Chapter Seventy: Heartbroken

The moment the sun appeared over the tree-lined horizon, Eragon deepened his breathing, willed his heart to quicken, and opened his eyes as he returned to full awareness. He had not been asleep, for he had not slept since his transformation. When he felt weary and lay himself down to rest, he entered a state that was unto a waking dream. There he beheld many wondrous visions and walked among the gray shades of his memories, yet all the while remained aware of his surroundings.

He watched the sunrise. The morning after the Agaetí Blödhren, two days before now, he had gone looking for Arya in Tialdarí Hall – intending to try and make amends for his behavior – only to discover that she had already left for Surda. When will I see her again? He wondered. In the clear light of day, he had realized just how much the elves' and dragons' magic had dulled his wits during the Agaetí Blödhren. I may have acted a fool, but it wasn't entirely my fault. I was no more responsible for my conduct than if I were drunk. Even in the state I was, Mariah would never have rejected me so vehemently.

Her rejection cut Eragon to the quick. Freed of the enchantments that had clouded his mind, he was forced to admit that she was probably right, that the difference between their ages was too great to overcome. It was a difficult thing for him to accept, and once he had, the knowledge only increased his anguish.

Eragon had heard the expression "heartbroken" before. Until then, he always considered it a fanciful description, not an actual physical symptom. But now he felt a deep ache in his chest – like that of a sore muscle – and each beat of his heart pained him the same it had the weeks after the battle of Farthen Dûr. Loss and rejection felt so alike.

His only comfort was Saphira. In those two days, she had never criticized what he had done, nor did she leave his side for more than a few minutes at a time, lending him the support of her companionship. She talked to him a great deal as well, doing her best to draw him out of his shell of silence.

To keep himself form brooding, Eragon took Orik's puzzle ring from his nightstand and he rolled it between his fingers, marveling at how keen his senses had become. He could feel every flaw in the twisted metal. As he studied the ring, he perceived a pattern in the arrangement of the gold bands, a pattern that had escaped him before. Trusting his instinct, he manipulated the bands in the sequence suggested by his observation. To his delight, the eight pieces fit together perfectly, forming a solid whole. He slid the ring onto the fourth finger of his right hand, admiring how the woven bands caught the light.

You could not do that before, observed Saphira from the bowl in the floor where she slept.

I can see many things that were once hidden to me.

Eragon went to the wash closet and performed his morning ablutions, including removing the stubble from his cheeks with a spell. Despite the fact that he now closely resembled an elf, he had retained the ability to grow a beard.

Orik was waiting for them when Eragon and Saphira arrived at the sparring field. His eyes brightened as Eragon lifted his hand and display the completed puzzle ring. "You solved it, then!"

"It took me longer than I expected," said Eragon, "but yes. Are you here to practice as well?"

"Eh. I already got in a bit o' ax work with an elf who took a rather fiendish delight in cracking me over the head. No… I came to watch you fight."

"You've seen me fight before," pointed out Eragon.

"Not for a while, I haven't."

"You mean you're curious to see how I've changed." Orik shrugged in response.

Vanir approached from across the field. He cried, "Are you ready, Shadeslayer?" The elf's condescending demeanor had lessened since their last duel before the Agaetí Blödhren, but not by much.

"I'm ready."

Eragon and Vanir squared off against each other in an open area of the field. Emptying his mind, Eragon grasped and drew Zar'roc as fast as he could. To his surprise, the sword felt as if it weighed no more than a willow wand. Without the expected resistance, Eragon's arm snapped straight, tearing the sword from his hand and sending it whirling twenty yards to his right, where it buried itself in the trunk of a pine tree.

"Can you not even hold on to your blade, Rider?" demanded Vanir.

"I apologize, Vanir-vodhr," gasped Eragon. He clutched his elbow, rubbing the bruised joint to lessen the pain. "I misjudged my strength."

"See that it does not happen again." Going to the tree, Vanir gripped Zar'roc's hilt and tried to pull the sword free. The weapon remained motionless. Vanir's eyebrows met as he frowned at the unyielding crimson blade, as if he suspected some form of trickery. Bracing himself, the elf heaved backward and, with the crack of wood, yanked Zar'roc out of the pine.

Eragon accepted the sword from Vanir and hefted Zar'roc, troubled by how light it was. Something's wrong, he thought.

"Take your place!"

