poetry?"
Arya extended her hand for the paper and, when he gave it to her, rolled it into a tube so that the words were no longer visible. "It is custom that everyone who attends the Bloodoath
Celebration should bring a poem, a song, or some other piece of art that they have made and share it with those assembled. I have but begun to work on mine."
"I think it's quite good."
"If you have read much poetry"
"I have."
Arya paused, then dipped her head and said, "Forgive me. You are not the person I first met in Gil'ead."
"No. I…" he stopped and twisted the goblet between his hands while he searched for the right words. "Arya… you'll be leaving soon enough. I would count it a shame if this is the
last I see of you between now and then. Could we not meet occasionally, as we did before, and you could show Saphira and me more of Ellesméra?"
"It would not be wise," she said in a gentle but firm voice.
He looked up at her. "Must the price of my indiscretion be our friendship? I cannot help how I felt towards you, but I would rather suffer another wound from Durza than allow my
foolishness to destroy the companion ship that existed between us. I value it too highly."
Lifting her goblet, Arya finished the last of her tea before responding. "Our friendship shall endure, Eragon. As for us spending time together…" Her lips curved with a hint of a
smile. "Perhaps. However, we shall have to wait and see what the future brings, for I am busy and can promise nothing."
He knew her words were the closest thing to a conciliation he was likely to receive, and he was grateful for them. "Of course, Arya Svitkona," he said, and bowed his head.
They exchanged a few more pleasantries, but it was clear that Arya had gone as far as she was willing to go that day, so Eragon returned to Saphira, his hope restored by what he
had accomplished.
Mariah pushed him back against the wall, "Run that by me again."
"Eragon's father is Morzan."
She stared into his face, which was twisted with anguish just as much as her heart. "It can't be."
"Why not?" He pushed her off, folding his arms.
"He's not like us."
"Us?" He raised his eyebrows at her. "Excuse me, you weren't raised in this hell."
"But I know of it. I know what it's like, and I'm here now. All my life I've heard stories"
"That's just it – stories. You don't know what it was like growing up under Morzan. You have no idea. You grew up secluded and away from any influence from the Empire. You don't
deal with anything well Mariah. You can't talk to anyone about your problems, and you sure as hell can't accept help even when it's offered to you. You grew up in the mountains,
expecting to be a baker or a farmer or something. I grew up knowing I was going to be a soldier, inherit my father's estate and everything that came with it. I was branded from
the moment I was born as the son of Morzan. Eragon never had to deal with that."
"Why did you say that I would be pleased to hear this?"
"You wanted more Forsworn, didn't you?"
She snarled at him. "He would never"
"It's in his blood Mariah, he can't escape it now. You know our mother was an assassin? The Black Hand? The best spy there ever was? That boy you knew growing up… he's just as
tainted as you are."
"Don't say that."
"If he'd grown up alongside me, we'd be the same."
"Why are you saying this?"
Murtagh watched her face as tears threatened her eyes. "You're going to have to make a very difficult choice soon." He watched her throat bob with a hard swallow. "You're not on
the same side anymore Mariah. You said it yourself, you're tainted. He's not like us. Fate has provided him with salvation, and left me to rot in this castle. If we meet on a
battlefield, it's not going to end well for one of us. You'll have to choose."
"I'm not going to murder my best friend!"
"Then he's going to kill you when he sees what you've become." Murtagh said, turning and heading back towards the courtyard. "Unless Kieran kills your first for being late."
She watched her hands shake in front of her before following him and grabbing his arm, stopping him. "What did you see?"
"What?"
"The last time you wiped my memory… what was it?" He shook his head, refusing her gaze. "Murtagh. I need to know."
"You said for me to wipe anything that reminded you of escaping. Any plans or the like; and this, what's happening to you because of it? I can't do it anymore Mariah." She watched
his expression, the anger that had built fading away. "It's not going to be my fault that you've convinced yourself."
"You dug too deep." It wasn't a question. She knew she was forgetting pieces, but it hadn't made her feel so hollow before. "I'll ask again. What did you see?"
"Just tell me," he said. "Did you ever honestly believe that it would work?"
"What?" She asked carefully.
"Trying to convince yourself that you would be happy? I can't compete. He's going to win every time."
"Murtagh… no." Mariah felt it coming, the rush of heat coming from her chest and the anxiety that set in her veins. "You can just stop searching my mind, I'll just stop asking."
"You can't force your mind not to wander; it's going to happen… you can't make your feelings just stop. It doesn't work like that." Murtagh pulled her to him, holding her hands. "I
think… the dust has to settle first." She looked at their hands and felt her tears finally plunge down her cheeks. "Maybe after this is all done... you need to find yourself first,
whatever version of her you are, and then figure everything else out."
She looked up at him; his expression was the same one that Eragon had given her when she woke after the battle in Farthen Dûr. He knew more than what he was going to say
aloud, had indeed gone deeper than he'd meant to, or at least anticipated. Murtagh dropped her hands gently and turned the corner, barking orders at Innes while he fought with
Kieran. Mariah wiped her face and bit her lip, her stride confident as she rounded the corner after him.
