Chapter Seventy-One: Battle March
Talath swept through the air, twisting circles around Belladonna and Reaper as they mock-battled one another with snapping teeth and claws. The copper dragon's scales caught the sunlight as he altered his path again, diving down, only to catch an updraft under his wings and soar into the sun once more, looping through the air as he did so.
Lifting his shield, Pearce blocked another attack from Hal. When the larger boy recoiled, he swung his blade out and clipped him in the shoulder, grinning. Ducking and weaving behind him, Hal threw his arm out, his sword whipping past Pearce's head. He stumbled as the blond barreled into him from behind, knocking him down with his shield.
From the ground, Hal shouted a few harsh syllables in Elvish, holding Pearce in place. He instantly felt the repercussions of trying to hold the other man still, forgetting how strong they all had so suddenly become. The blond struggled for a moment, trying to remember the words he had been taught to use. Mariah's lessons were hazy as each spell he went over started to blend together. Hal spoke again, and Pearce realized that he had focused on his neck, effectively cutting off his breathing.
In an instant Pearce fell to the ground, coughing hard. "Sard!" Hal shouted, flinching and dropping all his magic binding the other rider. Panting, Pearce returned to his feet, watched as the soldier lay writhing on the ground, snarling in pain.
She stepped out into the sunlight, her crimson hair catching the light, blood red eyes trained on Hal. Stopping, Camilla and Cederic looked at her, lowering their weapons. Sigrúne padded across the courtyard silently, barefoot against the stone, the only noise coming from Hal's suffering. She moved past the siblings like a cloud, stopping in front of Pearce. He let out the breath caught in his throat and held her gaze. She blinked, speaking quietly, and Hal stopped his whimpering, lying on the stone nearly in tears.
"Talath seems to be quite adept at flying."
Pearce watched her eyes, hesitating, "He is, indeed."
She paused, licking her lips. "Odette would like for you to know that she is sorry for drawing blood. She was distraught and was not thinking clearly."
Doing his best to not make it appear as though he was staring at her new visage Pearce nodded, "I understand..." None of them knew what exactly had happened to Odette, only that she had been in her room for a few days. No one had mentioned that she became a pale, red-haired demon.
"Call us Sigrúne," she insisted, watching his face carefully. "We have a request to ask of you, Pearce… Talath… would you allow for us to ride with you when we battle? A rider is meant to fly, and we swear we shall not be of hindrance to either of you."
"Oh," he managed as Talath swept down next to him. The rush of air blew back Sigrúne's red hair in a wave of flame.
We would be honored. The copper dragon pressed his nose up against Sigrúne's silver palm as she held it out, rumbling quietly. For you who has no wings to fly, we shall be yours.
A strange smile reached her lips at the dragon's words, her eyes sparkling. "We would be pleased by that."
Would you tell me, how has this been done? Talath asked Pearce's silent question and awaited her response, flicking his tail.
"Innes helped make us into what we have become." She responded gently, blinking at the dragon. Talath dipped his head to her, blinking in understanding.
She turned slowly and walked from the courtyard as ethereally as she had come. Pearce felt a spark of rage burst inside of himself, looking at Hal on the ground before dropping his sword and shield where he stood, going inside. He searched with his mind, brushing against Innes' consciousness and moving towards it with heavy steps.
He tore open the door to the magician's room, finding him curled up with a book in a chair. Innes glared up at the intrusion, startled and yelping as Pearce yanked him to his feet. "What did you do to her?"
Innes paled as his feet dangled just off the ground. "I didn't do it on purpose!"
"You turned an innocent girl into a Shade! Of all the stupid things to be done. For someone who claims to be so smart, you are a fool. You condemned Odette to an eternity as that creature."
"She asked for it! When she came to me so she could speak with Cordis, that is what happened. I didn't force anything on her, she became a Shade of her own accord."
Pearce growled, "It was still your doing. You could have denied her, what did she promise you? You would not have done this of your own volition – not without payment."
"She is indebted to me, whatever I want." Innes watched Pearce shake his head.
"I hope you realize she could destroy you now with a few simple words… she is far more powerful than you are. I hope you understand the severity of what you have done to her."
Dropping him to the floor, Pearce watched him try to process everything. Before he could think of a way to defend himself, Pearce's fist collided with his chin, knocking him out cold. When he came too, his face hurt fiercely, he tried to speak and whimpered as he felt his jaw unable to move, broken. Pearce was nowhere to be seen.
Innes stood carefully. How was he supposed to heal his jaw if he couldn't move his mouth to speak the words? Glancing out his window, he watched the other three fighting, walking from his room to join them.
Hal launched at Cederic, throwing them both to the ground in a tumultuous hand-to-hand brawl. They almost took turns pinning and punching the other. Camilla watched them, raising an eyebrow and lowering her rapier. She smirked and watched her brother break Hal's nose. To avoid another blow, he reached up and grabbed Cederic's fist, twisting and throwing him off. She took two steps back as her brother came rolling toward her, looking down at him splayed at her feet.
"Think he's beating you Ced."
"And you could do better," he spat.
She stepped over him, flicking her rapier towards Hal's face as he got back to his feet. Rubbing at his face, he retrieved his sword, bringing it up to meet hers. Camilla held her own against the man's attacks, twisting and avoiding him with her fluid steps.
Her heels clicked on the stone as she moved behind him, zipping the back of his leg with the point of her blade. Hal winced and turned, clawing toward her. In the air, Bellatona and Reaper tag-teamed Deíron, their fighting forcing the brown dragon to the ground. Unable to fly and fight at the same time, they tucked in their wings and attacked on foot. While Reaper pinned him, Bellatona chomped her fangs into Deíron's tail and drew blood. The dragon howled as he was unable to throw the other two off.
An ear-splitting roar echoed around the courtyard. "Enough!"
In a rush of red and pink, Bellatona and Reaper were thrown off Deíron. Pinning Reaper down with a paw on his shoulder, Andrar growled into his face. Behind him, Bellatona struggled under Nasreen's grip, trapping her tail from lashing at her. Deíron snarled at Mariah as she strode into the sunlight.
"Stop." She said coldly, examining his wounds. He snorted in her face, blowing her hair back. "You would do well to remember that I too am a rider." At her words, Deíron lowered his head and turned away from her, allowing her closer. Her eyes observed the damage before she nodded. "The wounds will heal on their own, but you would do well to keep your guard up around these two."
Andrar and Nasreen relinquished their hold on the others. Bellatona squirmed over to Reaper. Mariah watched as they sat on their haunches, flicking their tails like angry cats. The lavender dragoness licked at her paw, turning her head away and cleaning her muzzle of blood. Reaper flexed his talons and snarled towards Mariah. Looking up, Camilla stayed her blade, pressed into the apex of Hal's chest as Cederic dropped his sword, the hilt burning hot with pink magic.
