Eragon grabbed the clasp of his borrowed cloak and pulled it closer to his neck, watching as a black plume of smoke slowly rose from a settlement across the shallow river.
He heard Brom walk up behind him, dressed in rich-looking furs that had small stains of blood on them. His large sword was strapped to his back, and his veined arm carried a large bag of borrowed meat and stale bread. Saphira raised her head and sniffed the air, looking at Eragon with solemn eyes.
Another village massacred She said.
Eragon turned from Brom, pulling his hood over his head as icy rain began to fall like cold shards of glass. The river passed by silently, crawling over smooth rocks with nearly no sound. Wind came through, rustling the skeletal limbs of trees and shaking half-frozen snow off the branches. Brom lumbered next to him, his beard covered in frost, wet with rain and quickly freezing.
"Well, let's have a look. If we're lucky, this village will be the same as the last." He said, dropping the leather bag by Eragon's feet and splashing into the river, easily crossing it as his boots cracked portions of water that were somewhat frozen.
Eragon hesitated, causing Brom to turn and look at him with an annoyed glance.
"This doesn't feel right." Eragon said finally.
"Fine. Freeze." Brom said, continuing without him. Eragon shuddered, and looked at Saphira.
"Stay here." He said, causing her to protest.
I want to see the village! I want-
"It's too dangerous . . . if anyone were to see you . . . just stay here, please." Eragon asked. Saphira lowered her wings in relent, slinking back into the woods that hugged the river while her scales were glossed with falling water. Eragon skipped across the river, freezing liquid sneaking into his leather boots. He placed his hand on a plain iron sword which Brom had insisted he loot from the previous village they had come across.
The land was but kissed by winter, a light embrace. However, cold truly did rule here, and while there was little snow, gusts of wind sent chattering chills through his body. Leafless trees marched ahead of Eragon while Brom carried on, hunched over between the tall guardians, long dead until summer. The eye of his hilt swayed, and Eragon again felt mesmerized by the weapon.
The town was unguarded by wall or watchtower, the buildings mixed with the wood, no separation between the two. Eragon crunched as he walked, stepping on icy ground and leaves hardened by cold. He pulled his hood closer to his ears and continued on, snot dripping from his nose. He finally caught up to Brom, the man standing outside the first building that they came across, still smoldering, a fire slowly dying on the thatched roof.
"Wait here," Brom ordered, stepping inside. Eragon waited, the rain growing heavier as it began to seep through even his cloak and touch his skin. He placed his hand on the hilt of his sword, and nearly recoiled at the freezing touch of it. He curled his fingers around it instead, allowing his palm to grow numb as Brom searched inside the house. The man appeared outside the house's front door, a half brunt loaf of bread under his arm. He took it in both of his hands, breaking it in two, throwing a portion of it towards Eragon.
The boy caught it, taking a bite as the bread itself was softened by the rain. He sucked at the liquid greedily, sating his thirst and his hunger.
"Come on," Brom said.
He re-positioned his sword, walking deeper into the town. Trees seemed to curl over the various buildings, and as such they had been touched by the fire that swayed in the wind.
The flame hummed disarmingly as it burned the long barren branches of trees.
Eragon followed Brom house-to-house, eating whatever they found and saving other foodstuffs in an empty bag that had once been used to carry potatoes. Bodies laid everywhere, brutally savaged. Eragon stepped over them, their eyes still open as blood pooled beneath their corpses. Brom seemed unaffected by them, but Eragon could not stop staring at the bodies as he followed the man. There were men . . . women . . . and even children. Some lacked limbs and heads, torsos ripped open and mutilated.
What type of creature could do this? Eragon jumped as he heard the barking of dogs ahead of him. He heard Brom swear as a small pack of the animals yipped and hopped around Brom as he approached, running away from the body they were devouring. Eragon approached as Brom knelt at the body, dragging the bag of food they had gathered.
"No men attacked this village." He said.
"Men would have taken the valuables." Eragon added, and Brom bobbed his head.
"They would have taken the women as well. . . No, men did not kill these people. This is the work of Urgals."
