Chapter Seventy-Six: For Glory
Andrar had been right; she was met with little resistance now walking through camp. The soldiers avoided her gaze and their formerly lascivious thoughts turned to anxious whispers. She kept her chin up as she walked, listening to them as the sun set on the world.
She paused at a break between the tents where she could see the opposing side and bit her lip. It was here she saw a shadow moving across the plains. Narrowing her eyes, her vision caught the outline of a person. Her boots sank into the dirt as she quickly made for the southern edge of the imperial camp. In a single bound, the shadow had vanished behind a tent. Mariah rushed to follow, however found herself unable to pick up the trail of the intruder.
Stretching out her mind, she searched mentally, eyes darting back and forth where they had disappeared. She felt a few of the imperial magicians guarding against her mind, and then a dull spot of nothingness. The mental guard was so defensive that she thought perhaps Murtagh had come to find her. A quick prod towards the shield however proved otherwise.
Springing forward, pinpointing their location, she hurried to find them. If someone from the Varden thought they could break enemy lines without her knowing, they were sorely mistaken. It took a few more minutes of searching for Mariah to find her. A cloaked woman was slipping out of a lieutenant's pavilion, a cat at her side.
"Angela…" she let out in barely a whisper.
The witch paused and examined the Rider. "Word of your death has been exaggerated it seems."
Mariah took another step towards her, watching the witch tense up. "What are you doing here?"
"A little bit of research you might say, I was wondering how many of you there truly were, or if you were bluffing. A hundred thousand is an awful lot to go sending tromping about the countryside, wouldn't you agree?"
Stunned, Mariah breathed out, "You're foolish for coming over here… I should kill you where you stand."
"Should? Hmmm… I feel like that's not quite true. It's a very good thing to keep me alive my dear. You may have need of my assistance some day. Now, if you don't mind…" she motioned to the Rider's sword in Mariah's hand.
She clenched her teeth and sheathed the blade, watching Angela instantly relax and move forward. "You have grown these past few months… much has transpired. And changed as he is for sure, I wonder…"
A prickling feeling rushed over her skin as she spoke, "What are you talking about?"
"Nothing that you won't soon see for yourself." Angela looked her up and down, nodded once to herself. "If the Lady Dawnsinger would be so kind as to let us pass, we shall not bother her again." She swept into a half-curtsey that seemed more mocking than authentic. Her eyes glittered in the dying embers of the campfires as she took a step backwards, twisting and scurrying through the tents out of sight.
Andrar.
I wouldn't put much stock in what she has to say, she always speaks in riddles such at that. Pay her no mind.
She still infiltrated our camp.
And did nothing from what I can tell… unless you believe she will give you away.
Mariah watched as she scampered back across the river. My fear is that she knows too much for someone in her position. If she lets on that we are here, then what?
You can do nothing to stop her from doing so, and there is nothing they can do to defend themselves against us attacking them in a few short, dark hours. Come back now and rest, you have had enough adventure for one day.
Mariah pushed her hair out of her face and sighed, walking back to the hillside where he lay waiting for her. Patting his nose as she passed, her ears perked at the voices of Murtagh and Kieran.
Night had fallen on the Burning Plains. The roof of opaque smoke covered the moon and stars, plunging the land into profound darkness that was broken only by the sullen glow of the sporadic peat fires, and by the thousands of torches each army lit. From Eragon's position near the fore of the Varden, the Empire looked a dense nest of uncertain orange lights as large as any city.
As Eragon buckled the last piece of Saphira's armor onto her tail, he closed his eyes to maintain better contact with the magicians from Du Vrangr Gata. He had to learn to locate them at a moment's notice; his life would depend on communicating with them in a quick and timely manner. In turn, the magicians had to learn to recognize the touch of his mind so they did not block him when he needed their assistance. He had done so with Mark for so long, he didn't even recognize what he had done to learn how to do so. It was a challenge.
Eragon smiled and said, "Hello, Orik." He opened his eyes to see Orik clambering up the low knuckle of rock where he and Saphira sat. The dwarf, who was fully armored, carried his Urgal-horn bow in his left hand.
