The tall spires of Borromeo castle stood regal and erect against the desert surroundings. Eragon and Abbila had chosen to walk the final five miles, riding on the backs of Saphira and Briam. Nasuada's expression had become far less terse and more elegantly calm, allowing the youth and beauty she possessed to flood her face.
Eragon looked into the dark sky, speckled with diamond stars, and let out a soft sigh. Maybe now there would be some sort of peace, some tranquility and rest for the weary. Namely the soldiers and Abbila, but Nasuada was looking a bit worse for wear, as well…
It was then that Arya broke through the ranks, silent yet quick on her light feet. "Eragon," she hissed softly when she pulled up beside Saphira, "listen!"
Eragon went silent, ears perking up for any sign of sound or movement. There was nothing at all. He was about to ask Arya if she was simply imagining things when her statement hit him. Listen –silence. Why were the night birds not hooting? Why were there no cicadas buzzing? Silently, Arya pulled her sword from within its sheath, eyes scanning the darkened horizon. There were no hiding places to bee seen, which was strange –the scraggly forest was too thinned to hide anyone. The sands were relatively flat and stretched taunt.
Eragon, Saphira's voice echoed in his mind, slightly alarmed. Eragon, they are beneath us.
What? Arya asked, seeming to have linked into their connection. Her eyes went to the sand, narrowed green orbs searching fruitlessly in the darkness. I see nothing, Saphira.
They are ahead, fifteen paces. Not human, Saphira added, sniffing the air delicately with her large nose. Not human, but certainly looking for food.
The scent of whatever it was that Saphira had smelled reached the horses, which went into an instant panic. Nasuada's eyes widened as she gripped the reins of her violently rearing animal, letting out a sound somewhere between a gasp and yelp. Eragon grabbed her reins and forced the horse down, yelling above the din of panic, "Get the horses back!"
Arya, beside him, took up her own commands. "Archers and foot soldiers, forward! Ready yourselves!" Her cried brought instant movement –panic was nowhere to be soon, for these seasoned soldiers knew that such emotions brought only trouble. They stood, readied and in formation, with Eragon, Abbila and Arya at the lead.
The two dragons and Arya's calm steed (soothed, Eragon suspected, by its mental connection with Arya) slowly stepped forward, hooves and claws sinking into soft sand and into the clay-like ground beneath. It was then when Eragon saw a slight stirring within a sand trap off to the right. Before he could so much as take a breath, the things rose from their thin-layered graves and charged.
Eragon had never seen anything like them. At first glance, he had thought them to be dogs, but these beasts were furless, having tough, leathery-looking skin that clung to bony bodies. Large spikes, not unlike Saphira's, covered the lean backs and spiraled down the tail.
The one in the lead leaned its head back while running, letting out an awful roar. The sand surrounding them seemed to erupt and more of the beasts emerged, gnashing teeth and growling.
The men seemed to pause momentarily, fear gripping each and every one of them, before they surged, as a group. Yelling and raised voices met Eragon's ears as steal clashed into leathery hides, as the beasts yelped and sputtered in gutted voices. Saphira had jerked into action, swinging her massive tail and knocking three of the mutts into the changing pack, corroding the numbers and making many of them fall back. Arya had charged into the center of the fray, jumping off of her horse and swinging her sword as if it were a dancer's ribbon. Abbila and Briam seemed to be faring well, too; the girl child's weapon was sullied with blue blood from the animals and Briam was in the process of tearing into one of the foe's necks.
Within five minutes, the entire pack lay dead at the men's feet. Arya slowly returned to the group, splattered with gore; her dark hair was falling from the simple bun it had been arranged into earlier that day. She seemed to neither be fazed that the hounds of hell had just attacked them, nor that she had charged into the middle and single-handedly felled most of the pack.
"Are any dead?" she called out. No one spoke, only shook heads. She seemed pleased with that, though only Eragon could tell. After months of analyzing her, he recognized the slight change in her eyes, the lessening of the angry slits. "Are any wounded?"
