Chapter 23: Mind over Matter
Harry stirred with a groan. His head throbbed and ached. Surprisingly enough, other than that he felt great. Whatever high flooding himself with magic gave, it wasn't a short term thing. He felt like he'd been to a luxury spa and gotten pampered. He felt stronger. Harry grinned eagerly; he couldn't wait for sword practice tonight.
He exited the tent and helped to break camp. His companions seemed to finally respect his privacy and did not enquire after Harry's little necromancy practice. Everyone seemed to eye him with a bit more respect. The emotional atmosphere was tender and vulnerable and by unspoken consent, no one spoke during the cleanup. Emotional turmoil and infinite gratitude swum in his friends' eyes and Harry found himself on the receiving end of grateful looks.
The river began to diverge from their path, so they were leaving it today. Harry saw Brom regarding the boat and approached. "I'll just shrink it," he told the man dismissively. "Reducio!" he called. The skiff instantly deflated, falling into itself until it was no larger than a matchbox. Harry grinned at the feeling. Magic was so easy right now. It felt like that arcane energy which was an integral part of him was brimming at the surface, tingling just under his skin. After stowing the boat in a bottle (it just felt appropriate) and placing the bottle on a shelf in the living room, they collapsed the tent and broke camp. Harry steeled himself for a miserable day of walking, eugh.
Brom gestured in front of them. Now that they had left the Anora river, the terrain quickly became devoid of all features. "Behold the Great Plains," the storyteller swept his arm across the horizon. "It makes up the majority of the Empire. It's humid enough to support grass and brush, but that's about it. Normally, I'd be very cautious of crossing the Plains on foot, water is scarce and food even scarcer. However," he inclined a wizened head towards Harry, "we have virtually unlimited food and water, so terrain conditions hardly matter. There are very few permanent residents of the plains, generally only nomads and travelers. And unless we are very unfortunate indeed, we shall stumble across neither, such is the magnitude of the Plains. This is only a tiny corner, from here to Daret. Daret to Woadark river is many times longer."
The party began trudging onwards. Arya seemed completely unbothered by the exercise, and Brom was similar. Eragon and Harry struggled the most, Eragon more than Harry. Whatever that magic injection last night did, it felt like his limbs were refreshed to tip-top shape. While they walked, no one spoke, so Harry took to filling the air. "You know, where I'm from, we used to play this game on long trips called "Eye-Spy," it's where you spot something around you and describe it, then everyone else has to guess based on that what it is."
Brom didn't even deign to answer, instead gazing at the flat horizon and barren plains.
"Yeah, well it's a shit game anyways," Harry murmured. "Arya, do you think we could play Monopoly while walking?"
The elf shook her head without even glancing back. "Tough crowd," Harry whistled.
They walked for another half hour before Harry grew bored again. He withdrew his bow and nocked a silver arrow. The problem was, there was nothing to shoot. No lone trees or birds. Only Saphira flew overhead, high enough that her form dwindled until it was indistinguishable from a large bird.
He asked Brom, "How hard is it to project illusions with the ancient language?"
The old guy considered for a moment before Arya answered for him. "It is more difficult to do in the air than off a reflective surface. Mirrors are best, then liquid, then air."
Harry sighed. There goes that idea. He wasn't eager to kill himself trying to make floating targets to alleviate boredom. He'd have done it with his native magic, but he couldn't fathom how to hold his wand and draw a bow at the same time. Unless…
He closed his eyes and reached his magic out, feeling for that familiar warmth… Yes! Harry felt the connection between himself and his wand. He gripped that connection, fed it, strengthened it. He could feel his and warming up against his forearm where his wand holster held the length of wood against his skin. Focusing, he attempted to project the image he wanted.
Harry opened his eyes. "Yes!" he cheered. A hundred feet out and maybe a dozen up, a circular target hung in the air unmoving. He drew his bow and released an arrow, watching proudly as the streak of moonlight plunged through the center.
"Hmm," he mused. It needs better feedback. Harry fed his intent to the stream of magic sustaining the target and fired again. This time, the circle glowed green and a nine floated above the circle. Brom noticed and scowled, but kept quiet.
Eragon, on the other hand, eagerly withdrew his bow. He strung it quickly and put an arrow to the string but hesitated. "I don't want to lose my arrows," he realized. Harry waved it off.
