Author's note:

Action incoming :)

Chapter 47: Decision

They did not wait for long before the horns sounded on the air signalling that the main street in front of the gates had been taken – and it was their signal to set off.

Travelling in a tight phalanx, the mounted commanders and their guard approached the city at a steady pace, letting the zealous urgals charge ahead as usual. They were well suited for a frontal assault, and cleared the way with alarming speed. Alice suppressed a shudder at their bloodthirsty cries and the screams of the men they cut through, thankful she was not charged with defending the city against them.

The gates to the city and a large portion of the sandstone walls on either side of it was a mess of splintered woods and shattered stone, and littered with casualties from this first wave. To her relief Alice noticed no one she recognised among the fallen, and she was pleased to see her healers already moving with brisk efficiency to take care of the wounded.

The fighting had moved up to the streets, so they crossed the relatively quiet rubble-filled courtyard quickly, following the second wave as they swept into the city.

Just like Feinster, the soldiers of Belatona had quickly realised their ground defence was untenable. Seeing the contingent of commanders on horseback, what soldiers of the Empire were left retreated to the rooftops to rain arrows onto the invaders' heads.

"Shields up!" roared a dwarf commander, as the arrows fell. The dwarves following him obeyed in well-trained synchronicity, their heavy iron shields an impenetrable wall. One human foot soldier died with a scream, arrows piercing his collarbone and chest, and then another, before they, too, hastily rose their shields.

Alice sighed and threw up a ward over their entire company, halting the rain of arrows abruptly. She felt the immediate drain on her power, but also received some relieved looks. Taking advantage of the reprieve, several units peeled off at Jormunder's command to enter the buildings and engage the archers.

Jormunder rose an eyebrow mildly at her, and she shrugged in response.

"We're almost at the command centre," he said grimly, "Try not to tire yourself out before we get there."

"I'll tire myself out more digging an arrow out of your chest," she retorted sharply.

He paused, then chuckled. "Fair enough."

"Trianna, I need two more spellcasters on our left flank to ward against arrows." Alice ordered, drawing out a specially enchanted mirror from her saddlebag to speak to her.

"I just sent one!" the feisty spellcaster snapped in reply. In the background Alice could see flames – she was leading the Du Vrangr Gata against a knot of enemy spellcasters three streets away.

Alice vaguely recognised the body of a nearby man wearing a mage's robes under his leather armour. "I believe he is dead. By an arrow." Alice replied, "This time, send someone who knows what he's doing."

A curse was her only reply as Trianna put the mirror away.

They pushed further up towards the building they had singled out to be there headquarters, and Alice was impressed with the speed that the city was falling to the Varden. It seemed having Eragon and Saphira assisting the siege made everything much easier; Alice even saw many groups of the Empire's soldiers surrendering rather than face the invaders.

Alice could guess why when Saphira and Eragon dove out of the clouds unexpectedly to crash onto a nearby roof, at which point Saphira methodically ripped apart each of the archers crouching there.

She tentatively risked reaching out with her mind; the dragon and her rider were close enough and she doubted any enemy was foolish enough to attack their minds. How goes the attack? She asked, after Saphira recognised her.

It goes well, Saphira bared her teeth, stained red, in a fierce snarl reminiscent of a grin. All elves accounted for, she added, and Alice sensed her amusement through their link.

That's good. Alice replied composedly, hiding the enormous wave of relief which swept through her. Any sign of Lord Bradburn?

He hides in the Keep behind two hundred men. Her wings flared in preparation of flight. I will tear it down and dig him out.

Saphira ended their connection and disappeared into the night sky again, letting loose a thundering roar.

Alice turned to Jormunder, "Lord Bradburn remains in the Keep, it seems," she informed him. The Keep loomed up ahead, rising like a dark colossus above the roofs in the city. It wasn't sandstone like the outer walls – it looked older than that, the stones black with age. "The city falls quickly… a little too easily, in my opinion."

"I concur." Sighed Jormunder, "But at least there is no sign of Murtagh and Thorn… yet. Relay your news to Lady Nasuada." He ordered next, "We're almost at the command centre, which is near the Keep. Whatever Bradburn has planned, we'll be standing by to handle it."

"The castle is doubtless saturated in wards, it's so old," speculated Alice thoughtfully. "It may take some time to get in."

