Snakeslayer
Author's Note: I do not own any of the stories used in this crossover. Credits to Brian Jacques and Christopher Paolini for their groundwork.
This is a revamp of a crossover I made on my old account.
As the Scourge's hordes threatened the peace of Mossflower,
Matthias of Redwall searched for a relic of old.
'Twas a weapon to help him in this darkest hour:
The Sword of Martin—a blade of power untold.
Alas, it lay where nobeast dared go
...in the lair of Asmodeus, a silent and deadly foe.
Matthias, however, was not one to be cowed,
To protect the Abbey and defeat Cluny he had vowed.
But Matthias would need help, for even the bravest of mice
Would falter before those eyes that could freeze blood into ice.
For those crushing coils, those fangs of death
Were enough to take away any beast's breath.
And so, from a land far away, that help would arrive,
a new and unfamiliar face.
But with his help, Matthias would surely survive,
And escape the adder's lethal embrace.
This unlikely companion was on a quest of his own,
one of considerably larger weight.
But the heart of a Rider is of gold, not stone-
And no plea for help is too small, nor too great.
Is this a story of mice or men?
—But who are we to say?
Just know that those in Redwall and Alagaësia alike
Oft hearken back to this fateful day.
CHAPTER 1: The Converging of the Ways
THUD.
Eragon woke up immensely sore, feeling like he had just completed a furious sparring session with Arya. His vast reserves of energy were drained, and every muscle and tendon in his body ached. Judging by the way the pain was concentrated in his back and the fact that he was lying supine, Eragon surmised that he must have fallen from a great height.
Ouch. Not the best of days.
Sitting up to recollect himself, the Rider viewed his surroundings. He seemed to be in a forest not unlike Du Weldenvarden. The trees around him bespoke an age far beyond his own, and the air itself pulsed with a deep and powerful vibrancy, as if the passing years had only bestowed layers and layers of richness to it. The sun was not yet up, and a cooling breeze was blowing through the woods like a soothing balm. Just a few feet away was a bubbling brook whose flow lent a lively sound to the stillness of the forest. It was a peaceful and calming place, and Eragon felt like he could dwell here forever, walking amongst the growth and reveling in the life around him.
If only I didn't feel like a Shrrg collided into me full-force, Eragon thought to himself. Then I would truly be able to enjoy myself here.
But, first things first. Where am I?
His last memory was of being on deck on the Talita, on the Edda River leaving Alagaësia for the lands of the east. The journey eastward had so far been uneventful– Eragon passed the time by reciting poetry in the ancient language and practicing his swordplay. The Edda winded through miles and miles of grassland, and Eragon detected no life beyond the occasional antelope in the distance and the lone bird that would pass high above. While it did not amount to much of an adventure, Eragon was glad that wherever they were going seemed to be farther and farther away from the rest of the world. All the better to raise the next generation of dragons. A place where no man nor beast could threaten them. A place where the dragons could rise again.
Those quiet days on the river seemed all the same and were a blur to him. They could have been months for all he knew. Then suddenly...he was here. He could not recall doing anything particular before he awoke in this new forest. His days ship-side were so monotonous that waking up here was a sudden jolt, as if being forcibly awakened from a dream. But the question was, where was here?
Eragongot up and walked to the edge of the brook. Wrinkling his whiskers, he sniffed the air to get a better scent of what was around him.
Wait. Whiskers?
He could not help but laugh aloud as he stared into his reflection in the water.
"I'm a mouse!"
This was certainly a startling development (beside the fact that he could speak!)—but one thing Oromis taught him was to never let his circumstances get the better of him. Eragon looked down at his right palm—and sure enough, there was the gedwëy ignasia, the shining mark that all Dragon Riders bore. A small comfort. But his gear and his sword Brisingr were gone. Not even Aren, the ring Brom had passed down to Eragon, was with him. Bereft of much of his worn and familiar equipment, Eragon suddenly felt very small and vulnerable—and with good reason. Asides from the distinct mark on his hand, Eragon could pass for any other regular field mouse. He laughed as he remembered how mice had been such a problem back on his old farm in Carvahall. Now he was just like one of the many other pests Garrow and Roran always complained about.
Eragon considered the new challenges this body posed in his quest to find a new home for the dragons. Not only would he have to worry about raising an entire brood of baby dragons, but, with a chuckle, Eragon realized he'd also have to keep himself from becoming an intrepid youngling's next afternoon snack. It was tricky enough rearing Saphira as a human—but as a mouse? Who knew what challenges now lay before him? How would he procure food for the hatchlings? How would he corral them when they needed to rest for the night? Who would teach them how to respect the property of humans, elves, dwarves, and Urgals—those dragons sneeringly called "the wingless"? These thoughts floated through the forefront of Eragon's mind, but ultimately bothered him no more than a gentle ocean tide at the shore. He would deal with those problems when the time came—for now, he had to focus on the situation at hand, which was finding out where on Alagaësia he was, and why exactly he was in rodent form.
