long ago."
He shuffled his feet and responded with a few unintelligible words, hurt and offended that she did not take his compliment more seriously. He wished he could turn invisible, and
even considered trying to cast a spell that would allow him to do just that.
In the end, he drew himself upright and said, "Please excuse us, Arya Svitkona, but it is late, and we must return to our tree."
Her smile deepened. "Of course, Eragon. I understand." She accompanied them to the main archway, opened the doors for them, and said, "Good night, Saphira. Good night,
Eragon."
Good night, replied Saphira.
Despite his embarrassment, Eragon could not help asking, "Will we see you tomorrow?"
Arya tilted her head. I think I shall be busy tomorrow." Then the doors closed, cutting off his view of her as she returned to the main compound.
Crouching low on the path, Saphira nudged Eragon in the side. Stop daydreaming and get on my back. Climbing up her left foreleg, he took his usual place, then clutched the neck
spike in front of him as Saphira rose to her full height. After a few steps: How can you criticize my behavior with Glaedr and then go and do something like that? What were you
thinking?
You know how I feel about her, he grumbled.
Pah! If you are my conscience and I am yours, then it's my duty to tell you when you're acting like a deluded popinjay. You're not using logic, like Oromis keeps telling us to. What
do you expect to happen between you and Arya? She's a princess!
And I'm a Rider.
She's an elf; you're a human!
I look more like an elf every day.
Eragon, she's over a hundred years old!
I'll live as long as her or any elf.
Ah, but you haven't yet, and that's the problem. You can't overcome such a vast difference. She's a grown woman with a century of experience, while you'reWhat?
What am I? he snarled. A child? Is that what you mean?
No, no a child. Not after what you have seen and done since we were joined. But you are young, even by the reckoning of your shortlived race – much less by that of the dwarves,
dragons, and elves.
As are you.
His retort silenced her for a minute. Then: I'm just trying to protect you, Eragon. That's all. I want you to be happy, and I'm afraid you won't be if you insist on pursuing Arya. Your
differences are so great; your age alone is so vast. I only wish for you to find someone more suitable to your age and experience.
Well the one person that was perfect died, or have you forgotten already Saphira?
She let him bristle for a few silent moments in his own feelings before breaking past the anger and regret emanating from him. I have not forgotten Eragon however, I feel as
though you have. If your pursuit of Arya is streaming from some form of anguish then it will be more painful still.
I am not trying to replace Mariah with her, Saphira.
I said no such thing. Saphira insisted. You came to that conclusion on your own.
The two of them were about to retire when they heard the trapdoor in the vestibule bang open and the jingle of mail as someone climbed inside. Zar'roc in hand, Eragon threw back
the screen door, ready to confront the intruder.
His hand dropped as he saw Orik on the floor. The dwarf took a hearty draught from the bottle he wielded in his left hand, then squinted at Eragon. "Bricks and bones, where be
you? Ah, there you stand. I wondered where you were. Couldn't find you, so I thought that given this fine dolorous night, I might go find you… and here you are! What shall we talk
about, you and I, now that we're together in this delectable bird's nest?"
Taking hold of the dwarf's free arm, Eragon pulled him upright, surprised, as he always was, by how dense Orik was, like a miniature boulder. When Eragon removed his support,
Orik swayed form one side to the other, achieving such precarious angles that he threatened to topple at the slightest provocation.
"Come on in," he said in his own language. He closed the trapdoor. "You'll catch cold out here."
Orik blinked his round, deepset eyes at Eragon. "I've not sheen you round my leafy exile, no I haven't. You've abandoned me to the company of elves… and misherable, dull
company they are, yesh indeed."
A touch of guilt made Eragon disguise himself with an awkward smile. He had forgotten the dwarf amid the goingson. "I'm sorry I haven't visited you, Orik, but my studies have
kept me busy. Here, give me your cloak." As he helped the dwarf out of his brown mantle, he asked, "What are you drinking?"
