"So how did Reaper get his name?"
"Depends. His version entails him eliminating several Sangheili-led squads on Jericho VII by killing the Sangheili first, before picking off the scattered Unggoy in the burning city."
"And the official version?"
"The official version entails him working with a funeral service to give the victims in a mass-grave a proper funeral, after most UNSC forces had been wiped out. Then the second wave Covenant attack started and he suddenly had many dozens of bodies to use as cover, most of which he spread around the city in the dark. The name stuck. Guess the memories did too.
It definitely looked like the definition of "Shade" alright. Red hair and pale skin…but that was it. The woman escorted by the Marine was naked underneath the brown cloak that had been draped around her shoulders, hiding her body from prying eyes. Most people would not be able to notice the subtle tint of her pale complexion, nor the patches of exposed skin where the heavy cloak was not sufficient enough to hide her body.
Night wasn't most people. In the darkness of the night, he saw with near-perfect sight. He could see the woman walking with a limp, supported by the man who had brought her here. He could see how the soldier looked at her, supported her and guided her across the unsteady rocks.
Now…according to the files, this woman had to be Raia, a woman once possessed by spirits, but then saved by a mysterious "Mistress" and granted to live her life with her own mind and memories instead of serving as an empty husk. Fought and eliminated twice by two-sierra zero-zero-seven, she became loyal to him when he spared her life. Went as far as to swear fealty to him in the ancient language of the elves, which served as their conduit for magic.
That meant that the soldier had to be Corporal Hudson, the son of one of the Spartan-I's and a potential member for Section 26. An unlikely couple, but oddly fitting.
Undertow was the Agent send to "welcome" the two newcomers. They couldn't risk anyone being compromised in any way and a Marine accompanied by a Shade wasn't really the first thing that they wanted to see at the new basecamp. Nasty things could happen. In theory.
With a bit of luck, they could get the Shade in Section 26 as well. That would increase their chances .
Was Hudson aware of the multiple snipers taking aim at him? Of the heavy machinegun that was currently waiting for the signal to tear him to pieces? If his reputation was in any way based in real military deeds, he should be. He didn't show it though.
Undertow stopped the two of them and asked the Corporal for his identification and serial number. He got both, as well as some explanation about a wrecked Mongoose.
Night wondered why the soldier would care about the Shade. Obviously something had happened when the original group of soldiers had been wandering around the country, but…did that warrant dropping off the grid like that? In the middle of the conflict?
After a brief conversation, Undertow allowed the two of them to pass. Good. More hands onboard. The more people they had to fight the Covenant, the better their chances were. It was ironic how they could topple this entire Empire with just a handful of soldiers, but that they still needed an entire army to fight off the Covenant.
Though he supposed that, had it been the other way around, they could have destroyed the Varden with even less than that. The only reason that they had actually been fighting for these rebels was because the Empire had shown hostilities towards them, which was just a normal reaction to something you didn't understand. The UNSC had no reason for fighting against this Galbatorix person. They should have been negotiating peace and other important relations instead of fueling the war with their own personnel and ordnance. And good people had died because of that.
Was that the Spartans fault? Or Wren's?
Maybe it was nobody's fault. Maybe it just was the way things were.
Raia and Hudson moved towards the camp and Night disappeared. It was the sort of thing that was required from the S25 Field Agents; to be able to move and observe without a sound. The training had been…difficult to complete.
His list of things to take care of wasn't too large tonight. Observe the interactions between native species and soldiers, visit Mason to communicate about his plan involving the Spartan and pick out members for the future S26 group.
Finding natives in this place wasn't too big an issue. The people in control excelled at keeping control wherever they went; the elves, dwarves and urgals knew what they had to do when they had to do it and the human soldiers were receiving training drills and instructions at every possible moment during the day. Organization was not a problem.
Time was. Time and supplies.
It didn't take him very long to find a scenario he wanted to observe; that of a soldier telling a story to a crowd. The Marine sitting on the side of the river had the natives' undivided attention. There were elves, dwarves and even urgals spread around him in a loose circle, getting warmed up around various campfires and cooking food in several pots of boiling water.
"That was when it started," he continued. His helmet lay on the ground next to him and the glow of the fire cast an odd glance on his face, making him look older than he probably was. "The moment Harvest made contact with this unknown object, all contact with the planet stopped. That was…about thirty years ago, in the year twenty-five twenty-five. So the military –the UNSC- sends a battlegroup of a handful of ships to investigate. Know what they found?"
Two urgals looked at each other for a moment. One of them grunted softly and looked back at the Marine. Funny how they sat cross-legged, just like the elves. The dwarves kept standing though. "Covenant?"
"A big ball of glass," Night muttered.
"There was no more Harvest. What was left was a burning orb of glass and molten land, with only a few habitable areas remaining."
Close enough.
A crescendo of multiple whispers ran through the present races, most of it indecipherable to Night. It didn't matter though; he was content with watching. He was always content with watching. The rocks provided him with ample cover and the height made it hard for the people below to see him. He didn't have very long though; he would be needed for debriefing within a few minutes.
"And this big, purple ship floated above the planet. Of course the battlegroup contacted it. And their response?"
Night remembered it. He had read all the reports, memorized all the battles. All the tactics and strategies involved. "Your destruction is the will of the gods."
The natives didn't know what the response was, of course. So the Marine continued. "Your destruction is the will of the gods-"
"And we are their instruments."
