PP092
patreon
Unchained-7
🕑 Added 2022-05-26 17:31:16 +0000 UTC“Eragon,” Aijihad nodded at him as soon as he strode inside, nodded at the empty spot between Arya and Orik, “You have come just in time, a runner came running from the tunnels a few minutes ago, bleeding and injured. He was nearly unconscious, but he managed to tell us about the Urgal army that was pursuing him in the tunnels.”
“Barzul!” the large man standing at Ajihad’s right swore, slamming his fist on the table as he glared at the map laid out before them, “They waited till the reinforcements arrived at their camp…and the Shade will most likely be with them too when they attack Tronjheim.”
“Where did the dwarf come from?” Arya interrupted, leaning down to look at the Beors, her eyes flicking over the names written on it, “We need to know how much time we have to prepare ourselves.”
“From here,” Ajihad said, pointing at the part of the mountains that were close to Surdan, as well as the Empire’s border, “What I don’t know is, how the fuck did we not know about such a force mobilizing just past our noses?! For all we know, Galbatorix’s human soldiers are also coming at us!”
“We can find out about that later,” Orik snarled, moving forwards to point at the map, “What we need to do now is evacuate the women, children, and the elderly from Farthen Dûr and start the battle preparations.”
“Aye,” he nodded, “ Jörmundur, rouse the men and tell the forges to work overtime, and then join Fredric in preparing the battalions. I will join you after I deal with the evacuation and meet Hrothgar.”
Eragon watched Orik and Jörmundur leave the tent, curious as to why the Varden’s leader had called for him. Turning his eyes towards the man, he raised an eyebrow at him—something which had taken him a lot of practice to learn—and asked, “How are we to help in the preparations?”
“The twins will be busy with the evacuation today, therefore, I’d like you both to help the Du Vrangr Gata,” he said, picking up the flagon of ale beside him and drawing deeply from it., “After that, help the Dwarves with the tunnels we are going to dig, so that the Urgals see an opening and rush through it. We don’t want them to dig through the floor beneath us, for the whole Tronjheim sits on a network of caves, and if the wrong one collapses due to the beasts…then it will bring down the whole city with it. Eragon, go to group that is digging on the surface, Arya can assist the one that is underground.”
“You are going to fight them outside Tronjheim,“ Arya commented, looking down at the sketch of Farthen Dûr on the map, “In an open field, the Urgals can simply bowl over any pikemen or shield walls with their superior strength and numbers. These are not regular Urgals you are going to fight Ajihad…Durza has turned them into mindless, obedient slaves. They will ignore their injuries, and trample over anything and everything to kill every human and dwarf inside this mountain.”
“Then what do you suggest we do?” Ajihad said, looking at Arya with a frown on his face, “We have already ordered cauldrons of pitch to be prepared, and there is simply no time or room to prepare catapults or ballistae to mow down the Urgal lines.”
“Angela,” he whispered, and the other two turned to him with confusion on their faces. Looking outside through the window cut into the room, he saw the flats of the Tronjheim’s outskirts, and Eragon grinned sharply as he looked back at Ajihad, “Angela, is in Tronjheim right now. Ask her and your herbalists to use any poisonous mushrooms, plants, or even extracts to lay down in the tunnels we are going to dig. The Urgals will choke and die on the poison, and slow down the initial charge enough for the pitch to be poured in.”
“We can use crushed deathweeds to kill dozens of Urgals at once,” Arya said next, snapping her fingers as she turned towards Ajihad, “It is rare to find, but I am sure Angela will know a place for it in the mountain.”
“Then you both have your tasks,” Ajihad nodded at them both as he strapped his sword to his belt, “Rest plenty, Arya and Eragon, for I have no doubt that Durza will come for you both and Saphira.”
“I will go to Angela first,” Eragon said as soon as Ajihad exited the room, shuddering at the thought of going anywhere near the mages, “and then I and Saphira will help the dwarves with the tunnel-”
“You are not coming to the sorcerers?” she asked, tapping her finger on the table as she looked at him, “I remember Ajihad asking both of us to check on them, and I will not suffer the ineptitude and the arrogance of these mages on my own.”
