Chapter Seventy-Eight: Sibling Blades
Kendra blinked and looked over at Mark, "How am I supposed to guard him, if he keeps flying off like that?"
A growl elicited from his throat, "I'm going to kill him when this is all over. Let's get to King Hrothgar, I need to let him know how the battle is faring."
"Fine, but you're going to do the talking." Her attention snapped elsewhere and she spurred her chestnut mare toward a particularly brutal group of imperial soldiers. Mark turned and directed Aluora to follow.
In the middle of the fray stood Rowan and Delaney, drenched in gore from the battle. Delaney had a sword in one hand and a spear in the other, eyes darting between the six soldiers descending upon him all at once. Rowan, with his back to his companion, flipped a dagger into his hand and threw it straight into the throat of a man rushing him, sidestepping and sliding his longsword into the stomach of the next. Three more stepped up to take their place.
Closing one eye against the spray of blood, Delaney glanced at him. "Out of daggers, are we?"
Rowan turned on his heel, ducking as a blade whipped past his head. "Indeed. Ah, look, a savior arrives."
Kendra charged into the fight, shouting and raising her blade. "Kveykva!" At her words a ripple of magic broke through the air in the form of lightning, striking the chests of the men quickly surrounding Rowan and Delaney. The princess lowered her blade and looked down at the two men, "Where's the rest of the group you were supposed to be with?"
"Slaughtered I'm afraid," Rowan said grimly. "Haven't seen Trevin in a while either."
"I rescued him from the fray nearly an hour ago."
"Good," he glanced past her as Mark rode upon them, reigning in Aluora. "Aren't you two supposed to be guarding the dragon?"
"She flew off with her Rider a few minutes ago to attack a ship on the horizon." Mark waved his hand towards a man rushing up behind Del and watched his neck snap before he fell to the ground.
Staring into the distance, Rowan blinked, "Well it does appear she's coming back, so perhaps it's time for us to part ways again. Thank you for the assistance, your highness."
Kendra glared down at him, turning Lynette around in a circle. "Just make sure you don't die before me."
"You do the same!" He shouted, watching the two of them rush back towards the dwarves.
Mark narrowed his eyes as Saphira's figure in the sky. Eragon? The ship.
It's Roran.
We'll have to find him later and figure out what's going on. Are you fit to battle?
Aye, there is strength in me yet.
Good, make your way to King Hrothgar, I'm headed there now. Mark watched as Saphira took a few giant leaps, stopping before Hrothgar and his dwarves.
Dismounting, Eragon went to the king, who said, "Hail, Argetlam! Hail, Saphira! The elves seem to have done more for you than they promised." Beside him stood Orik.
"No, sir, it was the dragons."
"Really? I must hear your adventures once our bloody work here is done. I'm glad you accepted my offer to become Dûrgrimst Ingeitum. It is an honor to have you as mine kin."
"And you mine."
Hrothgar laughed, then turned to Saphira and said, "I still haven't forgotten your vow to mend Isidar Mithrim, dragon. Even now, our artisans are assembling the star sapphire in the center of Tronjheim. I look forward to seeing it whole once again."
She bowed her head. As I promised, so it shall be.
After Eragon repeated her words, Hrothgar reached out with a gnarled finger and tapped one of the metal plates on her side. "I see you wear our armor. I hope it has served you well."
Very well, King Hrothgar, said Saphira through Eragon. It has saved me many an injury.
Hrothgar straightened and lifted Volund, a twinkle in his deep-set eyes. "Well then, shall we march out and test it once again in the forge of war?" He looked back at his warriors and shouted, "Akh sartos oen dûrgrimst!"
"Vor Hrothgarz korda! Vor Hrothgarz korda!"
Eragon looked at Orik, who translated with a mighty yell, "By Hrothgar'z hammer!" Joining the chant, Eragon ran with the dwarf king toward the crimson ranks of soldiers, Saphira by his side.
