced like a cat, struck like a heron, and bobbed and wove with the grace of a weasel.

The had been sparring for almost twenty minutes when Oromis faltered, his narrow features clamped in a brief grimace. Eragon recognized the symptoms of Oromis's mysterious illness and lashed out with Zar'roc. It was a low thing to do, but Eragon was so frustrated, he was willing to take the advantage of any opening, no matter how unfair, just to have the satisfaction of marking Oromis at least once.

Zar'roc never reached its target. As Eragon twisted, he overextended and strained his back.

The pain was upon him without warning.

The last thing he heard was Saphira shouting, Eragon!

Mariah leaned against her door once it was closed behind her. After she'd regained full consciousness, Mariah had scuttled back to her room, one hand along the wall the entire way, trying not to pass out. The gash in her forehead throbbed with pain, adding to the oncoming headache she knew would stay with her the rest of the week.

Looking up from the book he'd been reading as he was laid out on the sofa, he startled and jumped to his feet, hurrying to her. "What happened?" Murtagh asked, running his fingers over her brow, sealing the wound.

She let out a heavy breath and leaned her head back against the wood, closing her eyes. Visions flashed through her mind quickly, remnants from the mind scalding she'd incurred earlier. "I need you… to do something for me."

He blinked, "What?"

"I mean it, once I tell you, you have to do it. I'll never ask you for anything else again-"

"Okay, I get it." Murtagh nodded, putting a hand on her cheek. "Tell me what to do."

Swallowing hard she opened her eyes again, his eyes wide with concern. "I need you to start wiping my memories…"

"What? Mariah – I couldn't-"

"You already said you would," she said calmly. "I don't know what he figured out, but he knows something and I don't want him to know any more. You don't have to erase everything, just the new stuff… I'll tell you what, but eventually you'll understand what I mean. I want you to start with this conversation… I don't want to remember this at all…"

He stared at her for a long moment before speaking again. "What happened?"

"He searched my mind, like when I first arrived… since I've put most of it back together, he was better able to examine my memories. From his reaction when he was through, he found something important and meaningful… I have no doubt he'll start doing it more often." She bit her tongue. "He also said… if I don't start behaving that he'll have to do something about it."

Murtagh nodded, "I can see why he would be threatening to do so. You have been quite unruly lately." He paused, "Mariah… are you sure about this?"

"Yes." She said without hesitation. "I need you to erase the memories I need you to and replace them with something… safe… boring… what have you. Anything other than my actual thoughts… I'm trying to work on a way out of here, and if he figures out what I'm doing… we're both stuck."

"Alright… just tell me what to do."

Mariah felt a small wave of relief wash over her and she nodded slightly. "I need to sit down." She said, heading toward the couch, feeling Murtagh grip her arm to steady her when she wobbled. Falling into the cushion, she rubbed her forehead for a minute, closing her eyes again. "Alright… before we get rid of any of my recollection of this conversation, do you know what I need you to get rid of all the time?"

"Anything pertaining to you wanting to leave, right?"

"Yes… and anything about escaping, killing, being worried about Galbatorix or the others… alright? You should pretty much be able to figure out what to get rid of and what to leave."

"And what do you want me to replace it with? I think he'd notice if your memory had gaps in it."

"If the gaps are too big to leave, fill it with something boring… like staring out a window or reading." Mariah told him, leaning back with a sigh.

Murtagh nodded, "How often do you want me to do this?"

"Every day, at least once… if not twice… and if you see a chance to pull me aside without anyone noticing too much, then go ahead," she said. "And if I ever ask, just tell me-"

"That I'm protecting you from Galbatorix?"

"Sure… whatever will get me to stop thinking about it."

He nodded, carding his fingers through his hair with a heavy sigh. "What if I screw it up?"

"You won't," she said reassuringly. "I trust you… you won't erase all my memories."

"…by giving me access to your mind… you realize you've got no more secrets, right?"