“Tis not the ineptitude of mages here that is driving me off, Arya,” he said, an uncomfortable expression on his face—and why the fuck was Saphira laughing so loudly in his head?!, “There is a sorceress here called…Trianna an—are you well?!”
Eragon stopped his explanation as he saw Arya cover her lips with her hand, and close her eyes as her shoulders shook a little. Worried that there may have been some aftereffects of the poison, he took a step towards her, his hand rising to support if she felt faint…only for Arya’s hand to slip from her lips as she started to laugh.
For a fleeting moment that seemed to stretch into eternity, Eragon's eyes focused upon her pouty pink lips, his shade-like vision tracing over their curves, his eyes taking in the way her dark emerald eyes lit up with glee and mirth, and her voice…gods her voice was the most beautiful sound he had ever heard. And somehow, it was even more enchanting than the last time he heard it from her…and Saphira would tease him into madness now. Eragon was sure of it.
“I know of her,” she said between gasps, jolting Eragon back into awareness and his eyes snapped up to her eyes, praying to Odyn that she didn’t see him staring at her lips. Thankfully, Arya had been looking in the direction of Tronjheim, her mind flashing back to the first time she had met the human sorceress.
“She tried to seduce Glenwing the first time we came across her,” she snorted, her eyes glimmering with laughter as she looked at him, “Considering that you are a dragon rider, and have already created a place for yourself in the ranks of Varden…I can imagine why Trianna would be interested in you.”
“She made that very clear,” he muttered, shuddering once again as he remembered how the sorceress had cornered him right before he had been out to take a bath. Her lingering touches as she had shown her enchanted bracelet to him, and the way he had been able to practically smell her desire and hunger…gods, for a moment he had been actually scared that the woman would jump his bones right then and there.
However, a snarl from a suddenly there Saphira had sent the sorceress running off, but not before Eragon had realized one more facet of his changed physiology and mind, something which had been unknown to him until now.
Shades were inherently evil creatures. Their souls, or whatever was left of them to tether the spirits to dead yet moving bodies turned into the blackest, vilest thing imaginable. Having nearly turned into one, Eragon knew what roamed the minds of shades as well as he knew that of a peasant.
A Shade’s appetite for bloodshed and destruction, for slaughter and torture, was unmatched by any in the land. He had experienced it himself, once in Gil’ead, and the second time in front of Farthen Dûr. But when Trianna had pressed her hand against his wrist and sent him an obvious glance with her dark eyes…Eragon had to use the full power of his mind to clamp down on the sudden storm of…lust that had started to rise in his psyche.
It was good Saphira chased the witch off when she did because the incoherent thoughts of just taking Trianna right then and there on the floor, of making her scream his name in submission and ecstasy had started to become more and more enticing with each passing moment.
Short of breath and thoroughly shaken up by what had almost happened, Eragon had immediately sought the counsel of the Eldunari—who had listened to his stumbling, frightened words while Saphira had soothed what she could in his mind. Considering that his case was the first the elder dragons had ever seen, they could only hypothesize about the reasons why it had happened
However, the most probable one seemed that when the spirits had been destroyed by Saphira…her draconic magic too had seeped into him, settling into his mind and becoming a part of what he was. And what he had experienced, that was a dragon’s instincts to mate…intermingled with a Shade’s desire to dominate and make others submit.
That would probably also explain his sudden rise in aptitude for fire-based magic.
But regardless, at the end of the day, the Elders had concluded that along with gaining a Shade’s physical and magical power…Eragon had also received all the darker aspects of it. However, without the spirits inside him, he was not driven into a perpetual state of madness and bloodlust—the traits only coming over his mind when he actually partook in violence or thought about anything that would trigger a Shade.
He was a monster now, a cask of alcohol with a wick attached to it. Ready to explode into fire and destruction at any moment, and sweep all those around him at the same time.
-ON! WAKE UP!’
