Chapter Eighty-Nine: Wolf Blood

Rain pounded against the hood of his cloak as Thorn dove, the ruins of a once mighty fortress carved against the leafy landscape. Murtagh dismounted in the squelching mud and turned to Kieran, shouting over a thunderclap. "The dragons will be seen if we get any closer!"

"I don't particularly want to be struck by lightning either!" She said, walking up to him. "We should go on foot, Thorn and Nasreen can join us if we need them."

He nodded and turned back to Thorn, thanking him for raising a wing against the pouring rain, offering a slight relief. Murtagh pulled the edge of his cloak back and extracted the black dragoness from his shoulder, much to her dismay. She squealed and chomped down into his hand, thrashing. "Just stay with Thorn, damnit!" He growled and opened a saddlebag for her to climb into. She tumbled inside the leather pouch and curled up, poking her nose out, staring at him, shaking and squealing."You'll be fine! It's just a little rain."

Nasreen twisted and loomed over the hatchling, reassuring her that the storm would soon pass. The magenta dragoness lowered herself into the mud so that Kieran could access her armor.

Reaching up, Murtagh pulled out his helm and armor, lacing up the pieces quickly before assisting Kieran. She drew her sword once she was ready and started making her way through the muck, slipping once on a slick rock, catching herself on Murtagh's arm.

I don't see any of them.

We probably won't be able to see anything in this weather. He admitted, And if you see Sigrúne or Pearce, let me know immediately. The two of us will have a better chance against the two of them.

Kieran nodded once before they entered a small enclosure of trees, narrowing her eyes at the broken fortress. Puddles littered the ground from the collecting rainwater, but there was an unmistakable pattern leading up to a doorway. Murtagh crouched and observed closely, noting the narrow paw prints of a wolf. He stood again quickly. "They were just here, the rain should have washed these tracks away by now."

"What do you mean? How long?"

"Not more than fifteen minutes ago." At Murtagh's assertion, Kieran turned and rushed toward the entrance with the other Rider on her heels.


The muscles of Roran's back popped and rippled as he heaved the boulder off the ground.

He rested the large rock on his thighs for an instant and then, grunting, pressed it overhead and locked his arms straight. For a full minute, he held the crushing weight in the air. When his shoulders were trembling and about to fail, he threw the boulder onto the ground in front of him. It landed with a dull thud, leaving and indentation several inches deep in the dirt.

On either side of Roran, twenty of the Varden's warriors struggled to lift boulders of similar size. Only two succeeded; the rest returned to the lighter rocks they were accustomed to. It pleased Roran that the months he had spent in Horst's forge and the years of farmwork before had given him the strength to hold his own with men who had drilled with their weapons every day since they turned twelve.

Roran shook the fire from his arms and took several deep breaths, the air cool against his bare chest. Reaching up, he massaged his right shoulder, cupping the round ball of muscle and exploring it with his fingers, confirming once again that no trace remained of the injury he had suffered when the Ra'zac had bitten him. He grinned, glad to be whole and sound again, being as it had seemed no likelier to him than a cow dancing a jig.

A yelp of pain caused him to look over at Albriech and Baldor, who were sparring with Lang, a swarthy, battle-scarred veteran who taught the arts of war. Even two against one, Lang held his own, and with his wooden practice sword, he had disarmed Baldor, knocked him across the ribs, and jabbed Albriech so hard in the leg, he fell sprawling, all in the span of a few seconds. Roran empathized with them; he had just finished his own session with Lang, and it had left him with several new bruises to go with his faded ones from Helgrind. For the most part, he preferred his hammer over a sword, but he thought he should still be able to handle a blade if the occasion called for it. Swords required more finesse than he felt most fights deserved: bash a swordsman on the wrist and, armored or not, he would be too preoccupied with his broken bones to defend himself.