She hoped Saphira wasn't too reckless when trying to "dig out" the lord of Belatona.

Several hours later…

Saphira let out an ear-plitting bellow of rage and pain as the glowing green Dauthdaert embedded itself a yard deep in her chest.

There was a collective cry of dismay from the Varden soldiers who saw the shattered flagstones of the Keep courtyard become spattered in her blood.

Coram, fighting on foot among them, yelled a rousing warcry, rallying the fifty or so men in his company to him, and led a charge against the remaining Empire soldiers, giving Eragon and the twelve elves time to rush rushed over to the wounded dragon.

He parried a spear and slashed it's wielder from shoulder to sternum, his broadsword stained with gore in the early morning light.

A dark shape flashed past him, and he watched with horrified fascination as the blue-haired elf cut through a knot of three men in a blur of blood and flashing blades, only to launch himself at the man who had thrown the Dauthdaert. He didn't even have time to scream as the elf used his fearsome teeth to tear open his throat. Coram froze as Blodhgarm's eyes, glazed over with bloodlust, lazily scanned the area as he dropped the twitching corpse uncaringly to the ground, before pacing back to where the other elves were drawing the green spear from Saphira's shoulder.

Alice was in love with this… this creature?

"Coram, wake up!" yelled one of his comrades, a sallow-skinned, blonde-haired man named Fenn. He was the spellcaster assigned to Coram's unit from the Du Vrangr Gata.

Coram shook himself and dragged his attention back to the battle, dodging a wild swing by a war-axe and killing the man with a swift sword-thrust to the gut. He raised his shield and joined Fenn as a volley of arrows rained down on them, clattering on the cracked flagstones. A line of archers had climbed the ramparts of the remaining castle battlements.

"Don't worry!" shouted Fenn over the cacophony of battle-noise, "I'm warding us against arrows!" he yelled and waved a hand, and a nearby charging spearman was thrown backwards off his feet.

"These mages, eh?" commented a soldier Coram knew as Oberan, "They take all the danger out of battle." He watched in awe as an arrow whizzed towards him, only to abruptly change its trajectory and fall harmlessly to his right.

Coram nodded curtly, but didn't lower his shield. He just couldn't bring himself to stand in the open while arrows fell out of the sky, with his only defence an invisible barrier created by forces he didn't understand…

It was this distrust of magic that saved him from certain death.

First, there was an explosion that rocked the courtyard, as a room in the Keep exploded outwards in flames and falling mortar.

Then Oberan yelled in pain as a stone struck his shoulder, breaking his collarbone and driving him to his knees.

Coram raced to defend the fallen man, throwing back two swordsmen. "Oi, Fenn!" he shouted over his shoulder. "You need to heal- Fenn?"

Not getting a reply, he turned around and found Fenn staring sightlessly at the grey dawn sky, a large black arrow sticking out of his chest.

Coram cursed and beheaded the soldier attacking him. Then he threw himself over Oberan, using his shield to screen them both as a wave of arrows fell, now undeterred by wards.

"So much for magic, then." Coram said grimly as he waited for the volley to let up. Across the courtyard, the elves were still clustered around Saphira and seemed oblivious to the men's fate. He watched another Varden soldier fall from an arrow, and then another. The rest of the men fled to take shelter pressed up against the wall itself. He even spotted Roran, a man almost as famous as his cousin the dragon-rider, waiting with the men under his command under stone arches at the other side of the courtyard.

"The arrow must be magical too," wheezed Oberan, turning pale from the pain of his broken collarbone.

"Well, I'm not afraid of thrice-cursed mages," Coram spat, and tensed.

"What are you…"

"Take my shield."

"Wha-" as soon as the confused man had closed his hand on the strap of the shield, Coram rolled out of cover and sprinted to the wall, flattening himself just in time to avoid the arrows which flew after him.

Realising what he was doing, some of his men and Roran's took out bows of their own and fired at the archers on the ramparts, giving him time to dash closer while they kept their heads down.

Knowing speed was of the essence, he scaled the rubble-covered steps to the ramparts and then charged with a bellow, catching the archers completely by surprise. He dispatched three in quick succession while they struggled to draw swords, but had a more protracted battle against the remaining soldiers. The ramparts were narrow though, and fortunately for him they had to attack one by one. Each time he proved himself the better swordsman, and at long last was victorious.

