I went back and added a bit more to the previous chapter, and removed any part of Eragon falling unconscious because the idea that I wanted didn't really pan out. The only thing that changed at Yazuac is Daemon healing Brom's arm quick. So if you're confused by the way this chapter starts, go to chapter ten and read it again so you don't need to be confused any longer.
Disclaimer: I do not own The Inheritance Cycle or The Elder Scrolls.
The sun had barely begun to ascend the sky when Daemon awoke, letting out a tired groan as he turned in his bedroll before sighing and sitting up. He stretched until he felt his bones pop and looked around, seeing his companions were still asleep. However, he took note of an additional weight and looked to see Saphira's trail draped over his lap, making him raise an eyebrow. Her tail must've shifted in her sleep, grabbed him and gently pulled him against her side. He smiled a little and gently patted her side before getting to his feet, sliding Saphira's tail off him.
Daemon took a look to the sky, seeing that it was early morning but the sun had not yet risen, though he could see the faint light on the horizon which means it woukdn't be long before it did rise to the sky.
"Might as well get in a little hunt." Daemon muttered to himself, then went to a section of the camp where he could undress without being seen. Once he had stripped down to just his pants, he transformed into his dragon form. There was a slight tenseness to his body as he transformed, given that he hadn't done so as much as he used to before he arrived in Carvahall the first time around. The last time he had changed was to save Saphira during that terrible storm.
But it felt good to be back in dragon form.
Once fully transformed, Daemon stretched his neck out along with his tail and wings until he felt satisfying pops in his joints. Then, with a flap of his wings, he took to the sky and started scouring for breakfast.
He soon spotted a deer bounding through the forest. Swooping down upon the unsuspecting doe, he speared it with his claws and plunged his head down to rip its throat apart, ending the prey's suffering. There's one thing that he never did, even when acting on the predatory nature and instincts of a dragon, he did not let an animal he had picked as prey suffer. When he hunted, he made sure to kill the prey instantly the moment he caught one. He did not enjoy letting prey suffer, nor did he entertain the thought of killing for pleasure, for sport.
He wasn't Alduin. He wasn't like the dragons that followed the World-Eater.
Laying down on his belly, Daemon ate his breakfast while his mind turned towards various subjects such as his friends back in Skyrim, the state of the land, how things were going without his presence. He didn't regret leaving as it needed to be done, but there were moments where he'd wonder what had come of the land during his absence. But he had tasked Odahviing and Paarthurnax to keep an eye on things, and had even told them that if they believe he is needed then to call for him.
So far, that had not happened.
"The people better be getting on well without me." Daemon said with a low growl. "They don't need me to solve every one of their problems."
Shaking his head, Daemon returned to his breakfast and continued to eat until there was nothing left of the doe. Once he had washed the blood off his muzzle using the nearby river stream, the black-scaled dragon was about to take off when another deer came into view from the trees, only to freeze upon seeing the large predator that was now staring at it.
Suppose I should grab Saphira breakfast as well. Daemon thought, feeling... compulsed by the desire to get Saphira some breakfast. He wasn't sure where this feeling came from, but he chalked it up to just being a friend.
The deer took off as Daemon shot off into the air, pursuing his new prey.
When Saphira woke up, she took note of two things. One was the obvious feeling of her Rider against her side as always. The second was the absence of a certain Dragonborn. The dragoness looked around with confusion, wondering where Daemon had gone before coming to the conclusion he had gone off to hunt most likely. She was a little disappointed that she didn't join him. Why did he have to wake up early and go hunt?
Saphira rose to her feet and stretched, yawning as she did so before looking to the sky. The rising red sun had painted the sky an unusual crimson hue, the red colors dulled by Saphira's color-selective vision. Clouds dotted the horizon, looking like so many airborne rubies. The sun's red light was cast across the campsite in bright scarlet bands, interrupted at intervals by long shadows cast by the tall trees.
She turned to the two bundles where the humans slept, focusing on the one her Rider occupied. It's time to wake up, Eragon.