"-and we are their instruments. Then, it immediately opened fire. The battle lasted exactly thirty-seven seconds, after which only one badly-damaged ship managed to escape. It took them weeks to get back to UNSC space."
First contact at Harvest. Though technically, the first contact had been with Jackel pirates. And latera Brute-controlled frigate, which had initiated diplomacy. It was only when a trigger-happy Grunt opened fire that the massacre began. The battleship that had decimated the response-fleet had arrived after the Brutes and then the true war had begun.
Not that it mattered. History was and will always be written by the victors. Details faded in and out of existence and in the end, it was the idea that mattered. The concept behind the events. The concept behind the ancient Vietnam war was guerilla warfare and PTSD, the concept behind the human-Covenant war was survival and genocide. Though the same could also be said for world war two. Tactics and strategies remained the core, but the concept was all that people remembered.
Someone approached him, but he did not move. Instead, he listened to the sounds of the footsteps, trying to determine which race it was. They were too light to belong to an urgal or dwarf, too slow to belong to a pacing soldier and too subtle to belong to anyone from the Varden. That left an S25 member or an elf.
He guessed for elf; Field Agents were too busy to visit each other.
When he glanced aside, he saw a tall woman with leather clothes approaching him, her long hair freely flowing in the wind. She was…entrancing to look at, so he quickly looked back again.
"You are spying on your own people?" she asked. Her voice was exotic and strange, like it was more than just vocalization of thoughts. He liked how it sounded. It made him feel a bit more at ease.
"Not spying," he replied. "Checking."
"For what purpose?"
"Making sure the situation stays safe. There are a lot of different races here…tensions are high."
"So they are." The elf fell quiet for a few moments, before asking, "What is your name?"
He did not get up. He did not look at her. He had to stay focused. "Night."
That seemed to come as a surprise to her. "Humans name themselves after the night?"
"Some of them."
His answer likely puzzled her, as she bowed and left him alone again. It was a shame; he enjoyed being around non-25 personnel. They felt more real to him –more alive, filled with hopes and dreams and creativity.
He didn't pursue company though. He knew better than that. He watched for another ten minutes before concluding that this interaction wouldn't cause any problems. Soon after that he received a call from First Lieutenant Mason, in charge of all combat personnel on the surface of…well, Alagaesia. This planet didn't have a name yet.
Of course he didn't encounter any new people on his way to his meeting, as he couldn't afford to waste any time on them. It was a real shame though; he liked these people. They were so different, more innocent. Not enlightened, but also so much better than Earthborn humanity had been at their own medieval times. These people were fighting for freedom and honor, both of which were better reasons than religion, greed or sheer pettiness. No bloody crusades for promised lands while burning and raping all who thought different, no leaders filled with a secret lust and desire for material gains and no suicide-attacks. Shallow on a better level.
The Lieutenant's "pavilion" was just ahead, most likely protected by guards and snipers. Night trusted most of these people, but the others didn't. No, the UNSC couldn't risk depending on different races, right? ONI had to run a secret campaign just to sabotage the Sangheili even though those split-chins were the only reason mankind was still alive, so trusting other races was a definite no-go.
Of course, just as people who were raped or abused were likely to grow wary of the gender responsible for their suffering, mankind had all right to be wary of anything that wasn't human. The amount of pain and misery that they had gone through at the hands of aliens could never be understood by those who were told the story and these people were aliens. Just that they looked the same as humans didn't take away from the fact that they were not from Earth or other human colonies.
Barring the argument that this place was a forgotten colony, of course.
Night entered the tent, aware of the multiple barrels that were probably aimed on his head. First Lieutenant Mason was properly paranoid. If the USNC forces lost the leader organizing their entire resistance, things would get messy.
The interior was well-organized, with tables covered with pieces of paper sporadically scattered around the tent, several holographic displays and at least one assault rifle placed against the thin fabric of the tent. Mason stood in the center, bowed over a large map with a mug in his right hand. Coffee.
"Agent."
Night straightened his back and saluted. "Sir."
The First Lieutenant didn't give him permission to stand at ease, which was worrying. Night had never really managed to read Mason's complete file; the details had been blanked out, covered with ink and deleted. Whoever this man was, he was more than just First Lieutenant Mason. More than just ONI. "Since we lost the battle at Aberon, things have been looking down for us. Our Spartan has been declared clinically dead."
I know. I saw.
"Without him, I don't think we can win this thing. So, I've had a conversation with the Captain via a terminal uplink. If we can't win without the Spartan, we will just have to find a way to get him back."
Night hesitated, feeling glad with his helmet. He wasn't sure he could bear having people look at him while he was thinking. "I'm not sure I understand."
Mason sat down at the table and gestured with his hand. Permission to join him at the table. "Do you remember the names of the Spartan-II's?"
"Yes sir."
"The ones that died and came back?"
After a moment of uncertainty, he still nodded. "Sir." Was this going the way he thought it to?
"Kelly-087 and Linda 058. Both of them sustained injuries critical enough that they were dead. 058 was clinically dead. Both of them are active as we speak."
Night was not a religious man. His mother had always taken him and his sister to the church, where they had learned about God and Heaven. He did not believe that a divine being dictated what happened. But he believed in redemption and paradise; that after death, those who died would find their peace and rest, as they deserved.