From the doorway, Kieran lowered her hand, walking over to stand by them. "Your flight training continues tonight. We will practice in the dark, for now, you should all go to rest in your rooms. Unless you wish to be exhausted after sunset."
Camilla sheathed her rapier at her waist and walked back inside with her brother, shooting daggers at Hal. Moving to join them, Mariah stood beside Kieran, watching the siblings disappear through the doorway. "Your nose is broken."
"I didn't notice," he snapped, placing his hand against his face. "…how do I fix it?"
Mariah spoke a few Elvish words aloud to him and he repeated slowly, feeling a snap as his nose realigned and repaired itself of the damage Cederic had caused. Glancing over her shoulder, she saw Innes holding his face as well. "What did you do?"
Pearce broke my jaw, and I can't speak well enough to fix it.
Throwing back her head, she let out a harsh laugh. "You deserved every moment of pain. You're wanting me to fix it then?"
Innes glared at her, unable to nod. Yes.
"I don't think I should. It would serve you well to not be able to talk for a while. Kieran?"
She chuckled, "Should have known you'd have a glass jaw. Allow me." The princess walked over to him, muttering under her breath as she put her hand to his face. As the bones snapped back, Innes wailed. Kieran hadn't bothered to add in any pain reducing words to the spell, and grinned as a stream of curses flooded from his lips. "Go back inside, and rest. We're taking you all flying tonight…"
The day came when Eragon went to the glade beyond Oromis's hut, seated himself on the polished white stump in the center of the mossy hollow, and – when he opened his mind to observe the creatures around him – sensed not just the birds, beasts, and insects but also the plants of the forest.
The plants possessed a different type of consciousness than animals: slow, deliberate, and decentralized, but in their own way just as cognizant of their surroundings as Eragon himself was. The faint pulse of the plants' awareness bathed the galaxy of stars that wheeled behind his eyes – each bright spark representing a life – in a soft, omnipresent glow. Even the most barren soil teemed with organisms; the land itself was alive and sentient.
Intelligent life, he concluded, existed everywhere.
As Eragon immersed himself in the thoughts and feelings of the beings around him, he was able to attain a state of inner peace so profound that, during that time, he ceased to exist as an individual. He allowed himself to become a nonentity, a void, a receptacle for the voices of the world. Nothing escaped his attention, for his attention was focused on nothing.
He was the forest and its inhabitants.
Is this what a god feels like? wondered Eragon when he returned to himself.
He left the glade, sought out Oromis in his hut, and knelt before the elf, saying, "Master, I have done as you told me to. I listened until I heard no more."
Oromis paused in his writing and, with a thoughtful expression, looked at Eragon. "Tell me." For an hour and a half, Eragon waxed eloquent about every aspect of the plants and animals that populated the glade, until Oromis raised his hand and said, "I am convinced; you heard all there was to hear. But did you understand it all?"
"No, Master."
"That is as it should be. Comprehension will come with age… Well done, Eragon-finiarel. Well done indeed. If you were my student in Ilirea, before Galbatorix rose to power, you would have just graduated from your apprenticeship and would be considered a full member of our order and accorded the same rights and privileges as even the oldest Riders." Oromis pushed himself up out of his chair and then remained standing in place, swaying. "Len me your shoulder, Eragon, and help me outside. My limbs betray my will."
Hurrying to his master's side, Eragon supported the elf's slight weight as Oromis hobbled to the brook that rushed headlong toward the edge of the Crags of Tel'naeír. "Now that you have reached this stage in your education, I can teach you one of the greatest secrets of magic, a secret that even Galbatorix may not know. It is your best hope of matching his power." The elf's gaze sharpened. "What is the cost of magic, Eragon?"
"Energy. A spell costs the same amount of energy as it would to complete the task through mundane means."
"Oromis nodded. "And where does the energy come from?"
"The spellcaster's body."
"Does it have to?"
Eragon's mind raced as he considered the awesome implications of Oromis's question. "You mean it can come from other sources?"
"That is exactly what happens whenever Saphira assists you with a spell."
"Yes, but she and I share a unique connection," protested Eragon. "Our bond is the reason I can draw upon her strength. To do that with someone else, I would have to enter…" He trailed off as he realized what Oromis was driving at.
"You would have to enter the consciousness of the being – or beings – who was going to provide the energy," said Oromis, completing Eragon's thought. "Today you proved that you can do just that with even the smallest form of life. Now…" He stopped and pressed a hand against his chest as he coughed, then continued, "I want you to extract a sphere of water from the stream, using only the energy you can glean from the forest around you."
"Yes, Master."
As Eragon reached out to the nearby plants and animals, he felt Oromis's mind brush against his own, the elf watching and judging his progress. Frowning with concentration, Eragon endeavored to eke the needed force from the environment and hold it within himself until he was ready to release the magic…
"Eragon! Do not take it from me! I am weak enough as is."
Startled, Eragon realized that he had included Oromis in his search. "I'm sorry, Master," he said, chastised. He resumed the process, careful to avoid draining the elf's vitality, and when he was ready, commanded, "Up!"
Silent as the night, as sphere of water a foot wide rose from the brook until it floated at eye level across from Eragon. And while Eragon experienced the usual strain that results from intense effort, the spell itself caused him no fatigue.
The sphere was only in the air for a moment when a wave of death rolled through the smaller creatures Eragon was in contact with. A line of ants keeled over motionless. A baby mouse gasped and entered the void as it lost the strength to keep its heart beating. Countless plants withered and crumbled and became inert as dust.
Eragon flinched, horrified by what he had caused. Given his new respect for the sanctity of life, he found the crime appalling. What made it worse was that he was intimately linked with each being as it ceased to exist; it was as if he himself were dying over and over. He severed the flow of magic – letting the sphere of water splash across the ground – and then whirled on Oromis and growled, "You knew that would happen!"
An expression of profound sorrow engulfed the ancient Rider. "It was necessary," he replied.
"Necessary that so many had to die?"
"Necessary that you understand the terrible price of using this type of magic. Mere words cannot convey the feeling of having those whose minds you share die. You had to experience it for yourself."
"I won't do that again," vowed Eragon.
"Nor will you have to. If you are disciplined, you can choose to draw the power only from plants and animals that can withstand the loss. It's impractical in battle, but you may do so in your lessons." Oromis gestured at him, and, still simmering, Eragon allowed the elf to lean on him as they returned to the hut. "You see why this technique was not taught to younger riders. If it were to become known to a spellweaver of evil disposition, he or she could wreak vast amounts of destruction, especially since it would be difficult to stop anyone with access to so much power." Once they were back inside, the elf sighed, lowered himself into his chair, and pressed the tops of his fingers together.
