Disclaimer: I do not own The Elder Scrolls or The Inheritance Cycle.


It was dark in Eragon's cell when he sat up with a start, electrified. The wrinkle had shifted! He had felt the magic at the edge of his consciousness for hours, but every time he tried to use it, nothing happened. Eyes bright with nervous energy, he clenched his hands and said, "Nagz reisa!" With a flap, the cot's blanket flew into the air and crumpled into a ball the size of his fist. It landed on the floor with a soft thump.

Exhilarated, Eragon stood. He was weak from his enforced fast, but his excitement overcame his hunger. Now for the real test. He reached out with his mind and felt the lock on the door. Instead of trying to break or cut it, he simply pushed its internal mechanism into the unlocked position. With a click, the door creaked inward.

When he had first used magic to kill the Urgals in Yazuac, it had consumed nearly all of his strength, but he had grown much stronger since then. What once would have exhausted him now only tired him slightly.

He cautiously stepped into the hall. I have to find Zar'roc and the elf. She must be in one of these cells, but there isn't time to look in them all. As for Zar'roc, the Shade might have it with him. He realized that his thinking was still muddled. Why am I out here? I could escape right now if I went back into the cell and opened the window with magic. But then I wouldn't be able to rescue the elf... Saphira, where are you? I need your help. He silently berated himself for not contacting her sooner. That should have been the first thing he did after getting his power back.

Her reply came with surprising alacrity. Eragon! I'm over Gil'ead. Don't do anything. Murtagh is on the way.

What about Daemon?

No reply.

Saphira, what about-Footsteps interrupted him. He spun around, crouching as a squad of six soldiers marched into the hall. They halted abruptly, eyes flicking between Eragon and the open cell door. Blood drained from their faces. Good, they know who I am. Maybe I can scare them off so we won't have to fight.

"Charge!" yelled one of the soldiers, running forward. The rest of the men drew their blades and pounded down the hall.

It was madness to fight six men when he was unarmed and weak, but the thought of the elf kept him in place. He could not force himself to abandon her. Uncertain if the effort would leave him standing, he pulled on his power and raised his hand, the gedwëy ignasia glowing. Fear showed in the soldiers' eyes, but they were hardened warriors and did not slow. As Eragon opened his mouth to pronounce the fatal words, there was a low buzz, a flicker of motion. One of the men crashed to the floor with an arrow in his back. Two more were struck before anyone understood what was happening.

At the end of the hall, where the soldiers had entered, stood a ragged, bearded man with a bow. A crutch lay on the floor by his feet, apparently unneeded, for he stood tall and straight.

The three remaining soldiers turned to face this new threat. Eragon took advantage of the confusion. "Thrysta!" he shouted. One of the men clutched his chest and fell. Eragon staggered as the magic took its toll. Another soldier fell, pierced through the neck with an arrow. "Don't kill him!" called Eragon, seeing his rescuer take aim at the last soldier. The bearded man lowered his bow.

Eragon concentrated on the soldier before him. The man was breathing hard; the whites of his eyes showed. He seemed to understand that his life was being spared.

"You've seen what I can do," said Eragon harshly. "If you don't answer my questions, the rest of your life will be spent in utter misery and torment. Now where's my sword—its sheath and blade are red—and what cell is the elf in?"

The man clamped his mouth shut.

Eragon's palm glowed ominously as he reached for the magic. "That was the wrong answer," he snapped. "Do you know how much pain a grain of sand can cause you when it's embedded red hot in your stomach? Especially when it doesn't cool off for the next twenty years and slowly burns its way down to your toes! By the time it gets out of you, you'll be an old man." He paused for effect. "Unless you tell me what I want."

The soldier's eyes bulged, but he remained silent. Eragon scraped some dirt off the stone floor and observed dispassionately, "This is a bit more than a piece of sand, but be comforted; it'll burn through you faster. Still, it'll leave a bigger hole." At his word, the dirt shone cherry red, though it did not burn his hand.

"All right, just don't put that in me!" yelped the soldier. "The elf's in the last cell to the left! I don't know about your sword, but it's probably in the guardroom upstairs. All the weapons are there."

Eragon nodded, then murmured, "Slytha." The soldier's eyes rolled up in his head, and he collapsed limply.

"Did you kill him?"

