He could not fall into a sleep like trance, as it turned out. He returned to Nasuada's tent where the young Rider was already curled up fitfully on her pallet, sleeping soundly. He watched her for an hour or so, letting his body detoxify itself from the concoction he had ingested in Trianna's tent. By then he heard Saphira and Briam return to camp, padding about outside of the tent and snuffing at the air.
Saphira, can we talk? He asked gently.
Of course… What is it, little one?
He slowly made himself recount what had happened, waiting for Saphira to snort and murmur, I told you so. But she didn't. She made the closest sound a dragon could to a sigh and whispered, Oh, little one. I am sorry.
Why? Eragon laughed wryly. You tried warning me about her. Why won't you just say that you told me so and get it over with?
Saphira nosed her way through the tent flap, her massive head pushing into the room. She looked him directly in the eyes and said, Tell me that you are just being so cruel because you're hurt. Please tell me that. Do you honestly think I would be so harsh as to laugh at your pain? Nay, Eragon, I will not. Instead I think I will take a feast on human flesh and go tear that damnable woman apart-
Saphira, no. She's just… misunderstood. Maybe she's confused.
Saphira snorted, her anger apparent and burning like blue flame in her eyes. Misunderstood? Confused? Hardly. She knows exactly what she's doing. Eragon, she is a devil woman. I do not care that she sides with us instead of Galbatorix –she is after power and she is after you! She has let this mischief go for one night, but who knows for how long she can keep her claws away from you.
Eragon sighed but reached out, placing a hand on Saphira's neck, stroking her scales. Thank you for listening, Saphira.
Saphira's joy at the thanks radiated through their connection, unsaid but not unfelt. It was my pleasure, little one. But only wait until this news reached Arya… she murmured, rather mysteriously, before withdrawing her head from the tent.
What? Eragon snapped, shocked. He stumbled to his feet, not bothering to be silent, and jumped toward the tent flap. He shoved it to the side and thrust himself out of the opening-
And stumbled directly into Arya.
"Watch where you-" Eragon had begun to snap much too loudly, only to notice the aura that stood before him, imposing and utterly malevolent. It smelled of spicy pine needles. He could hear Saphira chuckling through their mental connection and Eragon now understood then why she had mentioned Arya. Damnit, Eragon cursed mentally. "Arya Svit-kona, I apologize for-"
"Never mind that," she retorted, emerald eyes seeming to shine in the moonlight. "Angela the Witch decided it best for me to be informed of your… supplementaryactivities… that happened this night." She paused for a long moment, the silence heavy. Finally, she continued, "Is what she has told me true?"
Eragon's eyes shifted toward the ground, but he then remembered that he honored Arya more than that. He would look her in the eyes, like a real man, and tell her the truth. He shifted his gaze, eyes meeting hers. "It is."
She sighed, a show of exasperation if Eragon had ever seen one. She shook her head, long hair moving with the motion. "Eragon, I cannot believe you would do this to me," she murmured, her eyes not meeting his. Her lips were pursed and he could distinctly see a vein in her temple working furiously.
"What do you speak of, Arya?" Eragon began softly, switching to the ancient language. He could clearly feel the auras of other people around them pulling their bodies into wakefulness… most probably due to Eragon's shout. He could sense the new Rider awakening, as well, and she was the last person he wanted knowing of his shameful encounter with the sorceress.
She glared at him, accusing and as if he had purposely cornered her, and quipped in the ancient language, "You know very well what I mean. You are under my supervision, Eragon Shadeslayer, and I expected you to act with a bit of restraint and decency while I spoke with your liege. I suppose that was too much to ask for."
Before Eragon could even begin to defend himself, Saphira growled softly and threateningly. Briam tilted his head to the side, confused. Arya looked startled, as if forgetting Saphira had been there at all, before her defenses were back in place and impenetrable. The dragon seemed to be exchanging words with the haughty elf, yet Eragon was blocked from the conversation. After what felt like hours, Arya looked back to Eragon. "Is what your dragon said true?"
Eragon felt like laughing, but he felt Arya might lose her mind if he did something so disrespectful. She already looked close to killing someone. "I'm not sure, Arya Svit-kona… she has blocked me from her mind."