Mariah stared at the fireplace for a minute, lost in the flickering flames. Finally she turned her gaze back to Murtagh, "No more secrets from me. I still expect you to keep things hidden though, so don't feel bad about it… this is my choice. I could ignore it and let Galbatorix have access to my thoughts, but that would be foolish… I'm choosing to have you do this. I know you won't take advantage of it. I hope you don't find anything offensive in my memories, but if you do, then it'll just have to be dealt with later. Okay?"

"Alright," he nodded, reaching over and taking her hand.

She smiled faintly at him and wrapped her arms around his waist. "Thank you." Mariah said, leaning her head on his shoulder.

He said nothing in reply, brushing her hair behind her angled ears and kissing the top of her head. Gently, he touched his fingers to her temple and started muttering under his breath, hiding his surprise at how open, for once, her mind was to him.

Despite the intensity of the fit, Eragon remained conscious throughout his ordeal. Not that he was aware of his surroundings, only the fire that burned in his flesh and prolonged each second into an eternity. The worst part was that he could do nothing to end his suffering but wait…

…and wait…

Eragon lay panting in the cold mud. He blinked as his vision came into focus and he saw Oromis sitting on a stool next to him. Pushing himself onto his knees, Eragon surveyed his new tunic with a mixture of regret and disgust. The fine russet cloth was caked with dirt from his convulsions on the ground. Much filled his hair as well.

He could sense Saphira in his mind, radiating concern as she waited for him to notice her. How can you continue like this? She fretted. It'll destroy you.

Her misgivings undermined Eragon's remaining fortitude. Saphira had never before expressed doubt that he would prevail, not at Dras-Leona, Gil'ead, or Farthen Dûr, nor with any of the dangers they had encountered. Her confidence had given him courage. Without it he was truly afraid.

You should concentrate on your lesson, he said.

I should concentrate on you.

Leave me alone! He snapped at her like a wounded animal that wants to nurse its injuries in silence and in dark. She fell silent, leaving just enough of their connection intact so that he was vaguely aware of Glaedr teaching her about fireweed, which she could chew to help her digestion.

Eragon combed the mud from his hair with his fingers, then spat out a globule of blood. "Bit my tongue."

Oromis nodded as if it were to be expected. "Do you require healing?"

"No."

"Very well. Tend to your sword, then bathe and go to the stump in the glade and listen to the thoughts of the forest. Listen, and when you hear no more, come tell me what you have learned."

"Yes, Master."

When Eragon rejoined Oromis in his hut, the elf asked, "How went it?"

"Master, I could listen night and day for the next twenty years and still not know everything that goes on in the forest."

Oromis raised an eyebrow. "You have made progress." After Eragon described what he had witnessed, Oromis said, "But still not enough, I fear. You must work harder, Eragon. I know you can. You are intelligent and persistent, and you have the potential to be a great Rider. As difficult as it is, you have to learn to put aside your troubles and concentrate entirely on the task at hand. Find peace within yourself and let your actions flow from there."

"I'm doing my best."

"No, this isn't your best. We shall recognize your best when it appears." He paused thoughtfully. "Perhaps it would help if you had a fellow student to compete with. Then we might see your best… I will think on the matter."

Eragon watched Oromis stand and walk to the cupboards, his words springing thoughts of Mariah into his head. She would have half of this stuff already figured out already, and more than likely be slipping him hints when he was stuck for an answer. If they were competing, she would have brought out the best in him – their rivalry stemming from their friendship and encouragement of one another to become better than they already were. His thoughts were brought back to Oromis when he handed Eragon a bowl full of vegetable stew.

He looked at the stew with distaste; he was sick of the elves' fare. He longed for meat, fish, or fowl, something hearty that he could sink his teeth into, not this endless parade of plants. "Master," he asked to distract himself, "why do you have me meditate? Is it so that I will understand the doings of the animals and insects, or is there more to it than that?"

"Can you think of no other motive?" Oromis sighed when Eragon shook his head. "Always it is thus with my new students, and especially with the human ones; the mind is the last muscle they train or use, and the one that they regard the least. Ask them about swordplay and they can list every blow from a duel a month old, but ask them to solve a problem or make a coherent statement and… well, I would be lucky to get more than a blank stare in return. You are still new to the world of gramarye – as magic is properly called – but you must begin to consider its full implications."

