Sixty-Seven: Scattered Scales
Murtagh avoided Hal and Innes, both of them now standing taller with their dragons perched on their shoulders. They would stride down the center of the halls, drawing attention to themselves, talking loudly. Camilla was still the clear frontrunner when it came to attention. She paraded around with her lilac dragoness like it was a piece of fine jewelry that would make a queen jealous. The dragoness had been named after a plant, though unlike a rose, Belladonna was deadly poisonous.
Hal's dragon had simply told him his name: Deíron. The creature was muddy brown and stocky, his name in Elvish having a rough translation of the word "strong". If Hal had disagreed at all, he feigned it well. After Innes informed him of the name's meaning, he seemed more than thrilled at the idea.
At the sight of Innes's dragon, Murtagh was unsure of what to say. She was thin; her sickly yellow-green scales were smooth and pointed. The spikes along her neck were finer than a needle's point, and her eyes were nearly black against her pale face. Shruiken was the only other dragon Murtagh knew that didn't have eyes the same color as its scales. She looked at him once and he turned away, quick to avoid her piercing gaze. The dragon and Rider had agreed upon Ecaeris, which was a name he had read once that she had taken a liking to.
"Have you seen her? She's horrific to look at." Murtagh nodded toward Camilla and Innes arguing with one another, their dragonesses hissing at each other while they spoke.
"I don't think she's actually a dragon." Kieran muttered, glancing towards Innes across the room. "I think that is a snake with wings." She sipped at her wine glass and turned her gaze back to Murtagh. "You have been unusually alone as of late."
He scowled at her. "My business is none of yours."
"On the contrary," she said, raising her eyebrow. "I see you every day, if you're moping about something I'm going to find out. Best just to tell me now."
He sighed. "Kieran…"
"Did something happen? I'd like to know before you two go at it again." Earlier in the morning, while sparring, Mariah and Murtagh had both snapped on one another. Though he had seemed to pull his punches, they both drew blood and had to be broken apart by Kieran; the bruise on her shoulder still burned.
Murtagh shifted his weight, looking at the floor. "I stopped it where it was, before anything more could come of it. She is distracted because of all of this, it's not like her."
"What do you mean?"
"She isn't herself right now. I'll not take advantage of it."
"So," she leaned closer. "Are you trying to tell me you're… available?"
He pushed her shoulder, giving her a stern look before walking off as Galbatorix waved for him. Kieran sighed and watched him leave, taking another long draught of her wine before turning to the others, waiting for Mariah to come downstairs for dinner.
"Yes?" Murtagh asked, catching stride with the king.
Galbatorix patted his shoulder, walking him outside to the castle grounds. "All in good time Murtagh." He pushed the doors open with a word in Elvish and proceeded into the setting sunlight. They walked for several minutes in absolute silence, setting his nerves aflame. "Do you recall the last time I spoke with you?"
"Yes. About Eragon being my brother."
"Indeed, and have you give this much thought?"
"Of course." Murtagh glanced towards him for half a moment. "What of it?"
"I was just curious. Have you told the others?" At this Galbatorix's steps slowed to a stop, turning Murtagh towards him.
"I… mentioned it to Mariah."
"Ah, and she was… upset?" Murtagh nodded once. "I trust this isn't going to cause confrontation... it would be such a shame for my generals to be arguing amongst each other. I do recall saying something about your little," he waved his hand in a circle, searching for the word, "…relationship not becoming a problem."
Murtagh paused. "It is not. She was upset because what she believed to be true was not. It is a difficult thing for her to realize she has been told false truths, nothing more. If this is in regards to our argument this morning, it was for other… personal reasons. I assure you that it won't happen again."
"Oh by all means, it was a wonderful fight. I only hope that she behaves while you are gone." He continued their walk through the grounds. "Don't worry; she shall remain in one piece as long as you return within the week."
The blood rushed from his face as he saw Thorn saddled and ready to go. I am sorry I did not say something sooner, I was… distracted. Murtagh made his way over to his dragon, running a hand along his neck, watching as some of the guards loaded large gemstones into extra bags buckled to the saddle.
