Tee hee. Exhausting chapter. So much planning of the story… and it all starts here.
Thanks to reviewers: The Pro, RestrainedFreedom (x2), Tsukune08, Elvendiath, ShadedWriterOfTheDarkness, and Reader.
Disclaimer: :P
10
The Battle of Belatona
From where she sat atop her steed Gladen, five times as far away from the castle walls as Belatona's arrows could reach, Nasuada watched as Nar Garzhvog fearlessly loosed a war cry and took the head of the Urgal charge. The Kull's viciously muscled back quickly began to recede, as his enormous legs carried him faster than the feet of a human could at the fortress of the Empire.
Jörmunder spurred his horse across the front lines of his men a final time, screaming to lift their spirits and summon forth their fury. Closing to a halt at their fore, he reared back on his steed's hind legs and cried for the charge, the early morning sun glinting high off of his armor. With a roar of obedience the hundreds of Varden soldiers under his command rushed forward, hasty to catch up to the Urgal horde already on the offensive. Even from her considerably distant vantage point, Nasuada could tell it would be a difficult race for the humans to win. She feared even the smaller Urgals would get trampled by the impatient Kull that sprinted beside them.
The numbers quickly dwindled around her, as the mass of the Varden's army pressed forward while her contingency and guard remained stationary. The plains that were visible to her between the storm of soldiers and the city walls became smaller and smaller and smaller gradually. The anticipated clash kept her adrenaline rising higher than she felt was appropriate as a composed leader, even from where she sat at a comfortable distance removed.
All of a sudden, a cloud formed just inside of the walls, and descended outwards towards her troop. Only as they fell upon the Urgals did Nasuada recognize them as simultaneously fired arrow barrage.
The results were grievous, but not crippling. A number of Urgals toppled where they hit. Several took a number of the pointed weapons to the body and shrieked in agony but kept running. Still more endured the contact without slowing down, perplexing the humans that followed their advance to no end. Nasuada herself raised an eyebrow at the event, but she was far more worried about the next volley—even Urgals could only endure so many pointed objects sticking out of their body.
She watched the second cloud inevitably enter the air, watched it fly, and fly…
…and fly. The arrows seemed to be caught on the air, she suddenly realized, as if halted by a supernatural force. She couldn't help but grin as they suddenly clattered down under only gravity's pull, and the fierce roar of a magnificent creature echoed throughout the plains.
Eragon and Saphira swooped down from the sky in the distance. Glorious blue fire rolled unhindered from the magnificent blue flyer's mouth, reigning hellfire from the sky. The blaze singed length upon length of Belatona's archers, and Nasuada watched the only arrows any survivors got off at the dragon soar terribly off course. The cheers of the Varden drowned out Saphira's roars as she swiveled midair for another attack run. She could only imagine what the archers in the turrets and atop the walls were contemplating as they watched their final moments fall down upon them from the sky.
The Urgals had to dodge the flaming cinders and bodies that toppled over the fortress walls as they took haven against the city gate, a set of tall, solid cinderblocks attached to the long communion barrier. A victory roar sounded as they wheeled back their massive hammers and slammed them into the gate, crumpling it a little more with each hit. It would be a matter of minutes before they would be able to push inside, but they were in prime position for the assault.
A flicker of incredibly quick movement startled Nasuada and her horse to their right, and the guard yelped and reeled to protect the leader of the Varden. As she staggered to face, however, Nasuada discovered only Arya breaking from a quick jog and coming to rest before her.
"Greetings, Lady Nasuada," the elf spoke. Her voice was quick and brief, as if she were anxious to be somewhere else. "I have come to inform you that we have been successful in destroying the bridges over the Jiet River. However, the army of the Empire is visible a number of leagues to the north on the plains of the opposite side. They should arrive within the coming hours, and the Shadeslayer and I believe they may try to ford farther downstream if it is at all possible."
"Will they be able to?" Nasuada asked, startled.
"Doubtful, but if they are successful their numbers may be significant enough to cause a great deal of difficulty with the further taking of the city," Arya replied.
Nasuada hid how much this news worked against her, and just how disappointed she felt at it. She considered her brief number of options. "Is the possibility a significant enough worry that we need divert attention away from Belatona to contain it?"
