staring up at the smaller girl.
"You think yourself clever, but had I not held my blade, you'd already be dead." Mariah stepped back, allowing her to stand.
Galbatorix clapped slowly, motioning for Camilla to come to him. "Yes, come here my dear. I have something I want to show you." He looked over the others. "We shall resume
tomorrow, keep up the hard work!"
She smirked at Mariah, prancing over to him in her heels after retrieving her coat, sheathing her rapier at her waist. The king wrapped an arm around her shoulders and led her
inside, talking with her exuberantly, twirling his hand about as he spoke.
At the Crags of Tel'naeír, Eragon found Oromis at the table in his hut, painting a landscape with black ink along the bottom edge of a scroll he had finished writing.
Eragon bowed and knelt. "Master."
Fifteen minutes elapsed before Oromis finished limning the tufts of needles on a gnarled juniper tree, laid aside his ink, cleaned his sable brush with water from a clay pot, and then
addressed Eragon, saying, "Why have you come so early?"
"I apologize for disturbing you, but Vanir abandoned our contest partway through and I did not know what to do with myself."
"Why did Vanir leave, Eragonvodhr?"
Oromis folded his hands in his lap while Eragon described the encounter, ending with: "I should not have lost control, but I did, and I looked all the more foolish because of it. I
have failed you, Master."
"You have," agreed Oromis. "Vanir may have goaded you, but that was no reason to respond in kind. You must keep a better hold over your emotions, Eragon. It could cost you
your life if you allow your temper to sway your judgement during battle. Also, such childish displays do nothing but vindicate those elves who are opposed to you. Our machinations
are subtle and allow little room for such errors."
"I am sorry, Master. It won't happen again."
As Oromis seemed content to wait in his chair until the time when they normally performed the Rimgar, Eragon seized the opportunity to ask, "how could Vanir have worked magic
without speaking?"
"Did he? Perhaps another elf decided to assist him."
Eragon shook his head. "During my first day in Ellesméra, I also Islanzadí summon a downpour of flowers by clapping her hands, nothing more. And Vanir said that I didn't
understand how magic works. What did he mean?"
"Once again," said Oromis, resigned, "you grasp at knowledge that you are not prepared for. Yet, because of our circumstances, I cannot deny it to you. Only know this: that which
you ask for was not taught to Riders – and is not taught to our magicians – until they had, and have, mastered every other aspect of magic, for this is the secret to the true nature
of magic and the ancient language. Those who know it may acquire great power, yes, but at a terrible risk." He paused for a moment. "How is the ancient language bound to magic,
Eragonvodhr?"
"The words of the ancient language can release the energy stored within your body and thus activate a spell."
"Ah. Then you mean that certain sounds, certain vibrations in the air, somehow tap into this energy? Sounds that might be produced at random by any creature or thing?"
"Yes, Master."
"Does not that seem absurd?"
Confused, Eragon said, "It doesn't matter if it seems absurd, Master; it just is. Should I think it absurd that the moon wanes and waxes, or that the seasons turn, or that birds fly
south in the winter?"
"Of course not. But how could mere sound do so much? Can particular patterns of pitch and volume really trigger reactions that allow us to manipulate energy?"
"But they do."
"Sound has no control over magic. Saying a word or phrase in this language is not what's important, it's thinking them in this language." With a flick of his wrist, a golden flame
appeared over Oromis's palm, then disappeared. "However, unless the need is dire, we still utter our spells out loud to prevent stray thoughts from disrupting them, which is a
danger to even the most experienced magic user."
The implications staggered Eragon. He thought back to when he almost drowned under the waterfall of the lake Kosthamerna and how he had been unable to access magic because
of the water surrounding him. If I had known this then, I could have saved myself, he thought. "Master," he said, "if sound does not affect magic, why, then, do thoughts?"
Now Oromis smiled. "Why indeed? I must point out that we ourselves are not the source of magic. Magic can exist on its own, independent of any spells, such as the werelights in
the bogs by Aroughs, the dream well In Mani's Caves in the Beor Mountains, and the floating crystal or Eoam. Wild magic such as this is treacherous, unpredictable and often
stronger than any we can cast.
"Eons ago, all magic was thus. To use it required nothing but the ability to sense magic with your mind – which every magician must possess – and the desire and strength to use it. Without the structure of the ancient language, magicians could not govern their talent and, as a result, loosed many evils upon the land, killing thousands. Over time they
discovered that stating their intentions in their language helped them to order their thoughts and avoid costly errors. But it was no foolproof method. Eventually, an accident
occurred so horrific that it almost destroyed every living being in the world. We know of the event from fragments of manuscripts that survived the era, but who or what cast the
fatal spell is hidden from us. The manuscripts say that, afterward, a race called the Grey Folk – not elves, for we were young then – fathered their resources and wrought an
enchantment, perhaps the greatest that was or ever shall be. Together the Grey Folk changed the nature of magic itself. They made it so that their language, the ancient language,
could control what a spell does… could actually limit the magic so that if you said burn that door and by chance looked at me and thought of me, the magic would still burn the door,
not me. And they gave the ancient language its two unique traits, the ability to prevent those who speak it from lying and the ability to describe the true nature of things. How they
did that remains a mystery.