Eragon had never seen an Urgal alive. At Carvahall, it seemed they were a constant threat, but they had never been attacked. Once, he and Roran had found a body of one of the creatures in the valley, it having died from some sickness.
He saw it now, fearsome even in death. Muscled and vicious, with dark eyes and a cruel mouth filled with sharp teeth. Bowed legs and arms corded with strength, with skin that seemed resistant to most blades.
"How many do you think did this?" Eragon asked, feeling uneasy.
"It would not take many to destroy a village such as this one. Fifteen. Maybe less. But the question is why? " Brom rose, sighing.
"We should-" He started, and then Eragon saw his eyes go wide. Eragon rotated.
he nearly screamed.
An Urgal was before them, wounded, but standing. It looked as if it had stumbled from inside one of the houses, and blood dripped from an arrow that pierced its neck.
The beast's mouth opened and closed, a blue tongue licking cracked lips. It wore no clothing, save for a blue loincloth that wavered when the wind blew. A gray hand held a massive spear which ended in a sharp bladed point.
"RAZ NIL GARAN HORTIL?" it said, the voice bellowing. Eragon stepped backwards, but Brom held him in place.
"You're a Rider now." He whispered, drawing his own weapon. The sword seemed to glow as it fell free of Brom's bindings, black and red steel shrugging off water as it fell heavily. The hilt roared silently.
Brom held it with two hands, the jeweled eyes brilliant pupils surrounded by ornate metal . Eragon drew his own sword, a simple blade, but sharp and suited to his size. The Urgal lurched forward . . . and charged.
It kicked up dirt and water as it ran across the ground, destroying puddles and creating new ones as it moved.
It pointed its spear directly at Brom, choosing to attack him first. Brom ducked as the beast stabbed at him, jabbing the bottom-hilt of his weapon into the Urgal. The creature roared, swiping at Brom with its free hand. Brom rolled between the creatures legs, escaping the attack, cutting across the creature's bottom thigh.
It let out a fearsome howl as it swung its spear wildly, Brom jumping away or swatting it aside with his sword.
"Eragon!" He called.
Eragon woke up from his trance, running to assist Brom.
The Urgal seemed to grow as he came closer. The beast's wounds seemed not to affect it. Eragon stabbed at its sliced calf, and the beast yowled, arching its back. It suddenly wheeled around, striking Eragon with a heavy-arm. Eragon went flying backward, hitting his head on the ground, everything growing black.
"Eragon!" Brom called, but he was far away, his voice fading . . . .
It was then he heard the call. It was a strong voice, deep and resonating. Despite of it's composure, he could tell the speaker was in pain. He then was flashed with an image, a bloody girl before a pale man, hair dark and ruined as her blood dripped down the wooden table she was strapped to. He loomed over her, and her eyes burrowed into the ceiling above her as he twisted and cut. Her image was rooted in his mind until he felt himself screaming as well.
"ERAGON!" Brom's yell brought the boy back into his surroundings, gasping as he rose to the sight of the Urgal crashing towards him.
The beast grabbed his arm and pulled him closer, preparing a hand that could easily crush his skull over his head. Brom rushed towards him, but he wouldn't make it in time. Eragon watched as the fist came hurtling towards his mouth . . . .
Brisingr.
The word came from nowhere, appearing in his mind as the Urgal dropped him.
It howled in pain, blue flames licking its body. The monster staggered and fell over, rolling in the ground as Eragon's eyes were fixed on the flames that curled and waved on the Urgal. It screamed and screamed, a terrible hissing noise rising from it as the spell entered its body through its mouth, frying the beast's internal organs. Brom was upon it then, sticking his sword through the creature's head. It stopped mid-scream, then fell silent.
Brom pulled his sword free, stepping back as the flames ate at the Urgal's half burned corpse.
"How did you do that?" Brom asked, drawing Eragon's eyes away from the flames of the Urgal.
"I-I don't know . . . the word . . . it came to me . . ."
"Spells of destruction do not simply come to you . . ." Brom said. Eragon had no answer for him, but then he remembered the vision he had.
"Brom! I saw something. A girl, she was being tortured."