His head slammed against something, and the sound of wood splintering filled his ears as he fell back to the ground, cradling his head. Saphira’s voice quietened down inside his mind, her worry and fear disappearing in place of comfort and warmth the likes of which only she could provide. Her mind moved through the tumultuous maelstrom of self-loathing, fright, and anger inside his one, clearing away the darkness as she enveloped his mind in a mental hug.
“Eragon! Are you well?!” Arya’s frightened and worried voice washed over his ears, and he gasped as his eyes finally snapped open, meeting her emerald ones as she looked at him. Shuddering as his fast, short breathing evened out and his thundering heart calmed down somewhat, Eragon nodded—more as his head lolled bonelessly—and pushed off the ground.
“D-Did anyone see th-that?” he asked between gasps, his fingers clutching the table so hard that the wood cracked beneath his grip.
“No,” she shook her head, and Eragon felt her hand reach out towards his shoulder, fingers stopping just shy of touching him before her arm returned to her side, “What was that Eragon? It looked as if you were having a panic attack, and quite a severe one too if the way your mind lashed out at mine was any indication.”
“Nothing,” he lied clearly, something which they both knew. Taking a deep breath, Eragon shook his head and turned around, his purple eyes no longer glowing and burning like they had been moments ago, “A side effect of…my condition, nothing more to worry yourself over.”
“Very well,” she nodded after a few moments of looking in his eyes, and she looked in the direction of Tronjheim, “I suggest you start making your way to Angela, Eragon. You need to come to Du Vrangr Gata too…after all, the sorceresses might need your help.”
Her lips curled up into an amused smirk as she watched a grimace flit across his face, and giving him one last glance, she left the room. Thankfully, it seemed like none but Saphira and Arya were aware of what had happened, though how the she-dragon had controlled herself from roaring out alerting the whole Farthen Dûr, Eragon had no idea.
‘It was the Eldunari,’ she grumbled in his mind, and a mental equivalent of a huff followed as he felt her approach his location rapidly, ‘They didn’t want anyone to assume something had happened to you.’
‘Not much one can do to harm me here Saphira, except for perhaps my own mind,’ He snorted, wiping the sweat off his brow as he looked at the rushing dwarves and humans in front of him. ‘For now, track Angela or Solembum.’
‘Are you sure you are well enough to do it now?’ she asked in return, the sounds of her wings beating against the air reaching his ear. Eragon turned eastwards, and his eyes caught the sight of her glittering scales as she made her way towards him. Ignoring the whispers and shouts that rose from the dwarves and humans alike, he jumped up on her back as she glided by, sighing as he felt the warmth radiate out from her.
‘Now I am completely sure it is the twins who are traitors,’ he thought to her, leaning down and pressing his face against the leather of the saddle as Saphira climbed higher and higher, angling towards the Isidar Mithrim as they shot through the air, ‘Those two reek of malice and deceit, and their voices makes my skin crawl.”
‘I could eat them,’ she offered, a puff of smoke coming out of her mouth as she corkscrewed gracefully, turning her long neck to look him in the eye as she sent him an image of the twins running from a comically large draconic mouth. ‘They won’t be able to betray us then.’
‘You can eat them after they have done so,’ he laughed, patting her neck as she righted herself, her wings flaring out as she slowed herself to a stop upon the Star Sapphire. ‘Doing so now will result in the Varden raising arms against us for killing their two most powerful mages and Ajihad’s hands.’
‘Powerful? Don’t make me laugh!’ she snorted, her chest rumbling as she bared her teeth in a fearsome, draconic smile, ‘They are barely stronger than Brom, and he was old as the Wyrdfell—without a bond to slow his aging.’
‘Regardless, strength doesn’t matter much if they can simply trap and kill us, or worse, take us to Galbatorix,’ he answered back as Saphira pushed off the gemstone and flew towards Angela’s rooms, ‘I have no doubt that Galbatorix already knows about Murtagh.’
‘And how was he? When you visited him?’
