"Exactly," said Eragon.
"Ah, but answer me this, my young Rider: Won't your war with Galbatorix cause more pain than it will ever prevent? The majority of people in the Empire live normal, productive
lives untouched by their king's madness. How can you justify invading their land, destroying their homes, and killing their sons and daughters?"
Eragon gaped, stunned that Oromis could ask such a question – Galbatorix was evil – and stunned because no easy reply presented itself. He knew that he was in the right, but how
could he prove it? "Don't you believe that Galbatorix should be overthrown?"
"That is not the question."
"You must believe it, though," persisted Eragon. "Look what he did to the Riders."
Dunking his bread in his stew, Oromis resumed eating, letting Eragon fume in silence. When he finished, Oromis folded his hands in his lap and asked, "Have I upset you?"
"Yes, you have."
"I see. Well then, continue to ponder the matter until you find an answer. I expect it to be a convincing one."
This was some form of punishment, Mariah was sure: blindfolded in the middle of the courtyard with nothing but a sword in her hand and thick leather armor over her vital body
parts. Her arms and legs were virtually exposed with a simple layer of cloth between her skin and the air. With her feet planted firmly on the ground she waited in silence, trying to
listen. The first attack was extremely unexpected. She tumbled forward, doing a summersault before springing back onto her feet, twisting and lashing at her unseen attacker.
Galbatorix sat in his chair, enjoying the fight from beside Kieran. She had her arms folded haughtily over her chest, smirking at the flashing weapons, waiting for blood to be drawn.
Camilla, Cederic, Pearce and Hal were surrounding Mariah, weapons in hand, sharpened edges not protected by any sort of magic. It was the day after Galbatorix asked her to
come to the throne room alone, and she had a feeling this was her public punishment to go along with it. As if the mental torture wasn't enough.
Hal had heavier movements and she heard him coming, before he could reach her she ducked and charged his waist, bowling him over onto the floor and jumping back away,
knowing he wouldn't stay down for long. Camilla had lighter footsteps, but even so, her heels gave her away from the boys and when she approached with her rapier, Mariah managed to dodge and swipe her own sword towards the woman.
Murtagh watched from Galbatorix's other side, biting the inside of his lip, watching the movements of the other four and tapping his fingers against his leg nervously. His gaze
flickered over to Andrar and Thorn for a minute before back to Mariah, holding in gasps every time she was cut.
Two steps back darling, Andrar said, Cederic's just in front of you.
Just lend me your eyes and I'll see for myself! She snapped.
Everything's going to feel backwards if you do, watching yourself will be difficult.
It'll be like a mirror, just do it please. Mariah insisted, feeling another slice into the back of her leg. The dragon sighed slightly and linked her vision with his own. She twisted and
stabbed toward Hal before he could get any closer. He jumped back with surprise at her rapid movement. As Pearce moved around her she swiveled to face him, between her
hearing and Andrar's sight, she felt more evenly matched, despite the odds.
She lunged toward him and he blocked with his shield. When she returned for another attack she let out a cry as her feet were swept beneath her. "What?!"
Her eyes flickered over the courtyard, Andrar's gaze landing on Innes smirking from his corner where he stood beside Odette. His lips were moving ever so slightly, enough for her
to realize he was performing magic where he shouldn't. A growl escaped from her lips and she lunged toward Camilla, snatching the knife from her waist and flinging it towards the
platinumhaired boy. Innes blinked and dropped to the floor, listening to the metal bounce off the castle walls.
"That is enough!" Galbatorix said, standing up and striding over to Mariah. He narrowed his eyes and ripped off the blindfold. "You aren't following the rules again, are you?" She
blinked twice, the redness from Andrar's sight fading, but not quick enough for it to go unnoticed. "Since you appear to be so keen on having your dragon assist you, perhaps you
would do better to duel Kieran in the air?"
The princess didn't need a second suggestion, running over to Nasreen and jumping atop her back, sword in hand.
"Go ahead." He said simply.
Mariah, bleeding from dozens of cuts all over, shot a glare at Kieran and strode over to Andrar, who lifted himself from the ground and launched into the air once she was on. The
dragoness took no time waiting for him to get airborne, divebombing him as soon as he was off the ground and snapping with her razor sharp jaws. Kieran swept wildly with her
sword towards Mariah, leaving her to defend or be torn to ribbons.
Andrar did his best to out maneuver Nasreen, but with more practice and a better flying build than him. She swept away from him and twisted in the air, tucking in her wings and
flipping around behind him and his rider. A moment later she was latched onto him, her teeth around his neck, pinning his right wing to his side and letting them fall straight down. Mariah slashed toward Nasreen's face, slicing straight into her cheek. The dragoness hissed and recoiled, letting go long enough for Andrar to breathe flames towards her and
Kieran, sending them soaring away. He lashed out his wings and caught the air before they hit the ground.
Shaking slightly, Murtagh watched, letting out the breath he'd been holding in as they plummeted. Thorn…
Don't worry, Andrar can hold his own against Nasreen, though he is outmatched. I doubt Kieran would actually allow Nasreen to harm them… The red dragon sat on the ground,
watching the tussle overhead intently.