"What are those?"
"The hearts of four dragons, to make sure you return to me. If you are caught they hold more energy and power than you would normally wield. Draw from it, and you will be unstoppable."
Murtagh turned back to look at Galbatorix. "Why not send someone else?"
"I need Kieran here to train the others… and the Dawnsinger is being difficult lately, you said so yourself. I thought it best to keep her here until she is of a better mindset. Besides, you are my right hand, are you not? My strongest Rider is surely capable of a simple scouting mission." Galbatorix motioned for him to get on the dragon.
Thorn lowered his head, watching the king slightly as Murtagh pulled himself up into the saddle, tightening the harness a little until he felt secure. "What do you need me to do…?"
"Concentrate, Eragon," said Oromis, though not unkindly.
Eragon blinked and rubbed his eyes in an attempt to focus on the glyphs that decorated the curling parchment paper before him. "Sorry, Master." Weariness dragged upon him like lead weights tied to his limbs. He squinted at the curved and spiked glyphs, raised his goose-feather quill, and began to copy them again.
Through the window behind Oromis, the green shelf on top of the Crags of Tel'naeir was streaked with shadows from the descending sun. Beyond, feathery clouds banded the sky.
Eragon's hand jerked as a line of pain shot up his leg, and he broke the nib of the quill and sprayed ink across the paper, ruining it. Across from him, Oromis also started, clutching his right arm.
Saphira! cried Eragon. He reached for her with his mind and, to his bewilderment, was deflected by impenetrable barriers that she had erected around herself. He could barely feel her. It was as if he were trying to grasp an orb of polished granite coated with oil. She kept clipping away from him.
He looked at Oromis. "Something's happened to the, hasn't it?"
"I know not. Glaedr returns, but he refuses to talk to me." Taking his blade, Naegling, from the wall, Oromis strode outside and stood upon the edge of the crags, head uplifted as he waited for the gold dragon to appear.
Eragon joined him, thinking of everything – probable and improbable – that might have befallen Saphira. The two dragons had left at noon, flying north to a place called the Stone of Broken Eggs, where the wild dragons had nested in ages past. It was an easy trip. It couldn't be Urgals; the elves don't allow them into Du Weldenvarden, he told himself.
At last Glaedr came into view high above as a winking speck among the darkening clouds. As he descended to land, Eragon saw a wound on the back of the dragon's right foreleg, a tear in his lapped scales as wide as Eragon's hand. Scarlet blood laced the grooves between the surrounding scales.
The moment Glaedr touched the ground, Oromis rushed toward him, only to stop when the dragon growled at him. Hopping on his injured leg, Glaedr crawled to the edge of the forest, where he curled up beneath the outstretched boughs, his back to Eragon, and set about licking clean his wound.
Oromis went and knelt in the clover by Glaedr, keeping his distance with calm patience. It was obvious that he would wait as long as need be. Eragon fidgeted as the minutes elapsed. Finally, by some unspoken signal, Glaedr allowed Oromis to draw near and inspect his leg. Magic glowed from Oromis's gedwëy ignasia as he placed his hand over the rent in Glaedr's scales.
"How is he?" asked Eragon when Oromis withdrew.
"It looks a fear some wound, but it is no more than a scratch for one so large as Glaedr."
"What about Saphira, though? I still can't contact her."
"You must go to her," said Oromis. "She is hurt, in more ways than one. Glaedr said little of what transpired, but I have guessed much, and you would do well to hurry."
Eragon glanced about for any means of transportation and groaned with anguish when he confirmed that none existed. "How can I reach her? It's too far to run, there's no trail, and I can't-"
"Calm thyself, Eragon. What was the name of the steed who bore you hence from Silthrim?"
It took Eragon a moment to recall. "Folkvir."
"Then summon him with your skills at gramarye. Name him and your need in this, the most powerful of languages, and he will come to your assistance."
Letting the magic suffuse his voice, Eragon cried out for Folkvir, sending his plea echoing over the forested hills toward Ellesméra with all the urgency he could muster.
