Chapter Sixty-Six: Descent

Unable to sleep, Mariah prowled through the castle. Having memorized its twists and turns, she walked in darkness without fear of becoming lost inside the maze of Urû'baen. The new moon had taken all light from the halls and left naught but shadow.

Approaching a window she jumped and stood in the frame, looking out at the courtyard below. Andrar was curled up nearby Nasreen, though they were nowhere near touching. Thorn was nestled up against the side of the castle wall just below her feet. Mariah blinked and pushed through the opening, dropping until her fingers caught a brick protruding slightly from the wall, climbing down and landing beside Thorn.

He opened one eye at her landing and closed it again, humming quietly to her. She patted his nose before moving to Andrar, walking around his tail until she found his head. The dragon shifted ever so slightly, muscles rippling beneath scales, the scratch of his claws like crackling timber from a falling pine. It is late, is it not?

Mariah nodded, crawling over his paw and under his neck, scratching at his scales beneath his chin. You know I am unable to sleep.

Yes. Andrar purred with delight. As it is for many who are troubled.

Do you think me wrong?

He lowered his snout, nuzzling at her. Mariah wrapped her arms around his jaw tightly, feeling warmth emanating from every scale. I think you are trying to find a place for yourself. And you do not yet know where you belong. That you are of two homes, broken though they may be, your heart lies with neither.

I know where I belong.

We both do. He closed his eyes and let out a warm sigh. The sudden rush of hot air pushed her hair back rapidly, frizzing it. Would you like to remain here tonight?

She nodded, curling up with him, lying on his forearm as she watched the stars far above. I miss Mark.

Yes darling, as do I.

She rubbed her eyes on the back of her arm and heaved a sigh. He would know what to do. He always does… and he would know how to break these oaths I've sworn, and the others'. He always hated them. I wish I knew if he was alright.

He is probably grieving for you. If he believes you lost.

I hope he knows well enough that a Dragon cannot be so easily slain.

Andrar rumbled with amusement. That he should know, and if he does not, I will be sure to teach him the next time we meet.

She looked up at his scales and smiled gently. Yes, be sure to do that. Mariah watched as his scales started to shimmer and looked up as the darkness of night started to fade. She stood and climbed up onto his back, holding on to his neck spikes as he shifted to stand. Stretching, Andrar yawned and pushed off from the ground, beating his wings and flying up around the castle. He hovered and dropped his tail, allowing Mariah to slide down gracefully, leaving her atop the roof of one of the towers as he went to hunt down breakfast.

Leaning against the stone, she watched the morning rising over the mountains far in the east. Quietly, she hummed until the lyrics slipped from between her lips. Mariah hugged herself as she sang, every syllable helping sooth her heart. The words were from one of the books she had taken from the library, having had plenty of time the past few sleepless nights to memorize pages upon pages of poetry and song. She had never been on a ship, only seen them while in Terim, but the song brought back memories of the salty wind and vast ocean nestled behind the mountains in the distance.

There's a hush and stillness calm and deep,

For the waves have wooed all the winds to sleep

In the shadow of headlands bold and steep;

But some gracious spirit has taken the cup

Of the crystal sky and filled it up

With rosy wine, and in it afar

Has dissolved the pearl of the morning star.

The girdling hills with the night-mist cold

In purple raiment are hooded and stoled

And smit on the brows with fire and gold;

And in the distance the wide, white sea

Is a thing of glamor and wizardry,

With its wild heart lulled to a passing rest,

And the sunrise cradled upon its breast.

With the first red sunlight on mast and spar

A ship is sailing beyond the bar,

Bound to a land that is fair and far;

And those who wait and those who go

Are brave and hopeful, for well they know

Fortune and favor the ship shall win

That crosses the bar when the dawn comes in.

When the sun crested the mountains, breaking apart the purple from the sky, a shiver ran down her spine causing her singing to falter, she turned expecting to see Galbatorix standing behind her. The door to the stairwell was still closed. Mariah looked down the side of the tower and watched Kieran and the others filing into the courtyard below. After a moment, she turned and pushed open the door, heading down for another day of training.

"King Galbatorix even let me pick the color." Camila twirled around, a tiny dragon twisted daintily around her neck. The dragoness had scales of frosted lilac, her tiny claws scratched at her snout before she blinked at all the people crowded around her new Rider. Innes went to examine her and received a sharp snap when his fingers got too close. He retreated quickly, muttering under his breath as he healed the wounds from her razor sharp teeth.

"Is she going to let anyone else touch her?" Cederic asked, raising an eyebrow at his sister.

"Nope, she's all mine." The woman smirked at him. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have training to do." She pushed past Pearce and Hal, who exchanged disgusted glances between themselves.

"She's going to be ten times worse than she was before." Hal muttered under his breath, following after her once she rounded the corner.

Pearce shook his head, glancing at Innes when he spoke. "Camilla thinks she's special now, but just wait until I get my hands on one of those dragons. I'd like to see her dragon bite me then. Even Kieran will be scared of me once I have one."

"Until then," she smirked, pressing a hand to her hip, smiling at him maniacally. "You're getting whipped again. Now move it."

Mariah passed through the entryway into the courtyard and raised an eyebrow at them all. "You heard her." Her sword sheath clattered against her thigh as she walked, every step echoing against the stone wall behind her. The boys scattered to ready themselves for another fight while Odette went to investigate the tiny dragon.

