A story of the First Urgal Dragon Rider, set in Christopher Paolini's Alagasia.

This is my first foray into fan fiction writing. Or any fiction writing, really. So far, I find it to be really fun - as good as reading the books in some ways. Anyway, I've only written the first chapter of this story about the first Urgal Rider. I welcome constructive criticism, even solicit it. I've started on the next chapter, but have a ways to go before finishing it. Haven't thought of a title yet. Thanks for reading it - lemme know what you think! (I don't own the rights to anything having to do with Christopher Paolini's Inheritance Cycle. I don't own the rights to any published work at all, actually. Just sayin')

...

The fading afternoon sun glinted off metal on the far side of the valley as the coil unwound. In a few moments, it would straighten completely and emit a gong like the shield of a Kull striking a rock, signaling the beginning of another round, the last of the day. Grahznagk bounced on the balls of his feet as he looked around at the condition of his band - bruised, scraped and sore from numerous stings, but in high spirits. Of the twenty and five Urgals assembled on the hilltop, he was one of only three who were not Kull. They had traveled from the southern region of the Spine to Kragvlagch in the North, where the clans gathered to select the strongest and most skilled among them to win honor for the Urgralgra in the weeklong series of contests that occurred every 5 years in the human capital city of Illyria. He had not yet come of age when the first Games were held, three years after the end of the great war. But one of the Kull from his village had won the stone throw event, despite the injustice of requiring Urgals to throw the heaviest stones. It was said that Crulghk had thrown his stone, the heaviest of them all, so far that the spell weavers had had to stop it in mid-air before it crushed a group of Dwarven spectators. His prize had been a ram's horn which, when winded, caused the clouds to rain. His victory feast had lasted for 5 days and he had wedded the strongest dam in valley. The harvest that year had been so plentiful that they had had to build 4 new storehouses to take in all the food. And now he and his companions were one match away from the chance to win the same glory. They were all hungry for it. They could taste it.

Already, they had bested their closest rivals and this round should not be difficult. If they took the low hills to the left, it would provide a good vantage point to...

CLANG!

Grahznagk snapped out of his reverie as the starting rod finished unwinding and Yarghsk, his commander, a huge Kull, began shouting his orders.

"BLADES TO THE FRONT RIDGE! SHIELDS FORM A DEFENSIVE PEREMITER! THREE CLUBS AROUND THE HILL TO THE RIGHT, AND STAY OUT OF THAT VALLEY!"

Immediately the band of warriors burst into action, shield-Kull deploying themselves around the circular base area, their enormous shields clanking against their armor. Atop the hill on the other side of the valley, they could see the small silhouettes of their opponents also moving about. The 10 sword and axe-wielders, nine of whom were also Kull, charged forward to the ridge at the center of the arena as ordered. Yarghsk strode over to Grahznagk and his fellow spear casters, shaking the ground with each step. "I want the four of you to take the hills on the left and stay out of sight. If you encounter the enemy trying to take the position first, stay out of range and I will send reinforcements. When the enemy tries to cross the valley, lay them low." At once the four Urgals ran down the slope of the base hill and across the field leading to the hills on the left side of the arena. As he ran, Grahznagk smiled to himself at his superior's affirmation of his strategy. Yarghsk had led them to victory time and time again because he was a cunning and brilliant strategist. In their last battle, he had lured the enemy into abandoning their base by exposing his own to a flanking maneuver, then sent in his three fastest runners to capture the enemy position while his remaining warriors slowed down the advancing enemy until it was too late. It had barely worked - two Kull were mere strides away from reentering the base and stopping the countdown when the minute had expired and the round ended. If they had made it, they would have likely defeated the invading party and the ruse would have been Yarghsk's undoing. But it had succeeded and they had bested a team larger and more experienced then themselves.

In the round before that, he had given instructions to obey each of his commands in the opposite. Right meant left, left meant right, forward meant back, etc... He then bellowed his orders loud enough that the enemy was sure to hear, a common mistake in young commanders. The result was utter confusion among their opponents and the round had barely lasted half an hour before all the opposing warriors had been stung unconscious.

The two Kull reached the destination first, followed by swift-footed Rhaghmauk with Grahznagk trailing behind. As he approached the base of the hill, Grahznagk lost sight of the rest of the arena, which always made him uncomfortable. To be successful, a spear caster needed to be able to see what was going on around him and the moment of blindness as he ran up the hill was the easiest way he knew to get knocked out. In their first round, he had made it half way up a rock pile when everything went black. He was awakened by the enchantments at the end of the round to find that he had taken a club to the back of the head when he got flanked by a massive Kull. Though they had won, he'd had little share of the glory from that battle.