"What?" He said.
"I don't know. I just- We need to save her. I know where she is, I can feel it. It is to the east of here. I know the way. Saphira will too, she saw it as well, I could feel her mind. She- the girl..sent us the image. "
"There is only one race with that ability." Brom said grimly. He walked ahead of Eragon, shaking his head.
"This is madness . . ."
"You said the problem with Riders was that they did not care for others. Well, here is a chance to revert that stigma. She needs our help. She needs us." Eragon urged.
" How was she able to send a vision without establishing a link . . . . . ." Brom trailed off, swiftly turning to Eragon.
"Call your dragon. We will save the girl." He commanded. Eragon swelled, and felt warm for the first time in months, despite the freezing rain that hugged his clothing.
It wasn't long until Night crashed into Eragon and Saphira as they watched Brom lean out from the side of a large tree. Beyond, a large stone fort erupted from the ground, surrounded by wooden stakes, sharpened, and a thick wall of cut timber. It was too dark to make out the shape of the castle, but Eragon could at least tell it was small, with several jagged points rising off from it. On the walkway of the building a sentry patrolled, a torch making his features blurry as a light rain drizzled down on them. It was the rain that bothered Eragon the most.
It had been raining for most of the day.
Cold had settled in on his skin, making him numb and languid. Brom seemed unaffected, however, and grew annoyed when Eragon could not keep up. Eragon himself had to push to move. Every time he grew weak he simply had to remember the girl . . . and that vision fueled him. Saphira felt his suffering, and she pushed against him to offer him some warmth. When he knelt, she was a little taller than his bent knee.
Thank you. Eragon smiled.
I cannot offer you much warmth . . . I am small.
Eragon scratched behind her head, and she purred deeply, a soft grumbling noise that lifted his spirits. Brom looked back at them, and raised his hand.
The signal.
Saphira vanished. A whoosh of sound and suddenly she was in the dark sky. Eragon looked up blindly, trying to find her . . . he couldn't.
That was good.
That meant the sentry wouldn't see her either. He slowly moved up on Brom. The man tensed as Eragon approached. He looked behind and eyed the boy, and then gave the sentry a glance. The man had paused, looking at nothing of interest, gazing in the darkness. Brom nodded, and Eragon closed his eyes.
Saphira, Now! He ordered.
In that instant, a dark shadow flew over the sentry. The man made no sound as teeth closed in around his neck, ripping it open, and pulling it down to the unseen stone flooring of the walkway. Brom looked back at Eragon. "Are you ready?"
He asked.
Eragon pictured the ruined girl within his mind's eye.
"Yes. I am."
They moved silently against the darkness around them, the ground slurping at their feet as they stalked. Eragon and Brom holstered their swords, carefully navigating between jutting stakes that were invisible until the last moment. They were effective against mounted men.
As Eragon moved past them, he saw dried blood that painted sharp points in the night. Brom lead the way, his eyes untroubled by the night. Brom had explained the longer you were a Rider, the stronger the man grew. Brom's eyes could see in the night as well as any dragon, and Eragon had to assume that he had many more abilities. They reached the wooden wall, Brom feeling along it. Eragon looked on, Brom's pale hands barely visible in the ebony sheen of twilight.
"There's handholds," He grumbled, and began to climb. Eragon followed after him, pricking his hand on the pointed end of the wooden wall. They came over it easily enough, But then they faced the stone wall of the fort itself. Saphira hopped on top of the walkway's railing, and peered down at them, her eyes dully shining in the dark.
There are footholds on this wall as well she said. Eragon relayed the information to Brom. The man nodded, breathing heavily, and continued up on the wall. Eragon climbed behind the man again, freezing rain dripping down into his face as it slid off of his long hair. His fingers were cold, but he continued on, ignoring the feeling until finally he rolled over the wall, and onto the walkway. He laid there, breathing heavily, his sword beside his body.
"Come on. You have to lead the way." Brom said, and helped Eragon up. Eragon closed his eyes, summoning the vision again. He saw the room, the girl . . .
He knew where she was.
"I can sense her. She . . . I do not know how but . . ."