"Not as of now, my Lady. The Shadeslayer believes a number of spellcasters could be dispatched to easily ambush them before they had ample opportunity to cross. The option is risky, but unless the Empire has with it a great number of magicians there should be little issue with that course of action."
The dark-skinned woman nodded. "Then I don't think we can afford a diversion of men at this point. Have Eragon keep an eye on them from the sky if at all possible."
"Understood, my Lady."
"Good hunting, Arya," Nasuada bid her friend, and as quickly and startlingly as she appeared, Arya whipped away across the battlefield, crossing between battalions in a dash towards the western end of the city. Nasuada watched Saphira careen high over the walls, as terrified archers worthlessly sent arrow after arrow to track her flight but never pierce her flank. In a matter of seconds the Urgals would penetrate the wall and Jörmunder's forces would swarm into the city. The firefight would escalate. Nasuada grimly prayed that the casualties would be limited to those bearing arms…
Roran encounters difficulties to the east, Saphira said to Eragon as they veered sharply upwards, dodging the fire of bows as they prepared for their fifth dip to the walls. If Nar Garzhvog couldn't penetrate the city within the next minute, they had decided Eragon would break the gate open with magic, hopefully garnering a moment of surprise where the Varden could gain an advantage in storming the city. Below, Eragon could feel a thousand minds of exhausted Empire soldiers terrified beyond their wits and barely scrapping up enough nerve to raise their arms in defense. He had already pushed a conscious thought into as many as he could to surrender, without making his presence noticed. He had absolutely no idea how many would heed the notion.
He fares well, he just hasn't breached yet, Eragon replied, casting his glance off in his cousin's direction as he spoke. The archers were less densely located on the western wall than to the south, and Roran's own archers were shooting down twice as many above as they were losing beneath shields below. Would you like to help him anyway?
No. Once the walls are breached I will have to land and allow you into the city. Your spellcasters have already entered below and trapping the Empire inside of their own barracks, uninjured. A most admirable tactic.
Eragon smiled at her tone, surprised and impressed as it was. Bank and set me down on top of that turret near the gate tower, he pointed out the direction in his mind. On instinct, his arm ripped Brisingr from its sheath and deflected an arrow in one motion too quick for any human to register. And watch where you're flying.
Saphira growled and launched unexpectedly into a sharp dive. As she pulled out the wake of the wind her wings unfurled into the air sent a number of the remaining archers toppling over the rails of their stations, and they dropped backwards to an uncomfortable death at the ground twenty feet below. She dug her claws into the tearing wood as she landed, and Eragon leaped gracefully off her back and to the deck above the city walls.
She vaulted back into flight, as Eragon felt the tremors in the planks below from the Urgal hammers at the gate. To his left, the army roared as they watched him sprint across the top of the deck towards where the gate ended its extent. To his right, Empire soldiers were rushing forward hastily to defend in the case of the gate breaking. The cries of excitement from his left were countered with those of anxiety from the right.
He slid to a halt as the platform abruptly ended, leaving a drop to the ground at the area of the gate. Delving into the energy continued in the gems of his belt, Eragon focused all of his mind on the heavy stone gate and exclaimed, "Opíana du grind!"
Cries of alarm from both sides of the wall sounded high into the sky as the stone gates abruptly emitted a piercing, grinding sound and drifted open with little effort whatsoever. The normal gear mechanism snapped with incredible cracking noises as their job was done without their assistance. As Eragon recovered his energy from his reserves and ceased the flow from the belt, the Varden and Urgals recovered from their surprised and rushed into the city, clashing instantly with the Empire soldiers on the inside.
Eragon dropped so he was gripping the edge of the platform by only the lengths of his fingers and released himself, falling the remaining distance until he landed squarely amongst the Varden troops. Giving his enemies no time to react and his allies even a lesser amount, he rushed forward and swiftly dismembered the nearest opponent.
Far above, Saphira had circled once and then dived unto the western edges, where the elves were making quick work of whatever resistance they met. Through her eyes as he fought his own enemies, he watched her tear through the dense ranks that individual spellcasters were finding difficulty outmatching. Her roars scared any civilians quickly into the deepest recesses of their homes.
