Hiiiiiii! Well, I know I said that I'd update yesterday, but a series of unfortunate events (and a Mentalist marathon a la improptu) prevented me from finishing this until 11:05 last night. So it is unbeta'd, somewhat ramble-y, but I think it works. :D
Many thanks to you all, you lovely reviewers you. :) Remember my guidelines, m'kay? No spamming, plzthx. :)
This chapter includes Eragon arriving at the Varden, winds, and Tariku! :DDD Enjoy!
Dedicated to Amrit is a Real Person (yes, the Amrit) for clearing up with me, and providing some valuable advice. Thank you, dearie.
Much thanks to my apartment-mate (haha, we got a new one!!) for reading this over and not laughing!
To my beta trio: I did not send you this b/c I promised to have it out at a certain time, but I WILL be sending you Chapter 38, alright? I love all three of you very, very much! Keep being awesome!
Disclaimer: I do not own the Inheritance Cycle, its original characters or locations, but I do own many, many OCs and events that have occured in this story. Take THAT CP!!
"It all just builds and builds and builds until the clouds simply can't hold it in any more and then the storm breaks and explodes with all the fury of God himself." –John Clement-Davis
Chapter Thirty-Seven: The Breaking Point
The wind howled and tore at Eragon's clothes, and he screwed his eyes shut against it as it blasted past the Dragon Riders as they flew on their desperate race to Belatona.
The sun had set twice since Rhunon had appeared and delivered the warning to the Riders, and Eragon knew, deep in his bones, that they were rapidly running out of time. They had flown as fast as they could while conserving as much energy as they could, and still it might not be enough.
Murtagh had wanted to try staging—sending one Rider ahead to warn the Varden—but that idea had quickly proved ineffective. Konungr and Sunna did not know the way to Belatona, for they had both been very young and poorly-traveled when they fled to the caves. Neither had been anywhere near Leona Lake, and therefore they would be hopelessly lost. And neither Eragon nor Murtagh thought it would be a good idea to fly ahead, in case of an ambush.
The other Riders and dragons were decent in sparring, but they had not faced a real foe in a century. A force of Halflings could prove to be their end.
So the clan-pack remained together, and to top it all off they were facing a powerful headwind; a storm was brewing in the south, and the winds were fast and powerful, and each gust was a fight for the dragons, particularly Sunna, who was the thinnest and therefore weighed the least.
Where are we? Erik called, from somewhere to Saphira's left. The clouds obscured even the moon, so the dragons were flying in pitch darkness.
We passed Kuasta about two hours ago. Murtagh answered. We should reach the fields of Belatona in another two.
Right after dawn. Eragon muttered unhappily.
Aye. Murtagh was grim.
Both brothers knew that the host of the Empire was most likely very near Belatona, if not at the gates. The battle would commence at dawn, and the Riders were going to be late, at the rate they were going.
Can we fly faster? Saphira asked, her wings straining already. She snarled at the wind, kicking and clawing as she was buffeted.
No. Eragon said. The others couldn't keep up, and Konungr and Sunna need to keep up their strength.
The blue dragoness muttered something derogative about cave-dwelling cowards and fought on, her head horizontal to her body so the wind flowed over her more easily. Sunna and Thorn copied her technique, but Konungr, with his massive bulk, was having a hard time of it. He roared in frustration as, once again, he began to fall behind.
This isn't working! He howled, frustrated. He snapped at the wind as if to dispel it by sheer force of will alone.
Suddenly, Eragon got an idea. Fly like geese. He said.
What? Erik was perplexed, but Murtagh understood.
Aye. He told the burly Rider. Geese fly in formation, to block some of the wind. They rotate who's directly in the wind and the others have an easier time of it.
It will be faster. Saphira added. She slid into the point position, predictably, with Thorn flying to her right and Konungr and Sunna to the left, in a loose, lopsided arrowhead. Almost at once, the other three dragons noticed the change.
I can fly faster! Sunna crowed, excited. She rolled in the air, delighted, and spat yellow fire in victory. Thorn roared in triumph, adorning the dark air with his own flames, flashes of crimson that were snatched away on the wind and snuffed out.
The orange dragon merely grunted; Saphira's slipstream was not big enough to relieve his entire burden.