"Faelnirv," declared Orik. "A mosht wonderful, ticklish potion. The besht and greatest of the elves' tricksty inventions; it gives you the gift of loquacion. Words float from your
tongue like shoals of flapping minnows, like flocks of breathlessh hummingbirds, like rivers of writhing shnakes." He paused, apparently taken by the unique magnificence of his
smiles. As Eragon ushered him into the bedroom, Orik saluted Saphira with his bottle and said, "Greetings, O Irontooth. May your schales shine as bright as the coals of Morgothal's
forge."
Greetings, Orik, said Saphira, laying her head on the rim of her bed. What has put you in this state? It is not like you. Eragon repeated her question.
"What has put me in mine shtate?" repeated Orik. He dropped into the chair that Eragon provided – his feet dangling several inches above the ground – and began to shake his
head. "Red cap, green cap, elves here and elves there. I drown in elvesh and their thrice=damned courtesy. Bloodless they be. Taciturn they are. Yesh sir, no shir, three bagsh full,
sir, yet nary a pip more can I extract." He looked at Eragon with a mournful expression. "What am I to do while you meander through your instruction? Am I to sit and twiddle mine
thumbs while I turn to shtone and join the shpirits of mine anshestors? Tell me, O sagacious Rider."
Have you no skills or hobbies that you might occupy yourself with? Asked Saphira.
"Aye," said Orik. "I'm a fair enough smith by any who'd care to judge. But why should I craft bright armsh and armor for those who treasure them not? I'm usheless here. As
usheless as a threelegged Faldunost."
Eragon extended a hand toward the bottle. "May I?" Orik glanced between him and the bottle, then grimaced and gave it up. The faelnirv was cold as ice as it ran down Eragon's
throat, stinging and smarting. He blinked as his eyes watered. After he indulged in a second quaff, he passed the bottle back to Orik, who seemed disappointed by how little of the
concoction remained.
"And what mischief," asked Orik, "have you two managed to ferret out of Oromis and yon bucolic woods?"
The dwarf alternately chuckled and groaned as Eragon described his training, his misplaced blessing in Farthen Dûr, the Menoa tree, his back, and all else that had filled the past
few days. Eragon ended with the topic that was dearest to him at the moment: Arya. Emboldened by the liqueur, he confessed his affection for her and described his she had
dismissed his advance.
Wagging a finger, Orik said, "the rock beneath you is flawed, Eragon. Don't tempt fate. Arya…" he stopped, then growled and took another gulp of faelnirv. "Ah, it's too late for
thish. Who am I to say what is wisdom and what isn't?"
Saphira had closed her eyes a while ago. Without opening them, she asked, Are you married, Orik? The question surprised Eragon; he had never stopped to wonder about Orik's
personal life.
"Eta," said Orik. "Although I'm promished to fair Hvedra, daughter of Thorgerd Oneeye and Himinglada. We were to be wed thish spring, until the Urgals attacked and Hrothgar
sent me on this accursed trip."
"Is she of Durgrimst Ingeitum?" asked Eragon.
"Of coursh!" roared Orik, poun
ding his fist on the side of the chair. "Thinkest thou I would marry outside my clan? She's the granddaughter of mine aunt Vardrun, Hrothgar's coushin
twice removed, with white, round calves as smooth as satin, cheeks as red as apples, and the prettiesht dwarf maid who ever did exist."
Undoubtedly, said Saphira.
"I'm sure it won't be long before you see her again," said Eragon.
"Hmph." Orik squinted at Eragon. "Do you believe in giants? Tall giants, strong giant, thick and beared giants with fingers like spadeses?"
"I've never seen nor heard of them," said Eragon, "except in stories. If they do exist, it's not in Alagaesia."
"Ah, but they do! They do!" exclaimed Orik, waving the bottle about his head. "Tell me, O Rider, if a fearshome giant were to meet you on the garden path, what might he call you,
if not dinner?"
"Eragon, I would presume."