Coram yanked his blade free of the last man's chest, grimacing at all the blood staining his weapon. He staggered slightly and leaned against the ramparts, his arms heavy from his efforts. Below, Roran and the other Varden soldiers were fighting a group of the Empire's soldiers that had just joined the fray from within the Keep. Noting his fine vantage point of the courtyard, Coram cast about for a bow from one of the fallen archers. He picked one up, only to drop it in favour of a large, ebony-coloured bow. It had a ruby-red gem set in the middle, and a quiver of black-fletched arrows nearby seemed to match it. It was the weapon that had killed Fenn.

Magical arrows… he thought to himself, and smirked. It pleased him to think he could use a weapon of the Empire against them.

Sighting down the shaft, he picked his targets rapidly and fired repeatedly, felling many men from his advantageous position. He wasn't a great archer, but he had basic proficiency in all weapons as a part of his knight's training. Even so, it was uncanny how each arrow seemed to find its mark. At last he only had one arrow left.

Roran's men numbered only about fifteen now, fighting roughly the same number of Empire soldiers. He sighted down the bow and paused. Who deserved death the most? What a decision to make…

Meanwhile…

Blodhgarm glanced around the courtyard, satisfied that Saphira was healing well.

Next to Arya, Eragon was thanking the other elves profusely for their help, relief in his voice at her narrow escape. Of all the weapons to encounter, a Dauthdaert was the most dangerous for a dragon, and had Saphira been struck in the head or heart, things may have been much worse.

"Undhireth, Maera, you have tired yourselves." Blodhgarm said calmly, turning back to the elves.

Eragon immediately looked concerned, and nodded. "Yes, you must rest." He nodded at five other elves who similarly seemed about to fall over, "You, too."

They weren't happy to leave the battlefield, but wouldn't disobey a direct command and gave a solemn bow, before leaving the courtyard with quick steps.

"Eragon," Arya said next, flicking a strand of raven hair out of her eyes, "We should find Lord Bradburn, and cut off the head of the snake." Saphira growled in agreement, flexing her wings experimentally. She seemed satisfied with the way the elves had healed her torn muscles. But first, we should help Roran, Saphira reminded her rider.

"Allow me," Blodhgarm said, and drew his dagger and a long elvish sword from his belt. "This will take but a moment."

He strode towards the knot of fighting men. Two noticed him coming and blanched at his fearsome appearance. They drew shortbows quickly and loosed arrows at his, but they only zipped harmlessly to either side, unable to get past his wards. The men of the Empire groaned in dismay as he gave them a terrifying grin that promised death, his chin and chest stained black with the blood of the man he'd killed earlier.

He spun his blades in a mesmerising arc of steel, dealing mortal wounds with lightning speed as he strode towards the man wielding a hammer on the far side of the courtyard.

"Stronghammer," he greeted cheerfully, disembowelling a man who had swung an axe at his back without looking around.

"How's Saphira?" asked Roran brusquely, raising his hammer and then pausing as he realised there were suddenly no more enemies left. There were only about eight of his own men left alive, looking as surprised as he did.

"She suffered no permanent damage," reassured Blodhgarm, "We healed-"

He broke off abruptly and staggered, wondering for a moment why he was suddenly off-balance.

Roran's eyes widened, and Blödhgarm followed the man's gaze down.

Barzul, he swore to himself, taking in the brutal barbed tip of the black arrow currently sticking through his back and out of his chest.

He staggered and almost fell as pain flashed through him a moment later, feeling the torn muscles and tissues searing like a brand of fire had been drawn through his chest. He choked, feeling the blood that had rapidly filled his left lung gush into his throat. It tasted hot and salty, and slightly metallic in the curious way blood did. It was not an unfamiliar taste… But this time it was his own blood.

"Gods," Roran exclaimed harshly, rushing forward to support him, "I hope you can heal that."

Blodhgarm silently cursed his wards for failing at such an inopportune moment, and quickly muttered a phrase in the ancient language. The air around them shimmered like a heat haze. This new spell would stop any other projectile, even a magical arrow – he wasn't taking any chances.

The small effort of speaking made him spit blood and he winced at the movement, refusing to let himself cough though he could feel his left lung drowning. "It missed my heart." He managed hoarsely. Alice is going to yell at me after this. He fell to one knee and clenched his jaw, struggling to breathe shallowly with his remaining intact lung as he composed the healing spell he would need to save his life.