That stood in conflict with Masons's idea. Apart from the scientific problems of bringing back the dead, it was just ethically not done. The Spartans had never known a measure of peace and sanity in their lives. To bring this one back was to willingly pull him back into the chaos and pain of war and conflicts. They were going to take his chance at peace away from him.
"What I'm saying," Mason continued, "is that we need to find a way to get him back into the fight."
"Sir, with respect, the Spartan is dead. He sustained burns on more than seventy percent on his body and his armour is ruined. Even he won't come back from that."
"Dermacortic steroids will take care of the burns. The Duty's got spare MJOLNIR parts. But even if that works, he won't be able to actually fight again. He'll still be crippled for god knows how long. How far are you with Section twenty-six?"
Night didn't know what to say. Mason proposed all of this like an idea; a military tactic he needed to work out. He was talking about pulling someone out of the afterlife and plunging them back into war, in a battered and wounded body. How could a broken and crippled man fight? "I'm still scouting for recruits, but I've found a few."
"Good. The Captain's planning a course. My guess is that we have about…a rate of ten percent success for his survival. If we are lucky, we can make an emergency rendezvous with the Phantom and get the Spartan in cryo."
"And if we aren't?"
Mason downed his coffee. "We're going to have to explain Spartan's disappearance. Do you feel like fighting the Covenant, knowing that they managed to kill a Spartan?"
"Sir. Yes sir."
"Then you'll be severely outnumbered. These people will quit if they find out that their legendary Rider has died. If we want to have any chance at beating the Covenant and uncover those relics, we can't let them know that."
"They'll have passed Aeraleth by," Night replied. "Some will notice that something is wrong. I don't think keeping this down is viable, sir."
"We'll have to. Trust us to take care of that. I'll inform Reaper when the Captain has the coordinates of the rendezvous; our timing will have to be perfect."
Simply flying the Phantom into space to regroup with the When Duty Ends wasn't viable either. There were so many problems with their situation…but then again, when weren't there? That was what they were all about, wasn't it? Defying the odds, surviving the impossible. Just another day at the office for "Starborn" mankind.
"If that is everything, sir, I would like to continue with assembling twenty-six."
"Good idea. I've got new dossiers for you to check out."
Night frowned. "Sir?"
"Yes, I'm afraid that we will have to change a few things. Without air support, our troops won't be able to navigate the environment. We'll need native guides for every part of Alagaesia." The First Lieutenant scowled. "Damn silly name."
"Which natives, sir?" Night asked, already seeing the problems with this. He had no problem inviting the elf and the Rider and he had already added the wounded elf to the list. But who else?
"Several ones. Do you recall the story of the Riders?"
"Sir. Elves and dragons fought to a stalemate and designed the pact to avoid bloodshed. Humans were added later." He didn't want to think about the uncanny resemblance to how the Covenant had been formed. "All terminated by Galbatorix."
"Mostly terminated, Agent. The Spartan and the Captain were the UNSC's face; the way natives recognized us. I'm not going to play their politics and neither will the others. So we need a uniform that others can relate to, but under our tactical command."
"Which natives, sir?"
Mason pushed a few papers his way. "The urgal, Nar Gahrzvog. The dwarf, Orik. I don't need to remind you of the elf and the Rider?"
Night peeked through the files on the native soldiers. Some of them were a bit impressive, but the others…"What about this one?"
"The Ra'zac? Yeah, I've been thinking about that. He's supposed to be a spy for the Shade –the good one- but we don't know his motivations. Could be a mole."
"We don't need moles within twenty-six."
"I know. So if we add Corporal Hudson and his new lady friend, we can account for this Ra'zac as well. Anyone else?"
"The ODST Sergeant Wallcroft," Night replied. "And Murtagh."
"I had been thinking about that guy too. Best way to keep an eye on him, right? We confirmed that Galbatorix's hold on him has broken. Nothing hurts your sanity more than a heavy dose of war."
Night didn't agree, but at least the kid had his mind back. That was important.
"Well then. You're dismissed. Get your uniform together; you have greenlight for Section twenty-six."
Great. This would be the most chaotic, undisciplined and volatile unit ever. If properly used, they could finally mount an effective offense and push the Covenant back. If used improperly, they would just get a bunch of noticeable and important people killed.
Risks were there so that you could take them
Having retreated to a place where it was very likely that they would not be disturbed for a while, Arya and Eragon set up the two-man tent that they had received upon arrival. It was simple but rewarding work, creating the place where you would spend the night and keep your personal belongings safe from the rain. Doing it together with Arya…it made Eragon feel at peace. Content with himself.
He watched her throw their bag inside the oddly-coloured shelter and took one last look around the environment. The last time he had been here, Murtagh and him had been fleeing an army of urgals while racing against the time to get Arya to the Varden. The panic he had felt…the fear that she would not make it. The pain that Saphira had experienced upon engaging the urgals tracking them. It felt like so long ago…like it was a completely different world. A different life. That Eragon was gone now, figuratively and literally. His body changed during the Blood-oath celebration…his mind changed by the war on the Covenant.
Were things ever going to be the same again? Or would his life be just one conflict after another, just like Starborn humanity? He didn't want that. He never wanted any of that.
"Eragon?" Arya's soft voice rang out from inside the tent. She was placing down the sleeping bags and their items, looking through the gear that the UNSC had given them. With or without her ODST suit, she looked beautiful. "What ails you?"
Eragon tore his gaze away from the mountains and tried to push the memories away. It didn't work that well. "Just thinking."