After the Battle of the Burning Plains, Nasuada had invited the villagers from Carvahall to join the Varden. They had all accepted her offer. Those who would have refused had already elected to stay in Surda when the villagers stopped in Dauth on their way to the Burning Plains. Every able-bodied man from Carvahall had taken up proper arms – discarding their makeshift spears and shields - and had worked to become warriors equal to any in Alagaësia. The people of Palancar Valley were accustomed to a hard life. Swinging a sword was no worse than chopping wood, and it was a far sight easier than breaking sod or hoeing acres of beets in the heat of summer. Those who knew a useful trade continued to ply their craft in service to the Varden, but in their spare time they still strove to master the weapons given to them, for every man was expected to fight when the call to battle sounded.

Roran had devoted himself to training with unwavering dedication since returning from Helgrind. Helping the Varden defeat the Empire and, ultimately, Galbatorix was the one thing he could do to protect the villagers and Katrina. He was not arrogant enough to believe that he alone could tip the balance of the war, but he was confident in his ability to shape the world and knew that if he applied himself, he could increase the Varden's chances of victory. He had to stay alive, though, and that meant conditioning his body and mastering the tools and techniques of slaughter so as to avoid falling to a more experienced warrior.

As he crossed the practice field, on his way back to the tent he shared with Baldor, Roran passed a strip of grass sixty feet long whereon lay a twenty-foot log stripped of its bark and polished smooth by the thousands of hands that rubbed against it every day. Without breaking his stride, Roran turned, slipped his fingers under the thick end of the log, lifted it, and, grunting from the strain, walked it upright. He gave the log a push then, and it toppled over. Grabbing the thin end, he repeated the process twice more.

Unable to muster the energy to flip the log again, Roran left the field and trotted through the surrounding maze of gray canvas tents, waving to Loring and Fisk and the others he recognized, as well as a half-dozen or so strangers who greeted him. "Hail, Stronghammer!" They cried in warm tones.

"Hail!" he replied. It is a strange thing, he thought, to be known to people whom you have not met before. A minute later, he arrived at the tent that had become his home and, ducking inside, stored away the bow, the quiver of arrows, and the short sword the Varden had given him.

He snared his waterskin from beside his bedding, then hurried back into the bright sunlight and, unstoppering the skin, poured the contents over his back and shoulders. Baths tended to be sporadic and infrequent events for Roran, but today was an important day, and he wanted to be fresh and clean for what was to come. With the sharp edge of a polished stick, he scraped the grime off his arms and legs and out from under his fingernails and then combed his hair and trimmed his beard.

Satisfied that he was presentable, he pulled on his freshly washed tunic, stuck his hammer through his belt, and was about to head off through the camp when he became aware of Birgit watching him from behind the corner of the tent. She clenched a sheathed dagger with both hands.

Roran froze, ready to draw his hammer at the slightest provocation. He knew that he was in mortal danger, and despite his prowess, he was not confident of defeating Birgit if she attacked, for like him, she pursued her enemies with single-minded determination.

"You once asked me to help you," said Birgit, "and I agreed because I wanted to find the Ra'zac and kill them for eating my husband. Have I not upheld my bargain?"

"You have."

"And do you remember I promised that once the Ra'zac were dead, I would have my compensation from you for your role in Quimby's death?"

"I do."

Birgit twisted the dagger with increasing urgency, the back of her fists ridged with tendons. The dagger rose out of its sheath a full inch, bearing the bright steel, and then slowly sank into darkness again. "Good," she said. "I would not want your memory to fail you. I will have my compensation, Garrowsson. Never you doubt that." With a swift, firm step, she departed, the dagger hidden among the folds of her dress.

Releasing his breath, Roran sat on a nearby stool and rubbed his throat, convinced that he had narrowly escaped being gutted by Birgit. Her visit had alarmed him but it did not surprise him; he had been aware of her intentions for months, since before they left Carvahall, and he knew that one day he would have to settle his debt with her.

A raven soared overhead, and as he tracked it, his mood lightened and he smiled. "Well," he said to himself. A man rarely knows the day and hour when he will die. I could be killed at any moment, and there's not a blasted thing I can do about it. What will happen will happen, and I won't waste the time I have aboveground worrying. Misfortune always comes to those who wait. The trick is to find happiness in the brief gaps between disasters. Birgit will do what her conscience tells her to, and I will deal with it when I must.

