CHAPTER ELEVEN
Tronjheim
The Airship glided through the vast emptiness of the Hadarac Desert, its magical thrusters humming faintly in the stillness, propelling the airship with an eerie silence. The ship's invisible cloak shimmered faintly, a whisper against the vast blue sky. Below, the desert stretched endlessly, the golden sands broken only by the occasional jagged rocks or shifting dunes.
Inside the airship, there was a quiet tension. Garrow's body lay below in one of the cavernous rooms near the cargo hold, his shrouded form a somber reminder of the weight of loss. The villagers, weary and grieving, awaited the chance to lay him to rest once we reached Tronjheim. A proper funeral would follow, with the Varden providing the solemn rites under the mighty halls of Farthen Dûr.
On the top deck, Brom stood with his usual commanding presence, lecturing Eragon, Saphira, and me. The golden sunlight highlighted the weathered lines of his face, his sharp eyes scanning each of us as he spoke.
"When we arrive in Tronjheim," Brom said, his tone grave, "you must remain vigilant. The Varden will welcome us, yes, but politics runs thicker than blood in their halls. Many will try to use you, bend you to their agendas. Trust no one blindly—not even their leaders."
Eragon and I nodded, absorbing every word. I had read the books, of course, and I knew what Brom was warning us against. The tangled web of alliances, betrayals, and ambitions in Tronjheim would be challenging for anyone, let alone a young Rider. But this time, Brom was with us. His presence alone made everything feel different—more grounded, more secure.
Eragon's face was a mask of determination, but I could see the sorrow lingering in his eyes. Garrow's death had left a mark on him, as had the responsibility that came with being a Rider. Saphira sat behind him, her scales catching the sunlight, a beacon of strength and wisdom. She nudged him gently with her nose, her sapphire eyes filled with unspoken reassurance. Brom's words carried weight, but Saphira's presence anchored him.
Roran, on the other hand, was a shadow of his former self. He rarely spoke, his once warm gaze now cold and haunted. The loss of his father and the abduction of Katrina had hollowed him out. When I tried to speak to him earlier, he'd barely acknowledged me, his focus razor-sharp on one singular goal: rescuing Katrina. His grief had hardened into something unyielding, and it reminded me too much of the man he would become in the books—a relentless warrior driven by love and loss.
The hours passed slowly as Baldor guided the ship toward the looming silhouette of the Beor Mountains on the horizon. Their jagged peaks clawed at the sky, promising both sanctuary and danger. The air on the top deck was cool and bracing, carrying with it the faint scent of the desert below. I sat cross-legged, letting the wind tug at my hair as I watched Eragon and Murtagh spar.
The two had formed an unlikely bond, their movements fluid as they exchanged strikes. Murtagh's blade flickered with precision, each thrust and parry a testament to his training. Eragon, for all his raw skill, could only match Murtagh's experience, and not beat him outright, but he learned quickly, adapting to each mistake. Brom's insistence that Murtagh reveal the truth about his father—Morzan—had not shattered their growing camaraderie. It was a risk, but one that Brom had calculated well.
Still, Brom had kept one crucial secret to himself. Neither of them knew they shared the same mother, Selena. I could see why Brom had chosen to withhold it. Trust was fragile, and he wasn't willing to risk their bond devolving into rivalry—not yet. The unspoken weight of that secret pressed against my thoughts, but I kept silent. It wasn't my place to interfere, even if I knew what was coming.
Saphira returned from her flight, her wings folding gracefully as she landed on the deck. The urgency in her eyes was unmistakable as she relayed her message to Brom through their bond.
"An army approaches," Eragon translated for the rest of us, his voice cutting through the tension like steel. "Urgals. A large force heading toward the Beor Mountains."
I stiffened. The timeline was aligning too well with what I remembered. The twins—damn them—had likely informed Galbatorix of our movements after Jeod's message to the Varden. It made sense now. We were still following the events of the books, but with the ship and Brom's leadership, we had an edge this time.
"We need to reach the Varden immediately," Brom commanded, his tone brooking no argument. "If the Urgals are this close, we may have less time than we thought."
