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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
- 8
- 9
- 10
Weaponsmaster
“Again!” Yozh barked. “Strike for de heart! Strike for de head! Once stroke!” He side-stepped Murtagh’s attack with the practice sword and slammed the flat of his sword against the small of Murtagh’s back, sending the young man sprawling face first onto the hard floor. Knowing what was coming, Murtagh rolled and avoided the downward thrust that would’ve skewered him and came back to his feet.
Murtagh was in his third day of training with a sword and was already working twice as hard as he had when he was learning under Galbatorix’s weaponsmaster. This combined with the sorcery lessons from Eragon drove Murtagh to the brink of exhaustion, and still Yozh drove him further. Murtagh spun, let the sword become an extension of himself and deflected the mid-thrust aimed for his stomach, knocking Yozh’s sword wide. He ducked in close and got within the Fel’s defenses, managing to stab the Fel through the heart. Or would’ve, had not the pair been spelled to guard against killing blows. Still, the force of Murtagh’s attack knocked Yozh back and the weaponsmaster lost his balance, crashing into the floor.
Yozh pushed himself up, nodding. “Good. Now, choose ano’der veapon, and by dat, I don’t mean ano’der sword.”
Murtagh blinked. “Why?”
“Must you always ask why, Murtagh?” Eragon asked from his position on the sidelines of the arena. Murtagh shot his teacher a glare. “In the event that you lose your sword for whatever reason, you must be able to pick up another weapon almost immediately. You must know how to use it, but most importantly, when to use it. A Rider’s sword must never be drawn if there’s a peaceful way to resolve a problem, and it must never be drawn for a simple sword fight.”
“Then what’s the point of having a Rider’s sword? Wouldn’t it be easier then to have a plain sword?”
“Would you be more intimidated by a sword keyed with spells that would prevent harm or by a simple steel sword?”
Yozh let Eragon’s statement sink in before he pointed at the line of weapons waiting along the wall. “Don’ argue. Get over dere and pick one up. You need to be prepared for de vorst, and I plan on giving it to you.”
Murtagh eyed Eragon for a long while but the elf didn’t budge, simply staring at the young Rider. Heaving a silent breath, Murtagh strode to the rack of weapons and chose a pike, turning back to Yozh with a determined glare.
Yozh smiled, revealing his sharp, pointed teeth. “Good. Now, attack me.”
Murtagh adjusted his hands on the haft and charged at Yozh. The Fel neatly sidestepped and slammed the hilt of his sword into the small of Murtagh’s back, sending the young man crashing to the floor. Yozh kept at this torture for hours until Murtagh had mastered not just the sword and pike, but the kukri as well. The boy was covered in bruises, but Yozh kept forcing Murtagh to work, shouting at every mistake, knocking him down and building him back up, pointing out his mistakes and running him through the drills again. Mixed in with this training, Eragon and Bid’Daum took Thorn and Murtagh out into the air, teaching them complex aerial moves that even Saphira couldn’t possibly know, mixing Thorn’s knowledge with Murtagh’s to create displays of aerial prowess that would aid them in the days to come. Eragon also taught Murtagh ground-combat, both mounted on Thorn’s back and beside him, working the two until they moved together, each one instinctively knowing where the other would move.
His lessons with Yozh didn’t end, nor did his meetings with Norezha to read more books she had set aside for him. Nearly three months later, Murtagh was given a new challenge to master during weapons training: mental attacks while under close combat. At first, Murtagh failed, as Thorn was forbidden from aiding him, but he mastered that stress to be faced with yet another. With pain as a teacher, Murtagh managed to make some progress with his training. He came to the conclusion one day that Yozh hated him, for the Fel soon brought him out of Understone and into the heart of the Spine, letting him loose in the wilds and giving him a head start before he began the hunt. Murtagh was faced with the worst of scenarios and the worst of monsters, and only his two teachers knew why he was being tortured like this.
Five months to the day Murtagh had been found by the Fel, Murtagh finally defeated Yozh, pinning him to the hard ground. Yozh smiled up at him, every one of his sharp teeth bared. “Vell done.”
Murtagh stepped back and pulled his teacher to his feet, now barely winded where he would’ve been sweating and heaving for breath. He looked toward Eragon and smiled. “What now?”
Eragon unfolded himself from his chair and moved over to the young man, taking his sword from him. “You have two more lessons. First, you alone are you go into the Spine without weapons or supplies and find materials for your Rider’s sword. Then, when you return, you and Thorn will forge it.”
Murtagh blinked. “How?” he blurted. “I thought the sword would be forged with brightsteel, like how my father’s was.”
“Brightsteel? Bah!” Yozh snorted. “Brightsteel iz what iz used now. But your sword, like de sword of your teacher, vill be forged from de heart and soul.”
“You may not understand now,” Eragon said as he placed a hand on the young Rider’s shoulders, “but you will when the time comes.”
Yozh gave Murtagh a smirk as he took the weapon from Eragon and soon led the young Rider from Understone out into the wilds. Murtagh swallowed when he saw Thorn waiting beside Bid’Daum, and reached out with his mind to brush against the red’s.