Able to fly faster, the group of Riders soared in the darkness, occasionally illuminated by a burst of silent lightning. The storm would not break here; it was being borne north.
Saphira, tiring, slipped to the back of the formation, and the clan rotated. Thorn took the point position, Konungr to his right, and so on. They repeated this process several times; Saphira was point-leader twice more before the winds changed.
It was completely unexpected, the change. The wind stopped for a moment, and then it gusted powerfully from the north, far colder than the warmer southern air. Saphira hissed in surprise as it bore her faster, pushing against her wings. The formation broke apart, because Konungr dropped like a stone, as his wings were not angled to catch the north wind, and because Sunna was unprepared and shot several hundred feet forward, squawking, startled. Eragon doubted that she had ever experienced a wind-change before.
Saphira and Thorn remained together, as they were used to the temperamental weather in Alagaesia.
Back to formation. The blue dragoness called, and her tone had some affection in it. She was beginning to view Sunna and Konungr as family.
We might make it in time. Eragon told Murtagh, thanking the gods for the change in the winds.
If we can outrun the storm. Was the reply.
Storm?
The winds are going to feed it, and push it towards Belatona. The older brother said. Like a maelstrom at sea. It will be interesting, to say the least.
Aye. Eragon agreed, opening his eyes fully now that the wind was to his back. The ragged edges of clouds began to appear, first gray, then pinkish-orange as dawn burst into being to the east. The Spine, some trees still painted in the colors of autumn, was awash with leaves the color of fire, reds, yellows, oranges, all buffeted every which way by the winds, creating a rolling sea of leaves.
It was beautiful, but Eragon had no time to admire the beauty of his homeland. The Spine was running out; clearings were increasing in both size and frequency. Creeks also grew as the clan neared the shores of Leona Lake, and the Spine dissolved into smaller woods and copses, and soon the mountains were a jagged line against the gray sky, and Leona Lake rippled underneath the Riders.
We have about an hour, I think. Eragon said.
Should we hide? Vé spoke up, in reference to himself, Erik, and their dragons.
It would give us the element of surprise. Erik agreed. To Eragon's amusement, the Kuasta man's thoughts were perfectly phrased, without a touch of accent, in contrast to his colorful accent he had while speaking.
" I coulda dropped it." Erik had said, when the pack lighted down the first night. "Coulda lost me accent, like ol' Brom did. But I've too much pride in me people, see. I keep th' speech fer them." And then he had laughed, somewhat bitterly.
That is a good plan. Eragon said, pleased. Sunna, Konungr, fly above the clouds. Thorn and Saphira will be seen, but you two can drop down on the Halflings. They won't be expecting it, and it might win us the battle.
Roaring in acquiescence, the two autumn-colored dragons peeled away from formation and sailed upwards, vanishing into the steadily darkening clouds.
Watch out for lighting! Thorn called cheerfully, though he did not seem concerned. The storm was not centered above Leona Lake; its center was father south, judging by the darkness in the clouds ahead.
Peering down, Eragon caught sight of Saphira, reflected in the lake. She was vivid against the stormy gray, her reflection rippling on the water, distorted. Fishing boats bobbed frantically on the surface, the fishermen screaming at the sight of two dragons soaring overhead. Thorn dropped low and billowed fire; the men, howling in fright, leaped from their boats and swam frantically for the shore.
Behave. Saphira told the crimson dragon.
Roaring in amusement, Thorn furled his wings and dropped into the lake.
Eragon heard Murtagh's mental shout, and assumed that the water was not very warm. The red dragon surfaced and took flight again, a huge fish flopping weakly in his mouth before it vanished.
Come have some fish. He invited. It's good for strength.
Grumbling in agreement, Saphira dipped lower.
Hold your breath, little one. She grudgingly told Eragon. It will be rather cold. And then she dove into the water.
The shock sent thrills through the blue Rider. His skin broke out into gooseflesh and the air was nearly driven from his lungs. He opened his eyes and saw nothing but darkness below and weak light above. Saphira, however, quickly found what she was looking for and broke through to air, a fish vanishing in her jaws.
