Instead of Arya, I prefer her mom (Chapter 25) (Patreon)

Shocked and disoriented, Eragon stumbled backward. Blood streamed from his nose as he waved his arms futilely, looking for purchase. He found none, but fortunately Brom was there to support him.

“Tilt your head back and pinch your nose, it’ll stop the bleeding. Damn that kid, he could’ve held back a little-…! Don’t be discouraged, Eragon, he’s had a fair bit more practice than you. You’ll catch up, long as you work hard.”

Brom murmured a few words of encouragement, handing him a waterskin and a wet rag. Eragon took the items on instinct, barely hearing anything. There was a high-pitched whine in his ears, and his head throbbed powerfully.

Now that the fight had ended, the excitement started wearing off. The fiery sensation in his veins receded, replaced by something colder, not too dissimilar from fright. He couldn’t help but remember Saphira’s words, how she’d described Cedric—as some kind of blood-sucking creature. The shape of his mind was… very much like that.

That isn’t to say he was evil or malicious. Eragon detected no dark intentions during their brief contact. But his mind was… very strange, even a little scary. There was something foreign about it that didn’t quite seem normal. Adding to his discomfort, he got the impression Cedric kept most of himself hidden.

His mind was powerful too, extremely so. The attack came so hard and fast, Eragon hardly reacted before it was over. But even if he were prepared… well, he wasn’t sure he’d have lasted much longer.

After cleaning his face and taking a few sips, Eragon wearily raised his head, wanting to see the battle’s result. Cedric and Saphira were still locked in an intense confrontation. Both were like statues, motionless and taut, staring unblinkingly into each other’s eyes.

Cedric’s face was pale, veins standing starkly under his skin. At his sides, his hands were contorted into claws—it made him seem rather frightening. Saphira’s maw opened in a silent hiss, crouching low against the ground. Her neck was drawn inward, the posture resembling an agitated cat.

Neither Eragon nor Brom spoke, feeling the tension in the air. The seconds dragged on, and when a minute finally passed, it felt like an eternity.

Suddenly, Saphira’s slitted pupils widened, a high-pitched, animalistic sound exiting her throat. She reared back, her claws scrabbling against the ground.

She’d lost.

To call Eragon shocked was an understatement. He knew better than anyone how formidable Saphira was. Despite her age, by far the youngest among them, her mind was extraordinarily powerful. If he were a betting person, he’d have judged her chance of victory as 60% or 70%, even after getting a feel for Cedric’s consciousness.

Yet, his surprise didn’t begin to compare against Brom’s. His apprentice… won? How was that possible? Saphira was a dragon! Their powers started growing from the moment their eggs were laid, long before hatching!

Though her mind only started maturing after the fact, Saphira’s egg had still been around for more than a hundred years! Cedric couldn’t win. He wasn’t supposed to win! 

The exercise was meant to be a humbling experience, to show the arrogant brat there was always someone better out there!

Suddenly feeling faint, Brom raised his shaking fingers to his forehead. His skin seemed abnormally thin, like old parchment, with faint blue veins running underneath. His legs were weak and numb, and he was forced to seat himself on a nearby stump, lest he topple over.

----------------------------------------------------------

That night, after the campfire was extinguished and everyone had turned in, a certain dragon lay awake.

Saphira… couldn’t believe her loss either. She’d been so confident in teaching that smug human a lesson, showing him she deserved respect. She was a dragon! And for the two-legged races, the only appropriate reactions when faced with her kind was fear or admiration—not indifference, and certainly not arrogance!

She was so irritated and angry, it felt like a million fire-ants were crawling around in her chest. She’d show him! It was only a matter of time until she caught up, and then-…!

A self-satisfied snort sounded in the darkness as sadistic images flashed through her mind—thoughts of her inevitable, upcoming vengeance. That red-hair would regret ever getting on her bad side!

After nearly ten minutes of that, rolling around while scratching her claws against every tree and rock she could find, Saphira started calming down. Laying on her side, her big, slitted eyes stared toward the sky, flitting from one star to another.

She didn’t like him. But… did she hate him? She wasn’t sure.

She did hate that oathbreaker and his vile egg-smashers—those rotten, hideous bug-things and their ugly, rat-winged broodmothers. That much, she knew for certain. She would burn them alive - once her fire manifested - and crush their crisped remains to pieces. She wouldn’t even take a bite of their stinky flesh!

As for red-hair, well… she wouldn’t mind a taste of him. He looked rather delicious—she’d bet his flesh was quite tender. Not that she would do it, of course, but there was no harm in fantasizing, was there?

Maybe Saphira didn’t hate him, after all. Though, at one point, she was very close to feeling that way. Something in her blood told her to be wary of ones like him—those commanding the forces of magic. 

And he was always rude to her, speaking so impolitely or even ignoring her!

However, as their interactions increased, speaking with him more, she got a feel for who he was. She was rather surprised, finding him different from her expectations. Her fear of the unknown also abated - something Saphira would never admit experiencing, but was present in her subconscious none-the-less.

Cedric didn’t have bad intentions. To her surprise, it was the opposite. In him, she detected an unexpected desire, one directed at Eragon and her, but her in particular. He wanted her… to become powerful, to grow in both mind and magic.

At first, she couldn’t understand it. Weren’t they at odds? Why would he want something that would make her a threat to him?

Interacting with his mind and feeling his thoughts provided an answer—in reality, he didn’t see her as an enemy, but an ally.

Saphira was shocked. If so, then why was his attitude so poor? Did he just… not like dragons? But that wasn’t it either. Instead, the truth - discovered by observing his underlying emotional currents - was far more amusing.

