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The Last Scion
By : RotSeele
Category: A through F > Eragon
Views: 5098 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Eragon. I do not make any money from this story.
Chapter List
- 7
- 8
- 9
The Great Library
Yozh came to collect Murtagh early the next day and the young man caught a glimpse of the white dragon Bid’Daum as Thorn went to his own lesson. The Fel led Murtagh down into Understone and to the Library tunnel where Eragon waited. Murtagh felt useless when the elf and Fel spoke the native tongue but waited as patiently as he could. He listened to Thorn as the young red asked questions of his ancient teacher and wondered if Eragon could hear Thorn too. Yozh finally gave up on doing whatever he was trying to argue for and threw up his hands, stalking away as Eragon laughed.
“Come, Murtagh.” Eragon said finally. “Let’s go inside.”
“Why is he so upset?” Murtagh asked, looking at Yozh’s retreating form.
“He wants to begin drilling you in exercises. You have a week left to heal completely, but Yozh was always impatient.”
“So what are we doing then?”
“’We’ aren’t doing anything.” Eragon replied as the guards bowed and moved to open the Library’s huge doors. “You are going to read. You’ve been taught dark things, so you must replace that knowledge with the proper training.”
“I don’t understand.” Murtagh’s voice trailed off as he strode into the Library proper, eyes going wide at the thousands of shelves stocked with thick and ancient books and scrolls. “This is amazing.”
Eragon chuckled. “I said much the same thing. For one week, you’ll read. Then, if you’re healed enough, you’ll advance.”
“What if we don’t have time?” Murtagh asked. “There’s a war going on out there, and I need to help.”
“And you will. But there’s always time for those who seek it. These Varden of yours, and your brother, do you really think they’ll fall so easily?” Eragon replied. When Murtagh stayed silent, he sighed. “Learn some patience. If indeed we have no time, then I will adjust your training accordingly.”
Murtagh heaved a sigh and stared at the elf that was his teacher. “Do I have to read everything?”
“Only what’s set before you. I’ve been here for years and I still haven’t read every book in this place.”
“And it iz likely you never will.” Came a woman’s voice from behind them. Murtagh whirled to face her, a grey-skinned Fel with brilliant emerald eyes. “We’ve been expecting you, Estel. I am Norezha, the Librarian.”
Murtagh numbly took Norezha’s hand and gave it a quick shake. There was mirth in her gaze and she finally let go of Murtagh’s hand to offer hers to Eragon. The elf took it and bowed over it, which only seemed to increase her amusement. When Eragon pulled back, Norezha’s gaze turned once more to Murtagh.
“You are under my watch for a week, young one.” Norezha said with a laugh. “Now come. Dis vill be your new home.”
“What about Thorn?” Murtagh blurted, not wanting to be apart from Thorn for so long a time.
Norezha’s smile was gentle. “You vill be able to leave to see de young God. You’re not a prisoner here, Estel. You can come and go as you choose.”
Eragon placed a hand on his would-be student’s shoulder. “Keep an open mind.” Was all he said before he turned and left Murtagh with Norezha. She beckoned and the young man followed.
The Library was vast and many attendants shuffled about, shelving books or removing them, preserving them, copying them or even adding to them. Norezha led Murtagh to a private study where a stack of at least twenty thick books awaited him.
“How am I supposed to read all these in a week?” Murtagh asked the Fel woman in exasperation.
Norezha’s eyes turned cold for a brief moment. “You vill find a way. But not all must be done within a week. Take your time, Estel, learn patience. Now, settle and choose one. If you need someding, touch dis crystal here, and I vill come.”
“Why do you keep calling me ‘Estel’?”
“Dat is your name.” Norezha bowed and left Murtagh alone. With no choice but to read or leave, Murtagh straightened his spine, determined to learn some answers. He picked a green leather bound book from the top of the pile and settled in a soft cushioned chair to read. It was history he had chosen, ancient stories hand-written in Common so he could understand. It touched on the Fel, their plains-bound brethren who’d come to be called the Grey Folk, and dragons. He finished the book within four hours and sought another from the pile. This time his subject was dragon history, carefully copied in a scrawling hand.
He didn’t notice when the attendants replaced the candles and lichen-lamps, so entranced by what he was reading. Today’s lesson, he realized, was all history – Alagaësia’s history. There were details he’d never even known such as the elf-kin, the To-Ga-Ir. He learned myths and legends and truths that would shame certain races if they knew. When midday came, Norezha came to fetch him for lunch. They ate together in silence for a time before she asked him a question. Automatically, he answered. Slowly, he realized she was testing him and felt pleased when the Librarian nodded with a smug gleam to her eyes.
“D’ose who do not learn from history, Estel, repeat de mistakes.” Norezha said softly. “When you go to change de vorld, you must remember de lessons you have learned.”
“But I don’t understand why you chose to live in the mountains.” Murtagh said after swallowing a mouthful of a fruity juice. “Or why you call me Estel, or why you treat me like Eragon.”