Oromis nodded, satisfied. "Well done."
Twelve minutes later, Folkvir emerged like a silver ghost from the dark shadows among the trees, tossing his mane and snorting with excitement. The stallion's sides heaved from the speed of his journey.
Throwing a leg over the small elven horse, Eragon said, "I'll return as soon as I can."
"Do what you must," said Oromis.
Then Eragon touched his heels to Folkvir's ribs and shouted, "Run, Folkvir!" The horse leaped forward and bounded into Du Weldenvarden, threading his way with incredible dexterity between the gnarled pines. Eragon guided him toward Saphira with images from his mind.
It had been two days since Kendra had left Trevin at the base to attend to matters in Furnost. She was meeting with a small gaggle of spies based just outside the city, those who would be first to notice any movement from the army of Galbatorix. They needed to be informed of the new base location, in the event someone needed to be contacted.
Nyx mulled around ahead of her and Lynette, sniffing at bushes, dodging in and out of the underbrush to chase squirrels and the like, before returning to her side. They reached the campsite for the Black Lightning group, met with their leader drawing a sword. He was in his thirties, a large scar across his face. His armor made no noise as he moved.
He eyed the wolf. "Ah, what are you doing here lass?"
Kendra dropped from the horse and held onto her reins. "Aaron Bearclaw," she chuckled. "I need a report, and I need to give you some information."
"Very well, come with me." He led her off to the largest tent in the campsite. She threw Lynette's reins to one of the others, who quickly tended to the she-horse and tied her off nearby the other horses. Inside was a table with a large map of Alagaësia but figurines and various colored pins identifying locations and numbers. A chest sat at the foot of a large bed, and several chairs and smaller tables around the room. "It's nice to see you, but I honestly expected Rowan if anyone. I didn't realize you enjoyed running petty errands for the lord…"
Kendra rolled her eyes as Nyx curled up in a corner with his head on his paws. "I need to let your faction know of a new base, just past Cithrí. I've set it up just a few days ago now, it's well guarded. If you need to get to the nearest contact, going to Cithrí is the best way."
"I'll let the others know," Aaron said. "Now, for my report: increasing numbers… it appears as though Galbatorix has summoned every able bodied man to report to his army. I expect an attack is imminent, though I don't know how soon he wants to send out untrained soldiers."
"It's probably not that, he's probably securing the extra soldiers so that the Varden are unable to access them. He will try to win by numbers and force."
"And win he shall if he has as many as we anticipate." He watched as Kendra's hands tensed on the edge of the table.
"We're not losing because of numbers… we're losing because he's planning something and we don't know exactly what or how soon."
"Aye, but numbers help." Aaron said, folding his arms. "You would do well to get some rest; you look a little worse for wear lass. Clean up and sleep, we can talk in the morning…"
As much as she wanted to refuse, her body argued with her. It had been days since she'd slept well and eaten a good meal. She looked at Aaron, remembering when he'd gotten that scar; the memory put her mind at ease. "Very well."
"Someone will be on watch all night; you don't have to worry about anyone sneaking in. You can stay here; I'll find different quarters for the night."
"If you insist," Kendra said. Nyx watched him leave the tent, pulling the tie and allowing the flap to close behind him.
Lacking a trail through the underbrush, a horse like Snowfire would have taken three or four hours to reach the Stone of Broken Eggs. Folkvir managed the trip in a bit over an hour.
At the base of the basalt monolith – which ascended from the forest floor like a mottled green pillar and stood a good hundred feet higher than the trees – Eragon murmured, "Halt," then slid to the ground. He looked at the distant top of the Stone of Broken Eggs. Saphira was up there.
He walked around the perimeter, searching for a means to achieve the pinnacle, but in vain, for the weathered formation was impregnable. It possessed no fissures, crevices, or other faults near enough to the ground that he could use to climb its sides.
This might hurt, he thought.
"Stay here," he told Folkvir. The horse looked at him with intelligent eyes. "Graze if you want, but stay here, okay?" Folkvir nickered and, with his velvet muzzle, nudged Eragon's arm. "Yes,good boy. You've done well."
