Brom and Murtagh were traversing the yawning expanses of grass between tiny towns in the heartlands of the Empire when he spotted it.
A tiny speck in the air, headed towards them. At first he paid it no mind, but as it drew near, it acted unlike birds ought. It flew directly at him.
Then he spotted the sliver of paper clutched in its claws and connected the dots. He pulled Moo's reins and held out an arm. Murtagh watched in bewilderment as the creature alit on his arm, hopping on one foot and holding out the other with its cargo. The clay bird settled on the saddle in front of him after Brom had taken the note. He unfurled it.
Brom,
Saphira and I found a bunch more Urgals headed east. We're following them. We think they must be headed to the Beors, maybe even the Varden if they're over there, so we're following them. As I write this, Saphira is flying past Lake Tudosten on our right.
Harry was wrong. They're not headed to Surda, and I bet Durza's not, either.
If you want to meet up, meet us wherever in the Beors the Urgals are headed.
Eragon & Saphira
Brom nearly fell out of his saddle in relief. He was alive. Murtagh glanced over. "What news?"
"Eragon's fine. And we have our heading."
"Where's that?"
Brom got out supplies to pen a reply. He was unsure if the clay bird was going to wait for him to take a letter in return. He inked his quill, then hesitated with the nib over the paper.
"Will you wait for me?" he asked the bird. It bobbed its head. "Then I'll write your reply tonight." He wiped off the quill and folded the stationery back into his pack, flicking the reins.
"We're headed to the Beors," Brom told Murtagh. "And then to the Varden."
Murtagh's expression closed off. "I won't go there."
Despite his declaration, Murtagh continued following Brom across the barren grass. They rode until late afternoon, whereupon Brom called for an early stop and pitched the tent. Murtagh never stopped watching the magic tent unfold itself midair and moor itself to the ground, always with an expression of awe.
Harry was very lucky to have magic that was such a gift. The flourishes, the effects, the whimsy, it was all a waste Oromis had taught Brom to do away with. Alagaesia's magic, at least to the skilled, was a scalpel.
Brom dragged the table outside and set out his stationery again. For an hour, he tried to put words to his feelings, find the right ones to send to his son, and hope to in some part mend the rift between them.
By the time the sky had begun to pinken, the only word he'd written was his son's name.
Murtagh brought out food and his own chair and sat opposite him.
Brom's head was too full to try to read his stepson's heart. He ate with him in silence and watched the horizon.
"Is that for your son?" he asked.
Brom fetched his pipe. "Brisingr," he murmured, blowing out the flame and sucking in the embers.
"Aye."
"Do you mind if I read what you've written so far?"
Brom snorted and turned the paper briefly. Murtagh's eyes touched the singular name written at the top.
"I see."
The wind blew over the plains. Silverware clinked on dishes and scraped on bowls. Over the paper, the nib of the quill hovered.
"What do you hope for this letter to accomplish?"
Brom took a drag. Good question. He had no idea, except that he wanted his son not to hate him. He wasn't sure a letter could manage that.
"I would like for him not to rip the letter up before he reads it," Brom settled on.
"Well, he sent you a letter, didn't he? He must not be entirely done with you," Murtagh pointed out tentatively.
Brom supposed he was right.
"What would you say to him if he were here?"
That got him the first two words. Once he'd written those, the rest of the letter came out in fits. When he got to making plans, things flowed smoothly. He'd written a thousand letters like that.
When it came to the end, his habits nudged him to get a bit of wax and press Aren into it. Brom ignored it. He wrote his name and rolled up the paper. Brom handed it to the clay bird. Murtagh watched the animated creature curiously, observing as it closed its talons around the scroll and in defiance of all sensibilities of flight, soared into the air.
They both watched it recede into the distance headed east.
"The Varden is in the Beors?" Murtagh asked, when it finally vanished as a speck on the horizon.
Brom produced a map and weighted it with their empty dishes. "Galbatorix certainly thinks so." He traced a line from the Spine across to the north of Lake Tudosten, all the way to the mountains in the south. Glancing up, he lined the setting sun up with the way the bird had flown, tracing another imaginary line on the map. It all seemed to line up.
"I will travel with you to their front gates, but there our paths diverge," Murtagh said.
"So you said," Brom agreed.
"You won't try to stop me?" Murtagh asked.
Brom sat back and crossed his arms. The embers of his pipe warmed a spot on the outside of his arm. "No, I won't if that's your choice. But something tells me you're going to take that final step."
"What tells you that?" Murtagh snorted. "They will surely welcome the son of Morzan into their ranks with open arms."
"They will if I tell them to," Brom said mildly.
Murtagh snorted again, shaking his head.
"It may have escaped your notice, but I founded the Varden," Brom reminded him. "I suspect I still have a bit of sway. They might just be willing to take you in on my recommendation."
"It makes no difference," Murtagh dismissed. "I am not interested in living among thousands who will despise me."
"Why would we tell them?" Brom wondered.
Murtagh opened his mouth, then closed it. He blinked, staring at Brom.
"I think if you run off to Surda, you'll be miserably bored. I cannot see a man such as you content to go from Galbatorix's court to a farmhand. I am offering you a sure way to enter the Varden, anonymous and unchallenged, and a chance to fight to see that madman you know deposed. Furthermore," Brom continued, "I think the Varden will be willing to accept you as you are after you've proven yourself. And if they aren't, well, nobody hated Morzan more than me. If I vouch for you, nobody will dare contradict me."
His stepson mirrored him, crossing his arms obstinately. Brom huffed. "Well, you've got a few weeks to decide. Come on, let's get some sleep. We've got a lot of ground to cover."
The bird is following us.
Eragon twisted to look back. Saphira was right.
And it has a reply.
Her eyesight was better than his. It was not for another minute that Eragon was able to make out the scroll clutched in its feet. Saphira slowed down and let the clay creature catch up. Despite being invisible, the clay bird tracked them unerringly.
Let's land, Eragon decided.
They found a spot far enough from the Urgals to touch down. Eragon always found it disorienting to see his body reappear again.
The bird landed and handed him the scroll. Eragon felt a tightness in his chest. He held Brom's words in his hands. He unfurled it and read.
Eragon,
I'm sorry.
Nothing I write here will be as meaningful as speaking face-to-face. You deserved better than to be lied to your whole life.
In regards to the Varden, you were right. They live among the dwarves in Farthen Dur, a mountain city in the Beors accessible by a wide valley that's impossible to miss, south of the middle of the Hadarac Desert.
At the end of the valley is a lake with a waterfall, behind which you may gain admittance by knocking with a rock and the words "Aí varden abr du Shur'tugalar gata vanta."
The Varden are not 'nice' or 'safe' simply because your goals are aligned. I urge you to remember that you and Saphira are their sole hope of defeating Galbatorix. You have unparalleled leverage in negotiating because of this. However, not everyone in the Varden shares the same interests, and they will all seek to bind your allegiance to themselves and use you to further their goals.
My suggestion as your teacher, mentor, father, and man who cares very much for you, is that you do not enter the viper's den alone.
I have removed any wards against scrying from myself, if you wish to meet up. Your half brother is with me, and Murtagh is eager to meet you.