"Here, give me one." Eragon tossed an arrow to the wizard and watched curiously. Harry summoned a spare bit of leather and used magic to make it form into a quiver. It was harder to focus on enchanting while walking, but he managed to make the quiver 'Geminio' an arrow over and over with each draw. He tweaked the enchantment so the arrows would vanish after an hour. When he went to put Eragon's arrow in as the template, he scrunched his face in distaste.
"Did you make these arrows?" he asked.
"Yeah, what of it?" Eragon said.
"They're shit, mate." Harry told him bluntly. "Or rather, they're okay for medieval plebs, not my traveling companions." He proceeded to transfigure the shaft perfectly straight and summon one of his own steel tips for the arrowhead. The razor sharp high carbon steel broadhead glinted as he fastened its barbed end to the perfectly straight shaft. The fletching was as good as any, but that was the problem. Nature did not just hand out three perfectly identical feathers for fletching. However Harry did not fancy getting pecked for asking Hedwig for three feathers, so instead did the next best thing and enchanted the feathers to keep the arrow perfectly straight and true.
He popped the arrow into the quiver where it shimmered and disappeared. Eragon saw and made to protest before two dozen arrows shimmered into existence where the one was. Harry handed over the quiver, which Eragon exchanged his old one for. Harry made the column pause for a second while he threw up the tent, tossed the quiver in, and collapsed it.
"It should never run out of arrows, and they're all based on the good one I put in there," Harry told the rider. "I enchanted the arrow, but the spell I used to duplicate it doesn't typically replicate enchantments, so you might have to make do with ordinary arrows. The shots vanish after an hour," he placated Brom, "No need to get your panties in a twist, no one will follow us by a trail of literal arrows."
Eragon gleefully set an arrow on his bowstring, sighted, and fired at the floating target. It lit up green and showed an eight.
"Arya," Harry called out, "toss me one of your arrows!" The elf paused for a moment before acquiescing. He repeated the process and tossed Arya back a new quiver. He loosely based it off her previous one, but was too far to get any fine details perfect. She seemed to accept it and fired a test shot. Ten.
Arya was about to stow the arrow when Harry expanded his scoring enchantment. A proper illusionary scoreboard showed up with each of their names, even Saphira's. Harry made up two more quivers, one for Brom and one for himself since he wasn't sure he could get his silver arrows to vanish properly. Brom took one look at the weapon and scowled. "I don't shoot." he said flatly.
Harry grinned and elbowed him cheerfully. "You do now!" and nailed a ten-pointer. Harry's name was now at the top, the display read:
Harry: S2 P19
Arya: S1 P10
Eragon: S1 P8
Brom: S0 P0
Saphira: S0 P0
Brom grumbled and made to toss the bow, but Harry shot a sticking charm at it. The storyteller scowled again and shook his open palm, watching the bow dangle from its spot stuck to his hand. Almost as an afterthought, Harry fired another charm at it. Brom glared at the hot pink bow.
Eragon held in a laugh. "Come on father, archery is a great way to bond with family!"
The old guy humored him, reluctantly drew his Barbie bow and fired at the target. Harry laughed.
Brom: S1 P0
Arya quickly sent another arrow through the bullseye, nudging Harry out of first place by one. Harry quickly retaliated, bringing his score to twenty nine. Eragon fired another shot, this one piercing the bullseye. Brom shook his bow disgustedly, but tried another shot. The barest hint of feather nicked the outermost ring, scoring the man a point.
The competition burgeoned from there. When Brom failed to land three shots in a row at the same time Eragon, Arya, and Harry all landed thirty points, he complained about the target. Harry grinned and sent the bullseye moving about. After every shot it randomly picked a location in any direction, distance, and elevation. Brom failed to score a single point after that. Eragon was in stitches at the sight of the wizened old man with a hot pink bow stuck to his withered hand.
The glare Brom returned promised ill omens of sword training tonight. Eragon and Harry both gulped at that look. Saphira occasionally dove down and closed her talons over an arrow in flight, carrying it directly through the target. When they broke for lunch, Brom had lost in an archery contest to even a dragon. Arya couldn't help but smile at the final score. She had nearly a thousand points, averaging nine points per shot. Harry followed closely with 8.8, Eragon himself scored eight. If he was honest, that was quite good. Harry made the targets hard. They moved forwards, backwards, up and down and spawned many yards out, at the upper end of their bows' ranges.
After scarfing down bread, milk, and cheese, they resumed their walk. Harry took mercy on the storyteller and vanished the pink bow. They got bored of the archery game eventually, and Harry took to playing with magic, both native and Alagaesian. Brom gave pointers and answered whatever questions the wizard had.
"Grass, rise." A tuft of grass floated from the ground.