"Ah, Dawnsinger, come here."
She froze at the voice and looked towards the door to the castle where Galbatorix stood. He was staring at her, the others glancing up at his approach. Mariah walked to him and met his gaze.
"If you have so much energy first thing in the mornings then perhaps we should start training sooner." He said, grinning broadly, his eyes twinkling with malicious intent. "Have you
seen our newest addition, General?" He reached his arm out and extended his palm toward Camilla and the pale streak sitting atop her shoulders. "Now, you were so very opposed
to my… enhancements last time, perhaps you would like to steer us all in a… better… direction?"
Mariah bit her tongue, watching Camilla throw her brother clear across the courtyard with a single word. She looked down at her silver palm and shouted loudly with excitement. "If
his Highness needs an army, he would do well to enhance the Riders' dragons before starting a war. However, it would be best for both the Rider and their dragon to bond for a
time before any such transformations occurred."
He gauged her expression a moment before nodding. "As the Dawnsinger believes is best. Now, I would like to continue the progress as soon as possible."
She felt her face twitch when he said it, the sarcasm laced beneath layers of pride, contempt, adoration, and power. The name made it seem like he held more power of her, and
she didn't like the feeling of being stepped on. If he wanted more Riders, then so be it. Her test was breaking them, and only once they had submitted to her was she ready to let
them have what they wanted. Galbatorix seemed pleased enough with the arrangement and settled himself down in a chair to watch. She glance
d between the group of candidates,
sizing each of them up. Her gaze settled on Hal. Initially, Mariah had planned on avoiding him, but now she wanted an outlet.
"Hal."
He flicked his gaze at her. "You can't break me but you can sure as hell try. I can't wait to see you groveling at my feet."
She slapped him across the face when he got close enough to her. "Oh look, you're still standing, though that'd do you in for sure."
Hal snarled and gripped his sword, grabbing her shirt collar with his left hand, pinning her against the stone wall at her back.
"Go ahead, stab me." Her lips pulled into a smile.
He watched her, a drop of confusion spreading through his face.
"What's the matter? Scared?"
Hal dropped her back to the ground, stepping back. She wasn't even worried about him trying to intimidate her. He watched her prowl away from the wall and twist around behind
him. Hal twisted to keep her in his sights, swallowing. "What the hell?"
"Maybe you don't think I'm enough of a match. Kieran." The princess lifted her head, looking towards her while she fought Innes. "You want to help me out this time?"
"With pleasure."
Reaching into the pouch at his belt, Eragon withdrew a soapstone container of nalgask – beeswax melted with hazelnut oil – and smeared it over his lips to protect them against the
cold wind that scoured his face. He closed the pouch, then wrapped his arms around Saphira's neck and buried his face in the crook of his elbow to reduce the glare from the
wimpled clouds beneath them. The timeless beat of Saphira's wings dominated his hearing, higher and faster than that of Glaedr's, whom she followed.
They flew southwest from dawn until early afternoon, often pausing for enthusiastic sparring bouts between Saphira and Glaedr, during which Eragon had to strap his arms onto the
saddle to prevent himself from being thrown off by the stomachturning acrobatics. He then would free himself by pulling on slipknots with his teeth.
The trip ended at a cluster of four mountains that towered over the forest, the first mountains Eragon had seen in Du Weldenvarden. Whitecapped and windswept, they pierced the
veil of clouds and bared their crevassed brows to the beating sun, which was heatless at such altitude.
They look so small compared to the Beors, said Saphira.
As had become his habit during weeks of meditation, Eragon extended his mind in every direction, touching upon the counsciousnesses around him in search of any who might mean
him harm. He felt a marmot warm in her burrow, ravens, nuthatches, and hawks, numerous squirrels running among the trees, and, farther down the mountain, rock snakes
undulating through the brush in search of the mice that were their prey, as well as the hordes of ubiquitous insects.
When Glaedr descended to a bare ridge on the first mountain, Saphira had to wait until he folded his massive wings before there was enough room for her to land. The field of
boulderstrewn talus they alighted upon was brilliant yellow from a coating of hard, crenulated lichen. Above them loomed a sheer black cliff. It acted as buttress and dam for a
cornice of blue ice that groaned and split under the wind, loosing jagged slabs that shattered on the granite below.
This peak is known as Fionula, said Glaedr. And her brothers are Ethrundr, Merogoven, and Giminsmal. Each has its own tale, which I shall recount on the flight back. But for now, I
shall address the purpose of this trip, namely the nature of the bond forged between dragons and elves and, later, humans. You both know something of it – and I have hinted at its
full implications to Saphira – but the time has come to learn the solemn and profound meaning of your partnership so that you may uphold it when Oromis and I are no more.
"Master?" asked Eragon, wrapping his cloak around himself to stay warm.
Yes, Eragon.
"Why is Oromis not here with us?"
Because, rumbled Glaedr, it is my duty –as was always the duty of an elder dragon in centuries past – to ensure that the newest generation of Riders understand the true
importance of the situation they have assumed. And because Oromis is not as well as he appears.