Fixing his gaze on the crest of the monolith, Eragon gathered his strength, then said in the ancient language, "Up!"
He realized later that if he had not been accustomed to flying with Saphira, the experience might have proved unsettling enough to cause him to lose control of the spell and plunge to his death. The ground dropped away beneath his feet at a swift clip, while the tree trunks narrowed as he floated toward the underside of the canopy and the fading evening sky beyond. Branches clung like grasping fingers to his face and shoulders as he pushed through into the open. Unlike during one of Saphira's dives, he retained his sense of weight, as if he stood still upon the loam below.
Rising above the edge of the Stone of Broken Eggs, Eragon moved himself forward and released his grip on the magic, alighting upon a mossy patch. He sagged with exhaustion and waited to see if the exertion would pain his back, then sighed with relief when it did not.
The top of the monolith was composed of jagged towards divided by deep and wide gullied where naught but a few scattered wildflowers grew. Black caves dotted the towers, some natural, others clawed out of the basalt by talons as thick as Eragon's leg. Their floors were blanketed with a deep layer of lichen-ridden bones, remnants of the dragons' ancient kills. Birds now nested where dragons once had – hawks and falcons and eagles, who watched him from their perches, ready to attack if he should threaten their eggs.
Eragon picked his way across the forbidding landscape, careful not to twist an ankle on the loose flakes of stone or to get too close to the occasional rifts that split the column. If he fell down one, it would send him tumbling out into empty space. Several times he had to climb over high ridges, and twice more he had to lift himself with magic.
Evidence of the dragons' habitation was visible everywhere, from deep scratches in the basalt to puddles of melted rock to a number of dull, colorless scales caught up in nooks, along with other detritus. He even stepped upon a sharp object, that when he bent to examine it, proved to be a fragment of a green dragon egg.
On the eastern face of the monolith stood the tallest tower, in the center of which, like a black pit turned on its side, was the largest cave. It was there that Eragon finally beheld Saphira, curled in a hollow against the far wall, her back to the opening. Tremors ran her length. The walls of the cave bore fresh scorch marks, and the piles of brittle bones were scattered about as if from a fight. Saphira," said Eragon, speaking out loud since her mind was closed to him.
Her head whipped up, and she stared at him as if he were a stranger, her pupils contracting to thin black slits as her eyes adjusted to the light from the setting sun behind him. She snarled once, like a feral dog, and then twisted away. As she did, she lifted her left wing and exposed a long, ragged gash along her upper thigh. His heart caught at the sight.
Mariah's blood boiled at the shattered fragments of a deep green dragon egg. Lying amongst the pieces was a tiny dragon, its wings tucked in tight against its back, transparent, shiny, and slick with sticky remnants of the amniotic fluids that had been keeping the embryo alive. The tiny dragon was curled on the cold stone floor, motionless. She knelt down and hesitantly picked up a fragment of the shell, rubbing it between her fingers before looking up at Galbatorix.
His gaze was locked on Cederic. "You will have to choose another."
"No." She looked up at him. "Another? You have already killed one dragon today, isn't that enough?"
"I can't have Riders without dragons, we have spoken about this, Dawnsinger."
She trembled, looking back at the hatchling as Cederic said, "The gray one." Hanging her head, she clenched her eyes together and winced, listening to the words again that would force one of the unbroken eggs to hatch.
The crackle of the shell seemed distant as she stared downward, unsure of what to be wishing for. If it hatched, Cederic was going to get bound to the dragon. If it died, then there was yet another dead dragon. She shook as the pops became louder until there was finally a shattering noise. Holding her breath, she knew what she was hoping for in that moment – to hear a squeak, a chirp, anything.
And finally it came. She bit her lip hard as tears rushed down her cheeks. She scooped up the green baby dragon; it hung limp in her arms as she carried it from the room. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry… Mariah hurried up the stairs from the lower level dungeons, found a small inlet near a windowsill down the hall from the library, and sat, curling up and stroking her scales on her neck. She rocked back and forth, cradling the hatchling in her arms until someone touched her shoulder.