To both of them, Saphira murmured, I spoke to you in the ancient language, Arya. You know I speak the truth.
Arya closed her eyes and sighed before a hand rested on the hilt of her sword. "I must go now. I need to have a word with Trianna before too much attention is attracted by this foolishness."
Eragon grabbed Arya's arm before she could turn away. He knew it was hardly the smartest thing to do, but he needed to speak with her before she went to talk with Trianna. "Arya, please," he began, voice soft and whispered in the ancient language. "It is not her fault entirely. I let her lead me into her tent and I accepted the drink. I did not know it would inebriate me the way it did, but I…" he paused, trying to find a way to word his feelings. "I was partly to blame for succumbing to it, as well."
Something in Arya's face seemed to rearrange itself; an emotion that Eragon couldn't quite grasp passed through her eyes before disappearing. She pulled her arm away from him and murmured, "Eragon, you are young and I understand that it must be hard for you out here –surrounded by men and only five women to divert your mind… But you must realize that the fate of our world is in your hands. Now is not the time to be childish and rash. Save that for later, once all of this messy business is taken care of."
"Yes, Arya Svit-kona. I understand," Eragon murmured, dropping his arm to his side. Arya looked hard at Eragon for a long moment before turning.
"Goodnight, Shadeslayer. Try not to worry yourself over it too much. It was simply an err of naivety."
And like that, simple and cool, detached and utterly immovable, she disappeared between the mazes of tents. Eragon turned back to his own sleeping quarters, only to find Abbila awake and hugging her knees to her chest. Her hair was mussed from sleep, eyes bleary. "I heard you and Arya talking," she whispered when he cast her a tired, worn out look. "She sounded… upset. Is everything alright?"
Eragon snorted back a wry laugh. He sat down heavily on his pallet, letting his hand fall in a hand. "Honestly? No… things have not been what one would call 'comfortable' for a very long time." Since Brom died…Since Murtagh disappeared, only to become my sworn enemy… since Arya learned of my feelings and decided to shun me for them… since Trianna came, trying to seduce and woo me with those eyes…since Katrina was kidnapped and who knows what else…since Glaedr and Oromis passed on without me even being by their side…
Abbila was silent, as if trying to puzzle out the riddle of emotions behind Eragon's troubled eyes. She made as if to stand, her motions seeming confused and tense. Finally she eased into the upright position, slowly coming over to sit beside him. Softly she whispered, "I'm sorry, Eragon; even if I know nothing of what you suffer. Even though I am still unsure as to all that may have happened, I am sorry. I know such words from me, a mere child with no knowledge of the world outside of the palace, are hardly any comfort. But I wish you to know that if I could, I would shoulder some of that discomfort."
Eragon was struck by this child's –no, this woman's- words. He had never noticed it before, but she was very close to being a woman in human terms. Yet she would live as long as Eragon, possibly longer, if she and Briam had the affection for one another that he and Saphira had. She still had the youthful cast about her; the full pink cheeks of blooming age, the large, innocent eyes of youth, the slightly rounded swell to the abdomen and hips. She had filled out nicely in the days spent with them. Eating regularly had done her good, putting some meat on her slightly malnourished frame.
"Thank you, Abbila," Eragon finally replied. She offered him an engaging smile, seeming truly pleased, but something in her eyes shifted. There was an expression there, somehow shining through, in the form of sorrow. Before Eragon could question, she slipped back over to her pallet and lied down, falling quickly into slumber.
…
The heat of the midday sun was stifling to the point that Eragon wondered how the poor fools getting drunk at such an early hour were faring. Drinking in the direct sunlight had fell many men during their escapades, yet still people drank while the sun was at its highest. The laughter and clamor of those celebrating at Nasuada's feast echoed through the deserted landscape.
Eragon turned his eyes to where Abbila sat on a rock, staring stonily at a clump of dirt. She had been sitting thus for an hour, trying to master a feat Eragon had only just learned –how to feel the presence of everything in his path. She had not stirred impatiently while sitting on her stone, which pleased Eragon. Although the lesson would have been much better if it had been done in Ellesmera, this would be the best they could possibly achieve.
