"sworn to hope, forsworn to tragedy"
The fire puttered out. Brom prodded it with a stick, seemingly content to ignore her.
"They'll live," Formora murmured.
He hardly glanced in their direction. His shoulders were tense. He was not the man she remembered - aged without his dragon, broken by solitude - but he was no less a danger. "You live," Brom whispered, knowing she could hear.
"Despite you."
"The king-"
"Doesn't know."
Brom nodded. He refused to look at her directly. "Your dragon."
"Gone."
"You survived it."
It. Not he, not she, it. Reduced to a mere thing. "I did."
"How?"
"Because I refused to play your games. Their games. His games."
Silence stretched between them.
"Who was that man?"
"A mage I met amongst the ruins of Vroengard." Formora moved her hand from her sword. "We found... common cause. "
"Another enemy of the king?"
"No. Merely a fellow survivor. The creatures that razed Teirm - they hunt him."
"Why?"
"They are enemies. He... he has many enemies. He mistook you for another." She shook her head. "He won't bother you again."
"He fled?"
"North. To find his warband."
Brom's face tightened. "You sent him away."
"He sent himself."
"Why?"
"He has no love for-"
"No. Why are you here?"
"Despite… us, this encounter was chance alone." Formora leaned forward, her expression serious. "Regardless of what you think of me, I hold the order's survival as paramount."
"You destroyed it."
"You say that as if I had any choice."
"Did you not turn your sword on those you called kin?" Brom challenged, at last looking at her. His tone, though hushed, turned angry. "Did you not butcher our friends the moment they turned their backs?"
"I had no choice."
"Preposterous."
"You would prefer that, wouldn't you? To leave me remembered as little more than a villain. No. I've suffered enough; I'll not stomach your delusions."
Brom scoffed. "Delusions? You murdered-"
"He had my name!" she all but shouted. The dragon blearily opened her eye. Formora held her breath until it closed. "He had my name," she repeated, voice falling to a whisper. "Every action taken - he drove me to it."
Brom flinched. "Your name-"
"Along with that of my dragon. When it had one." Formora raised her head. "Thornessa eka otherúm." (This I swear.)
Brom looked away. His grip on his staff had tightened so much his knuckles turned white. "You shouldn't be here."
"Do you wish to rectify that?"
"Does he still have it?"
Formora exhaled, trembling. "No. I changed it."
"... Good." He turned back to stare at her. "You still shouldn't be here."
"Does my survival offend you so?"
"I did what I had to. I do what I must."
"A convenient excuse."
He spared her an unhappy look. "Are there others?"
"Others?"
"Forsworn."
Formora set her jaw. "No. Enduriel followed me to Vroengard but he passed months ago. The dead killed him."
"The dead-" Brom trailed off. "The dead. I see. But not you?"
"I adapted."
"Was he like you? Did the king take his name too?"
Formora shook her head. "He went willingly. It was only when the order had fallen that he realized his folly."
"So it was just you?"
"No, it..." She closed her eyes. "Kialandí was... the same as I."
"A slave," Brom said bluntly.
She nodded wordlessly.
"But here you linger. What is it you want? Vengeance?"
"It was," Formora whispered. She looked to the dragon. The boy rested just beneath its wing. "Yet the future must always take precedence over the past."
Brom watched her carefully. "What do you intend to do next?"
Formora turned to him, surprised.
"What, do you think I'll try to kill you? In a fair fight I stand little chance."
"I... don't want to fight," she admitted. "The taste of retribution has grown sour."
"Not to your liking?"
"Not against you."
"That leads us back to my question. What now?"
Formora exhaled and shrugged. It was a flippant human gesture that came all too naturally. "I don't know. Rebuilding the order is all I want."
"Did you know?"
"About?"
"Them." Brom's eyes flicked over to the dragon and her Rider. "Are they the reason you returned?"
"... No." A familiar pit opened in Formora's stomach. "There was another."
"Another... dragon?"
"Aye. I smuggled the egg out from beneath the king's nose with my 'death.'"
Brom frowned. "Where did it come from?"
Formora looked at him severely. "Where do you think?"
"... Yours."
"My dragon."
"They were nameless."
"The body is slow to follow in the steps of the mind."
Brom grimaced. "It hardly hatched for you."
"No, not for me."
"Who?"
Formora held her tongue.
Brom's eyes first widened then narrowed. "Where is it now?"
"Alive. It was stolen away by a creature-"
"What do you mean, a creature?"
"I... cannot describe it. It was not human, not urgal, not elf or dwarf or werecat or even Ra'zac. It was not of the dead either; it is another thing entirely. It... she calls herself Agnisia - and she made off with the dragon mere days after its hatching. We found her, briefly, in Teirm but she escaped us." Formora paused. "I think she means to spite him."
"Your... companion," Brom said distastefully.
"His name is Ikharos."
"What is this creature to him?"
"Another foe."
Brom inhaled sharply. "Of course."
"I don't know where she is."
"Should I?"
Formora didn't reply. She looked, again, to the dragon to reassure herself it was real, it was alive.
"You're here... because you've given up," Brom murmured.
She turned to him sharply. "Careful."
He pointed the stick at her accusingly. "They aren't tools. Your vengeance can, and must, wait."
Formora scowled. "I never intended otherwise."
"We're in the heart of the Empire. If the king discovers you survived-"
"He won't capture me again. He won't."
"But you endanger them."
"Can you tell me, with all honesty, that they are not already in the greatest danger? They are a prize - for the Empire, for Surda, for the Varden and the elves and others. I've been a prize before. Never again. I'll not leave them to suffer the same."
Brom huffed. "I don't suppose you'll go if I ask you to."
"No."
"Then what is to be done about your runaway dragon?"
Formora grimaced. "Nothing - because there is nothing I can do. The creature is a witch of not inconsiderable power. She has... meddled with my ability to scry her. I doubt my ability to track her, let alone best her." It irked to think Ikharos may have had the right of it. Her pride, as an elf, a Rider, as warrior liked it not at all.
