Magic is Force: Chapter 27
The sounds of war flooded the fields of Farthen Dûr – the war cries of both Varden and Urgal joining together, metal clashing against metal, bones splintering and breaking, and the shrieks of the dying. Chaos and destruction descended upon the gates of the city mountain.
The fighting continued for one endless hour after another. The Varden and dwarves were exhausted, but the Urgals remained fresh with reinforcements. It was a nightmare for Eragon. Though he, Saphira and Arya had fought their hardest – even after having their energy restored by Karn through the Force – there was always another Urgal to take the place of the one just killed. His whole body hurt, every muscle in his body was being pushed to the limit. Every time he used magic he lost a little more energy. Saphira was in better condition, though her wings once again acquired new wounds.
As he parried a blow, the Twins contacted him urgently. There are loud noises under Tronjheim. It sounds like Urgals are trying to dig into the city! We need you and Arya to collapse any tunnels they're excavating.
Eragon dispatched his opponent with a sword thrust. We'll be right there. He looked for Arya and saw her engaged with a knot of struggling Urgals. Saphira quickly forged a path to the elf, leaving a pile of crumpled bodies in her wake. Eragon extended a hand and yelled, "Get on!"
Arya jumped onto Saphira's back without hesitation. She wrapped her right arm around Eragon's waist, wielding her bloodstained sword with the other. As Saphira crouched to take off, an Urgal ran at her, howling then lifted an ax and smashed her in the chest.
Saphira roared with pain and lurched forward, feet leaving the ground. Her wings snapped open, straining to keep them from crashing as she veered wildly to one side, right wingtip scraping the ground. Below them, the Urgal pulled back his arm to throw the ax. But Arya raised her palm, shouting, and an emerald ball of energy shot from her hand, killing the Urgal. With a colossal heave of her shoulders, Saphira righted herself, barely making it over the head of the warriors. She pulled away from the battlefield with powerful wing strokes and rasping breath.
Are you alright? Asked Eragon, concerned. He could not see where she had been struck.
I'll live, she said grimly, but the front of my armor had been crushed together. It hurts my chest, and I'm having trouble moving.
Can you get us to the dragonhold?
… We'll see.
Eragon explained Saphira's condition to Arya. "I'll stay and help Saphira when we land," she offered. "Once she is free of the armor, I will join you."
"Thank you," he said. The flight was laborious for Saphira; she glided whenever she could. When they reached the dragonhold, she dropped heavily to Isidar Mithrim, where the Twins were supposed to be watching the battle, but it was empty. Eragon jumped to the floor and winced as he saw the damage the Urgal had done. Four of the metal plates on Saphira's chest had been hammered together, restricting her ability to bend and breathe. "Stay well," he said putting a hand on her side.
As Eragon was making his way to a side archway, Arya called out to him. "Eragon!"
He stopped in his tracks and turned to face the elf as she stood beside Saphira. She possessed a concerned look on her face. "Do not do anything foolish."
Without a seconds thought he quickly replied, "I promise. I won't." He resumed running and ran out the archway.
He stopped and swore. He was the top of Vol Turin, The Endless Staircase. Because of his worry for Saphira, he had not considered how he would get to Tronjheim's base – where the urgals were breaking in. there was no time to climb down. He looked over at a narrow trough to the right of the stairs, then grabbed one of the leather pads and threw himself down on it.
The stone slide was smooth as lacquered wood. With the leather underneath him, he accelerated almost instantly to a frightening speed, the walls blurring and the curve of the slide pressing him high against the wall. Eragon lay completely flat so he would go faster. The air rushed past his hair, making it whip in front of his face as if he were in a gale. The trough was too confined for him, and he was perilously close to flying out, but as long as he kept his arms and legs still, he was going to be safe.
It was a swift descent, but it still took him nearly ten minutes to reach the bottom. The slide leveled out at the end and sent him skidding halfway across the huge carnelian floor.
When he finally came to a stop, he got off the floor and looked around. The great chamber of Tronjheim was completely deserted, the silence unsettling. Rosy light filtered down from Isidar Mithrim. He faltered – Where was he supposed to go? – and cast out his mind for the Twins. Nothing. He froze as loud knocking echoed through the city.
