The Path Least Chosen
Reaching down into his bag, Eragon withdrew an apple and kept his gaze upon the sight before him. For miles, the Hadarac Desert stretched before him, a vast and empty biome filled with nothing but the sand and endless heat of a barren landscape. To his right, even with his greatly enhanced eyesight, he could hardly make out the forest that bordered the northern part of the desert. To his left, however, he was unable to see the vast mountain range that made up the dwarven land, obscured by the haze that was set upon the land from the hills of sand before him.
Sighing, Eragon bit into his apple, the crunch of sound stirring his partner.
It has been a long time since I have felt the sand upon my scales, Saphira said, her voice echoing inside Eragon's own.
Eragon hummed an agreement, reaching out to lay his hand upon his partner. Too long since we've walked these lands, Eragon said, his minds voice a quiet whisper between them.
Saphira moved in front of him, her massive bulk obscuring his view of the desert. She bent her knees bringing her body closer to the ground, and Eragon took the hint, jumping from the ground to her knee then up to her back. He settled into the saddle, the worn leather creaking with his weight. Once he had his personal bag secured, and the apple he was still absentmindedly eating reduced down to a core did he secure the bindings to his legs, the process long since familiar to him.
Saphira, knowing that he was nearly complete, turned her gaze skyward, eyes roaming the vast blue set out before them. I don't see any of them, she said, her voice quiet. He felt a small sliver of worry in her tone, and Eragon fought to keep his own thoughts from spiraling.
No, Eragon replied, neither have I. I do not know why, but I can not feel the dragons that reside in Du Fells Nángoröth. His mind raced, thoughts flying about like a whirlwind, before he calmed the storm that was his mind.
Saphira keened softly, a low sound that Eragon could scarcely make out. Patting her neck in front of him, Eragon pushed his mind against her own, attempting to allay her worry. Come, Eragon said, let us head to Ellesméra. The riders stationed there should know something about what is going on.
He felt Saphira's acknowledgement, as well as her desire to see her kin. Still, it was worrying that they had not felt neither the dragon's presence nor any riders for miles. Even the humans that roamed the desert were scarce, and Eragon felt nothing but hardship from their minds. He did not risk delving to deep, lest their presence be detected. Too long have them roamed the lands beyond Alagaësia, and the desire to be unnoticed was buried deep into them.
Saphira launched herself into the air, her great sapphire wings driving the air, forcing it do to her bidding. Each thump of her wings sent a shock to his ears, but this too Eragon was long accustomed. For nearly a full minute Saphira rose higher and higher, the land receding beneath them. They kept their minds shielded from the outside, tightly bound so that only the two of them could feel each other. Once Saphira was satisfied with their height did she turn towards Du Weldenvarden, her wings tilting in the air. Her massive body cut through the air, faster than any horse could ride, and swifter than any bird could soar. She was, after all, the queen of the skies, greatly revered by the other dragons for being the most swift and graceful in the sky.
I am worried, little one, Saphira said, it is disconcerting that we have not felt any presence of riders, or any dragons here in the heart of the land. Her massive head shook side to side, and through their bond Eragon saw her gaze sweep across the land. We have been away far too long. Something is wrong.
Eragon nodded, a worrying knot building in his throat. We must make haste, Saphira, Eragon said, and softly as well. Whatever has happened to the wild dragons and riders can no doubt happen to us as well.
He felt Saphira agreement once more flow through him, and he felt her beat her wings against the wind, driving them further towards their destination. Where normally she would have let out a great bellow, a declaration of her dominion over the skies, she instead was quiet, a steely determination building inside. Eragon reach behind him, his hand meeting one of the many bags attached to Saphira's saddle. He felt around a moment before he felt the object of his search, its large, hard surface easy to detect under the leather that surrounded it. The many spells that protected it flared in response, and only after he ensured that it was secure did Eragon turn back around, his worried gaze upon the land.
The sun had passed its midday position in the sky by the time they finally came upon the great forest of the elves. Saphira had slowed her approach once they had spotted Du Weldenvarden, keeping them high in the sky. They flew high enough that Eragon had to cast several spells to allow him to breathe in the thinning atmosphere, as well as several to keep him warm. So far down was the forest of the elves that Eragon could see how far it stretched, a mass of green stretching far into the north. The many trees blended together this high up, looking more like a painting than actual landscape. The many green hues reflected in the sunlight, the magically enhanced forest seeming to team with life even this high up.
Eragon brought the mirror in his hand back up, and he saw himself in the mirror briefly. His face was creased with worry, his dark eyes moving quickly back and forth over his image. His appearance match that of any elf, and for a moment Eragon nearly forgot what his appearance originally looked like. His eyes roamed over his reflection, capturing the pointed ears and slanted eyes, as well as the frown that marred his image. Eragon cast aside his thoughts, whispering quietly into the thin air the spell of scrying.