Eragon looked at the stranger, who was now only a few paces away. He narrowed his eyes, trying to see past the beard. "Murtagh! Is that you?" he exclaimed.

"Yes," said Murtagh, briefly lifting the beard from his shaven face. "I don't want my face seen. Did you kill him?"

"No, he's only asleep. How did you get in?"

"There's no time to explain. We have to get up to the next floor before anyone finds us. There'll be an escape route for us in a few minutes. We don't want to miss it."

"Wait, didn't you hear?" Eragon pointed at the unconscious soldier. "There is an elf here. We have to rescue her!"

"An elf...!" Murtagh growled, hurrying to the door Eragon indicated. "This is a mistake; we should flee while we have the chance." Eragon vehemently protested, and Murtagh relented. He pulled a ring of keys from his pocket and gave them to Eragon, who opened the door.

She faced the newcomers, tense and coiled, ready for whatever happened. She held her head high, in a noble demeanor. Her dark green eyes locked onto Eragon's and they held each other's gaze for a moment, before she trembled and collapsed. Eragon was just able to catch he before she hit the floor and together he and Murtagh carried her from the cell. To weak to move and carry the fallen elf, Murtagh shouldered the burden and handed Eragon a dagger. They fled up a stone staircase at the end of the hall.

They dashed into a banquet hall and quickly dived under a table with a long cloth draping over the sides. Eragon turned to Murtagh, worried. "How are we going to get out?"

"We're not," grunted Murtagh in reply. This didn't help to reassure Eragon. "Can you talk to Saphira for me?"

"Yes,"

"Good. Tell her to wait another five minutes." There were shouts in the distance and the two could hear soldiers running all over. Eragon's mouth tightened with pent up tension.

"Whatever you have planned, I don't think we have much time." They heard a series of shouts an yells from the room's window, as a commotion raised outside, followed by someone shouting that shook the very ground.

The screams and yells intensified, and a horn sounded outside. More footsteps thundered past as men ran to the courtyard. Murtagh gave Eragon a huge grin.

"On second thought, Daemon may have just given us more time."


"FUS RO DAH!"

An Unrelenting Force came out of Daemon's mouth, blasting a group of soldiers down a staircase as he spun around and slashed another's neck open with one of his swords. Dressed in his Daedric armour, helmet on and everything, Daemon truly appeared as an intimidating, menacing figure. Daemon saw a line of soldiers running up a staircase and smirked as he gripped his sword tightly.

"WULD NAH KEST!"

In the blink of an eye with the Whirlwind Sprint Shout, Daemon had become a blur to the eyes of his enemies as he appeared from one place and then was behind the line of soldiers, his swords dripping blood before the heads of the soldiers fell off and the bodies soon followed, grumbling to the floor. Daemon twirled his blades before he went back to fighting, slashing a soldier through the shoulder while stabbing another in the face, then another in the chest, then blocked a sword before he decapitated him.

Daemon flipped his long hair back before he ducked two soldiers trying to kill him and impaled them through their jaws with his swords then ripped the blades out. Daemon had to admit, before he became a dragon he was strong, stronger than most men which was probably due to having the blood and soul of a dragon. But ever since he became a dragon, his strength and speed seemed to have become stronger than ever before.

The Dragonborn continued to kill soldier after soldier, causing a pile to start forming and he had to stand on some bodies to continue fighting. He didn't appear exhausted at all, this kind of fighting brought back memories of his time fighting forts or castles of bandits. However, he wasn't going to be doing this all night.

Saphira! Has Murtagh gotten Eragon yet?! I'm not exactly going to do this all night. Daemon asked as he stabbed another soldier through the chest while blocking another soldier's attack. He kicked the soldier in the chest while ripping his second blade out the soldier he impaled through the chest. The alive soldier charged at him with a yell only for Daemon to bend down and flip him over his back, whirling around and slashing his swords through the man's body as he fell to the ground.

Saphira's response was an amused-sounding growl. From what I can see, you're doing just fine. This was your idea, after all.

Daemon sidestepped a soldier's sword and stabbed him through the neck. Very funny. He threw his second blade and it went right through the head of another soldier. He ripped his blade out and ran over, grabbing the second one. Just tell them to hurry up! I will get tired eventually.

Hmm... and here I thought male dragons were supposed to have great stamina...

