investigate it further before allowing him to leave. Please, don't feel as though this reflects poorly on you."
She stared up at him. "You knew?"
"About everything, yes. I even can guess his exact wording he used for the spell, for he told me what he believed he'd said… he misspoke and said the word "shield" instead of
"shielded" in the Ancient Language, allowing for the drastic shift from blessing to curse."
"Can it be undone?"
"Possibly… but it would be best if Eragon did so himself. Though, even then, considering I don't exactly know the effects of what Saphira's mark has done… I'm unsure." He
admitted.
Nasuada nodded a little, "We'll have to deal with that when the time comes."
Mariah inhaled deeply and stepped through the doors, her eyes immediately going to Shruiken curled up in the corner, glaring at her through his slitted eyes. "Murtagh said you
asked for me." She turned her gaze toward Galbatorix.
"Indeed," he said, pivoting on his heel to face her. "We've not had much time to get acquainted Mariah."
She lifted her chin a bit, steeling herself, "I was under the impression you didn't much like heartfelt conversations."
"I said nothing of the sort." Galbatorix said, "When you arrived here, your mind was so muddied and twisted from Durza's cursed magic that I was unable to retrieve any
information from you. Then, you swore an oath, which you have somehow managed to twist to your own advantage… haven't you?"
"I don't know what you're talking about," she said. "I've twisted no oaths I've sworn to you."
"So you say." He walked toward her, watching her flinch slightly under his piercing gaze. When he was close enough to reach out and touch her, he stopped. "You will submit to
another memory search, it's your choice whether or not you wish it to be painful. But let me just start by saying I'm very displeased with your attitude lately."
She met his gaze hesitantly, "What is it you think you'll be able to retrieve from my mind?"
"There are a few things I wouldn't mind knowing, the least of which being the identity of your brother." He said, watching her intently.
Mark? Why did he want to know about Mark? She blinked at him, "I will submit to no such thing."
"Then I will force you." He assured her, reaching out and grabbing her shoulder in a vice grip before she could dart away. After struggling a moment she heard him mumble a few
words under his breath and felt her strength start to fade away. Before she could blink, he'd sucked away so much energy that she could barely stand, feeling quite light headed.
Shoving a hand against his chest to try and push him away, Mariah met his gaze again and realized there would be no getting away from this.
Her skin felt like it was burning, the pain in her head worse than she remembered from the last time he'd pried into her thoughts. Galbatorix sifted through the memories like they
were pages in a book he'd read a dozen times. People and locations flashed through her mind, but he skipped over most of them so quickly she barely had time to recognize
anything, let alone put a name to any of the faces. The deeper and longer he searched, the harder it was to stay conscious. Her vision started going blurry and blinding white
flashes started popping up everywhere.
She hit the floor with a smack that echoed around the throne room. It took her a few minutes to regain herself and pick her face up off the floor. The gash right above her eyebrow
started bleeding and trickling down her face. Mariah flicked her eyes up to Galbatorix, who was standing over her, staring down at her with burning intensity. The hair on the back
of her neck stood up and a shiver rushed down her spine.
"I knew you seemed familiar," he said quietly. His awestruck stare flickered back into a masked sneer, "I had thought I heard singing, though I hadn't realized it was you. Those
lyrics were very familiar thank you for confirming my suspicions, little songbird. And let me just say that if the affairs between you and any of the others become… distracting, I
will put a quick end to it. For now, I will allow it, should it prove to be disadvantageous, you'll find yourself in solitary. I don't suspect you'll be singing then."
Without another word, he turned and strode from the room, leaving Mariah to pick herself up and wipe away the blood clotting at her brow.
His bashed knee had turned purple, he was sore both from his attack and the elves' Dance of Snake and Crane, and he could do no more than croak with his ragged throat. The
worst injury, though, was his sense of foreboding that this would not be the last time Durza's wound would trouble him. The prospect sickened him, draining his strength and will.
So many weeks passed between attacks, he said, I began to hope that maybe, just maybe, I was healed… I suppose sheer luck is the only reason I was spared that long.
Extending her neck, Saphira nuzzled him on the arm. You know you aren't alone, little one. I'll do everything I can to help. He responded with a weak smile. Then she licked his face
and added, You should get ready to leave.
I know. He stared at the floor, unwilling to move, then dragged himself to the wash closet , where he scrubbed himself clean and used magic to shave.
He was in the middle of drying himself when he felt a presence touch his mind. Without pausing to think, Eragon began to fortify his mind, concentrating on an image of his big toe
to the exclusion of all else. Then he heard Oromis say, Admirable, but unnecessary. Bring Zar'roc with you today. The presence vanished.
Eragon released a shaky breath. I need to be more alert, he told Saphira. I would have been at his mercy if he were an enemy.
Not with me around.
When his ablutions were complete, Eragon unhooked the membrane from the wall and mounted Saphira, cradling Zar'roc in the crook of his arm.