"About what?"
"What not? Just…everything is just…" he didn't know what to say anymore. In the ancient language, his lies would be stopped dead. He couldn't find the words.
Arya left the tent and placed a hand on his shoulder. She had removed most of her ODST armour, baring much of her upper torso. He pale skin, the various scars that were leftovers from Durza's torture...all of them were parts of her. Arya was herself, forged by the years of experience and weeks of ordeals. She was certain of who she was –she knew her True Name.
Who was he? Apart from being Eragon and a Rider, who was he really in this play of madness and death? He had killed, but the dead weighed down heavily on his heart. He had seen people being killed and they had screamed at him in his dreams.
He had seen the killers and they would not let him go, even when he was awake. "What measure is a person?"
"I beg your pardon?" she asked with surprise.
Eragon didn't think she understood. That was alright. "What makes a man who he is? What makes a soldier, and what makes a hero?"
She sighed. "Before, I would have given you my description of those words. But now? Let me tell you this, Eragon Shadeslayer." She pulled him away from the edge, taking him towards their tent. "It does not matter what a true man is, or what makes a hero. You are you, and you must never change that."
How would he reply to that? How did he know if she was right or not? "But what if that isn't good enough? What do I need to do?"
Arya sighed and leant towards him, gently resting her forehead against his. "Nothing. This war does not need heroes anymore. Those are the days of the past."
"Alagaesia places so much emphasis on the Riders…on people with justice and power. Before all of this, one Rider could change the tide of a battle, or break a siege…people expected me to kill for them. Do things that rulers were supposed to do." Eragon halted. "And now Saphira and Thorn cannot do a thing, because they will be shot down before they can get close."
"This war isn't yours to finish, Eragon," Arya told him. She took him inside the tent and closed it off. "You fulfilled your responsibilities when you could. Nations no longer need to manipulate you into doing their bidding. Here, you and I are just soldiers. Let us bear the burden not of the Rider, but of those thrust into war."
"How can we? " He whispered. "Alagaesia is burning-"
"And we will extinguish the flames," Arya interrupted them. "As long there are those who resist, hope lives on. We are alive."
"How do you do that?"
"Do what?"
Eragon looked away. "Keeping hope."
She nudged him gently. "You taught me."
"I did?"
"Yes. When you saved me from Durza…when you were there for me in Du Weldenvarden, both times, you showed me compassion that few individuals did. You showed me that the world was still an ever-changing place. So like that, I will keep hope as well."
"We are alive," Eragon repeated. This war was the worst thing that had happened to him yet…however, it was also proof of a future beyond fighting a foe that he did not truly want to fight. Hope that, outside of Alagaesia, something of a massive scale was still transpiring. Something that involved him and the people he knew, brought together to face a true nemesis.
He felt so conflicted. Being this close to Arya…feeling her warmth against his skin, her eyes cast on his face…it made him feel even more conflicted.
She reached for his arms and gently pushed him down. Without the dark suit that the Starborn had given her, she looked vulnerable. Looks were so very deceiving. "We are. And I am grateful. Grateful for being alive. Grateful for being here, with you."
Eragon wrapped his arms around her and lowered his head against her shoulder. Even though her frame was slender and modest, her muscles were hard and well-developed. Her skin felt warm underneath the dark undersuit. "Tomorrow, we might well die."
"Agreed. The Covenant could find us any day."
Her hands slowly reached down his back, her fingers digging deep into his skin. He lowered his mental defenses and opened his mind for her, allowing her in. Her thoughts were less organized than normal. Jumbled, frantic. Paralleling his emotions. "So this moment…is for now. For us."
The suits hadn't been made with easy removal in thought, even though both Eragon as Arya had already removed the outer components. It made things…interesting. Distracting as well. Arya gently cupped his cheek and pressed her lips against his in a warm and soft gesture and Eragon's heart nearly gave up on him. He felt his face grow red and nearly jerked away in response.
"I want to spend this moment with you," she whispered in his ear, moving her hands to take his shirt off. "Will you stay me with?"
Eragon gasped and had to stop himself from reaching for her. "No matter what happens."
Having taken his shirt off, Arya took his hands and placed them on her hips. "I have forgotten the customs of my people…how they would proceed with this."
There were customs? Eragon had never heard of those before. Customs for before and after…this…but never during. This. His mind was going all sorts of places except for where he needed it to be: at rational thoughts.
Heavens, Arya was not sure what to do either. She looked hesitant, her eyes cast downwards. What should he do?
'Take her,' A very female voice in his head said. 'Or bite her. Maybe both.'
'SAPHIRA!' Panic swelled up in his chest as Arya casted him a curious glance.
'Is that not what you desire?
'No! Not like that, I –just leave! Go do something else!'
With one last tremor of amusement, Saphira withdrew from his mind, leaving him flustered and half in panic. "I ehm…that was…"
"Saphira?" Arya guessed.
"How did you-?"
"I felt something like that."
"Right."
"Whatever she said, you should probably not listen to it. The love of dragons is no gentle affair…you should follow your own heart, not hers."
Eragon nodded and placed his hand on Arya's thigh, wondering what was alright for him to do and what not. He had no idea how he was going to do this with this, or how far he could take this. Her welfare was too important for him to mess this up.
So how?
Caught up in his feelings and doubts as he was, he went ahead and made a decision. He leant towards the elf again and kissed her back, bringing his hands to her back, where he could feel the leather straps of her bra.