"Will she deliver it to the king?"
"I doubt she knows who he is."
"And if he or his agents hunt her down?"
"Woe on them."
Brom nodded slowly, face set in a grimace. He glanced down at the fire. "It's grown late. I'm not the man I used to be."
"Can any of us say otherwise?"
"What I mean to say is... no. No, it matters not." He stood. "We hunt the Ra'zac. They've killed the boy's uncle, burned his home."
"A foolish endeavour."
"Vengeance always is."
Reluctantly, Formora tipped her head.
"Before the 'dead' arrived, we found hint of their home in-"
"Dras-Leona."
Brom's eyebrows rose. "You know?"
"The king and his followers were careless with their secrets."
"I... see."
"They live atop the peaks of Helgrind. You'll not find easy access to them. Not unless you draw them out or fly directly into their lair."
"You'd better tell the lad that, come morn."
Formora blinked. "You'll allow me to stay?"
"Can I force you to go?"
"... No."
"Then we have no choice," Brom said. There was a note of bitterness in his voice. "But know this: they are my responsibility. Both of them."
Formora sighed. "As you will."
"Do you want to tell them about yourself?"
"Why would... Ah." She tilted her head. "You haven't revealed who you are, have you?"
"And I'd prefer to keep it that way," Brom muttered stiffly. "Don't betray that."
"Very well. Better, then, that you keep my secret hand-in-hand with yours. Even so, I imagine they'll have questions."
He snorted. "They're young. They always do."
"Age is no obstacle to curiosity. Only foolishness." She waved him off. "Take rest. I'll watch in your stead."
"No-"
"Yes. You have the bearing of a man who hasn't slept in weeks. I give you my word you won't be betrayed. Sleep."
Begrudgingly, his gaze lingering on her, Brom shuffled over to his pack by the horses and procured a sleeping roll. Formora stood and left him to it.
With morning came frightened looks. The dragon raised her head, saw Formora standing nearby and growled lowly. The boy emerged not long after - hair ruffled, face pale and eyes wide. He stopped where he stood and stared at her.
"Eragon," Brom chided. He was in the midst of stirring a pot of bubbling gruel. "Sit."
The boy, still watching, did exactly as he was instructed.
"Saphira," Brom called out.
The dragon turned her head.
"Are you well?"
As I can be, she said.
The delicious familiarity of it all struck Formora deeply. She shivered as misted memories drudged up, forever locked away but so close. So close she could feel... something. An affection for another lost. If any of it showed neither dragon nor Riders gave any indication.
"We've a short ways yet to Dras-Leona," Brom said softly. "We need not hurry-"
"Who is she? Who are you?" The boy stood again. His hand fell the hilt of his sword. A Rider's blade, Formora had noticed. One she knew all too well.
"I am Laerdhón," she told them. Brom's expression shifted with stony disapproval. "Once of Du Weldenvarden."
"You're an elf," Eragon said, both awed and suspicious. "You-"
Your companion, the dragon, Saphira, hissed. Where is he?
"Far from here," Formora answered honestly. She'd scryed him during the night to be sure. The last she'd seen of Ikharos, he was somewhere high above the Spine. "He'll not return."
Eragon and Saphira exchanged a look. Thank you, the latter gruffly said. For your aid.
Formora motioned with a finger, taking the compliment and giving it to the wind. A gesture doubtless lost on them. "It was only right. I'm sorry it came to violence."
"She intends to help us," Brom said reservedly. "She knows where the Ra'zac nest."
Eragon stiffened. The dragon raised herself up on her feet with some effort. She was of considerable size for one so young - a little less than half a year by Formora's reckoning, yet larger than either of the horses. Her claws were long, her fangs white, her horns broad and her scales lustrous. As beautiful as they came. How?
"I encountered them before," Formora said. It was not a lie. "I make note of knowing where all my enemies reside." Her own wings twitched; she ached to take flight again. Later, she promised herself. When the time is right.
They eyed her uncertainly, full of suspicion. No fools they. Considering their first encounter, it was only natural.
"You know her." Eragon turned to Brom pointedly. "You know elves."
"Carvahall isn't the only place I've called home," Brom retorted. "Aye, I know her."
You tried to kill him, Saphira pointed out. Her lips pulled back over gleaming teeth.
Formora inclined her head. "A misunderstanding."
Brom glanced at her with a furrowed brow. "Indeed."
Why do you want to help?
Formora coolly looked at Eragon. "I know something of vengeance."
Eragon paled. "You don't-"
"I know how needling the urge to fulfil it can be. The Ra'zac are as much foes of mine as they are yours. If their deaths are what you seek, then that is what I'll grant you."
"You are an enemy of the king?"
Enemy was too small a word - but human language left much to be desired. "Aye. Of him and all his twisted ilk."
Yet Eragon hesitated. "You have wings," he said at last.
"Astutely observed," Formora drily replied.
His face flushed. "You... you aren't human."
"So I realise."
"I believe he means to say you'll stand out," Brom said gruffly. "The king's men will single you out even at a distance."
Formora looked at him. "I'll not change for you. Not anyone." Never again.
"Other travellers will pose just as much a danger."
"None will glimpse me. Not in daylight, not even by the moon." She tilted her head. "Perhaps I should accompany Saphira when you take to the roads."
Brom bristled. "That isn't wise-"
I'll watch her, Saphira said suddenly. Brom turned quickly. I will. Better I than either of you.
Brom was unconvinced - and yet, ironically, in no position to deny her. He turned to Formora, forced a stern mask over his clear fear, and nodded once.
She returned the gesture, though the impulsive urge to knock his head from his shoulders did cross her mind.
They lingered. What wounds were sustained were given a little time to heal; Formora had done what she could when the fight with Ikharos had ended, but Brom refused to let her near them after that. As it was they recovered quickly enough - as quickly as their bond and shared natures would allow. With bones mended by magic, and bruises left to the care of time, they moved on after a few days' delay.