Murtagh watched as Nasreen repeated the same maneuver a few minutes later, pinioning Andrar's wings to his side and bringing them both straight down toward the ground. Before
they hit the solid stone courtyard floor, she broke off and winged back into the air. Andrar slammed into the ground, crunching his left wing beneath him, Mariah hearing a
resounding snap as she hung limp in his saddle.
The Annual Riddle Contest of Carvahall – it sounds like an absolute thrill. I actually had to pause and reread this sentence… I forgot about it, big surprise there. And of course Mark
would be awesome at it cuz he's so damned clever…
That being said, I believe sitting and listening to a worldly conversation between Oromis and Marcus over a pot of tea would be an ideal afternoon.
Gah, these chapters are taking forever! I regret that it takes me two weeks to update, it really shouldn't. And I wrote this all in the past two days, so it's not like I couldn't do it
faster… I have paperclipped all the parts just with Roran…
…I just realized Roran and Rowan are extremely similar… damn… I wanted to avoid that… oh well…
…where was I? Oh, the parts with Roran are like 100+ pages in the book, so I've paperclipped off the chapters that I'll be skipping. Which is great, it means a lot less writing for me, a lot less reading for you, and advances the plot quicker! Not as quickly as I would like, but quicker none the less…
They cleared the table and took the dishes outside, where they cleaned them with sand. Oromis crumbled what remained of the bread around his house for the birds to eat, then
they returned inside.
Oromis brought out pens and ink for Eragon, and they resumed his education of the Liduen Kvaedhi, the written form of the ancient language, which was so much more elegant than
the humans' or dwarves' runes. Eragon lost himself in the arcane glyphs, happy to have a task that required nothing more strenuous than rote memorization.
After hours spent bent over the paper sheets, Oromis waved a hand and said, "Enough. We will continue this tomorrow." Eragon leaned back and rolled his shoulders while Oromis
selected five scrolls from their nooks in the wall. "Two of these are in the ancient language, three are in your native tongue. They will help you to master both alphabets, as well as
give you valuable information that would be tedious for me to vocalize."
"Vocalize?"
With unerring accuracy, Oromis's hand darted out and plucked a massive sixth scroll from the wall, which he added to the pyramid in Eragon's arms. "This is a dictionary. I doubt
you can, but try to read it all.'
When the elf opened the door for him to leave, Eragon said, "Master?"
"Yes, Eragon?"
"When will we start working with magic?"
Oromis leaned on one arm against the doorway, caving in on himself as if he no longer possessed the will to remain upright. Then he sighed and said, "You must trust me to guide
your training, Eragon. Still, I suppose it would be foolish of me to delay any longer. Come, leave the scrolls on the table, and let us go explore the mysteries of gramarye."
On the greensward before the hut, Oromis stood looking out over the Crags of Tel'naeir, his back to Eragon, his feet shoulder width apart, and his hands clasped in the small of his
back. Without turning around, he asked, "What is magic?'
"The manipulation of energy through the use of the ancient language."
There was a pause before Oromis responded. "Technically, you are correct, and many spellcasters never understand more than that. however, your description fails to capture the
essence of magic. Magic is the art of thinking, not strength or language – you already know that a limited vocabulary is no obstacle to using magic. As with everything else you must master, magic relies on having a disciplined intellect.
"Brom bypassed the normal training regimen and ignored the subtleties of gramarye to ensure that you had the skills you needed to remain alive. I too must distort the regimen in
order to focus on the skills that you will likely require in the coming battles. However, whereas Brom taught you the crude mechanics of magic, I will teach you its finger
applications, the secrets that were reserved for the wisest of the Riders: how you can kill with no more energy than moving your finger, the method by which you can
instantaneously transport an item from one point to another, a spell that will allow you to identify poisons in your food and drink, a variation on scrying that allows you to hear as
well as see, how you can draw energy from your surroundings, and this preserve your own strength, and how you can maximize your strength in every possible way.
"These techniques are so potent and dangerous, they were never shared with novice Riders such as yourself, but circumstances demand that I divulge them and trust that you won't
abuse them." Raising his right arm to his side, his hand a hooked claw, Oromis proclaimed, "Adurna!"
Eragon watched as a sphere of water coalesced from the brook by the hut and floated through the air until it hovered between Oromis's outstretched fingers.
The brook was dark and brown under the branches of the forest, but the sphere, removed from it, was as colorless as glass. Flecks of moss, dirt, and other bits of detritus floated
inside the orb.
Still gazing toward the horizon, Oromis said, "Catch." He tossed the sphere over his shoulder toward Eragon.
Eragon tried to grab the ball, but as soon as it touched his skin, the water lost cohesion and splashed across his chest.
"Catch it with magic," said Oromis. Again, he cried, "Adurna!" and a sphere of water gathered itself from the surface of the brook and leaped into his hand like a trained hawk
obeying its master.
This time Oromis threw the ball without warning. Eragon was prepared, though, and said, "Reisa du adurna," even as he reached for the ball. It slowed to a halt a hairsbreadth from
the skin of his palm.