Saphira took flight with a rush of air, angling toward the Crags of Tel'naeir. From their high vantage point, they could see the damage that the storm had wreaked on Du Weldenvarden. No trees had fallen in Ellesméra, but father away, where the elves' magic was weaker; numerous pines had been knocked over. The remaining wind made the
crossed branches and trees rub together, producing a brittle chorus of creaks and groans. Clouds of golden pollen, as thick as dust, streamed out from the trees and flowers.
While they flew, Eragon and Saphira exchanged memories of their separate lessons from the day before. He told her what he had learned about ants and the ancient language, and
she told him about downdrafts and other dangerous weather patterns and how to avoid them.
Thus, when they landed and Oromis interrogated Eragon about Saphira's lessons and Glaedr interrogated Saphira about Eragon's, they were able to answer every question.
"Very good, Eragonvodhr."
Aye. Well played, Bjartskular, added Glaedr to Saphira.
As before, Saphira was sent off with Glaedr while Eragon remained on the cliffs, although this time he and Saphira were careful to maintain their link so as to absorb each other's
instruction.
As the dragons departed, Oromis observed, "Your voice is rougher today, Eragon. Are you sick?'
"My back hurt again this morning."
"Ah. You have my sympathy." He motioned with one finger. "Wait here."
Eragon watched as Oromis stride into his hut and then reappeared, looking fierce and warlike with his silver mane rippling in the wind and his bronze sword in hand. "Today," he
said, "We shall forgo the Rimgar and instead cross our two blades. Naegling and Zar'roc. Draw thy sword and guard its edge as your first master taught you."
Eragon wanted nothing more than to refuse. However, he had no intention of breaking his vow or letting his resolve waver in front of Oromis. He swallowed his trepidation.
what it means to be a Rider, he thought.
Drawing upon his
reserves, he located the nub deep within his mind that connected him to the wild flow of magic. He delved into it, and the energy suffused him. "Geuloth du knifr,"
he said, and a winking blue star popped into existence between his thumb and forefinger, jumping from one to the next as he ran it down Zar'roc's perilous length.
The instant their swords met, Eragon knew that he was as outmatched by Oromis as by Durza and Arya. Eragon was an exemplary human swordsman, but he could not compete
with warriors whose blood ran thick with magic. His arm was too weak and his reflexes still too slow. Still, that did not stop him from trying to win. He fought to the limits of his
abilities, even if, in the end, it was a futile prospect.
Oromis tested him in every conceivable manner, forcing Eragon to utilize his entire arsenal of blows, counterblows, and underhand tricks. It was all for naught. He could not touch
the elf. As a last resort, he tried altering his style of fighting, which could unsettle even the most hardened veteran. All it got him was a welt on his thigh.
"Move your feet faster," cried Oromis. "He who stands like a pillar dies in battle. He who bends like a reed is triumphant!"
The elf was glorious in action, a perfect blend of control and untamed violence. He pounced like a cat, struck like a heron, and bobbed and wove with the grace of a weasel.
The had been sparring for almost twenty minutes when Oromis faltered, his narrow features clamped in a brief grimace. Eragon recognized the symptoms of Oromis's mysterious
illness and lashed out with Zar'roc. It was a low thing to do, but Eragon was so frustrated, he was willing to take the advantage of any opening, no matter how unfair, just to have
the satisfaction of marking Oromis at least once.
Zar'roc never reached its target. As Eragon twisted, he overextended and strained his back.
The pain was upon him without warning.
The last thing he heard was Saphira shouting, Eragon!
Mariah leaned against her door once it was closed behind her. After she'd regained full consciousness, Mariah had scuttled back to her room, one hand along the wall the entire way,
trying not to pass out. The gash in her forehead throbbed with pain, adding to the oncoming headache she knew would stay with her the rest of the week.
Looking up from the book he'd been reading as he was laid out on the sofa, he startled and jumped to his feet, hurrying to her. "What happened?" Murtagh asked, running his fingers
over her brow, sealing the wound.
She let out a heavy breath and leaned her head back against the wood, closing her eyes. Visions flashed through her mind quickly, remnants from the mind scalding she'd incurred
earlier. "I need you… to do something for me."
He blinked, "What?"
"I mean it, once I tell you, you have to do it. I'll never ask you for anything else again"
"Okay, I get it." Murtagh nodded, putting a hand on her cheek. "Tell me what to do."
Swallowing hard she opened her eyes again, his eyes wide with concern. "I need you to start wiping my memories…"
"What? Mariah – I couldn't"
"You already said you would," she said calmly. "I don't know what he figured out, but he knows something and I don't want him to know any more. You don't have to erase
everything, just the new stuff… I'll tell you what, but eventually you'll understand what I mean. I want you to start with this conversation… I don't want to remember this at all…"
He stared at her for a long moment before speaking again. "What happened?"
"He searched my mind, like when I first arrived… since I've put most of it back together, he was better able to examine my memories. From his reaction when he was through, he
found something important and meaningful… I have no doubt he'll start doing it more often." She bit her tongue. "He also said… if I don't start behaving that he'll have to do
something about it."
Murtagh nodded, "I can see why he would be threatening to do so. You have been quite unruly lately." He paused, "Mariah… are you sure about this?"