Hunkering beside Eragon, Orik wiped his brow and shook his head. "How'd you know it was me? I was shielding myself."
Every consciousness feels different, explained Saphira. Just like no two voices sound exactly the same.
"Ah."
Eragon asked, "What brings you here?"
Orik shrugged. "It struck me you might appreciate a spot of company in this grim night. Especially since Arya's otherwise engaged, Mark is probably off with that lady of his, and you don't have Murtagh with you for this battle…" he trailed off, leaving out the name that would pain them both to hear.
Arya certainly is otherwise engaged, I have barely been able to speak with her since arriving. Mark has stolen all of those moments. Why he needs the attention of every woman I know is beyond me. And I wish I did have Murtagh at least, he is better company than Mark, thought Eragon. Murtagh had been among the few humans who matched Eragon's skill with a sword, at least before the Agaetí Blödhren. Sparring with him had been one of Eragon's few pleasures during their time together. I would have enjoyed fighting with you again, old friend.
Remembering how Murtagh was killed – dragged underground by Urgals in Farthen Dûr – forced Eragon to confront a sobering truth: No matter how great a warrior you were, as often as not, pure chance dictated who lived and who died in war. He bristled with the thought for a moment as his mind flickered to Mariah, his fingers clenching into his palm.
Orik must have sensed his mood, for he clapped Eragon on the shoulder and said, "You'll be fine. Just imagine how the soldiers out there feel, knowing they have to face you before long!"
Gratitude made Eragon smile again. "I'm glad you came."
The tip of Orik's nose reddened, and the glanced down, rolling his bow between gnarled hands. "Ah, well," he grumbled, "Hrothgar wouldn't much like it if I let something happen to you. Besides, we're foster brothers now, eh?"
Through Eragon, Saphira asked, What about the other dwarves? Aren't they under your command?
A twinkle sprang into Orik's eyes. "Why, yes, so they are. And they'll be joining us before long. Seeing as Eragon's a member of Dûrgrimst Ingeitum, it's only right we fight the Empire together. That way, the two of you won't be so vulnerable; you can concentrate on finding Galbatorix's magicians instead of defending yourselves from constant attacks."
"A good idea. Thank you." Orik grunted an acknowledgement. Then Eragon asked, "What do you think about Nasuada and the Urgals?"
"She made the right choice."
"You agree with her!"
"I do. I don't like it any more than you, but I do."
Silence enveloped them after that. Eragon sat against Saphira and stared out at the Empire, trying to prevent his growing anxiety from overwhelming him. Minutes dragged by. To him, the interminable waiting before a battle was as stressful as the actual fighting. He oiled Saphira's saddle, polished rust off his hauberk, and then resumed familiarizing himself with the minds of Du Vrangr Gata, anything to pass the time.
Over an hour later, he paused as he sensed two beings approaching from across the no-man's-land. Angela? Solembum? Puzzled and alarmed, he woke Orik – who had dozed off – and told him what he had discovered.
The dwarf frowned and drew his war ax from his belt. "I've only met the herbalist a few times, but she didn't seem like the sort that would betray us. She's been welcome among the Varden for decades."
"We should still find out what she was doing," said Eragon.
Together they picked their way through the camp to intercept the duo as they approached the fortifications. Angela soon trotted into the light, Solembum at her heels. The witch was muffled in a dark full-length cloak that allowed her to blend into the mottled landscape. Displaying a surprising amount of alacrity, strength, and flexibility, she clambered over the many rows of breastwork the dwarves had engineered, swinging from pole to pole, leaping over trenches and finally running helter-skelter down the steep face of the last rampart to stop, panting, by Saphira.
Throwing back the hood of her cloak, Angela flashed them a bright smile. "A welcoming committee! How thoughtful of you." As she spoke, the werecat shivered along his length, fur rippling. Then his outline blurred as if seen through cloudy water, resolving once more into the nude figure of a shaggy-haired boy. Angela dipped her hand into a leather purse at her belt and passed a child's tunic and breeches back to Solembum, along with the small black dagger he fought with.