Be safe,
Brom
Eragon read it a few times before stuffing it in his pack.
What do you think?
Saphira sniffed the piece of paper. It's funny that you can imbue ideas on the surface of chewed up wood and send them across the world on dead things to be read by living things.
I meant about the content of the paper.
Saphira sniffed it again. I suspect it only contains wood pulp.
Eragon let his head fall back in exasperation. A bit of mischief came across the link. I think you may wish to get another opinion.
I am not opposed, but who?
Saphira nudged the clay bird. Who was this originally intended to let you contact?
Eragon could have slapped himself for being so stupid. He fished out another piece of paper and wrote a letter. It turned out to be a long one, front and back. By the time he got to the other side of the paper, Eragon was forming his letters with meticulous care to be as tiny as possible, lines and lines of them as he explained the gist of the situation. He went back with a second draft to edit out all the overly sensitive information, "To Harry, wherever he is," Eragon instructed the golem, handing it the finished letter.
The reply came faster than Eragon expected. They had landed for the evening when the bird came flying back.
Eragon,
Brilliant to hear from you. My mission was a success, and though it demanded a bit of a detour, you'll remember I've got ways of getting around quickly.
I was shocked at first to read about your parents, then some pieces fell into place regarding Brom and you and now, I can definitely see it. We can talk about it more soon because I'm already here with the Varden!
If you're sick of traveling with Brom for now, I know what it's like to be cooped up with frayed nerves and harsh words hanging about. It sounds like you're not far from the Beors. Can't put too many details in a letter that might be intercepted (Merlin, my 16-year-old self would hate me for writing that) but if you follow the Urgals, they'll get you close.
Brom's right that the Varden aren't always the nicest (watch out for the creepy bald magicians!) but you've got a friend on the inside. I'll help make sure things go smoothly, or if not, at least I'll be in your corner.
Looking forward to seeing you soon (or sooner!),
Harry.
Eragon set down the letter and carefully printed out his reply. He held the scroll and picked up the bird, but didn't give it the letter yet.
Think you can keep up with a magic clay bird? Eragon asked.
A surge of indignance emanated across the link. Saphira stooped for him to get in the saddle and shuffled her wings. Eragon handed the bird the scroll. "To Harry. Ready?"
Saphira took off. Eragon released the bird and Saphira began chasing it through the night.
"Aí varden abr du Shur'tugalar gata vanta!" Eragon struck his rock into the face of the cliff.
For a moment, he feared the watchers hadn't heard him over the waterfall. He struck harder, shouting the code phrase at the top of his lungs over the thundering water. It was yet dark out and sunlight was blocked by the impossibly huge Beors.
The entire cliff face rolled away. Eragon and Saphira were left gaping at the cavernous tunnel revealed before them, a group of dwarves in front watching warily, eyes fixed on Saphira.
"Who are you?" A dwarf at the front asked.
"I am Eragon, and this is Saphira." Eragon gestured. "We come to the Varden to see Galbatorix defeated."
"Aye, that's what we do here," the dwarf broke into a smile. Dwarvish muttering broke out behind him among his fellow troops. Eragon had never seen so many sighs of abject relief at once. "Yours is a story to hear, I'm sure. Come inside, Argetlam. There are Urgals coming from the west."
"I know. We saw them. Thousands. Are you prepared to fight them–?"
The dwarf scowled and gestured for him and Saphira to follow. "We may dither when we are not standing under flawed stone."
Eragon glanced up at the stone shelf above worried.
"It's an expression," the dwarf added. "Argetlam, you must enter or flee. You came for the Varden; they are here. In our out."
They entered the gigantic tunnel. Behind, Eragon watched in awe as a stone plug the size of a cliff rolled back into place. The door to the viper's den had closed behind them.
Dwarves are rather small, Saphira observed, exhausted. Hardly a snack. Ask them for food, won't you?
Please do not eat the dwarves, Eragon sent back, just as tired. Saphira had flown like mad to keep up with the magic bird. It never stopped, never flagged, never tired for a moment. He had felt her determination not to be beaten by a bit of dirt and some magic as she flew relentlessly after it. Towards the end of their flight through the valley, it had peeled off and shot up into the air, climbing the side of the valley. They'd decided against following it when the lake and waterfall was in view ahead.
"Saphira would like to eat; we have flown very far tonight and we're both very hungry," Eragon requested politely. Saphira puncutated his request with a growl and a menacing stare. The dwarves suddenly looked uneasy. There was a susurration of dwarvish before one was selected to sprint off and relay the request.
"Entrants to the Varden must wait for examination to be allowed in," the dwarf apologized. "My name's Orik. We have a place for you and Saphira to wait until then. Food is being sent for. Get some rest, Argetlam. It is safe here."
They were shown to a circular room that looked cut from stone. It had a thick stone door plug, and was not big enough for Saphira to fit inside comfortably. The dwarves indicated that Eragon should enter. Orik followed him inside. Saphira positioned herself at the doorway with her tail across the threshold, and growled at anybody who looked like they might want to shut the door.
Harry was here, Saphira sent, breathing quietly through her nose. Her eyes were drooping and Eragon felt her exhaustion and triumph across the link. They'd made it.
Let's get some sleep, Eragon suggested. I doubt they'll try anything, and like you said, Harry was here.
Wordlessly, Saphira concurred. She backed up into the doorway, now blocking nearly all of it, and fell asleep.
Some hours later, dwarves arrived with food. Half a slow roasted goat for Saphira and dinner scraps for Eragon. Both of them were too tired to do much but wake up, eat silently, and fall back asleep.
An hour after that, Eragon was awoken by commotion.
Saphira opened a drowsy eye to see and report to Eragon. A pair of bald magicians, she observed.
Forewarned, Eragon did not want to speak with them at all, but he was the newcomer to the Varden, and they did probably have the right to at least check that they weren't Galbatorix's agents.
Shall I let them through?
Eragon sat up and tried in vain to make himself presentable after two weeks without showering. Go ahead.
"If you wish to enter the ranks of the Varden, you must submit to a mental examination," the first started without preamble.
"It is not optional," the other said.
"We are the examiners, and will determine if you are suitably loyal to the cause."
They seemed to be in a bit of a hurry. Eragon frowned. "Mental examination?"
"You will lower your mental defenses and allow us to examine your memories for evidence you are against Galbatorix," the second one said.
Eragon felt the hairs on his neck go up. He could not think of a grosser invasion of privacy. Harry's warning echoed in his head. "I am not doing that," Eragon announced.
"Then you will remain here until you do," one said. "You cannot be allowed to leave with the location of the Varden in your mind, nor can you be admitted without proving your loyalties."
Saphira shuffled aside then, and Eragon had never been happier to see Harry's face. He wore the same fine clothing he'd made when they were entering Teirm, a blouse, slacks, a jacket, and a silken ascot. Compared to the Twins' unsettling robes and eerily impassive faces, Harry looked handsome and human. And also annoyed.
"What are you doing?"
"Newcomers who groveled for special exceptions may be unaware," one said, now showing irritation, "New entrants to the Varden must be examined. Curious that not weeks after skirting the entrance examination, you already seek to undermine the security of the Varden." The accusation of treason fell like a lodestone into the room. Eragon was startled by the magicians immediately going for the throat.