The urgency in his words was matched by the resolve in my chest. I glanced at Roran, whose jaw tightened at the news. His fists clenched at his sides, but he said nothing. His silence spoke volumes—his grief and anger would fuel him until he could act.
The Airship surged forward, its magical thrusters pushing it toward Farthen Dûr with renewed purpose. Below us, the desert began to give way to the rocky terrain of the mountains. My thoughts churned as I considered what lay ahead: the trials of Tronjheim, the brewing storm of politics, and the inevitable clash with the Urgals.
For now, though, we had a chance—a slim one, but a chance nonetheless. And I intended to make the most of it.
The airship soared over the jagged peaks of the Beor Mountains, its silent magical thrusters carrying it through the thin, crisp air. The grandeur of the landscape below was awe-inspiring: endless ridges of stone, capped with snow that gleamed in the sunlight, gave way to the shadowed expanse of Farthen Dûr's volcanic crater. Inside the ship, tension was palpable. We were on the verge of entering the heart of the Varden's resistance, a sanctuary—but also a hive of political intrigue and potential danger.
Brom stood near the edge of the deck, his cloak billowing in the wind. His face was carved with determination as he turned to Eragon. "You'll ride with me and Saphira into Tronjheim," he said, his tone leaving no room for argument. "We'll speak with the leaders first. I'll gauge their intentions, set the tone for our arrival. Once we've made arrangements, we'll return for the rest of you."
Eragon nodded solemnly, his hand brushing against Saphira's flank for reassurance. I stood by silently, knowing better than to question Brom's plans. He turned to me next. "Mark, keep the ship hovering over the mountains. I trust you'll manage." His piercing gaze lingered for a moment, filled with unspoken confidence.
"I will," I replied, and he gave a small nod of approval before he climbed onto Saphira's back. Eragon followed, gripping her saddle tightly. With a mighty beat of her wings, Saphira launched off the deck, the wind from her ascent whipping around us. I watched as they became a shrinking silhouette against the vast blue sky, heading toward the enormous crater below.
Left to my own devices, I wandered to the helm, where Jeod was seated. The older man, with his sharp eyes and graying beard, looked up from his notes and gestured for me to join him. "Impressive, isn't it?" he said, gesturing to the view below.
"More than impressive," I said, leaning on the railing. "It's surreal."
We passed the time talking. Jeod spoke at length about his former life as a trader, detailing the routes he used to take and the goods he dealt in. I was curious about whether he still maintained his network of contacts in places like Surda. He confirmed that he did, though some were less reliable now due to Galbatorix's increasing stranglehold on trade routes. As we talked, an idea began to take shape—establishing a discreet trade chain through Surda that could benefit both the Varden and our group. Jeod's enthusiasm was infectious, and we were deep in discussion when the rush of wings interrupted us.
Saphira landed on the deck with a graceful thud, and Eragon leapt off her back. His face was flushed with urgency as he addressed me. "Mark, we've been given clearance. There's an opening big enough for the ship to fit through. Bring it down into Farthen Dûr."
With Eragon's guidance, I piloted the airship toward the volcanic crater. The opening loomed ahead—a narrow, jagged fissure in the mountainside that seemed almost too small for the massive vessel. My grip on the controls tightened as I guided the ship through the gap, every second a test of precision. The ship scraped against the rock once, a metallic groan echoing through the hull, but it fit.
Then, the sight of Farthen Dûr spread out before us, and it was breathtaking. The colossal crater was a world unto itself, its walls towering miles high and its floor bustling with activity. Thousands of people, human and dwarven alike, turned their faces upward, pointing and murmuring at the airship that descended into their midst, its magical cloak now deactivated. I brought the ship down carefully, the landing smooth despite the nerves twisting in my gut.
Eragon and Saphira leapt from the deck, gliding down to meet the Varden's leaders, while I headed inside. On my way to the cargo hold, I encountered Horst and Murtagh. The three of us walked together to address the gathered villagers, their faces a mixture of awe and relief. Standing before them, I raised my voice.
"We've arrived at the Varden. You're safe for now, but we must follow their rules and guidance from here on. Stay calm and cooperative."