By his left foot, he noticed a yellowish stone, which he picked up and rolled between his fingers. Concentrating on it as hard as he could, he said, "Stenr rïsa." The stone ignored his command and remained immobile between his thumb and forefinger. With a snort, he tossed it away.

Standing, he strode north between the rows of tents. While he walked, he tried to untangle a knot in the lacing at his collar, but it resisted his efforts, and he gave up on it when he arrived at Horst's tent, which was twice as large as most. "Hello in there," he said, and knocked on the pole between the two entrance flaps.

Katrina burst out of the tent, copper hair flying, and wrapped her arms around him. Laughing, he lifted her by the waist and spun her in a circle, all the world a blur except her face, then gently set her down. She pecked him on the lips, once, twice, three times. Growing still, he gazed into her eyes, more happy than he could ever remember being.

"You smell nice," she said.

"How are you?" The only flaw in his joy was seeing how thin and pale imprisonment had left her. It made him want to resurrect the Ra'zac so they could endure the same suffering they had inflicted upon her and his father.

"Every day you ask me, and every day I tell you, 'Better.' Be patient; I will recover, but it will take time... The best remedy for what ails me is being with you here under the sun. It does me more good than I can tell you."

"That was not all I was asking."

Crimson spots appeared on Katrina's cheeks, and she tilted her head back, her lips curving in a mischievous smile. "My, you are bold, dear sir. Most bold indeed. I'm not sure I should be alone with you, for fear you might take liberties with me."

The spirit of her reply set his concern to rest. "Liberties, eh? Well, since you already consider me a scoundrel, I might as well enjoy some of these liberties." And he kissed her again until she broke the contact, although she remained in his embrace.

"Oh," she said, out of breath. "You're a hard man to argue with, Roran Stronghammer."

"That I am." Nodding toward the tent behind her, he lowered his voice and asked, "Does Elain know?"

"She would if he weren't so preoccupied with her pregnancy. I think the stress of the trip from Carvahall may cause her to lose the child. She's sick a good part of the day, and she has pains that, well of an unfortunate nature. Gertrude has been tending her, but she can't do much to ease her discomfort. All the same, the sooner Eragon returns, the better. I'm not sure how long I can keep this secret."

From their right a man cleared his throat. Roran swivled, instinctively putting Katrina behind him, scowling at Mark. He tipped his head forward slightly, raising an eyebrow at the two of them. "I was just coming to check on Katrina and see how she was doing, and if there was anything I could do for either of you. Considering everything that's happened recently."

Roran chewed his tongue, trying to decipher any hint of malice in Mark's voice. Before he could make a determination, Katrina pushed forward and walked to the dark-haired man, smiling. "Thank you Mark, but you have done much already." She motioned toward the dress she currently wore. "I would be ashamed to ask for more."

"Nonsense," he said, looking over her shoulder at Roran. "Nothing you two could ask for would be too much."

"Well, Roran was about to go talk to Lady Nasuada," Katrina trailed off glancing back at Roran. "She asked for an audience with him."

He huffed, "Aye. But I doubt Mark would be of help-"

"Nonsense, I'll see you to her," he said, grinning broadly and clapping Roran on his shoulder. "I would hate for him to get lost on his way."

Katrina laughed quietly, studying her beloved with a critical eye and then wet the tips of her fingers and ran them through his hair, pushing it back off his forehead. Spotting the knot at his collar, she began to pick at it, saying, "You out to pay closer attention to your clothes."

"Clothes haven't been trying to kill me."

"Well, things are different now. You're the cousin of a Dragon Rider, and you should look the part. "People expect it of you. Look at Mark."

The magician cleared his throat, trying to suppress a chuckle. "Roran and I are made of different stuff, Katrina. Now, we should go, while there's still some daylight to be had."

"Yes," she nodded, pleased at last with Roran's appearance. "I'll see you soon."

Kissing her goodbye, Roran started walking, toward the center of camp, leaving Mark to follow. Their footsteps evened out, and they proceeded in silence for a moment before Roran grumbled. "You're meddlesome, you know that?"