Of the pair the boy had come out of it more intact. Beyond his sprained wrist, he bore little mark of the confrontation, though he oft commented on it. The questions came endlessly, fuelled by boundless curiosity.
"Who was he?"
"Why was he so quick? So strong?"
"Why did he attack?"
"What stopped him?"
Formora answered only some, those where the truth was not so far-fetched, and then only vaguely. Brom redirected Eragon's attention before a true conversation could spring up, every time, and soon she stopped bothering to respond at all. If he wanted them sequestered away, that was his prerogative; her own was to ensure their safety and nothing more.
One night, when both dragon and Rider were asleep, she turned to him and said, "They require more adequate education."
Brom had been in the midst of whittling down a stick to be used as a makeshift brace. "The lad's been learning letters."
"That's not what I meant," though inwardly she was aghast to learn as much. The written word was too powerful, too valuable a skill to deny - and it boded ill for a future Dragon Rider to learn it so late in life.
The stick was set aside. "I've been teaching him magic," Brom said neutrally. "And swordcraft."
Better. "What progress?"
"I've warned him against the former unless in moments of dire need. He needs to know enough to survive for now, no more."
"You're denying him. Them."
"They have greater concerns. We all do."
Formora bristled. "The Ra'zac are no mere bandits. They'll welcome a confrontation."
"Only in their own element," Brom agreed, "but if we draw them out-"
"They aren't fool enough to fall for it, say nothing of their parents."
"Our targets are the Ra'zac. Not the Lethrblaka."
"One and the same. Neither are far from the other."
"You have a proposal?"
"Allow me to instruct them-"
"No."
Formora scowled. "You're in no state to teach them."
Brom glared at her. "And you are? You shouldn't be here."
"So you've said."
"You shouldn't. You're putting them in danger."
"No more than before. They should be fleeing the Empire, not trekking deeper in."
"The dead ply the coasts-"
"So take to the deserts."
Brom breathed in deeply. "The urgals are moving."
Formora paused. "We encountered a warband before you. What are they up to?"
"They've been raiding north. Burning homes, butchering villages, stealing little."
"That's not like them."
Brom snorted. "They aren't quite as noble as you remember them."
"I suppose none of us are."
He looked at her, then. "They're mine to train. Travel with us if you so desire; but I am responsible for them. If I require aid I will ask for it."
"... Very well." She wasn't pleased to surrender the point, but there was etiquette to consider, even in the wake of the order's demise. Formora had never been one to poach a prize pupil, no matter how inept their teacher was. "But you will ask."
"We'll see."
Two days later, when Eragon's wrist had healed significantly, Brom drew a blade and motioned to him. Formora watched from the edge of their impromptu camp; she was scarcely welcome so close to the fire, nor had she interest in joining them. Human smells and the stench of their foodstuffs never sat right with her. She said nothing as steel was shrouded in wards and brought to bear. Their movements were sloppy. Slow. Purposeful, but without that oh so necessary edge. Brom was fierce - but he fought like a man, not an elf or Rider. And the boy-
The boy was trying so, so hard to keep up.
Will you join them? Saphira asked.
Formora didn't need to look to know the dragon was watching her, as she had since Ikharos' departure. They hadn't had cause to speak to one another often. Tragic, really; she savoured every touch of the dragon's mind. "No," Formora whispered. "I will not."
Brom has barred you, hasn't he?
She held her tongue.
He mistrusts you - but he wants to hide it from us. Why?
"He has your best interest at heart," Formora said. She wondered why she bothered to make excuses for him. "This is a matter of ethos. I will not interfere."
But you want to.
Formora turned at last. Saphira laid on her side though her head was held high. Her glittering blue eyes were fixed on her. "I will not interfere," Formora said again. Another elf would have heard the dozen meanings in her words - but Saphira derived only one.
Who are you?
"I am Laerdhón."
What is it you want of us?
"To see that you remain free."
Saphira hummed and inched closer, claws kneading the earth. What is the king to you?
"A fiend," Formora replied, filling her voice with as much derision and hate and loathing as she could.
You know him?
"I wish I hadn't."
Saphira laid her head down next to her. And who are you to him?
Formora smiled softly. The young dragon was as subtle as an urgal - but she was rightly suspicious and thus a sharper study than her Rider. "An enemy, like all elves."
Saphira snorted.
"A question for you, wind-daughter."
Oh?
The clang of sword-on-sword drew Formora's eye back to the duel. Both men were breathing laboriously, straining against one another. That they'd locked crossguards at all was far from inspiring. It never should've reached such a point. "Where did your egg come from?"
Saphira hesitated. I... I don't know.
That, Formora decided, was troubling.
"Eragon found her egg in the woods," Brom reluctantly explained. They had veered far enough from the roads that Eragon and Saphira could partake of a rare flight. "It was some distance outside our village. He said the egg appeared."
A teleportation spell. Dangerous, for both caster and recipient. "It was meant for you."
"... Aye." Brom raised his head to watch as Saphira soared in circles above. "I guessed as much."
"Why?"
"Because I found her first." He spared her a look. "The king kept her egg originally-"
"And you stole it?"
"Aye."
Formora nodded slowly. "I never knew he had eggs in his custody."
"He never told you?"
"Why would he? We were playthings to him, not confidants. Morzan, perhaps, but not I. Who did you give the egg to?"
"The Varden."
"The Varden-!" Formora exhaled fitfully. "Those brigands in the southern hills?"
"Hardly." Brom huffed. "They're much more than that now."
"You're in contact."
He looked at her again, brow furrowed. "You have something to say?"
"What about the elves-"
"They knew. There... was an arrangement. The egg was ferried between them to increase the odds of hatching."
"To give the humans a chance, you mean."
Brom sighed. "Aye."
"But something has gone amiss."
"I don't understand it myself." He fell silent after that.
That eve she settled beyond the border of camp, exiled again by Brom's glaring paranoia, and found herself once more approached by Eragon. He had a habit of staring at her, usually at her wings. Formora self-consciously folded them against her back. "What is it?"