The crowd erupted into cheers, the sound a balm after the tension of the journey. As the ramps lowered, they filed out in an orderly fashion, greeted by Varden soldiers and stout dwarven warriors. Among them, Horst and his family lingered. Elain approached me first, pulling me into a warm embrace.
"I'm so proud of you, Mark, you saved us all and gave us a new start," she said softly, her voice trembling with emotion.
I swallowed hard, her words hitting deeper than I expected. "I just did my best," I replied.
"It's more than enough," she assured me, stepping back with a smile. Horst clapped me on the back with a grin.
"Hell of a thing you've done here, Mark, never in my life did I thnk I would be standing in the city of the dwarves."
We talked as they followed the other villagers into the safety of the Varden's care. When I turned back to the ship, I saw Eragon leading a group of dwarves inside. Moments later, they emerged carrying Arya on a stretcher. Even unconscious, her presence was commanding. Eragon had already told the dwarves what she needed, and they bowed solemnly before assuring him, "It shall be done."
I accompanied Eragon as he walked toward Brom, who was standing with an air of authority beside a massive man I recognized as Orik. On Brom's other side was Ajihad, his imposing figure radiating command. And behind him stood the twins, their identical faces shadowed with suspicion. Their sharp gazes flicked to me, their expressions hardening as they took in the airship behind us and the way Brom greeted me with a smile.
"Elda," I said, bowing to Brom, the title slipping easily from my lips. It was deliberate, a calculated move to show deference to my mentor and cement my place as his protégé. I saw the flicker of annoyance in the twins' narrowed eyes. They were already evaluating me, likely viewing me as a threat—an unknown magician trained by Brom, who they must have suspected was more than he appeared.
The twins' gazes shifted to the airship; their curiosity thinly veiled. I knew it wouldn't be long before they concocted some excuse to pry into its secrets. But as I straightened, meeting their eyes with a polite smile, I thought to myself, Let the games begin.
Brom stood tall before Ajihad, his demeanor as commanding as ever. The cavernous hall of Tronjheim, illuminated by glowing crystals embedded in the walls, seemed to hush in the presence of the leader of the Varden. Ajihad was an imposing figure, his dark eyes sharp and piercing, his expression a mask of quiet authority. He nodded to Eragon and Saphira, his respect evident in the way he regarded them, but his gaze shifted to me as Brom began the introductions.
"This is my protégé," Brom said, his voice resonating with a pride he rarely showed. "A magician with great potential. He has been instrumental in our journey here."
Ajihad's eyes locked onto mine, and it felt as though he was trying to pierce through the very fabric of my soul. I met his gaze, unflinching. If he sought to intimidate me, he would find no purchase. His lips curved into a subtle smile, one that carried both intrigue and caution, before he extended his hand.
"You carry yourself well," Ajihad said, his grip firm and testing.
"Thank you, sir," I replied, my voice steady, though the weight of his presence was undeniable.
Brom turned to Murtagh next, and I felt the tension in the room thicken. "And this," Brom announced, "is Murtagh, son of Morzan."
The words landed like a thunderclap. Orik and the other guards stiffened, their hands instinctively moving closer to their weapons. Murtagh's jaw tightened, and his eyes flickered with a mixture of defiance and unease. He shot Brom a sharp glare but remained silent, refusing to let his frustration show more than necessary.
The twins, ever the opportunists, seized the moment. They stepped forward, their oily voices oozing faux concern. "Ajihad," one of them began, his nasal tone grating, "surely you cannot trust the son of Morzan to walk freely among us. He is an enemy to all we stand for. And as for this magician," he added, gesturing toward me, "how do we know his allegiance is true? We should probe their minds to ensure they are not spies of the Empire."
I couldn't help but chuckle at their audacity. The sound drew their attention, their eyes narrowing at me. I knew their game well enough—they weren't concerned about loyalty. They wanted access to the secrets I carried, the knowledge Brom had imparted, and perhaps even the mysteries of my airship. Including me in their suggestion was nothing more than a ploy to justify their hunger for power.
Ajihad raised a hand, silencing the murmurs around him. He considered the twins' words for a moment before turning to us. "Brom has vouched for both of you, and that carries great weight. However, I must consider the concerns of my people. Will you consent to having your minds probed, if only to ease their fears?"
