The burning steppes were a hellish place, full of corrosive smoke and bad air. Yet it was fascinating, an ancient battlefield between the Order and Forsworn. Red light bathed everything to an unholy otherworld, a place of pain and torment. He could almost feel it, the hatred, the betrayal and the deep sorrow. A shiver ran down his spine. Endless lines of soldiers could be seen on the dark Horizon. He had never seen so many people before. The Varden camp seemed like a small spark in the night against it. Ivren steeled himself against fear. He had something they did not:
Above the clouds of smoke hovered Nainar, invisible to both armies, so far above no mage would ever reach there as long as there were other dangers. Ivren could sense their fear. Their readiness. Their weakness. Oh, these mages were pathetic creatures compared to what he knew. No! This was too – dark.
Ivren concentrated on what was happening. Green flames shot out of the ground. The minerals in the ground coloured them, but he could not remember which. His lessons had been many years ago. It was a little strange to be shot with arrows after Aberon had gone so well, but Eragon proved himself again. The adoration in the men's eyes glowed all the more. Ivren sensed mages here and there, panic-stricken, avoiding Eragon's mind, closing their thoughts and thus not knowing about him at all. A mistake. If an enemy sneaked up on them it would be their best warning. Even without delving into their thoughts, he could feel the tension flowing through all the Varden, fear and hope, trust and worry, even dislike, little flickers of emotions that might one day grow into a problem. Not today, though.
His hand stroked the pommel of his sword. Eragon was at his side, he didn't need to worry. Could anyone else even harm him? No. The opal lay hidden under his clothes, filled with energy. Nainar flew high above him. They would not stand a chance. Saphira was quick and nimble, yes, but not nearly as nefarious. Nainar would not come near her at all, instead breaking the minds around him and giving Ivren easy prey. But it would not come to that. Ivren would never give Galbatorix that gift.
"Can you now lead us to Nasuada?" asked Eragon. "Yes, sir." replied the man. Ivren guessed he was a higher-ranking Varden, but wasn't quite sure. Armies were not really familiar to him. Too confining.
The man led them to a large red pavilion with a flag fluttering above it, embroidered with a black shield and two crossed swords underneath. Ivren did not know it, but it probably stood for the Varden or Nasuada. The man pulled back the tarp and Eragon and Ivren entered. Saphira poked her head through the opening and looked over her shoulder at them.
A wide table stood in the middle of the furnished tent. At one end stood the woman who could only be Nasuada, dressed in armour, studying a variety of maps and scrolls. Ivren cast a curious glance at her. The names had changed. No wonder, with all that had happened. Three hundred years, well, almost three hundred. Nine more years were missing.
"Eragon?" she whispered in disbelief. Her gaze turned to Ivren for a moment and he saw the wonderment in her eyes. But it wasn't just wonderment he saw there. In a flash she made decisions, discarded them and recalculated, always asking: who was he? And was he an enemy?
Nevertheless, Nasuada remained the very image of courtesy. With a broad smile, Eragon bowed and performed the traditional elven greeting. Ivren followed suit after a few seconds. Once again he met something like nobility, at least she was superior in the eyes of all the others, but would she also be typically noble? From Eragon's stories, rather not. Ivren would have to make up his own mind.
"Eragon! How did you get our message so quickly?"
"I didn't. I learned of Galbatorix's deployment with the dream sight and left Ellesmera the same day. It's good to be back with the Varden."
"What happened to you?"
Eragon told her the whole story and Ivren listened intently as well. Much he already knew, but much he did not. As expected, he left out Oromis and Glaedr.
"So the scar has disappeared?" asked Nasuada. Eragon nodded. "What a story! You and Saphira have experienced much since you left Farthen Dur. I see Arya is no longer with you and you have a stranger by your side."
The tone was still friendly, tense, but yes friendly. "I have much to tell you, but first I must cast another spell." Eragon waited for her permission, then shielded them from unwanted listeners. Good. Eragon grinned and began to tell. Ivren could see his excitement. "This is Ivren, a friend of the dragons, elves and humans. He is here for the same reason Arya is not - The Green Egg!" Nasuada stared at her in shock but did not speak. "Ivren found it and brought it to me - and Firnen hatched for Arya."