"What were you doing out there?" asked Orik, peering at them with a suspicious gaze.
"Oh, this and that."
"I think you better tell us," said Eragon.
Her face hardened. "Is that so? Don't you trust Solembum and me?" The werecat bared his pointed teeth.
"Not really," admitted Eragon, but with a small smile.
"That's good," said Angela. She patted him on the cheek. "You'll live longer. If you must know, then, I was doing my best to help defeat the Empire, only my methods don't involve yelling and running around with a sword."
"And what exactly are your methods?" growled Orik.
Angela paused to roll up her cloak into a tight bundle, which she stored in her purse. "I'd rather not say; I want it to be a surprise. You won't have to wait long to find out. I'll start in a few hours."
Orik tugged on his beard. "What will start? If you can't give us a straight answer, we'll have to take you to Nasuada. Maybe she can wring some sense out of you."
"It's no use dragging me off to Nasuada," said Angela. "She gave me permission to cross lines."
"So you say," challenged Orik, ever more belligerent.
"And so I say," announced Nasuada, walking up to them from behind, as Eragon knew she would. He also sensed that she was accompanied by four Kull, one of whom was Garzhvog. Last, Mark's consciousness brushed against his own. Scowling, he turned to face them, making no attempt to hide his anger at the Urgals' presence.
"My Lady," muttered Eragon.
Orik was not as composed; he jumped back with a mighty oath, grasping his war ax. He quickly realized that they were not under attack and gave Nasuada a terse greeting. But his hand never left the haft of his weapon and his eyes never left the hulking Urgals. Angela seemed to have no such inhibitions. She paid Nasuada the respect due to her, then addressed the Urgals in their own harsh language, to which they answered with evident delight.
Nasuada drew Eragon off to the side so they could have a measure of privacy. There, she said, "I need you to put aside your feelings for a moment and judge what I am about to tell you with logic and reason. "Can you do that?" He nodded, stiff-faced. "Good. I'm doing everything I can to ensure we don't lose tomorrow. It doesn't matter, though, how well we fight, or how well I lead the Varden, or even if we rout the Empire if you," she poked him in the chest, "are killed. Do you understand?" He nodded again, glancing at Mark for half a second, returning his gaze to Nasuada. "There's nothing I can do to protect you if those Riders reveal themselves; if they do, you will face them with little help. Du Vrangr Gata poses no more of a threat to them than they do to you, and I'll not have them eradicated without reason. Mark, Arya and Kendra are the only ones who are throwing themselves beside you. They are doing so of their own volition. If they were under my command, they would not be given the option to give their lives for you. No one should have to fight a rider, except another rider."
"I have always thought," said Eragon, "that I would face Galbatorix alone but for Saphira." He glanced back at Mark again, watching as he spoke with Orik. "I am… grateful to know that we will not be alone in this…"
A sad smile touched Nasuada's lips. She looked very tired in the flickering torchlight. "Well, there's no reason to invent trouble where none exists. It's possible they aren't even here." She did not seem to believe her own words, though. "In any case, I can at least keep you from dying from a sword in the gut. I heard what the dwarves intend to do, and I thought I could improve upon the concept. I asked Garzhvog and three of his rams to be your guards, so long as they agreed – which they have – to let you examine their minds for treachery."
Eragon went rigid. "You can't expect me to fight with those monsters. Besides, I already accepted the dwarves' offer to defend Saphira and me. They would take it poorly if I rejected them in favor of Urgals."
"Then they can both guard you," retorted Nasuada. She searched his face for a long time, looking for what he could not tell. "Oh Eragon. I'd hoped you could see past your hate. What else would you do in my position?" She sighed when he remained silent. "If anyone has cause to hold a grudge against the Urgals, it is I. They killed my father. Yet I cannot allow that to interfere with deciding what's best for the Varden… At least ask Saphira's opinion before you say yea or nay. I can order you to accept the Urgals' protection, but I would rather not."
You're being foolish, observed Saphira without prompting.
Foolish to not want Kull watching my back?