Saphira was watching. Brom as well, though he made a show of hiding it at least. Nonetheless Eragon lowered his voice. "You know a great deal about magic, do you not?"
"What of it?"
Eragon hesitated. "It's... about scrying."
Formora's gaze sharpened. A sliver of doubt flitted through her mind - did they know of her - until... no. No, a coincidence. She'd always been partial to scrying, yes, and had been renowned for manipulating the functions of the spell during her time in the order but the order was dead. Those who knew her were gone. And Brom - he had as much to lose by revealing her secret as she did. "You scry?"
"I... I've checked on my, ah... kin," Eragon said, stumbling over his words. He looked down at his feet. "To check their safety-"
"I won't pry, human. You need only tell me which part of it you need help with."
"I don't."
"No?" Formora raised a brow. "Then what bothers you?"
He hesitated again. "... Is it possible to scry a dream?"
What.
"Not quite," Formora said, bewildered. "Are you saying you meant to attempt it, or-"
"I already have."
"... Explain."
Eragon didn't say anything immediately. He looked over his shoulder and Brom, sensing something was amiss, trudged over. "What is it, boy?"
"He's scryed a dream," Formora stated.
Brom paused. "A dream? What kind of dream?"
"It's... I don't know how to describe it." Eragon huffed. "I saw a woman."
"Eragon-" Brom groaned.
"It's not- No!" Eragon's face flushed and he shook his head almost violently. "She was in distress, shackled I think, and..." He looked at her then. "I wouldn't have known if not for looking at you."
"Known what?" Formora asked carefully.
"I think she's an elf."
"And you scryed her?"
"Aye. I did. But... she's a dream, so-"
Not necessarily. Formora grimaced; she was uneasy with matters of tampered minds. It reminded her far too much of herself, played as a puppet to the whims of Vroengard's dragons. She wondered, briefly, if Brom knew of them - but that suspicion quickly fell apart. If he was in contact with them, he wouldn't have been so surprised to see her. "Show me."
For a moment Brom looked as if he would rally a protest, only to sigh and step back. "Do it, lad."
Eragon looked at each of them and pulled a bowl out of his packs, filling it with water from an animal skin. He breathed in deeply, glanced to Saphira for support, and uttered, "Draumr kópa!"
Inky darkness spread across the water's surface, making way for muted colours. Formora saw a stone cell illuminated by a single lonely torch, a sparsely-furnished cot, and a lone woman bruised and bloodied. The glint of chains shone between her wrists. She was lying across the cot limply - but her hair had fallen to the side, revealing a pointed ear.
"Aye," Eragon said with. Drops of sweat beaded his forehead. "An elf. Laerdhón, do... do you know her?"
Formora watched but the woman did not so much as twitch. If she had wards then they were in pieces. Wherever she was, she was a prisoner and not one treated well. "I don't," she said at length, meaning it, but when she glanced to Brom-
He knew. He recognized her. His expression was severe, full of grim pain, and he quickly turned away with a huff. "Enough Eragon," he said gruffly. "You'll run yourself ragged."
Eragon dropped the spell with a gasp. He hadn't noticed. Saphira neither; as was typical, her eyes were only for Formora. How is something like this possible?
Formora tore her gaze from Brom. "You must describe your dream to me first."
Eragon stood up with effort. "Much the same. She hadn't moved. But... I didn't see-"
Her ears. To a human's eyes that was as fair an indicator as any regarding race. Formora, though, did not feel overly concerned. Of course, and as was likely, the cell belonged to the king or one of his vassals. Dwarven architecture was too recognizable, her own people didn't employ the use of cut stone, and the only other human nation was Surda - as far from Du Weldenvarden as was possible in Alagaësia. It was unlikely that Surda would capture and torment an älfa either. They lacked a reason to. She couldn't imagine Surda had the magicians and warriors skilled enough to catch one of her kin too; they'd never held that sort of power.
That left the Broddring Empire and only that. They wouldn't treat her well. Her death was all but a certainty. More fool her for daring to roam beyond the safety of the homeforest.
"Wherever she is, she's far beyond our reach," Formora said, forcing the matter from her mind.
All three looked at her sharply. Do your kin mean so little to you? Saphira challenged.
"My kin are dead or lost," Formora coldly retorted. "Or else I would still be with them. No, I do not know this one - and I will not scour every dungeon in the empire for the sake of a stranger." For one who may have knowingly damned me to his thrall. "The risk is too great, and we know too little."
Brom continued to say nothing and stared off into the dark. Eragon and Saphira, though perturbed by her words, dispersed soon after. Formora watched them go and sighed. She took up the bowl, which otherwise would have remained there forgotten, and after a period of great internal debate whispered the words for magic.
Darkness crowded beneath the water's surface but nothing revealed itself. It had been too optimistic to think that the witch's hex might have degraded. Formora moved on from Agnisia to the dragonling itself. She caught the quickest glimpse of silver hide and pale eyes before that too was cut short.
No, she thought. It could never be so easy.
"What are you doing?" Brom asked, far too idle for her liking. He hadn't moved, still looking out into the woods.
"Trying to find the other," Formora responded in a clipped tone. "Its captor has hidden it."
"Beyond even your capabilities?"
"Just as you did, once."
Brom snorted. "Aye."
"Will you do so again?"
"You think I'll try to escape you?"
Formora answered him with silence.
"If only I could," he said bitterly. "You've made us prisoners."
"That is not my intent."
"No?"
"I... have surrendered the need for retribution," Formora said carefully. "But only against you."
"Because I have something you desire."
"Because you have something I treasure."
"You frighten them."
Formora knew as much. "Good."
"Is it?" He looked at her strangely.
"Better that they remain slow to trust."
"A poor way to live-"
"It's the only way we can live, you and I. They need to learn it quickly, lest they be taken advantage of."
Brom's reply was to furrow his brow and return to the fire. She let him go - because she knew, in her heart, that she was right. Just as she knew he agreed with her.
He only wanted the excuse to say otherwise.