This time it was Vanir who initiated the fight. In a single bound, he crossed the distance between them and thrust his blade toward Eragon's right shoulder. To Eragon, it seemed as if the elf moved slower than usual, as if Vanir's reflexes had been reduced to the level of a human's. It was easy for Eragon to deflect Vanir's sword, blue sparks flying from the metal as their blades grated against one another.

Vanir landed with an astonished expression. He struck again, and Eragon evaded the sword by leaning back, like a tree swaying in the wind. In quick succession, Vanir rained a score of heavy blows upon Eragon, each of which Eragon dodged or blocked, using Zar'roc's sheath as often as the sword to foil Vanir's onslaught.

Eragon soon realized that the spectral dragon from the Agaetí Blödhren had done more than alter his appearance; it had also granted him the elves' physical abilities. In strength and speed, Eragon now matched even the most athletic elf.

Fired by that knowledge and a desire to test his limits, Eragon jumped as high as he could. Zar'roc flashed crimson in the sunlight as he flew skyward, soaring more than ten feet above the ground before he flipped like an acrobat and came down behind Vanir, facing the direction from which he had started.

A fierce laugh erupted from Eragon. No more was he helpless before elves, Shades, and other creatures of magic. No more would he suffer the elves' contempt. No more would he have to rely on Saphira or Arya to rescue him from enemies like Durza.

He charge Vanir, and the field rang with a furious din as they strove against each other, raging back and forth upon the trampled grass. The force of their blows created gusts of wind that whipped their hair into tangled disarray. Overhead, the trees shook and dropped their needles. The duel lasted long into the morning, for even with Eragon's newfound skill, Vanir was still a formidable opponent. But in the end, Eragon would not be denied. Playing Zar'roc in a circle, he darted past Vanir's guard and struck him upon the upper arm, breaking the bone.

Vanir dropped his blade, his face turning white with shock. "How swift is your sword," he said, and Eragon recognized the famous line from The Lay of Umhodan.

"By the gods!" exclaimed Orik. "That was the best swordsmanship I've ever seen, and I was there when you fought Arya in Farthen Dûr."

Then Vanir did what Eragon had never expected: the elf twisted his uninjured hand in the gesture of fealty, placed it upon his sternum, and bowed. "I beg your pardon for my earlier behavior, Eragon-elda. I thought that you had consigned my race to the void, and out of my fear I acted most shamefully. However, it seems that your race no longer endangers our cause." In a grudging voice, he added: "You are now worthy of the title Rider."

Eragon bowed in return. "You honor me. I'm sorry that I injured you so badly. Will you allow me to heal your arm?"

"No, I shall let nature tend to it at her own pace, as a memento that I once crossed blades with Eragon Shadeslayer. You needn't fear that it will disrupt our sparring tomorrow; I am equally good with my left hand."

They both bowed again, and then Vanir departed.

Orik slapped a hand on his thigh and said, "Now we have a chance at victory, a real chance! I can feel it in my bones. Bones like stone, they say. Ah, this'll please Hrothgar and Nasuada to no end."

Eragon kept his peace and concentrated on removing the block from Zar'roc's edges, but he said to Saphira, If brawn were all that was required to depose Galbatorix, the elves would have done it long ago. Still, he could not help being pleased by his heightened prowess, as well as by his long-awaited reprieve from the torment of his back. Without the constant bursts of pain, it was as if a haze had been lifted from his mind, allowing his to think clearly once again.

The wind rushed past her face as Andrar barreled through the air towards Nasreen. He twisted through her glistening talons and kicked at her with his hind legs, back flipping through the air with his wings tucked against his back, sheltering Mariah in a leathery cocoon.

She exhaled, her skin glowing like embers as sunlight filtered through the wing membrane. Snapping his wings out as he pulled from the flip, Andrar turned to face Nasreen as she roared at having missed him. He snorted, beating once and carrying himself upward, his tail lashing and smacking her across the snout.

Once he was high enough, he folded his wings and dove for her again, breathing a steady stream of flames down to combat her own. Stray cinders of pinks flame brushed past Mariah's face as she drew her blade. Her brightsteel sword clashed against Kieran's as their dragons' talons locked against one another. Their limbs became tangled, pitching them into a death spiral with their riders fighting on their backs.

As they hurtled toward the ground, Mariah glanced below at the others watching intently. Her gaze turned back to Kieran as she moved, striking towards her; Kieran opening Mariah's shoulder as she tried to block the hurried blow. In return, Mariah whipped the brightsteel dagger from her waist, splitting open the princess's brow. Looking down again, Mariah realized how quickly they were falling and the vague notion of pulling out of the plunge washed over her and Andrar's united consciousness.

