Seeking the Elixir of Life
Part II
The elf woman regained consciousness the following night.
Through the window, a fragment of the night sky was visible, where stars shimmered faintly in the firmament, casting their pale light across the earth. Eragon leaned over the woman's body, watching her chest rise and fall rhythmically in the flickering glow of the small torch. Suddenly, her lips parted with a breath. Her long eyelashes quivered, then fluttered open. Her vivid green eyes locked onto his, sending a shiver down his spine.
Eragon hurried to reassure her. "Calm down," he said with a warm smile, his heart light with joy from this unexpected turn of events. "You're free and healthy! The Tunivor nectar you requested has been administered."
He watched as the woman attempted to push herself up on the mattress, but her strength failed her. When he moved to help, she flinched, recoiling from his touch. Concern tightened in Eragon's chest. "Please, calm down," he said gently. "Don't overexert yourself—you're still very weak."
The elf woman remained motionless, her piercing gaze fixed on him, scrutinizing his every move. Realizing he should compose himself more formally, he took a step back. Placing his right hand over his chest, he inclined his upper body slightly in what he hoped was a gesture of respect.
"I am Eragon," he introduced himself, "rider of Saphira. Together, my dragon and I rescued you from the Shade and Galbatorix's soldiers. We planned to take you to Farthen Dûr, where the dwarves would administer the antidote to the poison. However, during our journey, we stumbled upon this ruined elven tower while seeking supplies and shelter for the night. The hermit living here happens to possess knowledge of herbs and magic. He had the nectar and used it to heal you."
Hearing his words, the elf woman seemed to relax. Her vivid green eyes fluttered shut, perhaps weary from the light, as her breathing steadied. To Eragon, she looked even more fragile than before—delicate in a way that seemed inconceivable for someone who had endured the brutalities of such a merciless world. The image of her wounds when he had found her, inflicted by the Shade or the soldiers, lingered in his mind, haunting him. He had loathed the creatures responsible for her torment and felt no remorse for their brutal end. Yet, in her frailty, she appeared all the more radiant to him. "Sleep," he murmured softly, "I will watch over you. No harm will come to you."
When the woman didn't respond and remained motionless with her eyes closed, Eragon assumed that sleep had reclaimed her. He sat by her side once again, inhaling the delicate trace of her scent. In the stillness, he allowed his heart to revel in the joy of her salvation.
"I wish to see the elf woman as well," Saphira declared, as she stirred from her rest, awakened by the storm of emotions coursing through her rider.
"She's sleeping again, my beautiful one," Eragon whispered across their bond, sharing with Saphira the image of the slumbering elf. "Tomorrow, when she wakes, I'll make sure you meet her. Oh! She's truly exquisite—so calm, so serene."
"Reassure her when she wakes that no harm will ever come to her again. She has us to protect her, both in sleep and in waking," Saphira vowed. "And tell her this—those who dared hurt her have paid with their lives. With tooth and claw, I avenged her suffering. Their lifeless bodies now rot on the cold, unyielding ground," the dragoness declared, her pride unmistakable.
"I will tell her everything, but she needs time to heal," Eragon murmured, his voice tinged with unease. Anxiety pressed heavily on his chest as his thoughts spiraled. Though the elf had opened her eyes, she had recoiled, spasmodically pulling away from his touch. Would she ever recover fully? The question lingered, gnawing at the edges of his heart.
"Everything will be fine, little one."
After his earlier encounter with the woman, sleep eluded him entirely. The hours slipped by, spent alternately tracing the scattered stars that emerged between shifting clouds and studying the delicate features of her face once more.
Eragon knew all too well that now that the woman had recovered, the closeness they had shared during their journey was slipping away. How could he remain by her side, resting near her as she slept? How could he once again breathe in the faint scent of her hair or hold her fragile form in his arms?
The elf woman stirred awake in the stillness of the night. She tried to speak, but her voice emerged rough and faint, barely audible in her throat. Eragon quickly offered her a cup of water and gently helped her drink. This time, she didn't resist. She took only a few small sips before sinking back onto the mattress, her body still frail and powerless. Yet her eyes remained open, unwavering, locked on his.
"My name is Arya," she whispered, her voice a soft melody that barely carried to his ears. Her eyes shimmered in the wavering torchlight. "Where am I?"
With gentle hands, Eragon draped Murtagh's cloak over her once more. "We are far south of Urû'baen, in the heart of a barren, desolate plain. This tower is called Edur Ithindra, and the hermit who resides here—Tenga—is the one who aided your recovery."
Earlier, when Eragon had descended to the ground-floor room to fetch water and food for the elf woman, he found the weary old man fast asleep on his bed near the crackling fireplace. Unaware of the elf's recovery, Tenga was unlikely to overhear any of their exchanges now. The corner where Eragon had placed her offered sufficient privacy, shielding her from prying eyes. As he climbed back up, two of the cats trailed after him, their curiosity piqued. He shooed them away gently, ensuring they wouldn't disturb her rest—but he knew, with feline persistence, they would undoubtedly return later.
"We are bound for Farthen Dûr, as I mentioned before. However, your grave condition compelled us to seek refuge here. We should be close to the lands of Surda by now."
The elf woman gestured weakly for the cup, and Eragon obliged, helping her take two more small sips. Her lips moved as she repeated softly, "To Farthen Dûr…" Her voice trailed off, faint and almost fragile. Then, her vivid green eyes seemed to spark with sudden energy as they locked onto his. "The dragon?" she asked, her voice carrying a faint note of urgency, her gaze searching him for answers.
Eragon's smile softened as he placed the bowl of boiled peas, speckled with crumbled bread, gently into her hands. "Her name is Saphira," he said warmly. "She's a female dragon, and eager to meet you as soon as you feel ready."