She looked up and found Kieran staring back at her. "Mariah…"
"I can't… this has to stop." Watching her sigh, Mariah hiccupped a breath and shook.
"You can't make him stop."
"How many more…?"
"More what?"
"Eggs."
Kieran paused. "Three…"
"I thought there was only eight?"
"After Thorn… yeah… he might have more but I don't know anymore…"
"That's too many." She cried harder.
Kieran sat next to her, rubbing her shoulder. "Mariah, you have to let it go… it's the price we have to pay for the Riders to be restored."
"Not like this Kieran…"
She sighed, dropping her head. "After Pearce and Odette… he only had two extra... there aren't many left anyway."
"I don't want any more of them to die!"
Grasping her shoulder, Kieran pulled her to her feet with strength she didn't appear she had. Guiding her down the stairs, the princess walked her outside to the courtyard and around the castle grounds, Mariah following blinded by tears. Upon their exiting the castle, Andrar raised his head and lumbered after them. A small grouping of trees on the edge of the castle grounds shielded a small clearing. Here there were stacks of rocks, some adorned with flowers, or gems, or other trinkets. Kieran stopped in front of one abruptly, releasing her grip from Mariah. A shaft of moonlight through the trees lit up the white stones of the tomb at her feet.
She looked up, rubbing her eyes with the back of her wrist. "What is this?"
"It's where my sister and I buried our mother after Galbatorix killed her." Kieran turned to Mariah holding her hand out. "And it's where we're going to bury that dragon as well."
Andrar snorted. A dragon is not to be buried underground like a Dwarf. We are creatures of the sun and sky; do not dishonor the hatchling in such a way. Her life was not even lived, yet she deserves better than a hole in the ground.
"Then what would you suggest?" Kieran asked.
"A funeral pyre - a warrior's burial." Mariah stroked the scales of the baby dragon again, her tail falling past the Rider's waist. "Every dragon deserves that." Andrar nodded once heavily and flicked his tail as Nasreen glided next to him, sniffing at the dead hatchling.
The dragoness barred her teeth. Galbatorix would do well to remember that something so unnatural is not to be done with a dragon. I will refrain from severing his arm from his body next I see him. He will understand what he has done before I allow him to even think about a brood of my own eggs. Andrar is correct; a ground burial is not what a dragon deserves.
Kieran nodded, collecting a grouping of sticks and stacking them together. When she had finished, Mariah gently placed the tiny dragoness on the pile. She adjusted her wings and tail around her so that she would not look so uncomfortable and out of place. After stepping back, Andrar inhaled before blowing gently sunset flames onto the pyre. Nasreen let out a quick stream of magenta fire, the heat of which incinerated the grass nearby. The Riders watched as the flames licked at the dragoness' body before engulfing her completely.
When the fire had burned down to nothing, only charred scales remained, the scattered remnants of Galbatorix's failed, forced hatching rustling away like leaves as the wind blew.
Eragon knew that she would not let him approach, so he did as Oromis had with Glaedr; he knelt among the crushed bones and waited He waited without word or motion until his legs were numb and his hands were stiff with cold. Yet he did not resent the discomfort. He paid the price gladly if it meant he could help Saphira.
After a time, she said, I have been a fool.
We are all fools sometimes.
That makes it no easier when it is your turn to play dunce.
I suppose not.
I have always known what to do. When Garrow died, I knew it was the right thing to pursue the Ra'zac. When Brom died, I knew that we should go to Gil'ead and thence to the Varden. When Ajihad died, I knew that you should pledge yourself to Nasuada. And when Andrar died… The path has always been clear to me. Except now. In this issue alone, I am lost.
What is it, Saphira?
Instead of answering, she turned the subject and said, Do you know why this is called the Stone of Broken Eggs?
No.
Because during the war between dragons and elves, the elves tracked us to this location and killed us while we slept. They tore apart our nests, then shattered our eggs with their magic. That day, it rained blood in the forest below. No dragon has lived here since.
Eragon remained silent. That was not why he was here. He would wait until she could bring herself to address the situation at hand.