"Who examined you two?" Harry wondered.
They blinked in unison. "It was unnecessary," one said.
"We have proven our loyalties many times over," the other added.
"Well then let's extend Eragon the same courtesy," Harry said airily. "If a couple of voodoo dolls are trustworthy enough to take on merit, I bet a fucking Dragon Rider is special enough for an exception."
Trying and failing to hide their lividness, the Twins glared at Harry. "It is not a good look to hold the door wide open for traitors to follow in your footsteps. Ajihad will wonder why you insist on letting strangers in on their word."
Harry was completely unbothered by the accusation. Eragon was growing angry at the Twins on his behalf.
"Well if this Dragon Rider showing up on the Varden's doormat offering to help isn't endorsement enough, I can't help but notice Saphira is the same shade of blue as the egg that was recently lost. Given that now all your hopes are riding on him being an ally, it seems a bit odd to dither on loyalties. If he's with Galbatorix, we're all royally fucked anyways. You know this. Prying into the secrets of every person who wants to join the Varden makes me suspicious."
The Twins lingered in silence only a moment longer to assess the now-dismal chance of getting into Eragon's head. "Ajihad will be notified."
Harry burst out into laughter so abruptly Eragon was startled. "Run along to daddy now, boys." He made a shoo-ing gesture. The Twins stalked out with venomous looks that said there would be retaliation.
They seem like unpleasant enemies to have, Saphira remarked.
"You seem unconcerned with making enemies," Eragon repeated the sentiment aloud. Harry shrugged. He almost seemed…fond?
"Remind me to tell you about a guy I went to school with named Draco Malfoy."
A good name, Saphira thought.
If on the nose.
"They said you've been here two weeks already?" Eragon asked.
Harry nodded. "It's a long story. I'm going to grab Orik and we can start heading in. They'll want you to get your bonafides before I go spilling 'state secrets.' Got all your stuff?"
Eragon gave the circular room a once-over before following Harry out. The wizard chatted for a moment with one dwarf in particular, the one that had greeted Eragon at the cliff tunnel.
"As amusing as it is to watch them eat their words," Orik said, "I have to warn you that your demeanor and disrespect for authority does not go unnoticed."
Harry frowned. "I was being flippant, but I meant it when I said they shouldn't be prying. They know why there's no point in guessing the loyalties of a friendly Dragon Rider. Insisting on 'examining' them is a flimsy excuse for rooting around in their heads for secrets."
Orik held up his hands in surrender. "Make your excuses to Ajihad."
"I will. I'm hoping he'll be so happy to have a Rider on his side that he'll forget to chew me out for how it happened."
Orik's beard twitched. "It is cause for celebration. Do you two know each other?"
Harry looked to Eragon as if asking permission. Eragon shrugged. "Since before Saphira hatched."
The dwarf's bushy brows rose until they were hidden beneath his helmet. "I imagine there's a story there."
"Mostly Eragon's to tell," Harry deferred.
"Ajihad will want to hear it. Hrothgar too."
They set out down the massive hallway. Orik and his dwarf friends had saddled goat pony steeds, Harry had a horse he seemed not entirely comfortable riding. Eragon didn't think he'd ever seen the wizard on horseback. He lacked all the usual grace he displayed on a broomstick.
"This means you knew the fate of the blue egg and kept it secret," Orik pointed out, when nobody remarked on his suggestion.
"Yeah, we did. It seemed like the right idea at the time."
Orik sighed and they rode in silence for a while. For the better part of the day, they rode down the long, long tunnel. It was perfectly straight with perfectly square corners, detailwork running along its entire length. The volume of stone that had to have been excavated to form the tunnel was mind-boggling.
Despite the length of the ride, Harry kept tight-lipped about what he'd been up to for the last couple weeks, what the Varden was like, and he steered Eragon's attempts to tell him what he himself had been up to into the ground. Thus it was a long and boring ride.
When the end of the massive hall came into view, a dwarf runner ran up to Orik and murmured something to him in Dwarvish. He scowled, then turned to Eragon apologetically.
"Word spread that you'd be coming," he said. "Many people are out there to catch a glimpse of a friendly Dragon Rider."
Harry scowled. "Those stupid rats told everyone, I'd bet my wand on it."
Orik knuckled his mouth, his shoulders bobbing silently. "Don't bet that, I know plenty of the Varden's women would be devastated if you lost it."
Harry rolled his eyes. He turned to look up at Eragon on Saphira's back. "How do you want to come off to them?"
Eragon was confused. "What do you mean?"
"They're here for a first impression. I can make you nice clothes that make you look rich and smart, or maybe armor to emphasize being a warrior. The traveling clothes give you a worldly feel; you could stick with them too. I think it'd be worth thinking about at least. Getting chucked into the public eye unprepared makes it tough to tell people who you are. They usually just decide based on what they see first," Harry advised.
"We don't have all the time in the world," Orik warned. "They're already out there waiting. I can send for armor, but it may not get here in time."
"I bought tailored clothes in Kuasta," Eragon offered. He just wasn't sure he wanted to come off as rich and smart. He doubted the people in the Varden would feel much kinship with the upper class. Nonetheless, he knew what Harry was offering.
"Can you do armor?"
"Sure." Harry gestured for him to get off Saphira and strike a mildly heroic pose. He gestured and Eragon felt the sudden weight of gleaming steel plate armor appearing over his clothes.
"Too shiny?" Harry wondered. He made a twirling gesture with a finger and the steel dulled and rusted a bit.
"We don't want him to look like a relic," Orik interjected, overcoming his astonishment at the conjuration rather quickly.
Harry hummed and gestured again, this time scrubbing off the rust but adding scratches and battle scars. "Too simple?"
"You're not using your wand," Eragon noted.
Harry's brows creased as Eragon found himself in a monstrosity of gold filigree and encrusted gemstones with a dragon embossed on the breastplate, eyes of dazzling sapphire.
"The Elder Wand and I are taking a break while we figure out our differences." He turned up his nose. "I'm having a grand old time without it. It should be so lucky to have me back."
"Way too much," Orik managed.
Harry toned it down a bit.
"Can you do a matte finish? And articulate the armor around the shoulders rather than epaulets. The Varden are warriors; they will know the difference between a costume and real armor."
Harry twirled his finger once more and the armor's sheen dulled. Eragon felt the plates on his shoulders changed.
"Still missing something," Harry said, chin in his fist. "I know!" He brightened and snapped his fingers. Eragon felt a weight on his back and twisted to see a thick cape of solid blue.
He backed up against Saphira and held up the fabric. "It's a lot."
Harry agreed. "What are the Varden's colors?"
"White and purple," Orik answered.
Harry gestured again. The cape turned purple with a layered white border. He paused. "This might be too much," he warned.
Eragon frowned.
"If you come in wearing their colors, you're sort of saying you're all theirs," Harry said. He pointed and the cape's colors switched back to a lighter shade of blue gradient with the same white border. "Maybe wear their colors in battle, but your own everywhere else?"
The revised blue cape looked fine enough. Harry made a decent point. Eragon did intend to fight for the Varden, but he was not ready to sign himself away to them without so much as meeting the leadership. If he went in with the purple cape and found them intolerable to work with, going his own way later would make him seem disloyal.
