For Alagaesia: 73. Sighting Hell

With a hood pulled over his head, Eragon walked through the streets of Dras-Leona slowly making his way towards the castle. His arrival at the city gates dressed and made up as an ordinary human had caused a ruckus before he contacted the elven guard posted there by mind and convinced him of his identity. He had requested that his identity be kept a secret for the sake of sanity during the dark times. The elf had accepted his argument and had let him pass.

The men and women on the streets, be it human, dwarven or elven, looked like flies thrown in a fire. Most soldiers were scrambling as if preparing for a war although all they were doing was patrolling the streets. Even though the streets were filled with people, going about their morning duties, not one person was conversing. In short, they worked for the sake of their stomach and not out of willingness. It was all in stark contrast to the scenes he had witnessed at the Varden when Nasuada led the men.

It disconcerted Eragon to see the unwillingness of the same men who fought valiantly in the wars leading to the capture of Dras-Leona. Not wanting to witness the depressing sight for more time than necessary Eragon hastened his pace towards the castle. Although he tried hard to ignore the general lifelessness of the city, he could not help but overhear troubling whispers on his way. The men spoke in hushed tones about how the council of elders had betrayed the trust of the Varden and how broken Roran Stronghammer had sounded when he announced the death of Lady Nasuada. One positive from all the gloomy talk was that the people had believed the act.

When he reached the castle entrance, he had to face yet another contingent of elves, dwarves and humans guarding it. With great difficulty he managed to keep his identity from all but five of the guards whom he knew by name. He was admitted in the name of a spy who was long dead at the hands of Galbatorix.

The security arrangements inside the castle seemed to rival even that he had fleetingly experienced in Uru’baen. Question and after question followed as he made steady progress towards Roran’s quarters. He had to make up one lie after another for each question and soon he began to admire his own temerity. He knew that sooner or later he would be caught and he only hoped that he would be safely in Roran’s room when he was found out.

When he finally reached the door to Roran’s room, he was so surprised to see Blodhgarm himself guarding it. The blue furred elf squinted his eyes in suspicion on seeing Eragon. Eragon decided that it was not easy to fool the elf and hence let go of the spell that kept his appearance entirely human.

To say that the elf looked surprised was an understatement. He very nearly caught Eragon by his collar before he controlled himself. Standing in a defensive position, Blodhgarm asked, “Shadeslayer?”

“It is I, Blodhgarm-elda. Please do not be alarmed. You can read my mind if you wish.” Eragon replied calmly.

The elf hesitated not a moment longer before he entered Eragon’s mind. Eragon noticed the anger in the elf’s mind and made a mental note to ask for the elf’s forgiveness once the checking was over.

“Shadeslayer! Why would you come made up as another?” Blodhgarm asked not too kindly.

“I did not want undue attention drawn towards me during this time, Blodhgarm. Please pardon me for shocking you as I did.”

“You have nothing to be sorry, Shur’tugal. It is I who has been lax with the security of the leaders of the Varden. What if a real imposter had come in your place?” The wolf-like elf purred.

“I wouldn’t worry if I were you, Blodhgarm. My arrival is known to Semmal, Elsinien, Kayalvizhi and a few more humans and dwarves. Without their consent, I would not have made it till here.” Eragon replied trying to ease the elf’s tension.

The elf nodded but didn’t look convinced. “You want to see your cousin, I suppose?” Blodhgarm asked rather unnecessarily. Eragon nodded his approval and was admitted in without further ado.

When Eragon entered the room, Roran was seated in a chair, bending over some papers trying hard to read or write something onto it. Angela was there too looking unusually sombre. If it had been some other time, Eragon would actually have found it funny that Roran would be pouring over papers and Angela would be sombre.

Eragon thought of the possibility of Angela knowing the secret of Nasuada’s ‘death’ which wouldn’t be a surprise by any measure considering that the witch always seemed to know what happened behind the curtains in the Varden. But he decided against voicing anything about the matter in her presence in case this particular matter had escaped her grasp.