As if in response, Nasreen bit Andrar's leg, flailing her tail and forced him backward, out of their entanglement. Rushing away, he settled his claws into the side of the castle, watching the pink dragoness for a moment before launching towards her. Unprepared, she felt her wing pinned below his weight as he clamped his fangs into her shoulder, digging claws through her belly scales. Unable to move her left wing, Nasreen floundered in the air; unable to reach her neck around to attack him she blew flames into the sky, roaring.

Looking just above her where the princess was mounted in her saddle, she met Kieran's eyes and lowered her blade, sheathing the dagger at her waist. Andrar released his jaw, beating his massive wings once, slowing both himself and Nasreen before letting her go completely. The dragoness snarled at him and drifted away, clamoring to stay off the ground before landing on the side of the castle, burrowing her talons into the stone, hanging there no more than a hundred feet off the courtyard. Blood trickled from the points of her magenta scales as she glared at him.

Andrar landed deftly on the ground, settling into the grass, glaring over at the hatchling dragons beside their riders. Standing in her saddle after removing the straps around her arms and legs, landing on the ground with grace, the jump would have severely injured any normal human, Mariah spoke. "You cannot fight if you cannot fly, today you'll learn the basics of flying, and from there we'll see which of you is actually cut out to fight on dragon-back." The wind flared, catching the edges of her black tunic. She watched their faces as Nasreen landed beside Andrar, allowing Kieran off her back, lapping at her wounds.

The princess strode up beside her, blood sliding down her cheek from her temple. Folding her arms, Kieran addressed them all, "Nasreen and Andrar will be teaching your dragons, so you'd best listen to them."

Mariah and Kieran observed from the ground while Andrar and Nasreen flew around the little ones. They pointed out flaws in their flying movements and grips. One Kieran had to catch Hal from falling out of his saddle to his death. It was apparent that Pearce was comfortable in the air, more so than any of the others, and Talath was picking up on his abilities quickly, despite Pearce's added weight.

"Relax Camilla, you won't fall," Mariah insisted.

"Hal nearly did!"

"You aren't Hal. Let's face it: you're much more skilled than he is. And Belladonna won't let you fall like Deíron." She held her silver palm over her brow, looking up at the females in the air.

Camilla smiled and brushed her braid over her shoulder, looking down at the lavender scales and gripping the leather with more assurance. Looking up, she watched her brother's hands white on the reins, though he was doing his best to not appear frightened.

Whipping past him, Pearce laughed and shouted at him. "Cederic you look like you've seen a ghost!"

"I feel as though my breakfast is going to heave from my stomach," he insisted. Reaper snorted and growled at him. "It's nothing you're doing; I'm just not so used to being so high off the ground."

"You're only as high off the ground as you think you are. When you realize that it's no different than riding a horse then you'll be fine." Pearce said, grinning as Talath twisted in a wide loop around the gray dragon.

Their flying talent is unmatched for ones so young.

Indeed. Mariah said, watching them twist through the others. Her eyes flashed to Ecaeris and Innes. Her wings seemed frail compared to the others, but she slipped through the air like a fish in water. Knowing he could catch himself, her rider felt confident, and it showed.

"We'll race you, to the edge of the trees and back."

"Done!" Talath beat his wings once, taking off through the air before Ecaeris could turn around. They returned nose-to-nose, panting heavily as they landed.

Andrar nosed the copper dragon and rumbled. They need a rest, Nasreen.

They need to be prepared. They will be more exhausted than this in the heat of battle. A fight that may last hours or days even, carrying riders, weapons, and armor is no simple feat. Slamming her tail on the ground, she growled for emphasis.

Snorting in response, Andrar argued in the little ones' defense. It is the first day of many that they will spend in the air, allow them a rest, or do you wish to kill them their first flight day?

Nasreen sniffed and turned her head, lumbering off to find a shady tree, flicking her tail across his snout. He turned back to the little ones, insisting they all land and rest their tired wings. Mariah watched them all dismount and nodded, turning her back and heading back inside.