Orik suggested a few tweaks. Eragon wanted Zar'roc to be a bit more prominent, but the moment the dwarf caught sight of the red blade, his face darkened. It was all too easy to forget its history when he'd been practicing with it for far longer than he'd known its history.
"There are still plenty of people around here who knew someone that sword killed," Orik said darkly.
Eragon knew he couldn't replace the magic sword, and said as much. "It's a Rider's sword, and the only one I've got. What it did in the past matters less than what it will do in the future."
Orik conceded his reasoning with a warning. "Don't expect people to be happy to see it."
They stepped back. Harry conjured a mirror for Eragon to examine himself. Eragon endured a few more spells to scrub off the grime of travel and fix up his hair a bit. He had to admit the final effect was impressive.
What do you think?
I think the wizard only reveals what you have been training to become, little one. A warrior.
Eragon climbed into the saddle and set his face.
"They want to love you," Harry advised. "They're all desperate for a hero, and you're about to ride in there looking like that. Don't be an arsehole and they'll love you."
"Well spoken," Orik said.
"Knock 'em dead," Harry grinned.
They walked through the massive gate and into the crowd.
The moment he stepped out of the shadows of the tunnel, Eragon felt every second as if in hyperreality. The crowd was too huge to focus on any individual. They all stared up expectantly and in silence as Saphira walked down the cleared path between the throngs.
Every second grated on him like an eternity. He was setting his reputation, did he want to be a silent, somber warrior?
Though it felt like his arm was made of lead, Eragon forced his hand into the air and waved. There was a moment of silence before Harry started clapping into the silence next to him. He hooted and grinned, clapping alone like a madman into the silence.
Then the spell was broken and the crowd began to cheer. Inestimably grateful to Harry, Eragon's face broke into a grin. Too high up on Saphira's saddle to hear him, Harry whispered something into Saphira's ear.
What did he say? Eragon asked, listening for Saphira's mental voice to cut through the cheers.
He told me how someone who could fly might get to Ajihad's office quicker by landing on the balcony of his level on the far right side.
Eragon glanced around at the crowd. Think these people have ever seen a dragon in flight?
No, Saphira grinned fiercely, but they're about to.
She spread her wings over the crowd's heads and flapped hard, rising off the ground. The cheers only intensified as they soared away, gliding towards Tronjheim ahead. Harry waved at them from below. Orik seemed exasperated, hurrying his mount along towards the colossal mountain city as they rose higher beneath the hollow mountain.
They landed on a high balcony. Saphira headed in only long enough to the first hall where a roselike decal was set into an arch over the intersection. She backtracked to the balcony and took flight again, climbing two more levels before landing again and heading inside. Saphira seemed to know well enough where she was headed by reading the roses over the arches at intersections.
For living in a gopher den, the dwarves are at least sensible enough to make their warren navigable.
Eragon rubbed her scaled shoulder. They began encountering guards and important people in robes, which he took as a sign they were getting closer to their destination. Saphira took great pleasure in frightening the hell out of men who clearly were not expecting a dragon to come walking around the corner, and had almost certainly never seen one before in any case.
More than one guard simply froze as Saphira sauntered past, moving back into action only after she'd gone by.
Hushed, urgent word spread throughout that section of the city. A minute later, the most beautiful woman Eragon had ever seen came jogging around the corner. "Eragon?" she asked.
"Ye- ahem, yes?" Eragon blushed. He noted the pointy ears.
"Apologies, we were not expecting you to come in this way," the elf said. She seemed impossibly regal despite her manlike clothes. They looked like something Harry would wear.
"Harry told Saphira where on the outside of Tronjheim to land to get here fastest," Eragon managed to say.
She rolled her eyes in exasperation. So they had met already. She must be the elf Harry had gone off to rescue. "Follow me please."
Saphira followed along as she turned to walk down the hall. Careful where you rest your eyes, she teased Eragon. Eragon's cheeks reddened as he wrenched his gaze up higher.
Her clothes reveal her form, Eragon tried to protest.
No more than a man's, Saphira denied. It would have been an unfortunate time for her to glance over her shoulder.
No matter, Eragon thought, mostly to himself. The elf led him to a great door flanked by guards. One disappeared around the corner for a moment before the door opened and a deep voice commanded them to enter.
"Welcome," Ajihad said to Eragon. "We'll wait for Harry; I've been informed by Arya that you two are acquainted."
Arya stood against the wall near Ajihad's desk. Eragon clambered down and took a seat, now feeling rather foolish in his grand armor.
They did not have long to wait.
There was a knock on the door. Ajihad bade him enter. The door opened and Harry and Orik came in, both out of breath. Ajihad glanced at his hourglass.
"Remarkable, they arrived only a minute ago after flying."
"The wizard magicked the pulley system," Orik panted. "We sprinted the rest of the way."
"No lasting damage, I hope?"
Orik's beard twitched. "Only that a couple of draft horses are out of a job."
"Do you have to report to King Hrothgar?" Ajihad asked.
"He will prefer to wait for a clearer picture than hear the rumors from me instead of the rest," Orik said. "If I am welcome to listen, of course," he bowed.
Aijhad looked to Eragon and gestured at the dwarf. "I withhold very little from Orik, who reports directly to King Hrothgar. Nevertheless, your secrets are your discretion."
Eragon thought that was reasonable enough. And very unlike the Twins. "He can stay if he wants."
Ajihad gestured to the chairs in front of his desk, looking to Arya, Harry, and Orik. "The time for openness is now, all of you. I would hear Eragon's story, and then we must discuss the grim reality the Varden is facing."
The next couple of hours were a blur. Harry and Arya both cast many spells of secrecy on the office and Ajihad had it cleared of people. Eragon spoke until his throat was sore. He told Ajihad, Arya, and Orik about how he found Saphira's egg while he was hunting in the Spine outside Carvahall. At this point, Arya interjected that she'd meant to send the egg to Brom, whom she knew lived in the village.
Eragon picked up again to describe how he raised Saphira in the forest secretly. How Harry taught him some fundamentals of magic, how the strangers came looking for the egg and attacked his uncle, how Harry spiriting away Garrow to heal him inadvertently outed himself as a magician, and how they'd been forced to leave.
He spoke of Brom offering to train him on the road and help him learn mysteries of his family. Eragon left what exactly those mysteries were vague. He mentioned Yazuac briefly. He described heading to Teirm so Brom could speak with his old friend Jeod, agreeing to guard his ship on the way to Surda, and splitting ways with Harry there. Getting off at Kuasta and poking around Morzan's old castle, then discovering the Urgals on the ridgeline of the Spine, then heading to the Varden on Brom's instructions.
Harry picked up after him outlining his unusual magic. Ajihad seemed to have already been briefed on that. He described how he and Eragon both had vivid dreams of Arya, and how he thought Durza would be in or near Surda based on gossip he overheard at a restaurant in Teirm. He explained how he found her and got to her on a flying broomstick.