"No," Murtagh and I said in unison, our voices firm and resolute.
Ajihad's brow furrowed slightly, and he folded his arms. "If you refuse, I will have no choice but to place you under guard. Until your intentions can be proven beyond doubt, you will remain in custody."
Brom stepped forward, his patience visibly fraying. "I vouch for them," he repeated, his tone sharp and commanding. "The boy," he gestured to me, "has been under my tutelage since discovering his gifts. He has already proven his loyalty by killing the Ra'zac single-handedly."
A murmur of surprise rippled through the dwarves and guards. The twins' scowls deepened; their displeasure palpable.
Brom wasn't finished. Pointing to Murtagh, he continued, "And this one—son of Morzan or not—saved us all from the Shade Durza with a single arrow to the eye. These two are hunted by the Empire. They are not your enemies."
Ajihad's expression remained neutral, but there was a glimmer of respect in his eyes. "Your deeds speak for themselves," he said finally. "I will trust Brom's judgment for now."
Before I could relax, I noticed the twins whispering to one another, their gazes darting between me and the airship visible through the cavern's entrance. Whatever schemes they were concocting, I would be ready for them.
I turned to Ajihad. "What of Arya's condition?" I asked, my concern genuine.
"She is stable," Ajihad replied, his voice softening. "The healers are confident she will recover, though it may take time."
Eragon stepped forward, his curiosity evident. "What of the dwarves?" he asked, recalling the lessons Brom had given him about the Varden's political intricacies.
Ajihad nodded, as though expecting the question. "The dwarves will need to be informed of the Urgal threat. Their king must be warned. The Elven Queen, unfortunately, has severed communication since Arya's disappearance."
"Then we will have to make do," Brom said grimly. "We can't afford to wait."
Sensing the conversation winding down, I took a step back. "If I may be excused," I said to Brom. "I need to check on the villagers. They should know what lies ahead."
Brom hesitated, clearly wanting me to stay, but he relented. "Very well. But I had hoped you would join us to learn more about the dwarves and their ways."
"I'll be there next time," I assured him.
As Brom, Eragon, Saphira, and Murtagh were led away by Ajihad and Orik, I couldn't help but smirk at the sight of Eragon being treated like a prized artifact on display. With a quiet chuckle, I turned and made my way toward the massive group of villagers gathered near the airship.
Before I could reach Horst, however, the twins stepped into my path, blocking the way. Their smiles were anything but friendly, and their eyes gleamed with ill intent.
The twins stood before me, their identical faces twisted into expressions of smug superiority. One of them, the slightly taller of the two, began to speak in a nasal tone that grated on my nerves. "We wish to speak with you, young one, if you are willing?" I folded my arms, meeting their challenge head-on. "What about," I said cooly.
"When the old one and the young Rider arrived, we agreed with Ajihad to test the young Rider to better understand his level of skill. Ajihad, too, wishes to assess your level of skill. Since you are a magician, as the old one said, you will be tested to determine your place within Du Vrang Gata. We serve the magical needs of the Varden, and if you are to contribute, you must be evaluated."
The other twin picked up where his brother left off, his voice no less irritating. "Of course, we will decide where you fit into our group. Only then will you serve us."
Their words dripped with condescension, and I could see right through their little act. They weren't just testing me; they were trying to establish dominance, to put me under their control as they likely had with others in the Du Vrang Gata. Their arrogance was palpable, their intentions transparent, and I had no patience for their petty games. If they wanted dominance, they would get it—but on my terms.
I let a faint smile curve my lips, one that didn't reach my eyes. "Only because Ajihad asked," I said, my tone calm yet carrying an edge of steel, "I'll entertain this little charade. But make no mistake—I will not be serving under you weak-willed, yellow-bellied imbeciles. I see through your games, and should you continue annoying me with them, I will be forced to take action. This is your one and only warning. I advise you to take it."
The twins exchanged a glance, their smugness faltering for just a moment before the more defiant of the two sneered. "You would dare to—"
Before he could finish, I struck.
