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Unchained-9
🕑 Added 2022-08-30 15:17:37 +0000 UTCZar’roc carved through the flesh of an Urgal with ease as Eragon slashed through its stomach, his other sword entering its throat before he pulled away and stabbed another Urgal in its spine. Turning his shoulder to avoid the axe from someone to his right, he wrenched his sword out of the Urgal and moved backwards, his eyes flicking over to Saphira as she swiped her tail through a dozen Urgals. Ahead of her, he could see Ajihad and Murtagh fighting together, their horses nowhere to be seen as they stood with their backs to each other. It had been more than an hour since the start of the battle, and after fighting for so long, he was beginning to feel exhausted. Thankfully, his magic was as strong as ever, with only a minor portion going into the wards upon his person. Bringing up Zar’roc to block an Urgal, he severed its wrist with the other sword and closed his eyes as his face was bathed with dark blood. kicking the screaming Urgal away, he tucked his hands close to his body and rotated on the spot, his swords carving through the bodies of all those close to him. Momentarily free of any hairy enemies boxing him in, Eragon took a deep breath and started to move back to the Vardens lines, stabbing and slashing at the backs of the Urgals on his way.
It was not going well, he realised as he stepped over the corpse of a human, its head completely smashed to a pulp. The Varden was being pushed back into Tronjheim and by now almost a third of their army was dead while the Urgals appeared as strong as ever. Grunting as his wards saved him from a sword to his neck, Eragon swore as he parried the next blow to his side, and slashed the neck of the Kull. The spray of warm blood on his face cleared his head immediately, and he glared at the bodies around him, stabbing an Urgal in the back of its head while moving the left side of his body to evade another axe.
Wrenching his sword out of the dead animal's skull, Eragon started to fight again, moving from one Urgal to the next. His speed was too great for them, and his strength increased by magnitudes, it was child's play for him to stab and slash the Urgals who were busy killing the Vardens soldiers. Crossing his swords above him to block a Kull from cleaving him in two, Eragon grunted as his foot slipped upon the blood-soaked, entrail-littered ground. Unbalanced by the sudden slip, his sword arms lost their strength for just a moment, but it was enough for Kull to power through and bring its gigantic axe down. While Eragon was confident in his wards, he also knew about how Durza had enchanted some arrows and weapons to break through wards when Arya and her companions had been ambushed.
Thankfully, before the nature of the axe heading for his head could be tested, an arrow buried itself in the Kull’s eye, the force of it enough to make it fall back. Scrambling up hurriedly, he looked back at his saviour, and embarrassment burned through his mind as he locked eyes with Arya. She nodded at him with an amused smirk, before she shot another arrow in his direction, and he actually felt the wind from it as it passed by his ear.
The thunk of the steel sinking inside flesh came from behind him, and as Arya turned around on her horse to shoot another Urgal, Eragon felt his cheeks warm with shame. By Odyn’s beard, he had made a right fool of himself in front of her, and why the fuck did it matter to him?! Well, a part of him knew the reason, that Arya was the most beautiful woman he had seen in his life, and he was infatuated with her from the moment he had seen her in front of him.
But still!
Growling at his foolishness, he tightened his mental barriers even more, leaving behind only the rage and the cold, clinical thought of killing every Urgal in his path.
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She had forgotten what it had felt like to fight properly, Arya realised as her sword sliced off the arm of the Urgal in front of her. In all the decades she had served as the Ambassador from the Elves to the Varden, she had only ever fought humans on the road. Bandits and soldiers who were no match for even a single elf, let alone a party of three.
When was the last time she had even exerted herself?! With Faolin and Glenw—oh, with Eragon, on the day she had woken up from her sleep. She wasn’t sure what to make of the new rider…he was simple, yet perplexing. A farmer from the Spine, who became a Rider and traversed the breadth of Alagaësia, rescuing her along the way from a Shade and a garrison full of soldiers at that. He was good with swords, instinctive and capable of learning from his mistakes. However, he was still not good enough to take on an Elf, or at least one experienced in combat. And that was not even covering his magical strength, which was on par with her at least, from what she had been able to feel. However, all that, and that red hair and pale features along with Eragon's words about Gil’ead had been plenty enough to tell what had been sitting in front of her.