"How so?"

"Imagine for a moment that you are Galbatorix, with all of his vast resources at your command. The Varden have destroyed your Urgal army with the help of a rival Dragon Rider, who you know was educated – at least in part – by one of your most dangerous and implacable foes, Brom. You are also aware that your enemies are massing in Surda for a possible invasion. Given that, what would be the easiest way to deal with these various threats, short of flying into battle yourself?"

Eragon stirred his stew to cool it while he examined the issue. "It seems to me," he said slowly, "that the easiest thing would be to train a corps of magicians – they wouldn't even have to be that powerful – force them to swear loyalty to me in the ancient language, then have them infiltrate Surda to sabotage the Varden's efforts, poison wells, and assassinate Nasuada, King Orrin, and other key members of the resistance."

"And why hasn't Galbatorix done this yet?"

"Because until now, Surda was of negligible interests to him, and because the Varden have dwelled in Farthen Dûr for decades, where they were able to examine every newcomer's mind for duplicity, which they can't do in Surda, since its border and population are so large."

"Those are my very conclusions," said Oromis. "Unless Galbatorix forsakes his lair in Uru'baen, the greatest danger you're likely to encounter during the Varden's campaign will come from fellow magicians. You knew as well as I how difficult it is to guard against magic, especially if your opponent has sworn in the ancient language to kill you, no matter the cost. Instead of attempting to first conquer your mind, such a foe will simply cast a spell to obliterate you, even though – in the instant before you are destroyed – you will still be free to retaliate. However, you cannot fell your murderer if you don't know who or where he is."

"So sometimes you don't have to bother taking control of your opponent's mind?"

"Sometimes, but it's a risk to avoid." Oromis paused to consume a few spoonfuls of stew. "Now, to address the heart of this issue, how do you defend yourself against anonymous enemies who can contravene any physical precautions and slay with a muttered word?"

"I don't see how, unless…" Eragon hesitated, and then smiled. "Unless I was aware of the counsciousnesses of all the people around me. Then I could sense if they meant me harm.

Oromis appeared pleased by his answer. "Even so, Eragon-finiarel. And that's the answer to your question. Your meditations condition your mind to find and exploit flaws in your enemies' mental armor, no matter how small."

"But won't another magic user know if I touch their mind?"

"Aye, they will know, but most people won't. And as for the magicians, they will know, they will be afraid, and they will shield their minds from you out of their fear, and you will know them because of it."

"Isn't it dangerous to leave your consciousness unguarded. If you're attacked mentally, you could easily be overwhelmed."

"It's less dangerous than being blind to the world."

Eragon nodded. He tapped his spoon in a measure meter of time, engrossed by his thoughts, then said, "It feels wrong."

"Oh? Explain yourself."

"What about people's privacy? Brom taught me to never intrude into someone's mind unless it was absolutely necessary… I guess I'm uncomfortable with the idea of prying into people's secrets… secrets that they have every right to keep to themselves." He cocked his head. "Why didn't Brom tell me about this if it's so important? Why didn't he train me in it himself?"

"Brom told you," said Oromis, "what was appropriate to tell you under the circumstances. Dipping into the pool of minds can prove addictive to those with a malicious personality or a taste for power. It was not taught to prospective Riders – though we had them meditate as you do throughout their training – until we were convinced that they were mature enough to resist the temptation. It is an invasion of privacy, and you will learn many things from it that you never wanted to. However, this is for your own good and the good of the Varden. I can say from experience, and from watching other Riders experience the same, that this, above all else, will help you to understand what drives people. And understanding begets empathy and compassion, even for the meanest beggar in the meanest city of Alagaesia."

"Where are we off to?" Mark asked, "And why is Nyx wearing armor?"

Kendra stretched her arms over her head and glanced toward her wolf with thick leather fixed around his haunches and torso, to protect his stomach, remaining silent as their red-headed archer filled him in. It was rare, but the whole group was on horse-back, heading north east for a mission. Since someone had to stay behind and retain control of the underground, Rowan had chosen to stay Aberon, though as Eirika had told Mark already, he was likely to sleep most of the time with nothing to do. They'd traveled most of the day already and had insisted upon keeping the topic neutral until they were closer to their destination. The sky was growing steadily darker as the sun set behind the trees lining the road. Stars were beginning to appear, like little white blemishes upon the night.