Norezha stroked a lock of grey hair away from her face. “Perhaps d’ose answers are better explained in breath instead of paper.” She murmured. “De Fel believe everyd’ing has its time. When de time is up, it fades to myth and legend, and sometimes out of memory entirely. When we were a young race, de dragons already lived in Alagaësia for centuries. We befriended dem, for dey taught us t’ings only a God vould know. And so, we came to vorship dem. Den de Great Sundering took place, which separated de Fel and de Grey Folk. Our time was over, and so we came to de mountains, where few survived de harsh winter.
“D’rough some miracle, we thrived, and de rest is as you’ve learned. We lived under de mountain for years and learned of de war between elves and de Gods only vhen Eragon came here as a boy. He studied and learned vith us and we learned from him. De Gods, we learned, chose life partners of de other races, de Touched. Only dey know why dey choose a Touched, and we do not ask.” Norezha paused for a breath and sipped her tea. “Now dat answers two of your questions, I believe. De third, why we call you Estel instead of Murtagh, is complicated, but I vill try to explain. De old magic, de kind you were cloaked with, bound you with de name Dubshláine. You were slave to it, not master. De test you took, in dat you spoke your heart of hearts, de very truth of your existence. Estel is a powerful name, as powerful as de name Eragon, but only dat name is shrouded by many, many great things.”
Murtagh frowned. “If it’s my true name, can’t you control me?”
Norezha stared at him as if he had hit her. But then she sighed understandingly. “As you are now, yes, d’ose who know dis name can. But you are Touched, and we vould never harm you. Now, enough questions. You must return to your studies.”
Since Murtagh was near bursting with more questions, Norezha’s statement hurt him. But a fresh stack of books answered his curiosity and it was within these his answers were found. The books were on sorcery, but he kept himself from trying the spells within the pages if only because he felt he was being observed. Eragon came to collect him when it was time to sleep and nodded approvingly.
“You’ve done well, Estel.” The ancient elf said. “Norezha has informed me of your curiosity.”
Murtagh flushed at the smile on the elf’s face. “I have more.”
“I know. And these answers are better answered by one who knows all.” Eragon gestured for Murtagh to follow him. The pair left the Library and moved up through the mountain to an eyrie Murtagh hadn’t been to before. Here, the space was large enough to fit four dragons easily, and there were empty racks waiting for saddles. Waiting for them were Thorn and Bid’Daum, the white dragon still twice Thorn’s size. Since Thorn was still growing, Murtagh had a good idea of how large the red was going to be. The white dragon was easily twenty-two feet from nose to tail if not a few feet more, and gazed at Murtagh with a knowing gaze. Without really knowing why, Murtagh stopped and bent at the waist in a bow to the great dragon. Amusement filled Murtagh’s mind with a voice. -Rise, little one.-
“At least he has some manners.” Eragon said, amused, and Murtagh knew the ancient elf wasn’t talking to him.
-Indeed.- Bid’Daum replied. -Come, little one. Come sit.-
Aware that Thorn watched him with mirth in his ruby eyes, Murtagh moved forward and settled before the great white dragon. Thorn shifted and moved to lay beside Murtagh, his shoulder pressed against Murtagh.
-You have many questions.- Bid’Daum nodded. -Curiosity is good. But knowing when to ask is the true power of curiosity. We dragons are born with the wisdom of our foresires and dams within us. We know all and yet are still curious. Little Estel, many of your books will answer the questions you wish to ask, so in time you’ll come to understand. I’ll answer questions the books have no answer to, for Maeglin-hatchling shares your curiosity.-
Murtagh looked up at Thorn. “Maeglin?”
Thorn hummed. -Yes.-
Bid’Daum let loose a throaty rumble to get the younger pair’s attention once more. -You already know of true names, and you know these names, for the races, can change. But there are names we’re born with that never change. These names are forever protected under layers and layers of ancient magic far older than any of us. These names are brought to light only when the time is right. But like true names, these names can be used to control the individual, unless one possesses the Scionmark.-
“Which is what I wear.” Eragon interjected. “The Mark can be seen as a cheat or an impossibility, but it’s a deep magic of itself. Having a Mark allows you to communicate with anyone over a great distance, allows you to be more resistant to magic and mental attacks, and prevents anyone from invading your mind unless you allow them to.”
-It shields your true name from the Grey Magic that would otherwise make you a slave as well.- Bid’Daum closed his silver eyes halfway as he held a private conversation with his Rider. Then he focused on Murtagh again. -It also shields your dragon the same way.-
“Will I get the Mark?” Murtagh asked in a whisper.
Eragon smiled wanly. “We’ll see.”
-Murtagh. Your name is Estel because you embody what it means. In the old language of the elves, Estel means hope. Only one before you has been born with the name and he became Eragon’s sword in convincing my kind and the elves there was more to being friends than enemies. As I recall, Estel was the only elf that wanted to meet a dragon.- Bid’Daum let forth a throaty chuckle.
“So I’m named for Estel as my brother’s named for Eragon?” Murtagh asked.
“The reasons are similar.” Eragon said. “As far as I can tell, your brother is named for the change he’s to bring to the world. You’re named for the hope you’ll bring in the dark times that lay ahead.”