Evidently he had not demonstrated that, for Orik and Ahjihad both were very incredulous. He described narrowly escaping Durza, Arya's poisoning, and then, after Arya nodded for him to continue, how first he went to Gil'ead for bezoars, then, after another narrow escape from Durza, they traveled the rest of the way to the elves to get Arya cured, discovering while scrying that suspicious areas were hidden, putting it together with Yazuac, before ultimately flying to the Varden on a route that would take them over the Spine to verify their hunch.
"And so that brings us all here," Ajihad said solemnly. "Assembled with mere weeks to spare before a massive Urgal invasion batters down our doors. It seems foolish to ask, will you fight? Harry has given me some measure of an answer. Eragon, Saphira, what do you hope to gain out of working with the Varden? Do you intend to submit to being another troop under my command?"
The tension in the room was palpable. Arya, Orik, and Harry all watched Eragon intently. He forced himself not to squirm under their expectant gazes. There were clearly wrong answers here that went beyond squabbles in the chain of command.
Eragon consulted with Saphira. Brom was right. Even a single viper at the top couldn't help but lay nets with words. Ajihad had at least done him the courtesy of being transparent with his.
I have no intention of surrendering my autonomy to somebody I've barely met. I wouldn't do it with Brom, nor will I with Ajihad, Eragon thought.
Saphira agreed. I take orders only from my conscience.
Eragon touched his cape. Harry hadn't hinted so much as told him to be careful here.
Then, killing Galbatorix, is that all we're here for? Eragon wondered.
That's what they need us for, Saphira mused. Is there something else you want to see in the world?
Eragon thought with exhaustion of the many evils of the world. Greed, hate, violence, famine, sickness, he was a farmer boy. He didn't yet know what the best future for Alagaesia looked like. All he knew was that that future didn't have Galbatorix in it.
"We're here to kill Galbatorix," Eragon announced finally. "You say it like you know what my answer will be; Saphira and I are not a special new unit for you to deploy in battle. And the Varden isn't the only group with skin in the game. The elves and dwarves are relying on me as well." He was keenly aware of the weight on his shoulders.
Arya's expression was one of relief. Orik gave him a look of respect. Harry seemed a bit proud.
"I'm the only Dragon Rider this alliance is going to get," Eragon continued. "And now that I've heard the full story of how Saphira's egg got to my hands, I know I owe it to the elves, to Brom, and to Arya to be a champion for the coalition, not just the Varden."
Harry flashed him a subtle thumbs-up.
Ajihad stared at him for a long time before something like grudging respect crossed his solemn features. "Very well. I expect the dwarves began preparing the dragonhold the moment they heard of your arrival. Orik, I understand you have to report to King Hrothgar. If Saphira is confident in navigating Tronjheim, the dragonhold is directly beneath Isidar Mithrim."
"The Varden will want to assess your abilities," Ajihad went on. "We have time before the Urgals reach us. Not long, but enough for you to rest for a time before you must report to the training fields to demonstrate your competency at arms. I understand Brom is not far behind you?"
Eragon nodded. "A week or two."
Ajihad nodded to himself. "Good." He withdrew paper from his desk and began writing. "Harry, stay behind. The rest of you are dismissed."
Saphira found the dragonhold without trouble. Ajihad was right in assuming it would already be prepared. It was a gigantic circular room with massive alcoves in the walls. One had cushions set down on the depression in the floor. A bed and mattress were set into the wall within the alcove for Eragon. Openings were cut in the corners of the floors, half in the ground, half in the wall, yawning openings that led into the wider cavern beneath Farthen Dur.
Overhead, the ceiling of the dragonhold was a massive, flat disc of red sapphire. The underside of Isidar Mithrim. The gem was remarkably clear. Eragon could see the details through the bottom, the lines of the rose blooming from the center of the room where the top of a human-sized staircase ended.
He disassembled the armor Harry had conjured through trial and error, escaping the pieces one at a time, and stacked them by his bed, stretching and enjoying the feeling of being unencumbered once more. It felt a bit dishonest to wear all the trappings of a hero. He felt like an actor in a play more than a warrior of legend.
Flopping backwards, Eragon let himself fall into the cushioned surface of Saphira's bed. She rolled over and poked her upside down head at him. Eragon snorted and grinned; she looked just like a cat.
Take that back. Saphira huffed, hot and smelly nose breath washing over Eragon.
They're regal and mysterious! Eragon protested, waving away her breath. They're just…also a bit goofy and curious.
Saphira twisted and tucked her wings, rolling onto her side and flapping a wing at Eragon, battering him with wind. Dragons are not goofy.
Eragon rolled over and got to his hands and knees. Mischievously, he prepared to run. You are, he sent, cackling and dashing off the bed. Saphira growled and leapt off the bed, half extending her wings for a gliding jump that carried her right over him. She knocked him over. Eragon held up his hands.
"You win! You win," he laughed.
She stood up imperiously and licked a paw. Of course I did.
Eragon didn't send her any words, he just let her glance in his mind at the eerily similar behavior between her and the barn cats from Carvahall.
Saphira sniffed.
You can't win, Eragon apologized. It's true.
Eragon was spared Saphira's retaliation when a figure emerged from the very center of the dragonhold.
"Harry!" Eragon exclaimed. "What did Ajihad want you for?"
"To chew me out," Harry admitted guilelessly.
"For stopping the Twins from reading my mind?" Eragon asked.
"Among other things," Harry agreed. "I was lucky to have Arya to vouch for me. The idea that those two in particular are entitled to every secret of every person who comes to the Varden rubs me the wrong way. How can I put this professionally? Ahem. We are still navigating the boundaries of our professional relationship. I came to offer to show you around Tronjheim and the secret stuff I've been working on." He winked and tapped his nose. "If the two of you want to."
Go without me, Saphira said. She curled up on the dragon bed. I shall watch through your eyes.
Eragon relayed that to Harry. The wizard waved to Saphira and showed him down the stairs just one level down to a floor of service corridors. Eragon eyed the spiraling trough around the edge of the spiral stairs with a bit of enthusiasm.
"What's that?" he asked.
Harry cackled. "Vol Turin," he said. "The Dwarves call it the Endless Staircase. Naturally, it has a slide. They even keep mats up here," he pointed. "Orik was serious that it's made for dwarves. The outside lip is low and past a few floors, you can get chucked out into hundred foot drops. I'd figure out a spell to survive that before you try it."
Eragon raised a brow. "Did you?"
"Of course."
They headed down a narrow hall to a room with a door to the dark, yawning void unfathomably far below. Harry pulled on a rope set in the doorframe and a lantern unshuttered on the back corner of the shaft, spilling light into the darkness. The cable dangling from an anchor in the ceiling began to turn.
"Orik let me mess with the pulley system for this one," Harry told him. "To be honest, I think the guy that managed the counterweights here was sick of manning – dwarfing? – an elevator almost nobody used. There's a bit of logic in the spells so the platform knows which floor it's called to and how to wait if somebody's getting on or off below. Here we are."
A square wooden platform arrived in the dark shaft, stopping when it was flush with the floor of the service corridor. Harry stepped on without fear. Eragon still felt a bit nervous about the yawning drop he knew the platform hid beneath it.
"I enchanted the cables, too," Harry promised. "Saphira could tap dance on the platform without so much as fraying them."