He was jealous of her, and of dragons in general!

The realization made perfect sense, to the extent Saphira wondered why she hadn’t considered it before. Given a choice between being a two-legs and a dragon, who wouldn’t choose the second option? Dragons were so wonderful and majestic, powerful and beautiful.

Perhaps that explained some of the… strange feelings she detected earlier today. Cedric admired dragons, perhaps a little too much.

She laughed inwardly, lolling her head back and forth. It was flattering, though she’d never admit it to him. No, far better to tease him about it. His reaction might make up for her defeat earlier today…

-----------------------------------

Three days later, they came to a wide road, bearing the ruts of wagon wheels.

“This is the main road between Urû’baen and Teirm. It isn’t the busiest time of year, but we should still be cautious. A few people are bound to be using the road.”

Around midday, Brom had them pull over for a brief rest. His voice was tired, and he looked like he hadn’t been sleeping well. Every night, Eragon, Saphira and Cedric added mental dueling to their repertoire, with the young mage winning every time.

That the results were displeasing to him… well, it wasn’t hard to guess.

Secretly, he’d started tutoring Saphira and Eragon in the ancient language. Because of Cedric’s deal with the dragon, he knew, exchanging the knowledge for his own. He’d extracted another promise from her, a rudimentary one they’d cobbled together.

‘I swear to keep our secrets as agreed upon.’ was the rough translation.

The idea was to keep it as simple as possible in order to avoid any complications, and it seemed to work. Not that Cedric expected she’d lie - her dragon’s pride was honest enough - but he’d rather be safe than sorry.

And he did have secrets to keep, notably his magical philosophy. He’d imparted some of it to Saphira, including what could arguably be considered the most important aspect—using natural laws to aid in spellcasting.

The long and short of it was this: a spell-caster’s efforts were like pushing a boulder up a hill, expending energy to rearrange the world in a manner that went against its natural tendencies. Cedric aimed to do the opposite—to push the boulder down-hill.

When facing another caster, this gave him a tremendous advantage. The weight of the boulder was assisting him, after all, while his opponent labored under it.

Saphira was anything but stupid, and after getting the gist of it, appeared suitably impressed. However, having knowledge of this philosophy wasn’t enough. Without understanding natural laws, there was no conceivable way to put it into practice.

As such, their exchange continued.

Yet… some things would remain secret, so Cedric decided. His experiments into herbology, psionics and biology were examples. This included his purpose for Saphira’s blood and scales, though he hadn’t collected those rewards yet.

Despite agreeing, knowing he had no ill-intentions for her, she was understandably skittish. Cedric also had no way of studying these things on the road, and Saphira was unlikely to pony up.

She’d agreed rather easily, or so it seemed, but she wasn’t stupid. Because of how they’d worded the deal, unless Eragon was saved from life-threatening danger, there was no obligation on her part to give Cedric anything.

This put him in a predicament. Was he supposed to waltz head-first into danger? He didn’t see any other way. It vexed him greatly, but his desire for dragon blood was even greater. Not to mention the ultimate prize…

Lost in thought, he almost didn’t register when Brom spoke again, a few hours later when they'd stopped for the day.

“This is the Toark. We’ll follow it until we reach the sea.”

“How can we, if it flows out of the Spine? Unless it doubles back, it’ll go inland.”

It was Eragon, chipping in.

Brom shook his head.

“Another river flows from Woadark Lake. Both are called ‘Toark’. This is the eastward one, while the other flows into the sea.”

They chatted idly, talking about various insignificant things while setting camp. A while later, dinner was prepared—some dry road rations, paired with wild game they’d hunted yesterday.

There would be no training this evening. Rest was an important part of any regimen, or so Brom said. It was all bogus, of course. He wanted to take the opportunity to school Eragon in the ancient language.

Cedric didn’t know how to feel about his friend lying to him. Eragon didn’t hide it well either, seeming guilty and awkward whenever they’d speak. However, he wasn’t one to judge—his secret was arguably far bigger…

‘You are feeling guilty.’

It was the dragon, speaking into his mind. As they interacted more, Cedric no longer kept up such strict mental barriers, allowing Saphira to contact him as she wished.

‘Not really.’

The equivalent of a mental snort sounded across their mind-channel.

‘Not regarding this, no. However, your mind lingers on that dark-haired woman from Eragon’s dream. You feel she is in danger, and that she may face death or worse without our aid.’

Cedric felt a flash of irritation. She was really good at reading him. Not for the first time, he patted himself on the back for taking the time to put some thoughts and feelings under lock-and-key…

‘Her well-being isn’t worth more than ours. You’re not stupid, so I won’t beat around the bush. She’s important - her showing up in a rider’s vision proves as much - but that only makes things worse. Where do you think she’s being held captive? Not some debtor’s cell in a run-down village, that’s for certain.’

Saphira’s emotions remained steady, aside from some exasperation, projected toward him.

‘You believe I hadn’t guessed as much? I wasn’t suggesting reckless action, simply remarking on something I found surprising. It seems you are capable of caring for others…’

Her thoughts were jesting, but only in part. She had indeed felt Cedric to be somewhat uncaring. And despite knowing she was partially justified, the young mage wasn’t any less upset.

In a bout of anger, he put a wall between their minds, cutting her off. Remarking inwardly that Saphira really knew how to push his buttons, he grabbed his dinner, taking a big bite.

Whether Brom intended to or not, he really did Cedric a favor. The young mage felt like he could use break…

------------------------------------------------