Now at last, with the help of the dwarves, the battle turned in favor of the Varden. Together they pushed back the Empire, dividing them, crushing them, forcing Galbatorix's vast army to abandon positions they had held since morn. Their efforts were helped by the fact that more of Angela's poisons had taken effect. Many of the Empire's officers behaved irrationally, giving orders that made it easier for the Varden to penetrate deeper into the army, sowing chaos as they went. The soldiers seemed to realize that fortune no longer smiled upon them, for hundreds surrendered, or defects outright and turned on their former comrades, or threw down their weapons and fled.
And the day passed into the late afternoon.
Eragon was in the midst of fighting two soldiers when a flaming javelin roared past overhead and buried itself in one of the Empire's command tents twenty yards away, igniting the fabric. Dispatching his opponents, Eragon glanced back and saw dozens of fiery missiles arcing out from the ship on the Jiet River. What are you playing at, Roran?
Your cousin is quite adept at warfare. It must run in the family. Mark said, watching the tents being set ablaze.
Aye. Eragon acknowledged, moving away from the King and his unit of magicians in order to spare them Saphira's lashing tail and claws. Mark and Kendra were still mounted betwixt Eragon and Hrothgar, destroying everything in their path. The white she-horse was ruddy with blood and gore, her tail matted. She reared, bashing her fore hooves into the face of an unlucky soldier from the Empire.
The two were garnering almost as much attention as the dwarf King. Wheeling around, Kendra struck down solider after soldier. She spit out a mouthful of blood and charged her mare into the fight once more. The cloak around her neck severed finally as a spear missed her throat, cutting through the last strands of the bloodied fabric. Kendra snagged it from the air and threw it into the face of her attacker before impaling the blinded man upon her sword. Eragon looked past her towards King Hrothgar, now more than a hundred feet away.
Soon afterward, a horn echoed from the rear of the Empire's army, then another and another. Someone began to pound a sonorous drum, the peals of which stilled the field as everyone looked about for the source of the beat. Even Eragon watched, an ominous figure detached itself from the horizon in the north and rose up in the lurid sky over the Burning Plains. The gore-crows scattered before the barbed black shadow, which balanced motionless upon the thermals. A ray of light escaped the clouds and struck the figure crossways from the west.
A red dragon floated above them, glowing and sparkling in the sunbeam like a bed of blood-red coals. His wing membranes were the color of wine held before a lantern. Its claws and teeth and the spikes along its spine were white as snow. In vermilion eyes there gleamed a terrible glee. On its back was fixed a saddle, and in that saddle sat a man garbed in polished steel armor and armed with a hand-and-a-half sword.
Dread clutched at Eragon. It's enormous…
There is something unnatural about that creature, she hissed, lashing her tail. Eragon.
He stared into the distance as a guttural roar sounded across the battlefield, followed by a figure dropping from the clouds high overhead. A second dragon dove between layers of cloud and smog, pulling from the dive a few hundred feet from the ground, a mere shadow against the setting sun. Dwarves shot a flurry of arrows up at it as its Rider dropped from the saddle in their midst, plummeting through the air in freefall. At the last moment, the Rider slowed and landed hard on the ground before drawing a sword. Their armor flashed with gold in the dying sunlight.
Then the man in steel raised his left hand and a shaft of crackling ruby energy sprang from his palm and arced around Hrothgar no more than two feet from him. The dwarf spellcasters cried out with agony as the energy from their bodies was consumed trying to block the attack. They collapsed, dead. The second Rider lunged forward, driving the sword through the king's chest, Hrothgar clutched at the blade and toppled to the ground.
"No!" cried Eragon, and Saphira roared in protest. He glared with hate at the enemy Riders. I'll kill you for that.
The dwarves gave a great groan of despair as they saw their king fall before descending upon the Rider in a wave. The gold-clad Rider broke through their ranks in seconds with precise strokes and in a few bounds, was out of sight again. The shadowed dragon returned to collect its Rider from the fray half a mile away, lifting off once more with a few forceful wing beats.