"Did you name her yet?" She asked gently, holding out two fingers. The she-dragon sniffed her and purred, allowing Odette to run her fingers down her neck.

"I was thinking Rose, you know, since Murtagh's dragon's name is Thorn…" She smiled brightly, batting her eyelashes as he walked through the doors. At his name, he looked her way. Camilla swallowed and dropped her gaze, holding her breath. His glare shifted from her to Mariah.

At his silent urging, Mariah went to him, following Murtagh around the corner of the courtyard that led to the archery range. He said nothing as she strode behind him. With a huff, Mariah reached out and grabbed his arm. "What?"

"You never told me."

"Told you what."

"Her name."

She growled slightly. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Eragon's mother. What was her name?"

"…her name?" Mariah paused, watching his face. "…Selena."

His expression twisted as he fell against a wall, holding his face and laughing. "Of course. The cruel irony of it all."

"I don't know what you're talking about. Why does that matter? His mother's name is Selena."

"My mother's name is Selena."

"Weird coincidence. What's your point?" She folded her arms and raised an eyebrow at him.

Murtagh returned his gaze to her. He stood up straight and watched her for a moment. "Galbatorix summoned me just after daybreak… I assumed at first it was because you were gallivanting around outside all night, but no. That wasn't it." He paused and looked at the ground for a moment. "When he and the Twins searched my memory they discovered something important… you're going to be so pleased, I think."

"Stop being so cryptic," she snapped.

"Eragon is my brother."

The days Eragon spent in Ellesméra blended together without distinction; time seemed to have no hold in the pinewood city. The season aged not, even as the afternoons and evenings lengthened, barring the forest with rich shadows. Flowers of all months bloomed at the urging of the elves' magic, nourished by the enchantments spun through the air.

Eragon came to love Ellesméra with its beauty and its quiet, the graceful buildings that flowed out of the trees, the haunting songs that echoed at twilight, the works of art hidden within the mysterious dwellings, and the introspection of the elves themselves, which they mixed with outbursts of merriment.

The wild animals of Du Weldenvarden had no fear of hunters. Often Eragon would look from his eyrie to see an elf petting a stag or a gray fox or murmuring to a shy bear that trundled along the edge of a clearing, reluctant to expose himself. Some animals had no recognizable form. They appeared at night, moving and grunting in the bushes and fleeing if Eragon dared approach. Once he glimpsed a creature like a furred snake and once a white-robed woman whose body wavered and disappeared to reveal a grinning she-wolf in her place.

Eragon and Saphira continued to explore Ellesméra when they had the chance. They went alone or with Orik, for Arya no longer accompanied them, nor had Eragon spoken to her since she broke his fairth. He saw her now and then, flitting between the trees, but whenever he approached- intending to apologize – she withdrew, leaving him alone among the ancient pines. At last Eragon realized that he had to take the initiative if he were to ever have a chance of mending his relationship with her. So one evening, he picked a bouquet from the flowers along the path by his tree and hobbled to Tialdarí Hall, where he asked directions to Arya's quarters from an elf in the common room. The screen door was open when he reached her chambers. No one answered when he knocked. He stepped inside, listening for approaching footsteps as he glanced around the spacious vine-covered living room, which opened to a small bedroom on one side and a study on the other. Two fairths decorated the walls: a portrait of a stern, proud elf with silver hair, who Eragon guessed was King Evandar, and that of a younger male elf whom he did not recognize.

Eragon wandered through the apartment, looking but not touching, savoring his glimpse into Arya's life, gleaning what he could about her interests and hobbies. By her bed, he saw a glass sphere with a preserved blossom of the black morning glory embedded within it; on her desk, neat rows of scrolls with titles like Osilon: Harvest Report and Activity Noted by Gil'ead Watchtower; on the sill of an open bay window, three miniature trees grown in the shape of glyphs from the ancient language, the glyphs for peace, strength, and wisdom; and by the trees, a scrap of paper with an unfinished poem, covered with crossed-out words and scribbled marks. It read:

Under the moon, the bright white moon,

Lies a pool, a flat silver pool,

Among the brakes and brambles,

And black-heart pines.

Falls a stone, a living stone,

Cracks the moon, the bright white moon,

Among the brakes and brambles,

And black-heart pines.

Shards of light, swords of light,

Ripple 'cross the pool,

The quiet mere, the still tarn,

The lonely lake there.

In the night, the dark and heavy night,

Flutter shadows, confused shadows,

Where once…

Going to the small table by the entrance, Eragon laid his bouquet upon it and turned to leave. He froze as he saw Arya standing in the doorway. She looked startled by his presence, then concealed her emotions behind an impassive expression.

They stared at each other in silence.

He lifted the bouquet, half offering it to her. "I don't know how to make a blossom for you, like Faolin did, but these are honest flowers and the best I could find."

"I cannot accept them, Eragon."

"They're not… they're not that sort of gift." He paused. "It's no excuse, but I didn't realize beforehand that my fairth would put you in such a difficult situation. For that, I'm sorry, and I cry your pardon… I was just trying to make a fairth, not cause trouble. I understand the importance of my studies, Arya, and you needn't fear I will neglect them in order to moon after you." He swayed and leaned against the wall, too dizzy to remain on his feet without support. "That's all."

She regarded him for a long moment, then slowly reached out and took the bouquet, which she held beneath her nose. Her eyes never left his. "They are honest flowers," she conceded. Her gaze flickered down to his feet and back up again. "Have you been ill?"