Eragon sat as well. "Since it's possible to absorb energy from" – he waved his hand – "from life, is it also possible to absorb it directly from light or fire or from any of the other forms of energy?"
"Ah, Eragon, if it were, we could destroy Galbatorix in an instant. We can exchange energy with other living beings, we can use that energy to move our bodies or to fuel a spell, and we can even store that energy in certain objects for later use, but we cannot assimilate the fundamental forces of nature. Reason says that it can be done, but no one has managed to devise a spell that allows it."
Andrar soared over the others, gliding through the air as the four smaller dragons flapped loudly below him. To his right, Nasreen slipped through the air and rapidly shot off, clamping a bat between her jaws, crunching into the creature and swallowing it whole. In formation now, like we discussed. Talath in the lead. He watched as the copper dragon streamlined and then unfurled his wings once he was ahead of Reaper and Bellatona. Innes primarily uses magic, so he will be the most vulnerable should an attack occur. It would be best for him to stay in the back with Ecaeris. Deíron, in this formation it would be best for you to guard Ecaeris from beside or behind. You two, go ahead and stay in the middle, keep yourselves staggered so you don't run into one another. A little more room Bellatona, you don't want to get smacked in the snout by a tail spike.
She opened her wings and pulled away slightly from Talath, turning her head to look up at Andrar for his approval, a hum rumbling through her chest as a small puff of flames erupted from his throat.
I will say a direction and you are to follow it. Nasreen will be your opponent. She is much larger and stronger than you; remember that you are smaller, and hopefully quicker. He blinked over at the large dragoness and she winged off into the darkness, her rider waving brightly at the group below.
It was a new moon, and the vague light from the stars barely glinted against the shimmering scales of the dragons. Mariah stared upward as Andrar instructed the hatchlings, feeling him changing their direction occasionally with some maneuvers in between.
Reaper, Bellatona, switch sides. Now. The two attempted to twist over one another, both choosing the higher route, careening into each other. Ecaeris had to throw out her wings to stop completely before she barreled into them, Deíron roared a little as he crashed into her in turn. Talath glanced back and snorted, shaking his head. We pay attention and tell each other where we are going with every wing beat. Try again. Which of you should roll below instead of above?
Snarling, Reaper growled his response. Since I am larger, it would be easier for Bellatona to loop overhead.
Correct. Repeat the maneuver. He looked down and watched as they attempted again with better results. Bellatona pulled in her wings and twisted above Reaper to get onto Talath's left, as the gray dragon glided below her. They both leveled out again and glanced upward. Much better.
From above, Nasreen dove and cut right through the group, her slipstream blowing their formation apart. Stopping in place, Ecaeris beat her wings to try and find Nasreen again, twisting her head rapidly. Deíron soared past her, confused.
Why did you stop? Andrar asked, watching as Nasreen caught the dragoness's tail between her teeth, pulling her through the air. Innes only had to hold on for a few yards before Talath shot in and swatted Nasreen on her nose, forcing her to let go of Ecaeris's tail. The yellow dragoness shot away with her wounded tail toward Reaper and Bellatona, cowering behind them. Talath pounced off of Nasreen and soared over Kieran's head.
The princess looked up, watching Pearce's satisfied face. It was clear that he was comfortable in the saddle, but his confidence was bordering on arrogant. Kieran promised herself to knock it out of him before the night was done. Nasreen glanced at the dragons and rushed away again into the dark.
Your enemy will not be so forgiving. Andrar insisted, pulling at Mariah's mind for a moment. He caught her thoughts and pushed them from her mind, Now is not the time, my darling. Let us make sure the hatchlings survive this war.
They need to learn to work together better. Mariah said, watching them all. They are stronger together than they are apart, Nasreen will tear them to ribbons before sunrise.
Then I will teach them, but I need you with me, not elsewhere. Andrar hummed to her, watching the hatchlings return to their formation. Talath scouted ahead, panning his vision back and forth across the landscape for signs of Nasreen. Reaper and Bellatona took turns on their respective sides to search as well, while Ecaeris and Innes searched mentally, trusting the others to protect them from the front and Deíron from behind. It was only a few minutes later the dragoness attacked again, this time they parted of their own accord before she could separate them. Reaper and Bellatona attacked her quickly while Talath drew her attention away, maneuvering out of her reach when she snapped with her mighty jaws. Much better, you have realized that if you see her coming, you can foil her first strike. Now she does not have the advantage of surprise, and you outnumber her. Use your advantage!
The three hatchlings flew circles around Nasreen so she didn't know who to attack first. Meanwhile, Innes and Ecaeris flew a ways away from the action, attacking her magically, pinning her wing so she started to fall from the air. To prevent a physical attack, Deíron blocked Ecaeris from Nasreen. Kieran lashed out at Innes, jabbing at him, only to realize that Ecaeris was guarding him extremely well. In a moment Nasreen was plummeting to the ground.
Whipping down, Andrar separated the hatchlings and dove for the dragoness, helping her to the grassy plain below as to prevent injury. The others landed and waited instruction, watching as Nasreen shook out her wing once Innes released his spell on her.
Andrar snapped his head towards them, blinking. That was much better the second time. You all learn very fast. Go hunt for now, leave your Riders. The hatchlings lowered themselves, allowing the riders from their backs and leapt back into the air, soaring off into the night.
Watching them fly off, Kieran turned to Mariah as the girl started a fire, sitting down on a felled log. Kieran joined her, watching as she motioned for the others to sit as well. They sat silently for a moment before Mariah spoke. "Galbatorix has decided to keep you at the castle. In the event of an attack on Urû'baen he wishes to have you all ready to defend it."
"That's not fair; you, Kieran, and Murtagh will have all the glory of destroying the resistance yourselves!" Hal said.
She let him gripe and stretched her legs out in front of her. Kieran shook her head, "There will be enough in the aftermath of this battle for you all to have your names sung about for the next thousand years. Do not think of this as a loss of glory. And if we should fail, for whatever reason that may be, you will be the second wave – a nasty surprise for the Varden and the country of Surda. They will not expect another group of Riders and their dragons." A laugh slipped from her lips. "Imagine the terror on their faces when they see what lies before them."
Cederic blinked, exchanging glances with Hal. "What if the three of them die in the first round, and then we obliterate them later? Imagine how that would make us look."
"We'll never see a battle if they're on the front lines…" He glanced at Mariah and Kieran. "They have battle fury in their veins."