"Already?" Eragon mumbled groggily, rubbing his eyes. His hair was in disarray and his clothes were wrinkled.
Indeed, little one. In fact, we have slept too long. It is early, yet we should resume our journey now so as to get a good start.
Eragon woke Brom, who was much less of a morning person. The old storyteller looked around, noticing Daemon's absence like Saphira.
"Where's Daemon?" he asked Eragon and Saphira.
Eragon shrugged. "No idea. He's probably off hunting."
A shadow passed over them before Daemon's dark form appeared over the trees, a deer in his mouth. He made a smooth landing, the deer clutched in his powerful jaws.
"Morning all." He said, his voice slightly muffled due to the animal in his jaws.
"Morning, Daemon." Brom greeted, watching with a small smile as Daemon went over to Saphira and placed the deer down in front of her.
For me? You shouldn't have. Saphira said, but was flattered at him bringing her something back from his hunt.
Daemon chuckled. "I already had my fill, and before I left this one stumbled onto me. I figured it would only be nice to bring you back something rather than you going off to find it."
He shifted a little at Saphira's look before she hummed and gave his neck a slight nuzzle. You're sweet, Daemon. Thank you.
"You-You're welcome." Daemon said, trying to ignore the warm feeling that formed in the pit of his stomach when Saphira nuzzled him. He turned to Eragon and Brom. "I take it I didn't miss much."
"We woke up not too long ago." Eragon assured.
"Though we had best get moving now." Brom said, glancing at the sky. "We're still close to Yazuac, and we should pick up the Ra'zac's trail."
Daemon nodded and went over to lay beside Saphira as she feasted on her breakfast. The Dragonborn wasn't intending to change back to human, as he wanted to enjoy being in his dragon form again, now that he didn't have to hide it. But that didn't mean he was going to be in dragon form all the time, every day, tempting as it was.
Daemon? Saphira started, licking her muzzle clean of the deer's blood.
Daemon turned his head and responded mentally. Yes, Saphira?
The dragoness shifted a little. Would... would you like to spend the day with me? You are in your dragon form, and I could use some company in the sky.
Daemon tilted his head, thinking about it. Eragon and Brom probably won't be doing much as they went on the trail, and Daemon will admit... he did enjoy the thought of spending some time with Saphira. He quickly shook that train of thought away. Saphira was his friends. Friends did spend time together.
Sure, Saphira. It would be pretty pointless for me to have a dragon form and not make the most of it, especially with a fellow dragon. Daemon chuckled, one shared with the sapphire-scaled dragoness.
"Why do you think those two Urgals were still in Yazuac?" asked Eragon, after they had been on the trail for a while. Daemon and Saphira were off spending time together, Daemon taking the chance to finally do more in his dragon form now that he had a fellow dragon to spend some time with. "There doesn't seem to be any reason for them to have stayed behind."
"I suspect they deserted the main group to loot the town. What makes it odd is that, as far as I know, Urgals have gathered in force only two or three times in history. It's unsettling that they are doing it now."
"Do you think the Ra'zac caused the attack?"
"I don't know. The best thing we can do is continue away from Yazuac at the fastest pace we can muster. Besides, this is the direction the Ra'zac went: south."
Eragon agreed. "We still need provisions, however. Is there another town nearby?"
Brom shook his head. "No, but Saphira and Daemon can hunt for us if we must survive on meat alone. This swath of trees may look small to you, but there are plenty of animals in it. The river is the only source of water for many miles around, so most of the plains animals come here to drink. We won't starve."
Eragon remained quiet, satisfied with Brom's answer. As they rode, loud birds darted around them, and the river rushed by peacefully. It was a noisy place, full of life and energy. Eragon asked, "How did that Urgal get you? Things were happening so fast, I didn't see."