“Well now come on in, Eragon. Why are you standing there looking like a thug about to murder Roran?” Angela said all of a sudden shaking Eragon out of his thoughts. From Roran’s reaction, it was pretty clear that he was not aware of Eragon’s presence in the room until then.

Once he registered Eragon’s presence, Roran almost ran to the door and hugged his cousin close. Eragon, who had been tense and unsure of what to do until then suddenly felt comforted and safe. Roran had been a constant presence from his young days and to Eragon it felt like he had reached home after a dreadful hunting campaign in the Spine.

“I have missed you so much Eragon.” Roran whispered in Eragon’s ear and he wanted to repeat the same thing to his cousin. But something stopped him from doing so reminding him that he was no longer the younger brother returning from a simple hunt.

“And we have lots to discuss about the Varden’s future.” Eragon said. Roran agreed with a subtle nod.

The cousins had a hard time pushing Angela out, telling her half-truths and lies about what they had to discuss in private. The witch went away looking annoyed and disappointed.

Eragon quickly cast a spell to ward off eavesdroppers once the witch was out of the room.

As the cousins settled in their seats, the forced-to-be-leader of the Varden sighed. “Without you for the past three days, things have been difficult.” Roran said tiredly.

“You seem to have managed to keep peace.” Eragon observed.

“We tried as much as we could. But still there were sporadic incidents of violence against the council of elders. Their state is pitiable if you ask me.” Roran answered.

“They deserved what they got.” Eragon murmured under his breath although he knew Roran was right. They had framed the role of traitors on the council so convincingly even though all they were after was power over the Varden.

They spoke for hours on end and their conversation waded through thick and thin water – now focussing on the security status of the Varden and then speculating on the next step of action – but never once did it come around to the one issue that would elicit strong emotions from them: Nasuada.

“Where is Saphira?” Roran asked all of a sudden seemingly remembering Eragon’s eternal companion only then.

“Waiting.” Eragon replied simply.

Roran frowned. “For what?”

“To return.”

“Return, Eragon? We need you here. Your presence is the only thing that can cheer the people up.” Roran said sounding almost angry.

“My presence is required elsewhere as well, Roran. And that is more important than this.” Eragon replied calmly.

“Eragon… What aren’t you telling me?” Roran asked doubtfully.

Eragon ran his hands through his hair. He was not planning on answering Roran but the elder cousin’s expression demanded a reply. It pained Eragon to see Roran this way. Just about three to four years ago, there had not been one secret between the cousins. In fact, Eragon had carried messages between Roran and Katrina on more than one occasion. But today, he was not in any position to discuss things with his cousin.

“Many things, Roran. There are many many things that I have not been telling you. I really want to but I can’t. I shouldn’t.” Eragon said pouring in all his sincerity into his words.

Roran looked Eragon in the eye for a long while as if measuring the kind and manner of punishment he could hand out to his cousin for his brazen speech refusing to divulge information. At least that was how Eragon felt about the look.

“Let us take a walk around the city.” Roran offered unexpectedly. Eragon nodded silently. It seemed like a good idea as the silence in the room was oppressing.

“It will be good for the spirits of the people if they know you are here.” Roran said as he walked towards the door. Eragon did not think it was a good idea to let the people know that he was in the city. Not wanting to disappoint Roran any further, Eragon followed his cousin outside. When they walked out of the room Blodhgarm frowned at them.

Both of them simply nodded at the elf and started moving away from him. To Eragon’s immense surprise, Blodhgarm jumped forward in an instant and asked in a rough tone, “Where may I ask you are going?”

“We will walk around the city for a while.” Roran replied. Blodhgarm almost glared at the two of them; but said nothing. Eragon could understand the elf’s anger. He felt that he had failed in protecting Nasuada. To make Blodhgarm accept their decision, Eragon cast the spell to convert himself into the human form with little semblance to his original self. When his appearance changed abruptly, Blodhgarm raised his eyebrows in a fine ‘V’, shuffled his legs and replied, “I will send a few guards with you.”