As he crested the hill, he heard a bellow of surprise from the lead Kull and saw him fly backwards as he was struck across the chest by the full length of a steel-banded club. The huge ram convulsed as the stinging enchantment immobilized the stricken muscles, knocking him unconscious. Grahznagk growled in frustration. The Kull should not have been caught off guard - sending clubs to take out the spear casters was a common tactic, one they'd faced before, and the reason for Yarghsk's order to stay out range. And now they were down one caster. The other Kull who had crested the hill before him lowered his head and rammed the enemy's club-arm at full force. The club fell to the ground as the sting spread through his arm and then through the rest of his body as one of Rhaghmauk's spears caught him in the neck.

Grahznagk removed his own spear from his back and drew his ghat'lr in one smooth motion. Fitting the shaft of his spear in the notch at the end, he let fly with a grunt and struck the next advancing Kull full in the face as he crested the hill. He smiled grimly as the ram convulsed and collapsed before he even saw what hit him. A third Kull crested the hill after the first two, more warily. As the three remaining spear casters fell back a few steps, Grahznagk risked a glance back toward their command hill and did a double take. The shield Kull were still in position, moving back and forth to match the direction of the battle, but Yarghsk was nowhere to be seen. He should be atop the hill, directing his warriors. Neither did he see any clubs running to their aid. Things must be going very badly indeed for the commander to have abandoned his spear castors as well as his command post. He could see the ridge where the blades were battling those of the opposing clan but could not tell which side had the upper hand.

Two more clubs were now cresting the hill, the three of them advancing slowly toward the spear castors. One of them suddenly lowered his horns and charged straight at Raghmauk, who had no time to draw and notch another spear. He leapt to the side just in time, but the enemy kept charging toward the third spear castor, the Kull, who swung his spear, but not in time. They both crashed to the ground, and began to fight hand to hand. The other two club Kull advanced.

A bellow sounded just behind the two clubs and one of them went rigid and fell. In his place stood.., Yarghsk? The remaining enemy recovered quickly and struck at Yarghsk's left with a powerful swing, forcing him to leap back several feet. As they began to circle each other looking for an opening, Raghmauk drew his knife and tried to flank. Just then Grahznagk spotted a group of enemy blades moving into the valley from the far side of the hill on the right side of the arena. Leaving Yarghsk and Raghmauk to deal with club, he readied a spear on the end of his ghat'lr, hid behind a large shrub and waited until the blades were in range.

He heaved his ghat'lr forward, leveraging the spear in a near perfect arc towards his targets. He drew again and notched the next spear as the first still flew, unseen, toward the unsuspecting Urgals. He let his second spear fly as the first struck the rearmost blade wielder in his right leg. In a real battle, the spear would have pinned him to the ground. The effect now was just as good: the Kull's leg buckled as the sting rendered it useless and he bellowed in surprise and pain. The others turned to their fallen comrade, readying axes and swords to engage an enemy that wasn't there. Too late, they realized the truth, as the second spear deadened the sword arm of the lead Kull.

The warriors looked up the hill, saw him, and bellowed. Time to move. He quickly recovered the spear that felled the Kull at the top of the hill, then took stock of the situation. His fellow spear caster was still looked in combat with the enemy club, so he drew his knife, jumped on the enemy's back and stabbed towards his neck. The Kull threw him off at the last moment, but that allowed his clan mate an opening and he landed a heavy blow on the other's throat, and the club went rigid, then limp. Grahznagk picked himself up off the ground and looked to where Yarghsk stood victorious over his foe. Raghmauk, however, would be none so swift for the remainder of this battle. His left foot was useless, and he supported himself with one of his spears.

"Raghmauk, stay and fell as many of them as you can before you overwhelmed," Yarghsk barked. Raghmauk grimaced and nodded in response.

"Morgck, Grahznagk, ready your spears and follow me." Grahznagk drew and notched another spear, but the other could not, as his right arm hung uselessly by his side.