"Bad luck, really," grumbled Brom. "I was more than a match for him, so he kicked Snowfire. The idiot of a horse reared and threw me off balance. That was all the Urgal needed to give me this gash." He scratched his chin. "I suppose you're still wondering about this magic. The fact that you've discovered it presents a thorny problem. Few know it, but every Rider could use magic, though with differing strengths. They kept the ability secret, even at the height of their power, because it gave them an advantage over their enemies. Had everyone known about it, dealing with common people would have been difficult. Many think the King's magical powers come from the fact that he is a wizard or sorcerer. That's not true; it is because he's a Rider."
"What's the difference? Doesn't the fact that I used magic make me a sorcerer?"
"Not at all! A sorcerer, like a Shade, uses spirits to accomplish his will. That is totally different from your power. Nor does that make you a magician, whose powers come without the aid of spirits or a dragon. And you're certainly not a witch or wizard, who get their powers from various potions and spells.
"Which brings me back to my original point: the problem you've presented. Young Riders like yourself were put through a strict regimen designed to strengthen their bodies and increase their mental control. This regimen continued for many months, occasionally years, until the Riders were deemed responsible enough to handle magic. Up until then, not one student was told of his potential powers. If one of them discovered magic by accident, he or she was immediately taken away for private tutoring. It was rare for anyone to discover magic on his own," he inclined his head toward Eragon, "though they were never put under the same pressure you were."
"Then how were they finally trained to use magic?" asked Eragon. "I don't see how you could teach it to anyone. If you had tried to explain it to me two days ago, it wouldn't have made any sense."
"The students were presented with a series of pointless exercises designed to frustrate them. For example, they were instructed to move piles of stones using only their feet, fill ever draining tubs full of water, and other impossibilities. After a time, they would get infuriated enough to use magic. Most of the time it succeeded.
"What this means," Brom continued, "is that you will be disadvantaged if you ever meet an enemy who has received this training. There are still some alive who are that old: the King for one, not to mention the elves. Any one of those could tear you apart with ease."
"What can I do, then?"
"There isn't time for formal instruction, but we can do much while we travel," said Brom. "I know many techniques you can practice that will give you strength and control, but you cannot gain the discipline the Riders had overnight. You," he looked at Eragon humorously, "will have to amass it on the run. It will be hard in the beginning, but the rewards will be great. It may please you to know that no Rider your age ever used magic the way you did yesterday with those two Urgals."
Eragon smiled at the praise. "Thank you. Does this language have a name?"
Brom laughed. "Yes, but no one knows it. It would be a word of incredible power, something by which you could control the entire language and those who use it. People have long searched for it, but no one has ever found it."
"I still don't understand how this magic works," said Eragon. "Exactly how do I use it?"
Brom looked astonished. "I haven't made that clear?"
"No."
Brom took a deep breath and said, "To work with magic, you must have a certain innate power, which is very rare among people nowadays. You also have to be able to summon this power at will. Once it is called upon, you have to use it or let it fade away. Understood? Now, if you wish to employ the power, you must utter the word or phrase of the ancient language that describes your intent. For example, if you hadn't said brisingr yesterday, nothing would have happened."
"So I'm limited by my knowledge of this language?"
"Exactly," crowed Brom. "Also, while speaking it, it's impossible to practice deceit."
Eragon shook his head. "That can't be. People always lie. The sounds of the ancient words can't stop them from doing that."
Brom cocked an eyebrow and said, "Fethrblaka, eka weohnata néiat haina ono. Blaka eom iet lam." A bird suddenly flitted from a branch and landed on his hand. It trilled lightly and looked at them with beady eyes. After a moment he said, "Eitha," and it fluttered away.
"How did you do that?" asked Eragon in wonder.
"I promised not to harm him. He may not have known exactly what I meant, but in the language of power, the meaning of my words was evident. The bird trusted me because he knows what all animals do, that those who speak in that tongue are bound by their word."
"And the elves speak this language?"
"Yes."
"So they never lie?"
"Not quite," admitted Brom. "They maintain that they don't, and in a way it's true, but they have perfected the art of saying one thing and meaning another. You never know exactly what their intent is, or if you have fathomed it correctly. Many times they only reveal part of the truth and withhold the rest. It takes a refined and subtle mind to deal with their culture."