From the highest beams of the tower came the deep, resonant rumble of the dragoness. Saphira arched her long neck downward, her powerful wings sweeping through the air with a force that stirred clouds of dust and loose plaster, sending them cascading like a fine mist to the ground below. Though the distance between her and her rider—along with the elf woman—remained considerable, the protected space shielded them from the storm of debris. Unable to see them, Saphira made her presence unmistakably known. Her tail struck the massive boulders forming the wall, each impact echoing with a resounding thud.
Glancing up briefly, the elf woman accepted the bowl and spoon from Eragon's hands. She took only two small bites, chewing them slowly and deliberately before setting the food aside.
"Thank you for everything, Shur'tugal. Please tell your dragon that it would be my great honor and joy to meet her as soon as possible. May the stars watch over you."
The elf woman's gentle voice grew stronger, more assured. To Eragon's ears, it resonated like the melody of a sweet song, carried by the most beautiful lips. Yet the unfamiliar word puzzled him. "Shur'tugal?"
The elf woman let her gaze linger on him for a moment. "Yes, Shur'tugal. In the ancient language—my language—it signifies your role as a Dragon Rider. Shur'tugal and Skulblaka … the dragon." Her melancholy eyes shifted toward the patch of sky visible through the narrow window. "I would ask you to extinguish the torchlight," she said softly. "I have spent so much time confined within stone walls, and I have longed to see the light of the stars."
The woman lay down again, but she did not turn back toward him. Her gaze remained fixed on the sky as the cool wind drifted through the wall opening, stirring the curls of her long hair. "I would like to be left alone now," she murmured softly.
Eragon placed the water and food within her reach, ensuring she could take whatever she needed. With a nod of farewell, he descended the stairs and stepped outside. At the base of the tower, Saphira awaited him, her presence startling the horses awake. Eragon soothed them with soft words and gentle strokes before walking alongside his beloved toward the forest.
"She is beautiful..."
"For a two-legs, she's tolerable," the dragoness replied. She had shared with her chosen rider every detail of the recent events—the awakening of the elf woman and his brief conversation with her.
"She is... marvelous, wonderful in her fragility." The Dragon Rider's heart raced as he spoke. To her green eyes and slender limbs was added the melody of her voice, which wove a spell that captivated him entirely.
"She is alive and free," Saphira reminded him, her tone firm yet gentle. "And she owes it entirely to you, little one."
Eragon gently stroked her snout. "And to you, light of my eyes. If you hadn't carried her on your saddle, if you hadn't helped secure her liberation…"
The dragoness rumbled with satisfaction. She sat back on her hind legs before lowering herself like a cat, curling her tail neatly around her body. Eragon leaned against her side. "And to Murtagh! Especially to him." She hesitated. It pained her to draw her rider's thoughts back to his lost companion, but it had been Murtagh who identified the location of the carriage from the markings on the ground. He had completed the improvised map and devised the plan for the ambush.
"Yes," the Dragon Rider agreed melancholically, "and to Murtagh." Yet his heart was so consumed by the elf woman's presence that her image quickly dispelled his former melancholy. "Her voice is like a spring song, her scent like a blooming orchard. Oh, if only I could take the sadness from her eyes..." During the long, sleepless hours he had spent examining her unconscious form, his feelings for her had grown immeasurably.
"Do not forget, little one, the wounds inflicted upon her by the men of the egg-breaker," the dragoness reminded her chosen rider.
"The wounds…" Eragon could never forget them. The sight that met his eyes as he untied the laces of her shirt was seared into his memory.
"And you healed them!" Saphira emphasized. "The two-legs-pointy-ears owes us."
"Only with your help, light of my eyes," he replied.
Above them, the wind tore fragments of cloud apart, chasing them westward. The starlight grew brighter, casting a silver glow over the treetops. In the eastern sky, the new moon hung low, its pale light blending with the faint scent of pre-dawn that drifted across the plain. Eragon felt adrift in the vastness of the world. The weight of new responsibilities, ones he had never sought, pressed heavily upon him.
"We must!" Saphira declared with resolve. "Look to the example of our fallen comrades. You and I—we are dragon and rider! It is our duty to aid all those who need us. The oath-usurper, the egg-breaker, will one day answer for his crimes. Alagaësia will be free again."
.*.*.*.
She could still see the dome of the sky and the shimmering starlight. She could feel the breeze on her face once more.
...But they... her two faithful comrades... were gone... The noble Fäolin would never again raise his voice in song, praising the silvery glow of the stars... The gentle Glaenwing would never again mimic the melodies of the trees' winged inhabitants...
Once more, the chirping from the forest reached her ears, awakening and greeting the new day...
...but they would never awaken...
She took another small spoonful of boiled vegetables, bringing it to her mouth without appetite, chewing them slowly. She could still taste the fruits of the earth, their flavors vivid and real. While her two comrades...
...It was none other than herself who had led them to their deaths...
However, she had to eat if she wished to survive. Her mission was not yet complete. In her other hand, she held the bowl with human food, crafted from dead, unsung wood. Earlier, the Dragon Rider had offered her pieces of slain animal from his last hunt in the forest, urging her to eat its flesh for strength. Disgusted, she had refused.
The acrid smell of burnt fat wafted through the air from the hearth on the ground floor, searing her nostrils and dragging her back to the days of her imprisonment in Gil'ead. It reminded her of the Shade...
...and the hours of her unspeakable torment...
She would never lower herself to share the torment she had endured at the hands of humans, least of all with another human—a representative of their kind. Nor would she disclose the deeper reason behind her aversion to meat. Instead, she simply explained that elves had long banished all animal products from their table—anything touched by blood—to preserve their vast forests from unnecessary death.
Nevertheless, she gratefully accepted the vegetables he offered as an alternative. As the sunlight gradually rose above the plain, it illuminated and warmed the small stone chamber, filling her with a quiet sense of gratitude.
While she ate to regain her strength, the Dragon Rider took it upon himself to answer all her questions. With patience, he recounted his perilous journey—the daring rescue from the carriage, the defeat of the Shade, and the fierce battle with the soldiers.
In his account, he spoke of another companion who had fought by his side—a comrade now lost...