A Varden soldier was thrust by a brutish enemy into his side, and in his perception of Saphira's movements and actions, Eragon was thrown off balance. Ignoring the cry of the man who he collided with, he quickly rolled, evading sword slashes of his enemies, and jumped to his feet. Instinct and the thoughts of the man attacking him allowed for him to deflect blows while turned to regain his footing, to the utter confusion and horror of the opponent. Before there was ample time for reality to set in, Eragon swiftly sliced the head from the man and kicked the body over ruthlessly, intentionally. As desired, several soldiers who had witnessed this attack dropped their weapons and sank to their knees in front of them, seconds from being speared to death by the charge of Jörmunder's troops.
Smiling inwardly to himself, Eragon rushed into side alleys as the Empire abruptly began to retreat. The enemy divided and sifted into the streets, heading into more populated areas of the town where they could seek protection amongst the stalls and habitats. Eragon prayed the citizens were holed up well in their homes, for the battle of the Varden and its troops would soon stretch into the streets beneath apartment windows.
Where are you, Eragon? Saphira said abruptly. The soldiers are pooling towards the elves. They will either have to withdraw or you need to come— Her voice in his mind stopped abruptly, and he was about to ask what was wrong when she continued, Arya has arrived. Your presence would aid the elves still.
A flash memory of Arya's cold, set face permeated through his wall of focus. I'm on my way. See if you can't scare the living spirit out of some of those soldiers before I get there, eh?
I'll do my best. She snorted mentally and dived down towards the rooftops once more, disappearing from Eragon's field of vision as he hacked away a blundering axeman and dodged the attacks of a shield-wielding swordsman. With his superhuman agility and strength, he leaped over a tipped over wagon and rushed away from his unsuspecting attackers as they fumbled for their bearings.
Veering through the streets, he randomly stabbed a few soldiers who had gained advantages over Varden or Urgals, although the number of his allies grew quickly fewer the deeper he got in the city. A few times he even found himself jumping clean over columns of sprinting soldiers, both heading in the direction of the frenzy and a few running frantically away. If Roran is successful, the city is all but ours.
Aye, Saphira replied. Jörmunder's forces have captured the gate. Roran is coming through the east gate just now. Many Urgals have been killed, but I think I can see Nar Garzhvog moving through the streets south of your position.
That, alone, Eragon deadpanned, is enough for victory.
He nearly lost his balance as he banked his body around a final turn, sprinting into a clearing in what appeared to be a poorer district of the city. Four elves were surrounding a well in the center, batting back attacks from a string of assailants, all clad in armor of the Empire. As Eragon streaked onto the scene, the bulk of the mass either cried out in fright or switched targets. The change was almost comical in sound, but Eragon wasted no time. He didn't even slow down.
He ducked the swings of the first two men. He cut the legs from beneath one of them with Brisingr and kicked them out from the other. Using the momentum from the cut, he swung his fire sword up to block the blow from a third man, the contact too short and fleeting to draw sparks. Leaving no time for reaction, he slashed the man's blade to the side and tore a fatal gash in his chest, already moving on to the next target.
A shadow appeared over his head and he turned swiftly to defend himself—Blodhgram dropped over his head from a higher target and sent a flurry of spells and melee attacks at their enemies. A number of bodies dropped or reeled after being struck, and in the space of thirty seconds the situation had altered from trapped elves to running soldiers.
They are retreating towards the citadel, Saphira told him. A greater number have already holed themselves up in the small courtyard of the governor's home.
Can you take care of that?
Yes, but I will wait until Jörmunder advances far enough to take the building once there are no soldiers left to defend it. I'm sure Nasuada would rather have the city leadership's cooperation rather than his head.
Well said. Eragon turned to the elves and flung his sword arm towards the direction of the city center. "Deeper in!" he cried, and they followed him as he led the charge after the retreating Empire. "Towards the citadel. If we can cut off enough of their troops they may not be able to put up a fight once we get there!"
They ran into a junction of city roads. One of them, a main street of Belatona, led straight forth to the governor's house, a tall, slanted-roofed building residing near the center of the city. The citadel towered a short distance away, and Saphira roared as she soared directly over their heads on her way to dispose of the meager and rapidly falling guard number. Eragon couldn't spare her a glance as they clashed with a contingency bound for the capital structure. Brisingr flew into action, shining crimson with the tinge of iron it was quickly becoming familiar with.
