Embers

Chapter Four - Shadows of Secrets

The Talíta was floating like a skeletal ghost ship out in the river, while the elves made camp on the banks. Back the way they had come, the marshes had petered out, drying up and rising into a plain of waving grasses with no trees in sight. It was so flat and desolate that it reminded Eragon of the Hadarac Desert back home in Alagaësia.

No. Alagaësia was no longer his home. For now, it was the Talíta until he found someplace suitable for the future of the dragon race, and then, he would make that place his home.

He would never return to Alagaësia.

Shaking the melancholy thoughts from his head, Eragon decided to distract himself. While the elves set up tents and put together a dinner of meatless soups and nut salads, the Rider started to walk along the farthest reaches of the campfire's flickering light.

The plain stretched off into the distance in all directions, the vast amount of grass supplied by the mysterious river upon which the group traveled. Blödgharm had studied the magic that reversed the flow of water and found nothing to warn of danger in traveling the river. The elf had been surprised by the sheer power of the spell for its obvious age, and agreed that it was strange that such a work of magic could survive for so long seemingly without a source of energy. He had proposed that they keep an eye out for any other mysterious works of magic that might lead to an answer.

Eragon pulled his gaze away from the distance and and drew his brilliant blade. Lit from the firelight behind, Brisingr's flashing sapphire blade appeared as though its flames had been trapped just beneath the surface of the cool metal. Eragon admired his sword for just a moment before rolling his shoulders and commencing a simple exercise.

He swung the blade in a gentle arc, keeping his mind on his balance and control over his weapon. Bringing Brisingr back up, Eragon parried an imaginary thrust and reciprocated with a stab into his ghost foe's side. He began to pick up speed, falling into the familiar rhythms of wielding his blade. Brisingr was soon weaving a mesh of flashing blue light around Eragon as he made the number and danger of his enemies increase.

Suddenly, there was a clang and a shower of sparks before Eragon, and his arm shook with the shock of one of Brisingr's blows being blocked.

Eragon froze, eyes wide and had just enough time to see that he had been joined by a physical opponent before the other's blade had pulled free and was swinging for his side. Eragon whipped Brisingr over to block and he skirted his foe, pulling away and backing up to get a better gauge of his opponent.

It was hard to see in the uneven and variable light of the fire, but he saw a tall figure with one hip cocked, obviously female. Could she be one of the elves? Eragon knew them all, and somehow, she was different. She didn't pursue him, but stood where he had left her a few feet away, her blade drawing minuscule circles in the air in readiness. Eragon thought she had long auburn hair, but he didn't get the chance to verify the observation before she took a step forward and lifted her weapon.

Subconsciously attentive to her every move, Eragon flew into action, leaping forward to take the first blow before his foe. He brought Brisingr down on her shoulder, where it was blocked almost effortlessly, and then he was skirting around her, trying to get to her back. She spun gracefully and blocked his next attach before stabbing at his shoulder. Brisingr batted her blade away and he jumped in the same movement to avoid the kick she'd aimed at his leading knee.

"Nicely done," his foe said, her voice deep and filled with an undercurrent that sounded slightly familiar. It was almost humorous, and Eragon was stumped for a moment, so struck with the sense that he knew that voice.

With a yelp, Eragon was barely able to duck the swing at his arm. Whoever she was, she wasn't taking it easy on him.

"Keep focused," she admonished. Eragon frowned, suddenly thrown back to his days of grueling training under his companion and father, Brom. He was long out of his training days, and resented being told how to fight, especially by this strange foe.