...And just like her two beloved, fallen comrades, so was he lost to this world…
However, this comrade had not been lost during the effort to help the Dragon Rider save her. Instead, he had willingly returned to Urû'baen. According to the Dragon Rider's account, his purpose there was far greater—to attempt to free the two dragon eggs that Galbatorix had kept enslaved for over a century.
The elves had long been aware of the existence of these eggs. Yet, the time for an open confrontation with the king—a time when their strength might be sufficient to strike a decisive blow—had not yet come. Perhaps it never would. But now, with this Dragon Rider by their side, a glimmer of hope has begun to stir...
Arya sighed softly and placed the half-filled bowl beside her. Reaching for the cup of water to rinse her mouth, she accepted it as the young man handed it to her.
...How young he truly was... barely more than a child, even by human standards...
The elf thanked him politely, her tone calm and measured. She also wanted to thank the hermit of the tower, who had healed her. More than anything, she yearned to meet the dragon—the magnificent creature that had emerged from the very egg she had once carried; to behold its brilliance with her own eyes and delight in its splendor.
But these desires would have to wait. Despite the Dragon Rider's readiness and offer to carry her down in his arms, she had firmly declined. She would never deign to appear before others while being supported, her pride and dignity unyielding.
...She would never again allow a human hand... a man's hand, to touch her. Not even the hand of a Dragon Rider.
He had examined her wounds. With blushing cheeks and eyes lowered in shame – to his credit – he had admitted that he had used his magic to heal her. He avoided any mention of her naked body, but she had understood.
"As soon as you feel strong enough and ready for it, you are free to go your own way," the Dragon Rider continued. "However, you should know that the imperial soldiers remain highly active across the land. If you need more time to recover, it might be wiser to extend your stay here. The place appears safe and seems beyond the reach of the imperial forces. However, I must warn you," Eragon lowered his voice slightly, not wanting to be overheard from the ground floor, "the old man is... well, half-crazy. And what's more, he knows how to use magic."
Speaking more softly, he instinctively leaned closer to her. The smell of his adolescent sweat reached her nostrils, triggering a wave of nausea. Humans always smelled unpleasant to her—human men even more so. Over the years, she had forced herself to endure it when necessary to interact with their kind. But now, after her imprisonment in Gil'ead, she realized it would be far harder to tolerate human contact again, no matter how well-intentioned the person might be.
She stood still, tense, her hands clenched into fists, gripping the bedding as though the blanket could shield her from contact. She made a conscious effort to mask her discomfort and suppress any sign of rudeness. Yet, he remained entirely unaware.
"If you wish, you are welcome to join us on our path to Farthen Dûr," he continued. "For as long as it is within our power, we will ensure your safety."
She wanted to tell him she was not like the weak human females he was accustomed to. She was strong! She had faced the Shade alone... his guards... and survived. She did not need his protection.
Although his words had offended her, she would not allow even a flicker of displeasure to surface. This man might have been rude, inexperienced in his dealings with others, but she was of the noblest lineage. Complaining would be beneath her.
As a Dragon Rider, that human still had much to learn, but now was not the time to address such matters.
"We will soon continue our journey to Farthen Dûr. We're already much delayed," the human went on. "There is a life debt we must fulfill—a debt owed to our friend and lost comrade. But I will explain more of this later. For now, I don't want to exhaust you further. Rest, sleep, and regain your strength."
He leaned closer, his breath brushing against her face as he spoke his final words. The sensation sent a chill through her, colder than the air around them. Flickering images of the torture and humiliation she had endured at the hands of humans surged before her eyes, forcing her to shut them abruptly.
"The Dragon Rider is still an inexperienced child," she reminded herself. A child of humans, nonetheless…
…shallow and rude creature…, indecently devoted to vulgar pleasures, driven by the hormones controlling their ephemeral bodies… barely superior to lifeless lumps of sand…
She remembered being held on the cold floor of the cell... her clothes being shamelessly torn... their attempts to...
She quickly masked the dreadful image with an air of formality. "Thank you, Dragon Rider, to you and your noble dragon, for all that you have done for me. I shall never forget the debt I owe you."
"You owe us nothing," the boy said, his voice tinged with an unusual, resonant timbre. "We acted out of duty, as we believed it, just like our lost comrade." He stepped back, his manner returning to its earlier, polite composure. "I shall leave you to rest now. Should you need anything, do not hesitate to call for me."
She listened as his footsteps faded, the wooden structure leading to her quarters groaning under his weight. It wasn't the boy's fault—what the soldiers had attempted to do to her… what the Shade had commanded of them. Nor could it merely be a coincidence that the dragon had chosen him as its bonded rider.
...this human boy...
This agreement with Brom, the Dragon Rider, had been established years earlier. The blue egg was to stay with the elves for one year and with the humans for another, ensuring that both races had equal opportunities to produce a Dragon Rider of their own kind. She had been the one entrusted with the task and had undertaken the responsibility of transferring the egg between the two.
...She herself, along with her fallen comrades...
Arya sat up again, alone. The hours of torture and the humiliations she had endured still lingered, hauntingly near. Her great aversion to the human race felt natural. Yet, humans were also the sworn rebels. Brom, the elves' cherished ally, whom she held in the highest esteem, was human. It was from their kind that the new Dragon Rider had emerged—the one chosen by the dragon, whose egg she had carried across the vast lands of Alagaësia. And it was the human race that had given rise to his lost comrade, the one who had risked his life beside him to save her.
She picked up the bowl of food once more and began to eat. Regaining her strength was essential—the mission entrusted to her was far from over.
.*.*.*.
The entire previous day had passed in rest and quiet meals, brought to her room by the Dragon Rider. Each time, he would ask if she required anything more, and upon her refusal, he would sit on the floor for a while, silently watching her with a peculiar melancholy, tinged with an enigmatic longing in his gaze. Whenever he attempted to start a conversation, her laconic replies made it clear that she preferred solitude. Treated as though he were invisible, the young man would eventually droop his shoulders and retreat sadly to the lower floor.