Eragon knew that, as they were, he and Saphira were too tired to confront such opponents. Glancing around, Eragon spotted a horse lying in the mud, a spear through its side. The stallion was still alive. Eragon put his hand on its neck and murmured, Sleep, brother. Then he transferred the horse's remaining vitality into himself and Saphira. It was not enough energy to restore all their strength, but it soothed their aching muscles and stopped their limbs from shaking.
Rejuvenated, Eragon leaped onto Saphira, shouting both aloud and mentally, "Orik, take command of your kinsmen!" Across the field, he saw Arya gaze at him with concern. He put her out of his mind as he tightened the saddle straps around his legs.
Mark saw him from across the battlefield and shouted, his voice drowned by the clashing of swords. He set his jaw, staring at the Riders, as if unaware of the mayhem around him. Kendra and I will take care of the other one.
He nodded, then Saphira launched herself toward the red dragon, pumping her wings at a furious rate to gain the necessary speed.
I hope you remember your lessons with Glaedr, he said. He tightened his grip on his shield.
Saphira did not answer him but roared out with her thoughts at the other dragon, Traitor! Egg breaker, oath breaker, murderer! Then as one, she and Eragon assaulted the minds of the pair, seeking to overwhelm their defenses. The consciousness of the Rider felt strange to Eragon, as if it contained multitudes; scores of distinct voices whispered in the caverns of his mind, like imprisoned spirits begging for release.
The instant they made contact, the Rider retaliated with a blast of pure force greater than any even Oromis was capable of summoning. Eragon retreated deep behind his own barriers, frantically reciting scrap of doggerel Oromis taught him to use in such predicaments:'
Under a cold and empty winter sky
Stood a wee, small man with a silver sword.
He jumped and stabbed in a fevered frenzy,
Fighting the shadows massed before him…
The siege on Eragon's mind abated as Saphira and the red dragon crashed together, two incandescent meteors colliding head-on.
They grappled, kicking each other's bellies with their hind legs. Their talons produced hideous screeches as they grated against Saphira's armor and the red dragon's flat scales. The red dragon was smaller than Saphira, but thicker in his legs and shoulders. He managed to kick her off for a moment, then they closed again, each struggling to get their jaws around the other's neck.
It was all Eragon could do to keep hold of Zar'roc as the dragon tumbled toward the ground, battering one another with terrible blows from their feet and tails. No more than fifty yards above the Burning Plains, Saphira and the red dragon disengaged, struggling to regain altitude. Once she halted her descent, Saphira reared her head, like a snake about to strike, and loosed a thick torrent of fire.
It never reached its destination; twelve feet from the red dragon, the fire bifurcated and passed harmlessly on either side. Blast it, thought Eragon. Even as the red dragon opened its maw to retaliate, Eragon cried, "Skölir nosu fra brisingr!" He was just in time. The conflagration swirled around them but did not even scorch Saphira's scales.
Now Saphira and the red dragon raced up through the striated smoke into the clear, chill sky beyond, darting back and forth as they tried to climb above their opponent. The red dragon nipped Saphira's tail, and she and Eragon yelped with shared pain. Panting from the effort, Saphira executed a tight backward loop, ending up behind the dragon, who then pivoted to the left and tried to spiral up and over Saphira.
While the dragon dueled with increasingly complex acrobatics, Eragon became aware of a disturbance on the Burning Plains: the spellcasters of Du Vrangr Gata were beset by two new magicians from the Empire. These magicians were far more powerful than those who had preceded them. They had already killed one of Du Vrangr Gata and were battering past the barriers of a second. Eragon heard Trianna scream with her mind, Shadeslayer! You have to help us! We can't stop them. They'll kill all the Varden! Help us, it's the –
Her voice was lost to him as the Rider stabbed at his consciousness. "This must end," spat Eragon between clenched teeth as he strove to withstand the onslaught. Over Saphira's neck, he saw the red dragon dive toward them, angling beneath Saphira. Eragon dared not open his mind enough to talk with Saphira, so he said out loud, "Catch me!" With two strokes of Zar'roc, he severed the straps around his legs and jumped off Saphira's back.