Say something! demanded Saphira.
Will you let me heal your leg?
Leave well enough alone.
Then I shall remain as mute as a statue and sit here until I turn to dust, for I have the patience of a dragon from you.
When they came, her words were halting, bitter, and self-mocking: It shames me to admit it. When we first came here and I saw Glaedr, I felt such joy that another member of my race survived besides Shruikan. I had never thought of the fact that we were the only two besides the King's dragon, Andrar and I, until he had perished. And I thought… I thought that Glaedr would be as pleased by my existence as I was by his.
But he was.
You don't understand. I thought he would be the mate I never expected to have and that together we could rebuild our race. She shorted, and a burst of flame escaped her nostrils. I was mistaken. He does not want me. She paused. I now know what you feel when you look at Arya. When you speak of companionship, and what you lost when Mariah was taken from you, I too remember. That day took away from both of us greatly. She turned and set her head gently on the ground, placing a clawed forepaw across her snout.
He was silent, watching her as she raised her left wing and kept it in the air as permission for him to tend to her injury. Eragon felt struck with the pain once more of their past, and couldn't bring himself to offer the possibility of one of the remaining eggs to prove to be a good mate for her. It felt the same as insisting any woman could replace what he had lost.
Eragon limped to Saphira's side, where he examined the crimson wound, glad that Oromis had given him so many scrolls on anatomy to read. The blow – by claw or tooth, he was not sure – had torn the quadriceps muscle beneath Saphira's hide, but not so much as to bare the bone. Merely closing the surface of the wound, as Eragon had done so many times, would not be enough. The muscle had to be knitted back together.
The spell Eragon used was long and complex, and even he did not understand all its parts, for he had memorized it from an ancient text that offered little explanation beyond the statement that, given no bones were broken and the internal organs were whole, "this charm will heal any ailment of violent origins, excepting that of grim death." Once he uttered it, Eragon watched with fascination as Saphira's muscle writhed beneath his hand – veins, nerves, and fibers weaving together – and became whole once more. The wound was big enough that, in his weakened state, he dared not heal it with just the energy from his body, so he drew upon Saphira's strength as well.
It itches, said Saphira when he finished.
Eragon sighed and leaned his back against the rough basalt, looking at the sunset through his eyelashes. I fear that you will have to carry me off this rock. I'm too tired to move.
With a dry rustle, she twisted in place and laid her head on the bones beside him. I have treated you poorly ever since we came to Ellesméra. I ignored your advice when I should have listened. I scolded you for your own advances toward Arya, despite your hesitant feelings. You warned me about Glaedr, but I was too proud to see the truth in your words… I have failed to be a good companion for you, betrayed what it means to be a dragon, and tarnished the honor of the Riders.
No, never that, he said vehemently. Saphira, you haven't failed your duty. You may have made a mistake, but it was an honest one. I committed the same not long ago.
That does not excuse my behavior toward you.
He tried to meet her eye, but she avoided his gaze until he touched her upon the neck and said, Saphira, family members forgive one another, even if they don't always understand why someone acts in a certain way… You are as much my family as Roran – more. Nothing you can do will ever change that. Nothing. When she did not respond, he reached behind her jaw and tickled the patch of leathery skin below one of her ears. Do you hear me, eh? Nothing!
She coughed low in her throat with reluctant amusement, then arched her neck and lifted her head to escape his dancing fingers. How can I face Glaedr again? He was in a terrible rage… The entire stone shook with the force of his anger.
At least you held your own when he attacked you.
It was the other way around.
Caught by surprise, Eragon raised his eyebrows. Well, in any case, the only thing to do is apologize.
Apologize!
Aye. As I did with Arya. Go tell him that you are sorry, that this won't happen again, and that you want to continue your training with him. I'm sure he will be sympathetic if you give him the chance. He knows in part what you have gone through; he too has thought he was the last for a very long time.
Very well, she said in a low voice.
You'll feel better once you do. He grinned. I know from experience.