The night passed in silence, shadows entwining with memories as they clung to the worm-eaten beams. The elf woman remained lost in stargazing, her ears attuned to the soft murmur of the wind as it stumbled against the ancient stones of the tower. It touched her face gently, slipping through the wall's narrow opening and carrying with it the first whispers of a cold spring from the eastern lands. Yet, as dawn broke over the new day, Arya rose from her bedding.
With slow, deliberate steps, she descended the stairs to the ground floor. The first light of day filtered through the wall openings, casting a grayish-pink hue. The strong eastern wind had scattered the clouds like white linens, spread out to the four corners of the horizon. The day hinted at being partly clear and sunlit.
Proud and poised, the elf walked ahead of the old hermit, who had just risen from his bed. Placing her right hand gently over her chest, she greeted him with a good morning and expressed her gratitude for his hospitality and for saving her. The Dragon Rider had spent the night sleeping on the floor by the fireplace, his sword held tightly in his arms. The moment he sensed her presence, he sprang to his feet.
"Arya... how? Why didn't you call for me? I could have come to help."
She acknowledged his concern with a simple, elegant nod. "I am fine. I can manage on my own," she stated with quiet dignity, firmly declining his offer of support. "It is my wish to visit the dragon."
The Dragon Rider secured his sword, fastening the scabbard firmly to his belt. Her attention was drawn to the ruby on the hilt, shaped like a teardrop and bound above the guard with silver wire. She saw the dark mark of the sword's ominous name engraved on the wine-colored scabbard—a weapon known for its sinister reputation among the forest elves. Where could he have found such a blade? Had Brom entrusted it to him along with the blue dragon egg? Her eyes quickly darted from the sword to the young man's face. He had much to explain when the time came, this Dragon Rider of human blood. But for now, the ache in her heart to see the dragon consumed her.
A loud thump from outside announced the dragoness's landing, heralding the long-awaited reunion. The elf woman moved toward the exit with steady, deliberate steps, her posture proud and her heart swelling with joy. The great moment had finally come. For many years, she had carried the blue egg...
…a journey shared with her two beloved fallen ones...
She always kept it tucked in the woolen bag, cradled under her arm... nestled close, drawing warmth from her own body...
The Dragon Rider followed closely behind her. "This is my dragon," he said, his voice filled with pride. "Her name is Saphira. Saphira, meet Arya—the elf of the forest," he introduced, gesturing between the two with reverence in his tone, as though uniting old friends destined to meet.
The dragoness stretched her long neck, sniffing delicately in Arya's direction. Her magnificent head, crowned with gleaming horns, dipped gracefully toward the ground, acknowledging the elf. Fearsome teeth caught the first rays of dawn, flashing with an intensity matched only by her hooked talons that dug deep into the earth. Her iridescent scales shimmered, reflecting the vibrant hues of the breaking dawn—a dawn that marked the beginning of a world forever changed. A new dragon had been born... formidable... imposing... majestic!
Arya bowed deeply, her humility a reflection of the dragoness's unparalleled beauty. "May the stars watch over you, Skulblaka. Oh, magnificent Bjartskular, your scales outshine even the brightest light. Let me drink in your presence with my eyes and fill my heart with the joy of your existence. It was I who, for many years, carried and safeguarded your egg."
Her sapphire presence soothed the wounds of Arya's mind, a balm for her weary soul, and filled her heart with a deep sense of pride. In the light of the rising sun, standing so majestically before her, the dragoness embodied a purpose fulfilled—a vision Arya had long dreamed of bringing to life.
"Oh, my faithful Fäolin... and you, noble Glenwing... if only you could witness her. To behold her formidable beauty and the breathtaking brilliance of her scales glistening in the sunlight. But now... now you dwell in darkness... lost to the void."
But no! This was not the time for sorrow to consume her. Years... centuries awaited her to grieve for her fallen comrades. The magnificent creature before her demanded her full attention, urging her to open her mind and bestowing upon her the highest honor—to communicate directly. She watched as the Dragon Rider bowed respectfully before her and then retreated inside, seemingly granting his consent to the unspoken exchange. On the crest of the hill, amid the fallen stones of the half-ruined ancient tower, bathed in the golden light of dawn, Arya and Saphira stood alone.
"Greetings, Arya, elf of the forest," the dragoness said, her voice resonant and regal. "It brings me great joy that you are here with us and have triumphed over death—for the sake of my Dragon Rider and yourself. Walk with me to the edge of the forest, for I long to hear the tales of the years and adventures that shaped your journey and mine. Speak to me of the time when I lay confined within the egg, untouched by the light of the fiery sphere that crowns the sky."
The two spent a long time together, immersed in shared stories and memories. Arya recounted tales of old, and Saphira listened intently, savoring each word. The dragoness's presence was a soothing balm to the elf's wounded heart—a heart that struggled to accept that the time to retreat to the shadows of her ancestral forests had not yet come.
With the birth of the new dragon and her bond with the Rider, the era of battles had begun. Arya could not forsake the humans in the arduous struggle they faced. It was her solemn duty to remain by the side of the Rider and his dragon, offering her guidance and support until they were strong enough to endure and prevail.
The forest elf knew well that, beyond the leafy shadows of the elves' capital, high on the crags of Tel'naeír, another ancient pair dwelled—similar in nature yet veiled in secrecy. This knowledge, however, was not hers to share. She also understood the agreement Brom had forged with them when he entrusted the sapphire egg to the elves. Should the new Dragon Rider, bonded with the dragon, be human, Brom himself would guide the Rider through their first lessons. Only then would they be sent to the elves, where their training would continue under the watchful eyes of the ancient pair.
From this moment onward, Arya's duty was clear: to remain steadfastly by Eragon and Saphira's side, filling the void left by Brom's absence. Her ultimate purpose was to guide them to the forest of the elves, where their new mentors awaited—teachers who would prepare them for the trials ahead.
.*.*.*.