As soldiers continued to pour from a single street, Eragon threw his head back towards the main street, his blue blade never pausing in its defense. "Go, Blodhgram! I'll deal with it here—head them off and keep them from prolonging this conflict!"
Blodhgram hesitated for the briefest of seconds, only to measure if Eragon had the forehand and advantage necessary for survival, and then nodded. The elves, joined by the majority of the remainder of their comrades during the run, followed the furry friend as he turned his back to the dragon rider and followed the path towards the governor. Their number wasn't twelve, but Eragon could sense the shielded consciousnesses of the rest throughout the western parts of the city with relative ease. They had not perished.
And neither had he. Yet.
Those swinging their swords to his parry were only human, but their numbers quickly began to overwhelm him, and he was briefly under the impression he had made a miscalculation. Every tip of a weapon came an inch closer to his flesh than the last had, and though his speed hadn't faltered and his instincts were matching every blow with a killing strike, he began to calculate a statistical retreat.
Arya blurred from nonexistence and swiped through the ranks that poured into him. Her own sword, light and cunning in the shadows of early morning, swept through bodies so quickly even his elven eyes had difficulty adjusting. She forced her way through the line of soldiers to where he stood, and they fought back-to-back in a circle as the streets began to bleed reinforcements.
Eragon spared a glance to the sky between blows and watched Saphira circle over the citadel. Has Jörmunder gotten there yet? We're up to our teeth down here, and it's only now beginning to thin out. I could use you.
He will be at the courtyard in moments. I'll come as soon as I can.
Arya elbowed him out of the way and slashed through a man as he raised a two-handed axe to slice through their skulls. He spun his sword around to cover her weak side and with one hack reduced three lively soldiers to lifeless corpses. To his partner-of-mind, he breathed, Hurry.
Jörmunder's converging on the governor's house and the citadel, he sent to Arya, who allowed him past her mental defenses only after hesitating. The battle is all but over already, except for these few still resisting.
You should reunite with Saphira, she replied. The numbers of the men were indeed thinning, and as Eragon stepped forward to engage five of the newest arrivals three dropped their swords and cowered behind their shields, quickly followed by the other two. He swung around to find those facing Arya exhibiting similar reactions, and the two of them locked eyes. I think the situation here is under control.
He held her gaze for a moment longer, then nodded and sprinted away into the streets, replenishing himself once again from the supply of energy stored in the belt. Most of the soldiers he rushed past dropped their swords, but he wouldn't have attacked anyway. In the distance, he watched Saphira dive into the midst of the remaining soldiers, rolling past the few arrows sent towards her and roaring into the ranks. Before her talons were low enough to rip through the soldiers themselves, though, she abruptly pulled up and veered away.
Before he even had a chance to ask her why she had pulled up short, she spoke. I believe they are already laying down their weapons to surrender. I'm sure that was sufficient enough.
Eragon smiled at her choice. Good. Jörmunder can handle it from there. Come down and get me.
His dragon swung around high in the air above and dove towards her rider. He sprinted alongside her as she tucked low and slid low through the street, just slow enough so he could leap up and catch hold of one of the straps of the saddle. To the terror of the remaining soldiers bowing in surrender in the street, her forelegs brushed the stone of the road before she vaulted straight upward, carrying them both high into the sky and away from any possible danger. Eragon climbed into a firmer position and strapped himself back in, watching below as they circled once over the city.
A few places were billowing smoke, mostly on the east side towards Roran's regiment. Eragon searched the minds below for his cousin's consciousness and was relieved to find it after a moment of uncertainty. The elves were securing the citadel, and Arya had relinquished the duties of submission to Varden soldiers. Across the city, as the final soldiers surrendered and were steadily packed away into barrack buildings or sat down in street centers, Jörmunder's forces pressed into the capital building and secured the offices. Less than twenty minutes after the first breaches, Belatona was secured and locked down, through what Eragon would have pronounced as a perfect success.
Well done, Bright-scales, he said to Saphira affectionately.
And yourself, little one, she replied. Horns of victory—horns of the Varden—rang out as the sun finished its initial ascent and began to properly climb in the sky. They circled downward as the sense of urgency amongst the army quickly diminished, after the war cries of success. A number of the Varden's soldiers hadn't even had the time to rush into the city to assist, and were still venturing outside the city limits as the massive troop surge through the small two city gates spread out throughout the streets. Even as they struggled to orient themselves, elation seized the army, cries spreading wide and far, reaching into the air where the dragon and his rider flew. You fought well. Not arrogantly. And your plan seems to have succeeded.