"You've never seen either of them in a real fight," Camilla said. "What happens if they both choke? Murtagh seems like he'd be the only one willing to continue in the middle of battle."
At that Mariah let out a harsh laugh. "Allow me then, to recount for you, the battle under Farthen Dûr…" As she spoke, the fire sparked and Andrar shifted, tucking his nose under his claws. "Urgals attacked the Dwarven city under the mountain after I had waited hour upon sleepless hour for them to arrive. They flooded from every open tunnel that we hadn't collapsed. Have any of you seen an Urgal up close before? I thought not. Imagine if you will, a creature, six feet tall with the largest horns from a ram that you've ever seen. Their eyes have bloodlust in them, and nothing but. I was armed with a sword - a plain steel blade - and a set of armor I had never worn before. Prior to this, I had not seen a battle. Not like the one I was about to take part in. It lasted for hours, every minute of which I was alight with a fire I had never before felt. The rush of every combat I had been in before amplified tenfold, all coursing through my blood at once. It was during this battle that I killed dozens of Urgals, creatures bred for war and destruction. I was shot at with arrows, cut through with blade; a spear stabbed me through my leg. I was covered in more blood than I could bleed out myself, and the fight was just beginning. After hours of fighting, slicing, gutting, I found myself still alive. I stand before you now and ask, would you give up in the midst of battle if you would stop breathing in the following moment?"
She stared them down and realized they were waiting for her to make one more point. "Murtagh was knocked over the head and sent from the battle midway. He was sent to an infirmary before he collapsed. I fought Durza alone; in turn he nearly killed me. If you had been in my shoes Camilla, you would not be standing where I am now. If anyone is going to falter in the middle of a battle, it will be one of you, untried, and untested. You will stay in Urû'baen, while we go to the front. Until you have had your first taste of battle, you will not be placed on the front lines." Hal looked about to refute her, but faltered at the gleam in her eyes, icing over the edges of her enlarged pupils.
Nine days later, Eragon presented himself to Oromis and said, "Master, it struck me last night that neither you nor the hundreds of elven scrolls I've read have mentioned your religion. What do elves believe?"
A long sigh was Oromis's first answer. Then: "We believe that the world behaves according to certain inviolable rules and that, by persistent effort, we can discover those rules and use them to predict events when circumstances repeat."
Eragon blinked. That did not tell him what he wanted to know. "But who, or what, do you worship?"
"Nothing."
"You worship the concept of nothing?"
"No, Eragon. We do not worship at all."
The thought was so alien, it took Eragon several moments to grasp what Oromis meant. The villagers of Carvahall lacked a single overriding doctrine, but they did share a collection of superstitions and rituals, most of which concerned warding off back luck. During the course of his training, it had dawned upon Eragon that many of the phenomena that the villagers attributed to supernatural sources were in fact natural processes, such as when he learned in his meditations that maggots hatched from fly eggs instead of spontaneously arising from the dirt, as he had thought before. Nor did it make sense to him to put out an offering of food to keep sprites from turning the milk sour when he knew that sour milk was actually caused by a proliferation of tiny organisms in the liquid. Still, Eragon remained convinced that otherworldly forces influenced the world in mysterious ways, a belief that his exposure to the dwarves' religion had bolstered. He said, "Where do you think the world came from, then, if it wasn't created by the gods?"
"Which gods, Eragon?"
"Your gods, the dwarf gods, our gods… someone must have created it."
Oromis raised an eyebrow. "I would not necessarily agree with you. But be as that may, I cannot prove that gods do not exist. Nor can I prove that the world and everything in it was not created by an entity or entities in the distant past. But I can tell you that in the millennia we elves have studied nature, we have never witnessed an instance where the rules that govern the world have been broken. That is, we have never seen a miracle. Many events have defied our ability to explain, but we are convinced that we failed because we are still woefully ignorant about the universe and not because a deity altered the workings of nature."
"A god wouldn't have to alter nature to accomplish his will," asserted Eragon. "He could do it within the system that already exists… He could use magic to affect events."
Oromis smiled. "Very true. But ask yourself this, Eragon: If gods exist, have they been good custodians of Alagaësia? Death, sickness, poverty, tyranny, and countless other miseries stalk the land. If this is the handiwork of divine beings, then they are to be rebelled against and overthrown, not given obeisance, obedience, and reverence."
"The dwarves believe-"
"Exactly! The dwarves believe. When it comes to certain matters, they rely upon faith rather than reason. They have even been known to ignore proven facts that contradict their dogma."
"Like what?" demanded Eragon.
"Dwarf priests use coral as proof that stone is alive and can grow, which also corroborates their story that Helzvog formed the race of dwarves out of granite. But we elves discovered that coral is actually an exoskeleton secreted by minuscule animals that live inside the coral. Any magician can sense the animals if he opens his mind. We explained this to the dwarves, but they refused to listen, saying that the life we felt resides in every kind of stone, although their priests are the only ones who are supposed to detect the life in landlocked stones."
For a long time, Eragon stared out the window, turning Oromis's words over in his mind. "You don't believe in an afterlife, then."
"From what Glaedr said, you already knew that."
"And you don't put stock in gods."
"We give credence only to that which we can prove exists. Since we cannot find evidence that gods, miracles, and other supernatural things are real, we do not trouble ourselves about them. If that were to change, if Helzvog were to reveal himself to us, then we would accept the new information and revise our position."
"It seems a cold world without something… more."
"On the contrary," said Oromis, "it is a better world. A place where we are responsible for our own actions, where we can be kind to one another because we want to and because it is the right thing to do instead of being frightened into behaving by the threat of divine punishment. I won't tell you what you believe, Eragon. It is far better to be taught to think critically and then be allowed to make your own decisions than to have someone else's notions thrust upon you. You asked after our religion, and I have answered you true. Make of it what you will."
"Ah, good evening M'Lord." Mark held out an envelope with a blue seal on it, watching the man in front of him break the seal and read through the invitation. "Ah, of course. Lord Gormal had mentioned you would be joining us this evening, Lord Gregory. Please do come in."
Mark inclined his head and walked past the guard through the double doors into the grand ballroom of the palace. Immediately, his eyes fell on Rowan, standing ridged next to his father with a glass tumbler in his hand. They exchanged a glance and Mark took a side step towards the wall, finding King Orrin a second later surrounded by a large group, each hanging onto his every last word.
He routed himself through the mass of people chatting, eating and drinking, until he came shoulder to shoulder with Rowan. "You find him yet?"
"The second I stepped in the room," muttered Mark. "Black boots, brown waistcoat…"
"Aye."
"Honestly, even if I didn't catch his thoughts I would have found him out of place, the way he's carrying himself. Only a trained killer steps so cautiously. At least you remind yourself to make noise when you walk. He's waiting to get him alone, contemplated waiting out the night. He's certain he's not been found out. Arrogant really."