"Break the wind against a wedge-shaped ward in front of me." That was convenient.
"Trip." Harry cackled when Eragon's face hit the dirt. "Sorry," he apologized insincerely. Eragon glared at him.
"Trip," Brom commanded. Harry's feet flew out from under him. Arya giggled at the sight, and Brom looked immensely satisfied with himself.
"Guide my arrow," Harry shot, conjuring a target he blatantly tried to miss. The streak of moonlight seemed to warp like a boomerang. A ten flashed above the circle. "Well would you look at that!" Harry exclaimed. "No skill necessary," he grinned.
"Dust, away," Eragon stumbled through the unfamiliar words. He sagged for a moment before beaming. "Brom, this is easy!" he exclaimed.
"Careful, son," Brom warned. "Stick to little things and tell one of us what words you intend to use before you cast. You're new to the language unlike the rest of us, and miswording something can kill you."
Eragon seemed to shrink back. Brom relented. "I didn't say you couldn't use magic. Just be careful and only do trivial things until they are effortless. Beginners are not used to channeling magic and tire out faster. Remember," he warned. "If you try to do something beyond your strength, not even Harry can save you."
Something occurred to Harry which spooked him. "Brom?" he asked.
"What?" he said, irritated.
"It occurs to me that there is no visible spell bolt to this sort of magic…"
"Spell bolt?" Brom asked.
"Expelliarmus!" Harry called, indicating the red bolt. "My native magic's offensive spells are nearly all like this. They spawn a projectile which must hit something to affect it. Dodging is a common tactic in duels between wizards back home."
Brom nodded in understanding. "So how do magicians here avoid certain death when spells always succeed?"
Harry nodded.
"Eragon, listen carefully. This knowledge is important to you, too." Brom's son sidled closer. "A wizard's duel, for that is what this is called, is the most dangerous form of combat known. It has strict rules not unlike those in the ancient language, rules which must be observed or else invariably result in death for both parties."
He gesticulated with his hands as he explained. "Eragon, were I to say 'immolate him in fire,' and point to an enemy magician, they would surely die. However, in the time before my spell kills them, they would have a few seconds to retaliate, and likewise could use a lethal spell. In a duel, it's not enough to hear and recognize the word someone uses against you. An enemy could say 'heat,' and you would not know what medium it was conveyed through; whether you'd be struck by a fireball, if the air itself would burn you, or if the enemy magician targeted your flesh directly."
Eragon looked green at the idea. Brom barreled onwards. "The only way to block a spell like that is to know what they're thinking. That is why in a wizard's duel neither party casts spells until one has breached the other's mind. It is still possible to lose even after winning the mental battle, the mental dexterity needed to comprehend and counter a lethal spell in under a second is formidable to say the least."
Brom shook his head. "If you find yourself facing the prospect of a wizard's duel, that includes you, Harry," he included. "Run the other way. It takes extensive training to have a hope of victory, and it requires proficiency in the art of breaking into others' minds."
Harry frowned in disgust. "Legilimency," he said distastefully.
Brom disagreed. "Nay, this Legilimency I have read about in your people's books, it is a narrower branch than the concept of extending your mind beyond your own skull. If you wish to stand a chance against any enemy magician, shade, or elf, you will by necessity learn to break into others' minds."
Sighing, Harry resigned himself to learning the distasteful art. "How do we get started?" he asked, defeated.
The storyteller's face softened. "It's not some perverse skill, Harry. The riders forbade their students using the ability in all but the most dire circumstances. Were their edict broken, the penalties were harsh. You should not need to violate the minds of any but enemy magic users." He pondered for a bit before answering. "Typically, we start teaching this skill with animals. The most crucial beginner skill is forming the connection. Practice with small animals like birds, squirrels, cats, and such. In fact, your bond with your phoenix would be a good place to start. See if you can connect with Hedwig when we set up camp tonight."
The sun began to set when they finally broke for the day and set up camp. In the barren plains, There was only twigs and brush for a fire, so they forewent the campfire and instead chose to sleep in the tent. Saphira volunteered to keep watch all night and against all protests, blocked the tent entrance with her bulk so she was the only one outside.
"Dragons will survive a sleepless night," she'd said.
They ate quietly. Brom had given them a lot to think on. The old man waived swordplay for the night, focusing wholly on magic instead. "Magic can be mighty in the hands of the weak, or merely ordinary in the hands of the strong. True masters use magic cleverly to maximize results for energy." He withdrew a needle and thread from his bag. "Threading a needle can be a finicky and annoying task, one which novices may struggle with for several minutes. Yet the physical effort to thread a needle is negligible. 'Thread the needle,'" Brom commanded. The white thread instantly zipped through the tiny loop.