This is insane, thought Eragon. He laughed with giddy exhilaration as the feeling of weightlessness took hold of him. The rush of air tore off his helm and made his eyes water and sting. Releasing his shield, Eragon spread out his arms and legs, as Oromis had taught him, in order to stabilize his flight. Below, the steel-clad Rider noticed Eragon's action. The red dragon shied to Eragon's left but could not evade him. Eragon lashed out with Zar'roc as the dragon's flank flashed by, and he felt the blade sink into the creature's hamstring before his momentum carried him past.
The dragon roared in agony.
Mark exchanged looks with Kendra as they dragons roared overhead. "It's no use; you won't be able to get to them."
"I know that," she snapped, "Your sister, where did she go after she murdered the dwarf king?"
His face grim, Mark shook his head. "If he was her first target, next will likely be Nasuada, we need to get to her before she does."
Kendra turned her horse and jammed her heels into her flanks, "You'd best hope your filly can outrun a dragon." He smirked over at her and spoke under his breath to the she-horse, who whinnied and charged through the battlefield.
As Aluora pulled ahead, Mark caught the flare of magenta out of the corner of his eye. The dragoness charged down into the chaos and pinned the brown mare behind him to the ground. Lynette brayed loudly, kicking her legs to try and escape the dragoness's grasp. Nasreen parted her jaws, saliva dripping from them as she growled at Kendra below her.
Kendra flailed, disentangling herself from the saddle and leaping away from the dragon, turning and staring up at her sister on her back. The pink dragon dislodged her claws from the ground, stepping over the bloodied horse and crawling toward the grounded princess. Lynette snorted and whinnied desperately, her back leg twisted in an unnatural position. A stroke of anger rushed through Kendra as she looked up at Kieran, sliding gracefully down off of the dragon's back.
"Hello little sister."
Kendra! Mark turned Aluora around, staring at the massive dragon, nearly twice the size of Saphira.
Find your own Rider Mark. I can handle her on my own. Get to Nasuada before she does, or we lose this fight.
Gritting his teeth, he clicked his tongue and rushed off out of Kendra's sight. Looking at her twin, she straightened, aware of the enemies surrounding them. A few of the Varden's soldiers rushed towards Kieran and Nasreen but the dragon let loose a jet of pink flames, engulfing the group in a single blow. The backdraft rushed past Kendra and she reached down, drawing her sword.
"Just us, Nasreen will make sure no one interferes." Behind her the dragoness swept her tail through a small force of kull, bashing them into the ground.
Breaking her silence, she sneered, "I was expecting you to show your face sooner."
"Oh, you missed me. It's such a shame you never took father up on his offer to hatch you a dragon of your own. We would have been unstoppable together you and I."
"Let's get this over with Kieran," she said, stepping forward and meeting her sister's blade.
Kieran raised a slim eyebrow, "Always in a rush Kendra." She twisted the blade away and struck towards her again, swapping blows for a few seconds before stepping back. "You know father would be very pleased if you came back with us…"
Kendra spat at her feet, "I escaped from that hell so I wouldn't have to suffer." Blocking an attack, she forced down the Rider's blade, stepping into the movement, bringing her face-to-face with Kieran. "I am never going back there again."
"You're acting like it's a death sentence. You realize that I can vouch for you, and yes, there probably would be a little arguing and torture, but he wouldn't kill you if I asked him not to. I don't think so at least," she said, attacking a few times halfheartedly. "And you realize that when you're a Rider you get whatever you want. You're practically immortal… I don't see a down side really."
She lunged toward Kieran's stomach, twisting as she sidestepped her. In retaliation, Kieran whipped her sword against Kendra's thigh, cleaving a gash in her leg. Stepping over to her, she watched her sister drop to one knee, quickly rushing to seal the wound before she bled out. "Now that Murtagh's a Rider too, well, just one less obstacle for me to get to him. Father could probably just order him to marry me or something if I really wanted him to."