An explosion split the air. A long slab of the chamber floor buckled and blew thirty feet up. Needles of rocks flew outward as it crashed down. Eragon stumbled back, stunned, groping for Zar'roc. The twisted shapes of Urgals clambered out of a hole in the floor.
Eragon hesitated. She he flee? Or should he stay and try to close the tunnel? Even if he managed to seal it before the urgals attacked him, what if Tronjheim was already breached elsewhere? He could not find all the places in time to prevent the city-mountain from being captured. Blast it! Where's Arya, Saphira, Karn or Angela when you need them most?
Before he could even decide, a tall man garbed entirely in black armor emerged from the tunnel and looked directly at him.
It was Durza.
The Shade carried his pale blade marked with a scratch from Ajihad. A second short sword rested upon his back hip with a crimson ensign forged into the cross-guard. A long snakeskin cloak billowed around him and madness burned in his maroon eyes, the madness of one who enjoys power and finds himself in the position to use it.
Eragon knew he was neither fast enough nor strong enough to escape the fiend before him. Still connected to the minds of Saphira and Karn, he immediately warned them. Durza's here! At the base of the Endless Staircase in Tronjheim!
However, he knew it would be impossible for them to rescue him. He dropped into a crouch and quickly reviewed what Brom had told him about fighting another magic user. It was not encouraging. And Ajihad had said that Shades could only be destroyed by a thrust through the heart. To add more fuel to his worry, he remembered the information that Karn had learned from Solembum, that Shades become stronger after they've been unsuccessfully destroyed.
Durza gazed at him contemptuously and said, "Kaz jtierl trazhid! Otrag bagh." The Urgals eyed Eragon suspiciously and formed a circle around the perimeter of the room. Durza slowly approached Eragon with a triumphant expression. "So, my young Rider, we meet again. You and your friends were foolish to stand up against me in Gil'ead. I will ensure you that you will never be able to escape my grasp again."
"You'll never capture me alive," growled Eragon.
"Is that so?" asked the Shade, raising an eyebrow. The light from the star sapphire gave his skin a ghastly tint. "I don't see your 'friend'. Karn, was it? Looks like he won't be here to save you. You can't stop me now. No one can!"
Fear touched Eragon. If Karn couldn't kill him, how can I expect myself too? Putting all the derision into his voice, he jeered, "How did you like being beaten by a 'weak' human?"
Durza's face tightened momentarily. "I will be repaid in blood for that. Now tell me where your dragon is hiding."
"Never."
"The Shade's countenance darkened. "Then I will force it from you!" His sword whistled through the air. The moment Eragon caught the blade with Zar'roc, a mental probe spiked deep into his thoughts. Fighting to protect his consciousness, he shoved Durza back and attacked with his own mind.
Eragon battered with all his strength against the iron-hard defenses surrounding Durza's mind, but to no avail. He swung Zar'roc, trying to catch Durza off guard. The Shade knocked the blow aside effortlessly, then stabbed in return with lightning speed.
The point of the sword caught Eragon in the ribs, piercing his mail and driving out his breath. The mail slipped, though, and the blade missed his side by the width of a wire. The distraction was all Durza needed to break into Eragon's mind and begin taking control.
"NO!" cried Eragon, throwing himself at the Shade. His face contorted as he grappled with Durza, yanking on his sword arm. Durza tried to cut Eragon's hand, but it was protected by the mail-backed glove, which sent the blade glancing downward. As Eragon kicked his leg, Druza snarled and drew his shortsword from its sheath – sweeping it around across his chest.
The blade managed to cut several of the tiny metal rings, damaging the integrity of the chainmail armor. Luck was on Eragon's side, the blade had managed to only cut the rings and not his flesh. Ignoring the strike, he retaliated by brining Zar'roc up diagonally and catching Durza on the upper arm. A line of blood traced down the Shade's arm.
Eragon thrust at the Shade with his mind and drove through Durza's weakened defenses. A flood of images suddenly engulfed him, rushing through his consciousness –
Durza as a young boy living as a nomad with his parents on the empty eplains. The tribe abandoned them and called his father "oathbreaker." Only it was not Durza then, but Carsaib - the name his mother crooned while combing his hair…