"Yes." She said without hesitation. "I need you to erase the memories I need you to and replace them with something… safe… boring… what have you. Anything other than my
actual thoughts… I'm trying to work on a way out of here, and if he figures out what I'm doing… we're both stuck."
"Alright… just tell me what to do."
Mariah felt a small wave of relief wash over her and she nodded slightly. "I need to sit down." She said, heading toward the couch, feeling Murtagh grip her arm to steady her when
she wobbled. Falling into the cushion, she rubbed her forehead for a minute, closing her eyes again. "Alright… before we get rid of any of my recollection of this conversation, do
you know what I need you to get rid of all the time?"
"Anything pertaining to you wanting to leave, right?"
"Yes… and anything about escaping, killing, being worried about Galbatorix or the others… alright? You should pretty much be able to figure out what to get rid of and what to
leave."
"And what do you want me to replace it with? I think he'd notice if your memory had gaps in it."
"If the gaps are too big to leave, fill it with something boring… like staring out a window or reading." Mariah told him, leaning back with a sigh.
Murtagh nodded, "How often do you want me to do this?"
"Every day, at least once… if not twice… and if you see a chance to pull me aside without anyone noticing too much, then go ahead," she said. "And if I ever ask, just tell me"
"That I'm protecting you from Galbatorix?"
"Sure… whatever will get me to stop thinking about it."
He nodded, carding his fingers through his hair with a heavy sigh. "What if I screw it up?"
"You won't," she said reassuringly. "I trust you… you won't erase all my memories."
"…by giving me access to your mind… you realize you've got no more secrets, right?"
Mariah stared at the fireplace for a minute, lost in the flickering flames. Finally she turned her gaze back to Murtagh, "No more secrets from me. I still expect you to keep things
hidden though, so don't feel bad about it… this is my choice. I could ignore it and let Galbatorix have access to my thoughts, but that would be foolish… I'm choosing to have you do
this. I know you won't take advantage of it. I hope you don't find anything offensive in my memories, but if you do, then it'll just have to be dealt with later. Okay?"
"Alright," he nodded, reaching over and taking her hand.
She smiled faintly at him and wrapped her arms around his waist. "Thank you." Mariah said, leaning her head on his shoulder.
He said nothing in reply, brushing her hair behind her angled ears and kissing the top of her head. Gently, he touched his fingers to her temple and started muttering under his
breath, hiding his surprise at how open, for once, her mind was to him.
Despite the intensity of the fit, Eragon remained conscious throughout his ordeal. Not that he was aware of his surroundings, only the fire that burned in his flesh and prolonged
each second into an eternity. The worst part was that he could do nothing to end his suffering but wait…
…and wait…
Eragon lay panting in the cold mud. He blinked as his vision came into focus and he saw Oromis sitting on a stool next to him. Pushing himself onto his knees, Eragon surveyed his
new tunic with a mixture of regret and disgust. The fine russet cloth was caked with dirt from his convulsions on the ground. Much filled his hair as well.
He could sense Saphira in his mind, radiating concern as she waited for him to notice her. How can you continue like this? She fretted. It'll destroy you.
Her misgivings undermined Eragon's remaining fortitude. Saphira had never before expressed doubt that he would prevail, not at DrasLeona, Gil'ead, or Farthen
Dûr, nor with any
of the dangers they had encountered. Her confidence had given him courage. Without it he was truly afraid.
You should concentrate on your lesson, he said.
I should concentrate on you.
Leave me alone! He snapped at her like a wounded animal that wants to nurse its injuries in silence and in dark. She fell silent, leaving just enough of their connection intact so that
he was vaguely aware of Glaedr teaching her about fireweed, which she could chew to help her digestion.
Eragon combed the mud from his hair with his fingers, then spat out a globule of blood. "Bit my tongue."
Oromis nodded as if it were to be expected. "Do you require healing?"
"No."
"Very well. Tend to your sword, then bathe and go to the stump in the glade and listen to the thoughts of the forest. Listen, and when you hear no more, come tell me what you
have learned."
"Yes, Master."
When Eragon rejoined Oromis in his hut, the elf asked, "How went it?"
"Master, I could listen night and day for the next twenty years and still not know everything that goes on in the forest."
Oromis raised an eyebrow. "You have made progress." After Eragon described what he had witnessed, Oromis said, "But still not enough, I fear. You must work harder, Eragon. I
know you can. You are intelligent and persistent, and you have the potential to be a great Rider. As difficult as it is, you have to learn to put aside your troubles and concentrate
entirely on the task at hand. Find peace within yourself and let your actions flow from there."
"I'm doing my best."
"No, this isn't your best. We shall recognize your best when it appears." He paused thoughtfully. "Perhaps it would help if you had a fellow student to compete with. Then we might
see your best… I will think on the matter."
Eragon watched Oromis stand and walk to the cupboards, his words springing thoughts of Mariah into his head. She would have half of this stuff already figured out already, and more than likely be slipping him hints when he was stuck for an answer. If they were competing, she would have brought out the best in him – their rivalry stemming from their
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