Ok, sorry it's been so long. Summer vacation... well, we took a vacation from working on this.

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The infirmary was in chaos.

“Hold him down!”

“Someone get help!”

“What is happening?”

“He won’t stop!”

“Keep him still!”

Eragon was thrashing about, unable to control his actions. His eyes were rolled up into his head, and his skin was hot to the touch. Half a dozen elves stood around him, trying to keep him still. The silver-haired healer stood by Eragon’s head, her eyes closed. A pale purple nimbus of magic hovered between her cupped hands, and her lips formed silent words. She shut her mouth a moment later, and opened her hands, releasing the nimbus. The tiny light scanned every inch of Eragon’s body before finally settling at the hollow of his throat, where it immersed itself within him, vanishing beneath his sweat-covered skin. A few intense seconds passed, and Eragon finally stopped thrashing.

The healer sat down heavily in a nearby chair, panting. She closed her eyes and leaned her head back for a moment before speaking.

“Get the queen here at once; her and the princess. But whatever you do, do not let the Shur’tugal Freya find out about this. She doesn’t need to know yet.” The elves rushed off to do as they were bid.

The healer mopped Eragon’s scorching forehead with a cold cloth. She lifted up one of his eyelids and shined a light into it. No response. He was out cold. And this time, she didn’t know how long it would be before he woke up.

--

Kitenza sat on one of the black couches in her tower room. She glanced down at her sister. Layrn was unconscious. The silver-eyed Shade’s head rested in her sister’s lap. Kitenza stroked her twin’s hair, thinking. Something had to be done. But what, she didn’t know. Layrn was usually the one who made decisions like this.

Leaning her head back, she went over their most recent conversation in her mind.

“What shall we do now, sister?” Kitenza had asked when Layrn had calmed down after the two Riders had escaped. Layrn was leaning on the back of a couch, fuming, but relatively composed. There was silence for a moment.

“We recapture the boy, and destroy the girl,” Layrn had finally said. She was refusing to meet her twin’s eyes.

“In case you’ve forgotten, that was your plan before, and it didn’t turn out so well.” Kitenza smirked. She wasn’t usually so irksome, but her sister’s recent failure had made her more than a little smug.

“I know!” Layrn cried, her fingernails tearing into the couch fabric. Her nostrils flared and her jaw clenched. “We will go about it differently this time. They are surely in Ellesmera by now, and we have no way of getting there. What we need to do is draw them out.”

“And how exactly do you plan on doing that?” Kitenza inquired, her arms crossed.

“We exploit the brand. Whatever you do to one brand, the same thing happens to all others.”

“But the Rider is the only living person with our mark. You killed all the others in your rage this morning, remember?” Layrn straightened, a wicked grin spread on her face.

“I know. But I have an idea.”

That was when she had demanded that Kitenza brand her. The curse Layrn had placed on herself was like a sleeping spell to a Shade or an elf, but to a human, it was a deadly poison that had no known cure. Layrn and Kitenza had worked with King Galbatorix and the Foresworn to create the venom curse nearly a century before to be used on the Riders who would not pledge allegiance to the king. It wasn't as deadly as the skilna bragh, but it had its uses.

Carefully, Kitenza shifted her sister’s head off of her lap. She stood and pulled the black rope. A page was in the door within seconds.

“Send a company of men to patrol the borders of Du Weldenvarden. Give them orders to alert either me or my sister should anyone attempt to enter or exit the wood. Understand?”

“Yes, mistress,” the boy responded obediently before running out.

--

Freya and Arya stood opposite each other in the sparring field, blades in hand. Neither girl moved, neither looked away from the other. Each waited for the other to make the first move. The corner of Freya’s mouth twitched, her calf muscles contracted, preparing to attack. The grip on her sword hardened as she raised the blade barely in inch. Arya saw these subtle movements, and shifted into a defensive stance. Freya lunged, swinging her sword above her head, missing Arya by inches. She raised her emerald green blade just in time to catch Arya’s counter blow.

With one foot, she pulled Arya’s right leg out from under her, causing the princess to lose her balance for a split second. Freya swung her sword again, clipping a few strands of Arya’s hair. Arya kicked Freya onto her back and thrusted downward with her own sword, only to be blocked by the Rider’s blade.

The sparring session continued like this for nearly an hour before Freya finally felt the cold metal of Arya’s sword at her throat.

“My win,” the princess said simply. She wasn’t smiling, but she seemed pleased with her victory nevertheless. Freya got to her feet, slightly winded. The sound of running feet hitting the ground met her ears. Her brow furrowed when she saw one of the healers dash up.

“My Lady Arya,” the healer said with a hurried bow. He motioned for the princess to come away. They didn’t say a word. Freya suspected they were speaking through their minds. To keep her from hearing, perhaps? Arya’s lips pursed and she followed the healer out of the sparring field. Freya waited a moment before following. They were keeping something from her, and she wanted to know what it was.

--

“What happened?” Arya asked sternly when she was led into the healing houses. She inhaled sharply when she saw Eragon’s unconscious form in a bed. She knew he had been perfectly fine that morning.

“We’re not sure,” the silver-haired healer answered. “He just started convulsing about an hour ago. We were able to get him to stop, but he is unresponsive to everything we’ve tried.” A muffled cry was heard from above. No one had noticed Freya sitting on a high branch up above. The healer scowled when she saw the emerald Rider perched up there. The silver-haired elf swatted at on the other healers.

“Didn’t I tell you to leave the Shur’tugal out of this?” she seethed.

“We did! No one said a word to her!” Freya dropped down from the branch and landed cat-like next to Arya.

“Well maybe you should have waited until I wasn’t around before acting all suspicious!” Freya cried through the stream of tears beginning to flow from her eyes. She moved to Eragon’s side, stroking his burning face.

“You said that he wasn’t responding to all that you’ve tried,” Freya said quietly. “What haven’t you tried?”

“We- we’ve tried everything already,” the healer admitted. “We don’t know what’s causing it, so we can’t know what will stop it.”

“Then figure it out!” Freya was weeping now. She had already had to deal with Eragon being near death once before, and she didn’t want to have to go through it again. “There has to be a way.”

“There… is one thing, but it’s difficult.”

“Try anything! I don’t care what you have to do, just save him.” Freya kissed Eragon’s hand gently, not caring if anyone saw.

“You will have to travel; it only exists far to the north of here.” The silver-haired elf was hesitant, as if she was afraid that Freya would get upset and explode.

“What is it?” Freya’s tears were drying now that she was beginning to see the glimmer of hope.

“It isn’t an herb or object so much as a place. The Arget Adurna.”

Ah, we finally get to this part in the story! All will be explained later!

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