Having sealed the wound in her leg, Kendra squeezed the hilt of her sword and crouched, glaring at her twin. Putting weight on the wounded side, she smirked, unable to feel any discomfort. Then she launched herself up, driving the sword towards Kieran's face.
Deflecting the sword, sidestepping and moving behind her, Kieran smirked back, "Did I hit a nerve?" A few quick movements and she had disarmed Kendra, her sword flying twenty feet away and landing, blade down, in the blood-soaked battlefield.
Grasping for the blade, she growled, watching it fly off. The dried blood on her face crackled as she charged towards her twin with a shout. The physical attack caught Kieran off guard – Kendra grasped her around the middle and tackled her to the bloodied ground. Both sisters wrestled each other, trying to gain dominance over the other, Kieran's braid broke loose as Kendra flipped them so she was pinning the Rider to the ground, slamming a fist into her face. It wasn't until she had broken open Kieran's face that she was able to throw her off.
Nyx launched towards Nasreen from behind her, jumping and sinking his jaws into her back leg. She snorted and whipped around, clawing toward him. The wolf dropped below her swing and rushed for her throat, getting a grip just under one of the spikes jutting from her spine and clamping down.
The impact of the blow sent Eragon spinning up, down, and around. By the time he managed to stop his rotation, he had plummeted through the cloud cover and was heading toward a swift and fatal landing on the Burning Plains. He could stop himself with magic if he had to, but it would drain his last reserved of energy. He glanced over both his shoulders. Come on, Saphira, where are you?
As if in answer, she dropped out of the foul smoke, her wings pressed tight against her body. She swooped underneath him and opened her wings a bit to slow her fall. Careful not to impale himself on one of her spikes, Eragon maneuvered himself back into the saddle, welcoming the return of gravity as she pulled out of the dive.
Never do that to me again, she snapped.
He surveyed the steaming blood that laced Zar'roc's blade. It worked, didn't it?
His satisfaction disappeared as he realized that his stunt had placed Saphira at the mercy of the red dragon. He hurtled at her from above, harrying her this way and that as he forced her toward the ground. Saphira tried to maneuver out from under him, but every time she did, he dove at her, biting and buffeting her with his wings in order to make her change course.
The dragons twisted and lunched until their tongues lolled out of their mouths, their tails drooped, and they gave up flapping and merely glided.
His mind once again closed to all contact, friendly or not, Eragon said out loud, "Land, Saphira; it's no good. I'll fight him on the ground."
With a grunt of weary resignation, Saphira descended to the nearest flat open area, a small stone plateau set along the western edge of the Jiet River. The water had turned red from the blood pouring into it from the battle. Eragon jumped off Saphira once she alighted on the plateau and tested his footing. It was smooth and hard, with nothing to trip on. He nodded, pleased.
A few seconds later, the red dragon rushed by overhead and settled on the opposite side of the plateau. He held his left hind leg off the ground to avoid aggravating his wound: a long gash that nearly severed the muscle. The dragon trembled his entire length, like an injured dog. He tried to hop forward, then stopped and snarled at Eragon.
The enemy Rider unbuckled his legs and jumped down the uninjured side of his dragon. Then he walked around the dragon and examined his leg. Eragon let him; he knew how much pain it would cause the man to see the damage inflicted on his bonded partner. He waited too long, though, for the Rider muttered a few indecipherable words, and within the span of three seconds the dragon's injury was healed.
Eragon shivered with fear. How could he do that so quickly, and with such a short spell? Still, whoever he might be, the new Rider certainly was not Galbatorix, whose dragon was black.
Eragon clung to that knowledge as he stepped forward to confront the Rider. As they met in the center of the plateau, Saphira and the drag dragon circled in the background.
The Rider grasped his sword with both hands and swung it over his head toward Eragon, who lifted Zar'roc to defend himself. Their blades collided with a burst of crimson sparks. Then Eragon shoved back his opponent and started a complex series of blows. He stabbed and parried, dancing on light feet as he forced the steel-clad Rider to retreat toward the edge of the plateau.