Thorn had also grabbed a second, and then a third. Saphira seized several small fish and one large one of her return journey, swallowing a good bit of water at the same time.
Are you hungry? She asked of her packmates. Affirmations were received.
Stay hidden. Eragon instructed. We'll bring the fish to you.
Within a few minutes, Saphira was spiraling up, a fish in her jaws and three hooked on her talons. She delivered her catch to her yellow counterpart, and then plunged back below the clouds. Thorn did the same for Konungr, except twice, and then, with fuller bellies, the clan continued their journey.
I see it! Eragon said suddenly. He narrowed his eyes; sure enough, a smudge was on the southern horizon, and as Saphira and Thorn neared it, the Rider saw the thin, tiny lines, and he knew that the battle was about to begin.
And the clouds above the city were so dark they were almost black, ominous and threatening. The storm was close to the city.
Higher. He told Saphira. She sailed upwards, hiding in the veils of the clouds. Below, the sounds of war were drowning out the wing beats of four dragons. There were no metal-on-metal clashes, however, and no screams. There did not seem to be any person-to-person fighting, but the catapults were in full use, boulders pulverizing stone walls and hardened ground, bouncing and cracking and shattering with terrible force. A low roar, the sound of thousands of voices, broke through the clouds.
Can you land on the wall? Eragon wanted to know. The sudden appearance of Saphira and Thorn would demoralize the Empire and embolden the Varden, shortening the conflict.
Yes. It is quite wide.
Good.
Saphira banked sharply, the clouds rushing past, and then, with an air-shaking roar and a brilliant burst of blue fire, she dropped from her cover, flared her impressive wings, and landed, with a wall-shuddering thud, on a clear space atop the wall to Belatona.
The catapults stopped firing.
Every eye, both inside the city and out, was trained on Saphira and her Rider. The Varden on the wall, most of them farther away, manning the catapults, stood slack-jawed at the sight.
Saphira reared onto her hind legs, her tail lashing the air and her wings spread for balance, and she spat a thirty-foot jet of snapping flames and roared again.
Thorn dropped from the clouds but did not land, choosing instead to circle above Saphira, roaring his own challenge.
The blue Rider felt the presence of his new allies in his mind; they were circling above the clouds, waiting.
The Halflings sprang into the air, a total of six, and although they did not move to fight Saphira or Thorn, they shrieked and keened in anger. Eragon's eyes found the purple-eyed monster, and her Rider.
He snarled, hatred churning in his blood.
Tariku is mine. He told Murtagh and his waiting clan members.
If you get to him first. The red Rider replied, and a similar hatred coursed through his mind.
Agreed. Eragon said tightly. He murmured a spell and drew in a great breath.
"Enemies of the Varden!" He bellowed, magic carrying his voice to every warrior. He sounded great, powerful. "Enemies of the Varden, you have one last chance to escape. Surrender, and you shall not be harmed."
"We shall not surrender!" Tariku's hated voice floated back, and Eragon saw the dark-skinned man. Saphira, still balanced on her hind legs, snarled at the Halfling Tresia, her sapphire eyes alight with battle-lust.
The Earl's cry was taken up by the host of the Empire, accompanied by banging of steel on steel. They were determined, and the horrible laugh of the Painless Ones murmured beneath the noise.
Murtagh, can you take out the Painless Ones? Eragon asked his brother.
The elder brother was silent for a moment, and Eragon knew that his bright eyes were scanning the Empire's lines.
Yes. He said. I can see them; they fly under the snake eating its tail.
Eragon saw the flag fluttering. Good. He said, and spoke again. "If you do not surrender," he shouted, aware that everyone hung onto his voice, awaiting his verdict, awaiting confirmation that prison had not broken him, that he could still fight to the death. "You will be crushed!"
The Varden howled. As one they screamed and chanted, stamping their feet. "Shade-slay-er, Shade-slay-er!" They bellowed, over and over, until the city rang with it.
Eragon drew Brisingr, and whispered its name. The blue blade burst into flames, and Saphira roared.
The armies held their breath.
Eragon? Arya's voice was suddenly in the blue Rider's mind, in his thoughts, and he breathed in her presence.
Arya. He said warmly. Welcome to the ranks of the Riders.