As she stepped, Ancalë bounced against her thigh. The brightsteel rider's blade had been sharpened and polished for her after her confrontation with Galbatorix. It remained at her side with the matching dagger at all times since she had received it. Moving through the castle, she overheard speaking in the great hall, pausing and pushing the doors open as something inside her called. When she was halfway across the room, Galbatorix flicked his gaze up to her. "Good. Come here, Murtagh was just about to explain to me the Varden's battle plans." Mariah moved to the table, standing at the far corner, able to watch Murtagh and his expressions while he spoke. Her hands were clasped behind her back, her stance ridged poised like a soldier in formation.

"The Varden are planning an attack, while preparing defensive measures against an expected attack from the Empire. They are working with King Orrin in Surda to bolster their numbers, however are greatly underestimating our own. Their locations are scattered throughout Surda and the edge of the Empire, here. They do not realize how many you have rallied together." Murtagh marked their positions on the map before them, straightening up again when he'd finished.

"Excellent. I'm pleased to see that you've found out so much so quickly." Galbatorix looked over the map again, eyes gleaming. "Crushing the resistance will be easier than I expected."

"If we were to attack from here, Kieran, Mariah, and myself would be able to attack the heart of the Varden, and the entire resistance. Cutting off the head would result in a collapse of the entire system. It would not only end the battle early, but save on troop deaths as well."

His eyes turned up to Murtagh, examining him. "I don't care if my troops die on the battlefield. You should not either. They are of no concern to you."

"Of course. I was simply stating that the Empire could be fully under your control quicker."

"Indeed, that would be for the best. And if we can capture your brother and his dragoness faster, that would be marvelous." Galbatorix nodded. "Your main focus will be that. I want her; bring your brother back as well. I prefer him alive, however if a replacement rider is needed, then so be it. Are your instructions clear?"

Murtagh nodded once, "Yes."

"Dawnsinger, you will assist him. You both know your brother well, I expect you to induct him into my Forsworn."

"Of course, your highness," she spoke, inclining her head. Murtagh glanced over, attempting not to look confused by her behavior. He attempted a brush against her consciousness, but found it completely blocked to him. She shot him a glare and turned back to Galbatorix as he spoke again.

"All the children of my Forsworn are coming back to me, how exciting." He looked over the map once more. "Do see to it that the others continue their training as quickly as possible. And do check in on Odette. Notify me immediately if anything transpires which needs my attention. Take your leave of me Dawnsinger."

"As you wish." Mariah inclined her head, pivoted and strode from the room without another word, leaving Murtagh to stare at her raven hair swaying against her back.

A few minutes remained before they were supposed to meet with Oromis and Glaedr, so Eragon took his bow and quiver from where they hung on Saphira's back and walked to the range where elves practiced archery. Since the elves' bows were much more powerful than his, their targets were both too small and too far away for him. He had to shoot from halfway down the range.

Taking his place, Eragon nocked an arrow and slowly pulled back the string, delighted by his easy it had become. He aimed, released the arrow, and held his position, waiting to see if he would hit his mark. Like a maddened hornet, the dart buzzed toward the target and buried itself in the center. He grinned. Again and again he fired at the target, his speed increasing with his confidence until he loosed thirty arrows in a minute.

At the thirty-first arrow, he pulled on the string slightly harder than he had ever done – or was capable of doing – before. With an explosive report, the yew bow broke in half underneath his left hand, scratching his fingers and discharging a burst of splinters from the back of the bow. His hand went numb from the jolt.

Eragon stared at the remains of his weapon, dismayed by the loss. Garrow had made it as a birthday present for him over three years ago. Since then, hardly a week went by when Eragon had not used his bow. It had helped him to provide food for his family on numerous occasions when they would have otherwise gone hungry. With it, he had killed his first deer. With it, he had killed his first Urgal. And through it, he had first used magic. Losing his bow was like losing an old friend who could be relied upon in even the worst situation.

Saphira sniffed the two pieces of wood dangling from his grip and said, It seems you need a new stick thrower. He grunted – in no mood to talk – and stomped out to retrieve his arrows.

Mark stood hiding against the corner of a building, stalking a short, bearded man through the market, narrowing his eyes as the man moved shiftily. Grazing against his mind, he felt it well guarded and smirked at confirming his target.

"Mark!" Kendra hustled to his side, holding her hood up to her face so no one saw her, watching as he moved, slipping through alleyways and side streets, his eyes scanning through the crowd. "I need to talk to you."

"After you help me get the assassin that's about to murder Nasuada." He said, rushing after him as he moved around a corner. Holding his sword to his hip, Mark jumped up on a barrel, leaping onto the top of a horse-drawn cart, dropping down on the other side of the crowded street and sprinting after him.