Eragon nodded calmly while Roran seemed agitated. “The people must believe that it is you, Eragon.” He said looking pointedly at his younger cousin.

“It is better this way, Stronghammer” Blodhgarm replied for Eragon. Roran did not seem to budge. Eragon touched his cousin’s mind privately and said, ‘I beg you, brother. Please don’t force me. Believe me when I say that it is not good for me to be seen with the Varden at this point.’

Roran nodded stiffly. It was clear that he did not like the idea of Eragon visiting the Varden secretly. Roran led the way out of the castle and Eragon followed his cousin. Roran seemed to lack the usual confidence in his steps and it hurt Eragon more than anything else. After finding Roran at the Burning plains, nearly a year and half ago, he had promised himself that he would never again let his cousin suffer alone. But here he was unable to do anything for his cousin when he went through one of the worst times of his life.

When they stepped out of the castle walls, Eragon became aware of five minds intent on protecting them. He assumed that they were the guards Blodhgarm had sent to accompany them. It pleased him that they kept their distance. An entourage of seven men consisting of the leader of the city would not give them the freedom they came in search of in the open environs of the city.

“Tell me brother, is our conversation private?” Roran asked calmly as they passed an unusually lively street.

Eragon quickly cast a spell to ward off listeners – a slight modification to the existing spell to keep people from hearing what was being spoken in Roran’s room and said, “It is now.”

The calmness fell away from Roran’s face in an instant and Eragon saw for the first time that Roran too had learned to hide his emotions. It was a side-effect that came with responsibility, intensified by the pains one faces in life. And Roran had his share of responsibilities and pains.

Even though his question had seemed to be an indicator of Roran wanting to talk more, he remained silent. Eragon took it as a good sign. Whatever question Roran may bring up was bound to be difficult to answer. So the silence was better. But after a few minutes of pressing silence – the streets were as empty as if it was late in the night – Eragon could not control his restlessness. A feeling of imminent gloom settled in his mind making him ball-up his fist. A frown settled on his face involuntarily.

“How does Arya fare, brother?” Roran asked in an obvious attempt to start some light-hearted conversation.

But the mention of the newest dragon rider only brought more confusion into Eragon’s mind. His need to keep Vanendra’s hatching a secret made it so difficult to speak of Arya. His face reflected his helplessness and Roran was quick to notice it.

“She is alright, isn’t she?” The elder cousin asked hurriedly. Eragon was reminded of Roran’s deep knowledge about his relationship with Arya. Roran and his wife were the only ones who supported his love for Arya. That thought made his heart even heavier. He was going to lie or at least hide the truth from his cousin.

“Yes, Roran. She is happy to be home.” Eragon replied without much enthusiasm.

Roran creased his eyebrows at this point. It was evident that he was worried about what Eragon was hiding from him. Roran was not someone to let his dear ones suffer. But Eragon only wished that Roran would stop being inquisitive because it would only make Eragon uncomfortable.

After a few minutes of silence, Roran asked with worry laced in his voice, “Did you go to see Nasuada?,” bringing the lost leader of the Varden into discussion for the first time.

Eragon kept his tongue tied lest he bark out abuses on everyone he knew including himself. His body shuddered a little at the question though.

Roran obviously knew Eragon well enough to guess his actions. When Eragon remained silent, Roran said, “I told you not to go.”

“Even Arya did.” Eragon replied bitterly.

“Then why did you go?”

“To bring her back.” Eragon replied. He was on the verge of breaking down. Though he had disagreements with Nasuada on many issues, he had respected her as his sister. Her betrayal was too much for him to bear.

“I am sorry Eragon.” Roran said softly and put his arm around Eragon’s shoulders. It was so long since Eragon had felt so protected by anyone outside Saphira. He controlled the urge to lean into Roran and cry his anger and sorrow away.