Through their mental connection, Eragon could hear Saphira and Briam going through aerial battle tactics. Briam was a bit clumsy, even for his young age. Saphira had commented that maybe he was not the strongest flyer, yet she would teach him as much as possible regardless. As Briam struggled through his lessons, Eragon cast a sidelong glance at his own pupil. She seemed to be stirring.
Abbila finally looked up, blinking as if one who had just been subjected to a trance. "Eragon," she whispered, eyebrows furrowed. "Eragon, something is coming."
Eragon was instantly weary. It was very possible that the girl had simply mistaken one of the thousands of auras around them for a foe, but it was unlikely. As a Rider, they both had seemed to be gifted with good common sense and an even better intuition. "Tell me, Abbila."
The girl hesitated, but then seemed to realize the gravity of the situation. "I was just sensing what the worms were doing; watching them burrow through the dirt, when something seemed to… tug… on my consciousness. I could feel something –not quite a presence, but something bad. Something very, very bad…" by this time, Abbila was trembling, her eyes looking far away. Her tone had gone soft and childish. "Oh gods above, something is coming… Eragon, don't you feel it?"
Eragon's eyes widened. What was wrong with her? Saphira! Go scout around for intruders and tell Briam we need him here now. Make haste!
Saphira was smart enough to not question or second guess. There was a flurry of movement; Saphira circled away from where she and Briam had been training and Briam went into a steep nosedive toward his master's location. Back on the ground, Eragon reached out mentally. He was trying valiantly to find the source of her fear and sudden strangeness. He found nothing. Familiar auras brushed his consciousness, all seeming to be that of an ally or a friend.
"Abbila, what-"
Abbila had her arms crossed tightly over her chest, doubled over as if she were about to be sick. She was rocking to and fro quickly, like a child possessed. Briam landed, snorting worriedly and lurching over to his rider's side. Abbila ceased her rocking and became still. Her large eyes rose and met Eragon's. "Get your sword ready, Rider," she whispered. "He's coming for you."
Eragon couldn't even question before a yell broke through the crowd. "Eragon!" He turned to the voice, hand already on his dagger. Angela stood there, looking haunted. "Did you not sense him?" she asked snappishly. "Do you not feel him here?"
"Angela, what-"
"Stop talking," she snipped, "and feel out the wicked force fighting off your elven companion's tries to subdue it."
Arya. Arya was in danger. Arya was in danger because this thing, this 'wicked force' was after him. Barzul was out of its sheath within mere seconds and Eragon launched himself toward the throng of people in the festivities.
No one seemed to know that anything was happening. Eragon spotted his cousin making merry and drinking with his fiancée and Nasuada. The Urgals were mingling with the dwarves, who amazingly seemed to take a liking to the beings. But wherewas Arya?
He reached out for her, only to find she was trying to block herself from him. She was failing, though, and Eragon could sense her powerful aura, now waning in strength, coming from the northern encampment. Eragon had never run as fast as he did at that moment. He was at the northern edge of the camp in mere minutes. He could see the dark haired Arya, sword drawn and eyebrows furrowed in concentration.
"Arya-"
"Stay back, Eragon," she growled between clenched teeth. "I do not need you meddling in-"
The sharp sound of an arrow streaking through the air filled Eragon's ears. One moment Arya had been standing there, distressed and malevolent, and the next she was on the ground with an arrow sticking sickeningly from her shoulder. She cursed but stood, drawing her sword in one swift movement. It was then that the aura swept over Eragon; it was so familiar and so grieved for that it made him start.
"It's good to see you are still among the living… brother."
Eragon watched as a shadow disentangled itself from one of the tents, stepping into the light. Murtagh stood before him, Zar'roc in his right hand, a rather haughty look of superiority on his face.
Arya stood, anger flashing in her eyes. She snapped the arrow in half, glowering. "You have not finished with me, yet, traitor. You cannot simply switch opponents in the middle of a fight, even if it was a mental one."
"Oh?" Murtagh asked, smirking. "Alright, then, I will finish with you." He raised his left hand before bringing it forcefully down. At the signal, a volley of arrows erupted from the trees. Three tore into the flesh of her stomach, a fourth entering her thigh and sending her to the ground with a cry.
"Now, brother," Murtagh drawled, "now that your little elf is out of the way… shall we have some fun?"