No, foolish to refuse help, no matter where it comes from, in our present situation. I held my tongue as you quarreled with Mark, but not now. Think. You know what Oromis would do, and you know what he would say. Don't you trust his judgement?
He can't be right about everything, said Eragon.
That's no argument… Search yourself, Eragon, and tell me whether I speak the truth. You know the correct path. I would be disappointed if you could not bring yourself to embrace it.
Saphira and Nasuada's cajoling only made Eragon more reluctant to agree. Still, he knew he had no choice. "All right, I'll let them guard me, but only if I find nothing suspicious in their minds. Will you promise that, after this battle, you won't make me work with an Urgal again?"
Nasuada shook her head. "I can't do that, not when it might hurt the Varden." She paused and said, "Oh, and Eragon?"
"Yes, my Lady?"
"In the event of my death, I have chosen you as my successor. If that should happen, I suggest you rely upon Jörmundur's advice – he has more experience than the other members of the Council of Elders – and I would expect you to place the welfare of those underneath you before all else. Am I clear, Eragon?"
Her announcement caught him by surprise. Nothing meant more to her than the Varden. Offering it to him was the greatest act of trust she could make. Her confidence humbled and touched him; he bowed his head. "I would strive to be as good a leader as you and Ajihad have been. You honor me, Nasuada."
"Yes, I do." Turning away from him, she rejoined the others. Mark stood by her side, catching Eragon's gaze as he spoke with her.
Still overwhelmed by Nasuada's revelation, and finding his anger tempered by it, Eragon slowly walked back to Saphira. He studied Garzhvog and the other Urgals, trying to gauge their mood, but their features were so different from those he was accustomed to, he could discern nothing more than the broadest of emotions. Nor could he find any empathy within himself for the Urgals. To him, they were feral beasts that would kill him as soon as not and were incapable of love, kindness, or even true intelligence. In short, they were lesser beings.
Deep within him mind, Saphira whispered, I'm sure Galbatorix is of the same opinion.
And for good reason, he growled, intending to shock her. Suppressing his revulsion, he said out loud, "Nar Garzhvog, I am told that the four of you agreed to allow me within your minds."
"That is so, Firesword. Lady Nightstalker told us what was required. We are honored to have the chance to battle alongside such a mighty warrior, and one who has done so much for us."
"What do you mean? I have killed scores of your kin." Unbidden, excerpts from one of Oromis's scrolls rose in Eragon's memory. He remembered reading that Urgals, both male and female, determined their rank in society through combat, and that it was this practice, above all else, that had led to so many conflicts between Urgals and other races. Which meant, he realized, that if they admired his feats in battle, then they may have accorded him the same status as one of their war chiefs.
"By killing Durza, you freed us from his control. We are in your debt, Firesword. None of our rams will challenge you, and if you visit our halls, you and your dragon, Flametongue, will be welcomed as no outsiders ever before."
Of all the responses Eragon had expected, gratitude was the last, and it was the one he was least prepared to deal with. Unable to think of anything else, he said, "I won't forget." He switched his gaze to the other Urgals, then returned it Garzhvog and his yellow eyes. "Are you ready?"
"Aye, Rider."
As Eragon reached toward Garzhvog's consciousness, it reminded him of how the Twins invaded his mind when he first entered Farthen Dûr. That observation was swept away as he immersed himself in the Urgal's identity. The very nature of his search – looking for malevolent intent perhaps hidden somewhere in Garzhvog's past – meant Eragon had to examine years of memories. Unlike the Twins, Eragon avoided causing deliberate pain, but he was not overly gentle. He could feel Garzhvog flinch with occasional pangs of discomfort. Like dwarves and elves, the mind of an Urgal possessed different elements than a human mind. Its structure emphasized rigidity and hierarchy – a result of the tribes the Urgals organized themselves into – but felt it rough and raw, brutal and cunning: the mind of a wild animal.