“You must forgive me for letting her go with Murtagh.” Roran said earnestly. “I could have brought her back by force. Even Murtagh was not ready to take her in. But something about her determination reminded me of fate. Who are we to deny fate?”

Eragon remembered comforting Arya using the very same logic. Wyrda. It does work in ways unfathomable to individuals. But why would it be so cruel?

“What if fate decides to stand by Galbatorix?” Eragon asked in a fit of anger.

“No. The Gods have never supported the bad. They test our dedication to freedom by putting us through difficult times such as these, but they always show a way out when they know that we are desperate enough.” Roran answered sounding more like Garrow than himself.

But for Eragon who had, of late, been studying a lot of Elven literature, the term God itself held little meaning. As such Roran’s words gave him no comfort. He understood then why the humans and dwarves had gone to great lengths to keep faith in beings whose existence was vehemently opposed by the elves. They could easily go about their business by putting the burden of outcomes on God. Not wanting to discourage Roran further by assuring in an existence-of-god debate Eragon smiled and said, “You sound more like Garrow now that you are a father.”

Roran smiled too, a rare moment of lightness during a largely dark and gloomy meeting.

“What about the dragon egg Eragon?” Roran asked, turning towards yet another subject about which Eragon could not talk.

To be sure, Eragon was positively thrilled to share the hatching, growth and his closeness with Vanendra but he restrained himself from doing so. They had decided that Indra was to be a secret to people outside Ellesmera. Islanzadi as the mother of Arya had a right to know of him but not Roran. However close Eragon and Saphira were to Indra and Arya, they had no right to divulge the secret to Roran.

Eragon could say that Roran noticed his reluctance to open up about Indra; the elder cousin’s face showed how much disappointed he was. Eragon did not want to lie to Roran and so simply said, “Let us pray to God that all goes in our favour.”

Roran bit his lip and raised his eyebrows simultaneously showing Eragon that he did not like being kept in the dark one bit. Eragon smiled at Roran unsurely trying in his mind to find some topic that would relieve the tension between them.

‘Eragon!! Something is wrong. Alert your guards.’ Saphira cried all of a sudden. She had been hovering high in the air out of view the people.

‘What happened?’ Eragon called back shuddering at the tone of urgency in Saphira’s voice.

‘No time. Guards! Now!!’ Saphira said with even more urgency in her voice.

Roran seemed to understand that something was wrong from Eragon’s facial expression. He took on a defensive position even as Eragon dropped the spell to keep their conversation unheard.

“Guards!! Cover us.” Eragon cried out as soon as he dropped the spell. The alert elven guards who had been flanking them from a distance responded in a flash and formed a circle around the cousins. In the momentary confusion that this change in position created, nearly seven men had snuck up on them from various directions. Two elves were cut down before they could even make sense of what was happening.

The remaining elves and Eragon formed a circle around Roran protecting him from the obviously well trained assassins. Eragon hated the fact that he did not have Brisingr with him. He had left it with Saphira so that nobody doubts him in the city. He only had his old hunting knife on which he had cast a few spells.

The seven assassins never toned down their assault. The four of them – three elves and Eragon – had to strain to keep the seven trained and well-armed men at bay. They even had protective wards placed on them. With great difficulty Eragon found a way to break into the armour and ward of two men. Still they would not be incapacitated.

Eragon then realised that they were also painless abominations. Even as he was fighting off three men, one of the elven guards fell down dead, hacked by a poisoned knife.

‘I am joining in.’ Saphira informed as she swooped down from the skies. The assassins were thrown off guard when one of them was picked up from the commotion with utmost precision and banged against a wall so hard that his skull cracked open along with the wall. Using this momentary distraction created by Saphira, Eragon plunged his knife into the throat of an assassin.