"Please, my suspicions were only confirmed by my eavesdropping." He rolled his shoulder in a shrug, glancing over at Roran. "I would hate to see one of the few people I consider a friend to be shamed in front of the entire resistance."

Roran grunted, chewing his tongue for a moment before responding. "How?"

"I have nothing better to do with my time. My sister's off who knows where with your cousin, and the other Riders left shortly before your arrival. Nasuada has enough guards at every moment now, and without a battle, I'm often bored."

"Boredom?"

He shrugged and smirked at Roran. "I make it my business to know my friends affairs, and to make sure that they are taken care of."

The six guards outside the pavilion lowered their weapons as they approached, and one of the Urgals, a thickset brute with yellow teeth, challenged him, saying. "Who goes there?" His accent was nearly unintelligible. Mark said nothing, but waited for Roran to announce himself.

"Roran Stronghammer, son of Garrow. Nasuada sent for me."

Pounding his breastplate with one fist, which produced a loud crash, the Urgal announced, "Roran Stronghammer and your retainer, Marcus requests an audience with you, Lady Nightstalker."

"You may admit them," came the answer from inside.

The warriors lifted their blades, and Roran carefully made his way past. They watched him, and he them, with the detached air of men who might have to fight each other at a moment's notice. Mark strolled ahead of his companion, ignoring the guards.

Inside the pavilion, Nasuada was sitting in her chair, waiting for them. Roran knelt and bowed to her. Her features and bearing were so different from those of the women Roran had grown up with, he was not sure how to act. Unlike Mark, he was unfamiliar with the court-style presentation of one's self, and his brief acquaintance with Nasuada only set his nerves further on edge. She appeared strange and imperious, with her embroidered dress and the gold chains in her hair and her dusky skin, which at the moment had a reddish cast, due to the color of the fabric walls. In stark contrast to the rest of her apparel, linen bandages encased her forearms, a testament to her astounding courage during the Trial of the Long Knives. Her feat had been a topic of constant discussion among the Varden ever since Roran had returned with Katrina. It was the one aspect of her he felt as if he understood, for he too would make any sacrifice in order to protect those he cared about. It just so happened that she cared about a group of thousands, while he was committed to his family and his village.

"Please, rise," said Nasuada. He did as he was instructed and rested a hand on the head of his hammer, then waited while she inspected him. "My position rarely allows me the luxury of clear, direct speech, Roran, but I will be blunt with you today. You seem to be a man who appreciates candor, and we have much to discuss in a small amount of time."

"Thank you, my Lady. I have never enjoyed playing word games."

At Mark's chuckle, Nasuada snapped her glance toward him. "You invited yourself along, Marcus."

"Aye, but I swear I shall be of no interruption, I will find you again when you are finished to assist you with the Varden's business." Nasuada's face twitched with surprise at his own dismissal. He inclined his head to her and stole one more glance at Roran before departing.


Striding past a soldier, Kendra watched as an arrow sprouted from his neck, spraying blood on her cheek. Smoothly, she raised her sword and fought off the next assailant, dispatching him in a few quick blows. Nyx growled behind her and sank his jaws into the leg of a man holding an axe. Delaney moved a moment later, spearing him on his sword.

Rowan was dancing with three men at once, ducking and twisting around their attacks as though he knew where they would be striking from. And from behind her, as promised, Trevin was thinning out the herd with arrow after arrow. He paused, feeling for his last one and sighed, shouldering his bow and moving to retrieve the unbroken shafts from his victims. Kendra moved to guard him while he stepped on a man's throat, wrenching the tip from his neck.

"Kieran?" A strong voice broke through the clashing weapons and groans of dying men.

Looking up the staircase, she saw an armored man with a shield, carrying a plain short sword. He was staring into what remained of the soldiers in the dining quarters and slowly started down the steps. Realizing he would know Kieran from nowhere other than the castle, Kendra raised her sword and turned to meet him. Nyx, go. He growled at her, whimpering slightly before slipping into the dark hallway behind her.