Nasuada is about to enter the city, Eragon pointed out. As much as he enjoyed the victory, he didn't necessarily want Saphira and him flying over a battlefield to symbolize the Varden's might. Unwanted, unnecessary, and improper attention. Come. Let's go down and greet her in her greatest victory yet.
Saphira obliged, an easier bank towards the city levels. Eragon slowed his breathing and heartbeat from their previous high levels and wiped sweat from his face as she pulled up inside of an clear alcove of space the Varden had left open for her to land in just inside of the city gates. She touched down to rabid cheers from the rebel army, and chants of "Shadeslayer!" gathered in the distance. Eragon forced a smile at the respect of the men, waving a hand slightly as if to ward off the cries.
Nasuada's small caravan of guards bustled into the city, and similar chants for the Varden's leader arose. She smiled and waved to the soldiers as they roared with their reverence of their two highest figures. She caught Eragon's eye and her smile widened. The procession pulled a left to head directly for him, and when she was within range to hear him even above the celebrations of the Varden, Eragon nodded from where he sat on Saphira's back, taking care to avoid her spikes.
"Congratulations on your victory, my Lady," he said.
"Our victory," she corrected, beaming, and the words elicited a grand cry of elation and euphoria from the Varden. Eragon noted the fact that the bodies that had covered the gate area mere minutes ago had already been carted away, most likely to be sorted and given proper burial. "Two victories within three weeks! Galbatorix, after so long, finally has something in the world to fear!"
The crowd continued its roar of approval. Arya appeared, covered in a fair amount of blood Eragon was relatively certain wasn't hers, at the fringe of Nasuada's caravan. She avoided Eragon's gaze.
"Jörmunder has secured the capital building," he said to Nasuada. "I'm sure the governor will be most interested to speak with you, at once, my Lady."
"Of course, of course," Nasuada said, but her smile neither faltered nor diminished. Indeed, she looked livelier than Eragon had seen her in a decent while. "The winter has begun well, and it was due specifically to your plan. Well done, Eragon, well do—"
The piercing echo of a very loud horn pierced her words, striking them in half and stopping her in the middle of her syllable.
All of Belatona froze. The men stopped cheering. The entire army stopped moving. Voices died to whispers, and then to nothing, as the insane call of a blown instrument carried over the wind across the entire city. Arya turned towards Eragon, and Eragon felt uncertainty in Saphira and anxiety in himself. Nasuada swung her horse around swiftly to face the noise, as Saphira determined the direction herself. The Varden horns had ceased; the sound on the sky was not a cry of victory.
The note was of the Empire, and it was coming from the east.
"If you'll excuse me, my Lady," Eragon spoke, barely more than a whisper, and before Nasuada could even answer Saphira shot them both upwards, buffeting the Varden with the shockwaves of her wings' magnificent strokes. Faster than any other creature of the world could have risen, Saphira carried them above Belatona, far, far above so their eyes could stretch out east and discover the source of the cry that penetrated the Varden's victory. For a few moments, Eragon couldn't register what his eyes were telling him. As Saphira drew closer over Belatona's limits, however, it became abruptly clear what was transpiring a half-league to the east.
The bridges over the Jiet, bridges Eragon himself and the elves had broken barely a half an hour earlier had been remade. The wood that had been torn apart… the wood was still strewn across the Jiet, far downstream by now, long forgotten in the waters. Instead, the bridges were firm, sturdy, and reinforced, and instead of metal and lumber for their construct they had been erected from solid stone.
The Empire was staunchly marching over the two bridges, gapped evenly between them and full in force. Their ranks stretched behind them like a vicious cape or coattail, mocking those that traveled in their wake, and their movements were clean, composed, synchronous. The very sight of them was enough to strike fear in even Eragon's heart, and he was still digesting the situation.
As he felt the fear spread below them, in the streets of the Varden's victory, as the remaking of the bridges tried to rationalize itself in his perplexed mind and Saphira's apprehension pooled with his own, he somehow tilted his eyes away from the horror that was developing on the plains and searched the skies above the Empire's Army.
The red dragon roared from over the Jiet.