"No. My back."

"I had heard, but I did not think…"

He pushed himself away from the wall. "I should go."

"Wait." Arya hesitated, then guided him to the bay window, where he sat on the padded bench that curved from the wall. Removing two goblets from a cupboard, Arya crumbled dried nettle leaves into them, then filled the goblets with water and –saying "Boil" – heated the water for tea.

She gave a goblet to Eragon, who held it with both hands to the warmth seeped into him. He glanced out the window to the ground twenty feet below, where elves walked among the royal gardens, talking and singing, and fireflies floated through the dusky air.

"I wish…," said Eragon, "I wish it could always be like this. It's so perfect and quiet."

Arya stirred her tea. "How fares Saphira?"

"The same. And you?"

"I have been preparing to return to the Varden."

Alarm shot through him. "When?"

"After the Blood-oath Celebration. I have tarried here far too long as it is, but I have been loath to leave and Islanzadí wished me to stay. Also… I have never attended a Blood-oath Celebration and it is the most important of our observances." She considered him over the rim of her goblet. "Is there nothing Oromis can do for you?"

Eragon forced a weary shrug. "He tried everything he knows."

They sipped their tea and watched the groups and couples meander along the garden paths. Your studies go well, though?" she asked.

"They do." In the lull that followed, Eragon picked up the scrap of paper from between the trees and examined her stanzas, as if reading them for the first time. "Do you often write poetry?"

Arya extended her hand for the paper and, when he gave it to her, rolled it into a tube so that the words were no longer visible. "It is custom that everyone who attends the Blood-oath Celebration should bring a poem, a song, or some other piece of art that they have made and share it with those assembled. I have but begun to work on mine."

"I think it's quite good."

"If you have read much poetry-"

"I have."

Arya paused, then dipped her head and said, "Forgive me. You are not the person I first met in Gil'ead."

"No. I…" he stopped and twisted the goblet between his hands while he searched for the right words. "Arya… you'll be leaving soon enough. I would count it a shame if this is the last I see of you between now and then. Could we not meet occasionally, as we did before, and you could show Saphira and me more of Ellesméra?"

"It would not be wise," she said in a gentle but firm voice.

He looked up at her. "Must the price of my indiscretion be our friendship? I cannot help how I felt towards you, but I would rather suffer another wound from Durza than allow my foolishness to destroy the companion ship that existed between us. I value it too highly."

Lifting her goblet, Arya finished the last of her tea before responding. "Our friendship shall endure, Eragon. As for us spending time together…" Her lips curved with a hint of a smile. "Perhaps. However, we shall have to wait and see what the future brings, for I am busy and can promise nothing."

He knew her words were the closest thing to a conciliation he was likely to receive, and he was grateful for them. "Of course, Arya Svit-kona," he said, and bowed his head.

They exchanged a few more pleasantries, but it was clear that Arya had gone as far as she was willing to go that day, so Eragon returned to Saphira, his hope restored by what he had accomplished.

Mariah pushed him back against the wall, "Run that by me again."

"Eragon's father is Morzan."

She stared into his face, which was twisted with anguish just as much as her heart. "It can't be."

"Why not?" He pushed her off, folding his arms.

"He's not like us."

"Us?" He raised his eyebrows at her. "Excuse me, you weren't raised in this hell."

"But I know of it. I know what it's like, and I'm here now. All my life I've heard stories-"

"That's just it – stories. You don't know what it was like growing up under Morzan. You have no idea. You grew up secluded and away from any influence from the Empire. You don't deal with anything well Mariah. You can't talk to anyone about your problems, and you sure as hell can't accept help even when it's offered to you. You grew up in the mountains, expecting to be a baker or a farmer or something. I grew up knowing I was going to be a soldier, inherit my father's estate and everything that came with it. I was branded from the moment I was born as the son of Morzan. Eragon never had to deal with that."

"Why did you say that I would be pleased to hear this?"

"You wanted more Forsworn, didn't you?"

She snarled at him. "He would never-"

"It's in his blood Mariah, he can't escape it now. You know our mother was an assassin? The Black Hand? The best spy there ever was? That boy you knew growing up… he's just as tainted as you are."

"Don't say that."

"If he'd grown up alongside me, we'd be the same."

"Why are you saying this?"

Murtagh watched her face as tears threatened her eyes. "You're going to have to make a very difficult choice soon." He watched her throat bob with a hard swallow. "You're not on the same side anymore Mariah. You said it yourself, you're tainted. He's not like us. Fate has provided him with salvation, and left me to rot in this castle. If we meet on a battlefield, it's not going to end well for one of us. You'll have to choose."

"I'm not going to murder my best friend!"

"Then he's going to kill you when he sees what you've become." Murtagh said, turning and heading back towards the courtyard. "Unless Kieran kills your first for being late."

She watched her hands shake in front of her before following him and grabbing his arm, stopping him. "What did you see?"

"What?"

"The last time you wiped my memory… what was it?" He shook his head, refusing her gaze. "Murtagh. I need to know."

"You said for me to wipe anything that reminded you of escaping. Any plans or the like; and this, what's happening to you because of it? I can't do it anymore Mariah." She watched his expression, the anger that had built fading away. "It's not going to be my fault that you've convinced yourself."

"You dug too deep." It wasn't a question. She knew she was forgetting pieces, but it hadn't made her feel so hollow before. "I'll ask again. What did you see?"