He brushed past Brom and Saphira followed. They came across a wooden door.
Eragon rattled it open easily, to his surprise. The guard Saphira killed must've left it open. They came across more stone, a flight of stairs. Torches hung on walls, giving the descending walkway dim light. Eragon came down the stairs lightly, the only sound coming from the scraping of their wet boots. The stairs ended, and another door was found. The younger Rider hesitated before opening this one as well, the cold metal of the handle sticking to his skin. He shuddered, pushing the door fully ajar. Brom and the boy saw a long hall, dying torches sputtering within metal posts.
Saphira's claws clinked against the stone, which was cobbled, with inscriptions scribbled on them.
They were strange characters that Eragon did not understand. He continued on, however, passing through stairs and rooms and hallways and underpasses . . . noting all the while how empty the keep was.
He felt her before he heard the laugh. It was curdling, desperate and full of hatred. There were curses as well, and a clubbing sound, followed by more laughs.
"Here!" Eragon cried. He ran ahead, down another hall, which ended in one door.
Eragon, wait! Saphira cried. Brom bounded behind him, trying to stop the boy.
As Eragon touched the handle, the door itself flew at him. His nose dribbled blood as he fell over.
He attempted to push the door from his body only for it to press down on him, blood and the smell of oak filling his nose.
"Eragon!" Brom yelled. The boy felt the pressure on the door lighten.
"Caomhim?" a voice called, half amused and half surprised. Eragon threw the door off of him then, grasping for his sword which had fallen on the ground. He found himself staring at man drenched in sweat, with ghostly skin and fiery red hair that was long and voluminous. Evil eyes regarded Eragon, and then returned to Brom.
"Caomhim. Such a strange meeting. I took you for de- A dragon?" He said suddenly, and Eragon knew that Saphira must have walked to the side of Brom. The man snarled then, sending an outstretched hand towards Eragon. He felt himself rise, and then he was thrown to the side of the hall. He swore as he rose himself, Brom charging the red man, his blade raised high. The red attacker dodged all of Brom's strikes with ease, and then flipped over him, reaching for Saphira.
"No!" Eragon cried, pushing himself towards his dragon and her attacker. The man glanced up at him and smiled handsomely.
"Brisingr!" Eragon cried, blue flames snaking towards the man as the spell sucked the energy from his body. He shuddered while Saphira retreated into his flames, unaffected by the heat. The red man cried as the fire curled around him, lighting his hair as he writhed on the stone ground. Finally, the inferno ended, and Eragon slumped over, tasting blood in his mouth.
"ARUGH!" The red creature screamed. The flames vanished while a large black blade erupted from emptiness into his hands. He raised his blade to attack Eragon.
The boy was too weak to move.
This is the end.
Saphira was at the man's ankle, her teeth tearing flesh. The man yowled in surprise.
Brom slid between Eragon and the red man, his sword clashing against their attacker's black cleaver. The red man kicked Saphira away.
she hit the wall of the hall with a heavy thump.
"Stay back, Eragon," Brom warned, attacking with heavy blows that were returned faster than they were delivered.
"Morzan will be happy to discover you live, Caomhim. I wonder-"
A horn shattered the red man's sentence. It was louder than any sound Eragon had ever heard, a low-pitched thrumming that vibrated the stone of the keep. The creature hesitated, and Brom drove the point of his blade through the demon's chest. It gasped, mouth wide open in disbelief and fury.
"Trakana urhlahan!" The creature screamed, vanishing in a plume of mist.
Eragon rose quickly, ignoring Brom's calls as he entered the room where the girl lay.
She was strapped to a wooden frame, her clothing ripped and tattered. Cuts and bruises covered her entire body, but her beautiful face was horribly marred by a series of deep long gashes that went from the corner of her head to the opposite bottom of her mouth.
Dark hair lined with white was smattered with blood and sweat. Her strong arms and legs were bound with metal. She opened her eyes, however, within them Eragon saw two pools of strength swimming in green pupils.
"Finally you come." She said, mouth tight with pain. Brom brushed past Eragon, his face written over with grim colors.
"The keep is under attack."