I lashed out with my mind, swift and merciless, pinning their thoughts under the full weight of my mental strength. It wasn't just a simple show of power; I crushed their defenses, trapping them in a vice-like grip they couldn't escape. I didn't pry into their secrets—doing so would have tipped my hand too far, and I still needed them unaware for what was to come. But I left them no room to maneuver, no avenue of retreat.
They fought back, pouring every ounce of their will into resisting me. Their efforts were commendable, even admirable in a way, but ultimately futile. Thanks to my unnatural strength as the Champion of Death and my mental battle with Durza, their feeble attempts to push me back were like gnats swarming against a mountain.
I tightened my grip and spoke, my voice laced with cold finality. "You two are out of your depth. You do not have the juice to take me on. Next time, I will unwind your minds and leave you broken. Now, begone."
I released them abruptly, and the mental pressure vanished. The twins stumbled back, their faces pale and glistening with sweat, fear etched into their features. Without another word, they turned and scrambled away, their earlier bravado shattered.
"Well, that was fun," I muttered under my breath, a wry smile playing at my lips as I continued toward Horst.
Horst was deep in conversation with Roran when I approached. Roran's expression was tense, his jaw set with determination as he spoke to Horst. "When can we go look for Katrina?" he asked, his voice tinged with both hope and desperation.
I placed a hand on his shoulder, meeting his gaze. "Soon, Roran," I promised. "But not yet. We need to deal with a Urgal threat first. Once we've ensured the safety of the Varden and Farthen Dûr, we'll find her. I swear it."
Roran nodded, though I could see the frustration simmering just beneath the surface. "I'll fight," he said firmly. "Whatever it takes, so long as it gets me one step closer to Katrina."
I hesitated for a moment, knowing the dangers ahead, but his resolve was unshakable. "Very well," I said. "And I will aid you however I can."
Horst, who had been listening quietly, spoke up. "Is there anything we can do to help?" he asked, his deep voice steady and reassuring.
I turned to him. "Yes. Prepare the villagers. If the Urgals breach Farthen Dûr and make it into Tronjheim, they'll need to evacuate quickly with the rest of the people of Tronjheim. While the armies fight to hold them back, but you need to be ready."
Horst nodded, his broad shoulders straightening as he accepted the responsibility. "We'll be ready."
We spoke for a while longer, discussing plans and contingencies, until a group of dwarven guards and Varden soldiers arrived to escort the villagers deeper into the city. This was their new reality now, their lives uprooted until Galbatorix was defeated.
As the villagers began moving, Jeod and Helen approached me, their expressions a mixture of curiosity and concern. "What's the plan?" Jeod asked.
"We'll help Ajihad and the Varden," I explained. "Once things settle, we'll look into setting up your business. For now, though, we focus on survival."
Jeod nodded in understanding, and Helen gave me a small, reassuring smile before they departed.
With the day winding down and nothing more pressing on my plate, I made my way back to the airship. Inside, I headed to my personal room, just below the control room. The familiar surroundings brought a sense of calm as I lay down, allowing the tension of the day to fade. Tomorrow would bring new challenges, new threats to face—but for now, I allowed myself the luxury of rest.
The vast city of Tronjheim was breathtaking, a masterpiece hewn from the heart of Farthen Dûr, the immense mountain sheltering the Varden. Its grandeur spoke volumes about Dwarven ingenuity—a labyrinth of gleaming halls, towering spires, and intricate carvings that whispered stories of their ancient culture. When I awoke the next morning, the magnificence of it all loomed even larger in my mind, a stark reminder of the stakes we were playing for.
I rose early, slipping out of my bed aboard the massive airship that had brought us here. Despite the hospitality offered to me in Tronjheim, I had declined their guest rooms. Ostensibly, it was to remain ready in case the Urgals attacked, but the truth was simpler—I didn't trust the Twins. I knew their type: manipulators lurking in the shadows, waiting for an opportunity to strike. If they tried anything, I wanted to be close enough to respond swiftly.
The morning rituals felt almost mundane amidst the chaos brewing around us. A quick bath, a clean shave using magic, and the familiar motions of brushing my teeth brought a sense of normalcy. The cargo hold greeted me with the scent of cool stone and fresh mountain air as I descended from the ship, stepping into the quiet hum of the waking city.