She did not respond for a moment. Then; I am glad you are alright. She said, and her thoughts were gentle and honest. I have awakened several Eldunarí; their power is yours to use.
I shall only draw on Glaedr, I think. Eragon replied. You won the trust of those Eldunarí, so they are yours to use.
Arya was silent again. Be safe, Eragon. I don't want to lose you.
A genuine smile broke out on the Rider's face. I love you. He told her honestly. She most likely would not say that herself; she was an elf, after all, and love was so deep among elves it was not often spoken of. I shall return to you.
He turned back to the battlefield, Brisingr glowing in his hands. He took a deep breath, and then…
Now, brother! Eragon shouted.
With a roar Saphira shoved off the wall, charging straight for Tariku. Below the Varden surged, a sea of armored men, and the clash began.
Eragon caught a brief glimpse of Roran, astride a jet black stallion, hammer drawn, thundering forward, the Varden on his heels, and then Saphira hit Tresia with terrible force and the world rolled.
Tresia was shrieking, her tan body writhing angrily, dirty yellow claws flashing, and blood splashed. With his sword aflame Eragon lashed out, charring scaled flesh and eliciting a howl of agony.
Tariku, eyes burning, drew his shimmering sword and slashed at Saphira, his blade a whirl of color, drawing lines through Saphira.
Eragon waved his hand, calling on his magic; bones snapped and popped and the Halfling howled, keening in pain as her ribs cracked.
The Halfling kicked of Saphira, fleeing a distance away, her chest torn and her sides leaking blood. Tariku was furious, his dark face twisted in loathing. He retreated behind enemy lines, muttering healing spells, and Eragon did the same.
Glaedr-ebrithil? He called, reaching out.
The golden dragon hummed and was there, reassuring, and he offered his wealth of power. Saphira's wounds mended. Be swift, young Eragon.
I will.
Saphira took advantage of the lull in the duel with Tariku to pursue another Halfling, a gray-brown male with stone gray eyes and Heart.
Arrows whizzed through the air, though none high enough to reach the Halflings and some blown by the winds, which were once again picking up.
Drive it down! Eragon said.
Saphira clawed at the half-dragon, fire licking her jaws, and sent it flying straight into the archer's paths; the Halfling retreated higher, arrows piercing its flank and legs and its Rider's shoulder.
Murtagh and Thorn had actually landed among the battle, and a trail of fire and charred bodies marked where they had cleared the way. Zar'roc was a red blur, decapitating laughing painless soldiers with terrifying ease. Thorn's long teeth and talons were dyed as red as his scales, but Eragon saw the blood streaming from a dozen small wounds.
Be careful. Eragon said to Murtagh.
He received a grunt in response.
He turned his face to the black clouds, his hair blown away from his eyes. Now! He called to Konungr and Sunna, and their roars joined the roars and shrieks.
Eragon watched with delight as the massive orange dragon and the slight yellow dragon exploded through the black clouds, trailing fire.
Konungr set himself on the nearest Halfling, a brownish monster with glowing brass eyes, half-crushing the beast with one swipe of his mighty forelimbs.
Sunna sank her teeth into a Halfling about her size, rolling over and over, sunshine fire spilling from her jaws to burn the deep wounds.
When the duelers separated, Vé knocked three arrows with lightning speed and loosed them; they burrowed into gray flesh, earning a shrieking roar of pain.
The Varden screamed in joy and jubilation. They did not expect this, two more dragons. Their confidence surging, Eragon watched as they tangled fiercely with the Empire, Urgals and dwarves and men and elves nimble and strong and mighty. They fell, of course, and fell quickly, but the Empire was losing men just as, if not more, quickly.
Tariku had recovered enough to rejoin the battle. Sullen magic crackled in his hands, and he threw it with deadly precision, blowing catapults into the air, the bodies of those who manned them tossed like leaves.
Snarling, Saphira raced towards the Earl and Tresia, pulling her wings in closely and plunging, snapping her teeth furiously.
Tresia rolled and another Halfling caught the brunt of Saphira's attack, its shrieks ear-shattering as it fled, bleeding, straight into the arrows.
Three punctured its chest, five its forelimbs, two the wings, and one straight through one of the beast's bright orange eyes.