By the next day they danced across the open plains beyond the shadow of the Spine and hurried to the edge of Leona Lake. There they found ample cover from prying eyes and weather both; Formora quietly delighted in the tranquility of nature about the place, where insects and birds and amphibians could be heard at all hours calling to one another, where the trees and reeds and flowers shone with health, where the deathly chill of winter receded to the soft kiss of spring.
By eve they camped by the water's edge. Formora lingered only to be sure the others were asleep or, in Brom's case, left to watch over them, when she snuck away and stripped of her armour and outer coverings. She worked over the feathers of her wings with magic and a soft touch, oiling them with spells to protect them from water. Once finished, she turned to the lake and dove straight in. The water was cool in the night air, refreshingly clear and deliciously clean. She formed gills and submerged herself, swimming along in the twilight hours and exulting in the sheer sensation of it all. She was alone, she was free, and for a time she was beyond all responsibility, all notions of vengeance and hope; Formora simply was, and that was enough.
She returned before dawn. Brom glanced at her though made no remark - only watched and waited.
He made for poorer company than even Ikharos. At least the Risen knew better than leave his misgivings to fester. Their arguments, though intense, had proven therapeutic - a comparison to which Brom's simmering treatment of her seemed so... childishly dramatic. He'd known the value of conversation, the pair of them dancing around awkward subjects with practised ease, and the equal value of comfortable silence. In the shadow of Enduriel he'd been a saint, and in light of all that plagued her present company, he'd cooperated with her in grim acceptance of necessity.
A shame, Formora reflected, that their lasting differences had driven so great a wedge between them. Hindsight was both a blessing and a curse, because she now knew where she'd erred and with newfound clarity realised how miraculously bloodless their parting had been. That Saphira and Eragon had survived at all was entirely due to work of a defiant whim in the face of an alien curse - and nothing more. It was as sobering a conclusion to come to as it was depressing.
"What are you doing?" Brom inquired.
Formora realized she'd stopped in place and moved to collect her packs, shooting him a venomous look. "Nothing. Nothing at all."
The trail took them to a lakeside town named Fasaloft. It was new - Formora was aware of a couple of lodgings back when the Empire knew her as a vassal, not the present press of cramped huts - but only in an elven sense. She and Saphira lingered outside while the men sought out bed and board. Brom had been reluctant to leave her with the dragon and may not have left them at all if not for Saphira pushing him to it.
Go, she said. What's one night?
Formora watched them recede to the shadows of the townward road and turned to the dragon, who looked at her expectantly. "We need to hide ourselves," she said.
Saphira rumbled thoughtfully. I know.
"I'm not sure if you do, wind-daughter. You may have braved the wilds outside Teirm and other frontiertowns, but this is the heart of the Empire, where humanity teems in their tens of thousands. We must make ourselves scarce, lest we chance prying eyes."
You don't care for humans, do you?
"I... appreciate the individual above the people," Formora said reservedly. "But in their multitudes humanity makes for a wasteful, careless beast, too pungent on the senses and too reckless for its own good."
Saphira snorted. Very well.
They moved quickly and found a small, archaic ringfort that may have been left by her own people in ages past, before the pact lengthened their years. A copse of trees removed them from risk of being seen and they were several leagues from the roads besides. Formora made no fires; she cared not for warm meals and her magic spared her the worst of the fading winter's chill.
Saphira settled opposite her in the small hollow, head laid over crossed forelegs, and her eye, half-lidded, ceaselessly watched her. Eventually, yawning and stretching her wings, Saphira shifted and leaned closer. I have a question, Laerdhón.
"Speak it."
What misunderstanding drove you to draw steel on Brom?
Formora stilled. She closed her eyes. "He tried to kill me. Several times."
Why?
"A lack of awareness regarding our... circumstances. I understand why he did so, but I cannot forgive it either. All the same, for your sake and Eragon's, I will endeavour to forget."
What circumstances?
"Personal ones. I would appreciate if you refrained from prying." She opened her eyes. Saphira was still watching her. Unperturbed, she pulled her cloak about her shoulders and laid her head back. The night was quiet but not silent; the winds rustled springtime leaves, the beasts of the woods still chirped and scurried and foraged, and the stars above were ever so bright. She mapped familiar constellations, recalling how her father used to sneak herself and her brother out to learn them - all without alerting her mother. It was so long ago the words, the moments blended into one, but she refused to forget the feeling. Their faces. The times they held each other's hands, promising without words to treasure the love.
I can smell it on you, Saphira said suddenly. Formora hardly moved. Just as I could smell it on him.
"Can you?" Formora whispered, alert but not-quite-concerned.
You're a Rider.
She knew better than to deny it. More fool Brom for trying to hide himself; some things would never change, their natures least of all. "What does it smell like?"
Fire. Steel. Saphira paused. Blood. Stronger with you.
Was it the guilt she carried? For the order-
Or for something else? Something closer to her heart?
What was their name?
"I..." Formora exhaled slowly. "... I wish I could tell you."
Saphira paused. Did they suffer?
She shuddered. "Not in the end, no."
Did it hurt?
"Like death."
I'm sorry.
"You are one of the few I can never blame." Formora turned on her side.
I have one more question.
"Make it quick, wind-daughter."
What's your name?
Formora sat up slowly. "I told you-"
You lied. There was no heat in Saphira's words but her claws dug deep into the earth.
"No lie. Laerdhón is my name."
But not the one you commonly go by.
"Not... often, no," Formora admitted. She couldn't lie. Not to her - who she owed the world for what had been taken from her. Certainly for the sake of the other egg, the other hatchling she'd lost.
So what is it?
"... I am Formora," she said.
Saphira did not respond. She tensed but did not rise, did not open her jaws to bathe them both in fire, did nothing more than growl, then huff, then whine.
Formora averted her gaze. "You know me."
From Eragon. From... from Brom's stories. Saphira scratched the earth with more fervour. Are you here to kill us?
"No."
Capture us?
"No."
Spy on us for the egg-breaker?