This produced many voices, and the next hour was spent with Eragon and Arya circulating among the masses, healing wounds to the best of their abilities.
Abbila accompanied Eragon, watching as he healed the men and softly reciting the waise heill to herself. Finally, once Eragon was nearly done with his rounds and feeling more than slightly drained, she spoke up excitedly. "Eragon, can I try?"
He paused, feeling unease prickling at his skin. She was good with magic –still a bit wobbly, but she was progressing fast enough. He had to let her spread her wings at some point, didn't he? But he would feel much better if she were experimenting on him and not some honest, young-face foot soldier.
"Alright, Abbila, but be careful," he said softly, backing away. He didn't like being a Rider and a mentor –the latter was much too difficult, especially with one so young and inexperienced as Abbila. He suddenly knew what Brom must have felt every single day.
The girl took a deep breath and closed her eyes (which, as it turned out, might have been a good thing; otherwise, she would have caught the look of fear that crossed over the foot soldier's face when he realized a child would be healing him.) In a firm voice, the girl enunciated clearly, "Waiseheill!" The bite wound on the soldier's thigh healed, knitting itself together lazily. Abbila's eyes opened and she looked down at the healed skin, astonished.
The soldier looked thankful and amazed as he turned his gaze to Eragon. "You seem to be equally good at educating as you are at fighting, Rider. I thank you for training her well."
Abbila looked at Eragon, pride shining in her eyes. "Did I do well, master?"
The term made a part of Eragon twinge painfully, reminding him of his lessons with his own masters, Oromis and Brom. Eragon could never hope to be as good as they were, but maybe, just maybe, he could be a fraction of what they were.
"You did well, Abbila. Very well."
She beamed and turned to Briam, who was standing with Saphira and snorting out curls of smoke. Saphira thrummed loudly. You are doing well, young one, she said softly. Now, let us go. Borromeo castle will not come to us!
…
It had been three days since their arrival to Borromeo castle. Three days since the hero's welcome from Aberon and three days of relative peace. Arya had taken on some of the brunt of Abbila's training. She was teaching Abbila to read, write, and speak in the ancient language, as well as the history of Alagaesia. While the young Rider was being distracted, Eragon sparred with anyone who would go up against him. The palace soldiers had learned early on that they were no match for Eragon, leaving him only Orik and occasionally Arya when she wasn't training the girl.
It was on that third night when Eragon had been out in the crisp, cool night air of the courtyard. He had been attacking an anonymous, imaginary foe when a soft voice rang out from the stone walls.
"The others are inside, eating and making merry. Why do you always have to be so different?"
He turned to the teasing voice and was pleased to see Nasuada. Her dark skin gleamed in the moonlight, making her seem carved from ebony. She wore a tunic and pair of breeches, something that was oddly fitting for her. She carried a long sword, a small smile on her face.
Eragon also smiled, only shrugging half-heartedly. "Honestly, my Lady," he murmured with an exaggerated bow, "I think it is because I am only useful with a sword in my hand."
She smiled, raising her sword. "Then let us test the theory. Spar with me, my Rider."
Eragon felt his smile slip. "Nasuada, I do not believe-"
"Eragon," she murmured, smile widening and showing her lovely white teeth, "consider this an order from your liege-lord. No dulling spells, no holding back. Simply one leader against her Rider."
"But what if I mistakenly-"
"So long as you do not kill me, Eragon," Nasuada explained patiently, "then there is no harm you can cause me without the means to heal it, correct?"
Eragon sighed, sheathing his sword. "I refuse to fight you with a sharp weapon, my Lady. Too much rests upon both of our shoulders." This seemed to have been an effective way to dissuade her, for she sighed greatly before holding out her blade. "Dull it, then, and let us get on with it."
Eragon did as he was bade before pulling out his own weapon and doing the same to its surface. He felt badly for sparring against her, for he knew how much he must outmatch her. A shadow passed above him and, without a glance, he knew it was Saphira come back from her hunt.