"The manuscripts differ on what happened to the Grey Folk when they completed their work, but it seems that the enchantment drained them of their power and left them but a
shadow of themselves. They faded away, choosing to live in their cities until the stones crumbled to dust or to take mates among the younger races and so pass into darkness."
"Then," said Eragon, "it is still possible to use magic without the ancient language?"
"How do you think Saphira breathes fire? And, by your own account, she used no word when she turned Brom's tomb to diamond nor when she blessed the child in Farthen Dûr.
Dragons' minds are different from ours; they need no protection from magic. They cannot use it consciously, aside from their fire, but when the gift touches them, their strength is
unparalleled… You look troubled Eragon. Why?"
Eragon stared down at his hands. "What does this mean for me, Master?"
"It means that you will continue to study the ancient language, for you can accomplish much with it that would be too complex or too dangerous otherwise. It means that if you are
captured and gagged, you can still call upon magic to free yourself, as Vanir did. It means that if you are captured and rugged and cannot recall the ancient language, yes, even
then, you may cast a spell, though only in the gravest circumstances. And it means that if you would cast a spell for that which has no name in the ancient language, you can." He
paused. "But beware the temptation to use these powers. Even the wisest among us hesitate to trifle with them for fear of death or worse."
The rain started pounding a few m
iles south of Cithrí. Mark growled at the sky and silently forced a bubble around himself and Aluora, shielding them from the rain. The shehorse
whinnied at him, continuing on until she started slipping in the mud. "Great." He dismounted and walked with her slowly, hoping the rain would stop sooner rather than later.
Rushing back to Aberon was unlikely to happen in a downpour.
He waited beneath a tree with his mare, letting her rest for a while until the rain stopped. Mark willed himself warmer and in a rush of magic, felt the shivering stop. After nearly
an hour, he started muttering to himself. "I'm not getting back in two days with this mess." He looked back at Aluora who then blinked at him, nickering and nosing him in the
shoulder. "It's alright; Nasuada won't miss us one extra day." Mark gazed back up at the black sky, "though it doesn't look like this is going to let up any time soon."
Groaning, he pulled himself back up into her saddle and continued south. The rain didn't let up, not for the first day, nor the second. It was during this second day of nonstop rain
when he spotted another sole traveler on the road ahead of him. The man looked to be armed, and he didn't much feel like fighting in a thunderstorm. He turned himself and Aluora
invisible, the silent spell pushing through his thoughts in an instant. Pulling the shehorse off the road, he continued at a slower pace, each of her hoofbeats dampened by the
squelching mud.
After routing around the traveler, he had Aluora continue at a brisk pace, finding a new road and continuing onward. He let up the invisibility spell and spurred Aluora faster, sighing
quietly as the rain started to let up at last.
His arrival in Aberon didn't go unnoticed. By the time he had reached the main gate, the guards were hailing his arrival. "By the gods, I've only been gone just over a week…" Mark
grumbled. "It's like I'm a damn war hero or something." The white shehorse pranced through the streets back to the castle's stables. One of the young boys tending the horses took
her reins from Mark as he jumped down right in front of Nasuada. "You'd think I'd been announced with the racket they're making."
"You're the Varden's knight in shining armor, white steed and all. Just like in the stories. What else do you think they would do when they saw you?"
"Ignore me," he growled, pushing past her. "I'm not a hero. I've been drenched and starved for nearly a week; I'm more ready to sleep than save someone."
She raised an eyebrow, watching him stalk off into King Orrin's castle, a smile curling around the edges of her mouth as he nearly snapped at one of the guards.
Upon reaching his room, he slammed the door and rubbed his face. Striding over, he abandoned the cloak around his throat to the floor, flinging his shirt off into a corner and
dropped on to his bed, sinking into the blankets. Mark kicked off his mudsoaked boots, stretching until he felt a satisfying pop in his back, folding his hands behind his head and
closing his eyes.
Mariah had Kieran help her brawl with Cederic, Pearce, Hal, and Innes. The two of them were more than a match for the boys. Odette trailed off to the archery range, and Murtagh
followed to keep her company and assist her, not wanting to be near Mariah and her bloodthirst at the moment.
Innes waved Kieran off, backing away, panting heavily and dropping his sword. "Forget this…" He clutched his calf, healing it. "Waíse Heill. I'm done." He repeated the spell, healing
up another gash in his side. "You two are insane." Kieran pushed him against the wall for a moment, sneering at him.
"You're pathetic Innes." She held his gaze. "I'd be ashamed if you were the one fighting beside me in a war. You're dead weight, I'd be better off leaving you for dead and going on my own than protecting your ass."
He looked down his nose at her, biting his tongue as she dropped him. Turning back to the others, launching towards Cederic's back, tearing her sword across his armor. He turned
and swiped at her with his greatsword, watching her jump backwards out of the way, twirling and jabbing at him again with Eirian. Innes watched the fiveway battle and huffed,
stalking off to find Odette and Murtagh.