Saphira displayed enviable aerobics as she repeated the skull-breaking with another one of the assassins. With Saphira flying circles around them, the assassins seemed out of balance and it gave the elves and Eragon the space to attack without worrying about Roran. But Roran himself was not standing idle. He had his battle-axe drawn out and had dealt a few blows to men who had managed to bypass Eragon and the elves.

When Roran chopped off one such man’s hand along with the poisoned knife he was holding he didn’t expect him to recover so fast and attack with his left hand. But the man pulled off a knife from his boot and thrust it into the unsuspecting Roran.

While in the process of blocking a blow to his head, Eragon was alerted to the blood that oozed from Roran’s gut. The anger that coursed through him at that moment was too great to control. Letting out a blood chilling roar, he leapt several feet into the air and crashed his knife into the skull of the laughing assassin even as he came down. The poor man’s wards could not withstand Eragon’s force and his skull broke open. The remaining two assassins looked completely taken aback at this display of pure rage. But they never had the time to recover from it because Saphira took down one of them right before Eragon’s knife plunged into the other’s heart.

Eragon ran to Roran who was sagging towards the ground and wrapped his arm around his cousin, not letting him hit the ground. Ten elves came running from various directions, alerted by their two remaining elven guards. The elves formed a defensive circle around Roran and Eragon while Saphira hovered over them.

Eragon felt giddy even as he tore Roran’s shirt to see how deep the knife had plunged into his body. The sharp knife of the assassin had torn the inner part of Roran’s stomach. The sight of his cousin’s blood and his pained expression brought tears to Eragon’s eyes. A lump formed in his throat, not letting him whisper the spell he wanted to cast. But the will of his mind converted his thoughts into magic and Roran’s torn muscles began to regenerate.

Blodhgarm who had reached there by then shook Eragon’s shoulders and said soothingly in his ear, “Let go, Shadeslayer. Wordless magic is dangerous.”

Saphira, for her part, tried to caution Eragon. 'Calm down, Little one.' She said soothingly.

But Eragon was in no state to reason. Blodhgarm did not press him any further. The blue furred elf kneeled beside Eragon and checked the injury. “I do not sense any poison.” He announced reassuringly.

Blodhgarm’s words gave Eragon the strength to speak. He cast spells he had learned from Oromis to check for poison himself and found none.

“It was a good thing that Stronghammer disarmed the poisoned knife.” One elf murmured from a distance.

“Galbatorix and his abominations!” cursed another elf, “How does he even think of doing this to people? Killing off men’s ability to feel!! That usurper truly is evil personified.”

Roran resigned himself to Eragon’s embracing touch and closed his eyes in tiredness. “I feel much better now.” He said softly, although he gritted his teeth now and then - an indicator of the pain he was in. And then all of a sudden, he burst out of Eragon’s hold as if touched by dragon fire, cursing, “Blast! I forgot!!”

“What?” Eragon exclaimed momentarily shocked by Roran’s action.

“Nasuada’s informer sent us a message right before she was killed. Galbatorix’s black hand would be attacking the Varden.” Roran explained, remembering not to mention Murtagh.

“They have.” Blodhgarm confirmed. “The attack on you was just part of what is going on in the city.”

“Barzul!!” Eragon cursed. “What do you mean?”

Blodhgarm “There seem to be at least a hundred such trained assassins in the city. How they got in, I know not. Even as we speak they are attacking the Varden and the Urgals camped outside the city. I have deployed elves to fight them.”

“Be careful with them. Apparently they are the crown jewels of Galbatorix’s various abominations.” Roran said, sagging in tiredness again.

Having decided what to do, Eragon asked Saphira, ‘Can you?’

The blue dragon landed in the limited space in the street with precision, having read and agreed to Eragon’s thoughts.

“Blodhgarm, I need one of your best medicinal practitioners to be with Roran.” So saying Eragon lifted the protesting Roran onto Saphira’s back. The elf nodded and signalled an elf to climb up Saphira’s back.

“Saphira will take care of you till this is over.” Eragon informed Roran.