It fell, convulsing, and hit the ground, where it and its Rider were hacked to pieces. The dwarves responsible for the hacking bellowed and shouted, triumphant. The first Halfling was dead.
Eragon twisted in his saddle, searching. There! He cried, and Saphira turned sharply, her wings wide, and then Tresia, unprepared for the vicious attack, was howling and biting at a blue shoulder, writhing and kicking and clawing, but she was hurt, and badly.
Saphira snarled in pain as the Halfling ravaged at her shoulder, tearing at the muscle, and only redoubled her efforts, fire and fang and claw drawing blood with every vicious swipe.
For the second time, however, Tresia managed to escape, though this time it was due to a shouted spell. As Tariku spun past, Eragon lashed out with Brisingr, scoring a deep wound in the man's shoulder.
Your blood for Saphira's! He shouted, and then withdrew back into his own mind.
Eragon took the opportunity to again heal Saphira's wounds and take stock of the battlefield. The Varden and the Empire were now fully embroiled, nearly indistinguishable. Most of the painless soldiers were dead by now, fortunately; Murtagh seemed to be doing battle with the captain, his red sword weaving a deadly web of steel, slicing and slashing with terrifying precision, ripping open veins and muscles.
Eragon was deeply, deeply grateful that his brother was on his side.
Thorn was ravaging a war machine, his stout legs planted as he reared and breathed fire into it so that it collapsed on itself, burning the men inside alive within seconds.
His maimed tail served to bash aside ambitious enemies from behind, though no one in the Empire seemed particularly keen to take on the crimson dragon; he was famed for his ferocity in battle.
A terrible roar made Eragon jerk his head up; Konungr smashed his heavy paws on top of the half-dragon he had been dueling.
The creature screamed and fell, its neck oddly bent, its half-Rider howling, until Erik's sword pierced his heart, and he dropped.
The Varden roared in glee. Two Halflings had been killed.
Tariku is gone. Saphira commented. Sure enough the Earl had fled, retreating a ways away. Shall we pursue him?
No. Eragon said decisively. He will come back. Let's cause chaos.
Saphira roared wickedly. Agreed, friend of my heart. She dropped, wings flared, Eragon halting the arrows that hissed to meet her, and a blast of fire cleared a space for her to land.
The two sides were entangled but the lines of each could still be seen; the pair positioned themselves and charged, rushing forward, minds together as one, and painted death among the Empire.
Soldiers fell left and right under the onslaught, limbs flying, blood spraying a crimson mist as the pair hacked their way through man after man.
Four times Eragon and Saphira repeated this, sowing death with fang and sword, until the press of bodies shoved them back, bleeding from dozens of little wounds.
What's going on? Sunna's voice interrupted the fight, breaking through the battle-blood.
Eragon turned his face to the pregnant sky; thick veins of arcane power, throbbing like a heartbeat, were hanging the air, lashing out. One struck the yellow dragoness and she dropped, crying out as the delicate bones in her wing snapped.
Vé managed to mend the injury before they reached the ground, fortunately. Eragon saw that his face was bone white.
Konungr, enraged at the assault on his mate, lunged forward, to find the perpetrator of such magic. Before he could get two hundred feet, two of the remaining five Halflings leaped for him, and the three beasts rolled in a violent swirl of color and claws.
Tariku! Eragon growled. He heard the echo of the Obliterator, deep in his heart, and felt his blood surge. Let's kill him.
Agreed. Saphira snarled, her blue eyes glittering. Eragon bounded onto her back and into the saddle, and Saphira easily clawed her way into the air, roaring.
Tariku was currently sitting cross-legged a mile away, under Tresia's narrow wings, the arcane strands spilling from his hands.
The magic was beginning to do serious damage; the glimmering tendrils tore at the wall and the catapults and tossed men high into the air to plummet to their deaths below.
Sunna was currently dodging a strand and another Halfling, her teeth bared but her eyes wide.
We have to take him out. Eragon muttered, and drew on Glaedr's power; his own reserves were rather depleted, as he had been warding himself and Saphira from all major attacks.