Instead of pulling back, or worse, pushing him away, Arya softly moaned and wrapped her arms around his waist and hugged him closely. Eragon felt something brush against his lips and his heart skipped a beat. This felt so surreal…had he not felt the closeness of Arya's body, the gentle brush of her mind against his, he would have thought that this was some cruel attempt at manipulation.
He didn't want this to end.
Eventually, Arya broke off and gazed at his eyes. "Well? What now?"
Eragon grunted. "You want me to take the lead?"
There was a playful twinkle in her eyes. "Do you not wish to?"
While he didn't see himself really as a man yet, it wasn't right for him not to lead. He had a responsibility towards her to keep. "Of course I do!"
She placed her hands further down. "Then get started, would you?"
Taking that as his queue, Eragon started undoing her bra. He had zero experience with these things and using magic to resolve it would ruin what they had going on here. But he didn't want to disappoint her.
He took a deep breath and managed to undo the strap. He heard Arya giggle quietly and frowned. If she was going to tease him, he knew what he had to do. Oromis' scrolls had contained much information about the elves, including a detailed description of what they looked like…unclothed. Now he was fairly certain that, somehow, he was going to mess this up. But seeing how he didn't have decades worth of life experience, Arya wouldn't think any less of him.
He knew she wouldn't.
Arya gasped as he touched her skin, ran his hands across her chest and pulling the small piece of clothing that covered it away. She was so warm to the touch…so soft.
Eragon pulled her onto his legs and kissed her in her neck, electing another short moan from his elven partner. He brought his hand down to her stomach, feeling her heartrate fasten. Her hair brushed against his bare chest, her fingers dug into his thighs and her breathing hitched-
"Someone approaches," Arya suddenly said with a gasp, jumping to her feet with the agility of a cat, hastily reaching for her discarded undergarments.
Eragon rose as well, reaching out with his mind while searching for his shirt. He felt dazed; it took him a few times to get it right. "I do not know him."
"Neither do I. Stay vigilant."
Vigilance being the last thing on his mind, Eragon did the best he could to identify who was infringing on their…privacy…like that. He found a mind with strong defenses and oddly-focused thoughts-
-before Arya brushed past his skin and made him lose all his concentration again. Bad timing.
By the time they had both gotten fully dressed yet, the person had made his way to the front of the tent.
"Knock knock," a disinterested and obviously male voice spoke. "Anyone home?"
Eragon sighed in frustration and stuck his head of the tent, feeling the cold breeze of the mountain wind flowing through his neck. "What?"
It was definitely one of the Starborn soldiers. His suit looked different though; more purple than black. His helmet was sleeker too; its visor was different and curvier. How many designs did the UNSC have? "Eragon and Arya Shadeslayer?"
How did he-? "Yes?"
"If you would come with me please."
Arya had clothed herself as well, she gently pushed Eragon aside and left the tent, holding her ODST helmet underneath one arm. "What is it you seek?"
"Just the Covenant's destruction. And you?"
"Wait, what?"
The soldier crossed his arms. "We're occupied with keeping the base online. Short on manpower and munitions. We can't hit the Covenant like that."
"You propose a mission?"
"I propose we're putting together a group that can. A specialized taskforce intended solely for offensive purposes. Section twenty-six; best warriors this world can offer."
Arya looked at him skeptically. "You are creating a single team to deal with the Covenant?"
Eragon had to admit that it sounded odd too. The UNSC could do many things, but…this? No, that wouldn't work.
"Wetworks, sabotage, assassinations, ambushes," the soldier quickly summed up. "All according to the Art of Wat and dealing with a foe outnumbering you. But if you want to wait until the Covenant digs out your friends and family and tears them apart, be my guess. How is your mother, by the way? Saphira?"
Bristling, Eragon opened his mouth to give a sharp retort, but Arya beat him to it.
"You do need to resort to verbal trickery and abuse to get us to join," she sharply said, keeping her face calm. Her voice said everything that her expression did not, though, and once again Eragon was glad to have her as a friend.
"Obviously. Now come on; time to meet the team."
"Wait," Eragon said, remembering something important. "Who else is on this team? Richard Meester –I mean, Whiskey-Bravo? Spartan?"
"No, Spartan's occupied and Meesters had his right hand amputated because of extreme nerve damage."
What? But…he had healed him! Pulled the spike out, jammed it in the Brute's face and healed the wound! Had it been that bad? Or worse, had it been his fault?
"Any other questions
Murtagh stood guard behind Nasuada, one hand on Zar'roc and the other one clenched into a fist. He kept a close eye on the massive creature that was supposed to be their allies, hoping that this meeting would stay peaceful. But in the case it did not…he was thinking up ways to kill them before they could harm his dear ones. He would have to kill five of the strange creatures within seconds, cleaving through the neck of the big one with his sword and using magic to snuff out the lives of the smaller ones. He could not use simple magic to end their lives though, for he knew not what abilities protected them. An energy lance to spear their hearts would work, but they might not hold their hearts at the same positions as humans did.
The other leader of the Varden, Ajihad, was present as well, if unarmed. He too had guards, but only one of them was Starborn. The rest were Varden soldiers with swords and spears, probably too feeble to stop the creatures in case of hostilities. He was the one who spoke with the large one. "So we are on our own once more?"