"Nyx needs to be protected too, so he has armor." Trevin shrugged and continued, "There have been a string of deaths near Lithgow, all seemingly unrelated. One looks like a bear attack, another like poison, drowning, you get the picture. Well, Kendra is under the impression they're murders because most of these people are working with the Varden, or are otherwise linked to Surda and the resistance. Del looked over some maps and decided that the most likely place for a group of assassins to be hanging out would be along the abandoned mining road just south of the city." Trevin told Mark, looking over at him as they rode. "Oh, and kids have been vanishing too. The one thing Kendra hates more than murderers, are kidnappers."

Mark glanced up towards Kendra, as she was riding ahead of everyone else. "Alright, so how many people do you think it is?"

"Half a dozen at least," Delaney said, leaning over his horse's neck. "Considering the number of deaths and kidnappings, and the timing of them all… I'd say no less than six people could handle everything all at once.

"When did you figure all this out?"

"We heard about it a week or so ago, just happened to overhear some things from visiting merchants. I guess it's been happening for a while now, but it's getting out of hand and people are getting suspicious." Trevin shrugged, "People always notice things when it's too late to stop it."

"We'll put an end to it before it gets any more out of hand," Kendra insisted, "Now I want you all to be quiet, we're taking a detour." She grabbed Lynette's reins and pulled her left, off the road and into a clearing that was thickly veiled by the bushes and trees. Dismounting, she waved her hand and Mark could feel the silencing ward she put up. Her eyes narrowed as she peered through the leaves.

She bolted, dagger in hand straight out towards the road, Nyx on her heels. Mark cursed under his breath and spurred Aluora after her. Of the two men in the road, one way lying dead in a pool of his own blood with Nyx standing over him, jaws dripping red, the other straining against Kendra's blade against his throat. As Mark dropped from Aluora's saddle he stared at Kendra, raising one eyebrow.

She said nothing, simply throwing the second down next to the first, pinning him there. "Tell me what you're doing here." Kendra hissed in his ear vehemently.

He sneered at her, his face pressed into the dirt and blood on the road. "Huh… everyone thinks you're dead."

"If you don't start talking, I'll make sure you are."

"Go ahead."

Mark felt a slight mental pull and quickly intercepted his mind, blocking off his access to his magic. He knelt down next to Kendra and narrowed his eyes at the man. "It wouldn't do to have you kill yourself…"

Kendra dug her knee into his back, "Tell me. Now. What are you doing here? How many of you are there?"

He chuckled against the ground and spit, "I'm not telling you anything princess, and as soon as he lets up, you won't have a chance to figure it out."

She growled under her breath, digging the knife into his shoulder, "Tell me!"

"You know the rules better than I do, don't you Kendra? Death or nothing."

Mark blinked, "You want me to dig through his mind? I don't know how far I'd get before he does anything, it's taking everything I have just to hold him."

She breathed heavily for a moment, then blinked in affirmation. Mark readied himself and switched from holding off the suicide spell to finding anything he could. There were about four seconds, and it wasn't nearly enough to get all the details he'd wanted. Kendra sat back on her heels as the others joined them. She wiped off her knife on the dead man's clothes and stood up straight. "Anything?"

"Just where they're hiding. But I think you can fill me in about the rest…"

She nodded gravely and whistled for Lynette, who came trotting out, stepping right into the blood and allowing Kendra to swing up onto her back. "Lead the way then Mark."

Aluora trotted alongside the chestnut mare, allowing for Mark to listen as Kendra spoke. She told him about the Black Hand, those they were directly opposing. The group of Galbatorix's hand-picked spies and assassins he'd often bothered to train himself, when he wasn't focused on training her or her sister in the black arts. "I'm amazed we haven't run into them yet, considering how long we've been doing this."

"So the name you chose, Black Lightning, is in reference to them?"