"Just tell me," he said. "Did you ever honestly believe that it would work?"

"What?" She asked carefully.

"Trying to convince yourself that you would be happy? I can't compete. He's going to win every time."

"Murtagh… no." Mariah felt it coming, the rush of heat coming from her chest and the anxiety that set in her veins. "You can just stop searching my mind, I'll just stop asking."

"You can't force your mind not to wander; it's going to happen… you can't make your feelings just stop. It doesn't work like that." Murtagh pulled her to him, holding her hands. "I think… the dust has to settle first." She looked at their hands and felt her tears finally plunge down her cheeks. "Maybe after this is all done... you need to find yourself first, whatever version of her you are, and then figure everything else out."

She looked up at him; his expression was the same one that Eragon had given her when she woke after the battle in Farthen Dûr. He knew more than what he was going to say aloud, had indeed gone deeper than he'd meant to, or at least anticipated. Murtagh dropped her hands gently and turned the corner, barking orders at Innes while he fought with Kieran. Mariah wiped her face and bit her lip, her stride confident as she rounded the corner after him.

"Ah, Dawnsinger, come here."

She froze at the voice and looked towards the door to the castle where Galbatorix stood. He was staring at her, the others glancing up at his approach. Mariah walked to him and met his gaze.

"If you have so much energy first thing in the mornings then perhaps we should start training sooner." He said, grinning broadly, his eyes twinkling with malicious intent. "Have you seen our newest addition, General?" He reached his arm out and extended his palm toward Camilla and the pale streak sitting atop her shoulders. "Now, you were so very opposed to my… enhancements last time, perhaps you would like to steer us all in a… better… direction?"

Mariah bit her tongue, watching Camilla throw her brother clear across the courtyard with a single word. She looked down at her silver palm and shouted loudly with excitement. "If his Highness needs an army, he would do well to enhance the Riders' dragons before starting a war. However, it would be best for both the Rider and their dragon to bond for a time before any such transformations occurred."

He gauged her expression a moment before nodding. "As the Dawnsinger believes is best. Now, I would like to continue the progress as soon as possible."

She felt her face twitch when he said it, the sarcasm laced beneath layers of pride, contempt, adoration, and power. The name made it seem like he held more power of her, and she didn't like the feeling of being stepped on. If he wanted more Riders, then so be it. Her test was breaking them, and only once they had submitted to her was she ready to let them have what they wanted. Galbatorix seemed pleased enough with the arrangement and settled himself down in a chair to watch. She glanced between the group of candidates, sizing each of them up. Her gaze settled on Hal. Initially, Mariah had planned on avoiding him, but now she wanted an outlet.

"Hal."

He flicked his gaze at her. "You can't break me but you can sure as hell try. I can't wait to see you groveling at my feet."

She slapped him across the face when he got close enough to her. "Oh look, you're still standing, though that'd do you in for sure."

Hal snarled and gripped his sword, grabbing her shirt collar with his left hand, pinning her against the stone wall at her back.

"Go ahead, stab me." Her lips pulled into a smile.

He watched her, a drop of confusion spreading through his face.

"What's the matter? Scared?"

Hal dropped her back to the ground, stepping back. She wasn't even worried about him trying to intimidate her. He watched her prowl away from the wall and twist around behind him. Hal twisted to keep her in his sights, swallowing. "What the hell?"

"Maybe you don't think I'm enough of a match. Kieran." The princess lifted her head, looking towards her while she fought Innes. "You want to help me out this time?"

"With pleasure."

Reaching into the pouch at his belt, Eragon withdrew a soapstone container of nalgask – beeswax melted with hazelnut oil – and smeared it over his lips to protect them against the cold wind that scoured his face. He closed the pouch, then wrapped his arms around Saphira's neck and buried his face in the crook of his elbow to reduce the glare from the wimpled clouds beneath them. The timeless beat of Saphira's wings dominated his hearing, higher and faster than that of Glaedr's, whom she followed.

They flew southwest from dawn until early afternoon, often pausing for enthusiastic sparring bouts between Saphira and Glaedr, during which Eragon had to strap his arms onto the saddle to prevent himself from being thrown off by the stomach-turning acrobatics. He then would free himself by pulling on slipknots with his teeth.

The trip ended at a cluster of four mountains that towered over the forest, the first mountains Eragon had seen in Du Weldenvarden. White-capped and windswept, they pierced the veil of clouds and bared their crevassed brows to the beating sun, which was heatless at such altitude.

They look so small compared to the Beors, said Saphira.

As had become his habit during weeks of meditation, Eragon extended his mind in every direction, touching upon the counsciousnesses around him in search of any who might mean him harm. He felt a marmot warm in her burrow, ravens, nuthatches, and hawks, numerous squirrels running among the trees, and, farther down the mountain, rock snakes undulating through the brush in search of the mice that were their prey, as well as the hordes of ubiquitous insects.

When Glaedr descended to a bare ridge on the first mountain, Saphira had to wait until he folded his massive wings before there was enough room for her to land. The field of boulder-strewn talus they alighted upon was brilliant yellow from a coating of hard, crenulated lichen. Above them loomed a sheer black cliff. It acted as buttress and dam for a cornice of blue ice that groaned and split under the wind, loosing jagged slabs that shattered on the granite below.