Though he made no effort to learn more about Garzhvog as an individual, Eragon could not help absorbing pieces of the Urgal's life. Garzhvog did not resist. Indeed, he seemed eager to share his experiences, to convince Eragon that Urgals were not his born enemies. We cannot afford to have another Rider rise up who seeks to destroy us, said Garzhvog. Look well, O Firesword, and see if we are truly the monsters you call us…
So many images and sensations flashed between them, Eragon almost lost track: Garzhvog's childhood with the other members of his brood in a ramshackle village built deep in the heart of the Spine; his dam brushing his hair with an antler comb and singing a soft song; learning to hunt deer and other prey with his bare hands; growing larger and larger until it was apparent that the old blood still flowed in his veins and he would stand over eight feet tall, making him a Kull; the dozens of challenges he made, accepted and won; venturing out of the village to gain renown, so he might mate, and gradually learning to hate, distrust, and fear – yes, fear – a world that had condemned his race; fighting in Farthen Dûr; discovering they had been manipulated by Durza; and realizing that their only hope of a better life was to put aside old differences, befriend the Varden, and see Galbatorix overthrown. Nowhere was there evidence that Garzhvog lied.
Eragon could not understand what he had seen. Tearing himself from Garzhvog's mind, he dove into each of the three remaining Urgals. Their memories confirmed the facts presented by Garzhvog. They made no attempt to conceal that they had killed humans, but it had been done at the command of Durza when the sorcerer controlled them, or when fighting humans over food or land. We did what we had to in order to care for our families, they said.
When he finished, Eragon stood before Garzhvog and knew the Urgal's bloodline was as regal as any prince's. He knew that, thought uneducated, Garzhvog was a brilliant commander and as great a thinker and philosopher as Oromis himself. He's certainly brighter than me, admitted Eragon to Saphira. Baring his throat as a sign of respect, he said out loud, "Nar Garzhvog," and for the first time, he was aware of the lofty origins of the title nar. "I am proud to have you at my side. You may tell the Herndall that so long as the Urgals remain true to their word and do not turn against the Varden, I shall not oppose you." Eragon doubted that he would ever like an Urgal, but the iron certitude of his prejudice only a few minutes before now seemed ignorant, and he could not retain it in good conscience.
Saphira flicked him on the arm with her barbed tongue, marking the mail clink together. It takes courage to admit you were wrong.
Only if you are afraid of looking foolish, and I would have looked far more foolish if I persisted with an erroneous belief.
Why, little one, you just said something wise. Despite her teasing, he could sense her warm pride in what he had accomplished.
"Again, we are in your debt, Firesword," said Garzhvog. He and the other Urgals pressed their fists against their jutting brows.
Eragon could tell that Nasuada wanted to know the details of what had just transpired but that she restrained herself. "Good. Now that this is settled, I must be off. Eragon you'll receive my signal from Trianna when the time has arrived." With that she strode into the darkness.
After a few long moments of Mark watching her leave, he turned back to Eragon. "I need you to come with me." His tone was gentle, almost sad.
What does he want now? Eragon stretched and glanced at Saphira.
I will remain here, and keep an eye on these ones, she motioned towards Angela and Orik. Return as soon as you can. Saphira hummed as he touched her nose, walking over to Mark.
"There is someone I want you to meet."He led the Rider through camp, weaving between tents.
"The woman from the meeting?"
"Yes," Mark nodded. "Please remember your manners, you should know, but in case you've forgotten. And back at the meeting with Garzhvog, I understood your hesitation at trusting the Urgals. By now I hope you understand why Nasuada thought it advantageous."
Eragon nodded, bowing his head slightly, "I harbor much resentment towards them still."
"You must realize that they are not all the same. You would not attempt to kill a human simply because another human has wronged you. They are not creatures in the traditional meaning of the word, they are conscious in the same way that we are."
"Yes Mark," he said, "I understand. I was taught much in Ellesméra."
"You would do well to remember what you learned then," he insisted, pausing and glancing at him. A thin smile escaped his face and he set a hand on Eragon's shoulder. "I do hope I get to go back with you when this is through."
Eragon watched his face and couldn't help but smile back slightly, "I'm sure you'll be welcomed with open arms."
Finally, they wandered into a section of black pavilions; each of them had a paw print sigil upon them in white. Eragon blinked, having seen the tents earlier, but having assumed it was simply a group of soldiers from a city in Surda collected together. Pausing outside the largest one and heard a quiet growling, immediately Eragon's hand went to his sword.