Eragon stood silently, watching as Saphira guided the elf toward the forest's edge. His eyes followed them until their figures vanished down the slope, disappearing from view. Though his bond with Saphira had momentarily dimmed, absorbed as she was in her conversation with Arya, he felt no unease. He knew, with unwavering certainty, that she would later share every moment, every thought, as only a dragon could with her rider.
Eragon hurried to the water trough, eager to shake off the remnants of sleep. Rolling up his sleeves, he shivered as the cold water bit into his skin. He splashed his face, hair, and neck with generous handfuls, the chill jolting him fully awake. Leaning over the rippling surface, he lingered, watching as droplets from his skin fell back into the water, their gentle impact gradually giving way to stillness once more.
He glimpsed his reflection framed by the azure expanse of the sky and the pale, weathered stone of the tower's outer walls. A single ripple marred the surface as another droplet fell from his damp hair, spreading outward before the water settled into stillness once more.
The damp tips of his hair clung to his shoulders, framing his face like dark strands of shadow. As he gazed into his reflection, a phrase from the ancient language Brom had taught him surfaced in his mind... Draumr kópa... The words carried weight—an invocation once used by the ancient Dragon Riders to scry familiar people or faraway places. The realization hit him like a surge of cold water.
…Murtagh!...
The past days of travel had been marked by deep sorrow and lingering melancholy for their fallen comrade. Yet, through it all, Eragon had not once thought to scry and learn Murtagh's fate. Could it be possible to discern what had become of him? Or would his magic fail, thwarted by the spell-woven walls of Urû'baen? And if the vision came to him, would he have the strength to confront what he might see? The image of Murtagh, lifeless and unmoving, haunted his thoughts like a specter. Or perhaps the dead were beyond scrying, their presence erased, leaving nothing to find no matter how hard one tried? With a sudden surge of determination, he banished his doubts, steeling himself for whatever awaited. He focused his mind intently on his friend.
" Draumr kópa!"
In an instant, the blue surface darkened to a shadowy gray. His reflection vanished, replaced by the indistinct, blurred face of Murtagh. Eragon's heart thundered in his chest. His comrade... his friend... had appeared before him. Fixating on Murtagh's eyes, half-veiled in shadow and seemingly shut, Eragon felt a pang of uncertainty. Perhaps Murtagh still slumbered, but beyond his face, the image revealed nothing of his surroundings, leaving Eragon grasping for answers in the void.
Suddenly, Murtagh's eyelids fluttered open, revealing his steely gaze as it shifted upward, fixing on something—or someone—beyond Eragon's sight. A surge of hope and anxiety gripped Eragon, his fingers tightening around the rough stone edges of the trough. Murtagh was alive! Yet, the momentary relief was tempered by the sight before him: Murtagh's features, etched with displeasure or pain, appeared worn and haggard, his face a map of exhaustion and struggle.
The storm of emotions within Eragon drained his strength in an instant. The magic slipped from his grasp, its light fading, and he collapsed onto the damp ground, his back pressing against the cold, wet stone of the trough. Murtagh was alive... The realization brought both relief and dread, for what Eragon had felt—and seen—made it clear: his friend was in grave peril.
What could have befallen Murtagh in Urû'baen, none could say. Had he succeeded in reaching the palace? Perhaps even the dragon eggs? Or had he been forced to abandon the attempt altogether? Worse still, had he tried and failed, only to fall into the hands of the enemy? If Murtagh had managed to escape the capital and was galloping freely, striving to reunite with the Varden, Eragon doubted he would appear so utterly drained. The possibilities churned in his mind, each more troubling than the last.
The Dragon Rider rose to his feet, running his fingers through his damp hair, pushing it back from his weary eyes. He straightened his clothes with deliberate movements, adjusting the sheath of his sword at his waist. What mattered now was that Murtagh was alive. Yet the weight of guilt bore down on him.
…I abandoned him…
The thought echoed relentlessly. He had been paralyzed by the fear of falling under Galbatorix's control and had fled in haste. Saphira's own fears had fueled his flight, driving him to seek escape—for both of them. He had acted out of desperation to save his cherished elf, rushing her to Farthen Dûr for healing, retreating to safety while leaving his comrade behind. And yet, Murtagh himself had urged him to go, to deliver the vital intelligence he had fought so hard to obtain to the Varden. Even so, the guilt clawed at Eragon's soul, refusing to release him.
The whirlwind of upheaval in his life had carried him far from his purpose, leaving him adrift. In his fear, he had chosen the coward's path—escape. He had forsaken Murtagh and the vital mission to free the dragon eggs, despite all his friend had done for him. Murtagh, who had stood by his side through every hardship, offering his wisdom, his strength, and the unwavering loyalty of his sword. And what had Eragon given him in return? Abandonment. Betrayal. He had left him to face the darkness alone.
"We are dragon and rider," Eragon reminded himself firmly. "Born into an age of tyranny and burdened with misfortune. The path before us is treacherous, laden with thorns and peril. But it is not a path we can avoid. We cannot flee or hide every time danger looms. We are dragon and rider, bonded by destiny! Not a duck and a mouse, scurrying from shadows."
What had happened once, for the sake of the elf, would not be repeated. She was healed now, her strength restored. Their path was clear: they would journey to Farthen Dûr, as they had promised Murtagh. There, they would deliver the vital information owed to the leader of the Varden. Without delay, they would return to Urû'baen to search for him, determined to stand by his side. They would offer their support in his struggles and lend their aid to his noble cause. If Murtagh was truly in peril and needed them, they would not falter—they would do whatever it took to save him.
He saw Saphira returning to the top of the hill alongside Arya, who now walked more steadily. The wind swept through the elf woman's long hair like a dark veil, whipping around her shoulders with every strong gust. From a distance, her delicate features appeared even more refined. Her lithe figure moved with grace as she approached, kindling a fire in his heart. Perhaps Arya would remain here for a while to regain her strength before journeying back to the ancestral forests of her people. Perhaps she might even choose to wait for him and his return.