"You're a traitor now, Kieran. I hope you know that King Galbatorix has put a price on your head."

"My name is Kendra, you've unfortunately mistaken me for my sister."

A smirk fell over his face, "Ah of course. Alive and well. This is a surprise. If I bring you back with me, it'll prove my worth once and for all – above those other pathetic excuses that call themselves Riders." With no further warning, he launched at her, slamming his sword down towards her shoulder.

Ducking away, she stepped up twice onto the top of a table, her heels clicking against the wood, twisting and looking down at him. "You are sorely underestimating me, Rider."

"Perhaps."

They exchanged attacks, neither managing to land a solid blow. The other imperial soldiers had been slain and the three of her companions were watching their fight carefully. Trevin raised his bow, an arrow knocked, then thought better of it, glancing towards Rowan with concern. The blond man in front of her was gravely serious and unnaturally strong. Already he had shoved her with his shield arm and thrown her nearly halfway across the room. While stumbling to her feet, she raised her black sword to block a killing strike and watched his short sword shatter against it.

"What?!" He shouted, throwing the hilt to the ground. His gray eyes flashed upward and he stared for a moment at the sword in her hand. In the pommel was a large black opal, shifting colors in the flickering light of the fire of the torches on the wall. "That is a Rider's blade."

She smiled thinly, speaking, "Kveykva." At her word, in a starburst the sword started glowing, lightning arcing from the brightsteel, and forced the Rider to his knees, shaking.

Kendra walked forward and placed the tip against his chest, applying pressure. As he started to shout, there was a flash of motion on the stairway. Before the princess could respond, she heard Delaney scream as his sword clattered to the floor. Standing over him was a thin woman with striking red hair, muttering quietly to herself. He screeched, staring up at the woman, his back arching and his body going rigid.

"Del!" She took one step towards them and heard an explosive snap of bone as the red haired woman stepped over his body.

Howling, Rowan sprang towards her, sword drawn. On her other side, Trevin released his knocked arrow at her head. She lifted her right hand toward the assassin, stopping him in his tracks. On her left, the arrow froze in mid air, inches from her temple. She flicked her hand and sent the two men flying into the wall, hard enough to knock the wind out of them both. Turning her gaze on Kendra, she raised her voice, "Pearce?" Her voice came out scaly and echoing.

"I'm fine, Sigrúne." He assured her, standing and ripping the Rider's sword away from Kendra. Roughly, Pearce grabbed her wrists, holding them behind her back. She stared at Delaney's glassy eyes, and twisted body, her mouth parted slightly. "You shouldn't have resisted, princess," he spat, leaning down by her ear. "Your companion might still be alive. Strange, your sister always said she was nothing like you, but it seems you're perfectly capable of failing those you lead into battle."

Kendra threw her weight, knocking herself back against him, pulling from his grasp and throwing her leg up between his knees. She ducked under his arms, slamming her fist into his chin. In retaliation, Pearce growled and punched her in the stomach several times, then in her chest, watching her crumble slightly after a crack. The Rider, bashing his bracer against her back, slammed her to the floor. Kendra's head crashed against the stone, shaking her skull.

He forced her up the stairs and down a hallway, shoving her into a cell and clapping steel shackles around her forearms with little resistance. Her head was pounding and she could feel blood flowing from her temple. Every movement and beat of her heart gave way to shooting pain through her torso, and she was having trouble breathing. A few short words enchanted them and Pearce stepped back. She heard the door crash shut before he walked off again down the hallway, leaving her hanging from the wall, the tips of her boots barely brushing the floor.

Echoes of footsteps against the empty stone drew her attention and she lifted her head enough to watch Pearce and Sigrúne walking Trevin and Rowan down the hallway to another cell. Gritting her teeth she kicked against the wall, pulling at the binds around her wrists. Panting like a dog, she dropped again, trying to get her footing but unable to do anything but hang. "Sard!"

She leaned her head back against the cold, damp stone and shivered. Focusing, she channeled all of her energy into breaking the bonds around her wrists. Before casting the spell, she added a quick line to only allow the magic to drain her energy until she was too drained to stay conscious. Then, there was a rapid drain of energy and she blacked out.