"No, no. He'd call you a dwarf, for dwarf you'd be to him." Orik guffawed and nudged Eragon in the ribs with his hard elbow. "See you now? Humans and elvesh are the giants. The
land's full of them, here, there, and everywhere, stomping about with their big feet and casting us in endless shadowses." He continued laughing, rocking back in his chair until it
tipped over and he fell to the floor with a solid thump.
Helping him upright, Eragon said, "I think you'd better stay here for the night. You're in no condition to go down those stairs in the dark."
Orik agreed with cheery indifference. He allowed Eragon to remove his mail and bundle him onto one side of the bed. Afterward, Eragon sighed, covered the lights, and lay on his
side of the mattress.
He fell asleep hearing the dwarf mutter, "…Hvedra… Hvedra… Hvedra…"
"Alright Eirika, this is where we part ways." Kendra looked back at the girl.
She huffed and blinked at the princess. "Fine. How long do you want me to wait?"
"Tomorrow at dawn. If we're not back by daybreak, you need to turn tail and run as fast as you can." She glanced at the horses, "This is why we gave you the fastest horse you
know."
"So I can run away. Yeah, I get it."
Kendra shrugged, turning back around, "You were the one who didn't want to stay behind by yourself." She narrowed her eyes at the seemingly abandoned fort. "This is where they
have to be hiding out. There's a mining tunnel system underground that lets out about a league eastward. I'll bet they keep their horses hidden nearby."
Drawing his cloak around his neck tighter as night set in, Mark gazed over the fort, "Well, how do you want to go about breaking in then?"
She smirked up at him and said, "You and I are going to sneak in. Del and Trevin will follow behind and cover us. You know how to put up silencing and illusion spells, right?"
"Of course I do," he said, sounding slightly insulted. "After you."
Kendra straightened out of her crouch and glanced back at Eirika, "Remember… daybreak."
The blonde nodded at her and held on to the reins of her mare tighter, watching them step out of the clearing into the steadily darkening woods. Nyx's armor chinking slightly as he
padded beside Kendra.
Mark drew his sword, glancing at her, "So… your plan is…?"
"We're going to kill them." She told him plainly, "You don't have a choice… they're members of the Black Hand. They'll likely know we're coming and will not hesitate to kill you, so
you'd best be on your guard." She glanced back at the other two, "Stay a ways behind us, don't run up to assist if you hear us get into a scuffle. We'll be fine. I don't want Eirika to
run home and tell Rowan I've gotten us all killed." Turning back around, she told Nyx to stay with Trevin and Del before muttering under her breath. Mark caught the Elvish words
and repeated them quietly, following after Kendra with silent footsteps.
After descending a staircase and slipping past a few open rooms, the walls holding burnedout torches and spider webs, there was noise from up ahead. Kendra paused and readied
her sword before proceeding.
"…tomorrow afternoon… here… here and here. Understood?"
Mark gazed over Kendra's shoulder into the room where three men were leaning over a table, looking at a map. There was a fire pit on one side of the room, crackling loudly with
the remains of what appeared to be a goat hanging across the flames.
Kendra went to move, and then paused, eyes flicking around the room. There were only three. There should have been more of them. Her heart dropped into her stomach as she
heard shouting from behind them, up the stairs. The three men in the room turned towards the doorway, drawing their weapons and hurrying towards them.
"Little late to try and be subtle now," Mark insisted.
At last I understand the nature of my enemies, thought Eragon. He had feared the Ra'zac ever since they first appeared in Carvahall, not only because of their villainous deeds but
because he knew so little about the creatures. In his ignorance, he credited the Ra'zac with more powers than they actually possessed and regarded them with an almost
superstitious dread. Nightmares indeed. But now that Oromis's explanation had stripped away the Ra'zac's aura of mystery, they no longer seemed quite so formidable. The fact that
they were vulnerable to light and water strengthened Eragon's conviction that when next they met, he would destroy the monsters that had killed Garrow and Brom.
"Are their parents called Ra'zac as well?" he asked.
Oromis shook his head. "Lethrblaka, we named them. And whereas their offspring are narrowminded, if cunning, Lethrblaka have all the intelligence of a dragon. A cruel, vicious,
and twisted dragon."