Eragon considered that. "What do personal names mean in this language? Do they give power over people?"
Brom's eyes brightened with approval. "Yes, they do. Those who speak the language have two names. The first is for everyday use and has little authority. But the second is their true name and is shared with only a few trusted people. There was a time when no one concealed his true name, but this age isn't as kind. Whoever knows your true name gains enormous power over you. It's like putting your life into another person's hands. Everyone has a hidden name, but few know what it is."
"How do you find your true name?" asked Eragon.
"Elves instinctively know theirs. No one else has that gift. The human Riders usually went on quests to discover it—or found an elf who would tell them, which was rare, for elves don't distribute that knowledge freely," replied Brom.
"I'd like to know mine," Eragon said wistfully.
Brom's brow darkened. "Be careful. It can be a terrible knowledge. To know who you are without any delusions or sympathy is a moment of revelation that no one experiences unscathed. Some have been driven to madness by that stark reality. Most try to forget it. But as much as the name will give others power, so you may gain power over yourself, if the truth doesn't break you."
And I'm sure that it would not, stated Saphira.
"I still wish to know," said Eragon, determined.
"You are not easily dissuaded. That is good, for only the resolute find their identity, but I cannot help you with this. It is a search that you will have to undertake on your own." Brom moved his injured arm and grimaced uncomfortably.
"Why can't you or I heal that with magic?" asked Eragon.
Brom blinked. "No reason—I just never considered it because it's beyond my strength. You could probably do it with the right word, but I don't want you to exhaust yourself."
"I could save you a lot of trouble and pain," protested Eragon.
"I'll live with it," said Brom flatly. "Using magic to heal a wound takes just as much energy as it would to mend on its own. I don't want you tired for the next few days. You shouldn't attempt such a difficult task yet."
"Still, if it's possible to fix your arm, could I bring someone back from the dead?"
The question surprised Brom, but he answered quickly, "Remember what I said about projects that will kill you? That is one of them. Riders were forbidden to try to resurrect the dead, for their own safety. There is an abyss beyond life where magic means nothing. If you reach into it, your strength will flee and your soul will fade into darkness. Wizards, sorcerers, and Riders—all have failed and died on that threshold. Stick with what's possible—cuts, bruises, maybe some broken bones—but definitely not dead people."
Eragon frowned. "This is a lot more complex than I thought."
"Exactly!" said Brom. "And if you don't understand what you're doing, you'll try something too big and die." He twisted in his saddle and swooped down, grabbing a handful of pebbles from the ground. With effort, he righted himself, then discarded all but one of the rocks. "See this pebble?"
"Yes."
"Take it." Eragon did and stared at the unremarkable lump. It was dull black, smooth, and as large as the end of his thumb. There were countless stones like it on the trail. "This is your training."
Eragon looked back at him, confused. "I don't understand."
"Of course you don't," said Brom impatiently. "That's why I'm teaching you and not the other way around. Now stop talking or we'll never get anywhere. What I want you to do is lift the rock off your palm and hold it in the air for as long as you can. The words you're going to use are stenr reisa. Say them."
"Stenr reisa."
"Good. Go ahead and try."
Eragon focused sourly on the pebble, searching his mind for any hint of the energy that had burned in him the day before. The stone remained motionless as he stared at it, sweating and frustrated. How am I supposed to do this? Finally, he crossed his arms and snapped, "This is impossible."
"No," said Brom gruffly. "I'll say when it's impossible or not. Fight for it! Don't give in this easily. Try again."
Frowning, Eragon closed his eyes, setting aside all distracting thoughts. He took a deep breath and reached into the farthest corners of his consciousness, trying to find where his power resided. Searching, he found only thoughts and memories until he felt something different—a small bump that was a part of him and yet not of him. Excited, he dug into it, seeking what it hid. He felt resistance, a barrier in his mind, but knew that the power lay on the other side. He tried to breach it, but it held firm before his efforts. Growing angry, Eragon drove into the barrier, ramming against it with all of his might until it shattered like a thin pane of glass, flooding his mind with a river of light.