"Grrrragh! Draw your small blade, then! One caster! All I have left is one caster and the battle is not yet half done!" Yarghsk's disgust was palpable, and Grahznagk was glad not to be at the other end of it. He had been before. Yarghsk could make a nine foot Kull feel like a stub-horned youth caught sleeping at midday. But he was right, as they approached the enemy's base hill they would surely encounter their spear casters, and then the loss of three so early on would be sorely felt. Quite sorely. Down the opposite side of the hill, the side farthest from valley and bordering the edge of the arena, the three ran.

A yell rang out behind them, which told Grahznagk they would soon have pursuers. He just hoped Raghmauk had managed to inflict some damage before they knocked him out. They ran until they made it to the end of the series of hills, beyond which was an open field leading up to the enemy's base hill. Across the valley, they could see two of the clubs Yarghsk had dispatched at the beginning of the match just rounding the large hill at the right of the arena. The third, he guessed, had fallen. The club raiding party saw them and made gestures to indicate the blades were losing the ridge. If that happened, only the shield Kull would stand in the way of an enemy victory.

THWACK!

Morgck dropped with a crash, a spear lying next to him. Instinctively, Grahznagk ducked, then rolled, narrowly avoiding two more spears as they embedded themselves in the soft earth. He sprang up and quickly looked about for enemy casters. He spotted one, positioned at the top of the base hill. Quick as a hawkfly, he sent his own spear speeding back toward the enemy. It missed, as he'd expected, when the enemy caster dodged out of site. But it bought him enough time to draw and notch another spear. He held his breath, counted to ten, then let fly at the same spot the enemy caster had appeared before. If he timed it right - YES! The enemy caster reappeared with his arm cocked back to throw just as Grahznagk's spear reached its destination. It caught the ram in the gut, and he doubled over, vomiting. Grahznagk looked around for Yarghsk - but again the commander was nowhere to be seen. The clubs on the other side of the valley seemed equally perplexed.

Behind him, he heard a bellow and saw three blades rounding the last hill, charging toward him. One was the Kull whose sword arm he had hit earlier. He still carried his axe in his left hand. No going back, then. Forward and up was the only way. With a growl and a shout, Grahznagk charged across the field leading to the enemy base hill. The clubs on the other side saw him and followed suit. Halfway across, more spears rained down, this time from behind him. Grahznagk began making irregular zigzags as he ran to throw off the aim of the casters. The blade Kull were gaining on him, though, and he knew he would not reach the top of the hill. He spotted a cluster of boulders half way up that would at least provide some cover from the spear casters and he made for those as fast as he could.

He reached the boulders and dove behind them, shredding the skin on his left knee. The battlefield enchantments prevented combatants from piercing flesh or breaking bones, but didn't protect from injuries inflicted by the landscape. Grahznagk winced as he rose to his feet, readying himself for a last stand. He peaked around the edge of the rock to see which direction the blades were coming around - if they thought to come around both sides he was doomed. He was doomed anyway, he snorted to himself. But he was again surprised to see Yarghsk behind the blades, rushing up to them silently. How...?

Grahznagk had no more time to think as the lead blade, the one with an injured arm, leapt around the boulder. He drew one of his last two spears, and jabbed at the Kull's left knee, dancing back and forth out of range of the huge Urgal's superior reach. The Kull snarled and swung his axe at Grahznagh's right. Grahznagk dodged backwards, but the tip of the axe raked across his midsection, igniting a line of stinging pain, but not incapacitating him. He took the chance to jab at the Kull's left shoulder, and also scored a glancing blow. The Kull recovered and the two squared off again.

"You fight with spirit, caster, but you cannot defeat me," growled the Kull. Grahznagk grunted in acknowledgement then jabbed again , this time at the Kull's feet. The Kull swung his weapon downward, catching the shaft of the spear in the crook of his axe. With a twist of his wrist, he snapped off the tip, leaving Grahznagk holding a mere stick. Grahznagk took two steps backward, switched the remains of the spear to his left hand, sheathed his ghat'lr and drew his knife. He then bellowed as loudly as he could, hoping to distract his opponent, if only a little, and hurled the shaft at the Kull. As the warrior moved to dodge the now headless projectile, Grahznagk quickly threw his knife. Sunlight glinted off the blade as it flew end over end towards its target... and glanced off the Kull's enormous horns.

The Kull looked back and gave Grahznagk a menacing grin. Then he fell forward, unconscious as Yarghsk struck him in the neck with an axe he'd acquired from an enemy blade. Yarghsk reared back his arm and threw the axe straight at Grahznagk, who dove out of the way in shock. The axe struck the blade-Kull that had been sneaking up behind him. Grahznagk, though bewildered, nodded his thanks to the commander and pulled himself back to his feet.