Rowan surveyed him a moment and smirked, "Right. You find a way to get him out of here; I'll keep Orrin and the others busy. And do try to enjoy yourself a little, will you? Kendra's right, you do need to lighten up once in a while."
Mark watched him move off and go back to his father, greeting the other lords and ladies he had already been speaking with. The assassin from the Black Hand was on guard in the large room, as though trying to find a way to separate King Orrin from the others. Unfortunately for him, it was going to be difficult to pry two dozen people away at any given moment. Assuming he had some time, Mark walked around the room, chatting absently with a few of the lords and their wives. Many of them had brought their children, at least those in their teenage years.
Brushing his blond hair from his face, Mark sighed and turned to find a secluded corner where he could observe when a few chatty ladies stopped in front of him. The youngest one blinked a few times at him and held out her hand, "I don't believe we've met…"
"Lord Gregory." He said curtly, gently kissing her hand. "I've only recently arrived in Surda. I'm afraid I haven't had much time to get acquainted yet."
"Of course," she beamed. "These are my friends, Lady Magdalen, and Lady Tris. I am Lady Kersey."
The names rang a bell, but he was unable to place their faces. It was likely he had spoken with their fathers or brothers on Nasuada's behalf at some point. "It is lovely to meet you all…" he inclined his head, his long hair once again falling into his face. When he looked back up she was still very close to him and he blinked at her face, then at the two behind her. "Ah, well…"
"It is a wonderful party, don't you think? With excellent wine and music…"
"Indeed." At Magdalen's face he realized what they were getting at. "Is there a chance I would be able to dance with you, M'lady?"
Kersey's face lit up, "Oh, that would be simply delightful. Allow me to set my glass down, just a moment…" She wandered off quickly to find a safe place for her glass of wine, leaving him with her two friends.
"Another one already," Magdalen muttered.
Tris shook her head, "Shame, I liked Ethan better."
At their commentary Mark smirked. "Perhaps she'll realize that she should have tried harder to go after him." The two exchanged glances and then looked back to him. "Maybe if a lord wasn't what she was expecting then she would realize what she was missing out on?"
"Maybe she wouldn't stop fluttering around like an impossible flirt and settle down, yes. Those nauseating love letters might actually stop being quiet so garish." Lady Tris nodded once, "I think we have an understanding."
"Now, if you ladies would excuse me." Mark slipped past them and found Lady Kersey. "Are we ready?"
"Yes." She smiled brightly up at him. Moving her out onto the dance floor, he was acutely aware of her flowery perfume and the assassin dancing just a few feet from them. He was all together a very plain person. He was handsome, but not overly so, had dressed exactly right for the occasion so as to not stand out in any way. His hair was a muddy shade of brown and the lady he had chosen to dance with was drawing any attention he drew back away again. Mark caught him glancing towards King Orrin every now and then betwixt his conversation with the woman. It was going to be impossible to get him away from the party without causing a scene or making the assassin jump straight to his objective.
As he glanced back to Lady Kersey, he realized she had been rambling for at least three minutes now. "My last dance partner wasn't quite as good as you are at the waltz; he always stepped on my toes. He was blond too, not quite as tall as you are but blond. I think men with fine hair are nicer people in general though, wouldn't you agree?"
Mark forced a smile, "I would have to agree with you M'lady. Pray tell me, what was the reason you are unescorted this evening?"
"Oh, Ethan was being quite a bore, he would never respond to my letters I would send him. I've written several every week since we met and he's never once mentioned them to me. I think he decided he doesn't like me, so I've decided I don't like him either..." Mark spun Lady Kersey around and met eyes with the assassin. He blinked, a brief flash of intensity crossing his features before he turned back to his dance partner.
Rowan. We have to get King Orrin out of this room. Can you come up with a reason to pull him away? Mark saw him with his father across the room.
Without hesitating, his thoughts came rushing back at Mark. The whole while, he nodded, pretending to continue his conversation with the woman in front of him. At this time of night, not much would garner his attention, unless we fake an attack from the Empire or an event equally distressing.
Figure something out and I'll take care of the assassin in the mayhem. Within the next ten minutes please.
Consider it done. He watched Rowan leave the room a few moments later.
When the music ended, Mark turned and clapped along with the lady beside him. She beamed, "Thank you for dancing with me Lord Gregory, it was delightful."
"It was my pleasure M'lady."
"I should like to see more of you this evening; you were a wonderful time, and positively excellent conversation." Mark shouted inwardly at her comment, realizing he should not have feigned interest so heavily while plotting with Rowan.
"I shall count the moments," he said brightly, watching as she wandered off back to her friends. The two scowled at him when she wasn't looking. Turning away, he felt Rowan's consciousness returning and moved to the wall nearest King Orrin.
In the hall leading to the ballroom, glass shattered everywhere as the assassin tumbled through the window, rolling onto his feet. His hood and mask covering his face; Rowan flipped a dagger between his fingers and looked around, clad all in black, no sign of the wolf patch on his shoulder, leaving him unidentifiable. Through the doorway, it was clear they were under attack. One of the ladies screamed and fell into her husband. Many of the others hurried to find an exit from the ball room. Someone mentioned that there might be more and they all started trying to push past one another.
Meanwhile, Mark watched the assassin pale, and slide through the turmoil with ease. He could feel the man's steady heartbeat and the target he now had on his mind. In the chaos he could murder King Orrin without taking blame for himself. Instead, Mark intercepted the assassin and pushed him through a doorway. Turning, the Black Hand member stabbed towards him with a dagger he pulled from his boot. As the dagger hurtled towards his chest, he smirked and watched as the assassin's head spun halfway around. He fell limp into Mark's arms, the knife clattering to the floor. A moment later Rowan appeared at his side.
"How'd you escape the guard?"
"Illusion spell Eirika worked up for me. No big deal. Are we done here?"
"Yes. I'll see you at the palace."
Rowan hoisted the dead man over his shoulder and nodded. "Shouldn't be many more of them now…"
"I think most of them have started fleeing back to the Empire. You only lose so many of your own before you try to save yourself."
"Agreed." Rowan let out a short chuckle and strode off down the hall. Watching him leave, Mark decided it was best to not know where he disposed of the bodies. Turning, he went back into the ballroom to find the guards calming everyone down, letting them know that the trespasser had been taken care of - a petty thief who had been killed by the guard captain.
He clapped along with everyone else and watched as the party started back up again, with twice as much drinking. Shaking his head, Mark moved for the door.