A stinging sensation in her face woke her. Kendra's vision readjusted and she saw Pearce watching her while Sigrúne stood in a corner of the room, her hair cascading over one of her shoulders. "If I'd have known you'd nearly kill yourself trying to escape I would have made sure to add in extra precautions." Kendra spat at him, twisting and swinging her leg in a vague attempt to kick him. He chuckled and watched her struggle. "As soon as the Empire's troops return from finding the rest of your scouting party, we're returning to the capital."

"There was no one else," she said, growling at him.

"The four of you, really?"

"A smaller group draws less attention. Did Galbatorix teach you nothing? Truly? His Black Hand has degenerated more than I thought they did. Even the least competent soldier should understand, in a constrained environment it would be better to have a handful of superior soldiers able to chokehold a point than an army."

"While true, you can't honestly tell me you're bold enough to sneak into a fortress with a Shade and a Dragon Rider?"

Kendra's eyes widened as she looked at the girl behind him. Her red eyes flashed towards the princess before she started smoothly across the floor, barefoot. Observing Kendra from just over Pearce's shoulder, she tipped her head. "Did no one tell you?"

"I was disappointed to hear that the Varden's Rider killed Durza. I had hoped to do so myself, but you'll have to do."

Sigrúne sneered at her, hissing with her scathing voice, "You are in no position to make threats, princess."

Looking between them, she spotted the black Rider's sword now at Pearce's hip. Gritting her teeth, Kendra met his gaze. "If you let me have my sword, I'll fight you both right now. If I win, you let my companions go."

"And let them go tell everyone where we are? I don't think so."

"The man you killed, his cousin – his only family - is in Surda. Let them bring his body back to her. I owe him that much. Besides, they are worth nothing compared to me. Without them weighing you down, you can bring me to Urû'baen tonight if you wish."

Pearce watched her for a moment, contemplating her request. He drew the sword at his waist and lifted it slightly. "Where did you get this?"

The princess watched the ebony blade shimmer for a moment, recalling the moment she had removed the swords from Dawnsinger's saddle. Each of the Rider's blades had been enchanted, hidden beneath a plain steel exterior with a simple, elegant disguise charm. Mark had insisted Kendra keep one of them, considering she was such a high value target. Despite her hesitation to take one of the blades with her, she had been too enamored with the opal blade to leave it behind. Watching it in Pearce's hand, she felt drawn to it still and perturbed by the notion of him taking it from her. "Mariah Dawnsinger stole it from Galbatorix."

The Rider watched her with narrowed eyes and stepped closer. "You mean to tell me that Dawnsinger is still alive?"

Kendra gauged his expression before deciding on her answer, "As far as I know, yes."

He turned to Sigrúne and nodded once. She moved from the room quickly without another glance at Kendra. Pearce's expression hadn't changed but he was standing just in front of her now. "Galbatorix was sure she died after the battle of the Burning Plains. His hold over her was broken."

"I don't know where she is, she could be dead by now."

"Tell me where she is," he said, grabbing her by the throat.

Coughing, she muttered, "Sorry Rider."

"You're going back to Urû'baen – now." He released her shackles and pulled her to her feet.

Dropping her shoulder, Kendra lunged at him, reaching for her blade. Rolling to the ground, she wrestled him for it. Once she felt like she had enough of a grip, she shouted, "Kveykva!" closing her eyes against the flash of lightning that blinded Pearce long enough for her to get to her feet, rushing out of the room. She ran down the hall, gritting her teeth and gripping her side, found the next cell with Rowan and Trevin, bursting the lock open with a single word. She cut through their rope binds and hurried them out of the cell after they had grabbed their weapons.

Glancing over her shoulder, Pearce was stumbling out of the other room, blocking the way they had come in from. Turning to her right, she led them down the hallway, which opened quickly into the courtyard of the ruined fortress. They had barely pushed the door open when an enormous mouth filled with teeth deafened them from their left.