"Exactly, so if they know about us, they'll know we know about them… simple as that. I hoped it would be a reason for them not to threaten us, but I think it might have made us a target instead…"

Mark nodded, "So when we go to their hideout, I should be expecting the worst?"

"Yes. We should all expect the worst, which is why Erikia is staying behind."

"Hey!" She said, flicking her eyes to shoot a glare at the back of Kendra's head.

She sighed, turning in her saddle, to face the girl. "If we all die in there, someone has to make it back to Rowan and we all know he'd kill us if it wasn't you."

Eirika fell back into her saddle, folding her arms, retaining her grip on her Appaloosa's reins. The mare's coat was brown with a white spotted blanket on her back and haunches, striped hooves were coated with mud. In a city where the guard's horses were military-standard brown and black, the horses the group had stood out. It was difficult to miss and Mark found himself wondering how they managed to hide them as well as they did.

He glanced over at Kendra for a minute, raising an eyebrow. When she huffed a sigh, tired of talking on what she had hoped to be a quiet ride, Trevin answered his unspoken question. "Rowan has a minor obsession in making sure Eirika is safe before the rest of us. And just Eirika. Doesn't give a damn about the rest of us."

Mark chuckled quietly, though he was pretty sure the last part wasn't true. He seemed to care enough about Kendra being gone to go find her, but perhaps that was a different situation. Though it irked Eirika to no end, he knew how Rowan felt. She was the youngest of their group, a girl, and therefore extremely vulnerable; the situation was not unlike him and Mariah. Though the reasoning behind their obsessive protection issues stemmed from different forms of affection, the end result seemed to be the same.

"Alright, so the Black Hand is Galbatorix's assassin group… why haven't I heard about them before now?"

"He likes keeping it a secret."

"Seems like something he'd want everyone to know… worried that assassins could sneak into your house and kill you for saying something about him makes me think it'd be the opposite."

Kendra shook her head, "It's to keep an eye on his enemies without letting them know. One of the many reasons he sends people out to look for me. Him hunting me down never comes from his care for me; it comes from him wanting me there or dead – better yet, dragged back to the castle and killed by him personally."

"You truly believe your father would kill you himself?"

"In a heartbeat," she told him. "There would be no hesitation… if you don't count in the torture and pain he would inflict beforehand. He enjoys that part. He doesn't tolerate disobedience very well… it usually ends in violence."

They were quiet for a while, eating, then Oromis asked, "can you tell me, What is the most important mental tool a person can possess?"

It was a serious question, and Eragon considered it for a reasonable span before he ventured to say, "Determination."

Oromis tore the loaf in half with his long white fingers. "I can understand why you arrived at that conclusion – determination has served you well in your adventures – but no. I meant the tool most necessary to choose the best course of action in any given situation. Determination is as common among men who are dull and foolish as it is among those who are brilliant intellects. So, no, determination cannot be what we're looking for."

This time Eragon treated the question as he would a riddle, counting the number of words, whispering them out loud to established whether they rhymed, and otherwise examining them for hidden meaning. The problem was, he was no more than a mediocre riddler and had never placed very high in Carvahall's annual riddle contest – not surprisingly he lost to Mark every year. He thought too literally to work out the answers to riddles that he had not heard before, a legacy of Garrow's practical upbringing.

"Wisdom," he finally said. "Wisdom is the most important tool for a person to possess."

"A fair guess, but, again, no. The answer is logic. Or, to put it another way, the ability to reason analytically. Applied properly, it can overcome any lack of wisdom, which one only gains through age and experience."

Eragon frowned. "Yes, but isn't having a good heart more important than logic? Pure logic can lead you to conclusions that are ethically wrong, whereas if you are moral and righteous, that will ensure that you don't act shamefully."