"I would sooner carve out my own heart," Formora said. Her vehemence must have been enough but Saphira blew a great column of smoke out of her nostrils, deflating fast.
Then why-
"Because I had no choice. He left us none. Because..." Her fingers pressed into her palm. The sting of nails biting skin was deliciously distracting. "Because I tried to run and hide, but the call to duty found me all the same."
You are Forsworn.
"Of no volition of my own, I assure you. My only crime was a lapse in caution and I've paid most dearly. My brother, my dragon, my... all my family." She sighed. "I did not lie when I said I have no kin left."
For a time there was silence fraught with a terrible tension.
Did he kill them? Saphira inquired.
Her heart racing, her ears ringing, Formora shook her head. Terrible, terrible sights flashed across her mind - memories buried, guilts locked away, each come back to haunt her once more. "No. I did."
Mercifully the dragon had her fill. With a grunt she turned away and left Formora to suffer her disregard.
It was as excruciating as if someone had taken a brand to her heart.
They reunited with Eragon and Brom the next night, south of Fasoloft. They were on the road to Dras Leona, now, and closing in on the Ra'zac - twisted, dark, frightening creatures that were as much a curse on the land as the Scorn, if mercifully less plentiful. She hadn't had cause to entreat with them often during her time among the Forsworn, though the king had ensured she knew where they nested. In case they rebelled against him, Formora assumed, though they were many times more loyal than her.
If Saphira had told Brom or Eragon of what Formora had said then neither of them cared enough to confront her. The dragon herself made a case of ignoring her, which, though warranted, left her feeling... bitter. Irrationally so. This was her lot now. To skirt the edges of civility, forever a stranger or forsaken for deeds done under duress. A villain by any other name.
Eventually, when the city was but a day's ride away, Brom called for an early night. "It's time we talked about what we intend to do next," he said grimly.
Formora watched him, as he watched her. He was nervous - set on the lad's quest, of course, but terrified all the same. No amount of bravado could hide it from her. What was more, he was terrified of her. It was almost an insult; there'd been ample time to restrain and capture them if she'd been an enemy. Involving the Ra'zac would have meant splitting that glory-
If it could be called as much.
"Their nest lies within the stone of Helgrind," she explained. "It's almost impossible for humans to reach - but aided with flight we could sneak in. Alas, that exposes us to the Lethrblaka."
"How large are they?" Eragon asked nervously.
Formora hesitated. "A little smaller than Saphira, though not by much. They cannot create fire, but they're quick, with sharp beaks and quite impervious to direct magic. Their breath is soporific. Light bothers them, hampers their senses, but it won't disable them. The Ra'zac possess similar capabilities. In physical terms they are the equal of any elf."
Eragon turned to Brom. "You told me no human could ever defeat an elf in combat."
"Did I now?" Brom huffed. "I said that in regards to a fair swordfight."
Formora, certain that Rider and dragon were looking at him instead of her, arched a brow. Brom scowled.
"Anyways, lad, this is what you settled on."
Eragon made a face. "If I stand so little chance against an elf, how can I hope to defeat the Ra'zac?"
"By being clever."
"Or lucky," Formora commented.
Brom threw her a disgruntled look. "You have a suggestion?"
"One: turn away."
"No!" Eragon shook his head wildly. "I won't! Not after all this time-"
"The dead almost caught you in Teirm," Formora said. "Ikharos soon after. You have been lucky, but don't trust it to last. Will you give the Ra'zac the same opportunity?"
"You offered to help-"
"And I shall, if you decide on this path, but I must warn you against it."
Eragon set his jaw. "I have to do this."
"He's monstrously stubborn," Brom muttered.
Formora thinned her lips. "So I've gathered. Very well, if you're set on this... we must scout Helgrind. There's no two ways about it; we must know the ground we intend to trespass before all else."
"I thought-"
"I know they reside here, but I've never had cause to find them." Formora paused. "I can take to the air as well as mask my scent. I'll be quieter than Saphira; quicker too."
"Not alone," Brom said abruptly.
Formora begrudgingly inclined her head. "Not alone."
What will we do? Saphira grumpily pressed.
"Nothing," Brom said. "You'll stay back and stay safe. We'll face the Ra'zac together, but Laerdhón is correct; if we throw ourselves against Helgrind the first chance we get they'll kill us - or worse, bring us before Galbatorix himself."
Eragon bobbed his head. "When will you leave?"
"Tomorrow," Formora clarified. "Early dawn. It's when they're at their weakest: with the sun's rise."
They set out before the first light. Brom roused Eragon and Saphira before they left and left them with a warning - to hide from anyone and anything. They were far enough from the roads but with Dras-Leona so close Formora was nervous a stray patrol might find them. Try as they might, it was difficult to hide a dragon, even one so young.
"Focus," Brom barked, gesturing onwards.
Formora spared him a scathing look. "You would do well to take your own advice."
"The Ra'zac-"
"Won't be active." Formora strode onwards, out from beneath the shadow of the trees and before the rising slopes of Helgrind. It was an abruptly tall mountain, with four peaks, but she knew the one facing the west was where the Ra'zac favoured their lair's entrance. A couple of well-beaten paths led from the roads outside the city to its base, but few ever visited. That was a right reserved solely for the clergymen who worshipped the dark creatures and offered their own people as sacrifice. It was no coincidence that Dras-Leona was also home to one of the largest slave markets in the Empire.
But it wasn't a holy day. Formora understood that the cult, like many unreasonable faiths, liked to keep to a schedule. She only knew of it because of another Forsworn, Saerlith, and his wagging tongue. He used to watch over them for the king-
Before, of course, Brom had killed him and his dragon both.
Formora flicked her wings as a shiver of trepidation ran down her spine. She left Brom on the edge of her vision; there was little chance she'd ever turn her back on him. With one hand resting on the hilt of her sword, she raised the other to cast her magic.
"We're alone," Brom said gruffly. He clutched at his own sword.