A Shade. A Rider. An abomination.
Something which was as unprecedented and unthinkable as the Black King himself. However, she had experienced the truth of his statements first-hand, and after being in proximity with a Shade for months…she knew that Eragon wasn’t one. Other than his increased capabilities in both physical and magical senses, he just had a little less emotional control than what one might expect from a student of Brom.
Slamming her dagger into an Urgals thigh, Arya ducked underneath its flailing, grasping arms and stabbed backwards into its face. Pulling her sword out of it, she swerved around an axe and slashed upwards, splitting it open from groin to neck and sidestepping its body in the same moment as its intestines spilled out. Slashing the throat of two others as she jumped past them, she threw her dagger right into the skull of the one ahead of her, wrenching it out as she ran by it. It felt good to kill them, despite whether they had been willing participants in Durza's scheme or not. Maybe it was due to the several decades she had spent amongst the humans, but Arya had realised one thing in the last few years.
There was a simplicity in combat, and that in too the one fought like this. No silver tongues, hidden meanings, false veneers of politeness like the one she had witnessed in Tialdari Hall. Raw, primal and a way to really let loose with all the anger and resentment and frustration that gathered up inside one…and she had a lot of that to let out. By the Old Ones, she needed to get her head checked, Arya chuckled mentally as she stabbed an Urgals thigh with her dagger and sent her sword through its neck, almost cutting his head off as she twisted around to evade another sword. The ground shook a moment later as Saphira landed a few feet to her right, her talons and jaws already lashing and snapping out to shred and tear through the Urgal ranks. Dozens of arrows were shot at the azure dragoness, but stopped within a foot of touching her as the wards did their work, and Arya admired their strength as dozens more were stopped too.
She removed her sword from the back of an Urgal, running up to Saphira's leg as she mentally communicated with her, the dragoness’ anticipation and bloodlust making her grin ferally. Climbing up on her back, Arya raised her hand as Saphira took to the air, raking her claws over several dozen heads and reducing them to pulped, minced meat. Gathering the magic within her palm, Arya looked at the mass of black beneath her, the Urgal reinforcements from the tunnels replenishing whatever numbers they had killed so far. Looking up as they flew right over the center of the army, she grinned sharply and eyed the stalactites hanging from the inside of the Farthen Dûr. Really, really large stalactites are made up of ice and rock. Even the smaller ones were big enough to completely crush the tree houses back in Ellesméra.
Feeling her magic sing in her blood like it had sung only once before in her life, she looked at the dozens of hanging spears of destruction above her. Her eyes moved over the crystalline structures, the thin traces of ice she could see at the bases where the stalactites met the mountain.
“Jierda,” she whispered, concentrating on her desire to crush that hairsbreadth of ice or stone keeping them joined, “Fly Saphira, take us back to your rider. Our work here is done.”
The dragoness roared her agreement, stilling her wings instantly as the mountain above them groaned, the sound of stone grinding against each other reaching them as the stalactites began to fall down. She plummeted down in a sharp dive, and Arya screamed with exhilaration as she felt the wind buffet her face, feeling all of her thoughts melt away as she clutched onto Saphira with all her might. She pulled up mere feet above the ground, her form nothing but a dark blur as she roared loudly and flew towards Eragon. He noticed them instantly, his eyes snapping towards them as he slammed the hilt of his sword on an Urgals head, bringing down his sword in the motion to split its face open. She raised her hand and pointed behind her, and his eyes followed her finger, before they widened so much that Arya actually worried for a moment they were going to fall out.
Jumping upon Saphira as she flew over him, Eragon grabbed a spike on her tail and pulled himself upon the saddle, settling in behind Arya. Taking extreme care to not let his body come in contact with hers, he sheathed his swords and tried to balance himself as Saphira twisted around to face the falling stalactites. However, the sudden jerk was enough to destabilize his already shaky position, and Eragon reflexively leaned forwards to grab the spikes protruding from her back…which were in front of Arya.