Daemon nearly froze in his place but quickly recovered in time to block a soldier's sword with both his blades before shoving him back and slashed his throat open. What?

Oh nothing. She said in her teasing tone. She went silent for a few seconds before speaking, this time in a more serious tone. Murtagh's found Eragon and they're ready to go. I'll see you soon. Then her teasing tone returned. But I'm impressed, you are quite a strong male.

Daemon was baffled. Here he was, fighting hordes of soldiers coming to kill him and Saphira is busy making suggestive comments. He sighed and kicked a soldier in the chest before locking blades with another only to cross his swords and decapitate him.

"Punah. (Females)" He muttered in the Dragon tongue before he whirled around and slashed the heads of three soldiers.


Murtagh returned carrying Zar'roc, a strange bow, and an elegant sword without a sheath. Murtagh gave Zar'roc to Eragon. "I found the other sword and bow in the guardroom. I've never seen weapons like them before, so I assumed they were the elf's."

"Let's find out," said Eragon through a mouthful of bread. The sword—slim and light with a curved crossguard, the ends of which narrowed into sharp points—fit the elf's sheath perfectly. There was no way to tell if the bow was hers, but it was shaped so gracefully he doubted it could be anyone else's. "What now?" he asked, cramming another bite of food into his mouth. "We can't stay here forever. Sooner or later the soldiers will find us."

"Now," said Murtagh, taking out his own bow and fitting an arrow to the string, "we wait. Like I said, our escape has been arranged. Markus will be keeping the soldiers busy."

"You don't understand; there's a Shade here! If he finds us, we're doomed."

"A Shade!" exclaimed Murtagh. "In that case, tell Saphira to come immediately, delaying even longer is too dangerous now." Eragon relayed the message succinctly, refraining from distracting Saphira with questions. "You messed up my plans by escaping yourself," groused Murtagh, watching the room's entrances for soldiers.

Eragon smiled. "In that case, perhaps I should have waited. Your timing was perfect, though. I wouldn't have been able to even crawl if I had been forced to fight all those soldiers with magic."

"Glad to be of some use," remarked Murtagh. He stiffened as they heard men running nearby. "Let's just hope the Shade doesn't find us."

A cold chuckle filled the banquet room. "I'm afraid it's far too late for that."

Murtagh and Eragon spun around. The Shade stood alone at the end of the room. In his hand was a pale sword with a thin scratch on the blade. He unclasped the brooch that held his cape in place and let the garment fall to the floor. His body was like a runner's, thin and compact, but Eragon remembered Brom's warning and knew that the Shade's appearance was deceiving; he was many times stronger than a normal human.

"So, my young Rider, do you wish to test yourself against me?" sneered the Shade. "I shouldn't have trusted the captain when he said you ate all your food. I will not make that mistake again."

"I'll take care of him," said Murtagh quietly, putting down his bow and drawing his sword.

"No," said Eragon under his breath. "He wants me alive, not you. I can stall him for a short while, but then you'd better have a way out for us."

"Fine, go," said Murtagh. "You won't have to hold him off for long."

"I hope not," said Eragon grimly. He drew Zar'roc and slowly advanced. The red blade glinted with light from torches on the wall.

The Shade's maroon eyes burned like coals. He laughed softly. "Do you really think to defeat me, Du Súndavar Freohr? What a pitiful name. I would have expected something more subtle from you, but I suppose that's all you're capable of."

Eragon refused to let himself be goaded. He stared at the Shade's face, waiting for a flicker of his eyes or twitch of his lip, anything that would betray his next move. I can't use magic for fear of provoking him to do the same. He has to think that he can win without resorting to it—which he probably can.

Before either of them moved, the ceiling boomed and shook. Dust billowed from it and turned the air gray while pieces of wood fell around them, shattering on the floor. From the roof came screams and the sound of clashing metal. Afraid of being brained by the falling timber, Eragon flicked his eyes upward. The Shade took advantage of his distraction and attacked.

Eragon barely managed to get Zar'roc up in time to block a slash at his ribs. Their blades met with a clang that jarred his teeth and numbed his arm. Hellfire! He's strong! He grasped Zar'roc with both hands and swung with all of his might at the Shade's head. The Shade blocked him with ease, whipping his sword through the air faster than Eragon had thought possible.