She whispered words of magic, willing the wind to refuse to carry her scent, muffling the noise it would make against her wings, and lastly pulled at the dormant embers of Darkness in her heart. Bereft of an Osmiomancy gauntlet she had no medium through which to channel it - but it came all the same, if weaker than before. Sharpened crystals jutted between her clenched fingers like glittering knives. With a gentle woosh, Formora took to the air.
There were no birds. Few insects. She hovered and flitted and soared, searching until the faint stench of blood and decay reached her. Formora expanded her mind warily and touched on Brom's thoughts, hidden behind a roughshod mental shield. She only needed him to hear her words, nothing more. I'm close.
Reluctantly, so much that she could taste his distrust, Brom responded thus: How high?
Formora all but hugged the sheer rockface, searching. Soon enough she found it - a dark overhand set in the cliff, the entrance of a cave shadowed over. At a glance it wouldn't have seemed like anything out of place. Steep enough that you and Eragon would exhaust yourselves climbing it.
Are the Ra'zac there?
Formora couldn't feel them. Not with her mind - such was their advantage. Direct spells were similarly useless, but she parsed through the stench wafting from the cavern until she found their particular smell. They've been through some days ago. Perhaps they mean to rest. Or-
A shudder in the air sent her scrambling for cover. Formora dove, chanted a spell and pressed against a jutting spire of rock. The heavy slaps of leathery wings beat the air. Her eyes were drawn to a shadow separating from the grey clouds above - a large, lanky shape, coloured like dry earth. The Lethrblaka, easily of size with Saphira if not larger, swooped down quickly.
And darted into the cavern. It hadn't seen her.
What was more, Formora spied a cloaked figure clinging to its back.
They've arrived, she said, confident now that the creatures were ignorant of her presence. For all their advantages they were hunters of men, not elf, and thusly at a disadvantage where she was concerned. At least one parent and offspring.
I saw. If they're alone... Brom said.
They won't be.
We can't know until we climb inside. But if they are alone, that leaves us with an opportunity.
Formora waited until she was sure the Lethrblaka wouldn't re-emerge and kicked away from the cliff, diving quickly. Her mind filled with scenarios - drawing the Ra'zac out, filling their tunnels with light and hunting them down, or sneaking inside armed with ward and enchantments - until a flicker of guarded thoughts played at the edge of her consciousness. Quickly she retracted her mind and ducked low, gliding into the treeline and catching on a branch sturdy enough to take her weight.
We aren't alone anymore, she warned.
Brom's thoughts flared with alarm. Who?
A human but they're shielding themselves. And... a horse. The animal's mind was open. They don't know we're here.
What are they doing?
Formora, wary that she wouldn't draw the human's attention, slithered into the horse's mind and picked through its recent memories. She could feel its fear - not of her, it hadn't yet realized it wasn't quite alone, but something else. Tracking.
Tracking what?
The same as us. They were downwind too, coming from the direction of the city - the same way as the Lethrblaka. The man is armed.
A kingsman?
The horse was a war-breed, of strong nerve and frightful disposition.
"Easy," its rider whispered, patting its neck.
No. Formora relayed the human's position to Brom. They're closing in on you, but they don't know you're there.
The bramble here will make noise if I try to circle around.
So use magic.
I... Brom sullenly trailed off. I cannot.
Why?
I'm reserving my energy.
Formora scowled. Of all the times to do so...
It's not for me.
Of course not. Formora followed up with a wordless instruction to remain still and took off, gliding through the woods as carefully as she could. The horse's mind left her well aware of the rider's position, and she charted a path to intercept. Within moments she could see them - cloaked and bereft of the uniform so typical of the king's agents, but the glitter of steel at their hip and a quiver of arrows set along the saddle's side were telling enough.
With a burst of speed she soared towards them from behind. When the rider at last turned, sensing something was amiss, she was already in range to flick out her hand and encase the horse's hooves in Stasis. It whinnied with sudden panic, pulling hard, and the man cursed-
She caught him, pulled him off the steed, and landed with him sprawled on the ground, Vaeta placed against his throat.
The horse continued to panic until Brom arrived, catching its bridle and hushing it with his own magic. Formora shot him only a momentary look of derision. He returned it with a scowl and stalked over. She turned back to the man and found him staring up at her, pale with shock.
"Human," she said, and he flinched.
Brom stopped beside them. "Who are you?"
"I... Tornac! My name is Tornac," gasped the man- more a boy, really, only a few years older than Eragon. His features were sharp, his hair dark, his face cleanshaven and his eyes were unwaveringly hard, despite the fear running through him. There was something... uniquely familiar about him, though the why escaped her.
His garb beneath the cloak, though, was travel-worn - not the hauberk she was anticipating, instead a simple tabard, leather boots in place of sabatons, simple trousers over mail leggings and though he wore a sword at his hip it was alone, accompanied by no fencing knives or swordbreakers.
A traveller. Not a soldier. But appearances could be dangerously deceiving.
Formora lifted Vaeta and stepped away. "This," she said, turning to Brom, "I leave to you."
He nodded grimly, eyes only for the boy. "Get the horse. We need to move them."
They took Tornac and his steed far away from Helgrind, afraid the Ra'zac may have heard the din, but nowhere near Eragon or Saphira. It was simply too dangerous. A small isolated glade a mile or so beyond the mountain was suitable enough and there they stopped, shoving Tornac to his knees. Formora ran a hand down the warhorse's neck; it flicked its ears nervously but aided with magic she had it calmed enough to keep from fleeing.
"Are you going to kill me?" Tornac blurted. He glared at them, more at her than Brom.
Brom looked at him blankly. "What are the Ra'zac to you?"
"The what?"
"You well know what I speak of."
Tornac's expression hardened. "What are they to you?"
Brom rose up and looked her way. He may be an agent.
Formora narrowed her eyes. And you propose I break into his mind?
Aye.
If he isn't?
Brom hesitated. The king can't know.
Agreed.
We'll cross that bridge when we get there.
Formora whispered a command to the horse, strode over and peered into Tornac's eyes. He uneasily watched her every movement. She dropped to a knee before him, wings folded, and said, "I shall open your mind now."
