INHERITANCE: Memorandum Of Scales

ERAGON AND ARYA

They rode out of Gil'ead in the night.

Not counting Brom and the Elf, thirty men accompanied them. The company was led by a harsh-faced captain named Jerwyn. They were given their own mounts, but at all times they were surrounded by swords held by men ready to slay them at a moment's notice.

Saphira was hidden within a carriage, contained in a metal cage that rattled as they passed over muddy hills cooling in the night air.
Eragon held on to his reigns tightly as they moved, silent like his company. The stars were low in the night sky, and it seemed as if the blackness itself was coming to swallow them up.
Leafless trees shivered as the wind howled violently beyond the procession of shining men, clad in armor, to the scattered forests that loomed on the horizon of their eyes.

The road they traveled was clear enough for the most part; aside from various areas that had sunken low into the earth due to rain and snow. Horses nickered as they shook their manes, their bodies giving off thrumming heat. Saphira saw through Eragon's eyes, enthralled by each sight. She grew smarter and smarter every day, and now it was to the point where she could speak as eloquently as Eragon himself.

Brom was slumped in his saddle. A bandage wrapped his stomach, and a heavy cloak hung about his shoulders.

His skin was pale, his eyes faded and grey. They had let him keep his sword, but even that seemed to lazily rest upon his slouched back. Eragon was worried for the man. He knew that Riders could withstand more than normal men . . . but Brom himself had told him that a Rider could die from the sword easily. Eragon did not know the extent of his injuries, but he was confident that this journey may be too much for the man.

The Elf did not offer any conversation.

He had hoped that now that they rode side by side, she might speak to him, but Eragon realized on the outset of their journey that the wish was not a realistic one. She simply stared ahead, her black hair with strands of white billowing behind her when the wind attacked.

A bandage covered half of her face, but even then half-healed scars poked out from the edges, puffy and red. Her knifelike ears jutted sharply from a square face.
Eragon noticed that her right ear was slightly cut and mangled. He found himself staring at it, until her cold eyes shot a glance at him.

She frowned.

Eragon quickly dropped his gaze, but his mind lingered on her various wounds. He still saw that red warrior, surrounded by Eragon's flames. The creature then dousing them with a grunt.
Brom had attacked the monster in a moment of surprise, but even then the beast somehow vanished into the air.
Eragon shuddered. It could be anywhere . . . looming at the boundaries of the forests, watching with eyes that lust for violence and delight in hatred. Only the most deranged of animals could to what he did to the Elf.

They had traveled some far ways away from Gil'ead before their party stopped. The escorts that surrounded them halted as Jerwyn rode around, shouting.

"We'll rest here, and continue on first light." He said, riding off to the vanguard of their column.
Eragon did not know the men of House Pike, but whatever they could be called, no one could fault their organization. They quickly prepared camp, two  horsemen guarding Eragon and Brom and the Elf as the rest prepared the tents.

A fire was started at the center of the erupted camp. soon the light chatter of conversation settled over the Pikes. It was then one of the guards nodded at Eragon.

"Dismount and follow me." He said brusquely. Eragon complied, hopping from his steed. The Elf did as well, landing elegantly on the snow frosted ground. She was dressed in serving girl's clothing, a drab blouse with a mud colored skirt that went slightly farther than her knees. Somehow, the dressing was ill-fitting on her, making her look even more strange and alien than she already did. Brom came next, coughing and holding his stomach. He looked thinner, the hollowness of his face showing in the moonlit sky.

Their guard led them deep into the camp, silent chatter buzzing around their ears like taunting ghosts. They came to the flap of a large stain-marked dwelling. The guard moved the flap aside with his arm, allowing them entry. They all quickly gathered inside, greeted by three mats barren on the ground.

"We move at first light." He reminded. As he was about to turn, Eragon called after him.

"What about my dragon?" He asked. The guard halted his movement, and rotated.

"Jerwyn wants the dragon with him at all times until we reach Mhampir." He stated, and Eragon felt anger well up inside him. The guard seemed to smirk, and waited for Eragon to make a response.

It's okay, Eragon. I'm fine.

Saphira sent him an image of where she was: she looked at a large beige-colored dwelling, a small table before her. Jerwyn and his higher officers sat with him, eating and talking over a dirty map. Saphira herself had been given food and water, and Eragon smiled to himself at the thought of the Pike man treating her better than his fellow humans.

Okay. I'm glad. Stay safe.

I'm in a cage, Eragon. I believe there's a certain safety assured by such things.

Eragon distanced himself from Saphira's mind while giving the Pike a grin.
"Whatever Jerwyn thinks is best."

The guard frowned, and left the tent. Eragon turned around to see Brom already curled up on his mat, snoring loudly.

That was good. He needed his rest. The Elf looked around the tent with her strangely shaped eyes, dark green in color. She finally sighed and sat on her mat.

She was tall.
suddenly the Elf seemed to take up more than half of the tent. She looked down at him with an annoyed expression.

"What do you want?" She asked harshly. Her voice was melodic and light, but underneath it brimmed with strength and intellect.

"I- . . . what is your name?" He asked dumbly. She looked away, her frown growing deeper, until she exhaled and closed her eyes, rubbing her temples with her thin finger.

"Arya." She said with finality.

Eragon fidgeted, and then moved to the mat that was left for him. Brom slept between them, but even when he sat he could still see her. Eragon rubbed his fingers together. It was cold within the tent, and Eragon longed for the fire that roasted outside. He still wore the clothing that him and Brom had scavenged, and it smelled horribly- dried sweat, mud, and other things giving it a horrendous stench. He had mostly grown used to the smell, but he noticed Arya twitched her nose every time he moved.

"How did you send that vision to me?" He asked suddenly.
Arya turned her attention to him at once. Her eyes narrowed, pretty mouth curling.

"I sent no vision." She said.

"But . . . that's how we found you. And then when I arrived you smiled at me, saying that I've come."

Arya gave him an incredulous look.

"If anything it may have been a message that my subconscious released. I recall nothing." Arya said.

She sat back down.
"We're wasting our time going to this Mhampir. Escorting you to the Varden should be their highest priority." Arya scoffed.

"The designs of men are wrought with bubbling  folds of ignorance."

   "I'm just glad that you're alive." Eragon offered.

Arya's slanted eyes framed green pupils that pounced upon him, nearly making him fall over.

"How old are you boy?" She asked.

"I've seen sixteen summers so far."

"A child in every sense of the word." She sighed.
Eragon attempted to talk with her more, but she rebuffed him. It wasn't long until Eragon could hear the slight murmurs of the Elf as she slept.

Arya.
He allowed himself to drift into the grace of sleep's kiss.

Her name is Arya.