Speaking of Saphira, where is she? wondered the Rider-mouse. He and his dragon were as close as any two beings could be, and it felt like half of himself was missing when she was not at his side. Her presence alone would be enough to encourage Eragon and push him onward.
SAPHIRA! Eragon called out with his mind, sending a clear thought that would extend for miles around him. Powerful enough to be heard by his dragon, however far away she was. She would surely reply.
No response.
Disheartened, Eragon tried several more times, but to no avail. It soon became clear that Saphira was nowhere to be found. He would have to get on without her for the time being. The thought of going it alone was no pleasure, to be sure, but Eragon had done it before and survived. If he, dragon-less, could face the Ra'zac and prevail, there were few other challenges that he could not overcome. Of course, there was no telling what this strange new land might hold—he was a mouse, for Vrael's sake! What next—more mice? Cats and rats and snakes, even?
Eragon scurried off into the woods, following the path of the brook—not quite sure where he was headed, but determined and confident nonetheless. The sun began to rise over Mossflower Woods, bringing a crimson red dawn that cast an ominous light upon the otherwise beautiful forest.
The hours passed, and morning turned into afternoon. Summer was not kind that year, as the blazing sun hung in the sky like a fiery disk. Bird and beast alike sweltered under the intense heat. In the earlier hours of the day a gentle wind had cooled the climate and spared the inhabitants of Mossflower and the surrounding territory the brunt of the sun's wrath, but by midday it had passed on, seeking the more temperate western coastlands.
Throughout that long afternoon, Matthias lay hidden near the roots of a lilac bush. Looking to his left, he could make out the figure of a Guosim shrew behind another bush about a stone's throw up the river bank. To his right, a bit farther down the river, lay another shrew behind a large boulder. Close enough to signal a warning cry and be heard, in case Asmodeus passed (of course, the call would come after sufficient time once the adder was gone). About half of a mile of the bank was covered in this fashion—silent hidden sentries separated by short distances. Log-a-Log was the furthest sentry up the river bank, while Guosim was the furthest sentry in the opposite direction. Asmodeus' passage would surely be detected. But no sign of the deadly adder yet.
Matthias could not suppress the anxiety regarding his inevitable encounter with the vile serpent. He wished all his friends were present at his side, from Constance, to Cornflower, to poor Methuselah...but Cluny the Scourge threatened Redwall at this very moment, and every day the Abbey's fate hung in the balance. Nobeast could be spared from the defense of its walls, and it was on Matthias' shoulders alone to retrieve the sword of Martin. The burden of the quest was heavy, and Matthias sometimes wished he had not volunteered to go, but the love of Redwall was too great, his hatred of Cluny too intense. And while his friends at Redwall were far away, Matthias took comfort in his unlikely companions: Log-a-Log and Guosim, and the rest of the guerilla shrews. Something deep within his heart told him they would not be the last new friends he would make on this journey...
Forced to remain still lest he compromise his presence, Matthias could hardly ward off the myriad of inquisitive flies and insects that buzzed about in the lazy summer heat and walked across him undisturbed. Despite his itchiness and urge to brush them off, he fought to stay still and stay on the alert for Asmodeus. Sometimes he focused too hard and his imagination fooled him, turning a vagrant breeze or the river current into a snake's hiss.
Come on, old Poisonteeth, where are you?
Surely the snake, or anybeast for that matter, must pass this way soon!
Eragon scurried for the better part of the day. Thankfully, the enhanced strength and endurance bestowed upon him by the Blood-Oath Celebration remained, and once more he marveled at the magic of the dragons. What power the spell they wrought had, to endure after transfigurations such as his! Although he doubted his abilities were even close to those of his old body, Eragon was certain that no mouse or similarly-sized creature alive could match him in a contest of physical prowess. No mouse surely could have traveled the distance he did that day within the same time.
His gramarye, on the other hand, was a different story. It seemed nearly non-existent in this world. Although Eragon could speak the ancient language well enough as a mouse (he was still struggling to comprehend the fact that he could speak at all), the spells he tried to cast were feeble and a far cry from what he could do at the height of his power. Reisa did no more than slightly vibrate a fallen leaf. Brisingr managed to make his paw feel slightly warmer—and he suspected that feeling was more due to the afternoon heat. Both of these attempts at magic left him dizzy and gasping. While magic seemed present to a degree—his increased physical capabilities were testament to that—Eragon surmised that his mouse body simply lacked the raw life energy to manipulate the world with the ancient language. Maybe gramarye was just not possible on this scale. Remembering his elementary lessons in magic with Brom, Eragon decided not to test his magical limits in this new world. He would however store that issue for later discussion with the dragons of the Eldunarí...if and when they would ever be reunited.