Rising to his feet was a large copper dragon, huffing and snorting. He shook his wings out and free of rain, bellowing at the three of them before lunging toward the princess. Behind her, Kendra could hear Pearce shouting for the Shade and swiveled to see her standing in front of the only escape route. Turning around, she met the Rider's gaze as he strode down the hallway toward them and gritted her teeth, backing to the corner away from the dragon.

"Kendra, you should have just left us in that cell." Rowan breathed out, tightening his grip on his sword.

Behind them, Trevin knocked an arrow, glancing between the Shade and the dragon, trying to decide which deserved more of his attention. Finally, he let loose an arrow toward the dragon's face, aiming at the eye. Before he could hit his mark the dragon exhaled a jet of flames, turning the shaft and feathers into ash before the silver tip clattered to the ground with a muffled chink.

Sigrúne rushed at them, daggers flashing into her hands seemingly out of nowhere. Kendra raised her blade and pushed her off, wincing and yelling at the other two, "Run!"

Grabbing Trevin's sleeve, Rowan pushed him along the wall, sidestepping the red haired demon before turning and bashing away her dagger with his sword. "Go Trevin!"

"Rowan!" He growled, loosing another useless arrow toward the Shade. "I'm not leaving you here!"

"You're no use in hand to hand, get somewhere useful will you?" The assassin's face flickered into a smirk before he backed against Kendra. Trevin shook his head, running away as water splashed up his boots, gripping his bow tightly.

Kendra threw off Sigrúne again, shouting and blasting fire from the air in front of her hands. "Brisingr!"

The Shade stepped back twice, chuckling as Talath wrapped himself around her. Kendra's spell landed against his scales harmlessly. Whipping his tail around, the dragon bashed the two of them clear across the courtyard. Glancing up, Kendra saw a gap in the stone wall that used to be an entryway, now blocked off on the other side, but it was deep enough to evade the flames for now. Nodding towards it, she pushed Rowan ahead of her and winced as the dragon's roar echoed in her ears. Another jet of fire rushed past them a moment later. Nose-to-nose with Rowan in the small doorway she snarled at him, "Get out while you can."

"If I leave, you die." His voice deadpanned.

"If you don't leave, I die. Get Trevin home. Tell Erika... I'm sorry about Del."

Rowan looked downward for a moment then pushed off the wall, launching out of their hiding spot, running through to the broken entryway after Trevin. Behind him, Kendra exited the gap in the wall and raised her sword, drawing Sigrúne's attention away from the man fleeing. She stepped heavily into a puddle, clutching her side with her free hand, knowing she didn't have enough energy in her to heal any of the bleeding.

Pearce stood next to her, shaking his head. "You shouldn't have ran."

"I'd rather die with a sword in my hand."

"Galbatorix wants you alive," Pearce insisted. "Sigrúne."

Before Kendra could blink, the Shade was upon her and attacking, stabbing and biting until they both tumbled to the muddy ground. She dropped her sword in the mud, and without it Kendra had no choice but to lift her arms up to shield from the attacks. The daggers slashed against her vambraces a few times before Sigrúne twisted and dug the knife into her side, just through the gap between her belt and her corset.

Gasping, she kicked the Shade off, watching her rise steadily to her feet as Pearce stood over her. "That should slow you down." He said, picking her up and throwing her thrashing body over the saddle of his dragon. Pearce climbed up behind her, tightening his legs in the straps quickly.

Sigrúne raised her hand a moment too late as Nyx launched at her throat, ripping and tearing. His ferocious snarl was drowned out by shouting a moment later. Pearce turned to look at the doorway to the fortress interior, his eyes widening at the sight of Kieran and Murtagh rushing towards him, swords drawn. Sensing his panic, Talath shot off the ground and into the stormy sky.

Whipping her dagger upward, Sigrúne stabbed into Nyx's shoulder, throwing him off and into the wall. He whimpered, crumpling into a heap after hitting his head. Kieran rushed the Shade as Murtagh went to Nyx. Pulling the dagger from his shoulder, he wiped away the wolf blood with the rain and healed the gash before calling for Thorn.


With Love, As Always,

Mariah Dawnsinger