"Stop talking and focus on whatever magic you need to do." Ordered Roran, worried. As strong as elves were, he doubted they could afford to lose as much blood as he was. The black arrow was large, vicious looking, and blood was already dripping in a steady flow onto the stones. It may have missed his heart, but it looked like it had hit something important. He looked around, but couldn't see any archers on the roofs or ramparts. Whoever had fired the arrow seemed to be long gone.

He waved his hammer at Eragon and Saphira, getting their attention. They noticed immediately that something was wrong, seeing Blodhgarm on one knee next to Roran, and started moving towards them.

They had only managed a few steps when an earsplitting crack echoed across the courtyard.

Blodhgarm looked up from muttering his healing spell. What now?! He thought, annoyed.

He saw the dust escaping from the entire wall of the Keep above them at the same time Roran did, and a pang of dread dragged at his heart.

Cold dread turned to icy fear as the wall broke away from the Keep entirely, swaying outward. Men ran screaming to try to escape its shadow as the bricks teetered and then fell. Roran took one step towards Eragon before realising it was useless and stopping – safety was too far away.

Blodhgarm just had time to admire the man's courage – he seemed to accept there was nothing he could do and yet remained calm in the face of his death.

Admirable, but unnecessary. There was no way he was dying this day!

Moving inhumanely fast, Blodhgarm grabbed Roran by the back of his leather armoured jerkin and yanked him backwards, throwing them both under the archway of the falling wall. He had no time to speak, and blood had filled his mouth again, so he focussed and thought Stenr letta! channeling his considerable magic into a spell that would hopefully prevent the stone from crushing them.

Then, the wall crashed down, burying them both alive... Just before impact, his body tensed and his eyes closed instinctively… and then he knew no more.

Meanwhile…

Alice looked up from her mirror, and sighed with tired relief.

"Lady Nasuada and Trianna have confirmed it," she told Jormunder, whose expression cleared. He released the hold he'd had on his sheathed steel sword and relaxed his tense posture.

"The city is ours, then?" he queried, wanting final confirmation.

"Yes. The last pocket of resistance lies within the Keep. And since Eragon and Saphira are there, it won't hold for long." She ran a critical eye over the commander, taking in his blood-spattered armour and sweat-streaked face. He'd been true to his word and had kept her out of the battle, but didn't seem to believe in commanding from the back himself. The city had fallen quickly, but the fact remained that they had all been awake and active for over twelve hours without a break. Alice, too, was quite exhausted. Once the tide of battle had turned in their favour, she'd taken every opportunity to aid the healers. In addition, many of Belatona's soldiers had defected or surrendered, and she'd been examining their minds for treachery for many hours. While the defectors were a blessing to the army, it did increase the workload for her and her already overwhelmed healing staff, especially since she'd insisted the defectors be treated with equal attention to that which the Varden's own soldiers were receiving.

"Then, we just need to await for word, and we can sound the horn of victory…" he broke off abruptly as they both caught sight of seven elves slowly making their way across the open space of the city square, wending their way through the throng of healers, soldiers and wounded.

Alice walked quickly to meet them, worry creasing her brow. "What happened?" she asked as soon as they were within earshot. Her gaze flitted between the weakened elves - their faces were pale and wan, and they walked as if they'd aged many years.

"We are fine, Islingr," replied the female raven-haired elf Alice recognised as Maera. "We are simply tired from our efforts healing Saphira."

Jormunder joined Alice and together they hurried to assist the drained elves to some nearby empty cots against a wall. "Is Saphira alright? What happened?" pressed Jormunder, as Alice signalled one of her healer's assistants, a young man only a few winters older than Marco, to fetch them some water from the nearby supply-wagons.

"She was injured by a soldier who wielded an ancient, powerful weapon, but the full story will have to wait. She suffered no permanent damage." Maera explained, gratefully accepting a cup of water from the now-starry-eyed young man.

Alice and Jormunder exchanged a look. "I knew he would try something!" Jormunder said angrily. "To think he was hiding a weapon capable of injuring a dragon-"

"Hush, Commander," Alice said hastily, "Let's not talk about it openly. This might actually work to our advantage."

Jormunder frowned. "How so?"