"Stenr reisa," he gasped. The pebble wobbled into the air over his faintly glowing palm. He struggled to keep it floating, but the power slipped away and faded back behind the barrier. The pebble dropped to his hand with a soft plop, and his palm returned to normal. He felt a little tired, but grinned from his success.
"Not bad for your first time," said Brom.
"Why does my hand do that? It's like a little lantern."
"No one's sure," Brom admitted. "The Riders always preferred to channel their power through whichever hand bore the gedwëy ignasia. You can use your other palm, but it isn't as easy." He looked at Eragon for a minute. "I'll buy you some gloves at the next town, if it isn't gutted. You hide the mark pretty well on your own, but we don't want anyone to see it by accident. Besides, there may be times when you won't want the glow to alert an enemy."
"Do you have a mark of your own?"
"No. Only Riders have them," said Brom. "Also, you should know that magic is affected by distance, just like an arrow or a spear. If you try to lift or move something a mile away, it'll take more energy than if you were closer. So if you see enemies racing after you from a league away, let them approach before using magic. Now, back to work! Try to lift the pebble again."
"Again?" asked Eragon weakly, thinking of the effort it had taken to do it just once.
"Yes! And this time be quicker about it."
Birds in the air were quick to descend and behind the thick leaves on the trees as two dragons soured through the air, one black, the other blue, the black one pursuing the blue female, nipping at her tail playfully which encouraged her to increase her speed.
Is that all you've got? Saphira called back smugly, looking over her shoulder. And I thought you'd be faster, 'little Dragonborn'.
Little?! I'll show you! Daemon grumbled and took off straight after her, hearing her chuckle in his head as she avoided him, which only proved to urge him on as he looked about for her. He found her already fifty feet in the air above him and diving fast towards him. Daemon waited, and at the exact moment, he rolled in the air, turning his body in a corkscrew motion, meaning to swipe at her with his wing. But astonishingly, right at the last second, Saphira managed to move in time with him, twisting around him and ducking underneath him in a tight circle, and then shooting off again as she levelled out. Daemon had to yelp in surprise and frustration, the entire move had lasted but a blink of an eye, and it had been nothing more than her simply showing off.
Daemon beat his wings to race after her, quickly catching up as his huge wings gave him further power in the air. He snapped at her tail as he came close, his sense of smug victory making him strike perhaps a little sooner than he should of. But suddenly, Saphira arched her back, beating her wings as she bent herself backwards, twisting and flipping through the air in a tight loop-de-loop, bringing herself upside down above him. Their eyes met as she sailed over him, a twinkle of mischief sparkling in her bright blue eyes.
With a twist of her body, she spun herself back up the right way, her closeness to him making sure that she wacked him in the face with her tail as she went past. Daemon roared at the stinging pain, knowing that that was harder than playfully necessary. That had been on purpose! But suddenly, he felt a sting on his back, right between his shoulder blades as he felt teeth bite into his scales, though nowhere near hard enough to pierce his tough hide. He turned his head to watch Saphira as she winged her way behind him at a fast pace, though she looked over her shoulder with a toothy grin.
Come on, Daemon! Surely you can do better than that! Saphira said with eagerness and excitement. This was the most fun she's had in ages. It felt good to be able to do this kind of thing with another dragon. She was glad Daemon had chosen to spend the day with her, and she hoped they could do this every day. It would keep them in good shape and keep their flying skills sharp, as well as their combat ones should they have a friendly scrap on the ground.
Daemon twisted himself at such a right angle, that the move would have torn out the wings of any lesser dragon. He managed turn himself completely around, thrusting his wings down so hard they released a sound like a thunderclap, shooting him forward with unrivalled speed. He came bearing down on the female, eyes narrowing as he closed in on her position, readying himself for the moment when he would strike.