"In a way," the creature replied with its thundering voice. Murtagh couldn't help but feel somewhat intimidated by the thing's odd physique; it had face somewhat like a dragon, but also four mandibles. It's armour was as dark as the scales found on Galbatorix's dragon, but oddly pulsating. It was as tall as a Kull, yet carried itself with the elegance of a warrior. "Our forces are limited, but we will fight."
So many things he had missed. While he had been spirited away to Uru'baen, Eragon had contended with alien creatures, monsters and demons. A massive creature made out of crystals and fire had laid waste to captured cities, armies had been destroyed and an entire civilization had descended upon Alagaesia.
"But why do you fight, if may be so bold to ask?" Nasuada said. "How did you find this place?"
How indeed. How could these three different groups all have found their way to this land, on separate occasions? First the Starborn, utilizing their gear to cripple the Empire and separate him from Galbatorix's hold…then the Covenant, with their monster and butchers. Now these beings? How absurd. He wouldn't trust them. He didn't even trust the Starborn humans!
"We do not let go by the same concept of politics as you do," the creature growled. "We arrived at your world for the same reason the humans did."
"But what is that reason?"
Murtagh couldn't take his eyes off Nasuada. Most of his life had been decided and ruled for him, one step at a time. Compassion and understanding had been rare, as were friendship and trust. When he had fled from the king…even the lasts scraps in his life had disappeared. Those that knew of his existence would not look at him. Women would not have him, men would despise him. They all viewed the world in such simple, childish terms. Good and evil. Dark and bright. Well, he had seen it all. He had seen the worst during his time in the Empire and he had seen the best here, now. He had seen Galbatorix, heard his whispers, felt the pain and suffering of having his mind broken and his will subjugated.
And he had known friendship, felt compassion. Seen true allies. In the Empire, soldiers would obey each other. Help and laugh with each other. But that all changed when the fight was joined, where only training and discipline kept them in order. It was the same with the Varden.
But the UNSC army did not. He had heard their soldiers call each other "brother" in the fights, giving their all for matters far beyond their duty.
Given their all for him. He, who had nothing to with their fight. They had fought alongside him, covered him as he and Thorn had laid waste to the Covenant. Their soldiers were true of heart. It was just that their leaders were too shrouded in shadows to be trusted.
There was no reply to that. This meeting had no purpose. It just…was. The creature had come on Ajihad's demand, to explain what would happen to his warriors. How the Varden would survive this war. And they still did not know.
Murtagh did not care for the Varden or the Empire. He was…conflicted. On one hand, both sides had caused him nothing but misery and pain. But on the other…he still had Eragon and Nasuada. His ally, his brother…his friend. And Nasuada…she had accepted him for who he was. Shown him sympathy and understanding, but not pity. He liked that. Pity was something he would never accept, but feeling understood…that was a good feeling. It brought hope.
The massive alien did not respond. He snorted, glanced around his own unit, but kept silent.
Thorn did not like it either. 'These beings smell of death,' he said with his deep voice. 'There have badness carved in their skin.'
Badness…Thorn still had the mind of a youngling. His choice of words was especially childish, but he did not know better. To him, it was endearing. To Thorn, it had to be frustrating beyond believe. 'They called it the Human-Covenant war. Some massive conflict spanning hundreds of worlds. These things? They killed humans. Lots of them.'
'Then why do we not kill them?'
Why not indeed. The idea of a war so massive that his own world could have easily been consumed had initially filled Murtagh with dread. But then, after having fought the same enemies and finding them not incapable of dying, that had changed. Dread had turned to determination and despair had turned to a lust for war. If these enemies wanted to threaten his race, Alagaesia be damned –he would fight them. The Varden and the Empire were nothing compared to that. He and Thorn could spend their lives fighting for nothing here, or doing something meaningful out there. He knew which one he would go for. 'Because we cannot win without them.'
'I do not want an enemy guarding my flank.'
Perhaps it was because of the suffering that Galbatorix had brought down upon them, but Thorn was still surprisingly simple with these things. Good things were trusted, bad things needed to be killed. It wasn't that simple, unfortunately. In the eyes of some of the people here, they were the bad things.
"I think wisdom lies in defending this keep for now," Nasuada said. "Attacking the Covenant will have to wait."
"Agreed."
Adter that, Murtagh wanted to go Nasuada and talk to her, ask her things. But fate had different things in mind.
The metallic device strapped to his leg buzzed and a voice came from the series of small holes in its front. The voice of fate, voculated by Switchboard, their communications officer. "Murtagh, this is Switchboard. We need you to patrol the western entrance and watch for Covenant patrols. Secondary objective is to check for life signs in Bravo Delta."
"Got it," Murtagh told the device. To Thorn he said, "The high-ups want us to dance once more. Come on."
So he bid his farewell to Nasuada and headed for the western side of the Beor Mountains, where he had once fled from an army of urgals, before Thorn. Before all of this. When his life had been simply fleeing from one city to the other, never daring to get attached to someone. It didn't take him long to reach the pass where he had once rode, where enemy armies would have to cross to reach their camp. Apart from the big opening to the North, of course.
And they weren't alone.
'There she lies,' Thorn quietly said. 'The black-scaled feral one.'
'Aeraleth,' Murtagh gently told him. 'You know her. She fought alongside you.'
'She. She is not dead.'
Murtagh could imagine that she wasn't. He could see her flanks rising and falling, slowly. Unsteadily. As if she was in great pain. Which, he supposed, she was.