"Clever use always trumps brute force." He stated. "Harry and Eragon, you are at wholly different points in your magical training. Harry, you have spent years learning a different form of magic and are fluent in the ancient language. Eragon, you have scarcely used magic and know only a couple words at all. This means training you both will be difficult, but doable. I apologize, Harry, but I am responsible for Eragon's education first and foremost. If that means you have to wait longer for advanced instruction, needs must when we have a war to win.
"Tonight, I shall show you one of the most useful spells to exist. It does not take much energy, especially if projected onto a reflective surface. Scrying is the ability to conjure an image of something happening elsewhere. Its incantation, if you will, is 'draumr kopa,' or 'dream stare."
Harry quickly conjured four flat square mirrors in front of them. Arya seemed disinterested in the exercise, but he left her mirror anyways. "Thank you," Brom said in gratitude. "There are limitations, and these are the main ones. You cannot scry the future or past, and to try is to die. You cannot scry anything you have not see, and the act of scrying does not illuminate your target."
Harry quickly puzzled together his meaning. "So it's good for finding people, but only if you're well traveled. What happens if you scry someone in an unfamiliar place?" he asked.
Brom nodded approvingly. "It is as though they are on a white background," he answered. "And you are correct about its general use. To target something to scry, you must hold their image in your mind, thus it is impossible to scry that which you have not seen, for what are you to focus on when casting?"
He tucked his beard away and leaned over his mirror. "Look closely, few people have seen this place who yet live. Draumr kopa."
The surface of the mirror rippled like a stone dropped in a pond, and the image changed. Arya gasped when she beheld the surface. Eragon gaped, and Harry whistled slowly. "Damn, that's big."
Brom proudly announced, "That is Doru Araeba, the ancestral seat of the Riders. It rests on the island of Vroengard beyond the Spine. If you think it grand while in ruins and shambles, you've no idea what a sight to behold it was in its glory. The buildings were constructed with dragons in mind and as such, the largest architecture in Alagaesia can be found there." He manipulated the image with his mind, pointing out a circular tiered and terraced building with marble pillars and gold filigree. The center dome had begun to crumble inwards and cracks spiderwebbed across the blasted, scorched, and chipped marble surface.
"The library of the riders," Brom announced. "Once the largest collection of literature, that honor unfortunately rests in the hands of the black king who pilfered and raided Vroengard upon his defeat of the riders."
Finally, the old rider zoomed out to behold a dizzyingly tall marble pillar which stretched hundreds of feet up. The very top was flat, but metal brackets remained indicating something missing. "The flame eternal," Brom sighed. "It was lit by Bid'Daum, your namesake's dragon," he nodded to Eragon, "to commemorate the Rider pact. Originally the glass container resided in Ellesmera, but was moved to Vroengard with the riders. It had never gone out before the Fall, and I am unsure if Galbatorix has kept it alive or not."
"My namesake?" Eragon asked curiously.
"Aye," Brom nodded. "Du Fyrn Suklblaka ended when an elf named Eragon kept a dragon egg and raised it."
"Why show us this?" he asked curiously.
Brom folded his hands. "It is important to understand both what came before and what you are fighting for, Eragon. This is your inheritance, the mantle of the riders. From the moment Saphira chose you, your duty has been to topple Galbatorix."
Eragon was taken aback. "Surely you don't expect me to kill Galbatorix! Father, he killed every great rider alive, riders with decades or even centuries of experience!" He looked lost and hopeless.
Harry clapped him on the back. "Cheer up, Eragon. We'll all help out. No one is expecting you to manage this alone. Look at us! Just the three of us," Harry indicated Brom, Arya, and himself, "have the knowledge and experience of three great civilizations. And I say this from experience, there's no feeling quite like finishing an impossible task."
Eragon practiced scrying with Harry afterwards. He had never traveled and so could only scry Carvahall and the game trails surrounding it. Brom taught them a variation on the scrying spell which allowed the caster to hear audio. The rider was able to watch the villagers and glean their thoughts on his explosive exit, after a fashion.
"-It might have been Harry," Horst was admitting, "But I for one hardly care. The bones were too charred to recognize, the body could just as easily have been an assailant's."
Several villagers including Horst, Elaine, Quimby, Gedric the tanner, Morn the barkeep, and Sloan the butcher were gathered around the table in Horst's dining room. Candles illuminated the late night meeting.