"Relax." Mark insisted, pushing forward. "Eragon, this is Kendra."
He stood behind Mark and watched the woman surveying him. After a moment, he held out his hand, removing his glove. Her steely dark blue eyes stared at his silver palm, her hands remaining cross over her chest. Kendra's gaze flicked back up to his face and he felt a shiver run down his spine. Something was setting him on edge more than it should have.
"She is the other person who saved Nasuada from the assassination attempt. And she is also the third person who will be helping to guard you on the battlefield." Mark paused, watching his expression. "She is also Galbatorix's daughter. Stay your blade, this is not a fight."
Eragon looked at him, exasperated, knuckles white on the hilt of his sword. "Is there anything else you'd like to throw at me right now Mark? Because I truly doubt I'll be able to take any more surprises today."
He bit his tongue, bowing his head. "I don't control the fates of everyone, Eragon, just my own."
It was little consolation to know that the woman before him hadn't chosen to be born, but he set his jaw and looked back at her regardless. "Kendra. You are Galbatorix's daughter?"
"I believe Mark just told you that."
Eragon looked at his friend, "I can't let her guard me during a battle, she-"
"I am not your enemy, Rider." She spat, taking a step towards him, jabbing him in the chest. "I am on your side. There is a reason I stand before you and not across the plains. You don't have to trust me, but I am no traitor except to the Empire."
Please Eragon, take a moment to think. If she was a threat to you I would have dispatched her the moment I knew it. I have assisted her these past few months in Surda. She helped us destroy the Black Hand, she helped us retrieve information about the Empire's new Forsworn. If not for her, we wouldn't know what awaits us tomorrow. Do not be so quick to judge her yet.
Mark gave him a look and Eragon sighed, pushing her hand away from him. "Very well…"
"It would be in everyone's best interest that we are all on the same playing field. I have told him of the Empire's riders, the number that there may be, and what we plan to do." Mark looked at the two of them, "Kendra, have you prepared?"
"My companions will stay close by, however they will stay out of any direct confrontations. I don't wish to see them dead at the hands of a Rider, no matter who it may be." The princess folded her arms again, glaring at Eragon. "The others under our command will be spread out so that they can easily relay information to Rowan if necessary." She motioned to the dark-haired man standing behind her. "Rowan, Trevin, and Delaney," Kendra pointed at the other two, "get used to seeing them, because they'll be part of your support during the fight."
Hesitantly, Eragon walked over to Rowan and shook his hand. The assassin bent his head forward a bit, "You should be more aware of what follows you. I trailed you all day and not a second glance…"
"Maybe that just means you're good at your job Ro," Trevin chuckled, walking over and clapping Eragon on the back. "Hey kid, how old are you anyway?"
"Sixteen…" he muttered, looking between the two of them.
"Oh, may the gods help us," Trevin sighed, taking a step back and running his hand through his auburn hair. "Our fate lies in the hands of a sixteen year old…"
"You're only sixteen?" Kendra asked him, blinking. She had known he was younger than Mark, but the idea that this boy was so new to this world troubled her.
"I'm already sixteen," he shot back, looking at her. "And I know how to fight… I'm not as unprepared as you may think. Mark… what are we still doing here?"
He shook his head, "Don't get so offended so quickly. You understand their fate lies with you… we need all the help we can get."
"Does Arya know about her?"
"Yes, and Nasuada, they both trust her."
He paused, looking between Mark and Kendra. It was obvious Mark trusted her and though it set his nerves on edge, he accepted that his friend knew what he was talking about. "Alright. But I can't promise their safety."
"We're not here for our safety. We're here to protect you. Now, it would probably be best for everyone to get some sleep, eh?" Rowan asked, walking out, Delaney on his heels.
Trevin stretched and sighed, following them, "I'll try not to shoot you tomorrow kid."
The wolf on the ground by Kendra huffed and flicked his ears, enjoying the quietness as he started drifting to sleep. She raked her eyes over him again, "I am not your friend. I would rather see the Riders destroyed, but I have accepted that I need your help to accomplish my goals."