When they reached the edge, the Rider held his ground, fending off Eragon's attacks, no matter how clever. It's as if he can anticipate my every move, thought Eragon, frustrated. If he were rested, it would have been easy for him to defeat the Rider, but as it was, he could make no headway. The Rider did not have the speed and strength of an elf, but his technical skill was better than Vanir's and as good as Eragon's.
Eragon felt a touch of panic when his initial surge of energy began to subside and he had accomplished nothing more than a slight scratch across the Rider's gleaming breastplate. The last reserves of power stored in Zar'roc's ruby and the belt of Beloth the Wise were only enough to maintain his exertions for another minute. Then the Rider took a step forward. Then another. And before Eragon knew it, they had returned to the center of the plateau, where they stood facing each other, exchanging blows.
Zar'roc grew so heavy in his hand, Eragon could barely lift it. His shoulder burned, he gasped for breath, and sweat poured off his face. Not even his desire to avenge Hrothgar could help him to overcome his exhaustion. At last Eragon slipped and fell. Determined not to be killed lying down, he rolled back onto his feet and stabbed at the Rider, who knocked aside Zar'roc with a lazy flick of his wrist.
The way the Rider flourished his sword afterward – spinning it in a quick circle by his side – suddenly seemed familiar to Eragon, as did all his preceding swordsmanship. He stared with growing horror at his enemy's hand-and-a-half sword, then back up at the eye slits of his mirrored help, and shouted, "I know you!"
He threw himself at the Rider, trapping both swords between their bodies, hooked his fingers underneath the help, and ripped it off. And there in the center of the plateau, on the edge of the Burning Plains of Alagaësia, stood Murtagh.
Mark found Nasuada not a moment too soon. A shadow fell over the clouds before Andrar dropped through, lunging towards Nasuada and her unit. Growling, Mark threw out his hand, slowed Andrar and pulled Mariah from her saddle, throwing her to the ground. He felt some sort of magical resistance as she slowed about ten feet from the battlefield, the impact still leaving her winded.
She pushed off the ground and flicked her gaze up to him, only to have him pounce on top of her and pin her to the ground. Andrar landed behind them and Mark turned his attention on the dragon. He growled out a spell and froze the dragon in place. Smoke rose from his nostrils as he barred his teeth towards his Rider's brother. Mark instantly felt the drain of holding him in place, a vein pulsing in his forehead.
Turning his attention back on his sister he recoiled as she kneed him in the stomach, trying to throw him off. "No!"
She blinked up at him, her eyes icy blue. As he met her gaze, he stopped, startled at the color change. It was then she parted her lips, throwing him off with a whispered spell. He flew twenty feet away from her and landed on his side with a thud. Nearby he caught sight of Nasuada, and Mariah trying to rush to her, hand on her sword. Andrar roared as the magic binding him broke and he leaped after his Rider.
Focusing on the blade, he pulled it away from her, directing it into Andrar's shoulder. He howled in pain as the Rider's blade dug into the flesh and muscle. She twisted and looked back at Mark before continuing towards Nasuada, ignoring her dragon for the time being. Realizing she wasn't above murdering the dark woman with her bare hands, he reached for her mentally and found someone else in her mind.
Getting to his feet, he sprinted after her, rushing past the dragon, using a burst of magic to push Mariah towards him and away from the leader of the Varden. He grabbed her by the arm and turned her around, now that she was off balance, staring into her face. She struggled to pull away from him, unsure of why his grip was so strong. Mark pinned her down, punching her in the jaw. Her head lolled back and she could hear her brain getting jarred inside her skull. Gripping her collar he shouted, "Snap the hell out of it Mariah!"
The fog around her mind cleared a bit and she blinked rapidly, re-focusing on her brother's face. She coughed as blood started trickling down her throat and went to push him off. He only pressed her harder into the dirt. "You're not moving until I know it's you in there." Mark said, breaking into her mind. She didn't remember how fast he could do that to her, it was like there were no barriers up to him; had he always managed to break in this easily?
Mariah?
Your sister is not the one in control here. A voice spoke, louder than the others murmuring inside of her mind. You would be wise to admit your defeat now.
