-Eldest Chapter 14-
(A/N) QUICK THING! I updated the cover on my original work on amazon, and I updated the file as well. It's still free on my website, but you can buy it on amazon if you think it is worth purchasing. Also regardless if you bought it or not, could you leave a review? I feel like it would get more attention if it had some reviews xD. Anyway, I'm working on a new original story, but I will continue to update this one. Enjoy!
HIS army was gathered. Behind him, the rebuilt fortress of Gil'ead stood in the morning air. In front of him, a wide valley spread far as the eye could see, leading to the warmer climate found in the south. Cerise flowers waved gently in the wind, causing the field to look like a waving red sea. Roran lowered his head, the half-helm he wore causing his neck to strain in protest. His horse dug at the ground below, picking up dark brown chunks of dirt that clung to polished hooves.
"I sense him." Lorgainne said softly. The mage had joined Roran's forces after his own followers had been murdered by the rouge wizard at the haunted fortress. Roran remembered the day well- It was then he gained the strange markings that averted the touch of magic, and protected him from malicious wards or curses.
"What does it feel like?" Roran asked. He could hear the low chatter of men behind him- The last vestiges of his army. The bulk of the Northern military that the Varden possessed was here now- a massive force of seventeen thousand men culled from nearby Houses and holdfasts. If they were defeated, only House Pike would remain to defend the North from the Imperial blitzkrieg.
"Anticipation. I can almost taste his killing intent, Roran. This Morzan will show us hell itself. Gods protect us." Lorgainne prayed. He wore the traditional bone armor of his people, and his two pets- the fox and the badger, snuck about in the shadow of his horse. Newlyn Pike sat at the front of his army, resplendent in his bone-mail armor. He wore a full-helm crafted entirely of human skulls, with large horns melted to the diamond-covered temples of his mask. His face was a shining terror, a foe that would cause men to flee in fear.
"It's strange." Roran started softly. Lorgainne gave him a questioning look.
"What is?" He asked.
"It's so peaceful. A few days ago Yenlick had said times like these were the calm before the storm." Roran smiled wistfully as a calming burst of wind passed over him, cooling his body.
"We do not face a storm. We are in the eye of Armageddon itself. We will be lucky if we survive this battle." Lorgainne lifted his chin.
"They come. The army comes."
The valley descended in a gradual curve, hiding any oncoming movement from their view. But Roran knew as well as Lorgainne did that Morzan was marching his men directly into conflict with their own army. It was not long until the haunting horn of the Imperial army was heard. It was a drawn out sound- high pitched and shrill. It was accompanied by beating drums as Roran saw a man, a single man step over the curve of the hill that lead into the wide plains.
"Morzan of the Forsworn." Lorgainne whispered. Roran leaned forward in his saddle, trying to get a glimpse of the far-away figure. He saw raven-dark hair waving in the wind, and a body covered in armor the color of night. But other than that, he could not make out any unique features. Morzan, so far, was simply a man. Roran allowed himself to relax somewhat- Perhaps the stories were wrong, perhaps the armies he defeated were simply scared . . . perhaps he uses tricks and deceptions, rather than god-like power.
It was then that the clouds above them parted. Men turned their eyes to the heavens as the sky churned. A gray mist swirled and reddened, twirling clouds with it as the funnel reached the ground. Too late men attempted to flee, only to be caught inside the massive tornado that had sprouted in the middle of their ranks. Horses screamed as swords were pulled from hands, while chariots lifted into the sky, screaming steeds still tied to tethers that sealed their deaths.
"RORAN!" Lorgainne screamed as he was pulled into the tornado. Roran shook his head, breaking himself from the lock of fear. He placed his hands out towards the tornado, focusing his mind and channeling the power that was given to him. A loud boom sounded as an explosion of air dissipated the tornado, causing those flying in its embrace to fall to the ground roughly.
"Such power . . . " Lorgainne gasped as he regarded the destruction that the tornado had wrought. Trails of dug-up earth riddled the land they stood on, while the panoply of war was scattered about- swords jutting from the flowery land while chariot wheels rolled about, only to fall over.
"So it is true. You can avert the touch of magic."
Roran turned his head to see Morzan, first of the Forsworn, standing by his horse. He was pale, as if the sun had never touched his skin. Eyes bright while dark at the same time regarded him with almost tangible distaste and hatred. His face was handsome- long with a pointed chin, while black bangs beat at his forehead, and trailed down the slight curve of his nose, nearing the tip of his upper lips.
He looks like Eragon. Only with lighter skin and hair the color of coal. No, his eyes are different too. They are ageless. An evil wisdom lurks behind them- eyes that only one who has reached the state of immortality can possess
Morzan jumped backward and flew into the air, drawing his sword from the scabbard that hung at his waist. Beyond him, his army made their appearance. Rows upon rows of men marched into the valley, spears pointed high in the air while dark-colored horses patted against the ground, carrying similarly dressed knights. All of them wore the emblem of the Empire, the three-pronged orb of fire.
"Fight, me, MAGEBANE!" Morzan howled as a torrent of fire erupted from his mouth.
"Back away!" Roran cried as Lorgainne and the others who stood with him followed his orders. Newlyn shied away from the fire as it came hurtling down to their faces. Roran reached out with his hand, and he could feel the enchantments working- he could feel the power coursing through his arms as the fire was blown away. Gasping for breath, Roran sagged in his saddle as Morzan alighted to the ground, his boots crushing a patch of flowers.
"Interesting. It seems the tales are true. Tell me, Magebane. How many have you killed in this fruitless war?" Morzan asked. He had the face of a young man, a face so like Eragon's, and by extension, his own.