Eragon stepped on and found the platform sturdy. Harry reached around the doorway and flipped the shuttered lantern back off. They descended in darkness. "It's to the bottom by default, though you can 'ask the operator' to get to a different floor. Magic handles the rest."
It was a long descent. They stood for minutes.
"Keep your hands tucked in," Harry advised. Eragon noted that in the darkness, the walls around them were flying upwards alarmingly quickly. "There's a bit of trickery with air displacement too," he said. "I managed to store a buffer in wizardspace so the platform doesn't kick up a gust falling or rising so fast."
"What prompted you to work on this?" Eragon asked, holding tight to the rope in the center of the platform.
"One single walk up Vol Turin," Harry said gravely.
He laughed. "Was it so bad?"
"Eragon. Think how long we've been going down."
That rather effectively made the point.
The descent finally ended and Harry walked off the platform. Eragon followed him as he called another lift in the next doorway. Five very long lifts down and finally, they'd reached the ground. As they got to the lower lifts, they began having to wait for the platforms to clear, and being forced to share the descent with other dwarfs in awkward silence.
As they strode through the halls, Eragon noticed that Harry did not seem entirely well. He was paler than usual and breathing harder than such a walk should have made him.
"Later, mate," Harry promised under his breath.
The corridors were very long, and now the two of them were just part of traffic. Harry garnered some second glances, and Eragon got some by association, but they had not learned his face yet. Dwarves outnumbered humans four to one. Eragon often had to dodge out of the way of a dwarf who'd come close to him from behind and beneath his field of view.
The ones with purple veils were the rudest of the bunch. They acted hostile towards any humans and seemed unhappy there were any of them around in Farthen Dur at all. Eragon resolved to ask about them later.
"Are you hungry?" Harry asked Eragon.
"Not yet, but I could eat," Eragon answered.
He waved it off. "We'll come back later. Come on, most of the Varden's stuff is this way. The first couple floors are public spaces. We can check out the markets or the bathhouses or the squares if you like. They've got a brilliant library a couple floors up, though most of it's in Dwarvish. The Varden have got a bunch of the higher apartments to live in. Higher is worse, just for dealing with the stairs."
They went on a whirlwind tour. The markets bustled, though Eragon could tell humans were an afterthought and the greater volume of goods was moved by dwarves. The bathhouses were very nice (though he'd been spoiled by the magic shower) and the training fields were expansive, a huge area just outside Tronjheim's east gate where the clashing of wooden mock swords rang in the air.
Everywhere they went was amazing. The sheer scale of it all boggled him, along with the riches displayed all over. Gold, gemstones, precious metals, crystals, carvings, they were everywhere. And Tronjheim was so huge, something as simple as gold filigree trim down the hallways done over the entire city meant an unthinkable amount of gold and dwarven labor. There was more to look at in a single room than all of Carvahall.
Harry's malaise was not the only thing Eragon noticed on the tour. The humans seemed to avoid him. They weren't overt, but nobody wanted to walk very close to him or make eye contact, yet when Harry wasn't looking, all eyes were drawn to him.
Finally they circled back to the mess hall. Harry and Eragon brought their food to a far table. Harry fell upon his food like he was starving. Eragon noted the undercurrent of tension, and the way even the common soldiers avoided looking at them.
"Why do they avoid you?" Eragon asked in a hushed voice.
"The Twins," Harry explained around a mouthful of food. "They can't really mess with me, I report to Ajihad and I don't really get involved with Du Vrangr Gata – the Varden's group of magicians. So they've given me a black mark of sorts." Harry didn't seem overly bothered.
"Slimy dogs," Eragon swore.
Harry nudged him, grinning. "Remember, you're the superstar. Why do you think they were so livid to find out we were already friends?"
"People will rather associate with us than with them," Eragon realized with an evil smile.
"I've got experience with people like them. Remember Draco Malfoy I mentioned? He was a rich kid who did whatever he could to mess with me while I was at Hogwarts." Harry scraped his plate clean. "They can still find ways to make my life hard. You don't have to make enemies of them, at least any more than they'll already hate you for knowing me."
Eragon shrugged. He supposed he didn't need to go out of his way to make them furious, but he wasn't about to try very hard to be friends.
"Let's go." Harry cleared his place and brought the wooden dish to a tub of soapy water by the kitchens. "Magicians get unlimited rations, you just have to ask at the kitchen."
"Where are we headed now?" Eragon asked. In the back of his mind, he noted that Saphira had fallen asleep.
Harry led him to the edge of Tronjheim, into a narrow hall within the main city wall, then down a ramp. A floating light popped into existence over Harry's head and lit the way.
The difference was immediately obvious. Gone were the polished and decorated halls and flameless lanterns. The perfect quarried corners of the tunnels had turned rough, and the stone was unchanged and unadorned, plain excavated tunnels that were almost too short to stand up in, and narrow enough that passing would be awkward.
Harry unrolled a map and started off. "It's a bit of a walk," he apologized. "I needed space to work away from watchers. There's another reason, but we'll get to that later. It's why we have to head all the way to the edge of the mountain, instead of just finding a big empty room in Tronjheim."
"Does Ajihad know?" Eragon asked. He caught a glimpse of the map over Harry's shoulder. It was littered with myriad tunnels crisscrossing, contorting, and running in all directions, an anthill beneath a mountain. There were labeled dots around them, precious few anywhere but inside excavated rooms deep in the network. Eragon recognized his and Harry's dots walking down an inked representation of their own tunnel.
"Yeah. He got me a few helpers, Hrothgar sent a pair of dwarves. I know they're spies, but as long as they only report to him and he trusts them–" Harry shrugged. "Here we go." He shouldered open a new and heavy-looking locked door set at the end of the tunnel.
Eragon blinked at the sudden brightness. The tunnel on the other side of the door looked much more finished, though it was simpler, and not in the style of the dwarves. Harry's style of magic lights illuminated the short tunnel, an identical door on the other side. He opened that one and opened the map again. Eragon noted that they had just jumped an enormous distance according to the parchment, and were now up against the wall of the cavern.
They headed up a short flight of stairs and disappeared from the paper. They went through a strange door, a circular chamber with a revolving y-shaped door that revolved around a central axis. His ears popped the moment they pushed through the odd portal.
"The stairs are the same as that segment of tunnel," Harry explained. "Spatial contraction. The reverse of what I did with the tents. The revolving door is there to keep the air pressure balanced. Otherwise there's a constant breeze coming up the stairs. Almost there."
One more short corridor led to an impossibly vast room. Eragon gaped. The ceiling was hundreds of feet high, the walls perhaps as far away as half a mile. It was a perfect rectangle. The floor was grey stone, the walls were white. Strips of brilliant white light hung from the super high ceiling on wires, making the whole room brighter than any other he'd seen beneath Farthen Dur.
To the left, a hallway ran back into the wall. A couple men and a woman were in the hall chatting. They caught sight of Harry and perked up, glancing at Eragon.
"Another helper?" the woman asked.
"Trusted friend," Harry said. "We're taking the tour. This is Eragon, a Dragon Rider on our side."
All three of their eyes widened. "Truly?"