This peak is known as Fionula, said Glaedr. And her brothers are Ethrundr, Merogoven, and Giminsmal. Each has its own tale, which I shall recount on the flight back. But for now, I shall address the purpose of this trip, namely the nature of the bond forged between dragons and elves and, later, humans. You both know something of it – and I have hinted at its full implications to Saphira – but the time has come to learn the solemn and profound meaning of your partnership so that you may uphold it when Oromis and I are no more.

"Master?" asked Eragon, wrapping his cloak around himself to stay warm.

Yes, Eragon.

"Why is Oromis not here with us?"

Because, rumbled Glaedr, it is my duty –as was always the duty of an elder dragon in centuries past – to ensure that the newest generation of Riders understand the true importance of the situation they have assumed. And because Oromis is not as well as he appears.

The rocks cracked with muffled reports as Glaedr coiled up, nestling himself among the scree and placing his majestic head upon the ground lengthwise to Eragon and Saphira. He examined them with one gold eye as large as a polished roundshield and twice as brilliant. A gray smudge of smoke drifted from his nostrils and was blown to tatters by the wind. Parts of what I am about to reveal were common knowledge among the elves, Riders, and learned humans, but much of it was known only to the leader of the Riders, a mere handful of elves, the humans' current potentate, and, of course, the dragons.

Listen now, may hatchlings. When peace was made between dragons and elves at the end of our war, the Riders were created to ensure that such conflict would never again arise between our two races. Queen Tarmunora of the elves and the dragon who had been selected to represent us, whose name – he paused and conveyed a series of impressions to Eragon: long tooth, white tooth, chipped tooth; fights won, fights lost; countless eaten Shrrg and Nagra; seven-and-twenty eggs sired and nineteen offspring grown to maturity – cannot be expressed in any language, decided that a common treaty would not suffice. Signed paper means nothing to a dragon. Our blood runs hot and thick and, given enough time, it was inevitable that we would clash with the elves again, as we had with the dwarves over the millennia. But unlike with the dwarves, neither we nor the elves could afford another war. We were both too powerful, and we would have destroyed each other. The one way to prevent that and to forge a meaningful accord was to link our two races with magic.

Eragon shivered, and with a touch of amusement, Glaedr said, Saphira, if you are wise, you will heat one of these rocks with the fire from your belly so that your Rider does not freeze.

Thereupon Saphira arched her neck, and a jet of blue flame emanated from between her serrated fangs and splashed against the scree, blackening the lichen, which released a bitter smell as it burned. The air grew so hot that Eragon as forced to turn away. He felt the insects underneath the rocks being crisped in the inferno. After a minute, Saphira clapped shut her jaws, leaving a circle of stones five feet across glowing cherry red.

Thank you, Eragon said to her. He hunched by the edge of the scorched rocks and warmed his hands over them.

Remember, Saphira, to use your tongue to direct the stream, admonished Glaedr. Now… it took nine years for the elves' wisest magicians to devise the needed spell. When they had, they and the dragons gathered together at Ilirea. The elves provided the structure of the enchantment, the dragons provided the strength, and together they melded the souls of elves and dragons.

The joining changed us. We dragons gained the use of language and other trappings of civilization, while the elves shared in our longevity, since before that moment, their lives were as short as humans'. In the end, the elves were the most affected. Our magic, dragons' magic – which permeates every fiber of our being – was transmitted to the elves and, in time, gave them their much-vaunted strength and grace. Humans have never been influenced as strongly, since you were added to the spell after its completing and it has not had as much time to work upon you as with the elves. Still – and here Glaedr's eyes gleamed – it has already gentled your race from the rough barbarians who first landed in Alagaësia, though you have begun to regress since the Fall.

"Were dwarves ever part of this spell?" asked Eragon.

No, and that is why there has never been a dwarf Rider. They do not care for dragons, nor we for them, and they found the idea of being joined with us repellent. Perhaps it is fortunate they did not enter into our pact, for they have escaped the decline of humans and elves.

Decline, Master? Queried Saphira in what Eragon would have sworn was a teasing tone of voice.

Aye, decline. If one or another of our three races suffer, so do they all. By killing dragons, Galbatorix harmed his own race as well as the elves. The two of you have not seen this, for you are new to Ellesméra, but the elves are on the wane; their power is not what it once was. And humans have lost much of their culture and been consumed by chaos and corruption. Only by righting the imbalance between our three races shall order return to the world.

The old dragon kneaded the scree with his talons, crumbling it into gravel so that he was more comfortable. Layered within the enchantment Queen Tarmunora oversaw was the mechanism that allows a hatchling to be linked with his or her Rider. When a dragon decides to give an egg to the Riders, certain words are said over the egg – which I shall teach you later – that prevent the dragon inside from hatching until it is brought into contact with the person with whom it decides to bond. As dragons can remain in their eggs indefinitely, time is of no concern, nor is the infant harmed. You yourself are an example of this, Saphira.

The bond that forms between a Rider and a dragon is but an enhanced version of the bond that already exists between our races. The human or elf becomes stronger and fairer, while some of the dragon's fiercer traits are tempered by a more reasoned outlook… I see a thought biting at your tongue, Eragon. What is it?

"It's just…" He hesitated. "I have a hard time imagining you or Saphira being any fiercer. Not," he added anxiously, "that that's a bad thing."

The ground shook as it with an avalanche as Glaedr chuckled, rolling his great big staring eye behind its horny lid and back again. If ever you met an unbonded dragon, you would not say so. A dragon alone answers to no one and no thing, takes whatever pleases it, and bears no thought of kindness for aught bit its kith and kin. Fierce and proud were the wild dragons, even arrogant… The females were so formidable, it was accounted a great accomplishment among the Riders' dragons to mate with one.