The image on the mirror distorted for a moment, wavy lines erasing his features from view. The lines flowed to and thro on the mirrors surface before a deep black took over the image. Eragon sighed, releasing the spell.
Still nothing? Asked Saphira, already knowing his answer.
No, Eragon said, every time I try to scry anyone in the forest it comes up blank. Even the forest itself can not be scryed. The elves have shielded themselves from the outside world, and no magic can pierce whatever that have wrought.
Saphira hummed beneath him. Shall we go seen then ourselves, what has become of them?
Eragon stored the mirror back into one of the pouches of his bag before agreeing. Saphira titled downward towards the forest, and Eragon felt their speed increase as they came closer and closer to the ground. It didn't take them long to reach the forest, the trees gaining in size as they approached. Soon enough Saphira was flying low enough that Eragon could make out the leaves on the trees, rustling in the wind. Eragon knew that he they should be approaching one of the elven cities on the skirts of the forest soon, and he kept his mind tightly bound. He also checked the various wards placed on the both of them, many taught by the riders and some he had discovered himself, either through experience or knowledge gained from others.
Nearly an hour passed before they neared the small city of Ceris, a place that Eragon had last visited long ago. It was small, Eragon recalled, no bigger than an outpost. In the time that had passed since last they were in the forest Eragon was unsure of its status, but he was certain of his memory as to its location. Saphira spotted a clearing in the forest before he did, circling around the opening a few times before she decided to land. In the time it took for her to make her decent Eragon could feel the eyes of the forest watching him, and he kept his had from straying to his blade.
Saphira touched down softly on the grass, her massive size taking up a considerable amount of space in the clearing. Knowing that her presence could not go unnoticed, Saphira's head turned quickly back and forth, her gazing sweeping across the forest around them. While she kept a lookout, Eragon unstrapped himself from her saddle, his nibble fingers quick.
This isn't right, Saphira whispered into in mind, where are the elves?
Eragon paused, his thoughts once more racing. In the past the elves would have swarmed out of the forest, greatly cheering at any rider and dragon that graced their presence. Where before there was merriment abound, now only the silence of the forest rang out. Keeping his guard up, Eragon leaped from Saphira's back, his eyes and ears straining to hear anything that would clue him into what was going on around him.
They stood silent for many minutes, each of them watching the softly swaying limbs of the trees before them, feeling the gaze of the forest as though it was holding its breath. Eragon took a few steps in front of Saphira, and he felt her worry emanate out. Placing his hand softly upon her side, Eragon raised his right hand, the gedwëy ignasia displayed for all to see.
"Eka aí fricai un Shurt'tugal!" Eragon shouted, his voice rising above the wind. Silence met his declaration, and Eragon waited a moment before continuing. "Vel eïnradhin iet ai Shurt'tugal eka malabra ono né haina!"
In the distance, Eragon saw movement among the trees, before a voice in the ancient language rose softly, its words quiet but easy enough for Eragon and Saphira to hear. "Who are you, Rider? Why have you come here?"
Saphira tensed suddenly, and Eragon heard a soft twang of a bow string snapping. Knowing instantly what was happening, Eragon rolled to the side, knowing that his wards were useless against the enchanted arrows of the elves. Four figures made their way quickly from the forest, appearing seemingly from the very trees themselves. Eragon didn't have time to take in their appearances, only noticing the bows that all four carried in their hands.
"Wait!" Eragon cried out, even as Saphira roared a challenge at the elves. "Saphira don't!"
At his cry of the dragons' name did the elves finally give pause, and Eragon seized upon the moment, speaking once more in the ancient language so that they would know the truth of what they said.
"My name is Eragon! And this is my dragon Saphira! We mean the elves of Du Weldenvarden no harm," Eragon said, his voice rushing out of him. Eragon righted himself next to Saphira and rose his hands slowly next to his head. "Please, friends. We only recently returned, and we wish only to speak."
The elves slowly approached the dragon and rider, their bows fixed firmly upon Eragon. He noticed with some slight annoyance that they did not point their weapons at Saphira, only giving the dragon a wide berth as she snarled at them, teeth gleaming in the sunlight.
Tell them, Saphira, Eragon said, his mind tentatively reaching out to the dragon so that only she could hear her thoughts. You know the elves; they respect dragons more than any other creature.
He felt Saphira's hesitation, as well as her anger, before he felt her slowly reach out her minds to the elves. As her mind met the four elves did they finally turn their gaze away from him, their eyes roaming across Saphira's majestic form.
My rider speaks the truth, Saphira said, we do not wish to bloody our claws today.