A razor-thin smile curled Oromis's lips. "You confuse the issue. All I wanted to know was the most useful tool a person can have, regardless of whether that person is good or evil. I agree that it's important to be of a virtuous nature, but I would also contend that if you have to choose between giving a man a noble disposition and teaching him to think clearly, you'd do better to teach him to think clearly. Too many problems in this world are men with noble dispositions and clouded minds. History provides us with numerous example of people who were convinced that they were doing the right thing and committed terrible crimes because of it. Keep in mind, Eragon, that no one thinks of himself as villain, and few make decisions they think are wrong. A person may dislike his choice, but he will stand by it because, even in the worst circumstances, he believes that it was the best option available to him at the time. On its own, being a decent person is no guarantee that you will act well, which brings us back to the one protection we have against demagogues, tricksters, and the madness of crowds, and our own surest guide through the uncertain shoals of life: clear and reasoned thinking. Logic will never fail you, unless you're unaware of – or deliberately ignore – the consequences of your deeds."

"If elves are so logical," said Eragon, "then you must all agree on what to do."

"Hardly," averred Oromis. "Like every race, we adhere to a wide range of tenets, and, as a result, we often arrive at differing conclusions, even in identical situations. Conclusions, I might add, that make logical sense from each person's point of voice. And although I wish it were otherwise, not all elves have trained their minds properly."

"How do you intend to teach me this logic?"

Oromis's smile broadened. "By the oldest and most effective method: debating. I will as you a question, then you will answer and defend your position." He waited while Eragon refilled his bowl with stew. "For example, why do you fight the Empire?"

The sudden change of topic caught Eragon off guard. He had a feeling that Oromis had just reached the subject that he had been driving toward all along. "As I said before, to help those who suffer from Galbatorix's rule and, to a lesser extent, for personal vengeance."

"Then you fight for humanitarian reasons?"

"What do you mean?"

"That you fight to help the people who Galbatorix has harmed and to stop him from hurting any more."

"Exactly," said Eragon.

"Ah, but answer me this, my young Rider: Won't your war with Galbatorix cause more pain than it will ever prevent? The majority of people in the Empire live normal, productive lives untouched by their king's madness. How can you justify invading their land, destroying their homes, and killing their sons and daughters?"

Eragon gaped, stunned that Oromis could ask such a question – Galbatorix was evil – and stunned because no easy reply presented itself. He knew that he was in the right, but how could he prove it? "Don't you believe that Galbatorix should be overthrown?"

"That is not the question."

"You must believe it, though," persisted Eragon. "Look what he did to the Riders."

Dunking his bread in his stew, Oromis resumed eating, letting Eragon fume in silence. When he finished, Oromis folded his hands in his lap and asked, "Have I upset you?"

"Yes, you have."

"I see. Well then, continue to ponder the matter until you find an answer. I expect it to be a convincing one."

This was some form of punishment, Mariah was sure: blindfolded in the middle of the courtyard with nothing but a sword in her hand and thick leather armor over her vital body parts. Her arms and legs were virtually exposed with a simple layer of cloth between her skin and the air. With her feet planted firmly on the ground she waited in silence, trying to listen. The first attack was extremely unexpected. She tumbled forward, doing a summersault before springing back onto her feet, twisting and lashing at her unseen attacker.

Galbatorix sat in his chair, enjoying the fight from beside Kieran. She had her arms folded haughtily over her chest, smirking at the flashing weapons, waiting for blood to be drawn. Camilla, Cederic, Pearce and Hal were surrounding Mariah, weapons in hand, sharpened edges not protected by any sort of magic. It was the day after Galbatorix asked her to come to the throne room alone, and she had a feeling this was her public punishment to go along with it. As if the mental torture wasn't enough.

Hal had heavier movements and she heard him coming, before he could reach her she ducked and charged his waist, bowling him over onto the floor and jumping back away, knowing he wouldn't stay down for long. Camilla had lighter footsteps, but even so, her heels gave her away from the boys and when she approached with her rapier, Mariah managed to dodge and swipe her own sword towards the woman.

Murtagh watched from Galbatorix's other side, biting the inside of his lip, watching the movements of the other four and tapping his fingers against his leg nervously. His gaze flickered over to Andrar and Thorn for a minute before back to Mariah, holding in gasps every time she was cut.

Two steps back darling, Andrar said, Cederic's just in front of you.

Just lend me your eyes and I'll see for myself! She snapped.