Saphira pushed off with her powerful hind legs, leaping into the sky. She spread her wings wide, soaring gracefully over the plain on her daily scouting flight. Meanwhile, Arya approached and came to stand before him, exuding a commanding presence. Her green eyes gleamed with a vivid brightness, more intense than he had noticed in the previous days.
"Shur'tugal!" she greeted once more, strangely twisting her hand over her chest.
"Arya!" Eragon responded, seeking the connection with Saphira in his mind. He intended to speak to both of them about his decision. "The time has come for us to continue our journey to Farthen Dûr," he declared. "The mission entrusted to us by our comrade must be fulfilled without delay. We carry critical information that must reach the leader of the Varden himself. It is all documented in a notebook given to us by our comrade, which we have kept safe.
Furthermore, our most vital task is to warn the leader of the Varden that the twin mages he so deeply trusts are traitors. They serve the king, and their ultimate goal is to bring harm to the rebels."
The elf woman continued to gaze at him, her green eyes fixed intently on his, reminiscent of tender forest shoots. Her scent of pine needles was stronger now, more pronounced than he remembered from previous encounters. Fighting the intense pull of her presence, Eragon resolved to share his plans with her.
"However, our duty does not end here," he emphasized. "Just moments ago, I searched for my comrade using magic. I discovered that he is alive, though I fear that his return to Urû'baen has landed him in grave danger. His mission was to locate and liberate the two dragon eggs the king keeps imprisoned. Once we complete the task entrusted to us at Farthen Dûr, we plan to return to the capital to search for him."
"Eragon!" Saphira's voice echoed sharply in his mind.
The elf woman studied him with a stern gaze. All traces of her earlier liveliness had vanished. Her cheeks grew pale once more, and her cold, distant demeanor returned. "Shur'tugal, you are still very young and inexperienced," she said firmly. "You know nothing of Galbatorix's magic. A confrontation with him could be fatal for both you and your dragon." She paused briefly before continuing, her tone unwavering. "You cannot attempt to steal the dragon eggs from him. Your friend, in trying to do so, could be seen not just as reckless but utterly foolish. The king wields magic unknown even to us elves, and his eggs are protected by the highest enchantments."
The Dragon Rider remained unfazed by her words. Saphira echoed similar sentiments in his mind, and he sensed her swift return to the hill. "Once, my chosen one's sapphire egg was stolen from him," he declared. "If someone was able to take it from him once, then perhaps we, too, could achieve something similar. No one can predict the outcome unless someone dares to try," he emphasized.
"That occurred many years ago, and perhaps fortune smiled upon the thief then. However, Galbatorix would never allow such a transgression to happen again. Surely, his magic safeguards the eggs more effectively than an entire legion of his guards. Besides, the two of you are still young and inexperienced for a direct confrontation with him."
"The elf woman speaks wisely!" The dragoness landed heavily nearby, her steps resounding as she approached. Her talons gouged the earth, scattering small stones, while her sapphire eyes blinked at him. Stretching her neck almost above her chosen one, she added, "In the future, more suitable opportunities will arise when you and I become stronger."
"Until then, the world might know us as the cowardly Dragon Rider and his timid dragon. Is that what you want? Wasn't it you who urged me to start anew after Brom's death?" Raising his voice to ensure Arya could hear his thoughts, he continued, "Even if we cannot match Galbatorix's magic or ignite hope by rescuing the dragon eggs, our comrade is still alive, and I have no intention of abandoning him to his fate."
"Eragon, however, consider this..."
"Saphira, it would be dishonorable for us to abandon Murtagh now that he needs us. He stood by us, even though he, too, was in danger alongside us."
The elf woman locked her piercing green eyes on his. "Is this your decision, Shur'tugal? Is there anything—or anyone—that could sway your resolve?"
"This is my decision, Arya and Saphira," Eragon affirmed firmly. "I stand by it!"
"You are being stubborn," the dragoness warned. "A decision like this affects me too. You should consider my opinion, and we should agree or reject things together."
"I am convinced, beloved of my heart, that if you consider my words, you will eventually see that I am right." Gently, he stroked the soft scales on the side of her neck with his hand. Their emotional connection as strong as ever, he sensed her overwhelming concern for him. Confident that the decision he had made—despite her objections—did nothing to weaken their unbreakable bond, the Dragon Rider turned to Arya. "Perhaps it would be best for you to remain here for a while until you have fully recovered. Or, if you prefer, you may join us on our journey to Surda or the Varden."
The elf woman measured him with a frown, her thoughts turning inward. This human Dragon Rider was prepared to risk not only his life but also his dragon's life for a whim...
...for a comrade who was in danger...
Something no elf would ever have considered. If the blue dragon had hatched for an elf instead of a human, they would have regarded the preservation of the dragon's life as the highest priority. No elf would jeopardize their dragon's existence for the sake of a reckless human who believed they could stand against Galbatorix's magic.
...for the sake of a comrade who was in danger of being lost... just as her own comrades had been lost...
Arya closed her eyes momentarily, pressing her eyelids tightly shut, as if trying to trap behind them the memories she was helplessly struggling to erase. Perhaps this was why the blue dragon had chosen this human boy. Yes, no elf would dare to return to Urû'baen in a desperate bid to save a fleeting life. Nor would any elf contemplate the audacious act of attempting to steal the dragon eggs from the king. It had been two humans who resolved to take that risk.
The elf woman firmly crossed her arms over her chest. There was no way she would allow this young, inexperienced man to act on his own once they reached Urû'baen. If she could convince him to steer clear of Galbatorix and the enchantments that surely shielded the dragon eggs, there might still be a glimmer of hope. By pooling their magic, they could search for and liberate his companion.
Even if they failed to achieve their goal, the Dragon Rider would have no grounds to reject her proposal afterward. She intended to guide him deep into the elven forests, where the ancient couple awaited. She resolved to accept the mission of traveling alongside him, shifting her focus to more hopeful endeavors rather than dwelling on her lost loved ones and the scars left by the humans and the Shade.