"TO THE TOP!" shouted Yarghsk, spittle flying from his mouth. His eyes were wild with battle. They continued running up the hill, along with one of the clubs from the right hill. When they reached the top, they met a solid wall of iron banded oak stretched across their path. The opposing shield Kull bellowed and charged forward in unison.

"FALL BACK AND FLANK!" Grahznagk heard Yarghsk, but again could not locate him. He and the club who had crested the hill with them did as ordered, moving back and to the right in order to try and get around the massive wall. They made it about three quarters of the way around when the shields noticed their movement and shifted to match them. Another bellow and one of the shields in the center collapsed, his heavy wooden plank bouncing down the hill. Grahznagk and the club glanced at each other for a moment and a chill crept up his spine. Then he raced forward and dove through the gap in the enemy's defenses before it closed again. He was not surprised to find Yarghsk attacking a shield Kull to his right. To his credit, the shield realized his danger and quickly turned, swinging the edge of his shield at Yarghsk's head. Yarghsk ducked under the blow and tackled the Kull. The earth shook as the two crashed to the ground.

Grahznagk drew his last spear as he rolled to his feet and turned to face an advancing shield Kull. Burdened as he was, the Kull was not as fast as Grahznagk, and Grahznagk managed to dart around the edge of shield and stab the Kull's left leg. He withdrew has spear just in time as the Kull swung back towards him. The blow had stung the Kull's leg, but not enough to bring him down. He limped and slammed the bottom edge of his shield down on the ground to help support his weight. The tremor unbalanced Grahznagk and he stumbled. The Kull made a move to crush his ribs with his good leg, but Grahznagk rolled away easily enough. A moment later, Yarghsk was there again and ended the duel with a bone crushing blow to the head using a club which he'd apparently retrieved from their fallen comrade. Grahznagk rose to his feet to find the other shield Kull already down, his own shield laying atop his horned head. That meant...

Clang... clang... clang...

The countdown had begun, he and Yarghsk in possession of the enemy base hill! If they could but keep their opponents from retaking it for one mere minute, they would be going to the Games in Illyria!

Clang... clang... clang...

Four of the enemy blades appeared atop the ridge in the center of the arena and began running frantically back toward their base. Among them was the enemy commander. Too far away, they would never reach the hill in time. The two casters who had nearly been Grahznagh's undoing earlier bounded down from their position on the hill across the field, one Kull, the other still slightly larger than Grahznagk. The Kull could be a problem. He was moving fast. Grahznagk redrew his ghat'lr and notched his last spear. He waited, biding his time. The seconds passed.

With half a minute left to go, a second gong began to ring out from the opposite side of the arena. Their own base had been captured. If they allowed the enemy to stop or reset the count-down now, they would most likely be defeated. The Kull reached the base of the hill and began to bound up the slope. Grahznagk readied his spear, and pumped his arm as if to throw. The oncoming Kull flinched and swerved to the left. Grahznagk let fly while his opponent was off balance, striking his right calf. The ram went down with a roar, but quickly got back up. Going on all fours like a mountain goat, the Kull continued to climb, a determined grimace on his face. All he had to do was enter the circle at the top of the hill and the count would stop.

Yarghsk began to laugh. He lifted one of the enormous wooden shield off the ground and lumbered to the edge of circle. With a grunt, he threw it like a disk down the hill. It bounced along, kicking up rocks and grass, sliding on its flat side like a snowcart. The enemy Kull attempted to leap over it, but could not lift his massive bulk into the air with only one leg. The shield swept him down the hill, nearly to the bottom. He sat up in a cloud of dust, coughing and cursing.

The last seconds ticked by.

GONG! The sound reverberated off the mountains, echoing across the valley. Scattered victory roars went up around the arena from the remaining warriors of Grahznagh's clan. Yarghsk grabbed Grahznagh's right hand and nearly pulled his arm out of socket as he thrust it toward the sky and bellowed in triumph. A moment later, the match judges, surrounded by thousands of spectators, hidden from view by the battlefield enchantments, became visible and audible, their cries adding to the echoing din. Through the noise, a chant arose...

"Yarghsk... Yarghsk... Yarghsk..."

Victory. Glory. They were going to Illyria.