That's when I saw her—a striking woman with smooth dark skin, black braids adorned with golden accents, and eyes like molten amber. Her grace was undeniable, her presence commanding yet approachable. Recognition struck instantly.
"Hello, Nasuada," I said, offering her a warm smile.
Her eyes widened, shock flickering across her face. "How do you know my name?"
I chuckled lightly, unable to resist a touch of charm. "It's my business to know such things, especially about the daughter of Ajihad, who also happens to be the most beautiful woman in Tronjheim."
It was a bold move, perhaps reckless, but her laugh put me at ease. "Flattery suits you," she said, her tone playful. "I was sent to find you. My father wanted me to inform you about today's plans."
As we walked, Nasuada filled me in on her conversations with Brom, Eragon, and even Murtagh. She was curious about me, asking if I truly was a magician and whether I intended to join Du Vrang Gata. I gave her a measured response, making it clear that I followed Brom's lead and had no interest in entangling myself with the Twins or their group.
Her intellect and insight became increasingly apparent as we spoke. Nasuada carried herself with the dignity of a noblewoman but exuded genuine compassion for those around her. I found myself appreciating her company more than I'd expected, and it became clear why she would one day lead the Varden with such success. We shared stories, delved into histories of Alagaësia, and speculated about lands beyond. By the time our walk ended at Ajihad's office, a mutual camaraderie had formed.
Ajihad stood inside, deep in discussion with Brom, the Twins, and two Varden members. The moment I entered, the Twins avoided my gaze. I smirked, knowing full well they still bore the scars of yesterday's encounter. Good—they needed to remember who they were dealing with.
"Ah, you've finally arrived," Ajihad greeted me warmly, his voice a steady baritone that commanded respect.
"Good morning, Ajihad," I replied, nodding respectfully. My gaze shifted to Brom. "Brom."
Ajihad's piercing gaze lingered on me, searching, as if he could unravel the enigma of my presence with sheer will. It was a look I had grown accustomed to—people always seemed eager to solve the mystery I represented.
Ajihad brought me up to speed on their recent meeting with King Hrothgar and recounted how Eragon had blessed a child beneath the Isidar Mithrim. News of it had spread throughout the city. At the mention of the blessing, Brom's expression tightened, his annoyance barely concealed. I had a feeling Eragon had botched the phrasing of his words, like he originally did in the books, but Brom chose not to dwell on it, allowing Ajihad to continue.
When Ajihad mentioned that the Twins had been sent to deliver my summons for tomorrow's testing, I couldn't resist a jab. "The Twins were... most gracious in relaying the message," I said, my tone dripping with sarcasm. The Twins flinched; their fear poorly masked.
Ajihad noticed, raising an eyebrow, but said nothing. Instead, he dismissed me to prepare for the tests. I offered polite thanks before leaving.
After grabbing a quick meal in the bustling halls of Tronjheim, I checked in on Horst and Elain, ensuring they and the other villagers from Carvahall were settling in. The rest of the day passed in quiet preparation for what I knew was coming.
The following morning unfolded much the same as the last—routine rituals, a hearty breakfast, and another meeting with Nasuada. This time, Murtagh accompanied her, his stoic demeanor contrasting with Nasuada's warmth. Together, they escorted me to the training grounds, where Eragon and Saphira soon joined us.
"Good morning," Eragon greeted, his youthful energy tempered by curiosity. He inquired about the nature of our tests, his eagerness evident.
I offered him a reassuring smile. "the twins are probably going to test our magical might, oh don't worry. I'll be close by—your good luck charm," I teased.
Fredric, a towering figure clad in ox hide armor, met us at the grounds. His gruff voice and no-nonsense attitude set the tone for the impending trials. But before we could begin, the Twins arrived. Their arrogance had returned, bolstered perhaps by a night of nursing their bruised egos.
"You will do exactly as we say," one of them intoned imperiously. "Failure to comply will result in failure of the tests."
I met their gazes, my expression unreadable. Clearly, they hadn't learned their lesson. A small, dangerous smile crept across my lips. "If it's another demonstration of power you want," I thought, "then so be it."