“But… I need to…,” Roran began to protest only to be silenced by Eragon’s knowing smile. “Don’t be so eager brother. In this state, you will only be a liability.”

Roran looked unconvinced but his face reflected his physical state: dead tired. It wasn’t a surprise as he had just returned from the jaws of death. The elder cousin made no reply indicating his acceptance to Eragon’s reasoning.

Eragon smiled at his silent and grumpy looking cousin and made to get off Saphira’s back when she reminded him of Brisingr. Cursing himself for forgetting his trusted sword, Eragon picked it up from Saphira’s saddle bag and climbed down.

The elf chosen by Blodhgarm sought Saphira’s permission to climb onto her back. ‘Elves and their annoying manners.’ Saphira grumbled to Eragon in frustration before signalling her assent. Within seconds after that she was airborne carrying Roran and the elf.

Eragon wasted no time in following Blodhgarm and his elves towards other skirmishes. Saphira aligned herself to as high an altitude as she could without hurting Roran so that she could be an eye to them.

Eragon left the command to Blodhgarm not wanting to capture the attention of the fighting men. From the look of it, the black hand had meticulously chosen the leaders of Varden and the dwarves to attack. It was a ploy that Galbatorix had used before as well. And it was an effective one as the confidence of the men fell to new lows when many of the leaders died in a single battle. And the Varden would be left with no leaders to lead in a new battle.

The problem with fighting off the black hand was that they were so well trained at hiding themselves from eyes and magic. They disappeared when and where they wanted and reappeared wherever they wanted. Their skill impressed Eragon and by the looks of it, Blodhgarm too.

The humans, dwarves, elves and Kull of Dras Leona were forced to turn the whole city upside down in their hunt for the black hand. Eragon aided them in all ways he could, but the only indication that he was not just another elf was his fiery blue sword and the speed with which it cut through enemies - he was still in disguise. The Varden’s aggression helped them in ways they could not fathom, by slowing down the charge of the black hand.

Saphira’s presence was a big boost to the Varden’s efforts. She identified each and every foe before they could strike and that helped them control the damage immensely.

From the mind of one of the black hands, Eragon deciphered that they were here mainly for assassinating Nasuada and Roran. Finding neither of them had deflated the assassins to a great extent. Now, they were just fighting for their survival. Their search for and fight against the members of the black hand went on till late into the night. Eragon left the field only when he was sure that the others could handle the situation without his aid.

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Eragon lay in the huge balcony of the community hall of Dras-Leona, as the erstwhile temple of Helgrind-worshippers was now called, with his head resting on Saphira’s wings and one of his hands laid on the sleeping Roran afraid that if he took it away, his cousin would be harmed by some invisible entity. A few elves stood guard over them.

The night sky was clear of clouds and the stars were out, yet he felt gloomy. By then, the news of Saphira’s arrival had spread far and wide in the city and it was a foregone conclusion that the residents of the city now knew of Eragon’s presence. May be it was that or may be it was Roran’s brush with death, Eragon felt suffocated and weighed down: like a whole dragon was trying to push him into the earth.

Something pulled at his heart asking him to leave for the forests of the elves. It was a strange feeling because another invisible string pulled him towards staying on in Dras Leona and looking after Roran’s back. He felt stretched by the two strings pulling him to opposite directions.

‘Rest, little one. All will be well.’ Saphira assured him although she sounded as confused as him. He slowly fell into the waking dreams only to be jolted awake by a particularly harsh dream of a burning tree. Beads of sweat coated his face even in the cool late winter night. The dream was so vivid that it affected Saphira through their soul-bond.

‘What was that, Eragon?!’ Saphira shouted in a panic-ridden voice. Something somewhere was very wrong. They could feel it. But they could not understand what it was. Not knowing the source of their misery made them even more restless.

‘It might be a side effect of today’s horrors.’ Eragon tried to reassure himself. But then he had not felt as exposed and vulnerable as now ever before except for the two months he was held prisoner by Galbatorix. At least back then he had a sort of determination to drive him forward, but now he was entirely clueless. It didn’t help that the usually cool Saphira herself was distressed.