"Who's going to be the next one down?" Mariah asked, looking between Pearce and Hal, flipping a dagger between her fingers, sword in her right hand. With a laugh, she ducked
below Hal's swing and stabbed him in the leg with the dagger, leaving it there to permeate the muscle. He hit the ground heavily, gritting his teeth before yanking the dagger out,
putting pressure on the wound to keep it from bleeding more. "Just you and me now Pearce."
The blond lifted his shield up to protect himself, watching her footing. She waited for him to attack first, stepping around Hal now that he way laying on the ground cursing at her.
Pearce waited until she was between himself and Cederic, pushing forward and striking at her with his short sword. She turned, side stepping out of the arc, crashing into Cederic.
He twisted and swung towards her, throwing her out of the fighting area with the heavy blade.
Mariah pulled herself back up to her feet, watching Kieran fend the two of them off on her own with ease. She stood and watched the fight, chuckling a little as Cederic finally
crashed to the ground beside Hal. Pearce glanced between the two of them and stopped.
"What's the matter?" Kieran asked, raising an eyebrow.
"Hopeless to fight the two of you on my own… regular soldiers, fine. But this is unfair, to say the least. Two Riders against a single soldier? No, I'll live thanks." Pearce sheathed his
sword and lowered his shield arm.
"At least he has some sense." Mariah looked at the other two boys on the ground. "You two will keep on fighting alone until it kills you… allies are beneficial in a fight, I'll have you
know. There is strength in numbers."
"You're both Riders!" Cederic growled out. "It was unfair from the start."
"Idiots. It's not about that… Kieran and I were working together to attack all of you, meanwhile, you were all too busy trying to show off and get the final blow in yourselves. Pearce
is the exception. You nobles are all the same. You feel entitled. Your pride gets the better of you, and that is how you lose. Remember for a moment you are mortal just like
everyone else, and if I run you through with a piece of steel, you will die upon it, just like everyone else…" Mariah stood over the two bleeding men on the ground. "Remember that
during your next fight, and you might actually succeed."
Murtagh returned with Odette and Innes, catching her gaze for a moment before walking back inside the castle. Andrar eyed her from across the courtyard, nudging at her mentally.
She put her blade back in its sheath and stalked inside after them. When Odette and Innes trailed off towards their wing of the castle, she followed Murtagh. He paused, waiting for
her to catch him. "Yes?"
"You're angry with me."
"I'm not angry," he insisted. Murtagh looked over at her again. "I'm worried about what is happening to you. I thought you didn't want this."
"I don't." She said, putting a hand on his forearm. "I just don't know what else to do."
He took her wrist and pulled her after him into his room. "What do you mean?" Murtagh closed the door behind them, hoping no one would nose in on their conversation.
"I just…" She paused, trying to find what she meant. "I want my existence to mean something. I thought it was destroying Galbatorix, but now I feel like that's not it. If my parents
were both Riders and my grandfather before that… then, what if I'm just meant to continue it? What if I'm supposed to lead a rising of new Dragon Riders? If this is my heritage, I
don't want it to die with me."
He stared at her. "You want Galbatorix to win now?"
"No… I want us to win. If it means being in a world where Galbatorix started it
, then that's fine. I just don't want us to fade into legend… like when I was growing up. I don't want it
to just be a story."
"You would have the Empire remain, controlling the world, in exchange for Dragon Riders to exist?" Murtagh waited for her answer, grasping her wrists. "Mariah…"
"I know, it seems stupid." She hung her head, watching as her tears soaked into the rug below her feet. "If that's not what I'm meant for, then my purpose is to destroy all
resistance of the Empire. And that too is betraying my lineage… my grandfather. I don't want to have to choose a side. I want to make the right choice."
Murtagh lifted her head to look at him. "It is a noble thought to want to restore the Riders, but under the circumstances, do you truly believe that to be the best course of action? If
this happens, and we indeed do become his new Forsworn, the nine of us that there are so far will have more than enough power to destroy anything that falls in our path."
"If that's what needs to happen to restore the Riders, then that's what needs to be done."
"Mariah, what you're suggesting isn't restoring the Riders. It's creating a larger Forsworn for Galbatorix to control. If he has us all under oath, any dragon that hatches will belong to
him. You're only making him more powerful. Is that what you want?"
She pulled away from him. "If you don't understand what I'm trying to do, that's fine. I can do it myself." Mariah wiped at her face, pushing out of his room and hurrying to her bed,
curling up in tears. She was unable to sleep, halfconscious throughout the night as her tears finally ceased.
The next morning, and every morning thereafter so long as he stayed in Ellesméra, Eragon dueled with Vanir, but he never lost his temper again, no matter what the elf did or said.
Nor did Eragon feel like devoting energy to their rivalry. His back pained him more and more frequently, driving him to the limits of his endurance. The debilitating attacks
sensitized him; actions that previously had caused him no trouble could now leave him writhing on the ground. Even the Rimgar began to trigger the seizures as he advanced to more strenuous poses. It was not uncommon for him to suffer three or four such episodes in one day.
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