Saphira saw him coming however, And beat her wings as she tried to speed ahead. Daemon's velocity still brought him right up behind her, and as he drew close, he reared back, talons on his large back feet flexing as he moved like a bird of prey ready to scoop up his victim. Saphira only had to turn her head to see him, and quickly twisted herself in just the right way to evade his grasp before further increasing her speed. Daemon snarled in frustration, levelling himself out as he pumped his wings to race after her. The pair of them darted through the sky, twisting in and out of the clouds, soaring and diving as they played their almost deadly game of tag.
Daemon tried multiple times to try and snap at her in his attempts to catch her, and whilst he could easily keep pace with her, Saphira always managed to be that tiny bit faster, elusively keeping herself just out of reach. The game had become a true challenge for Daemon, something that he had not been given in quite a while. He couldn't help but laugh in delight.
Fast, aren't you? He called.
"You want speed? Then here we go!" He heard her grin as her voice rang in his mind. And then, Saphira suddenly pointed herself upwards as she quickly ascended into the heavens, twisting in tight circle as she got higher and higher. Daemon watched in confusion, though unable to look away from her impressive aerial display. At the height of her ascent, Saphira splayed out her wings, tipping her body weight forward as she fell into a nose-dive, tucking her wings against her sides and hurtling straight for the earth below. The speed she gathered was nothing short of astonishing, faster than anything Daemon had ever seen in the air before, `making his eyes widen as he watched her. She came shooting past him, the force she created enough to push even his immense size back an inch or two. With a roar he went chasing after her, using gravity and his own weight to help him try and keep up with her.
This was proving to be very fun.
Daemon eventually came to glide alongside her, and locked eyes with the sapphire dragoness who offered him a fanged grin that he returned. She playfully nudged him with her wing and he did the same back, the two of them laughing before they looked towards the ground and saw a herd of deer grazing on the grass below.
May I entertain you for lunch, my lady dragoness? Daemon said in a faux noble-like tone, as if speaking to an equally noble lady which brought an amused chuckle from Saphira who played along with his little act.
You shall, my good sir.
With that, the two tucked their wings in and dove down to grab themselves some lunch together.
The days followed the same pattern. First, Eragon struggled to learn the ancient words and to manipulate the pebble. Then, in the evening, he trained against Brom with the fake swords. Eragon was in constant discomfort, but he gradually began to change, almost without noticing. Soon the pebble no longer wobbled when he lifted it. He mastered the first exercises Brom gave him and undertook harder ones, and his knowledge of the ancient language grew.
In their sparring, Eragon gained confidence and speed, striking like a snake. His blows became heavier, and his arm no longer trembled when he warded off attacks. The clashes lasted longer as he learned how to fend off Brom. Now, when they went to sleep, Eragon was not the only one with bruises.
Daemon would keep himself in shape and sharpen his skills, both combat and magical. He demonstrated each school of magic, and discussed each of them with his ever curious companions who wanted to know more about it. He also told them a bit about the Thu'um, the language of the dragons. When he wasn't sparring with Eragon and Brom, he was in dragon form, spending the day with Saphira to keep his dragon body in good shape.
Saphira continued to grow as well, but more slowly than before. Her extended flights, along with periodic hunts and activities with Daemon, kept her fit and healthy. Daemon's dragon form was naturally bigger, given it had been two years since Akatosh unlocked that form for him. But Saphira was not that much smaller than him, but Daemon did enjoy teasing her about being the 'little one' when comparing the two of them, much to the dragoness' annoyance as she'd tackle him for a playful scrap.
They continued south, tracking the Ra'zac. It frustrated Eragon that no matter how fast they went, the Ra'zac always stayed a few days ahead of them. At times he was ready to give up, but then they would find some mark or print that would renew his hope.
There were no signs of habitation along the Ninor or in the plains, leaving the three companions undisturbed as the days slipped by. Finally, they neared Daret, the first village since Yazuac.
Didn't want this to go on any longer, so the next chapter will be Daret.