The lack of his bond is why Galbatorix's partnership with Shruikan, his second dragon, is such a perverted union. Shruikan did not choose Galbatorix as his partner; he was twisted by certain black magics into serving Galbatorix's madness. Galbatorix has constructed a depraved imitation of the relationship that you, Eragon, and you, Saphira, possess and that he lost when the Urgals murdered his original dragon.

Glaedr paused and looked between the two of them. His eye was all that moved. That which links you exceeds any simple connection between minds. Your very souls, your identities – call it what you will – have been welded on a primal level. His eyes flicked to Eragon. Do you believe that a person's soul is separate from his body?

"I don't know," said Eragon. "Saphira once took me out o my body and let me see the world through her eyes… It seemed like I was no longer connected to my body. And if the wraiths that a sorcerer calls upon can exist, then maybe our consciousness is independent of flesh as well."

Extending the needle-sharp tip of his foreclaw, Glaedr flipped over a rock to expose a woodrat cowering in its nest. He snapped up the rat with a flash of his red tongue; Eragon winced as he felt the animal's life extinguished.

When the flesh is destroyed, so is the soul, said Glaedr.

"But an animal isn't a person," protested Eragon.

After your meditations, do you truly believe that any of us are so different from a woodrat? That were are gifted with a miraculous quality that other creatures do not enjoy and that somehow preserves our beings after death?

"No," muttered Eragon.

I thought not. Because we are so closely joined, when a dragon or Rider is injured, they must harden their hearts and sever the connection between them in order to protect each other from unnecessary suffering, even insanity. And since the soul cannot be torn from the flesh, you must resist the temptation to try to take your partner's soul into your own body and shelter it there, as that will result in both your deaths. Even if it were possible, it would be an abomination to have multiple counsciousnesses in one body.

"How terrible," said Eragon, "to die alone, separate even from the one who is closest to you."

Everyone dies alone, Eragon. Whether you are a king on a battlefield or a lowly peasant lying in bed among your family, no one can accompany you into the void… Now I will have you practice separating your counsciousnesses. Start by…

Odette watched from a far corner, her thin frame shaking slightly at the brutality of the fight. She tried distracting herself with the pale hatchling that had settled for twisting around both her and Camilla, but she couldn't block out the noise. Her eyes glanced up at Camilla before swiveling to look at the back of Murtagh's head, just able to see his profile as he stood with his arms folded, watching them all fighting meticulously.

He tensed his fingers against his arm, watching every blow from Hal land on Mariah and Kieran. They were more than a match for him, and he had no doubt who was going to succeed, but Hal still had a death wish. It was clear in his every reckless movement he had no regard for his own life, only victory.

Wiping blood from her mouth, she glared at Hal from her hands and knees, fingers still wrapped tightly around her sword. He was weaponless now and had attempted physical dominance without much success. Mariah spat, pushing herself back up again as the blood hit the stone at her feet. "Had enough yet soldier?"

He balled up his fists again, breathing heavily as blood gushed from the tear in his torso. "You look like you're ready to quit." He glanced at Kieran to his right, waving a bloodied Eirian at him.

"Far from it. I can do this all day." Mariah lunged toward him again, stabbing towards his shoulder. He felt the blade slide through his muscle, shouting in agony.

"Bitch." He shoved her off of him and grasped his shoulder. Blood surged from the gash quickly, his adrenaline sending quick pumps through every vein. He paled and hit the ground heavily. "You nearly took my arm off…"

"Sharpened steel can kill anyone. She told you that. Do you submit?" Kieran asked.

"Sard!" He glared at them both as Mariah tapped her sword against his chin.

The princess watched as Mariah whispered down at him, "I can push harder."

"Riders don't quit."

"You aren't a Rider." She smirked.

He set his jaw. "A Rider doesn't know defeat."

"Then you die upon my blade." He kicked her feet out from beneath her and pounced on top of her. His wounded arm splattered blood on the both of them as they tussled on the ground. Mariah found purchase on her knife in her boot and whipped it up towards his face. The knife split his cheek and brow open on the right side of his face, from his chin to his forehead. He howled and pushed away from her, pawing at the wound. She backed away, watching him writhe for a moment before he turned his gaze back to her. "Are you done now Hal?"

"I'm never going to grovel at your feet." He spat blood on her boots and exhaled heavily. "Rider or not. Princess or not. I refuse." He watched as Kieran came towards him, her blade still dripping with his blood. He got back on his feet, staring her down. "I'll not die on the ground bleeding to death."

Kieran stood nose to nose with him, her breath hot on his lips. "Good."

He blinked and felt his knees wobble as Galbatorix clapped. "You fought well. You're bleeding, about to shut down from blood loss I suspect, and still standing. Innes." The blond rushed to Hal and muttered healing spells to seal up the wounds. The larger boy shoved him off afterward and hobbled towards the bench against the wall of the castle. "Good. Shall we have another today? I grow impatient. You three fight amongst yourselves, we'll see who comes out the victor, and he shall have his reward." Innes exchanged a glance with Pearce and Cedric, smirking at them before his lips parted; a spell already on the tip of his silver tongue.