"And what are they exactly?"
"To see my father annihilated, and reclaim the Empire, restore the world to what is right."
"The way it was before the Rider War?"
"Yes, a Rider was never meant to rule this world. They were supposed to be peacekeepers, with the power to obliterate anyone who stood in their way. Since the day of their formation, they have turned into unstoppable forces of destruction. It was never meant to be this way."
"No, you're right… a Rider should not rule the kingdom."
Her lips parted slightly at his response, "…you're not here for that…?"
"Never."
"Then Mark was true in telling me so before. You are not my enemy, Rider, but neither are we friends. I will help guard you tomorrow, but should certain events transpire, I cannot guarantee I will continue."
Eragon shook his head, "I wouldn't expect anyone to stay and fight a Rider, except another Rider. Thank you, Kendra."
"We should go," Mark said, looking between them, pleased that they had reached this point. "You need to get back to Saphira before dawn breaks. I will see you again soon Kendra, good night."
"Good night," she said, watching them leave.
"That's just it, I don't know if I can trust her." Murtagh's voice drifted from the princess's tent as Mariah paused on the hillside. She looked over towards the pavilion, still almost fifty feet away and blinked.
Kieran's voice responded after a quiet sigh. "I know you can't, but you have to try."
"One moment she is perfectly fine, normal… and then I blink and suddenly her eyes have turned to ice and her heart to steel."
"You and I both know that it wasn't her choice for this to happen."
"She has made it her choice, she told me as much. Doing whatever it takes to restore the Dragon Riders to their rightful place, whether it be by her hand or the king's."
"And she chose by her own, what about that makes her untrustworthy? I am the princess, and if you are basing your judgements upon the king's ability to control someone, and their status as a Rider, then you certainly don't trust me. Yet, here you are confiding in me."
"I don't know what he's planning, and I don't want this turning out where Mariah is the one stabbing us in the back!" Her feet had hesitated moving towards the tent and at these words she stopped again completely. "I don't know what she's capable of… or what he's capable of doing through her."
"Neither do I, but I also trust her, and trust that she won't harm us, Murtagh. Please, be reasonable."
"I'm not saying something needs to be done, I am just letting you know that a shiver runs up my spine whenever she is around me now."
Mariah reached out her hand and pulled back the curtain – the door to the tent – and stared at the two of them in the middle of their conversation. They snapped their attention to her and both turned red. "I-I'm not about to betray either of you."
Kieran's voice went soft, "It's not that we think you'll betray us Mariah…"
She shook her head, "No. It's that you think Galbatorix will take over me long enough to do something irreversible. I know that."
The princess looked over at Murtagh. "I need to tell her."
"If he finds out because you said something."
"She needs to know before we rush out there, then he'll know regardless and Mariah will have no preparation."
Murtagh set his jaw, "Fine."
"My sister, she is fighting on the other side. She won't hesitate to kill you if she has the chance, and my father would do anything to capture her. If you see her, then your objective may change…"
Mariah felt a shiver, parting her lips, "I had anticipated as such." Murtagh flinched at the deep undertone of her voice. "I see now that I have been too lenient with the two of you. I had thought that you would respect me more than this. To ensure your full cooperation, swear to me now that you will follow orders through the end of this battle… or I will see to it that Dawnsinger destroys that which you are trying so desperately to protect." Kieran exchanged a look with Murtagh, who had gone red in the face with rage. "I'm waiting."
"Vel eïnradhin pömnuria ai Shur'tugal, eka malthinae pömnuria líf eom ono un celöbra ono, ebrithil. Pömnuria líf onr thelduin." It was Kieran who spoke first in a strong but shaking voice, staring into Mariah's face as she turned her icy gaze to Murtagh. His jaw clenched as he growled out the same phrasing that Kieran had.
"Kieran, your new objective is to capture your sister by whatever means necessary. Murtagh, find Saphira and try to capture her – use the Eldunari provided to you in order to gain advantage over your brother. Mariah will assist wherever necessary. And remember, breaking your promise to me means your sister dies." Mariah blinked and the ice had gone.