The rocks cracked with muffled reports as Glaedr coiled up, nestling himself among the scree and placing his majestic head upon the ground lengthwise to Eragon and Saphira. He
examined them with one gold eye as large as a polished roundshield and twice as brilliant. A gray smudge of smoke drifted from his nostrils and was blown to tatters by the wind.
Parts of what I am about to reveal were common knowledge among the elves, Riders, and learned humans, but much of it was known only to the leader of the Riders, a mere
handful of elves, the humans' current potentate, and, of course, the dragons.
Listen now, may hatchlings. When peace was made between dragons and elves at the end of our war, the Riders were created to ensure that such conflict would never again arise
between our two races. Queen Tarmunora of the elves and the dragon who had been selected to represent us, whose name – he paused and conveyed a series of impressions to
Eragon: long tooth, white tooth, chipped tooth; fights won, fights lost; countless eaten Shrrg and Nagra; sevenandtwenty eggs sired and nineteen offspring grown to maturity –
cannot be expressed in any language, decided that a common treaty would not suffice. Signed paper means nothing to a dragon. Our blood runs hot and thick and, given enough
time, it was inevitable that we would clash with the elves again, as we had with the dwarves over the millennia. But unlike with the dwarves, neither we nor the elves could afford
another war. We were both too powerful, and we would have destroyed each other. The one way to prevent that and to forge a meaningful accord was to link our two races with magic.
Eragon shivered, and with a touch of amusement, Glaedr said, Saphira, if you are wise, you will heat one of these rocks with the fire from your belly so that your Rider does not
freeze.
Thereupon Saphira arched her neck, and a jet of blue flame emanated from between her serrated fangs and splashed against the scree, blackening the lichen, which released a
bitter smell as it burned. The air grew so hot that Eragon as forced to turn away. He felt the insects underneath the rocks being crisped in the inferno. After a minute, Saphira
clapped shut her jaws, leaving a circle of stones five feet across glowing cherry red.
Thank you, Eragon said to her. He hunched by the edge of the scorched rocks and warmed his hands over them.
Remember, Saphira, to use your tongue to direct the stream, admonished Glaedr. Now… it took nine years for the elves' wisest magicians to devise the needed spell. When they
had, they and the dragons gathered together at Ilirea. The elves provided the structure of the enchantment, the dragons provided the strength, and together they melded the souls
of elves and dragons.
The joining changed us. We dragons gained the use of language and other trappings of civilization, while the elves shared in our longevity, since before that moment, their lives were as short as humans'. In the end, the elves were the most affected. Our magic, dragons' magic – which permeates every fiber of our being – was transmitted to the elves and,
in time, gave them their muchvaunted strength and grace. Humans have never been influenced as strongly, since you were added to the spell after its completing and it has not
had as much time to work upon you as with the elves. Still – and here Glaedr's eyes gleamed – it has already gentled your race from the rough barbarians who first landed in
Alagaësia, though you have begun to regress since the Fall.
"Were dwarves ever part of this spell?" asked Eragon.
No, and that is why there has never been a dwarf Rider. They do not care for dragons, nor we for them, and they found the idea of being joined
with us repellent. Perhaps it is
fortunate they did not enter into our pact, for they have escaped the decline of humans and elves.
Decline, Master? Queried Saphira in what Eragon would have sworn was a teasing tone of voice.
Aye, decline. If one or another of our three races suffer, so do they all. By killing dragons, Galbatorix harmed his own race as well as the elves. The two of you have not seen this,
for you are new to Ellesméra, but the elves are on the wane; their power is not what it once was. And humans have lost much of their culture and been consumed by chaos and
corruption. Only by righting the imbalance between our three races shall order return to the world.
The old dragon kneaded the scree with his talons, crumbling it into gravel so that he was more comfortable. Layered within the enchantment Queen Tarmunora oversaw was the mechanism that allows a hatchling to be linked with his or her Rider. When a dragon decides to give an egg to the Riders, certain words are said over the egg – which I shall teach
you later – that prevent the dragon inside from hatching until it is brought into contact with the person with whom it decides to bond. As dragons can remain in their eggs
indefinitely, time is of no concern, nor is the infant harmed. You yourself are an example of this, Saphira.
The bond that forms between a Rider and a dragon is but an enhanced version of the bond that already exists between our races. The human or elf becomes stronger and fairer, while some of the dragon's fiercer traits are tempered by a more reasoned outlook… I see a thought biting at your tongue, Eragon. What is it?
"It's just…" He hesitated. "I have a hard time imagining you or Saphira being any fiercer. Not," he added anxiously, "that that's a bad thing."
The ground shook as it with an avalanche as Glaedr chuckled, rolling his great big staring eye behind its horny lid and back again. If ever you met an unbonded dragon, you would
not say so. A dragon alone answers to no one and no thing, takes whatever pleases it, and bears no thought of kindness for aught bit its kith and kin. Fierce and proud were the wild
dragons, even arrogant… The females were so formidable, it was accounted a great accomplishment among the Riders' dragons to mate with one.
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