Not everybody had heard it. Even he didn't believe it until he had visited the place. The last fight with the Covenant had taken many lives, including the Spartan's. They had killed him, but it didn't look like he had understood. He had stumbled back to the base before succumbing to his wounds, just a few hundred meters away from medical care and help. Probably died right beside his dragon. A brief moment of peace for him, a lifetime of suffering for her.
At least, that was what Murtagh had concluded upon visiting the site. He had never seen the body, never saw the Spartan get hit. Just the patches of blood and strange fluids in the sand…and the state of his dragon. It was an awful sight to behold, a grieving dragon. She didn't keen or scream or attempt to bring down the heavens in her rage. She just…was. Unmoving. Catatonic.
He did not suppose that there was anything he could do to help her. All of this was just so…difficult to take in. One moment he had been just been trying to move without Galbatorix's consent, having to deal with that abusive Shade he kept around, the next he was part of some massive war that had united elves, dwarves and urgals under one banner. The only thing he could do to even try to take it all in was just to keep moving. Helping, working, whatever he could.
Thorn did not look like he dared to get closer to Aeraleth. She was still larger than he was and several times more aggressive than Saphira. And now that she had lost her Rider…she might well attempt to murder him should he come close.
Not that Murtagh would let her. If it came to that, and Aeraleth became a danger, he supposed that only he and Thorn could stop her without having to kill her. Eragon might be able to stomach it, but he would hesitate. And there was nothing as dangerous as hesitation in a fight.
'Why stop here?' He asked his partner. 'Why visit her?'
Thorn spread his wings and snorted, a small jet of flame exiting his nostrils as he did. 'I needed to be certain.'
'Are you?'
'Not yet. I doubt I will be.'
He had no clue as to what that was supposed to mean. 'Then let us leave. We have work to attend to.'
'Indeed.'
Together, Murtagh and Thorn took the air again. The UNSC had dire need of their unique set of skills. Thorn's strength allowed him to lift heavy things such as the "Warthogs" and other items that would otherwise demand manpower or precious fuel to do so., as well as large rocks and other pieces of debris. The flying vehicles could not fly long without having to land again, so they had to use Saphira and Thorn to transport soldiers as well. He wasn't very happy with that, but he knew that his own feelings were not more important than the mission.
What else was new?
Their combined magical prowess surpassed that of many an elf, allowing them to do things that were important for their continued survival. They could treat injuries, recover hard-to-reach supplies and cover up tracks that might lead the enemy to them. Creating traps was easy to do and maintaining the good gunner-positions was also an important responsibility.
When Murtagh returned to the UNSC camp to confirm his mission success and help out with the structure placement, it turned that somebody else was already waiting for them. He knew, because the man basically confronted them when they were taking gear to a position that needed it.
Thorn knew it too. 'He is here for us'
"Who are you?" Murtagh asked, not even doubting the words of his partner.
"Undertow," the soldier replied with an uninterested voice. He didn't look like the average UNSC soldier; his armour had a dark purple tone to it and his weapons were off. Different. His helmet fully concealed his head, much like Spartan's had -only this man looked familiar.
"I know you. You were there during the fight against that big thig. The walker."
"Sure. Come with me."
Murtagh placed a hand on the pommel of Zar'rock and stiffened. "Why?"
The soldier sighed. "Listen, we're occupied with keeping the base online. Short on manpower and munitions. We can't hit the Covenant like that."
"So?"
"So we're putting together a group that can. A specialized taskforce intended solely for offensive purposes. Section twenty-six; best warriors this world can offer."
He wasn't going to trust this. Murtagh had had enough problems with people offering him things; this had to be a trap. "Not interested."
Whoever Undertow was, he didn't appear convinced. "You can always return to your normal duties…lifting heavy things, fixing problems, taking care of the base. Things that we've got the elves doing."
Murtagh gritted his teeth. He hated being compared to the elves –good for nothing creatures, stupid and blind. "And Thorn?"
"What about him?" Why would this Undertow sound so bored?
"Does he join your group as well?"
"Our first priority is to regain air dominance. Until then, all dragons will get shot out of the air before they can get close. So no, not in the beginning."
The Covenant dominated the skies? He couldn't have that No way. He would not see Thorn confined to the Beor mountains for the rest of his life. "Fine. I'm in. Who else?"
"People. I'll take you to them."
Murtagh nodded. "You do that." He did not like this man. He did not want to have anything to do with his plans and his special group of soldiers.
Undertow led him through a narrow mountain pass, where Thorn could only follow them from the sky. The pas led through a cave and into another valley, smaller and more secluded than the one they had built their camp around. A series of small tents and boxes rested near a crack in the wall, wide enough to allow cover from above.
'Thorn, return to the camp.'
'And leave you defenseless?'
'Thank you for that,' Murtagh wryly told his partner as he followed the soldier towards the tents. 'I'm never defenseless. Find Saphira, keep yourself busy. I'll be back soon enough.'
'I will come for you if you do not return, partner-of-mind.'
'I know you will.'
With Thorn on the leave, there was nothing left to guard Murtagh should this be a trap. But he was far from defenseless indeed; his magical prowess was still large enough that he could kill several of the Starborn soldiers within seconds, should they decide to attack him.