"I do not remember the ones I have killed. I do not think about things such as that."
"FIRE!" Newlyn cried as arrows descended upon Morzan. The man looked up dully, and smiled as the projectiles burned mid-flight, and vanished in the air as nothing more than ash.
"You should never forget those you kill. It can drive you mad, Magebane. I learned long ago that fact. If you fail to remember them, they will be sure to remember you. Your nights will be filled with horrors beyond imagination, an unspeakable evil that will gnaw at your neck while everything you love is torn asunder. You believe you are noble by forgetting their faces? I will tell you something, boy. One who forgets the people he has killed is not a hero. He is a coward."
Roran narrowed his eyes at the Forsworn.
"Why are you telling me this?" He asked.
"Because when I kill you, I will remember your face."
Roran suddenly was lifted into the air as Morzan jumped from the ground. His body was pulled towards Morzan's waiting hand, dozens of feet above the field below. They rose higher and higher, the two armies becoming nothing but tiny splats of color on a green landscape.
"You can attempt to free yourself, but I wonder if you would survive the fall." Morzan jested from above the sound of rushing air. He flew down then, so fast that Roran felt his stomach jump high into his chest. They landed in a cleared area, ash-trees surrounding them, hauntingly white. Morzan threw Roran away, and the man rolled on the ground until he crashed against the trunk of a tree that sat on the perimeter of the area.
"I intend to kill you myself, Magebane. Let the armies of men fight one another unbothered."
Morzan raised his sword- the blade was of the color of sanguine and ebon. A longsword, the hilt was fashioned in the likeness of a black dragon.
It was a weapon of malice.
Roran pulled his warhammer from his belt. He held his weapon before his body, while Morzan circled. His brown eyes focused on the green pupils of Morzan, while the man held his blade close to his face.
"What is your name, Magebane?" Morzan needled.
"Roran." Magebane replied sharply.
Morzan laughed, pouncing at Roran, his sword raised. Roran bent his knees to absorb the blow, but suddenly, Morzan vanished. Roran felt a whoosh of air tickle his ears.
Behind . . . !
Roran turned his heels in the grass, his warhammer barely protecting him from the sharp edge of Morzan's blade. The Forsworn's hot breath grayed the shine of his sword while their faces were inches away from each other.
"Fast for a human." Morzan pushed Roran's weapon aside, and attempted to cut at his throat. Roran ducked underneath the attack, flipping his warhammer over to the sharp end, and rising with an attack of his own. Morzan flipped rearward in the air as Roran's hammer almost grazed Morzan's flesh. The Forsworn landed on his feet, charging at Roran without wasting a breath. Roran held out his weapon as they exchanged blows. He was backed into the forest, roots causing him to trip over himself. He fell as Morzan's sword came at his waist. Roran flipped his body over so that he landed on his back, narrowly missing Morzan's blade. The Forsworn grabbed Roran's leg, pulling him forward. As Morzan did so, Roran gripped his hammer, retrieving it while he reeled his arms in preparation. As he was hurled past Morzan's head, Roran crashed his hammer into the face of the Forsworn, who grunted in pain as he fell to the ground.
Roran tumbled backwards, behind the Forsworn as Morzan rose to his feet.
"I was not expecting that." He said conversationally.
No time.
Magebane rushed at Morzan, who flipped his blade in his grip, turning before Roran could react. All Roran felt was the sharp sting of Morzan's sword as it was dragged across his face. Blinded by his own blood, he ran past Morzan while the Forsworn's blade was dragged free of his flesh.
Katrina.
Roran wiped his eyes, his wrists smeared with red gore.
"Don't lose focus!" Morzan screamed as he renewed his assault. Morzan jumped in the air, attacking Roran's flank. Roran blocked the blow, turning aside Morzan's weapon and striking for the Forsworn's leg as he landed. Morzan stepped backward as Roran overextened his attack, and was rewarded with a lingering slash across his body. Roran ground his teeth as fresh blood splattered the green grass below him. His blood.
Katrina, I promised I would keep you safe.
He ignored the pain and roared, Morzan's eyes widening in amused surprise.
Roran struck for Morzan's head, and his sloppy blow was easily sidestepped by Morzan. His opponent cut Roran's leg as he passed, causing the man to fall over. Roran dug at the ground, attempting to pick himself up only to be struck in the chest by Morzan's boots. He fell over, and regarded the sky. It was a deep blue, vast and endless.
I'm sorry, Katrina.
Morzan stood over Roran, his blade pointed at Roran's chest.
"Roran Magebane."
I couldn't keep you safe after all.
Morzan's sword bit into flesh, pushing up blood as it squeezed past the harsh metal of Morzan's blade. Roran gasped in surprise. The blade was cold. Morzan pressed his sword deeper and deeper, until it exited out Roran's back and was buried into the ground. The hilt of the Forsworn's weapon touched Roran's skin as his vision faded. Morzan looked down at him, losing features and turning into a shadowy silhouette.
Lorgainne. Keep Katrina safe for me. Bring her to the Varden in the south. I have failed. We have failed. The north is lost to us. Eragon . . .
Tears glistened at Roran's eyes when he thought of his brother. They had left off on bad terms, and Roran had hoped he would be able to mend things with him. Now he was dying, and Eragon was thousands of miles away. Blood bubbled up from his mouth.
"Eragon . . . "He coughed up red phlegm, staining his beard while Morzan stood over him, watching him die. The Forsworn was nothing but a dark figure, seemingly hundreds of miles away from him.
As Roran's vision turned to blackness, he heard Morzan scream.
"Hagganthil!"