Later on in the day, Harry was starting to feel the strain from sitting in Saphira's saddle too long, even in slumber. Although they had lost the pilots long ago, none of the ancient Riders or their dragons wanted to land near any towns or cities, just in case, they were seen by other airbases. Murtagh had even tried telling Eragon what was important but was shunted down by the Lead Rider as he gave a look over the flapping of Saphira's wing.
Harry herself had given up on trying to talk to either of the two as they flew on and had fallen asleep on Eragon's shoulder, something that he noticed but didn't really protest as he smiled slightly when Saphira said, The Young One must be tired from all the flying and the tension of the situation.
And finding out my real identity. Murtagh supplied, linking his mind with theirs, Eragon nodding as he thought of a plan of action. Only one came to mind as Harry shifted in her sleep.
Aye, what say you, Saphira, Murtagh? Should we land to rest? Eragon asked, looking over at the Red Rider as he pulled a face, signs of weariness showing on his face and nodded, Thorn starting a dive, tucking his wings in and angling his body, Saphira circling above before doing the same. The landscape was as ancient-looking as the two dragons that landed upon it and held the husky corpses of plants long dead, their leaves long soaked into the unnaturally dead ground, providing no nutrition whatsoever as Eragon handed the slumbering girl over to his brother and jumped down himself, setting up camp as Murtagh pitched the tent without a pole smacking him and set Harry inside it, tucking her in and walking back outside as Eragon muttered a single word, "Brisingr." and set a campfire going.
"It is good to see you again, Eragon," Murtagh said, sitting down near the fire as the air warmed up with the dragons curling up around the perimeter. Smiling, Eragon looked to his brother as he nodded and replied, "It was the wedding when we saw each other last."
"Roran would have been stirring his grave to see you wed her. He probably would have broken out just to come." Murtagh laughed, shaking his head slightly as Eragon turned red and looked down at the gravel, "Oh, come now, Eragon, it was a great day for you and the Riders saw two of their oldest Elders marry."
"It is not that which bothers me, Murtagh." Eragon replied, propping a leg up and leaning on it, staring into the fire, "It was the reception we received from the King."
"Eragon Bromsson, Killer of Durza, the hero of the Varden and Leader of our Order. Scared of a little thing like a human presentation."
This only caused Murtagh to burst out laughing along with Thorn and Saphira, their voices mingling together as Eragon huffed and scowled, blush on his cheeks only making the situation funnier than it already was. The mirth continued for a couple more minutes before Murtagh stopped laughing and gained a more serious face and Thorn did the same as Saphira and her Rider looked to them as Murtagh said, "You also need to know what is going on in Ellesmera, Eragon."
"We did say to talk when we made camp." Eragon agreed, Saphira blinking as the Red pair looked to one another and the Rider started, "You remember the War, obviously, correct?"
A nod and Murtagh was continuing, "So you'll remember the assassination on Lady Nasuada's life and the group that claimed responsibility was named The Black Hand."
"Of course Murtagh. It was hard times when we heard."
"So you remember that they infiltrated the Varden. That's good. It makes it a little easier." Murtagh said, sighing with relief as Saphira huffed and said, Please speak, Murtagh. Whatever you have to say cannot be as bad as you think.
"You speak not the truth, Saphira. What I have to say involves the past." Murtagh answered, looking down to the ground as the blue dragon blinked but made no other movement to answer, "You remember when we tried to hunt down the Black Hand and found their stronghold to be empty."
"Aye, Nasuada was best pleased when she heard that there was no sign of the Hand in Alagaesia or in the outer regions. We scoured the country for months if I remember correctly" Eragon spoke, "It seemed that with the re-emergence of the Riders, they had disbanded and gone underground."
"They had. But last night, for the first time in such a long time, there came a seal from our era. It was the twisted hand of a female. It seemed to be like that of the original Black Hand, our mother." Murtagh supplied, Eragon looking at him sharply as his brother continued, "I was not the one to receive it, I heard about this through the mirror spell that Arya had cast to contact the two of us."
"Arya? Is she well?" Eragon asked, worried for the Queen as Murtagh nodded and said, "She is well, Eragon. Before you ask, no, she was not the one to receive the letter with that sigil. The High King Hadrian was the one to receive it and he had sent a messenger to Ellesmera to know what that seal meant."
"Hadrian?"
"Nasuada's descendant. He was the one who asked to know what it was, even sent an ambassador to find out. Murtagh told him, propping an arm on a knee as they lapsed into silence the crackle of the fire being the only sound before he said, "The Black Hand is back, Eragon. We need our Lead Rider in Ellesmera as soon as possible."
"I heard." Eragon sassed, "Arya said as much. The winds will change in our favor, Murtagh."
"Here's hoping they do." Thorn and Murtagh said together, all four of them going silent to watch the flames light up their little piece of Alagaësia as the sunset started to darken the sky.
Miles away from their position, a teenage girl was undergoing a fierce workout session, her sleek dark-brown, almost black, hair tied up in a braid that reached down to the small of her back. Her tipped ears were covered by pieces of hair that had been arranged that way by the young maid that had gotten her clothing from the closet, clothing that would otherwise be unused. A black hair band adorned her brow as she wiped her forehead to rid herself of the sweat as she drank the little cup of water that had been left out after the last brief break she'd taken. Swilling some dregs in her mouth, she watched as her mentor stalked over to the door and began speaking in the ancient tongue of the Elves, a language that she felt she should know, with her father, a man who looked upon his own daughter as an asset and not his child.
Setting the cup down on the bench, she walked over to the sword rack and picked out the blade that had been presented to her on her fifteenth birthday, or the day that she had been found, and proceeded to chop the dummy to bits, seeing not the wood but rather a real live person, blood and guts spewing out into her imagination.
As she practiced, she heard the words, "-It is almost time."
Time for what? She wondered as the two men called a halt and she stopped, bowed and went to change.