It looked like there was another camp ahead, where Undertow was taking him across a really narrow path that felt like it could give away at any moment. Only when they arrived did Murtagh see that the camp was occupied; there were multiple people inhabiting the tents, setting up cooking items and gearing up with equipment. Self-made belts, improvised sheaths and straps on "native" outfits, these definitely weren't Starborn soldiers. At least not all of them.
Not only that, he also recognized most of them. He saw the cousin of the dwarf king, Orik, as well as an elf with dark burn-scars and the large urgal chief. And-
Murtagh tightened his fists and sucked in a breath of air. Memories of pain and humiliation and abuse rushed back to him and took a hold of his mind, not letting go. Crimson hair, blood-red eyes, pale as skin as paper…nobody would miss her for what she was. The Shade was there too. Not her, but still one of them. Flanked by one of the few Starborn soldiers no less. What was going on here?
"Welcome," Undertow spoke, walking straight past several of the collected warriors and heading into a tent without alerting those inside of his presence. "To Section-twenty-six, the team solely created for opening up an offense that the Covenant will not forget."
And the Shade wasn't the only one. He saw his brother and Arya, the elven princess that they had saved from the Empire's clutches. The one that the King had been so furious about. They were already clad in their UNSC combat gear. So they were part of this team too? That made him feel somewhat better. At least someone had his back now.
Looking around, Murtagh took in who were supposed to be his allies in this team. Eragon, Arya, Orik…the urgal, the Shade and her human companion, the elf…and Undertow. Was this the team that was going togo fight the Covenant?
They were so dead.
Being here…this place with these people…it brought back so many bad memories. The King's wrath hadn't even been the worst of it; he had never met the man face-to-face. When he had his mind broken, he had been blindfolded. When Formora had made him suffer, she had done so on her own. For fun.
"Alright, now that most of the gang is here, let's get this party started." Undertow marched out of the tent again with a handful of maps and some guns. "My name is Field Agent Undertow, member of Bravo Delta's Division's Section Twenty-Five or, better said, Bravo-Bravo-Bravo-Bravo Delta's Section Twenty-Five. Because these words don't mean a thing to you, I will go ahead and skip the rest about me. The questions exist out of the who, the what, the why and the how. The rest is classified on a will-be-killed basis. Yes?"
Was "no" an option?
"Get on with the story," the kull growled.
Murtagh saw other people as well now. One of the black-clad troopers and another elf, this one sticking by his side.
"Great. Who? All of the people gathered here except for those who aren't. What? Executing important black operations against Covenant presence on Alagaesia, undermining their presence with assassinations, wetworks, sabotage, ambushes and false information. How? That's the best part; you get to figure that out on your own."
Orik chuckled. "On our own, aye? Then you will have yourself a disastrous defeat on your shady hands in no time."
"Yeah, we thought something like that might happen. So, while the work in the field with be up to the expertise of Sir Hudson and Sir Wallcroft over there –no, don't say hi- we S25 will be designing, evaluating and issuing your missions."
"If I understand this correctly," the non-scarred non-princess elf spoke, "you will be giving us missions, but we shall have all creativity and control about how we complete them?"
"I just said that. You should already know the why; global extinction and death of loved ones and all that. Now for the how...my favorite part. Equipment."
"Hold on, we're just going to do this? No training, no support?" Eragon said, displaying more sense than he had shown the last time Murtagh had seen him before the Burning Plains."
"You should already be trained in fighting and all present UNSC personnel will assist with tips, tricks and potential life-saving guidance. Now, gear. No axes or swords and then engaging in close combat. That will result in the death of you, or worse, your teammates."
This Undertow had to have given a great many rousing speeches in his past if he managed to make subjects like this sound trivial and uninteresting.
"So choose your equipment and choose it wisely, because you will be specializing in it. Each of you will take an important place in S26, invaluable to the rest. Questions? No? Great."
"Actually," the soldier named Wallcroft said, "I do have a question. These guys here ain't Special Forces. You spooks want to whip them into form, do so without involving perfectly-working units."
"Not my problem. These "guys" here all performed superbly in the field and we need to hit the Covenant. Want to complain, do so after the war is over."
Murtagh saw how this was going. This man was using his influence and rank to put them in a position they could not refuse. And they could not refuse this, as it was their best way of opening an offense against the Covenant. Was there anyone who did not want to manipulate him into doing their bidding?
"What about weapons?" Eragon asked. "Ammo is sparse and we don't know how to use most of your equipment."
"Like I said, specialize. You will be working as a team, using magic and your skills to keep yourself alive in the meantime. So, any volunteers for the marksman position?"
Murtagh gritted his teeth, but refrained from saying anything. This felt so forced…like a low blow to get rid of them. He would show them –he wasn't going to die in this war of theirs.
"If you're going to force them into doing your dirty work mate, you should at least let the specialists handle it," Wallcroft said. "Corporal Hudson, you are trained with most of the UNSC weaponry?"
Hudson nodded. "I am. Agen Undertow? You can leave. We'll handle the rest."
Undertow merely shrugged in response, dumped several duffel bags on the ground and walked away. Murtagh, who had been expecting at least some form of confrontation between the "Agent" and the kull or the elves, couldn't help but feel somewhat disappointed. But now that he was here –forced into a suicide mission- he might as well have a look at their inventory. Weapons interested him and these strange ones were no exception.
"Right then," Wallcroft muttered, reaching for the discarded bags and pulling out one of the weapons. "Who wants to see the dwarf use a Shotgun?"