She grunted and padded to the edge of the cave, where she crouched and surveyed the rolling forest. We should go. Soon it will be dark. Gritting his teeth, he forced himself upright – every movementcosting him effort – and climbed onto her back, taking twice the time he usually did. Eragon?... Thank you for coming. I know what you risked with your back.
He patted her on the shoulder. Are we one again?
We are one.
Mark sighed, hearing them behind him all moving together. He stepped over a puddle of mud and glanced backwards. The gaggle of children was slowly growing as he made his rounds for the day, meeting with people at Nasuada's request.
He walked up the steps to another noble's house and knocked, preparing himself for the next conversation. A maid arrived at the door and immediately tried to hide her blush. "Lord Marcus. What brings you to our door?"
"I have need to meet with Lord Ekhardt, at request of Lady Nasuada."
"Yes, yes, of course. Allow me to fetch him for you. Please come in and make yourself comfortable. Can I get anything for you?"
"No, thank you. I'm quite busy today."
She curtsied and whisked off. Mark walked past a window and saw the children gathered outside, playing some sort of game in the street. They parted for the carts and horses when they passed by but not much else. He sat down in a chair near the door and waited quietly for the fifth meeting.
Lord Ekhardt came down the stairs and smile brightly at him. "Good afternoon my lord."
"Yes, it is afternoon." Mark said, biting his tongue and shaking his hand. They moved to a study, whereupon he sat and listened to the lord ramble on about his properties and the payments he was to be receiving for them.
After a few minutes, he took a breath. Mark took advantage of the pause. "Ah, yes. I believe you will find that your payments for your land leases will be arriving consistently now. The Varden has found a new source of income and merely has to get their gold flowing."
The lord coughed loudly. "May I ask what this new income source is?"
"Lace."
"I beg your pardon."
Mark met his gaze sternly, repeating the syllable. "Lace." It was clear in his tone he wasn't to be questioned again.
"I don't see how lace will be able to pay for land. It's hardly a highly sought commodity. My wife only buys the finest lace. I doubt that your Varden can support all their people with just my wife's frivolous purchases."
"I assure you there will no longer be a problem. Now, I really must be going." He stood and removed a pouch from his waist, dropping it heavily on the desk. "That should suffice until you receive your payment from your land leasers. Have a good afternoon, Lord Ekhardt."
Mark saw himself out, noting the maid trying to catch his eye as he made for the door. He ignored her and pushed out into the heavy afternoon air, muttering a silent spell so he wouldn't be dripping with sweat just walking down the street.
The moment he set foot back on the muddy ground, the children re-formed their stalking gaggle, following him like chicks to a hen. He sighed and paused, glancing behind him again. Some ran and hid, others stopped in their tracks, unable to think of anything better to do.
As he made his way through Aberon for the day, they followed. There were still ten of them when he approached the gate to the castle. An audible groan erupted from behind him as the guard opened the door for him and he slipped inside.
"You do realize that you have much fame throughout the city now…" Nasuada said, watching as he entered. "And the children all must look up to you."
"They look at me the same way that they look at you, and I disagree with their reasoning. They don't know who I am."
"Ah, but they know who you appear to be, as they know who I appear to be. It does not matter if they fully understand. We are here to free them from the control of the Empire, and we are to them whatever they need. Soldiers see us as leaders. Children see us as heroes. Others see us as martyrs, rulers, executioners… we have many facets." Nasuada walked with him through the castle to the wing that Orrin had marked off for her and the other leaders of the Varden.
Mark sighed, "It does not mean for them to follow me through the streets every day."
"As I said before… knight in shining armor. Whether you like it or not." She paused with him outside his door. "Do not punish the children by scaring them away. They are our future, and we want them to grow up strong and with faith that we will triumph. You are a beacon of hope in an otherwise dark time. If you had not been prepared for that, you should not have sworn false fealty to me in Farthen Dûr."
He watched Nasuada leave him and leaned against the door to his room, unbinding the magic lock before barricading himself inside for the remainder of the day, mulling over his thoughts.
How's everyone doing?
I haven't heard from anyone in a while...
With love, as always,
Mariah