"Lord Gregory." Mark looked up at Lady Kersey and blinked. She was flushed in the cheeks and had yet another glass of wine in her thin hand. "Are you to leave us so soon?"
"I am afraid I've exhausted my welcome at this event M'lady."
She pouted and sipped at the glass. "I had so hoped to dance with you again, at least once before the night was out." She leaned forward and sighed a bit, heaving her chest.
He paused, raising an eyebrow at her. "I have time for one more I suppose."
"Wonderful," she beamed up at him. Mark reached over and took her glass from her hand, setting it down on a nearby table, pulling her gently to the floor. He glanced at her friends and smiled before dancing with her through several songs.
He stopped and held her steady a moment. Blinking up at him rapidly, she laid a hand on his chest. "I seem to be dreadfully dizzy."
"That I believe is the wine, allow me to escort you home. The night is nearly over, and many others are leaving, we won't be missed now."
Lady Kersey giggled and nodded, "With pleasure M'lord." She took his arm and walked with him unsteadily through the castle. Once outside, he walked her down the street, peeking into her mind for directions. They arrived and she stumbled up the stairs, tripping on her dress. Mark caught her, sweeping her up into his arms and carried her inside to her room. "Oh, you're very strong, aren't you?" She bit her lip and tapped his nose.
He moved to drop her onto her feet. Halfway through the motion he realized she had different plans as she wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him with her. Catching them both, he growled a bit in his throat and looked at the girl, holding her up with his hands around her waist. She pouted at him a little and batted her eyelashes before moving up and kissing him violently. He caught the distinct taste of berries - and the lack of alcohol on her breath. Surprised, Mark pulled back and narrowed his eyes at her. "You aren't drunk."
"My friends make sure, because they know I get extra flirty when I drink." She giggled and took hold of his collar, pulling him down again hard with all her weight, throwing them both on the floor.
As her tongue ran over his lips, he was aware that Rowan would question where he'd gone off to. Her fingers moved up into his hair and he decided that the assassin could keep questioning his disappearance until tomorrow.
The night started fading as the sun rose in the east. Snapping his eyes open, Mark stretched, looking around the room for a moment and then over at Lady Kersey. Carefully, he slid out of the bed and found his clothes, dressing swiftly. At his absence, she muttered quietly. Mark moved back to her side and pulled the blankets up over her bare shoulder gently. He glanced around the room, shuffling through the papers on the desk, frowning with distaste at the cloying love letters. Looking over his shoulder at the sleeping woman in the bed, he sighed and quickly wrote out a letter, copying her hand, hoping she would realize that a less brash approach would gain Ethan's affections. When he finished, he replaced her swan feather quill and slipped from the room and out of the house before any maids could spot him.
He hurried down the street, cursing himself as he spotted the white elven horse. Immediately he made way to Nausada's chamber. Mark watched the guards part for him and stepped in the room, meeting Arya's fierce gaze.
"Marcus." Her voice dripped with silver as she spoke. "Nasuada said there have been a few… surprises that have arisen during my absence. Several of which will impede our current plans."
"Aye," he said, walking to them. "It would be best for us to discuss them with you now. We can choose the best course of action thereafter."
She stood and listened to him acutely, saying nothing during the explanation. Her expression did not change at the mention of Galbatorix's new Forsworn, or at the thoughts of Mariah and Murtagh being alive. Her eyes only flickered at learning about Kendra and Kieran, and even then it was only a brief moment. When he finished, she finally spoke. "I see. We have less time than anticipated and less forces than we had hoped. It would be best to be prepared as we can under the circumstances."
Nasuada nodded, "We planned marching on the morrow. Mark had said you would be arriving soon, and hoped to meet with you before setting off. The resistance will set a front upon the Burning Plains and hold the Empire at the river."
Arya inclined her head to Nasuada. "I will be ready to leave by sunrise."
"Thank you. I would ask that you rest, Arya, and we will discuss any more questions you have during our travels. The rest of the day asks me to prepare everyone else for our journey." She picked up her skirts and walked from the room with Elva behind her.
"M'lady," Mark said as she walked by. The door closed behind them and he glanced at Arya. "You arrived this morning?"
"Indeed. You knew this of course."
"I did, you had worked into your spells to allow for such."
She nodded once. "I am sorry to hear about your sister. Though I am glad she is alive, I do not think that she is well under the influence of Galbatorix."
"Nor I."
The remainder of the day he spent with Arya, discussing her time in Ellesméra, Eragon's training, and the circumstances the Varden now found itself in, together trying to find a way to succeed in their seemingly doomed situation. As the sun set, he left Arya at the door to her room and bid her good-night.
Their discussion – couple with his previous worries – left Eragon so disturbed that he had difficulty concentrating on his studies in the following days, even when Oromis began to show him how to sing to plants, which Eragon had been eager to learn.
Eragon recognized that his own experiences had already led him to adopt a more skeptical attitude; in principle, he agreed with much of what Oromis had said. The problem he struggled with, though, was that if the elves were right, it meant that nearly all the humans and dwarves were deluded, something Eragon found difficult to accept. That many people can't be mistaken, he insisted to himself.
When he asked Saphira about it, she said, It matters little to me, Eragon. Dragons have never believed in higher powers. Why should we when deer and other prey consider us to be a higher power? He laughed at that. Only do not ignore reality in order to comfort yourself, for once you do, you make it easy for others to deceive you.
That night, Eragon's uncertainties burst forth in his waking dreams, which raged like a wounded bear through his mind, tearing disparate images from his memories and mixing them into such a clamor, he felt as if he were transported back into the confusion of the battle under Farthen Dûr. He saw Garrow lying dead in Horst's hosue, then Brom dead in the lonely sandstone cave, and then the face of Angela the herbalist, who whispered, "Beware, Argetlam, betrayal is clear. And it will come from within your family. Beware, Shadeslayer!"
Then the crimson sky was torn apart and Eragon again beheld the two armies from his premonition in the Beor Mountains. The banks of warriors collided upon an orange and yellow field, accompanied by the harsh screams of gore-crows and the whistle of black arrows. The earth itself seemed to burn: green flames belched from scorched holes that dotted the ground, charring the mangled corpses left in the armies' wake. He heard the roar of a gigantic beast from above that rapidly app-
Eragon jolted upright in bed and scrabbled at the dwarf necklace, which burned at his throat. Using his tunic to protect his hand, he pulled the silver hammer away from his skin and then sat and waited in the dark, his heart thudding from the surprise. He felt his strength ebb as Gannel's spell thwarted whoever was trying to scry him and Saphira. Once again, he wondered if Galbatorix himself was behind the spell, or if it was one of the king's pet magicians.