As for the stranger, Murtagh, even if they failed to free him, at least they would have tried. After all, he had risked much and played a crucial role in her own liberation. If her beloved Fäolin and the gentle-hearted Glenwing had survived, Arya would have moved heaven and earth to find them and bring them back. The Dragon Rider was doing no less for his friend.
She would remain steadfast by his side, following him and shielding him from harm. Though she couldn't sway his resolve now, perhaps in time, she might convince him—if and when his efforts in Urû'baen failed to produce any meaningful outcomes.
Since the dragoness permitted it, she took care to establish a mental connection with her, offering reassurance. While her rider might have been reckless, he had her unwavering presence, supporting him with her magic. Turning her gaze to Eragon, she spoke: "If I assured you that there is a way to magically transfer all the information you possess directly to the Varden, would you allow me to accompany you to Urû'baen?"
Eragon stared at her, his surprise evident. "Do you know someone from the Varden?"
"I do!" she replied. "I was the one who transported Saphira's egg from the elves to the humans and back again. When my group was ambushed by the Shade, I was on my way to Farthen Dûr. I tried to use my magic to send the egg to Brom, knowing he was living north of the Spine."
Eragon froze, his eyes widening in astonishment as he looked at her. "The egg was meant for Brom?!" The revelation unraveled many mysteries, shedding light on things his late companion, the ancient Dragon Rider, had chosen to keep hidden.
"Brom had many secrets," Saphira agreed, her tone tinged with a hint of somber understanding.
"It just so happened that I was on the path of the egg while hunting in the Spine," Eragon remarked. A flood of questions overwhelmed his mind, each thought pressing against the next. Turning to the elf, he responded to her proposal with a cascade of inquiries. "Is it possible not only to 'see' someone who is far away but also to speak with them? Could a person actually hear what another is saying from a distance? And how do you plan to circumvent the Twins?"
Murtagh had warned him that the twin magicians were devious, always ensuring their involvement in every matter. They excelled at convincing others of their indispensability, leaving nothing that occurred among the Varden unnoticed by their watchful eyes.
Arya was unsurprised by his lack of knowledge. Maintaining her polite demeanor—despite having previously remarked on his inexperience—she took it upon herself to explain. "There is a way to communicate with the witch Trianna, who resides and works among the Varden. She is a trustworthy individual, and I intend to bind her by oath in the ancient language, the language of truth, to ensure that everything I share with her reaches Ajihad, their leader."
Eragon felt his spirits lift at her words. He would no longer need to journey to Farthen Dûr in search of the Varden, gaining valuable time to return to Urû'baen sooner. Most importantly, the elf would stay by his side. "If there is a magical way to transfer all the information we possess to Ajihad, then please do so. It will grant us precious time to return to Urû'baen and rescue our friend before an even worse fate befalls him."
The elf woman scanned the ground intently. Then, with graceful precision, she bent down and picked up a slender shard of stone scattered across the courtyard of the tower. It appeared to be no more than a broken fragment from one of the white boulders that had been used centuries ago to construct the outer walls of the structure. Roughly the length of a human forearm, one of its surfaces was polished unusually smooth. Arya studied the fragment briefly before extending it toward Eragon. "If you would, Dragon Rider, carry this to the upper floor..."
Eragon took the piece of stone in his hands, its weight disproportionate to its size. With a gesture, he motioned for the elf woman to lead the way. Following her, they entered the expansive, circular room on the ground floor. Tenga sat hunched at his long table, his nose buried deep in one of the hefty tomes spread open before him. So engrossed was he in his reading that he seemed entirely unaware of their presence.
In their absence, the cats had claimed the small upper floor as their domain, busily exploring its contents. Two of them had sprawled across Arya's mattress, meticulously grooming their long fur. One tiny kitten had nestled snugly into the empty food bowl, fast asleep, curled into a soft, furry ball. Arya gently lifted the little one into her arms, murmuring softly in a language unfamiliar to Eragon. The kitten stirred, stretched, and let out a tiny yawn before leaping from her hands to the floor, scampering toward the ground level. The older cats followed at a leisurely pace, descending the secured wooden staircase with sluggish grace.
The elf woman and the Dragon Rider stood alone in the room. Arya's soft whispers lingered, weaving green sparks that danced along the walls and traced the beams of the floor. The shimmering reflections expanded steadily, enveloping the space in their dim glow. As the light spread, it coalesced into a magical shield, a shimmering barrier of protection surrounding them.
Eragon felt as though he were standing within the heart of a shadowy forest, encased by thick, impenetrable foliage. Even the faintest rays of sunlight seemed unable to penetrate the oppressive canopy above. "Saphira, what is this?" he murmured, his voice tinged with wonder and unease. Through their shared bond, the Dragon Rider relayed this peculiar experience to his chosen one, seeking the reassurance of her presence.
"The two-legs-pointy-ears is regaining her magic," Saphira purred, her voice echoing from the highest beams of the ceiling, where she had once again perched. "It wasn't mere chance that our paths crossed."
"Perhaps she knows as much as Brom," Eragon mused, his puzzlement lingering. "Later, she might even be willing to teach us."
The gentle purring of his chosen one resonated within his mind like a deep, soothing melody. It lingered there, intertwining harmoniously with the elf's soft, whispered chants, creating a symphony of magic and connection.
.*.*.*.
Eragon observed intently as Arya wove her enchantments around the room, ensuring their words would remain imperceptible to any ears beyond the walls. Her focus then shifted to the smooth surface of the boulder, which began to change under the influence of her magic. The slab adopted a fluid, milky texture, shimmering with a silvery-white hue. To Eragon's astonishment, bright, swirling circles appeared to ripple across its surface, spinning with mesmerizing speed. The transformation reminded him of molten metal flowing in Horst's forge back in Carvahall—an image etched deeply in his memory.
At last, the stone was entirely enveloped in a radiant silver glow, and the face of a young, dark-haired woman emerged sharply upon its surface, as clear and vivid as if she were standing before them.