Striding forward, Murtagh gripped the girl by the shoulders, "If you have any sense left inside you, Mariah, do not kill Kendra, no matter what happens - send for me or Kieran the moment you see her."
Searching his face, understanding flooded over her. Reaching up, she touched his arm, nodding slowly, "I shall…"
He hesitated for a moment before moving out of Kieran's tent. Mariah could still feel the tremor that had been running through his hand and the fear in his voice that had stricken her heart.
As Eragon settled against Saphira, Orik sidled up to him. "It's lucky we dwarves are going to be here, eh? We'll watch the Kull like hawks, we will. We won't let them catch you while your back is turned. The moment they attack, we'll cut their legs out from under them."
"I thought you agreed with Nasuada's accepting the Urgals' offer."
"That doesn't mean I trust them or want to be right alongside them, now does it?" Eragon smiled and did not bother to argue; it would be impossible to convince Orik that Urgals were not rapacious killers when he himself had refused to consider the possibility until sharing an Urgal's memories.
The night lay heavy around them as they waited for dawn. Orik removed a whetstone from his pocket and proceeded to hone the edge of his curved ax. Once they arrived, the six other dwarves did the same, and the rasp of metal on stone filled the air with a grating chorus. The Kull sat back to back, chanting death songs under their breaths. Eragon spent the time casting wards about himself, Saphira, Nasuada, Orik and even Arya. He knew that it was dangerous to protect so many, but he could not bear it if they were harmed. When he finished, he transferred what power he dared into the diamonds within the belt of Beloth the Wise.
Eragon watched with interest as Angela clad herself in green and black armor and then, taking out a carved-wood case, assembled her staff-sword from two separate handles that attached in the middle and two blades of watered steel that threaded into the ends of the resulting pole. She twirled the completed weapon around her head a few times before seeming satisfied that it would hold up to the shock of battle.
The dwarves eyed her with disapproval, and Eragon heard one grumble, "…blasphemy that any but Dûrgrimst Quan should wield that hûthvír."
After that the only sound was the discordant music of dwarves honing their blades.
It was near dawn when the cries began. Eragon and Saphira noticed them first because of their heightened senses, but the agonized screams were soon loud enough for the others to hear. Rising to his screams were soon loud enough for the others to hear. Rising to his feet, Orik looked out toward the Empire, where the cacophony originated. "What manner of creatures are they torturing to extract such fearsome howls? The sound chills the marrow in my bones, it does."
"I told you that you wouldn't have to wait very long," said Angela. Her former cheer had deserted her; she looked pale, drawn, and gray in the face, as if she were ill.
From his post by Saphira, Eragon asked, "You did this?"
"Aye. I poisoned their stew, their bread, their drink – anything I could get my hands on. Some will die now, others will die later as the various toxins take their toll. I slipped the officers nightshade and other such poisons so they will hallucinate in battle." She tried to smile, but without much success. "Not a very honorable way to fight, I suppose, but I'd rather do this than be killed. Confusion to our enemies and all that."
"Only a coward or a thief uses poison!" exclaimed Orik. "What glory is there In defeating a sick opponent?" The screams intensified even as he spoke.
Angela gave an unpleasant laugh. "Glory? If you want glory, there are thousands more troops I didn't poison. I'm sure you will have your fill of glory by the end of today."
"Is this why you needed the equipment in Orrin's tent?" asked Eragon. He found her deed repugnant but did not pretend to know whether it was good or evil. It was necessary. Angela had poisoned the soldiers for the same reason Nasuada had accepted the Urgal's offer of friendship – because it might be their only hope of survival.
"That's right."
The soldiers' wails increased in number until Eragon longed to plug his ears and block out the sound. It made him wince and fidget, and it put his teeth on edge. He forced himself to listen, though. This was the cost of resisting the Empire. It would be wrong to ignore it. So he sat with his hands clenched into fists and his jaw forming painful knots while the Burning Plains echoed with the disembodied voices of dying men.
With Love, As Always,
Mariah Dawnsinger