Eragon frowned and released the hammer as the metal grew cold again. Something's wrong. I know that much, and I've known it for a while, as has Saphira. Too uneasy to resume the trancelike state that had replaced sleep for him, he crept from their bedroom without waking Saphira and climbed the spiral staircase to the study. There he unshuttered a white lantern and read one of Analísia's epics until sunrise in an attempt to calm himself.
Just as Eragon put away the scroll, Blagden flew through the open portal in the eastern wall and, with a flutter of wings, landed on the corner of the carved writing desk. The white raven fixed his beady eyes on Eragon and croaked, "Wyrda!"
Eragon inclined his head. "And may the stars watch over you, Master Blagden."
The raven hopped closer. He cocked his head to the side and uttered a barking cough, as if he were clearing his throat, then recited in his hoarse voice:
By beak and bone,
Mine blackened stone
Sees rooks and crooks
And bloody brooks!
"What does that mean?" asked Eragon.
Blagden shrugged and repeated the verse. When Eragon still pressed him for an explanation, the bird ruffled his feathers, appearing displeased, and cackled, "Son and father alike, both blind as bats."
"Wait!" exclaimed Eragon, jolting upright. "Do you know my father? Who is he?"
Blagden cackled again. This time he seemed to be laughing.
While two may share two,
And one of two is certainly one,
One might be two.
"A name, Blagden. Give me a name!" When the raven remained silent, Eragon reached out with his mind, intending to wrench the information from the bird's memories.
Blagden was too wily, however. He deflected Eragon's probe with a flick of his thoughts. Shrieking "Wyrda!" he darted forward, plucked a bright glass stopped from an inkwell, and sped away with his trophy clutched in his beak. He dove out of sight before Eragon could cast a spell to bring him back.
Eragon's stomach knotted as he tried to decipher Blagden's two riddles. The last thing he had expected was to hear his father mentioned in Ellesméra. Finally, he muttered, "That's it." I'll find Bladgen later and wring the truth out of him. But right now… I would be have to be a half-wit to ignore these portents. He jumped to his feet and rand won the stairs, waking Saphira with his mind and telling her what had transpired during the night. Retrieving his shaving mirror from the wash closet, Eragon sat between Saphira's two front paws so that she could look over his head and see what he saw.
Arya won't appreciate it if we intrude on her privacy, warned Saphira.
I have to know if she's safe.
Saphira accepted that without argument. How will you find her? You said that after her imprisonment, she erected wards that – like your necklace – prevent anyone from scrying her.
If I can scry the people she's with, I might be able to figure out how Arya is.
Mark then?
Yes, he agreed, concentrating. After a few long moments, an image finally burst forth of Mark looking over a map. There were several others in the room. He watched Mark go ridged and turn towards him, meeting his gaze. To the others, he was simply staring at the wall.
Mark's voice popped into his head immediately, the notion of annoyance conveying in his unspoken words. Eragon, what are you doing?
Scrying you… how are you talking to me?
Nevermind that. What is going on? I thought you were training.
I had a bad feeling that something was going on. Arya put up wards around her, so I can't scry her.
Yes, she did. What do you mean you had a bad feeling?
I just wanted to make sure she was alright, after she left for the Varden.
She's fine. He flicked his gaze towards Nasuada and the Council of Elders.
Eragon followed, seeing them and a girl hooded in black who lurked behind Nasuada. This puzzled him, for a magician could only scry things that he had already seen, and Eragon was certain he had never laid eyes upon the girl before. He forgot about her, though, as he noticed that the men, and even Nasuada, were armed for battle.
"…and confusion will destroy us. Our warriors can afford but one commander during this conflict. Decide who it is to be, Orrin, and quickly too."
Eragon heard a disembodied sight. "As you wish; the position is yours."
"But, sir, she is untried!"
"Enough, Irwin," ordered the king. "She has more experience in war than anyone in Surda. And the Varden are the only force to have defeated one of Galbatorix's armies. If Nasuada were a Surdan general – which would be peculiar indeed, I admit – you would not hesitate to nominate her for the post. I shall be happy to deal with questions of authority of they arise afterward, for they will mean I'm still on my feet and not lying in a grave. As it is, we are so outnumbered I fear we are doomed unless Hrothgar can reach us before the end of the week. Now, where is that blasted scroll on the supply train?... Ah, thank you, Arya. Three more days without-"
Eragon.
What Mark?
Don't even think about it. At Eragon's questioning though, he mentally snarled at him. You are to stay in Ellesméra until you've finished all of your training. Do not leave earlier than planned.
You have a war on your doorstep, and you want me to stay here? I'm coming to help.
It's safer if you stay with the elves. I don't need to be worrying about you right now. There's enough without you in the mix.
It's my duty as a Rider to help the Varden win against Galbatorix. I've pledged myself to Nasuada. We must return to help fight.
I said no Eragon. You'll be safe if you stay there.
And if you lose I will be safe nowhere. There's nothing you can say to change my mind! Angrily, he broke the magic that held the connection open. He sighed, relieved that Arya was safe, annoyed at Mark for trying to make him stay.
Saphira looked at him. We are needed.
Aye. Why hasn't Oromis told us about this? He must know of it.
Maybe he wanted to avoid disrupting our training.
Troubled, Eragon wondered what else of import was happening in Alagaësia that he was unaware of. Roran. With a pang of guilt, Eragon realized that it had been weeks since he last thought of his cousin, and even longer since he scryed him on the way to Ellesméra.
At Eragon's command, the mirror revealed two figures standing against a pure white background. It took Eragon a long moment to recognize the man on the right as Roran. He was garbed in travel-worn clothes, a hammer was stuck under his belt, a hick beard obscured his face, and he bore a haunted expression that bespoke desperation. To the left was Jeod. The men surged up and down, accompanied by the thunderous crash of waves, which masked anything they said. After a while, Roran turned and walked along what Eragon assumed was the deck of a ship, bringing dozens of other villagers into view.
Where are they, and why is Jeod with them? demanded Eragon, bewildered.
Diverting the magic, he scryed in quick succession Terim – shocked to see the city's wharfs had been destroyed – Therinsford, Garrow's old farm, and then Carvahall, whereupon Eragon uttered a wounded cry.
The village was gone.
Every building, including Horst's magnificent house, had been burned to the ground. Carvahall no longer existed except as a sooty blot beside the Anora River. The sole remaining inhabitants were four gray wolves that loped through the wreckage.
The mirror dropped from Eragon's hand and shattered across the floor. He leaned against Saphira, tears burning in his eyes as he grieved anew for his lost home. Saphira hummed deep in her chest and brushed his arm with the side over jaw, enveloping him in a warm blanket of sympathy. Take comfort, little one. At least you friends are still alive.
