As he stood just outside a small portion of clobbered yellow huts and smoking hovels, Eragon watched as the soldiers of the Varden and Surda gathered into the central pavement one hundred yards from the gate that led into Dras-Leona, of which was being blocked by a six hundred foot wall of granite and marble rubble. The wall itself was much more than three thousand feet tall, and constructed of bronze encrusted elm wood.

Within the city, at least according to the modules of the Killbots, there were nearly eight hundred eighty thousand Imperial troops, and that wasn't even taking into consideration the number of magicians and manned siege engines.

At first, there were many who complained as to why Saphira and Thorn could not just fly up and tear the wall down themselves, and perhaps even go and take the city without the Varden's help. After all, the dragons could use their acrobatic flying skills to evade the arrows, stones and javelins from the catapults and ballista, and their armor was forged well by the dwarves.

That had all changed when they had learned of the turret weapons atop the the city walls, which quickly and ceaselessly fired small compacted rounds of dry mortar that were capable of tearing deep gaping holes in steel and iron armor. The Prowler had dubbed them polybolos, of which he had described were ancient stationary repeating ballista that could fire again and again without a need to reload, and had appeared in ancient siege warfare in their world.

The other soldiers posted atop the walls were mostly archers with either regular bows or crossbows, while the rest were spear-carriers and swordsmen. Besides the polybolos and arrows, the soldiers could just as easily drop stones and pour boiling water, oil, pitch, and tar down on any who dared to venture too close to the great walls.

By themselves, even with Thorn and Saphira, along with the thousands of troops with them, the Varden would not stand a chance against such an enormous legion, coupled with obviously superior weaponry. They would get overwhelmed before they could even take down the wall.

Though, it wasn't like the slashers were on leave or any shit like that.

As The Prowler was finishing coordinating the best marked placements for the archers, catapults, trebuchets, ballistae, and primitive mortars he had taught them to build, Jason walked by and carefully moved his eyes over the war machines. Being a slasher, he really wasn't accustomed to fighting and killing with anything besides either his trusted machete or anything small, sharp, and/or blunt. He just guessed Prowler was doing it right and walked off.

His examining of the preparations led him to walk directly into a conversation between Eragon, Roran, and Orik. The three instantly stopped chatting and turned to face the hulking, masked beast of a man.

"Jason," Eragon said as he saluted him. Jason nodded, turning to Roran as the men directly behind him were hard at work digging trenches to give the Empire less ground to maneuver on, while giving the Varden potential cover.

"Captain Stronghammer. Your men-I hope you've been able to order them into actual ranks, instead of a bunch of guys just crammed together," the hulking killer slowly murmured.

Nodding, Roran said, "My men have, since my return, been more than busy constructing your mortars and placing them in our trenches. As you said, it would do no good if any Imperial soldiers managed to charge out here and simply run up to them."

"How many made so far, Captain?" Jason asked.

"So far, around thirty."

Acknowledging the information, Jason looked down right at Orik. The dwarf king saluted him with his fist to his chest, and, due to custom, Jason returned the salute. Clearing his throat, Orik began to report on the placements of the troops both under his command and Roran.

"Mine soldiers have each been placed in ranks according to strategic importance. The weakest dwarves, the one who wield the likes of pikes and mere daggers, shall be in the back, and will be only for last resort. Those leading shall be carrying both axes and maces, so as to cause maximum damage to the Empire so they cannot react properly. The other men are under the command of Roran, Martland Redbeard, and Jörmundur. The Varden and Surdans shall follow behind them, and the Urgals have finished positioning themselves under Nar Garzhvog. We shall attack at the slightest word," Orik assured.

"And what of the elves that Queen has sent?" Jason asked as he looked at Eragon.

Ever since The Battle of Belatona, the elven queen Islanzadí had been sending several of her elves to the Varden to fight with them, though it was only a small amount.

"Twenty," he said. "She has sent to us twenty more of her elves. They shall be led by Arya and Blödhgarm."

Leaving the three to their preparations, Jason walked over to where The Prowler was standing, examining the mortar in the trench and barking at the men to hurry and finish assembling the siege tower and the last two catapults.

Without him even having to say anything, The Prowler noticed Jason and turned toward him.

"I take it you've come to tell me what to do," the older, military clad man sneered outright. "Just because you lead those twenty one other bitches, doesn't mean you have the right to tell me what to do."

"Um...no. I just came to tell you the strategy I've decided upon," Jason uneasily said. He never understood why Prowler, his own uncle, had to be a giant, difficult asshole to everyone around.

"Very well, then," Prowler smirked. "Besides-I don't think it would make a good impression if people saw me beating my own nephew up. Anyways, what do you have?"

"Well, immediately after the missiles have been fired and the battering ram manages to knock down the gate, you, me, and the twenty one other slashers charge forward. The idea is to engage the remaining soldiers while cutting a large swath through their troops. If we manage to use enough skill and brutality, coupled with luck, we can kill enough of the painless soldiers so as to lessen the amount the Varden and their allies need to fight, while demoralizing their weaker, normal forces."

"And after we say "go", the Varden follows directly in?" Prowler asked in reply.

"Yeah. But what I need to make sure of right now is if you positioned the mortars and other siege weapons so as to not only take out the polybolos, but also the first twenty lines of men in the city, which are compromised of nothing but axemen, and the four ballistae mounted directly behind them. At least, that's the info according to the Killbots. Otherwise, even with us, the Varden's troops are gonna get splattered," Jason remarked.

"Oh, don't you worry," Prowler answered, and with that tone, Jason could tell he was grinning under the cloth rag. ""I've properly mounted all siege engines and artillery, as well as archers, at strategic choke points, and got them all pointing both just a few feet above and at the gate and the other parts of the walls, so as to both directly hit and go over and hit the designated ground troops, and the explosions will probably cause a bit of collateral damage. Civilian property collateral damage, mind you."

Jason got a bit disappointed at that. After that idiot woman at Belatona slapped him, he was more than willing to make the citizens of the Empire(save for the children) cry for mercy. Oh well, at least they were going to destroy their property and livelihoods.

At that very moment, Nasuada rode up to them upon her black charger Battle-storm. Dismounting herself from the saddle, she walked to the two slashers.

"Are the archers and siege engines ready for battle, Prowler?" she asked.

"Almost. We just have to finish up these last two catapults and this final siege tower, and then, our men will be ready to storm that city without hesitation," the man confidently said in reply.

"Good. Let the men know that Operation:Sin City shall take effect at the beginning of civil dusk tonight."

And that's all of the Siege of Dras-Leona(codenamed Operation:Sin City) that I'm gonna give you guys until I get to the actual full chapter. The actual ninth chapter is gonna come in at least a month. Until then, R&R.