Sloan's face was set in a rictus of disgust. "Bah, him and Eragon. Nothing but trouble. A stranger appears from the Spine, is welcomed with open arms, and now see what came of it! Garrow's farm razed, someone burned inside, tracks of some great beast surrounding the ruined house. We never should have let the stranger stay," he spoke hatefully.
Horst glared at the butcher. "Something strange was going on," he admitted, "but it was not malicious. Harry brought my sons and I more steel than a team of dwarves could produce in a month to practice with, and called himself my apprentice. He knew things about blacksmithing I never even imagined, introduced new concepts, and in essence; armed the village. He came bearing gifts, and you spurned him, Sloan."
The butcher scoffed. "Him and the boy, Eragon, cavorting about together bringing cursed stones and ill omens from the Spine. Good riddance."
Gedric gave Sloan a withering glare. "He paid me handsomely for rudimentary tanning tools, something which," he nodded to Horst, "if what you say is true–he hardly needed it. A spear with the most potent poison I've ever encountered." He got a dark look. "It nearly instantly killed anything I even scratched. There's not much left on it–maybe enough for one good stab in an emergency, but it'll kill a human in moments, I'm sure."
Sloan ignored him "Mark my words," he promised darkly, "that accursed stone was involved. No trace of it was found in the wreckage."
Horst ignored the man and rubbed his head. "Roran's due to return in a few months. What are we to say to him when he does?"
Sloan sneered. "Let him starve. Good riddance to bad rubbish."
Shouts of protest exploded, and Eragon decided he'd seen enough. He severed the connection and watched the mirror's surface return to showing his face. Eragon looked up at Harry concerned, but the wizard was fixed to his own mirror. "What do you see?" he asked curiously.
The wizard had a dark look on his face. "Trouble," he promised. Eragon scooted his chair over and looked at the upside-down mirror. It showed a completely abandoned village. Long bark walled houses lined a cobblestone path which led to a clearing. In the center of the clearing was a tall carved totem of many faces stacked on top of each other. At the base of the totem a red fire guttered weakly, and each totem face's eyes glowed an ominous crimson.
After scrying practice, Brom collected them all and gathered around the coffee table in the living room, sinking gratefully into an armchair with pipe in hand. "Tonight we start learning arguably the most important skill for a Rider to have. Entering the minds of others."
Harry crossed his arms and looked faintly mutinous, but held his tongue. "Riders were not just warriors, they were philosophers, scientists, artists, and diplomats. Many a crisis can be averted wielding the blunt honesty of a man's thoughts," he promised. "While we may not have the luxury of time to learn these other trades, it is important to remember what we are striving to bring back to Alagaesia. Leaders, in every sense of the word."
He took a drag on his pipe and relaxed. "Eragon, what do you feel when you connect to Saphira's mind?"
The rider concentrated. "When we first bonded, it felt like looking off the edge of an endless cliff, except in every direction, and Saphira was the only presence."
Brom nodded. "Accurate enough," he supposed. "Were you to keep your mind open like that, soon after you would doubtless have encountered the minds of your cousin and uncle. I want you to open your mind like that again. This time, do not shy away from the precipice. You cannot lose your mind so easily. Search for our presences, feel that spark of life around you," he instructed.
Eragon relaxed and closed his eyes. His breathing slowed marginally and an intense focus cast upon his face. He occasionally fidgeted, but otherwise kept up his concentration. Harry soon felt it; a minute breeze across his mind, like someone just barely touching the surface of his mind. He shivered and wrapped his mind ever tighter. That's private, he thought.
"Well done, son!" Brom beamed. "Have you attempted this before? He asked. Eragon shook his head mutely. "Harry, tell me what you are experiencing."
Harry curled up and hugged his knees to his chest. "I-I don't think I can expose my mind like that," he admitted quietly.
Arya watched with sympathy. She remembered the scarred walls around his mind clearly, a sort of grotesque art. She may not know who caused them, but she knew she would not be eager to take that first leap and be truly defenseless if something did that to her.
"No one here will invade your mind," she promised quietly. It was sometimes rather easy to forget with the way the wizard comported himself. The merry joking and energetic persona was external. Arya couldn't know for certain, but the tapestries painstakingly embroidered on the tent told a harrowing tale, one who's main character she had dark suspicions about.
Harry breathed out shakily and closed his eyes, gripping his wand tightly. His pets observed carefully, Blinky even with a sort of motherly concern. They hardly dared breathe, waiting for him to take that first step.