"Brisingr!" He shouted, and fire soaring from his hands, crackling, to smash near Tariku. The distance between them, however, made accuracy difficult, and this shot went wide. Tresia's violet eyes, visible even from a distance, flashed meanly.
Twice more Eragon shot fire, unwilling to get too near. Both fireballs missed, though the last one only narrowly.
Barzul. He growled. We need to get—
A titanic force cut off his thoughts. One of the arcane strands had smashed into Saphira with all the strength of a dragon's tail, and it blew the breath out of the dragoness as her ribs snapped and blood spilled from her jaws.
She howled in agony, and Eragon echoed it; a second blow glanced his cheek, probably breaking his jaw and definitely breaking his nose. White flashed in front of his eyes and blood filled his mouth.
Swearing brokenly, Eragon spat out blood as Saphira struggled to stabilize herself, her breath ragged.
Unable to utter the ancient language, Eragon coughed and reached for the threads of magic, intending to think them, like the Gray Folk, but another blow, this time snapping one of Saphira's legs, elicited a howl and shattered the Rider's concentration.
He couldn't breathe, couldn't concentrate enough to scramble for the magic, and he saw the points of the magical strands converge, racing towards Saphira…
Enough! A powerful roar splintered the air and the magic; the glimmering strands dissipated and through his pained haze, Eragon heard Tresia scream in anger.
Three roars spilt the air, and Eragon forced his eyes open.
Ophelia dropped from the sky like a green bolt of lightning, her wings furled, fire racing in her wake, and she fell upon the Halfling with a flurry of flashing talons and teeth, her single eye gleaming.
Deloi, his bronze hide flashing, and Talon, dark and fast, joined the battle, the indigo dragon fending off one of the Halflings on Konungr and Deloi spitting wide arcs of fire on the soldiers below.
You came. Eragon managed, watching Ophelia as Tariku and Tresia took to the sky to avoid her.
I came. She agreed. It would be petty of me to deny help to the leader of the Dragon Riders.
Gratitude flowed between the two of them, mutual, and Eragon focused and drew on Glaedr. His own and Saphira's wounds mended over, the bones snapping back into place, and the blue dragoness stabilized herself. The Varden cheered, mad with the taste of victory.
They could win this.
They were going to win this fight.
The Halflings shrieked in anger and fear; they had come expecting one or two dragons, not a pack of seven. They were outnumbered.
Eragon drew in a deep breath and muttered magic again.
"Tariku!" He roared, and his voice thrummed against the dark sky. "Tariku, come and fight me like a man!"
He saw the mottled scales turn, two miles away, and knew that the Earl, once a proud warrior of the nomadic tribes, could not turn down a challenge to his honor, and he was flying to his death.
Let's kill him! Saphira snarled, and she surged forward to meet him. Ophelia flew above her, bellowing mightily, her emerald scales flashing, and Eragon narrowed his gaze and tightened his grip on Brisingr and tensed for impact.
We're going to win. He said, and his clan shouted back in agreement and determination. Courage, hot and strong and singing like fire, soared in his viens…
And Ophelia's scream of hate and pain tore the air to pieces. Saphira spun , her wings straining, and all the ones below cried out in horror or awe, depending on whichever side they were on.
The Empire screamed and stamped, waving their weapons.
And the Varden let out a low moan of despair, for Galbatorix, his dark cloak billowing behind him, his eyes flashing like steel, and a massive deep blue Eldunarí clutched in one hand, rode above the Varden on wide black wings, power circling him like a gigantic crown.
Shruikan, blacker than night, roared, and in his claws Ophelia's kicks grew weaker and weaker.
Her blood rained down on the Varden.
The skies rumbled; the storm was about to break, all the power in Alagaesia centered at one point.
"Eragon Shadeslayer." Galbatorix called, and his voice sent shivers down Eragon's spine. "I am afraid, my boy, that the time for games is over. Come with me, or I will kill you."
Aand a cliffhangar!! Mwaha, I'm evil, no?
Remeber, 2000 reviews = reward!! (see chapter 36) Love you!
I plan on updating Friday or Saturday, as I have four pages of Chapter 38 already written. It's in Murtagh's POV, btw. Interpret that as you will. Y'all are never gonna guess the plot twist I have there. NEVER.
:D
~WSS