"Where do they come from?"
"From whatever land your ancestors abandoned. Their depredations may have been what forced King Palancar to emigrate. When we, the Riders, became aware of the Ra'zac's foul
presence in Alagaësia, we did our best to eradicate them, as we would leaf blight. Unfortunately, we were only partially successful. Two Lethrblaka escaped, and they along with
their pupae are the ones who have caused you so much grief. After he killed Vrael, Galbatorix sought them out and bargained for their services in return for his protection and
guaranteed an amount of their favorite food. That is why Galbatorix allows them to live by DrasLeona, one of the Empire's largest cities."
Eragon's jaw tightened. "They have much to answer for." And they will, if I have my way.
"That they do," Oromis agreed. Returning to the hut, he stepped through the black shadow of the doorway, then reappeared carrying a halfdozen slate tablets about a halffood
wide and a foot high. He presented one to Eragon. "Let us abandon such unpleasant topics for a time. I thought you might enjoy learning how to make a fairth. It is an excellent
device for focusing your thoughts. The slate is impregnated with enough ink to cover it with any combination of colors. All you need to do is concentrate upon the image that you
wish to capture and then say, 'Let that which I see in my mind's eye be replicated on the surface of this tablet.'" As Eragon examined the claysmooth slate, Oromis gestured at the
clearing. "Look about you, Eragon, and find something worth preserving."
The first objects that Eragon noticed seemed too obvious, too banal to him: a yellow lily by his feet, Oromis's overgrown hut, the white stream, and the landscape itself. None were
unique. None would give an observer an insight into the subject of the fairth or he who had created it. Things that change and are lost, that is what's worth preserving,
His eye alighted upon the pale green nubs of spring growth at the tip of a tree's branches and then the deep, narrow wound that seamed the trunk where a storm had broken a
bough, tearing off a rope of bark with it. Translucent orbs of sab encrusted the seam, catching the refracting light.
Eragon positioned himself alongside the trunk so that the rotund galls of the tree's congealed blood bulged out in silhouette and were framed by a cluster of shiny new needles. Then
he fixed the scene in his mind as best he could and uttered the spell.
The surface of the gray tablet brightened as splashes of color bloomed across it, blending and mixing to produce the proper array of hues. When the pigments at last stopped moving, Eragon found himself looking at a strange copy of what he had wanted to reproduce. The sap and needles were rendered with vibrant, razorsharp detail, while all else was
slurred and bleary, as if seen through halfopened eyes. It was far removed from the universal clarity of Oromis's fairth of Ilirea.
"We're never going to win the war at this rate." Mark leaned over Aluora's mane, patting her neck, whispering to her quietly, watching his cold breath fog in the crisp morning air.
He pulled back up in his saddle to straighten out, surveying the landscape from the top of a large hill just outside the city gates. King Orrin had allowed the Varden access to the
lands around Aberon and was out surveying the progress that people had made. Many of them had purchased livestock or found places in the city where they were permitted to
work, given they had the skill for the position. "Look at them, they have no idea what's coming for them."
"You want to be the one to let them know, be my guest."
Mark heaved a sigh, "What do you want Kendra?"
"Nothing you can give me today," she insisted, pulling her horse astride his own. Kendra looked out over the expanse below them, then at the glistening city ahead of them. "I hope
your people don't get too accustomed to living here. They'll have lives they can go back to soon enough."
He let out a heartless chuckle. "You honestly believe that… knowing what we do?" Mark looked at her, watching the wind whip her hair back in a wavy curtain of brown. Aluora
stamped her hoof once, nickering. "A half dozen Dragon Riders… Forsworn… soaring in to destroy this place and everyone in it." Turning his gaze back he envisioned the massacre
that would ensue, the city alight with flames, towers crashing and the kingdom falling to its knees before Galbatorix's army. "It's going to be a bloodbath."
"Which is why I need you to come with me now."
The Black Morass Page 64