Thankfully, it seemed like the Elven woman was more busy watching the destruction she was about to cause, and Eragon breathed a silent sigh of relief as he moved his crotch a little away from her unfairly soft yet firm rear. The spires fell on the ground with an ear-shattering sound, and Eragon watched with awe and worry both as the ground shook beneath them. Thousands of Urgals simply disappeared underneath the stalactites and the dust cloud that rose from the fall, and Varden screamed in shock as they stumbled and fell from the sudden earthquake. The earth heaved in the places it had been struck with the rock and ice, chunks of rocks blasting out from the impact and tearing and trampling even more of the enemy.
However, as the shock wore off, the Varden shouted with a renewed fervor as they surged forwards with determination. Saphira growled slowly as she lowered down, and she turned her neck around to peer at them both. She blinked once, extending her left-wing silently as she tilted slightly, and both Eragon and Arya understood her unspoken words instantly.
Jumping down from her back, Eragon unsheathed his swords at the same time as Arya did, and both of them looked at the enormous dust cloud blocking almost all of the Urgals from their sight. It was a clever tactic, he thought, looking up at the walls of the mountain. The rocks were a hundred feet in length at the very least, with dozens of paces at their thickest. With that size varying up to three hundred feet in length and the amount of rubble that must have shot out from the impact, no doubt that thousands of Urgals had died in messy, fitting ends. Moreover, the spires were made of both rock and ice, and were going to cave in the ground, thus making it impossible, or at least downright difficult for reinforcements to come in as quickly as before.
“I am scared of you now,” he said, looking at Arya out of the corner of his eyes as he motioned towards the destruction she had wrought. His eyes caught the slight slouch in her posture, as well as the paleness that was definitely not the elven woman’s color. “Are you well enough to fight though? You must have used a large amount of energy to shatter the base of those stones.”
“I a-I am fine, Rider,” she shook her head and looked ahead at the slowly settling dust cloud, silhouettes of the fighters within visible to both of them despite the low light, “I just never had a reason to use that much magic in a single moment…other than the one time I sent Saphira’s egg to Brom of course.”
“Then why did it appear in front of me?” He asked, running his thumb over the stone set in Zar’roc’s pommel, feeling the energy stored within it…most probably by Brom himself, “Did you specifically say it was to go to Brom or just appear in the Spine?”
“Both, I think,” she murmured, “We had just been ambushed, and my companions, my friends who had been with me practically since I was a child had been killed in front of me. I could see the dozens of Urgals leaping and snarling toward me, and Durza had lit the whole forest on fire to prevent my escape. Knowing that I had to protect the egg at all costs, I transported it, but in the heat of the moment, maybe I erred in some way.”
“Well, I am eternally thankful for your error then,” Eragon chuckled, adn Arya gave him a soft smile as she nodded at him, “Say, have you ever seen a dragon other than Saphira?”
His hand stiffened upon his sword instinctively as Arya’s breathing stopped for a moment, and out of the corner of his eyes, he saw her fingers tighten dangerously over her sword’s hilt. Thinking that she might have been angry over the fact that elves revered dragons, he winced and mentally slapped himself.
“I am sorry if I brought up any painful memories,” he apologized, watching as the dust finally cleared away to reveal the battlefield, “It’s just I thought you might have seen the Riders before they fell, seen how the sky looked with dozens of them flying through it.”
She relaxed immediately, and Eragon had a feeling that he had just evaded some sort of mortal peril. Arya looked at him at once before turning towards the battlefield as the Varden continued to hack away at the Urgals. “I was born during the end of the Fall,” she said, her voice strong and emotionless as she raised her sword to look at it, “No dragons were alive by then Eragon. And even if they were, none ever came to Ellesméra, for the fear of the Forsworn and Galbatorix discovering us kept them away.”
“I apologize then,” he muttered, turning away from the battle to look at the tents arrayed behind them, “I think you should have something to eat and rest for a time. You are no good battling against Urgals with how exhausted you are, and Durza still hasn’t shown himself.”
“I am fi-”
“Uh huh,” he nodded mockingly, cutting her off as he turned around, waving a hand at her, “and all that paleness or that tiredness in your posture is certainly an imagi-Oh what now?!”
“Urgals are breaking through the floor beneath us, and we suspect that Durza might also be with them,” one of the twins whispered, panicked and fearful as the other one chimed in, “Come here as fast as possible and protect Tronjheim!”