Kendra blinked - he was surprisingly nimble when he wanted to be - rushing after him, slipping through the crowd, Nyx on her heels. She found she couldn't keep up to him and barely caught sight of him rushing into a hostel on Fane Street. Bolting up the stairs after him, she watched as he broke the door down with a spell, splinters flying past his face, throwing his black hair backward in a rush of air.

He threw his hand out, freezing the assassin in place. Kendra skidded to a halt in the doorway, staring at the man kneeling on the floor. Nyx bounded into the room, crouched in front of his mistress.

"Don't kill him Mark." She rushed, watching his face contort.

A growl rippled through his vocal cords, "Why not?"

"He's from the Black Hand. I need to talk to him. His name is Drail." She insisted, staring at the assassin. "Silence him and keep hold of his mind while I search it. I need to know what's going on in Urû'baen…"

Heavy footsteps could be heard up the stairs and the two stopped and looked over as Trianna rushed into the door frame, guards lined up behind her. She looked over the situation and her eyes ran over Kendra, then Mark slowly.

"Yes, Trianna?" He asked, his voice low, one hand still extended over Drail's head.

She put a slender hand on her hip. "I need to bring him to Nasuada. She was almost murdered… Elva managed to save her before anything went wrong." When Mark didn't move, she continued, "Should I tell the Lady that you aren't obeying her commands, my Lord?"

He jerked his chin up, knocking the assassin out cold with a quick word, binding his hands magically and striding from the room. "I'll make sure everyone clears out ahead of us." He pushed past Trianna and the guards, stepping outside and instructing the remaining guard to clear the civilians out of the way.

Nasuada looked up as Mark entered the room, Kendra on his heels. Trianna followed them with the guards dragging the assassin with them. They threw him on the floor. Her gaze moved to Mark first. "You missed the meeting."

"…I was a little preoccupied trying to find him."

Nasuada turned her gaze down at the man who had tried to kill her. He was short, bearded, and plain-looking, no different from countless other men in the city. She felt a certain connection to him, as if his attempt on her life and the fact that she had arranged his capture in return linked them in the most intimate manner possible. "Wake him."

"Nasuada I don't believe that's the best idea-" Trianna said.

"Mark, will you guard me?"

"Of course my Lady." He moved to stand in front of her, glancing at Trianna, breaking the spell holding the man asleep. The second he woke, Mark snapped into his mind, holding him hostage inside his own head.

"What is your name?" Nasuada asked.

"Drail." He said mechanically, glaring at Mark, who just smirked at him.

"And who do you work for?"

"Galbatorix. I am a member of the Black Hand."

"And what are you doing here?"

"Waiting for the chance to kill you. I have been watching your movements since the moment you left Farthen Dûr. This one kept getting in my way."

Mark smirked just a little more, a vein in his forehead pulsing slightly. Kendra watched him and bit her tongue, hiding her face in her hood.

"How many of you can use magic?"

Drail grinned at her this time, "Most of us. There are more than you wish to admit to. Someone very near to you might be an assassin in disguise, you may never know."

Her jaw set. "Mark, find out the names of the other assassins here in Surda. I want them gone."

"As you wish, Nasuada." Drail stared Mark down, fighting with him over his own mind, steadily losing to the younger man. When he was finished draining him of all the information he could manage, Mark exhaled and let him go. Drail rushed up, dagger in hand, lunging for Nasuada. Tensing, Mark shielded Nasuada, a death curse running through his mind as the dagger swung towards him.

Before he could even graze Mark, Kendra had her dagger through Drail's throat. He sputtered and coughed, blood gushing from between his gritted teeth. He looked into her midnight blue eyes and his face looked horrified for a moment. "P-prin…sss…" She twisted the blade, growling at him.

"He recognized your face," Mark commented.

"They should." She insisted, pulling the blade from his lifeless body.

Nasuada watched the exchange and blinked. "Kendra." She glanced towards the dark-skinned woman and sheathed her dagger. "Will you help me?" Nasuada asked her, side stepping out from behind Mark. "I need you to assist Mark in destroying whatever spies Galbatorix has sent here. All of them."

Kendra blinked at the leader of the Varden. "That is already one of the purposes of my stealing him away so often. The Black Hand cannot be allowed to thrive."

She looked between the two of them and nodded. "It seems I have placed my faith in good hands. Both of you will be in charge, use my men as you see fit. Du Vrangr Gata is also at your disposal." Trianna scoffed and folded her arms under her bust.