A rush of panic up Mark's spine helped drive his anger. What did you do to her?!
Disobedience demands control. I simply gave her what she required. A firm hand to keep her in her place.
Mark's mind raced, aware of how vulnerable his body was right now, Mariah was demanding his full attention. He was frozen, knowing Nasuada was nearby, being attacked, and Andrar could bite him in two and there would be nothing he could do to stop him. He paused: how much energy does it take to control someone half a continent away? He lingered on the thought for a moment before pressing through Galbatorix's psyche. She is not your pet or your puppet to do with what you want.
Ah, but she chose this. Her actions betrayed her words, empty promises she swore to me. Broken oaths that had to be paid… I will win the day. And your dear sister is the one who will help me succeed. Her mind has been devastated once, do you truly think she will survive it again? Do you want to risk that?
Dazed, Mariah blinked up at her brother. He was muttering inaudibly, his gaze piercing through her. It was like he couldn't even see her, as he fought a mental battle in her head. She could hear his voice arguing with Galbatorix, and found herself wanting him to win.
Feeling hesitation from Mark at the mention of destroying her mind again, Galbatorix stabbed harder through Mark's guard; then there was a counter attack. Hearing himself growl and searching for the power to overcome the king's grip on his sister, Mark found a bright spot of energy emitting from Andrar, only it wasn't coming from the dragon. Dismissing its origin, Mark pulled the magic through himself and cut through the king's mental guard – he felt something shatter. There was recoil, and the other murmuring voices became louder. Rushing to guard her, he searched, harried, through his sister's mind.
Retaining the hold of her consciousness, he blinked and found himself kneeling in blood and dirt, holding her in a vice grip. He was dripping with sweat and felt blood trickling from his nose and lips. Andrar was standing guard over them, jetting flames and sweeping his tail to keep enemies and allies at a distance. The dragon swung his head around and looked at the two of them through one large glassy eye.
It felt like hours, days even, before there was a snap and the clarity washed over her like a waterfall. She took a gasping breath, feeling like she was drowning and started clawing at Mark's hands around her throat. He let out a ragged breath of relief.
"Mariah…" he stared at her panicked expression under her helmet. "…can you hear me?" He snapped every ward and charm he had placed upon his allies – Kendra, Nyx, Arya, Nasuada - and the constant drain he had been under halted. With renewed vigor he swarmed her mind with careful charms, in the event that Galbatorix was able to get back inside her head.
With a shiver she let go of his arm and looked around the battlefield. She saw Nasuada, still mounted on her horse thirty feet away. In the distance she saw the pink mass that was Nasreen, and further yet Thorn in the air above her, grappling a blue dragon. "Saphira." She stood, wrenching away from her brother's grip and watched them descending towards a raised plateau on the edge of the Burning Plains.
Mark took hold of her shoulder, "Mariah, what's going on?"
She turned back to look at him through wide jade green eyes, "I have to save him." It didn't occur to him to ask which one she meant, as she shouted, "Andrar!" Pulling her sword from her dragon's shoulder, she rushed off, avoiding attacks from soldiers on both sides of the battle. She ran, listening to nothing but her own breathing and the clinking of her filigreed armor upon itself as it bent with her legs. Her eyes were fixated on the cliff top, where she could see Thorn and Saphira. As they landed, her heart pounded harder.
It only took a few movements and she was gone. Mark stepped to follow, but the dragon blocked his path, growling low in his throat half-heartedly, blood streaming from his wound. You've done enough.
Andrar spread his wings and launched into the air, attracting a volley of arrows as he rushed up into the twilight. Watching Saphira descending towards the plateau, Mark's heart sank. In his weakened state, Eragon would be no match for Murtagh and his sister – he was still unsure whether or not she was in control of herself. Wiping at the blood dripping from his nose, Mark turned to meet Aluora as she trotted to him. He climbed atop her back, spurring her to find Arya before it was too late.
On we go...
With Love, As Always,
Mariah Dawnsinger