"An awkward word choice," said Oromis, "but workable, nevertheless."
Eragon grinned and whispered, "Thrysta."
The ball reversed its course and sped toward the base of Oromis's silver head. However, the sphere did not land where Eragon had intended, but rather shot past the elf, whipped
around, and flew back at Eragon with increased velocity.
The water remained as hard and solid as polished marble when it struck Eragon, producing a dull thunk as it collided with his skill. The blow knocked him sprawling on the turf,
where he lay stunned, blinking as pulsing lights swam across the sky.
"Yes," said Oromis. "A better word might be letta or kodthr." He finally turned to look at Eragon and raised an eyebrow with apparent surprise. "Whatever are you doing? Get up. We can't lay about all day."
"Yes, Master," groaned Eragon.
When Eragon got back on his feet, Oromis had him manipulate the water in various ways – shaping it into complex knots, changing the color of light that it absorbed or reflected,
and freezing it in certain prescribed sequences – none of which proved difficult for him.
The exercises continued for so long that Eragon's initial interest faded and was replaced by impatience and puzzlement. He was chary of offending Oromis, but he saw no point to
what the elf was doing; it was as if Oromis were avoiding any spells that would require him to use more than a minimal amount of strength. I've already demonstrated the extent of my skills. Why does he persist in reviewing these fundamentals? He said, "Master, I know all of this. Can we not move on?"
The muscles in Oromis's neck hardened, and his shoulders were like chiseled granite for all they moved even the elf's breathing halted before he said, "Will you never learn respect,
Eragonhodhr? So be it!" Then he uttered four words from the ancient language in a voice so deep that their meaning escaped Eragon.
Eragon yelped as he felt each of his legs enveloped by pressure up to the knee, squeezing and constricting his calves in such a way that made it impossible for him to walk. His
thighs and upper body were free to move, but other than that, it was as if he had been cast in lime mortar.
"Free yourself," said Oromis.
"Even with magic it's going to take weeks for his wing to heal Kieran!"
She rolled her eyes, ignoring the girl puffing up behind her. "He told me to do some damage, so I did the most I could without harming you beyond repair. So it'll take a while, but
it was necessary."
"You could have done something besides break my dragon's wing," she said, glaring at her. "It's like breaking your arm, you know. Wings are just as important."
Kieran twisted around, "Yes, I know this Mariah. I too have a dragon, or have you forgotten? If I disobey orders the same thing that happened to you will happen to me, and I've
had things such as that done far too many times already. I'm done with it. You should learn quickly that you need to follow orders or face the consequences of your actions." She
placed a hand on her hip, "Do you know how many times Shruiken has broken Nasreen's wings? Her tail? Nearly clawed her eyes out? It doesn't take him nearly as much effort as it
did for her to break Andrar's wing. Sometimes, I'm surprised she can even still fly. It will take weeks, yes, and longer still for him to fly properly, however there is nothing I can do
for you. If you want this to end, you'll have to stop it yourself."
"By becoming obedient? Like a dog?"
The princess let out a breath, "You need to learn to be better… or face the consequences. Now go. I have a few things I want to take care of before tonight…"
Mariah watched her lock the door to her room and walk down the hallway, descending the staircase. She leaned back against the wall and sighed heavily. How are you feeling?
Better than before… Andrar admitted, splayed out on th
e ground, basking in the sun nearby Thorn. Thank you for asking. He felt her subtle acknowledgement. You should not be so
hard on Kieran… she has a tougher time than you, you know.
I know… but still, I won't so easily forgive her for what happened.
I do not expect you to, but do not hold it against her alone. It was still Galbatorix's doing, you know this.
Yes… she sighed and pushed off the wall. You should rest.
And you should stay out of trouble, but we don't always do what we're supposed to. He snorted and closed his eyes.
Mariah looked at the floor for a minute and clenched her jaw. She could blame Kieran all she wanted, but if she was being honest with herself the only reason this all happened was
because of her own faults. With the thought lingering in her mind, she walked down to the armory to retrieve a bow, planning on taking her anger out on a few practice targets
before turning in for the night.
She paused as she entered the courtyard, watching Odette whipping arrow after arrow from her quiver as she walked around the area, never missing her target. The girl stumbled
at the sight of her and froze, her red hair tumbling over her face. After a moment of silence between them, she rushed to her targets, pulling out the arrows quickly and replacing
them in her quiver.
"You don't have to leave." Mariah said, watching her with vague amusement. The girl was older than her, by three years at least, though she certainly didn't look it, especially not
running away from her like she was. "I'm only here to practice; I won't get in your way."
Odette stopped and watched her for a minute. "I don't wish to be out done by a little girl like you."
She tipped her head slightly, trying to figure out whether she meant it as a compliment or insult. "I doubt I'm better than you at archery, and I can honestly say I doubt anyone
really is. Your aim seems perfect."
Walking over by Mariah, she said, "Good. I've practiced since I could hold a bow, my sister taught me. My parents told me if I was going to continue I needed to strive for
perfection, nothing less would do. I spent many hours every day practicing with my sister until I could hit any target blindfolded."
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