"That's wonderful news! I guess Arya still wants to wait until he fights with us?"
Eragon affirmed. Ivren took a step forward. "I have already made some vows in the ancient tongue before Eragon, Saphira, Arya and the elves, but am ready at any time to repeat again that I have never served Galbatorix and never intend to serve him of my own free will."
"That's good to hear. You are a mage?"
"I am." Was he imagining it or was it suspicion? It would be understandable, but something bothered him.
"Any enemy of Galbatorix is welcome. Will you join us?" asked Nasuada. Ivren hesitated. He didn't want to anger, but he didn't even know what might raise her ire. "For this battle, I will fight by Eragon's side."
She smiled. "Good. Is there anything else you wish to share with me?"
Ivren bowed again, answered in the negative, and left the tent. She still wanted to speak with Eragon in private, without the eyes of a outsider and mage. That went well, didn't it? Nasuada was almost unreadable. A skill she certainly needed, what with the Council and all, even if it meant he didn't know how to act. On the other hand - what did she have to gain by driving away another fighter, a mage at that? No, he didn't need to worry for the time being.
Perhaps he did. A spirit, cold and hard, touched him tenderly. He almost thought it was Rauthren, but it lacked the old hatred and panic of those around him. A black-haired girl stared at him. What rare eyes! And this - this was a dragon mark, shimmering like his scars.
Eragon's mistake. She returned his gaze until she suddenly turned back to the tent. Ivren took the chance and disappeared into the crowds.
The Varden were not unusual, almost boring. Except for a handful of dwarves, they were all human, just like him, and yet Ivren felt more like an outsider than ever. Did the same blood flow in his veins? Could he even count himself among his mortal people? He might as well be a strange elf. Ivren smirked. Perhaps not quite like that, but - yes, even his ears were not as round as they once were.
All at once a flock of birds went up, screeching and bloodthirsty. A wave of revulsion and hatred fell over the camp. Ivren froze. Rauthren? No. It took barely a touch to look into the flaring tempers and see who was the victim of their hatred. A Kull, certainly close to three metres tall, it was hard to estimate by the sight of others, with sinuous horns and clad in a loincloth and armour plates. How interesting!
Aurora had shared a lot with him about dragons, humans, elves and dwarves, but nothing about the Urgals and the Kull. They were hated and that was it. Disappointing. He pushed through the crowd and finally reached what was happening in the body. Tensely he listened to the conversation.
"Is this supposed to be an ambush, Nightstalker? I was promised safe conduct. Do humans break their word so quickly?"
Eragon whispered something into Nasuada's ear. A hint of magic and he could understand. "The usual response to that would be to bang our heads together, but I think we'd better leave that be."
"The Varden are not liars like Galbatorix and the Empire. Say what you have to say! You have nothing to fear at this meeting."
The Kull growled something and lifted his chin so that his throat was exposed. With a dragon, that would have meant a lot. Was it similar here?
"I am Nar Garzhvog of the Bolvek tribe. I speak in the name of my people." He spoke slowly, yet with force. "We Urgals are hated more than any other people. Elves, dwarves, humans, all hunt us, burn us and drive us from our halls."
"Not without reason."
"Not without reason. My people love war. But how often do they attack us just because you find us as ugly as we find you?"
Right, now Ivren remembered. The Urgals had fought for the shade Durza, who had given Eragon the wound on his back.
"You are a wise Herndall, Nightstalker."
Ivren watched Nar Garzhvog out of the corner of his eye. Nasuada's decision was a good one. The Urgals would be a strong support.
"A rider of the Empire approaches!"
Ivren had to hold back his laughter during the emissary's speech. The Varden had no trouble making their joy known as Saphira's roar startled the horse and the man burst into flames. What a death. A shiver ran down his spine. The first death of many.