"You can bug me about him later, we're on a tour," Harry insisted. "Ursa, Ajihad wants me to bump up the priority of shields and armor. If we can steal a whole bunch of finished pieces, all the better. But if not, we need a source of iron and a source of coal. We can do our own refinement, but it has to be abandoned."
The woman nodded. "We can release ten tons of food per day." She handed him a clipboard. Harry's eyes glazed over. "The Varden eats something like thirty, but much of that is supplied by the dwarves and of course we have no meat. I would recommend seeing how it's received before doing more."
Harry thanked her and gestured at the hallway. "Offices, apartments for these guys," he told Eragon. "The walk isn't terrible with the shortcuts, but it gets repetitive. I asked for smart, creative, literate in English, and implicitly trusted. Ajihad and Hrothgar delivered."
They headed further into the gigantic room. Eragon craned his neck to look at an enormous assembly of green and brown. It looked like a layer cake, gigantic square layers of farmland stacked thirty layers high. Three feet of dirt in transparent plastic bins, topped by seven feet of air for crops to grow. The entire operation was encased in a translucent curtain sealed to the floor. Pink lights shone from the bottom of each layer onto the one below. Eragon spotted opaque white pipes running down the squares like a spine, splitting off into arteries and capillaries that ran in the sides of the bins and into the soil. Hundreds of plastic boxes with weird scissor-hand-scoop attachments ran about harvesting the plants, while swarms of little drill-creatures replanted.
There was another revolving door set in the clear plastic curtain, a rack of face-covering masks hanging next to it. There was a yellow sign over the door. HIGH CO2 AIR: MASKS REQUIRED.
Harry offered Eragon one and pulled another over his face, a stretchy bit of fabric holding it against him over the back of his head.
"The plants like high CO2 to grow faster," he explained, his voice buzzing a bit through the visor. "It'll make you sleepy, and if you fall unconscious in here and nobody finds you, you'll die of asphyxiation."
They skirted the edge of the massive operation. "Aguamenti makes real water as far as magic is concerned, conjured gasses tend to work as well as the real deal, so we keep the air mix in here perfect for the plants with magic. It's a tweaked bubblehead doing the work," Harry said. "The harvester bots won't come too close to you – almost had an incident with one of the scissor-hand ones."
They followed the bots to the far side of the colossal farm. The squares of dirt were huge.
"Nine hectares per layer, 270 in total," Harry announced. "And they're all growth accelerated. The same spell keeps the soil good, so no need to fertilize or rotate crops. Forget the Varden, this operation could feed half of Alagaesia. We're storing most of it. Over here."
The harvester bots dropped their produce into chutes that led through the plastic curtain and into great steel silos. The rate of drones depositing produce made it seem like the silos should have been filled in moments. He guessed they were bigger on the inside.
The chaff, stems, and non-food biomass all went a seperate way into a series of massive vats.
"The rest gets turned into ethylene," Harry said. "Fermented into ethanol, then we use catalytic dehydration to convert the alcohol into ethylene, and then oligomerization and isomerization convert that into fuel. I've been siphoning a bit off to experiment with making plastic."
They headed out another revolving door. Harry took off his mask and released it into the air. The plastic thing floated out of his hands and back around the curtain to the other side. Experimentally, Eragon did the same.
"What do you think?" Harry asked, smiling with his hands on his hips.
Eragon stared up at the massive tracts of soil. He was amazed, sure, but it felt like Harry had spent two weeks making the job he'd been raised to do completely useless. What point was a farmer with a hoe and seeds when magic could do the work of ten thousand – no, a million farmers?
"It's incredible. You could feed the world."
Harry sighed. "You heard Ursa, right? The dwarves would get mad if I put all the farmers out of a job, and if I move in to take over their livelihoods, a bunch of them are going to leave the practice to do something else. Then if I ever stop doing this, people are going to starve, scrambling to fill the gap in the food economy I'd leave. So we're planning out how much we give the Varden, supporting Farthen Dur's mostly meat diet with plants, and keeping an eye out for how we impact the dwarves."
Eragon hadn't thought of that. It made sense. "You said you were turning stuff into fuel? Fuel for what?" But he was pretty sure he already knew. On the other side of the curtain, a great metal bird was in the middle of assembly, railings and scaffold walkways surrounding a frame in the midst of getting its metal skin installed.
Beyond it, more projects were frozen in time. Giant tubes wider in diameter than Eragon was tall, as long as Saphira from tail to tip, and covered in tubes and plates. Circular metal devices with angled metal palings jutting out from a hollow hub. Smooth, curved glass windows, wing-shaped plates.
Beyond those, a colossus nested in a maze of walkways and parts. It was almost large enough for Saphira to fit inside.
"Planes," Harry announced. "I've got to be careful with my time, but the first one has been brilliant for spying on the Urgals. We have a pretty good idea how long it'll be before they get here. The little one's going to be a fast one, the big one's for carrying battalions around, and maybe even some armaments."
They headed back to the other side of the cavernous room where rows of cauldrons bubbled away. "Potions," Harry announced. Behind the cauldrons, terrariums, tiny auto farms, and vats of strange liquids sat in wait. "We farm what we can here. Shrrg has been brilliant at getting the rest. That's why I've been feeling a bit peaky. It takes a lot of blood, and I'm the only one who can give it."
Behind the cauldrons, massive flasks and racks upon racks of thousands of little glass vials of liquid bubbled, swirled, and shimmered. The majority were a familiar green.
He rubbed the crook of his elbow. Suddenly tired, Harry merely pointed at the rest of the machines in turn. "Arc furnace, arc furnace, those make steel. Generators to power everything that needs electricity. Coke ovens to turn wood into coke for the steel, that vertical patch is for farming trees for said charcoal, and that over there is for my weirder experiments."
'That over there' turned out to be an occult workbench scattered with junk, bizarre plants, and animal cages.
"I'm trying to avoid using livestock," Harry said, rubbing his forehead. His strange, vivid scar stood out even more on his pale skin. "I don't have the time to give animals the attention they deserve. They're also not easy to farm like plants, and it's not humane, either. Pray Hagrid never finds out about this."
"I just can't avoid it. I need a real magical reagent, one that doesn't come out of my arm and one that's stronger than what I can give." Harry sat at the desk, dumping Ursa's clipboard on the surface. He fed a stick of celery through the bars of a cage Eragon had thought contained a bunny.
The bunny leapt at the bars snarling, startling Eragon. It had horns and a third eye, and a pair of nubs on its shoulder blades. Its teeth were pointed and its gums were bloody. The vicious creature annihilated the celery.
"Latest experiment," Harry smiled weakly. "If there's one advantage to wizard's blood, it's very neutral in potions. I don't even know what this'll do to a brew. Don't stand too close to that."
Eragon drew his elbow back sharply out of reach of a massive flytrap that had just revealed massive gleaming teeth hidden in its head-sized green pods. A couple of chalk circles were inscribed in the stone floor next to the desk, wax candles set on the corners of a diagram bridging the two circles.
Now that he was sitting, Eragon had to admit, Harry didn't look very good.
"Doesn't your magic have something to help with losing blood?" he asked.
Harry nodded. "It does. But I can't use it or it makes the blood I give 'less pure.' It's weak enough as it is. I've just got to live with it. There's, um, guidelines for how much blood you're able to give safely. I'm not quite following them, but I won't kill myself over this or anything. I'm fine, just a bit woozy. Don't worry about me."