As their fight began, Mariah caught Murtagh's hard gaze. She tore her eyes away and turned to go back into the castle. Galbatorix called to her before she could escape. "Dawnsinger." His voice chided and she stopped, not bothering to turn to look at him. "Do try to sleep tonight, will you?" She pushed through the doorway as the shiver ran down her spine.

The suggestion from Galbatorix felt invasive, and she knew the sensation of being watched was him. She pulled her armor off and threw her sword to the floor, healing up her wounds, wincing as the pain left her body. Mariah moved herself to the fireplace, sitting and stretching as she breathed out the word "Brisingr". With the fire lit, she felt at peace enough to settle into a half-sleep, fading into a dream the moment she lost consciousness.

The familiar head of blond hair forced her heart to skip a beat. She rushed to him, shouting his name. He turned and whisked her up into his open arms, spinning her around until she felt dizzy. The embrace felt soft even though she felt as though she wouldn't be able to breathe. Running her fingers through his hair, she smiled up at his face.

"It's getting long again." She commented, blushing at how close he was.

He laughed and placed a kiss on her forehead. "You never could let me grow it out."

"You look better with short hair." She muttered, burying her face in his shoulder. Mariah hummed as he rubbed her back, coaxing her into relaxing. "Sorry."

"Don't apologize." He said quietly. "You don't have to be sorry for anything."

"I… thank you." Mariah pulled back and looked up at him again, putting her hand on his cheek. His forgiveness, even if it was her doing, felt comforting. "I miss you."

"I miss you too." She watched his expression for a minute, shaking her head and burying her face in his chest. Mariah listened to his heartbeat and sighed. "Mariah?"

"Yes, Eragon?"

He lifted her chin up with his fingers affectionately, brushing his nose against hers. Her lips parted slightly as he held her against him before she leaned in slightly, closing the distance. She was only there a moment before the kiss broke, leaving her to run her tongue across her lips, tasting blueberries, vanilla, and something else she couldn't quite pinpoint.

Eragon stared at the tray of dinner left in the anteroom of the tree house. He cataloged the contents: bread with hazelnut butter, berries, beans, a bowl of leafy greens, two hard-boiled eggs – which, in accordance with the elves' beliefs, were unfertilized – and a stoppered jug of fresh spring water. He knew that every dish was prepared with the utmost care, that the elves lavished all of their culinary skill upon his meals, and that not even Islanzadí ate better than him.

He could not bear the sight of the tray.

I want meat, he growled, stomping back into the bedroom. Saphira looped up at him from her dias. I'd even settle for fish or fowl, anything besides this never-ending stream of vegetables. They don't fill up my stomach. I'm not a horse; why should I be fed like one?

Saphira unfolded her legs, walked to the edge of the teardrop gap overlooking Ellesméra, and said, I have needed to eat these past few days. Would you like to join me? You can cook as much meat as you like and the elves will never know.

That I would, he said, brightening. Should I get the saddle?

We won't go that far.

Eragon fetched his supply of salt, herbs, and other seasonings from his bags and then, careful not to overexert himself, climbed into the gap between the spikes along Saphira's spine.

Launching herself off the ground, Saphira let an updraft waft her high above the city, whereupon she glided off the column of warm air, slipping down and sideways as she followed a braided stream through Du Weldenvarden to a pond some miles thence. She landed and hunched low to the ground, making it easier for Eragon to dismount.

She said, There are rabbits in the grass by the edge of the water. See if you can catch them. In the meantime, I go to hunt deer.

What, you don't want to share your own prey?

No, I don't, she replied grumpily. Though I will if those oversized mice elude you.

He grinned as she took off, then faced the tangled clumps of grass and cow parsnip that surrounded the pond and set about procuring his dinner. Less than a minute later, Eragon collected a brace of dead rabbits from their nest. It had taken him but an instant to locate the rabbits with his mind and then kill them with one of the twelve death words. What he had learned from Oromis had drained the challenge and excitement from the chase. I didn't even have to stalk them, he thought, remembering the years he had spent honing his tracking abilities. He grimaced with sour amusement. I can finally bag any game I want and it seems meaningless to me. At least when I hunted with a pebble with Brom, it was still a challenge, but this… this is slaughter.

The warning of the sword-shaper Rhunön returned to him then: "When you can have anything you want by uttering a few words, the goal matters not, only the journey to it."

I should have paid more attention to her, realized Eragon.

With practiced movements, he drew his old hunting knife, skinned and gutted the rabbits, and then – putting aside the hearts, lungs, kidneys, and livers - buriedthe viscera so that the scent would not attract scavengers. Next he dug a pit, filled it with wood and lit a small blaze with magic, since he had not thought to bring his flint and steel. He tended the fire until he had a bed of coals. Cutting a wand of dogwood, he stripped the bark and seared the wood over the coals to burn off the bitter sap, then spitted the carcasses on the want and suspended them between two forked branches pounded into the ground. For the organs, he placed a flat stone upon a section of coals and greased it with fat for a makeshit frying pan.

Saphira found him crouched by the fire, slowly turning the want to cook the meat evenly. She landed with a limp deer hanging from her jaws and the remains of a second deer clutched in her talons. Measuring her length out in the fragrant grass, she proceeded to gorge upon her prey, eating the entire deer, including the hide. Bones cracked between her razor teeth, like branches snapping in a gale.

