Brom swung his broadsword in front of his face as a zigzagging blow from Durza was narrowly evaded.
Their swords rung together like some unholy chorus. Durza leapt backwards, his face painted in hues of satanic mirth.
"I never thought fighting one of the Forsworn would be so easy, Caomhim!" He jeered as Brom shuddered, a splash of blood staining the yellow grass, pale in the twilight shine of the moon.
The wound on his shoulder stung as another gash across his torso burned, and a broken rib protested with each breath he took. He felt his energy fading, his eyes growing tired as he stood, swaying on his feet precariously.
Durza rushed at him again.
Brom shot his eyes open and ducked underneath a savage sweeping blow, rolling on the ground so that he was now behind Durza. Durza yowled in surprise as Brom cut his calve, the tip of the blade dragging across the bulging leg muscle of Durza's borrowed body. The former Forsworn raised his blade for the killing blow, but Durza swung around at the last moment, punching Brom hard across the face. Brom groaned as he was thrown backward, hearing the sounds of the Ra'zac as it fought Eragon and Arya.
I need to stay alive. For them. For Saphira.
He saw her face then, as clear as the sun shines during a summer day. Her dark hair, her solemn eyes . . .
Selena. He saw his dragon next, also named Saphira, beautiful and radiant, featherlike wings flapping against the air as she rose into the heavens, like some fallen god returning to a lofty and celestial throne.
"Now, you die," Durza murmured as he pounced, unaffected by Brom's wound. Brom, reinvigorated, ran as well, meeting Durza in the middle of their battlefield.
The fire Eragon started grew rapidly.
They were lit not only by the moon, but by the ethereal blue flame that jumped and kicked and sparkled as it consumed the tall plains.
Brom and Durza engaged in a swirling dance, their heels kicking up dirt as they evaded, blocked, attacked, paused, only to resume their dual offensive.
No magic was uttered, no insults were levied. They dueled, like two Knights fighting for a lost love. Both of their faces were drawn in concentration, a strange sense of enmity mixed with companionship as they gradually understood the ebb and flow of each other's movements. Soon, Brom knew where Durza's blade would swing next, and Durza, Brom's. For what seemed like hours this persisted, two supernatural beings bent on destroying the other.
Durza crouched and jabbed his sword at Brom's stomach, but Brom twisted aside, swinging his sword in a sideways half-arc. Durza bellowed as he caught the blow with his open palm, causing Brom to sever the upper portion of Durza's right hand. Blood spurted from the wound as Durza laughed and fell on his back, Brom continuing the assault. He raised his sword and brought it down, again and again and again, Durza's defense growing feebler every time.
With each strike Durza cried, first in fury but then, as his sword lost power and shattered, in crazed humor. He slid away from Brom, grasping his wounded hand as Brom advanced, kicking away fragments of Durza's useless weapon.
"Caomhim. Even if you kill me, you will not succeed. You know what I am."
Durza laughed hysterically, his hair falling over a face beaded with sweat. Blue flames waved behind him, giving him an even crueler look as his eyes regarded Brom with fear.
"You should know Caomhim. The one they call Alauinel. Morzan's student. She has found a way to return the Dragons to what they were, before time began."
Durza cackled, waving his wounded arm at Brom, black blood splattering over Brom's face.
Brom's sword wavered. Durza sprung at him, his good hand cut as a shard of his former blade dug into pale fingers, a makeshift dagger that Durza desperately stabbed at Brom's eyes. Brom leaned his head back, plunging a pommel into Durza's stomach. Durza staggered backward, his mouth filling with blood.
"What do you mean? Do you speak of Eldeena?" Brom rasped as smoke filled his lungs. Durza laughed, louder and louder, his eyes insane, pupils constricting.
"I have failed, in every aspect I have failed . . . but it is a blessing that I will not see the destruction that awaits you, Caomhim. You will be sealed, and when that occurs, you shall fight against the very thing you swore to protect." Durza looked behind himself lovingly at the roaring blue fire.