Kendra nodded, pivoting on her heel and moving from the room, Nyx ahead of her, pausing only to stare at the silver mark on Elva's forehead - the same as on the hand of her sister. The girl stared at her and smiled cruelly, whispering one word in her eerie adult voice, "Traitor." She flinched and stepped from Nasuada's quarters not waiting for Mark.

Following her, Mark paused only to incline his head to Elva. "I appreciate you saving Nasuada's life, Elva."

"I do as I must, Marcus..." Her grin was vicious as she looked at him. Your future has not changed, despite your attempts at altering your fate. Pain. Heartache. Agony. Are you prepared to harm one close to you in order to keep another safe?

The echo of her previous prophecy struck him to the bone. He blinked at her silver-marked forehead. And what do you know of my future, Elva?

Her face went blank as he responded, staring into his eyes. Holding her gaze for a moment, he nodded to her before leaving the room. Matching stride with Kendra, he grasped her just above her elbow and marched her to his room, slamming the door shut and locked behind him once Nyx was inside. "What do you need to talk to me about?"

She sunk into a chair slowly, putting her face in her hands. "I… saw one of Galbatorix's Riders."

"Your sister or mine?"

"Murtagh."

He stilled and watched her. "He's alive. And… how…?"

"He came across our camp, no one died. His dragon is huge… Galbatorix must have done something to it. But that makes at least three… I doubt your friend's dragon is a match for three."

"No… she's not." He said, kneeling in front of her. "Kendra… are you alright?" She clenched and unclenched her hand until he set his hand on her shoulder. Finally, she looked up at him and let out a dry sob. She careened into him; in response he wrapped his arms around her shoulders, holding her against him as he knelt on the floor.

"They're going to attack soon; their army is already on the move. We're… not ready. Your Rider can't get back in time… and even if he did..."

"He'd be incinerated in a matter of moments..." He stared at the wall over her shoulder. Murtagh was a dragon rider for Galbatorix, just like his father. It was bad enough that Kieran was the daughter of Galbatorix, but now Murtagh. He felt the flicker of hope inside his chest shudder at the thought.

"Mark, this wasn't supposed to happen."

"…what happened exactly? When you saw him?"

"I was so happy to see him," she said, looking up at Mark. "I didn't realize what Galbatorix had done to him."

Mark shook his head. "He didn't hurt you?"

"No."

"That's… strange. It seems like he would have been told to capture you if he did find you."

"I don't think it was planned," Kendra admitted. "But if Galbatorix finds out what I've been doing… Mark I told Murtagh all of the battle plans we had so far. He knows everything. I wouldn't have said anything had I realized… I'm sorry. I was blinded."

He nodded, "He deceived you."

She turned her face to the ground, blushing fiercely. "Yes."

Watching her, Mark realized exactly how deceiving he had been and a pang of sympathy shot through him. "Kendra, I'm sorry."

"Don't," she shuddered, letting go of him and leaning against the wall. Nyx crawled over, setting his head on her lap. Kendra scratched him behind the ears for a moment before reaching into her pocket and pulling a large red dragon scale out. "This fell from the dragon."

"It's the same color as Zar'roc. History should not repeat itself so precisely." Mark watched the scale glimmer in the candle light for a moment before she replaced it in her pocket. "Kendra, stay here tonight. It's late and we should be on guard of any more assassins."

"I have a room in the Black Palace."

"I know you do." He said, "I just don't want you going out in the state you're in."

Kendra glared at him. "I am not a frail little girl…" Her words came out half-heartedly as she watched him ward the room to include her in its protective measures. Defeated, she let him do so in silence. "Thank you."

"We'll start tracking down the assassins in the morning. You should sleep; traveling takes a lot of energy. I'm going to start trying to come up with a new strategy for us to make it through the next few weeks. If what you say is true, we have less time than we initially thought anyway."

The princess watched him sit down at the table, going over the maps and scrolls listing troop numbers and bases. He pulled his glasses onto his face, picking up a quill in his long fingers, scrawling across and drawing lines through the words and pages. She smiled a bit, standing and walking to him, ruffling his hair up with her fingers roughly before flopping into the bed. Nyx jumped up, snuggling next to her, flicking his tail as Mark glanced towards them, a thin smile on his lips.