When the rabbits were ready, Eragon waved them in the air to cool them, then stared at the glistening, golden meat, the smell of which he found almost unbearable enticing. As he opened his mouth to take the first bite, his thoughts turned unbidden to his meditations. He remembered his excursions into the minds of birds and squirrels and mice, how full of energy they felt and how vigorously they fought for the right to exist in the face of danger. And if this life is all they have…

Gripped by revulsion, Eragon thrust the meat away, as appalled by the fact that he had killed the rabbits as if he had murdered two people. His stomach churned and threatened to make him purge himself.

Saphira paused in her feast to eye him with concern.

Taking a long breath, Eragon pressed his fists against his knees in an attempt to master himself and understand why he was so strongly affected. His entire life he had eaten meat, fish, and fowl. He enjoyed it. And yet it now made him physically ill to consider dining upon the rabbits. He looked at Saphira. I can't do it, he said.

It is the way of the world that everything eats everything else. Why do you resist the order of things?

He pondered her question. He did not condemn those who did partake of flesh – he knew that it was the only means of survival for many a poor farmer. But he could no longer do so himself unless faced with starvation. Having been inside of a rabbit and having felt what a rabbit feels… eating one would be akin to eating himself. Because we can better ourselves, he answered Saphira. Should we give in to our impulses to hurt or kill any who anger us, to take whatever we want from those who are weaker, and, in general, to disregard the feelings of others? We are made imperfect and guard against our flaws lest the destroy us. He gestured at the rabbits. As Oromis said, why should we cause unnecessary suffering?

Would you deny all of your desires, then?

I would deny those that are destructive.

You are adamant on this?

Aye.

In that case, said Saphira, advancing upon him, these will make a fine dessert. In a blink, she gulped down the rabbits and then licked clean the stone with the organs, abrading the slate with the barbs on her tongue. I, at least, cannot live on plants alone – that is food for prey, not a dragon. I refuse to be ashamed about how I must sustain myself. Everything has its place in the world. Even a rabbit knows that.

I'm not trying to make you feel guilty, he said, patting her on the leg. This is a personal decision. I won't force my choice upon anyone.

Very wise, she said with a touch of sarcasm.

Mariah's eyes snapped open, staring into the embers in the fireplace, still able to taste gentle berries and spice. She went immediately to Kieran's wing of the castle. The sun wasn't even up yet and a groan came from behind the door when she knocked. "What?"

"Kieran. I want to talk to you. It's important."

There was some swearing and a thud. After a moment of silence Mariah heard her walking across the carpet. With a hiss the princess opened the door, her hair askew and sweeping over her face. "It sure as hell better be."

"I need access to the library."

"Why?" Kieran asked, smacking her lips and pulling a chunk of hair from her mouth with disgust.

Mariah hesitated for a brief moment. "I want to know more about the Forsworn."

"No wonder he calls you Dawnsinger now. Up before the sun's in the sky." With a growl she slammed the door. A few more choice swears could be heard through the wood panel of the door. Mariah folded her arms and waited. After five minutes of griping, Kieran re-appeared in a much stately condition. She jabbed a finger at the younger woman's chest. "You're explaining on the way."

They walked down the stairwell as the early morning set in. The warmth seeped into her skin as she followed behind Kieran's heels, simply telling her she was curious as to what information Galbatorix had about his own Forsworn. At her presence, the guards posted at the doors straightened and parted, allowing her entry into the massive room.

"Let's find what you need." She muttered, ascending the stairs and going into a darkened corner of the room. A few of the books here were singed on their edges, their once proud binding desperately holding itself together with burnt black tatters. Kieran pulled at the volumes with discrimination, as though choosing the best apple from a barrel. "Here, start with these."

Mariah looked at the stack and simply sat on the floor, opening the first book and staring at the page. "Half of this is so blurred I can't make it out."

Kieran nodded. "The Banishing of Names. Only Shruikan and Jarnunvösk were spared, for they played no part in what transpired."

She looked back at the book, sighing. "I don't know how I'm supposed to find out about my parents then."

"Your parents?"

"Galbatorix told me… they are both Forsworn."

Kieran's face twitched slightly. "Well… their names won't have been banished." She sat down across from her and grabbed another book, flipping through the pages, trying to find something legible. After nearly an hour of searching, she found nothing in the vast archives. Snapping the last volume shut, Kieran sighed. "They must have been late to the party, because there's nothing in here about them. And we've gone through most of everything. Unless Galbatorix has everything locked up somewhere else."

"I don't know how I'm supposed to know anything about them if I can't read it."

Kieran shrugged. "Do you need to know?"

"Well… no."

"Your curiosity is going to get us both killed."

"Thanks Kieran."

"No problem." She stood and tapped her lips, searching through the library until she found what she was looking for. Returning to Mariah, she set down a book with Elvish written in it. "Now it's my turn." Sighing, she nodded and taught the princess what she could throughout the remainder of the day.

In the afternoon, they replaced their study materials before heading back to their quarters. Kieran smiled at her before going to her wing, leaving Mariah twist down another hall to her own room. She pushed the door open and paused at the small stack of books sitting atop the table by the fireplace. Holding her breath, she moved to the table and traced the cover with her fingertips. Pulling the black cover back, her eyes flashed over the page, turning until something soaked up her attention.

She stopped on one word, understanding flooding through her. Galbatorix knew the moment she had sang the lyrics in Selena's journal. "Songbird…" she stared at the page, her fingers trembling upon learning her mother's name. Moonsinger. Nailah Moonsinger.

Poem Credit: Harbor Dawn by Lucy Maud Montgomery