He then skipped into the flames. His body crumbled like a statue made from dirt, and bright lights came streaming from the corpse as it fell into the bottom of the fire's bowels. The lights bounced across the land.
Brom watched as formally dead soldiers rose up and ran into the night.
Shades.
Brom hefted the long blade of his sword on his good shoulder, and returned to the sound of battle that still persisted between Arya and Eragon and the Ra'zac.
He walked through the half-burned field, his dark trousers brushing against smoldering grass that reached his waist. He came upon the sight of the Ra'zac scratching at Eragon's shield as Saphira gnawed at the creature's neck.
It roared, turning to rip Saphira off, but at that moment Eragon stabbed his blade into the creature's stomach. Arya then came from the shadows, slicing off the Ra'zac's outstretched arm. Brom then saw Aerion, the old and faithful Knight, as he charged from behind Eragon, forcing the Ra'zac backward. Brom ran at them, joining the fray.
He pounded at the ground as he came up on the Ra'zac's left.
The creature turned and looked at him, fury in its eyes. Brom swiped at the creature's feet, but the Ra'zac threw itself in the air, landing a dozen feet away from Brom and his companions. It looked at them, snarling as flames licked at its tattered cloak.
"Lissan Sie Kcorop" It muttered. Suddenly, black mist rose from the Ra'zac, dissipating its form, leaving nothing but a pale and scarred body behind, as a shadowy cloud rose up into the night sky. Brom's developed Rider-eyes could see the visage of the man before it hit the ground, but Eragon couldn't. The boy rushed to the body.
"Erago-" Brom began before a debilitating cough racked him, bile rising from his mouth, blood dripping from the corners.
Eragon paused at the body, confused.
"Sl-Sloan?" He gasped. Brom limped to where Eragon stood, his sword shaking. Arya and Aerion helped him, and soon he too looked at the man he had recognized from Caravhall.
Sloan coughed.
"He lives," Arya said, raising her blade to finish the butcher off.
"Wait!" Eragon cried, falling to his knees, cradling Sloan like one would hold a baby. Arya tsked, but lowered her sword. The wounds that Sloan had sustained as a Ra'zac still afflicted him, a missing arm and numerous gaping wounds to the torso. He did live, but it wouldn't be for long.
"Er-Eragon . . ." Sloan said weakly. His voice was watery and tittering. Brom knew the man would die at any moment.
"Sloan! Garrow. Do you know what happened to Garrow?" Eragon said, his face close to Sloan's.
"My-My daughter . . ." Sloan began. Eragon nodded his head hurriedly.
"Yes, she lives. She's safe." Eragon informed.
Sloan smiled.
"I-I win, Ga-Garrow." He said weakly.
"Where is he?!" Eragon demanded.
Sloan opened his eyes, and with the last of his strength, motioned with his good arm to some area in the distance. Brom followed the direction, and saw a charred lump among half-burned grass. It looked like a human body.
The other Ra'zac.
The dots connected quickly within Brom's mind.
Eragon frowned.
"I don't . . . Arya . . killed that . . . that beast."
"You killed Ga-Garrow. He . . . he was turned . . . with . . . me . . ."
Sloan began to laugh weakly.
"I-I win. I outlived th-that ba-ba-ba-stard."
Eragon screamed in anger as he hacked at Sloan's face. He struck and struck and struck, until Sloan's portrait was a bloody mess of meat and brain. Still, he continued, striking Sloan as blood pattered onto Eragon's clothing.
"Enough, boy." Arya said, pulling Eragon back as Eragon screamed at the top of his lungs. He yelled and fought and bellowed, until he gradually gave way to sobs, turning into Arya's arms as the Elf looked at Sloan's corpse with haunted eyes.
They all stood still, the only sound that hung in the air was Eragon's choking cries and the light cackle of the contemptuous blue fire that burned around them.