Eragon eyed Roran who seemed to be resting peacefully and sighed. He got on his feet and walked to the edge of the balcony. The elven guard stationed there gave him an almost stoic look. But Eragon was so used to elves now that he could sense the concern in the elf. He tried to smile at the elf, but ended up grimacing. The elf nodded back at him and smiled genuinely, something for which he was grateful.

Eragon rested his elbows on the railing of the balcony and cupped his face with his palms. He fixed his eyes northward looking over the vast expanse of the city of Dras Leona, the community hall being at the southern end of the city. Yet, he was not concentrating particularly on the city below him, but rather at the northern horizon where he knew Ellesmera was. As much as he would like to deny it, he now felt the elven capital to be his home along with the now abandoned town of Carvahall. The peace and tranquility that the leafy city brought with it were unmatched. That the city was also Arya’s home was an added incentive.

Feeling a strange homesickness, he let out his pent up breath in a longing sigh. As if responding to his attention, a soft breeze from the north hit his face. It was unusually warm in sharp contrast to the cool winter night. Just when his mind seemed to come back to balance, aided by the warmth of the wind, an icy dagger plunged into his heart and a sense of doom settled in his mind.

Simultaneously, Roran jumped to his feet as if he had stepped on a snake. The two of them looked into one another’s eye and gradually the colour drained off their faces. Saphira, who was already in a state of confusion, could do nothing but join the cousins in their despair. It took a while for them to pick themselves up from the shock and realise what it was that stunned them thus: the rings Eragon had made for Roran and Katrina.

It meant only one thing. But even considering the possibility of it made Eragon sick. He could only imagine what the state of Roran was if he was so affected by thinking of it. The mental turmoil he was in crushed all the imaginary barriers he had raised around him ever since he knew that he was the adopted child of Garrow and Marian. He only saw his brother standing before him looking as if he had lost the final link to the world of living. Eragon rushed forward towards Roran ignoring the elves watching him and pulled his brother in an embrace, so tight that it conveyed what he wanted to desperately voice: ‘I will make sure that Katrina is alright, even if it means the death of me.’

But Roran remained unmoving. It was as if some magic had frozen him in place. The only indication that he was even alive was his hurriedly thrumming heart. Even his mind seemed to have stopped processing anything. Roran was literally a statue now, except with blood flowing in his body.

The elves had realised that something horrible was transpiring between the cousins and tried to discern the cause of their distress from Saphira. She bluntly informed them of the issue at hand: ‘Problem. In Silthrim.’

The elves stiffened at the name of their second largest city. They started bombarding Saphira with questions but she refused to speak out anymore. Not that she knew anything else beside that. When they realised that they were going to get nothing more from Saphira, they tried to scry on their own, even though they knew it was futile to do so. The forest of Du Weldenvarden was out of bounds even to the greatest magicians of Alagaesia.

Eragon got a sense of what was transpiring around him from Saphira, but his attention was completely on Roran. What started off as a consoling effort had now grown into one of rescuing. Roran seemed to have lost control of his mind. It was as if, for Roran, time had frozen.

‘Eragon! You must bring him back to reality!!’ Saphira urged Eragon who was still trying to figure out what might have happened in Silthrim.

“How will I? What will I tell him?” Eragon despaired aloud.

‘Tell him that we will save Katrina or die trying.’

Nodding once at Saphira, Eragon shook Roran.

Author's Note:

Epic chapter. Seven months in the making. I know. I know. Enough time to write a whole book. But that is how I am. Lost focus completely. I am really really mad at myself for it. Having written this over seven months, it is bound to have a lot of rough edges. Please accept my apologies for that. I don't expect anyone to read this anyway. Still... just a heads up. The next chapter will be... well, interesting. Let us see if it will be done in a week or if it takes a year like this one.