Disclaimer: I do not own Inheritance or the soldiers without pain. Those credits go to Christopher Paolini.

Fodhrlif

I stood in my place as the army massed outside Urû'baen. The entire army had been summoned there, which must have been hard to hide, but apparently it was easier for Galbatorix to work his magic if we were closer to him. Not that most of us particularly wanted to be closer.

The most valuable, the strongest soldiers had been summoned into a separate section. Galbatorix was going to do something to us- to help us fight, the officers had told us. We were then sent here, and now Galbatorix was working his magic on us somehow.

I could hear him speaking from afar by the city's gates. He was chanting something. I didn't particularly like the sound of it. The man next to me, Thringabaen, and I had talked a bit, just about the army, our families, our plans from the future.

After waiting and listening for about three hours, he stopped. We were summoned back to camp. I was put in a tent with Thringabaen, and we had some time to talk before supper was served.

I didn't feel much different after Galbatorix's chanting. The people around me looked the same as ever. But then, after a moment, I noticed something: the cut on my leg had stopped hurting.

I turned around and looked at my leg. It looked the same, with the same nasty scab running up the back. But it didn't hurt anymore. I asked Thringabaen, "Do you feel anything different now?"

He replied, "Well, Fodhrlif, I had a bit of a bruise on my arm that's stopped hurting, but nothing much. You?"

"My leg's stopped hurting too," I answered, absentmindedly cracking my knuckles against my armored leg. I heard them crack, but I didn't feel anything. Hmm… something's off with my feeling, I thought. I pinched myself in the arm- still nothing. I said to Thringabaen, "Punch me."

"What?" he asked me, confused and surprised.

"Punch me, hard as you can. Here, right on my arm," I said, exposing my forearm.

"If you're sure you need another injury." He punched my arm. I felt the pressure a little, and almost stumbled from the force, but it hadn't hurt.

"D'you hit it hard? I didn't feel it hurt."

"Yes, hard as I could. Here, you hit me."

I punched his arm, and when he was not rubbing it in pain, I said, "See? You can feel it, but it doesn't hurt like it should."

"No… Wonder what the king did with his magic."

"I wonder…" I answered.

Two men in the tent came over to join us. "Hi. I'm Dagdatia. Do you have any idea what Galbatorix did earlier?" said one of them.

"I was thinking he did something that now none of our injuries hurt. And I'm Fodhrlifa, by the way." I answered. I asked the other man, "And you are...?"

"My name's Rauthrfreth. I was thinking something of the same, as I've got a nasty bruise on my shoulder that's stopped bothering me."

"I'm Thringabaen. And when Fodhrlifa and I tried to hurt each other a bit a few minutes ago, it didn't hurt as it should've!"

"Yeah... Something like that, I guess. I have to say I don't mind," said Rauthrfreth.

"I wonder if Galbatorix will want to take this- this curse off us after the war," I said, worried about how this world hurt our lives after the war.

"Probably not," answered Dagdatia bitterly. "Why should he care? Just another few thousand lives changed forever..."

"Who knows? If the king has the time and the energy, I'm sure he will," said Thringabaen. "He must know what he's doing, and if it helps us get home sooner, then all for the better!"

"We'll see about that... Though I'm with you that the sooner the war ends, the better," I stated. I was definitely a bit worried.

Author's Note

The names are from the ancient language, courtesy of the Inheritance Wikia:

Fodhrlif-"marked life"-the main character

Thringabaen-"sorrow of rain"-his friend throughout the chapter, thinks Galbatorix acts for the best

Dagdatia-"day of mists"-more confident man that does not like Galbatorix

Rauthrfreth-"hiding from misfortune"-Nervous, most injured

The accents were removed because in common naming, the words wouldn't be remembered properly. The only knowledge of the ancient language would come from healers, maybe helping at the birth, who knew a bit of the language, but certainly not very well.

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