-What does my name mean?- Thorn asked, light tenor voice filled with curiosity.
Bid’Daum hummed. -Maeglin means light bender. When you’ve mastered the lone aerial maneuvers, I’ll instruct you in this old magic.-
Murtagh couldn’t help the grin that spread across his face at Thorn’s pleasure. Bid’Daum spent hours answering the questions Murtagh’s books couldn’t answer and gave Murtagh and Thorn plenty to think about. When Murtagh was brought to the Library the next day, he threw himself into his learning, spurred on by Norezha’s comments and stories over lunch. By the end of the week, Murtagh had finished reading all Norezha had given him and found a multitude of tests waiting for him. He concentrated hard, and with Thorn’s help, passed them. On his last day in the Library, Murtagh found Norezha waiting for him, two thick volumes in her arms. She smiled as he inclined his head, a sign of respect for students to teachers, and waited for him to approach before she began to speak.
“You’ve brought light and hope to us, Estel. You’ve learned and grown and become who you vere meant to be.” She held out the books to him then, and carefully, Murtagh took each. “D’ese are de languages of your teachers, and dey vill see you tr’ough de next step of your training. D’ough you are no longer my student, you are velcome in de Library any time.” Now Norezha bowed to him, as did her assistants and the other guests.
Feeling proud and overwhelmed, Murtagh thanked the Librarian and left the Library to look at his two books. They weren’t in Common, which gave Murtagh the suspicion he’d never be able to translate them, but Thorn interrupted his deprecating thoughts and told him that he would help. They spent time together, Murtagh and Thorn, translating one of the books, the one with a bluish-green cover. The young man and dragon stood on their eyrie, facing the forest. With the book in one hand and Thorn beside him, Murtagh wet his lips and said, “Tluthker.”
The air before him shivered and shimmered and a spurt of red flame jetted over the railing. It vanished before it was able to hit one of the ancient trees and Murtagh turned to look at Eragon, who watched him, amused.
“That wouldn’t have been the first spell I’d have chosen,” the ancient elf said, “but it was accurate.”
Murtagh flushed. “What language is this?”
“Mine.” Eragon replied. “It’s all I remembered and wrote down for the Fel many, many years ago.”
“This is Elvish?”
“Very old Elvish. Over time, the languages change, just like the people who speak it. This language is more for spellcasting now than speaking. These words hold the essence of the thing, whereas the ancient language as you call it, uses the power of the name of the thing.”
Murtagh frowned. “I don’t understand.”
-I do.- Thorn quipped. -There are two types of magic. The ancient language uses the magic stored in the name of an object, while this language, spirit-tongue, uses the soul of the object. Essentially, the essence of the word becomes the magic.-
“So I can create fire from thin air? That’s just like saying brisingr though.”
Thorn shook his head. -It’s different. When you speak the ancient language, you must focus on the spell you’re casting. In spirit-tongue, you only need to think of what you’re casting.-
“I don’t get it!” Murtagh growled. Thorn echoed his sound, frustrated.
“Murtagh.” Eragon called. “Cast brisingr for me.”
The human blinked at the elf and focused on the word. “Brisingr.” Fire ignited before him, dancing on the air.
“Now,” the elf dismissed the fire and pointed toward the sky, “cast tluthker.”
Murtagh frowned and looked at the sky. “Tluthker.” The air above him shimmered and a jet of flame shot up high in a spiral before dying out.
“Did you feel the difference?” Eragon asked. “The ancient language uses the power of the word. The spirit-tongue, as Thorn calls it, mixes the power of your will and spirit and uses the power of the elements.”
“So, when I use the ancient language, it draws on my power, but when I use the spirit-tongue, it uses the power of what’s around me?”
Eragon smiled. “You’ve got it.”
Murtagh and Thorn’s frustration eased. “It’s good to know both, however,” Eragon stated. “There’ll be situations when using the spirit-tongue would be disastrous. You wouldn’t want to be in an enclosed space and end up burning everyone instead of one specific target.”
“But isn’t the spirit-tongue like that element magic? Where you can use the light of the sun to power your own magic?”
“Are you using it to cast a spell or replenish your reserves?” Eragon asked. “There are subtle differences and nuances to everything. Not even I know how to bend the elements to my will. You’re essentially asking the air to aid you in creating fire, the water to aid you in creating ice and so on with the spirit-tongue. With the ancient language, you’re commanding the same results by bending the word’s power to your will.”
Understanding dawned on Murtagh then, and he looked at the book in his hands. “And this is spirit-tongue?”
“Yes.”
“What’s the other?”
Eragon smiled. “That’s what you will write in yourself, once you’ve translated the words before it.”
“But dat,” spoke Yozh, “iz for ano’der time. Now, Estel, you become my student.”
Staring at the Fel that had appeared silently at the eyrie door, Murtagh swallowed and looked to Eragon for assurance. The elf only stared back, and Murtagh knew he had just graduated to the next level of his training.
- 7
- 8
- 9
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The Last Scion	By : RotSeele Category: A through F > Eragon Views: 5098 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Eragon. I do not make any money from this story.

The Last Scion