Do not underestimate her too greatly, little one, the dragon cooed softly. I sense great powers within her small arms.
He did not reply, simply raised his blade in a ready position. He watched Nasuada slowly circle him, dark eyes finding his weaknesses. She pushed off of the ground, launching herself at him with a simply strike to the shoulder. He blocked without much effort, feeling disappointment fill him. Was this all he could expect?
But the Varden leader fell back quickly, caught herself, and doubled back to his front. She raised her sword, letting an impressive double-spin arc its way to Eragon's stomach. He stumbled a bit, but the motion was fluid with his Rider gifts. He used sheer force alone to throw her blade out of his way before bringing his sword up and into a close shave with her underarm.
Nasuada circled away from the blade, her long hair, braided into twin plaits down her back, swung madly. She was quick, much more so than a regular human, and her fighting style was like nothing he had ever seen before. It had a slight mix of Orik's strength and Arya's agility, a splash of something undeniably Ajihad in her movements. She smiled coyly at Eragon, raising her blade parallel with her body. "Shall we dance, my Rider?" she teased.
He smiled, feeling as if he had found another opponent in which he could enjoy sparring. Mimicking her movement, he murmured, "If my liege orders a dance, we shall dance."
Before he could say another word, she was at him, swinging her blade around as if it were a part of her that she had mental control over. There was such force behind the blow that he was momentarily stunned. Such a small human had never shown such strength!
He parried and the two pressed close to one another, Eragon's leg slipping rather close between Nasuada's. The two pressed their blades against one another, trying to make the other one back down. But when that didn't work, Nasuada grinned and closed her legs around Eragon's.
Eragon stumbled, wobbling off balance and toppling onto the cobbled ground. He looked up at his liege-lord in shock. "That's cheating!"
She grinned, putting her blade to his neck. "Yes, but cheating on the battlefield would have saved my life and ended yours." She withdrew her sword and offered him a hand, still smiling. "I knew I had no chance of winning against you in a fair fight –my only ammunition was the fact that you've been training and are fatigued, and that you expected me to play by the rules.
"Murtagh will not play by the rules either," she added, smile slipping a bit. "Remember that."
Eragon sighed and took her hand, standing. "Thank you, Nasuada. I will."
She took his hand in hers and they walked back toward the castle kitchens, their joined fingers swinging as if they were children just come in from the noon play. They grabbed a small, secluded table off to the side of the hustle and bustle of human girls making the meals that fed the entire castle. Someone brought them a bottle of wine and some steaming bread, recently brought from the oven. As they ate in relative, amiable silence, Eragon took his time tracing the lines of sleeplessness on Nasuada's face. She looked tired and a bit sad, her smile barely reaching her eyes.
"I'm sorry, Nasuada," he murmured softly, suddenly feeling his hunger fade into an achy throb.
She looked up, a bit startled. "I beg your pardon?"
Eragon lowered his eyes slightly. "I always thought it was I who had lost the most when Murtagh turned against us, but…" Eragon trailed off, noting the pain that flashed across Nasuada's eyes. He wished she could once again be the person who talked with a spirited highness in her voice, who was always smiling. "I never realized you two-"
"There was nothing between us," she murmured softly, smiling ruefully. "I may have felt something, but he… no, he felt nothing for me. You should know that; after all, you were his friend, his confidante. Wouldn't he have told you of something like that?"
Eragon realized that she might have been right. He paused before saying gently, "I don't know… we didn't exactly have the sort of relationship in which we spoke of women. The conversation was more along the lines of survival for the most part."
She smiled dejectedly again before patting his hand. "Don't worry yourself over me, Eragon." She stood, brushing the long braids of her hair over her shoulder. "I'm dealing with his loss –and quite well, if I do say so myself," she added, slightly teasing.
Eragon smiled, wishing he could say something to make her feel better. Before she could leave, he grabbed her hand. A tiny jolt raced down his arm and, before he could think, he murmured, "I'm here for you, if you ever need me."
Nasuada looked a bit startled, but nodded. She quickly fled from sight.