-I have to go.- He told Thorn.
The red sounded mournful. -I know. I wish I could go with you.-
Murtagh was about to reply when Eragon stepped forward, touching Murtagh’s forehead gently. He spoke in Old Elvish, and Murtagh knew that he wasn’t the only one fluent in the old tongue, for Yozh was paying close attention.
“Estel,” Eragon said, “you are about to embark on a journey that is the culmination of your lessons. You’ve proven yourself to us; now prove yourself to the wilds. You’ll know when to return.”
Murtagh swallowed and waited for Eragon to step back before he moved toward the towering trees and disappeared into the darkness. The sheer feeling of loneliness assaulted Murtagh first, because he couldn’t feel Thorn’s presence in his mind. He almost panicked, but steeled himself, telling himself this was another part of training should he and Thorn ever be separated. He wandered for hours, stuck with only his thoughts for company. Time was not a concept that the denizens of this dark place knew, so Murtagh didn’t know if it was night or day, but he kept walking. He didn’t encounter any beasts but he was still only a few hours into his journey.
When he grew too tired to continue, Murtagh slumped in a cradle of roots and closed his eyes. When he did so, an ancient consciousness brushed against his own. He jumped, wide-awake, but this was no enemy. It was familiar to the human, so he didn’t panic as he might have earlier before his training.
Taking a breath, he reached out with his mind. -Elysian?-
-So quickly.- The purple dragon hummed, amused. -You’ve learned much. Now, it’s time for you to learn about the Eldunari.-
-You said I could call upon you when my need is great.- Murtagh replied.
-I did. But there are other lessons you must learn.- Moonlight broke through the gnarling branches. In that light, Murtagh saw her, a great female dragon moving toward him, flickering in an out of existence. -We who are trapped are not as weak as it is believed.-
Murtagh let out a soft breath. “What must I learn?”
Elysian’s lips pulled back as if grinning. -My lesson is but one of five. This old forest strengthens us, and the light of the moon gives us the ability to walk its depths. You must seek us out, young Rider, and learn our lessons. Once you’ve mastered each, you will be greatly rewarded. Now come, sit. Our time like this is drawing to a close.-
Slowly, Murtagh moved forward and sat before the ancient dragoness, staring into her amethyst eyes as she spoke. Her voice rumbled through him, through his mind like waves of thunder. From Elysian Murtagh learned how to read the winds of the sky, how to call them to buffet him should he ever fall from Thorn’s back. When morning came and the moon vanished, so did Elysian. In her place was a three-foot bar of silver whose name Murtagh didn’t know, but it was certainly not brightsteel nor was it pure silver. It shifted and shimmered in his hands as if it was liquid, but his senses told him otherwise. Though he felt exhausted, Murtagh didn’t stop to sleep, rather getting to his feet and continuing the journey.
He foraged for food and happened upon a mother bear and her two cubs. She stared at him with endless black eyes as if deciding to attack. Murtagh told her over and over again he meant her and her children no harm. She sniffed at him once, then disappeared into the brush. Murtagh let out the breath he had been holding and continued on.
The second night, Murtagh camped in a moonlight glade where the shadows seemed ominous. He sat with his back against a rotted old tree and waited. Materializing in the light was a grey dragon that looked to outweigh Elysian. He had no eyes that Murtagh could see, but the dragon stared straight at Murtagh with the empty sockets.
-I smell you, young one. And I smell Elysian’s blessing on you. Who are you, so that I may know you?-
The bass voice rattled Murtagh’s bones. But he rose and bowed before the ancient beast. “Some know me as Murtagh Morzansson, but to those who live on this mountain, to my teacher Eragon az Ahir-Enei, and to Lady Elysian, I am Estel.”
Hot breath ruffled Murtagh’s hair. -I am Norial, he who was born with no eyes. Sit before me, so that I may teach you as Elysian has.-
Murtagh obeyed. Despite the great want to fall asleep, Murtagh remained alert, learning from Norial the art of seeing without his eyes. The sensation startled Murtagh several times, but when he was able to see the trees of the Spine and all her animals as shapes of light, Norial hummed his approval.
-Be strong, Estel, for there will be hard times ahead.- Norial rumbled. -Rest now. You are safe until dawn.-
Murtagh was about to protest, but his exhaustion was too great. This time, he slept until the sun had almost reached its zenith. When he awoke, he found another three-foot bar of the liquid-like silver and took hold of it, carrying it with its twin. For the next two nights, Murtagh wandered the forest, foraging for food and practicing his new blind-sight as he had begun to call it. He didn’t receive any new teachers, and knew he had three left to visit.
His fourth night in the Spine, Murtagh came across a rocky outcrop that looked down upon a rushing river and a valley turned silver with a crescent moon’s light.
-So you are the one who Elysian-sister and Norial-brother speak of.- Came a playful female voice from behind him. Murtagh turned to face the rose-coloured dragon and on reflex bowed to her. She began to laugh. -Oh, little one, I’m not old enough for such things! Rise, rise, please!-
She was smaller than Thorn, smaller than Saphira. Murtagh realized she must have died young to be trapped this way and whispered, “I’m sorry.”