Everything's going to feel backwards if you do, watching yourself will be difficult.

It'll be like a mirror, just do it please. Mariah insisted, feeling another slice into the back of her leg. The dragon sighed slightly and linked her vision with his own. She twisted and stabbed toward Hal before he could get any closer. He jumped back with surprise at her rapid movement. As Pearce moved around her she swiveled to face him, between her hearing and Andrar's sight, she felt more evenly matched, despite the odds.

She lunged toward him and he blocked with his shield. When she returned for another attack she let out a cry as her feet were swept beneath her. "What?!"

Her eyes flickered over the courtyard, Andrar's gaze landing on Innes smirking from his corner where he stood beside Odette. His lips were moving ever so slightly, enough for her to realize he was performing magic where he shouldn't. A growl escaped from her lips and she lunged toward Camilla, snatching the knife from her waist and flinging it towards the platinum-haired boy. Innes blinked and dropped to the floor, listening to the metal bounce off the castle walls.

"That is enough!" Galbatorix said, standing up and striding over to Mariah. He narrowed his eyes and ripped off the blindfold. "You aren't following the rules again, are you?" She blinked twice, the redness from Andrar's sight fading, but not quick enough for it to go unnoticed. "Since you appear to be so keen on having your dragon assist you, perhaps you would do better to duel Kieran in the air?"

The princess didn't need a second suggestion, running over to Nasreen and jumping atop her back, sword in hand.

"Go ahead." He said simply.

Mariah, bleeding from dozens of cuts all over, shot a glare at Kieran and strode over to Andrar, who lifted himself from the ground and launched into the air once she was on. The dragoness took no time waiting for him to get airborne, dive-bombing him as soon as he was off the ground and snapping with her razor sharp jaws. Kieran swept wildly with her sword towards Mariah, leaving her to defend or be torn to ribbons.

Andrar did his best to out maneuver Nasreen, but with more practice and a better flying build than him. She swept away from him and twisted in the air, tucking in her wings and flipping around behind him and his rider. A moment later she was latched onto him, her teeth around his neck, pinning his right wing to his side and letting them fall straight down. Mariah slashed toward Nasreen's face, slicing straight into her cheek. The dragoness hissed and recoiled, letting go long enough for Andrar to breathe flames towards her and Kieran, sending them soaring away. He lashed out his wings and caught the air before they hit the ground.

Shaking slightly, Murtagh watched, letting out the breath he'd been holding in as they plummeted. Thorn…

Don't worry, Andrar can hold his own against Nasreen, though he is outmatched. I doubt Kieran would actually allow Nasreen to harm them… The red dragon sat on the ground, watching the tussle overhead intently.

Murtagh watched as Nasreen repeated the same maneuver a few minutes later, pinioning Andrar's wings to his side and bringing them both straight down toward the ground. Before they hit the solid stone courtyard floor, she broke off and winged back into the air. Andrar slammed into the ground, crunching his left wing beneath him, Mariah hearing a resounding snap as she hung limp in his saddle.

The Annual Riddle Contest of Carvahall – it sounds like an absolute thrill. I actually had to pause and re-read this sentence… I forgot about it, big surprise there. And of course Mark would be awesome at it cuz he's so damned clever…

That being said, I believe sitting and listening to a worldly conversation between Oromis and Marcus over a pot of tea would be an ideal afternoon.

Gah, these chapters are taking forever! I regret that it takes me two weeks to update, it really shouldn't. And I wrote this all in the past two days, so it's not like I couldn't do it faster… I have paperclipped all the parts just with Roran…

…I just realized Roran and Rowan are extremely similar… damn… I wanted to avoid that… oh well…

…where was I? Oh, the parts with Roran are like 100+ pages in the book, so I've paperclipped off the chapters that I'll be skipping. Which is great, it means a lot less writing for me, a lot less reading for you, and advances the plot quicker! Not as quickly as I would like, but quicker none the less…

Rimgar is just a fancy word for Yoga… honestly.

Yay new chapter! And I felt like this was a good one, compared to the last few that have been slightly boring and wanting… yes? No?

With Love, As Always,

Mariah