Terrible screeches sounded above them, like iron spikes being drawn across rock. Three long cracks split the ceiling. Shingles from the slate roof fell through the fissures. Eragon ignored them, even when one smashed into the floor next to him. Though he had trained with a master of the blade, Brom, Daemon and with Murtagh, who was also a deadly swordsman, he had never been this outclassed. The Shade was playing with him.

Eragon retreated toward Murtagh, arms trembling as he parried the Shade's blows. Each one seemed more powerful than the last. Eragon was no longer strong enough to call upon magic for help even if he had wanted to. Then, with a contemptuous flick of his wrist, the Shade knocked Zar'roc out of Eragon's hand. The force of the blow sent him to his knees, where he stayed, panting. The screeching was louder than ever. Whatever was happening, it was getting closer.

The Shade stared down at him haughtily. "A powerful piece you may be in the game that is being played, but I'm disappointed that this is your best. If the other Riders were this weak, they must have controlled the Empire only through sheer numbers."

Eragon looked up and shook his head. He had figured out Murtagh's plan. Saphira, now would be a good time. "No, you forget something."

"And what might that be?" asked the Shade mockingly.

There was a thunderous reverberation as a chunk of the ceiling was torn away to reveal the night sky. "The dragons!" roared Eragon over the noise and threw himself out of the Shade's reach. The Shade snarled in rage, swinging his sword viciously. He missed and lunged. Surprise spread across his face as one of Murtagh's arrows sprouted from his shoulder.

The Shade laughed and snapped the arrow off with two fingers. "You'll have to do better than that if you want to stop me." The next arrow caught him between the eyes. The Shade howled with agony and writhed, covering his face. His skin turned gray. Mist formed in the air around him, obscuring his figure. There was a shattering cry; then the cloud vanished.

Where the Shade had been, nothing was left but his cape and a pile of clothes. "You killed him!" exclaimed Eragon. He knew of only two heroes of legend who had survived slaying a Shade.

"I'm not so sure," said Murtagh.

Eragon slapped Murtagh on the shoulder as Saphira ripped off the remaining roof and landed in the middle of the hall. He through his arms around her, hugging her tightly. She hummed contentedly.

I missed you, little one.

She was surprised to see the elf woman they had rescued, but assured them that she could carry three. They climbed on her back and she leapt back though the hole she had made and onto the fortress's roof. She unfurled her large wings and ran to the edge, using her powerful legs to launch her into the air.

As they climbed into the air, Eragon looked down into the courtyard. He could see a mass of soldiers forming around the center, a mess of bodies littered the ground, and in the middle of it all...was Daemon. He stood atop the piles of dead soldiers, slashing and killing anymore that came at him and using his power to kill large groups of them.

Saphira flapped hard and angled herself away from the city. Eragon's eyes widened, fearing that they were leaving Daemon behind. He was about to say something when Saphira yelled, Daemon catch! Behind him in the saddle, Murtagh rose and threw a long black rope straight down towards their companion. Daemon looked up before killed another soldier and began running for the rope, sheathing his swords in their scabbards on his waist in the process. He leaped and grabbed onto the rope.

Once they were over the city walls, the strain of carrying so much began to affect Saphira especially the rope and Daemon. The Dragonborn felt this in her mind, and let go, plummeting into the trees to the ground below. Eragon's heart caught in his throat as he saw his friend fall but felt relief when he saw him emerge from the underbrush on Shadowmere, leading him and the other horses away frim the city.

Once Saphira spotted a clearing far enough away from the city, she flew in for a landing. Daemon rode up right after them and he dismounted and ran to her side. Eragon threw himself from her saddle and embraced him, Daemon hugging him tightly back.

"You better not get captured next time, or I'm storming the place and killing everyone in my path." Daemon said seriously, causing Eragon to laugh.

"Good to see you too, brother." Eragon said. "But back there... that was incredible! They stood no chance against you, and you don't even look exhausted!"

Daemon chuckled and waved him off. "It was nothing."

Saphira disagreed as she nuzzled him warmly. He was amazing, Eragon.

We all were and let's leave it at that. Daemon said, getting agreements from the two. "Now, how about we get as far away from Gil'ead as we can?"

Everyone agreed there as they went on...


Woo, that was fun to write I have to admit, especially Daemon fighting the soldiers.