He gave a start, eyes widening frightfully. "No-"
She opened with a quick, brutal assault to shred his mental shielding. Tornac gave a cry, but Brom was there to keep him from striking her. "Please," he gasped, desperate and in pain. "Please, don't- No!"
Formora continued, needling ever deeper. His focus was commendable, his hold was firm, but he was human. There was only one possible outcome.
"Please, I- I'm looking for a dragon rider!"
She paused and exchanged a dire look with Brom. He waved for her to continue. Formora scored the edges of his thoughts, catching wisps of everything to cross the front of his mind: exhaustion, panic, terror above all else. Not only of her. Of-
Repercussions? Of the Ra'zac too, and of being late. Of them opening him up like a book and learning-
"Your name is Murtagh," Formora said quizzically.
Brom gave a start. "What?"
She released her hold. "Is something wrong?"
"Murtagh?"
Tornac blinked, breathing hard. He said nothing.
Brom's expression darkened. "Morzan's son."
Formora stood quickly and reached for her weapon. Morzan? Morzan the First? Morzan the Traitor? Morzan-
Knelt on the dais before Galbatorix himself, the pair of them thick as thieves.
"You serve the king," she said hollowly.
Murtagh glared up at her and spat, "Fuck. Him."
"You mean to say you don't?" Brom questioned harshly
"If you're going to bring me back just kill me now. It would be kinder on us all."
"Brom." Formora looked at him, but he was staring at the boy like he'd seen a ghost-
"Brom?" Murtagh twisted to look at him. "You're Brom?"
Brom stiffened. Thank you.
Morzan has a son?!
Had. And no love lost between the two of them. Brom nodded warily. "So you know me?"
Murtagh shifted. "I know you killed my father."
"... Aye."
Formora blinked. You killed Morzan?
Are you surprised? You knew he was dead-
I presumed he did it himself.
It would've been better if he had. Brom knelt. "Why are you following the Ra'zac if you're looking for a dragon rider?"
Murtagh's expression turned stony. "Because they work for the king."
You've not been subtle enough, Formora chided.
Blame Eragon if you must, he finds trouble everywhere he goes.
This isn't funny.
I never said it was. He sighed. "So you followed them to their nest?"
"Aye."
"Why aren't you with the king?"
Murtagh hesitated.
"We'll find the truth," Formora warned. "Willing or no."
He glanced at her worriedly, though he tried to put on a brave face. "I... I don't want to become my father."
Brom stared at him a moment longer before huffing and turning away. We can't kill him.
No? He's Morzan's-
No. I won't allow it.
Why? Formora demanded.
Brom scarcely glanced at her. Because I knew his mother.
She scoffed. What do you propose we do?
Take him?
To Eragon? To Saphira?
What other choice do we have? If we let him loose-
We won't.
Brom's expression hardened. He turned to regard her stonily. We'll watch him. Keep his weapons away from him. Cast a spell on that horse too if you must-
Why must I be responsible?
Because if he runs, he'll never escape you.
Formora exhaled. She turned back to Murtagh and said, in a low voice, "You will tell us everything. Or I'll drag the truth out myself."
They returned to camp one member extra. Eragon and Saphira both stared as Brom led the horse - whose actual name was Tornac, amusingly - through the trees and picketed it nearby. Murtagh stumbled after them, Formora taking up the rear. He was scared of her but with every moment that passed he grew braver, looking at her longer, trying to provoke her. It was, once more, all so pitifully human.
She needed to be rid of them, for a while at least.
As soon as they were settled - and Eragon and Saphira told only the bare minimum, that Murtagh was tracking the Ra'zac - she was gone. Flying, tearing through the forest to find some measure of peace, all under the pretence of patrolling the perimeter.
Because Morzan's son-
He had a son. A child. The one and only descendant of the Forsworn. Last of their legacy - alongside herself. Of all the odds, to find the First's whelp lingering outside a Ra'zac nest? It was suspect. It was unlikely and dangerous and yet-
The truth. He'd sworn as much as soon as she pressed for it. Sworn it in the language that allowed no deception.
Formora stopped in the shadow of an ash tree and closed her eyes. She wondered what it would've been like if she'd only sailed away. Taken to the great sea and passed beyond, where history faded into myth and from whence her ancestors originally hailed from. It would've been safer. No Scorn, no Ra'zac, no Galbatorix. No Forsworn, only Formora. It would've been a fresh start.
It would've been a coward's way out.
She pushed away and reached for the Dark. Crystal manifested all around her. As dangerous as it was, Stasis had a calming effect. She was in control. She'd fought for it at every turn - this was her will. No other's.
If only Ikharos had shared it earlier. Formora might've been able to save the hatchling before the witch made off with it.
"I'm sorry," she whispered, to no one and everyone and hating that she bothered at all. "I'm sorry."
Formora opened her eyes and within the frozen tree she saw her own distorted reflection. "I'm sorry-"
But there was something else, something thin and pallid and one-eyed and it smiled at her.
WHATEVER FOR?
Formora gasped and raised her sword but claws tightened around her throat, strangling the scream before it could rise and- and- and-
it faded
she
forgot
The panic melted from her. Formora looked into the crystal and saw... only herself, laden down with exhaustion and paranoia. Sighing, she released her hold on the Dark... and strolled back to camp.
AN: Big thanks to Nomad Blue for editing!
This took way too long to write, but I'm happy to be done with it. So, finally linked up with IH canon (or the tattered remains of it) and the first thing I'll say is... this is where 'canon' ends, because Formora alone is a big enough change to alter events, say nothing of what's about to happen next chapter or two. We got Murtagh tracking down the Ra'zac because of a rumour, Eragon wanting to kill them, Brom helping him do so - and that's about all the cues I'm going to take from the books for now.
Brom was a delight to work with though. I think the trope of grumpy old men who mean well must be my favourite because I take way too much enjoyment out of it.
Anyways, next entry should be much quicker as well as shed some light on the whole what the fuck is going on thing. Toodles.