Arya watched his mind carefully, keeping her distance. She almost treated him like a wounded prey animal; hesitant and ready to bolt. Slowly, carefully, the walls began to lower. She smiled. A faint presence extended outwards and brushed her mind. She saw the same happen to the others. Hedwig nearly startled a moment. She glided over to Harry and perched on his shoulder, rubbing her feathery head into his cheek.
"Well done," Arya congratulated quietly. Like a switch was flipped, everything snapped back and his walls slammed back up. The personal sense she felt vanished instantly. Brom and Eragon both were silent, though Brom had a look on his face which promised vengeance.
"Who used to attack your mind?" he asked with a rare sort of gentleness.
Harry exhaled. "I'm not sure. In my fifth year, Snape tried to teach me Occlumency by attacking my mind over and over, but I know I learned nothing from that. The only other person I know would be Voldemort." He looked unsure. "He left a piece of soul in my head when he killed my parents while I was a baby. I guess that must be when."
Arya marshalled a sympathetic expression, but internally she wanted to rage and scream like never before. Children were the ultimate blessing for elves. They rarely if ever fell pregnant, and her race was forced to restrain themselves so as to not drive themselves to extinction in their passions. She could scarcely imagine someone who would do something so horrific to a child. Arya would swear eternal vengeance against anyone who killed an innocent child, but this was so much worse.
Brom exchanged a glance with her, likely thinking along the same lines, but avoided the topic. "Nothing for it but practice," he told Harry gruffly. "Any skill can be abused. Think of it like this; you can now communicate with any living thing, mute, deaf, lame, or without a language of their own. This skill gives voices to even the plants underfoot. It's not an invasion of privacy when you're welcomed in."
"Why are you angry, little one?" Saphira asked Eragon later that night.
"Something Harry said," Eragon admitted. "He said when he was even younger, he had a teacher who repeatedly attacked his mind," he nearly shrank from the incandescent rage emanating from the dragon's mind. "But-" Eragon hesitated, putting his hands over his ears. "-Someone had deliberately done the same through his entire childhood, since the moment his parents were killed."
Eragon shrank back. The tidal waves of hate washing over him were unrelenting. The tent prevented sound from coming in, but he knew from Saphira's mind that she was roaring fearsomely. So great was her fury that he could not make out any words, only ideas and desires. The hunger to tear whoever committed those acts apart, her thirst for vengeance and more sedately, her compassion and regret for the little wizard.
Harry went to sleep that night feeling things he'd almost forgotten. Nights in the cupboard where his head felt too full, splitting headaches he desperately tried to stem, the constant fight to keep the Other away.
Harry rolled over onto his back. Blinky slithered into his mattress. §You did well tonight,§ Blinky praised him. §You have a gift for the mind artss. Not ssince Ssalazar have I sseen ssuch potential.§
Harry swallowed uncomfortably. §I don't want to be good at thiss,§ he admitted. §No matter the excussess, I don't want to do that to ssomeone.§
Blinky hissed angrily. §You think Tom Riddle and Sseveruss Ssnape know anything about the mind artss?§ She was incensed. §I taught Ssalazar Sslytherin, the greatesst human Legilimenss to ever live, everything he knew. Foolish humanss hoarding preciouss sscrapss of knowledge and thinking themsselvess masters. You will learn from me, and you will not abusse ssuch sskillss.§
He turned in his bed to face Blinky. Though her words were unyielding, she had a look of motherly concern in her eyes. §They are monssterss,§ she said. §Were I to meet them, I would not grant them a quick death by my gaze or venom. They would ssuffer in my coilss and ssuffocate sslowly.§
Strangely, that helped. Harry didn't think he wanted Snape to die for trying to teach him Occlumency poorly, but he appreciated the sentiment. Blinky reminded him of Lily, fierce and uncompromising in her loving protection. He felt truly fortunate to have her as a companion.
AN: Things are starting to pick up. Next chapter the gang reaches Daret, then it's on to Teirm. This chapter had a bit of exposition, a necessary evil. This will be one of the last chapters with a large portion of travel. When Murtagh joins the party it will slow until the gang decides to trust him with the tent. Next chapter is also focused on travel, but I feel like I've kind of worn out the walking/horse riding storytelling. Most scenes on the road will be focused on the free time Harry has during travel to experiment in the tent.
If you want to see something, maybe a character you really liked (I already wrote a bunch of Angela and quite enjoyed it) then leave a review. Even if I didn't reply, rest assured I saw it.