From the open field, he and Saphira flew to the white Crags of Tel'naeír and presented themselves to Oromis, who was seated on a stood in front of his hut, gazing out over the cliff with his farseeing eyes. He said, "Have you entirely recovered, Eragon, from the potent magic of the Blood-oath Celebration?"

"I have, Master."

A long silence followed as Oromis drank from a cup of blackberry tea and resumed contemplating the ancient forest. Eragon waited without complaint; he was used to such pauses when dealing with the old Rider. At length, Oromis said, "Glaedr explained to me, as best he could, what was done to you during the celebration. Such a thing has never before occurred in the history of the Riders… Once again, the dragons have proved themselves capable of far more than we imagined." He sipped his tea. "Glaedr was uncertain exactly what changes you would experience, so I would like you to describe the full extent of your transformation, including your appearance."

Eragon quickly summarized how he had been altered, detailing the increased sensitivity of his sight, smell, hearing, and touch, and ending with an account of his clash with Vanir.

"And how," asked Oromis, "do you feel about this? Do you resent that your body was manipulated without your permission?"

"No, no! Not at all. I might have resented it before the battle of Farthen Dûr, but now I'm just grateful that my back doesn't hurt anymore. I would have willingly submitted myself to far greater changes in order to escape Durza's curse. No, my only response is gratitude."

Oromis nodded. "I am glad that you are wise enough to take that position, for your gift is worth more than all the gold in the world. With it, I believe that our feet are at last set upon the correct path." Again, he sipped his tea. "Let us proceed. Saphira, Glaedr expects you at the Stone of Broken Eggs. Eragon, you will begin today with the third level of Rimgar, if you can. I would know everything you are capable of."

Eragon started toward the square of tamped earth where they usually performed the Dance of Snake and Crane, then hesitated when the silver-haired elf remained behind. "Master, won't you join me?"

A sad smile graced Oromis's face. "Not today, Eragon. The spells required by the Blood-oath Celebration exacted a heavy toll from me. That and my… condition. It took the last of my strength to come sit outside."

"I am sorry, Master." Does he resent that the dragons didn't choose to heal him as well? wondered Eragon. He immediately discounted the thought; Oromis would never be so petty.

"Do not be. It is no fault of yours that I am crippled."

As Eragon struggled to complete the third level of the Rimgar, it became obvious that he still lacked the elves' balance and flexibility, two attributes that even the elves had to work to acquire. In a way, he welcomed those limitations, for if he was perfect, what was left for him to accomplish?

The following weeks were difficult for Eragon. On one hand, he made enormous progress with his training, mastering subject after subject that had once confounded him. He still found Oromis's lessons challenging, but he no longer felt as if he were drowning in a sea of his own inadequacy. It was easier for Eragon to read and write, and his increased strength meant that he could not cast elven spells that required so much energy, they would kill any normal human. His strength also made him aware of how weak Oromis was compared to other elves.

And yet, despite those accomplishments, Eragon experienced a growing sense of discontent. An ominous storm was fathering beyond the edge of the horizon, a storm that threatened to break at any moment and sweep across the land, devastating everything in its path.

Saphira shared his unease. She said, The world is stretched thin, Eragon. Soon it will snap and madness with burst forth. What you feel is what we dragons feel and what the elves feel – the inexorable march of grim fate as the end of our age approaches. Weep for those who will die in the chaos that shall consume Alagaësia. And hope that we may win a brighter future by the strength of your sword and shield, and my fangs and talons.

"What do you want?"

"Galbatorix told me to check in on you," Mariah said, her dagger in hand as she stood, waiting for her to open the door. Staring at the wood grain, she started to grow impatient. "I can simply break down the door you know."

With a rush, the door slammed open away from Mariah towards the interior of the room. Odette glared at her from the windowsill, pushing her cascading crimson hair from her eyes. "What do you want?" She repeated, her voice echoing with a deep, rumbling snarl.

"We all know this wasn't your fault. Innes was too naïve to realize what he was doing." Mariah took a single step into the room, able to feel the magic radiating the second she had done so. "And Cordis didn't know any better."

"We knew what we were doing," she snapped. Standing, she placed one slender foot on the floor, uncurling from her perch and moving to hold herself in front of Mariah, she licked her lips. Mariah saw the tip of her tongue, forked like a snake. "You should be scared of us, Dawnsinger… Galbatorix may have possession of you, but we have possession of something far stronger."

"You'll be lucky if it doesn't destroy you completely."