-For what?- Her ghostly head tilted. -For this? Oh, little one, you needn’t apologize. I lived as any dragon lives, wild and free.-
“You were a wild dragon?” Murtagh asked, awed.
Her laugh was silver-coated, musical. -For a time. My Rider was as unorthodox as they come. Oh, the adventures! I am called Hazamel. Hazamel the Wild.-
Murtagh laughed now and moved to sit before Hazamel, the two bars of not-silver across his lap. Hazamel’s head bobbed in approval. Their meeting was short, and all she taught him was how to talk to the animals. Different than the dragons, the animals had a language all their own. It was difficult for Murtagh to understand since the beasts he spoke to used images, sounds, and smells to speak instead of words. He didn’t notice the sun rise or Hazamel’s departure so enraptured with the squirrels was he. When he did notice, he found her gift to him: a large opal that had veins of white running through its shell. He added that to the not-silver bars and continued on.
The fifth night he met the fourth Eldunari dragon, a deep-chested bronze who called himself Nosirius. Nosirius taught Murtagh how to speak with the plants, giving Murtagh the last bit of druidic knowledge the dragons between them possessed. Once the lesson was finished, Nosirius spoke of an ancient past that even Bid’Daum likely didn’t remember. Murtagh promised to add the ancient bronze’s stories to the Fel’s Library and slept very little that night as his thoughts turned toward his brother, and he wondered how the younger man fared as he had been without news for some time. He couldn’t leave yet, as there was one last dragon he needed to meet.
In practicing his new lessons, Murtagh lost track of time. He now carried with him Elysian’s and Norial’s not-silver bars, Hazamel’s opal, and Nosirius’ bronze scale from his neck. What purpose these served Murtagh wasn’t sure, but the longer he went without meeting the last dragon, the uneasier he became. But he refused to turn back.
The last night of his journey, Murtagh camped where he could see an abandoned village and knew, somehow, that village was Carvahall, the home of his brother. The home of his mother. The breeze gusted against him and Murtagh closed his eyes, reaching out with his blind-sight. A low rumble coursed through him, and when he opened his eyes, before him sat a magnificent red dragon whose scales glittered like rubies.
-We meet at last, son of Morzan.- The red dragon rumbled, her voice reverberating as if she’d spoken aloud. -You do resemble him. How strange.-
Murtagh’s mouth went dry. “You knew my father.”
-Yes. He was most dear to me, despite the madness that consumed us. I loved him as my son loves you, and I swore I would stay with him to the end.-
Murtagh stared at the red dragon that’d been Morzan’s mount, wishing he could recall her name. She simply shook her head. -There is not time to unravel the spell that keeps my name from me. I have no lesson for you, son of mine, nothing to teach you. You know what it is you must do, but you cannot do it alone. Listen well.-
She took a breath, gently touching Murtagh’s mind to use images with her words. -When you return, you must make haste. Fly to the Beor Mountains, then across to the deserts. You know of what I speak. There you will find allies, but you must help them first. I don’t need to tell you what shall happen should you fail.-
“No,” Murtagh whispered. “You don’t.” He looked up into the red’s ruby eyes. “But I don’t understand what I have to do.”
-No one ever does. The unlikeliest of heroes oft turns out to be the one that has no direction.- The red replied. She lowered her nose to his brow and breathed. Murtagh closed his eyes. When he opened them, the great red was gone, and in her place were several tiny scales, each like velvet to the touch. These he gathered with great reverence, and began the journey back to Understone.
He was greeted by Thorn, who excitedly brushed against Murtagh’s barriers. The exhausted human lowered them and Thorn was careful not to send Murtagh to his knees.
-I have missed you.- Said the young red, whose voice had now completely lost the child’s intonation and was now an adult tenor. -You’ve been gone near three weeks.-
-Three weeks!- Now Murtagh nearly collapsed. Three weeks. No wonder he had to hurry!
-Murtagh?-
“I’m all right.” Said the human. “Just tired, but we don’t have the time to rest.”
-I have called Bid’Daum.- Thorn replied after a moment. -They’ll arrive shortly. Tell me what transpired.-
Murtagh told Thorn everything, from the five dragons he’d met to his new powers. He showed Thorn their gifts to him and wondered if he had enough strength to forge a sword let alone fly to the lands beyond the Beor range. He had no choice, though, for the victory of the Varden rested with him. Thorn looked a little surprised when Murtagh told him of his mother, then hummed.
-She was honourable in the end.- He said. -As she is descended from the most honourable, after all.-
Murtagh smiled. “You know who your ancestors are?”
Thorn hummed as the great white dragon descended and Murtagh knew at once. -My grandsire, though there are centuries between us. My grandsire, Bid’Daum and his mate, Nimki, my granddam.-
Whatever Thorn said next, Murtagh didn’t hear, for Eragon had dismounted, taken one look at Murtagh and nodded.
“It’s time.” The elf said softly and Bid’Daum roared in reply.
- 8
- 9
- 10
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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