He shuddered and felt a hard core of determination coalescence in his belly. We have remained sequestered from the world for far too long. It's high time we leave Ellesméra and confront our fate, whatever it may be. For now, Roran must fend for himself, but the Varden… the Varden we can help.
Is it time to fight, Eragon? asked Saphira, an odd note of formality in her voice.
He knew what she meant: Was it time to challenge the Empire head-one, time to kill and rampage to the limit of their considerable abilities, time to unleash every ounce of their rage until Galbatorix lay dead before them? Was it time to commit themselves to a campaign that could take decades to resolve?
It is time.
Kendra stared at the wall of her tent, listening to Nyx gnaw on a bone nearby. She twisted her fingers around the thin gold chain and sighed. "Do you think he's coming back any time soon? He said they had a meeting, but it's been over an hour now."
Growling slightly, Nyx blinked up at her.
"You're helpful," she muttered. Moving to stand, she tucked the chain into her shirt and moved to her table. Tapping her fingers against the wood, she surveyed the plans again and sighed at the numbers. "I don't want to see how this ends."
"Badly most likely," Rowan said, striding into the room with Trevin and Delaney in tow. "But you knew that already."
She sighed, looking over at the three of them. "Did you hear from Mark yet?"
"No, they'll likely be at it all night. I don't know what they're blathering on about in there." Trevin muttered, folding his arms.
"Supplies, troops… you know… what we don't have to worry about as much. It's more difficult to keep an army than it is to keep us," said Kendra.
"Could at least be courteous, since we hurried to follow them and their army's march halfway across the damn country – not enough for you to finish routing the Black Hand, but catch up so you can fight our war too."
"Trevin, we've gone over this. If we aren't here when this battle starts, we're all going to die."
He scoffed, "Chess pieces. Yeah, I know. Just make sure you don't go getting yourself killed, eh?"
"You know I won't let that happen." She rolled her eyes as he threw his hands in the air and walked out of her tent with Del.
Rowan watched her evenly for a moment before shrugging. "If you do die, make sure you at least take a few of them with you… or it's for a good reason. I didn't drag myself all the way out here just to watch you get shot because you weren't watching your back."
"Worry about yourself and the others, leave me to me. Now go, try and get some rest, we've been traveling for days; it's about time we relaxed. Remember you're an assassin, not a soldier."
"Relax. Yeah, like a battlefield is the place to relax," he muttered, walking out.
Kendra picked up a piece on the table and rolled it in her hand. She glanced to her sword on her hip and placed her palm on it as she felt Mark approaching with someone she didn't recognize. At her tensing, Nyx jumped to his feet and growled at the door to the tent.
"Kendra?" Mark called, hearing the wolf.
"You can come in," she said. "Nyx settle down."
Pushing into the tent, Mark glanced at the wolf, then up at her, "I want to introduce you to someone."
From behind him stepped a dark haired woman with pointed features. She started, caught off guard at the sight of the elf. The woman was dressed for battle with a sword at her waist.
"This is Arya. She arrived from Ellesméra and will be staying with us. Arya, this is Kendra."
The elf observed her critically for a moment. An irrational surge of anger bubbled in her for a moment before the woman spoke. "You are… the daughter of Galbatorix."
"I am."
"Marcus has told me much about you, and I am pleased to put a face to the name he has spoken so highly of."
She glanced at Mark and then back at Arya, "You seem quite calm."
"Your bloodline is of no concern to me. I care not where you came from, only that you are able to benefit our cause. The mention of your father's name caused your heart to beat faster, as though readying for a fight. You are not my enemy, Kendra."
"We have important plans to discuss with you. I have told Arya of the new Riders that Galbatorix has under his control, and she is prepared to help us fight them. You are probably one of the strongest people we have here, and we'll need your help."
She scoffed, "I am much less proficient in magic than you think I am."
"That is a lie, you are more proficient than most. Every member of Du Vrangr Gata is scared of you. I have had to promise them that you are not a threat; they all felt you arrive and nearly attacked that moment."
"They're quite the sad bunch, aren't they?"
Mark shook his head. "They have had no formal training, unlike you and me," he insisted. "Between the three of us I believe there is a good chance that we will be able to keep Eragon and Saphira safe, if they arrive before the battle starts."
At the mention of the Rider she scowled, "I have no desire to protect your Dragon Rider."
"He's going to be our best chance at winning this fight. Without him you likely will not see your father fall from his throne."
"I don't want to waste my time guarding him. I understand that he is your friend Mark, but I can't."
"Because he's a Rider."
"Yes."
"You acknowledge however that he is our best chance?"
"Yes," she said. "He is a Dragon Rider… Mark, if he were anything but, I would help in a heartbeat. My sister… my father… all of his Forsworn… I've seen enough death come from the Riders' existence. I can't help save him, not when I want them gone so desperately."
Arya narrowed her eyes at her. "Your sister and your friend, Murtagh, will likely both be on the battlefield. As the person that likely knows them both better than any, you would be beneficial in being able to defeat them - whether that means their death may rely upon you."
Kendra blinked. "…what are you saying?"
"They are our enemy and as such will need to be defeated in order for us to succeed. If you do not wish to guard Eragon, then I do not ask you to, you will be of no benefit in that position. However, you would do well to join Marcus during the fight if you wish to save your friend and your sister's life."
"Mark…"
"The likelihood of Murtagh doing this of his own accord is slim… he's likely taken an oath to bind himself to the king. And my sister is the same. She would not volunteer for the Empire. It is my hope that we can convince them to stop, at the very least, retreat from this fight."
"You would risk that?"
"I would risk an entire country for my sister, Kendra." Arya glanced at him, but said nothing at his comment. "And I know you would do the same for your sister and Murtagh."
She glared across the room at him, "They are both Dragon Riders… it would be best for me to kill them on sight. Your sister, too. Especially, now that they are all working for the Empire."
"It's through no fault of their own they are Riders, Kendra. Think over your decision, you have some time. But I would be very grateful to have you by my side during this battle." He nodded, "Come find me once you've made up your mind. Arya?" She turned and walked from the tent with one last look at Kendra, Mark following in her wake.
She threw the piece back onto the table and huffed, flopping back into her bed, mulling over the thought of killing her sister. Nyx jumped up next to her in the bed and set his head on her chest. She winced and pushed him off, pulling at the chain around her throat. A red dragon scale slid from the hem of her tunic, hanging on the gold necklace. Clutching it, she ran her fingers through her hair and closed her eyes.
I apologize for this chapter taking so much longer, I had a lot I wanted to add, in addition to trying to work out the plot for the next several chapter.
Thanks for being patient with me.
With Love, As Always,
Mariah