"I doubt the King knew about this weapon - he doesn't want Saphira dead, after all. Lord Bradburn acted rashly, out of desperation. But now we have it- right?" she looked for confirmation to the elves. Maera nodded, looking thoughtful at Alice's words. "I'm sure you can imagine how a weapon dangerous to dragons might be useful in the future."

Jormunder's eyes lit up in understanding. "It would-"

A sudden shaking of the ground and a distant rumble like thunder made him stop mid-sentence.

They all looked up to the Keep with wide eyes, as a massive cloud of dust billowed up from inside. A large building had clearly just collapsed.

"That can't be good," Jormunder said grimly.

Alice took one look at the sudden anxiety on the seven elves' faces and knew that Eragon must be somehow involved. She leapt into action. "You, you and you, come with me," she ordered, pointing out three healers who seemed to still have some energy left. They immediately finished up what they were doing and hurried over.

Jormunder quickly rallied a detachment of soldiers to follow him, and then they turned towards the Keep.

"You're all staying behind," Alice ordered firmly, as the seven elves made to follow them.

"You have no authority over us, girl," hissed a male elf that Alice knew as Endir, drawing himself up proudly, though she saw how he trembled from the simple effort of standing.

Alice met his eyes, unafraid. "Sit down before you hurt yourself, Endir." She snapped, eyes flashing at his insulting tone. "I will ensure Eragon and Saphira are unharmed, you have my word. If you truly want to help, replace the healers that I'm taking. That is, if you don't mind dealing with common humans."

"You-!"

"Enough, Endir!" broke in Maera, and pulled at his arm. "She is right." The dark-haired elf met Alice's eyes and bowed her head. "We will do as you say, Islingr. I trust your word that you will do what we cannot."

Alice nodded, touched by her trust. As she hurried away with Jormunder and the others, she allowed herself a small smile. It seemed she'd gained another ally among the elves. She'd even called her "Islingr" - lightbringer - a term up until now Alice had only heard among the human men of the army.

It didn't take them long to reach the Keep.

"Isn't that your admirer?" Jormunder asked, as they spotted a man walking out of the wreckage of the gates.

"Coram!" Alice called out in relief, as the tall knight picked his way down the heap of smashed wood and iron. "Thank the gods you're okay!"

At her voice he looked up. But his expression was strangely blank. "Why, if it isn't Lady Alice." He said emotionlessly.

Her smile faltered. But then she shook her head, knowing there were more important matters at stake. "Wh-what happened in there? Is Saphira and Eragon okay? Did you see-"

"They're fine, they're fine, nothing to worry about." Coram interrupted her, and she sighed in relief.

Jormunder frowned at the young knight, not liking the way the young man was acting. Something was off. "What happened?" he repeated, injecting a note of authority into his voice.

Coram's strangely blank eyes didn't leave Alice's face. "The wall fell down." He said, almost in a sing-song voice. "And buried… people." Finally, he looked away from her, down at his hands instead. They were covered in dust and blood.

Alice stepped closer, and laid a hand on his. He seemed traumatised. "Coram," she said, her voice gentle. "You look awful. I want you to go back down this road, to the healers, and lie down for a while, alright? But first, how many people were buried? Perhaps we can still save them." She gestured to the waiting group of soldiers and healers.

Coram looked up at her, and some of the blankness left his eyes. "You can't save him."

Alice was confused. "Who?" her hand dropped from his.

"It's too late." Coram said, unblinking.

"How many were buried?" interjected Jormunder, "Answer the question, boy!"

Coram looked to the older man, and thought a moment. "Nine men," he replied at last, somewhat carelessly, and then looked back to Alice. "And one elf."

She felt like the bottom had just dropped out of her stomach. Her eyes widened, and the breath was snatched from her lungs.

"He is dead." Coram said, watching her reaction closely.

She choked and stumbled back as if struck. "You lie." She said numbly. She didn't wait to hear what he said next. She pushed past him and broke into a run, scrambling up the rubble and into the Keep, not caring as she cut her fingers on the jagged stone. Her heart was racing like it wanted to escape her chest.

"Lady Alice, wait-!" Jormunder cursed and followed her, signalling his men to do the same.

Coram watched her go with hooded, dark eyes. Then he turned on his heel and strode away.

As he walked he started to whistle a cheerful tune.

Author's note:

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