“Fuck!” He swore, rebuilding the walls on his mind before he turned to Arya, “Urgals are tunneling up into Tronjheim below the Star Sapphire. I am going there to support the soldiers.”
“And if Durza appears there?” She frowned, taking a step forward. He opened his mouth to refuse, but the words died in his throat as she came close to him and glared at him with fire in her eyes, “I am coming with you. Even if Durza doesn’t appear there, fighting dozens of Urgals alone is a foolish thought.”
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Ducking underneath a massive claymore, Murtagh brought up his shield and slammed its edge into the Urgals throat, crushing its neck as Ajihad cut through the one behind him. Almost slipping on bloodied mud, he turned to soak in the scene in front of him. Large pieces of stone and ice littered the middle of the enemy’s side, blood and minced Urgals sticking to them as hundreds of others laid dead around them.
It was a clever move, he mused, taking a breather from the non-stop fighting he had been doing since the start of the battle. However, his thoughts were cut off as his head throbbed painfully, almost making him blackout on the spot as his sword slipped from his palm and fell to the ground. Grunting as his skull almost exploded with pain, his knees buckled and Murtagh almost fell on his face, only his quick thought of placing the shield edge first onto the ground saved him from a broken nose as well.
The sounds of fighting and shouting disappeared from his notice as he screamed loudly, the headache somehow making his whole body feel as if it was on fire. His arms and legs felt as if they were chained to a firepit, and the inside of his body felt like someone had shoved a dozen red hot swords inside him, boiling his blood and cooking his flesh. A blood-curdling scream ripped itself free of his throat as Murtagh felt something bubble inside his body, his helm falling back to expose his wild eyes and the sweat beading his whole face.
The soldiers around him moved away instantly as his screams of agony echoed in the field, and even the spell-bound Urgals stopped in the lieu of the terrifying sound, something in his voice managing to penetrate through Durza’s spell over the beasts. Murtagh’s scream died off in the next few moments as he tore his vocal cords apart from the strain he put on them, and blood leaked from his nose and ears his body jerked wildly, the sweat on his face and arms literally steaming off his skin.
His bones felt as if something was grinding upon them from the inside, straining and breaking them piece by piece. Blood soon dribbled out of his eyes as he clawed at his face, finally slumping down face first onto the ground as his spine audibly cracked and shifted. Ajihad ran over to him, the soldiers forming a wall arouind them both while the Leader of the Varden looked at Murtagh witha worried frown.
“Murtagh,” he called out, kneeling down to shake the younger man, “Are you well? Sora, take Murtagh back to the healers, he needs to rest.”
“Ye-”
“I a-I am fine,” he grunted, groaning with pain as he pushed himself up, looking at Ajihad with a tired, smiling face, “It was just dumb srocerer trying to mess with me. He attacked my mind, and missed his chance.”
“Didn’t look like he did,” Ajihad frowned in response, wiping the trail of blood down Murtagh’s face and showing it to him, “What happened ot the sorcerer, si he around us?”
“Well,” he grunted, pushing off the ground on unsteady legs as the headache subsided and the feeling in his body returned to him, “I attacked him, and I didn’t miss. By now he is probably crushed underneath the Urgals.”
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Miles away, in the dwarven city of Orthiad, renamed as Ithro Zarda by Durza, the soldiers of the Empire shifted uneasily as the flames in their torches flickered wildly. They were the personal guards who had been stationed in Uru’baen for the last twenty years, and all of them knew what was about to happen.
The mages who had been sent with them walked forwards, each of them standing around in large, wide circle. Tarik, the captain of the company looked in the direction of Farthen Dûr, a malicious smile spreading over his face as the limited magical sensitivity he had told him about the buildup happening between the mages.
An eyeballing later, light flashed in front on their eyes, so bright that for a moment Tarik thought the very Sun had descended upon the ground. However, it was not the Sun that had appeared amidst them, as the ground shook hard enough to make them fall on their asses—the sound of something heavy, something large hitting the stone echoing in the hall.
A moment later, the thing roared loud enough to make his ears pop—and even though he was far out of its reach, Tarik felt the heat as the dragon breathed fire into the air, announcing its presence to the Beors.