He had followed the brook until it fed into a large river. Deciding to stay along the river—for there was really no other path to follow—the Rider eventually left the forest behind and traveled through an open field. Just a few feet into the field, a huge snowy owl had swooped out of nowhere and swiped at him with its talons. Narrowly avoiding its claws, Eragon broke away at full speed, his little mouse heart beating frantically. Thanks to his above average speed, Eragon quickly out-distanced the predator. He thought he could hear the owl cursing in frustration behind him, but did not stop to listen. Wishing to put as much distance between the owl and himself as possible, Eragon continued to follow the river, hoping for a friendlier encounter.
After what seemed like an eternity, the sun began its descent and left a reddening sky, relieving the world below of its heat. Matthias glanced up at sinking sun and felt his own heart begin to sink, worrying that their watch would soon be for naught.
As the sun approached the horizon, and darkness enveloped the sky, a shrew came to Matthias' side and motioned urgently down the river bank, in the direction Guosim had stationed herself.
"Come quickly. We've run into trouble."
Something must have gone awry! Without asking a single question, Matthias threw caution to the winds and immediately sprinted downstream. Other shrews left their hiding spots to join him.
A group of seven shrews were piled up near the river bank, embroiled in a struggle with some unknown creature. Dust rose in a cloud as punches were exchanged and kicks were delivered. He could hear sharp squeals of pain as he realized teeth were not ruled out from this brawl either. Matthias took a step forward when he heard a sickening crunch. One of the shrews went flying from the scuffle, screaming as he landed with a splash in a nearby inlet. Matthias motioned for one of the shrews to help the poor beast and stepped closer to join the fray but was held back by Guosim and Log-a-Log. He struggled in vain as they pleaded with him to keep his distance.
"Don't come near it, Matthias! It's too strong!"
"Stay back! Didn't you see what it did to poor Mingo?"
Two more shrews went flying past Matthias and crashed into a nearby boulder with a resounding thump. Two more casualties in the furious fight. Moments later, another sickening crunch and one more shrew barreled away—Matthias knew another punishing blow had been thrown. Matthias tried to pull himself free from his friends but to no avail. More shrews run forward to aid their fellow guerillas but stopped in their tracks at what they saw.
The creature was standing aloft and had lifted the three remaining shrews above its head, two in one paw and one in the other! The shrews cried out for mercy as they struggled to free themselves from its iron grip. The creature threw them down at Matthias' feet.
"Is there anyone else who'd like to have a go?" it cried. Although the rest of the Guosim had gathered at the scene of the fight, it seemed to speak directly to Matthias.
What strength! Mouth agape, Matthias squinted in the dim evening light and tried to make it out. It was, to his surprise, a young, male mouse! Just about his height and age—but with a look in his eyes far beyond his years. A look of many battles endured, friends lost, and an inner burden to rival his own. A being not to be trifled with.
It was also one of the most physically impressive mice he had ever seen. Not big and bulky like badgers were, but clearly developed—more like a hare in its build, with a trim upper body and thick, powerful lower legs. Looking closer, Matthias was not surprised that it had bested seven Guosim shrews, and had lifted three with its bare hands.
Matthias thought very quickly about what to do. There was no telling whether this creature was a friend or foe. But he already had Asmodeus to face, and he did not want another foe on his paws, especially one this dangerous.
Time to make a new friend, then, he laughed to himself bitterly. This would not be easy.
Matthias' voice was calm and conciliatory but betrayed his nervousness. "Friend, I do not know who you are, or where you come from, but please leave us at peace. We mean you no harm and ask to be left alone."
"Then can you tell me why seven of your friends here attacked me without warning!?" the strange mouse demanded.
Matthias chose his words carefully, then spoke as best as he knew how. "They must have mistook you for something else. We were on the lookout for an enemy...a deadly one. We've been lying in wait all day. I myself nearly went mad from the heat and my own fear. To finally come across something, as nervous as they were, and as jealously protective of their homeland as these shrews are, they could not help but spring upon you as they did. But we mean you no harm. Our fight is against another."
Silence. The stranger looked at Matthias with a searching gaze, more curious than hostile. Matthias made a final plea.
"If there is anything I can do to nurse the wounds you have suffered, please say so. I belong to a healing and helping order of mice, and I will do all in my power to help."
Finally, the stranger spoke.
"And who might you be, friend?"
"Matthias, Warrior of Redwall." Matthias waited before tentatively asking a final question.
"And you, sir?"
The strange mouse's eyes flashed for a brief moment before he replied.
"Eragon."
He paused for a moment, appearing to weigh his words before speaking.
"A warrior, just like you. And don't worry about my injuries—I've had worse."