The woman's expression betrayed her surprise at the sudden call. "Arya, bearer of the blue egg, we have waited long for your arrival in vain." Her piercing blue eyes locked onto the elf, silently demanding an answer. An ambiguous smile curled at the corners of her lips, an unsettling mixture of warmth and reproach.
The elf woman stood rigid, her posture tense, before the magical projection of the woman she had summoned. "Witch Trianna," she greeted with a formal nod, her tone measured and composed. "This is not the appropriate time to recount all that transpired and prevented my meeting with the Varden, but in due course, all will be explained."
Intrigued, Eragon leaned in closer to the enchanted surface, marveling at the sharpness of the image and the crystalline clarity of the voice that resonated from it. "We have much to learn from this elf, joy of my life," he sent his thoughts to Saphira, his mind racing to comprehend the magic that carried the sound so effortlessly.
Arya shifted slightly, her movements deliberate, ensuring that the other woman couldn't glimpse who else was present in the room. This did not escape Eragon's notice. "Does she not wish me to be seen? How peculiar..."
"The two-legs-pointy-ears prefers to keep our existence a secret," Saphira remarked, her voice calm and deliberate. "She believes it is safer for now if the Varden and their leader remain unaware of a dragon and rider."
"Just like Brom," Eragon murmured thoughtfully.
"Arya thinks that once the leader learns of us, he will insist on speaking with you directly," Saphira continued. "He will try to bind you with an oath or extract a promise to journey to him without delay. Your plan to return to Urû'baen will not sit well with him."
"The elf woman is wise," Eragon concluded, a hint of admiration in his voice.
"I'm not so sure that wisdom alone drives such an act," Saphira stated, her voice tinged with thoughtfulness. "There's something deeper and more hidden in her heart."
"Perhaps it's because she believes in our mission—to bring hope to dragonkind. To save Murtagh," Eragon reflected, his tone filled with conviction.
Eragon observed as Arya invoked the ancient language, demanding an oath from the witch Trianna. She ensured that Trianna would relay every word she heard to Ajihad personally, leaving nothing unsaid—a command that was swiftly obeyed. Arya then bound her to a second vow: to speak of what she learned to no one else, neither before nor after delivering the message to the Varden leader. Confused but compliant, the witch swore to both oaths without hesitation.
Eragon listened closely as the elf woman relayed her warnings to Ajihad through Trianna. She spoke of the twin sorcerers and the sinister alliance they had forged with the king against the Varden. Reading from Murtagh's manuscript, she carefully detailed every note he had recorded, placing particular emphasis on the unsettling rumors of a potential alliance between Galbatorix and the Urgals. Lastly, she reported the uncertain fate of Ajihad's spy, deliberately omitting any mention of whether she had encountered him, how, or where. Nor did she reveal her intent to seek him out upon her return to Urû'baen.
As the elf severed the connection, the magic dissolved, and the stone's surface reverted to its familiar, cloudy hue. Eragon's hand instinctively slipped into the pocket of his jacket, brushing against the letter Murtagh had entrusted to him—a message meant only for Nasuada, Ajihad's daughter. His companion's instructions had been clear: the letter was to be placed in her hands and hers alone. If fate ever brought their paths together, Eragon vowed to fulfill that duty. If not, Murtagh's secrets would be buried with him, lost to the world forever.
"We can think positively," Saphira purred from her perch high on the beams. "Murtagh himself will speak to the two-legs-round-ears when he returns with us to Farthen Dûr."
"Thank you, sweetheart," Eragon replied softly. The gentle reassurance of the dragoness coursed through him, filling his troubled heart with renewed courage and hope.
He quietly took the notebook back from the elf, slipping it into its hidden resting place. The horses had been fed, watered, and rested. Arya's life, once hanging by a thread, was now steadily recovering, her strength returning with each passing moment. There was no longer any reason to remain in the desolate ruins of Edur Ithindra.
They would request provisions from Tenga, expressing their gratitude for his hospitality. After stocking up on ample water from the trough, they would embark without delay on their journey back to Urû'baen. The road ahead would give them time to craft a strategy and determine their next steps.
"Thank you for everything, Arya, elf of the forest," Eragon said earnestly, his gratitude unmistakable. She stood before him, her lively green eyes fixed on his, radiating both strength and an unreadable depth. Though her demeanor was solemn—perhaps even distant—her voice carried a warmth that flowed like a divine melody to his ears.
"I will not leave you alone, Shur'tugal," she replied, her tone unwavering. "Whatever dangers you choose to face, I will always be by your side."
It seemed unlikely that they would be able to approach the eggs or uncover anything about the dragon rider's companion. Yet, Arya had no intention of abandoning the pair. With the strength of her magic, she would shield them from harm. Through her seasoned counsel, she would soon guide the young human to a fateful decision—to follow her into the heart of the elven forest. There, deep within its ancient embrace, the legendary pair of dragon and rider had long awaited the arrival of those destined to carry their legacy forward.
Hearing her words, Eragon inclined his head in a respectful bow. Her unwavering faith in him fortified his resolve, filling every corner of his being with renewed hope. Determination surged through him—he was ready to wield both his sword and the might of his dragon to shield her from harm.
Within the depths of his heart, a newfound confidence blossomed, accompanied by an unshakable belief in their mission. He would become the dragon rider who, alongside his steadfast companion, would rescue Murtagh, liberate the two eggs, and lend his strength to the Varden and all others who dared to stand against the usurper.
The weight of Alagaësia's future rested now upon their shoulders, and for the first time, he felt truly ready to bear it.
Within him, Eragon felt Saphira's unwavering agreement. Their shared resolve burned brightly—they would aid all those in need, for the hopes of many rested upon their shoulders. They would seek justice against the oathbreaker, the destroyer of the eggs, the jailer of the last noble dragons. Together, they would liberate Alagaësia and the countless races that called it home. They would ensure the dawn of a new era, laying the foundation for a rebirth—a future where a new generation of Dragon Riders would rise.