‘He was…comfortable. No chains, no drugged food and wine like in Gil’ead, and no interrogations either,’ he said as Sahira came to a stop right outside the corridor that led to Angela’s room, ‘But it has been two days since then…mayhaps they have changed his conditions?’
‘Well then you better go and make sure he is still comfortable,’ she said, nudging him with her head before she turned around and flew away, ‘I am going back to the cave. Jormun Elda was about to show me the memories of Beglabad the Giant.’
Chucinga at the childlike wonder in her voice, Eragon walked towards Angela’s room, his nose already picking the pungent odor of the numerous potions she no doubt had boiling in her cauldrons. And of course, the fish-soaked smell of Solembum.
“Eragon!” his fortune teller exclaimed joyously as he walked inside, her face flushed and sweaty as she stirred the bubbling concoction in front of her, “To what do I owe your return in my humble establishment?”
“Urgals are about to attack us,” he answered, noting the lack of shock on her face in the face of this news, “And I had an idea, which would require your talents.”
“Oh?” she arched an eyebrow, her hands not stilling in the slightest as curiosity gleamed in her eyes, “Do tell.”
“You will gather any and all herbalists in this mountain, and find as many poisonous mushrooms as you can,” he began, nodding his head at the sack of said plants lying on the floor, “and then, we can litter the ground where the Urgals will emerge from with the said mushrooms.”
“I never would have guessed such underhanded methods would be suggested by you,” she cackled, waving her hand at him, “You seemed so innocent, so unsure of yourself when you first met me in Teirm. Now look at you, barely a man in human years and are already planning on wiping out thousands of Urgals with poison!”
“I am not a man. Not anymore,” he returned sharply, his mind momentarily darkened by the thought of what would Garrow think of him now before he buried the thoughts where they were best left forgotten, “and Murtagh gave me a good lesson when he decapitated that slaver…honor has no place in a fight.”
“Murtagh, huh?” Angela murmured, leaving the spoon in the cauldron as she washed her hands, “Hmm, I suppose he knows what it means to be dishonorable.”
Before Eragon could ask the herbalist what exactly she meant by that statement, Angela turned around and crossed her arms, looking at him up and down. “You need something else, Eragon? Another fortune telling perhaps?”
—------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
“Thyrsta!” he said, his fingers splayed open upon the ground. With a sudden crack, the floor in front of him shattered, and fell down into the tunnel below, leaving a ten-yard hole behind “There, that should do it.”
“Many thanks to you Argetlam,” the chief dwarf shouted as he and his party dropped down into the hole, “Wait for a few moments while we make an opening into the tunnels ahead for the Urgals to rush in, then we will lead you to the next one.”
“Mhm,” he nodded at them, adn sighed as he turned around to see the preparations going on around him. Dwarves and humans alike were already marching into the flat land outside Tronjehim, where they were going to lure the Urgals to the surface. They were grouped into three battalions, meant to be led by Ajihad, Hrothgar and Jormundur when the battle began. Axes, swords, pikes adn spears were pased around by the amassing troops, the revertberations of hundreds of feet moving at once making his hairs stand on the end.
The dwarves were clad in hauberks and metal greaves or fine mail on their legs, and thick shields on their arms, their clan’s insignias stamped upon it. With short swords on theirs waists and axes, mattocks or warhammers in their hands—and the iron caps, they looked mighty and fierce despite their short stature.
The humans on the other hand, were clad in curiasses and visorless helmets, their hands holding onto their swords and spears. A group of pikemen were pradticing their thrusts, while a company of archers were sharpening their arrows, their faces grim and their eyes hard.
As the dwarves behind him clambered out of the collapsed tunnel and started to lead him towards the other spot, Eragon gave one more glance towards the marching army. He took in the sight of men sharpening thei swords as ale flowed between them. He saw the wives and mother bless their husbands and sons with kisses t their brows and tears in their eyes.
However, most of all, he saw the steel and anger in the eyes of the men and dwarves both as they stood in formation under the same banner—A white dragon pointing a sword downwards, while it held a rose above the weapon on a purple field.
The Varden was ready for the battle.