"We are stable. Had our bond been weaker, we would have been destroyed the moment we attempted to unify as one." Mariah watched as she went to her desk, shuddering once before picking up a book. "Dragons are meant to fly." Her gaze turned towards the window. "We however, have no wings… when the time comes to fight, we wish to fly."

She watched the Shade and followed her gaze. "Talath and Pearce are very good fliers… they may be able to allow you to ride with them."

"Pearce… tried to help us… even though there was nothing he could do. Odette bit him, yes, we should let him know that she was sorry."

Mariah nodded. "That might not be a bad idea, before you ask him a favor like that. He'll have to trust you in order to fly with you."

She winced and turned to look at the Rider. "Very well. We shall speak with him."

"You keep saying we."

"We are what remains of Cordis and Odette. You would have us be not we?"

Shaking her head, Mariah insisted, "No, you can be "we" and "us" all you want. It would be easier to have a single name however… for everyone to call you."

The curtain of red hair cascaded over her shoulder and hid her body from view. She twisted her hands together, thinking. "We… shall be Sigrúne – after the sister Odette lost."

"Sigrúne… alright. The others have finished their flight training for today; you may speak with Pearce when you feel ready to address him. Would you like me to speak to him first?"

"No," she insisted. "We shall do it together alone."

Mariah nodded. "Then I will take my leave." She inclined her head to the Shade and walked from the room.

She descended the spiraling stairwell and emerged back into the great hall. There, Murtagh met her. He stared at her eyes for a long moment, swirling with ice along the edges of jade. "I see there are even more changes than when I left. Kieran seems to be the only one who remains the same."

"Kieran is perfect; there is nothing for her to change." Mariah insisted, pushing past him.

He reached out and grabbed her arm, holding her in place. "We were trying to escape this hell, or don't you remember?"

Her lips pulled into a snarl, "I do remember. The ice reminds me every time the notion crosses my mind."

"This wasn't how it was supposed to go Mariah. Tell me what made you rebel so hard suddenly. Why are you doing any of this? I want an honest answer. First it was restoring all the Dragon Riders, and then you suddenly snapped again, what was it this time?" She said nothing and in her silence he found his answer, understanding rushing over him. There were few topics she hesitated with. Murtagh licked his lips. "Mariah… I…" Heels clipping against the stone forced his gaze away from her.

"You're back." Kieran blinked at him, hurrying her steps to reach them. "I'm glad you made it. What happened?" She caught his gaze and blinked.

Murtagh was staring at her face hard, his cheeks burning slightly. "I found out some information about the Varden. It was pretty boring actually, didn't even get to kill anyone." Mariah noted the shaking note in his otherwise calm words.

The princess narrowed her eyes at him, "Why's your face so red then?"

"I'm just tired," he insisted turning and striding up the stairs.

Kieran exchanged glance with Mariah. "Are you two okay?"

"I think so… maybe he just forgot how much he can't stand to be around me after leaving."

She laughed. "I believe quite the opposite Mariah."

"Perhaps…"

Kieran shrugged, "Come with me, and we'll find what you were looking for earlier. I believe I have a pair that will suit your needs just fine." Kieran motioned up the stairway and headed to her room. She pushed the heavy doors open and strode to her dresser, picking up a pair of stud diamond earrings. "These should do, no?"

"Ah, yes." Mariah nodded, rubbing at her ears. "Is this going to hurt?"

"Not if you hold still…" Kieran insisted, sitting her in the vanity chair in front of the mirror. She rolled the diamond between her fingers and muttered a spell, heating the metal until it was white hot and then waiting for it to cool completely. She knelt down, pinching Mariah's earlobe between her thumb and forefinger. After a minute, she touched the sharpened end of the earring to her skin. "I'm gonna count from three."

"Just do it already."

"Three…" On two she pressed the point through her flesh and out the other side, wiping away the spot of blood on her hand. "Not so difficult, was it?"

She shook her head, "You've hurt me much worse than that."

Kieran blinked and shrugged, repeating the process to the other side. "So you're going to charm them?"

"Yes. I had a dream last night, and thought it would be a good idea. Thank you Kieran." Mariah insisted, staying and speaking with her for a while longer before retiring to her room.

Be sure to leave room for error in the event that you are drained of your own energy.

I shall, Mariah insisted, looking in the mirror at her sparkling new jewelry. Speaking quietly, she worked a spell into the earrings, so in the event of her collapse she would not fall from Andrar's saddle and die upon impact from the drop.