Eragon dropped into the seat next to him.
"Do you have a bowl of water?" he asked.
Harry drew a mirror from a drawer in the desk and passed it to him.
Show me Brom, Eragon focused, whispering under his breath. The image was startlingly clear compared to water's reflection. Harry glanced over at the image of Brom on the mirror.
"I thought he warded himself?"
Eragon nodded. "He sent me a letter, after I sent him a letter with your clay bird. He said he had taken off the ward so I could rejoin him. Saphira followed the bird to you instead."
Harry looked over Eragon's shoulder. He grabbed another mirror and waved his hand over it. Brom appeared immediately on the surface, treading over sand on a white horse with black spots. There was an unfamiliar young man next to him, one who bore some resemblance to the man in the mural in Morzan's castle.
Eragon took a long look at his stepbrother. He and Brom trudged doggedly onwards. If they were in the Hadarac, they had to be at least a week away. And Eragon didn't know how they were going to slip past the Urgals when they got closer.
"We could get them."
Eragon blinked. Harry spread open a map of Alagaesia and held a pin a few inches over the paper. He dropped it with a soft breath and watched as it landed in the bottom left corner of the Hadarac.
"Do you want a taste of how people fly in my world?" Harry asked.
Eragon frowned. "I've seen Brom use your broomsticks."
"The muggles," Harry clarified. A string of numbers appeared in the air next to Harry. "Misha should be back any minute now."
Eragon checked. Saphira was still deep asleep. "How long? That far took us almost two straight days of flying to cross."
Harry regarded him bemusedly. "It won't be more than three hours."
Eragon scoffed. "You can't seriously think you can get that far in three hours."
"You're right," Harry agreed. "It'd be faster if I didn't have to navigate the ridiculously tall mountains in the way. If you want, my copy of Jeod's library is copied in the rooms over there, and there's a lounge and extra suites."
Eragon politely refused the offer and simply watched Harry work.
He read the clipboard Ursa gave him more thoroughly, made some notes in his journal, and went back to the mirror for a few minutes before scribbling out a note. He folded it up and stuck it in a mailbox at the top of his desk, one of two, shut the door, and pulled the flag.
After a while, Eragon heard a whining noise echo down the gigantic room, far at the indeterminate end. Harry stretched. "Misha's back."
A third metal bird trundled down the endless hall towards them, gliding a few inches off the ground on nothingness. It came to a stop a couple dozen yards from where Harry's projects ended and a moment later, a staircase folded out of the neck. A burly man with blonde hair and a stubbly beard trotted down the stairs.
"Anything new?" Harry asked. Misha handed him a folder. Harry flipped through a series of images, as if paintings from above.
"They are not gathering towards the mouth of the valley," Misha reported. "That's my observation. The vanguard have passed it."
Harry waved his hand and the folder duplicated itself twice. He scrawled another note and copied that too before sticking one set in each mailbox and tugging down the flags. The originals went into a filing cabinet by his desk.
Misha headed for the door. "Headed out?" Harry asked.
"Visiting my mother, sir," he answered.
Harry turned a bit forlorn at that. He bade Misha goodbye and turned back to Eragon. "Ready?"
Eragon saw no reason not to take a quick, three hour trip. Saphira probably wouldn't have woken up by the time he got back.
Harry showed him into a little room at the front of the plane with controls and dials and buttons all over the place. Takeoff was slow at first, cruising silently down the massive room. When they came to a junction in the room, the floor changed to have dashed markings down the middle. The junction ran perpendicular to the main room and to the left, the far, far wall was open to the sky. To the right was a cavern marked off with an angry red stripe and dire warnings of death by burning or fumes. Harry turned to the left.
Eragon watched the front with som
e trepidation. Levitate, sure, it seemed impossible that such a gigantic metal thing could actually fly. The instinctual part of him was sure they would hurtle out into the air, plummet off a cliff, and crash into the ground. Harry's expressions weren't helping, either. The wizard kept glancing over with a wicked smile, making a show of bucking a harness over himself to stay in his seat. Hadn't he just said he was feeling woozy?
"It's a bit of a challenge to take off in the Beors," Harry said airily. Then, with a positively menacing smile, "but you're an experienced flier, so I'm sure you'll be fine."
He rammed a lever up and the plane thrummed to life around them. Eragon felt the acceleration in his stomach. They rocketed down the hall terrifyingly fast for how low and narrow it was. The open window of sky surged towards them.
The plane fell off the ledge. Eragon felt his heart rise into his throat as free-fall took over. Through the windows, he saw an unfathomable drop below into a valley. They were hugging the megacolossal exterior of Farthen Dur to the left. Around the valley, the Beors formed barriers all around them, high enough to stop even a dragon from flying over.
Harry's expression was of absolute focus. He shoved the yoke forward and brought the nose down to level, watching a little ball in the dashboard that looked like a mockup of the horizon, waiting for the scoop of the wings catching the air at the trough of the dive before ramming another lever to the max.
A roar blasted out from behind them. Eragon was pinned to his seat, his arms felt like lead and he could not have sat forward if he'd wanted to. Harry tipped the nose of the plane back alarmingly far. Eragon was sure they would slide or tip backwards, but whatever was pushing them had monstrous strength. It flung Harry's chunk of metal forward like a god's hand.
He aimed for a gap miles up between two mountains. The wizard did not relax until they had crested that high gap, racing at terrifying speed for minutes at nearly a vertical, the plane roaring behind them all the way before they reached over the hump and dove, down down down into thicker air to fly onwards.
Brom's mouth had been shut so long his lips had stuck together. He hated sand in his mouth and the wind kept kicking it up over the dunes.
He'd folded and began overtly using the unlimited canteen to drink and water the horses, and refilled Murtagh's waterskin whenever he asked. The man had the sense not to ask any questions. They was hot and sweaty and sunburnt and miserable. Venturing outside the tent in the morning was like stepping from a pleasant spring day into hell.
The prospect of several days of the same was not appealing. That was why when a giant metal bird faded into visibility on the crest of the next sand dune, Brom just trudged with Murtagh to go see what the wizard had done this time.
A ramp fell from the back of the metal bird. Brom's breath caught. His son stood holding the edge of the fuselage, hair whipping in the sandy wind.
Murtagh took Eragon's face in. He stared up the hollow interior towards the front, through the windshield at the Beors in the distance. Emotions warred on his face. Brom saw him struggle with the choice. In the end, he led Tornac up the metal ramp and let the craft shut behind him.
AN: The gang is together at last. A bit of tech, but worth reminding people what Harry's up to these days.
Olbid mentions that wizards live longer. I know, I mentioned it in the chapter. You mention that the record holder was 755 years, but he was a special case, and I'd bet Armando Dippet was also doing something to live that long. If the average is 140 or so without even trying, that's like 2x the human average, which is still well below 200-300 that dwarves apparently live.
Samics thank you for pointing out the solstice instead of equinox. In my mind, I was thinking of the equator, where the equinoxes are when the sun is straight overhead. Farthen Dur seems further north than the tropic of Cancer, where the sun is directly overhead on the summer solstice.