Conjecturing

It appeared to a peaceful night, and yet if anyone watching for any length of time- a bird, say, on a roof- might have thought that dimness of night was making a fool of them. For sometimes that the shadows on the road moved on their own accord, as if something black moved stealthily amongst the many flowers of the gardens, but then, when you shook your head there was nothing there. After a time it became clear that a darkly cloaked figure moved furtively below, keeping always out the light, slinking from this notch in the hedge to the next.

The figure moved up the path until it reached the steps of a large estate, and there it stopped and tried the door. There the figure shook the knob yet the door would not give, and silently as it could the figure murmured something in the dark and the door swung inward without its usual creak, and figure stumbled inside.

A little while later, Tornac was sitting in his childhood room, his chin propped on his hand, deeply absorbed in a book. The fire was almost crumbled to ash, pooping sleepily on its embers and its light fell peacefully across his lap. Suddenly he looked up, his hand reaching for his sword across the tumbling books and open correspondence, and almost immediately afterward there came a knock on his door.

Tornac stood but did not get the door, he freed his sword from its casing and let it swing freely at his side. There came another knock, as if the door was being stuck by a small fist, and then the door opened on its own. A figure stood in the dark hallway beyond. It wore a heavy cloak and was booted in black. A hood obscured its face, although he knew who had come to call, he had been expecting this for little over a year. A chill, like that of a tomb, ran down the spine of his back, as the figure entered the room. He raised his sword as if to fend it back.

"Well met," said the figure, stepping into the light. "You had given me a terrible fright for I thought you had gone blind. I'm glad to know that my fears had been made in haste."

Tornac stilled at the figure's forwardness, as if he were frozen, then slowly he relaxed his arm, allowing his sword to rest at his side. "There is very little that I have to say to you," he said. "You may take your leave, if you please."

The figure pulled back the hood revealing a soft, fair face framed by damp hair, the firelight tinted her brown hair with a coppery-red. "I've traveled a very long way to meet with you. I'd rather stay here for a time." she said softly. "There must be something you wish to tell me."

She smiled at Tornac and when he did not respond in kind her smile faded, and she stood for a moment waiting for him to speak. He did not speak for he recognized many things about her instantaneously and what he did discomforted him; the shape of her nose, the small smile playing at her lips, the way her gaze met his both unperturbed and fierce with thought. There was a wild tinge in the air that seemed to be settle into a glow about her- the glow of magic.

He took a deep breath, a moment to compose himself. Tornac didn't know what he felt aside from being almost drained from both energy and emotion due to his brother's recent journey into the Void. Now there was this, this woman standing his chambers, bold as she pleased, and he had not an idea how he felt about it. He felt his eyebrows as they came together in confusion.

He shook himself. "There are many things I would like to say to you," he admitted, "yet, these will remain unsaid. Come, sit down."

"A civil man, are you?" she said quietly, glancing around the room. "Those are quite rare in this world. Many men prefer saving their pride over performing decent conduct." The woman walked across the room, past him, and took a seat in a cushion, gasping in shock when the supporting gave way and she sunk deeply into the padding.

Tornac smiled at her humoredly. It was an odd thing that the chair being in his former bedchamber, as he had broken it years ago and never bothered to fix it or toss it. "Not all were taught to behave as your husband had," said he, moving the chair he was seated in earlier to face the woman.

After the chaos of chamber rooms in UrĂ»'baen, Tornac found his chamber here, at his family estate, disquietingly neat. The room was in the same style as forefathers had built it generations ago, finely furnished with stenciled decorations on warm yellow walls. The walls were, of course, lined with books, and a number of things from Tornac's youth, wooden carvings, and embroidered hangings stitched by his sister's hands. There was a low table close to his bed, with a strange and intricate metal lamp, the stub of a candle in the lamp was unlit and in need of replacing. In the only two chairs inside the room seated the man and the woman both of them were looking into the sputtering fire.

"That man," she said coldly, "is my husband no more." She paused and took a breath. "Forgive me. I'm being rude aren't I?"

Tornac silently agreed with her. "Yet, there is a reason you are here?"

"There is," she said.

He waited for her to continue speaking, and a long silence fell over them.

"My daughter," she said speaking at last. "I've come because I wish to take her out of Galbatorix's influence."

"There are others who are more able to assist you," he said, with a frown. He already knew this, she had ensured that he did in her message.

"You're closer to her than any generals or spies in the Empire are," said the woman. "And I've heard of your deeds. You are able to help me, if you're willing to do so."

Tornac paused considering it. To do as this woman asked would put Rose, his whole family, and himself at risk, but not to help would still put his charge in danger. But if he did the right things, said what was needed where it was needed, perhaps he could save his family from the King's wrath. He looked at the woman in front of him, as much as he didn't like the idea, Rose leaving the capital was better than her staying. She was coming to age, and her choices were narrowing, as were Tornac's. Where would either of them be in the next year? Would he be sent away as the moment Rose entered an engagement? Or would he be forced to stay, and do what? He did not know nor did he want to think on it.

He swallowed, feeling as if he had sealing the deed on his fate as he said, "I'll help you."