Upon hearing the female dragons voice did the elves finally cry out, joy spreading quickly across their faces. Eragon remained still, knowing better than anyone to not let his guard down amongst the elven race. One of the four elves turned away from Saphira, and Eragon met the elf's gaze with is own.
The elf softly approached the rider, the bow now held loosely in his grip. "Why are you here, then, rider? Did the Black King send you?"
Confusion spread quickly through the dragon and rider, and Eragon quickly met Saphira's gaze before meeting the elf once more. Taking a moment to gather his thoughts, Eragon spoke softly, ensuring that his words were clear to elves before him, "I do not know this Black King you speak of, nor did anyone send me here."
All four of the elves turned towards him, and Eragon watched as a sort of confusion set upon the elves from his words. The elf who spoke to him swept his eyes across Eragon, taking in the rider before him.
"You do not serve Galbatorix?" asked the elf, his mouth spitting out the name in distaste.
Eragon frowned, "I do not know this Galbatorix, nor do I serve him. The only one I serve is the leader of the Riders, Vrael."
The elves eyes widened before him, and the three elves behind the one who spoke fell to their knees. Eragon blinked quickly, unable to grasp what had driven them down. They were murmuring softly to themselves, eyes cast upon the rider and dragon.
"Forgive me, Shurt'tugal, but I do not understand. How do you not know of the Black King?" asked the frowning elf, his posture stiff before him.
Eragon sighed, and he turned his eyes away from the four elves, gazing out towards the wooden forest before them. "Saphira and I left these lands long ago, and only now have we returned. We would have gone straight for Ilirea, then to Vroengard to appear before the council."
The three elves that were kneeling stood upon his words, their eyes gleaming with a strange look. The elf to the rightmost spoke, her words brushing across Eragon like a soft melody, "How long were you gone then, Rider, that you would call the city by its old name?"
Eragon tilted his head, eyes narrowing at the elf. "We left Alagaësia two hundred years ago to the east, on an expedition to search out new lands and foreign knowledge," Eragon said, the words long since drilled into his mind. The reasoning for them leaving was true enough, if not perhaps the whole truth. But only the Elders knew the full extent as to why the two of them had left Alagaësia, and Eragon would keep the knowledge to himself, no matter the cost.
The elves before him fell into a deep silence, and Eragon watched as the turned to each other, their gazes switching between them faster than he could keep up with. Saphira's mind pressed into his own, and Eragon felt her own confusion mix with his.
What has happened while we were away? Who is this Galbatorix, and why does speaking his name fill them with such disgust?
Eragon shook his head, I don't know, but it can't be good.
The elves continued to converse amongst themselves, and Eragon waited, if somewhat impatiently. He had long since knew the value of patience, but it still wasn't an easy thing to do, standing there silently, watching as the elves mulled over his words. It was a long tense few minutes before the leader finally turned back to Eragon, and somewhat surprisingly began the traditional greeting of the elves.
"Atra esterní ono thelduin, Eragon Shur'tugal," spoke the elf, the other following behind him.
Not wishing to upset the elves, it took Eragon a moment to recall the words from a distant past, "Mor'ranr lifa unin hjarta onr."
The elves nodded, before the leader spoke once again, "Forgive us, Eragon, Saphira, for our rude introduction. I am Lifean, and these are Nari, Laufin, and Wydren." As the elf spoke, he gestured at the elves behind him, each bowing before the rider and dragon. The four elves greeting Saphira, their expressions remorseful from their earlier ire.
"Forgive us, Bjartskular, for our rudeness, and for firing upon your rider," Lifean said, his eyes low before Saphira's, back bent in a low bow. The three elves followed his movements, and Eragon watched as Saphira gazed upon the four of them.
Saphira snorted, turning her head away from the elves. Your apology is accepted, elfling, but do not aim to harm my rider again, lest you feel the sharpness of my teeth.
The elves nodded, and with a quick glance at Eragon, straightened back up to their full height. Lifean turned towards the forest, gesturing for the rider and dragon to follow. "Come, Eragon-vodhr, Saphira Bjartskular, we will guide you to Ceris, and we will speak as we go."
Eragon frowned, eyes meeting Saphira's own quickly. They gazed upon each other, not speaking with words, nor with their minds. Finding agreement in her, Eragon nodded, and turned to follow the elf.
"Tell me, then, of what has happened since we left." Eragon said, his gait quickly matching Lifean as they made their way into the forest.
The other elves fell in behind them, and Saphira followed, her steps loudly bringing a sense of security to Eragon. He knew then, without looking, that Saphira was watching the elves cautiously, close enough to strike, but far enough as to not cause their guides alarm. Lifean nodded beside Eragon, his words filling Eragon with a sense of mourning. "I will tell you then, Shurt'tugal, of the Fall."