-BRISINGR-
So.
Eragon ducked, his long hair spraying outwards as rain began to hail from above, sloshing with the wet ground, already awash with blood.
The point of a spear, deviously poisoned, jabbed through Eragon's locks, tearing some away as the Sealed elf jerked its cruel weapon upwards.
Eragon rolled into the elf, slick on the bloodied ground. Placing his left hand on the base of his pommel, he rose with the sword pointing from his chest, plunging the broadsword through a mass of shivering flesh.
As Eragon swirled away from the crumbling corpse, five more Sealed elves approached.
They muttered and chattered evil words that fouled the wind. Their eyes glowed with a savage fullness, eager to offer obeisance to their God.
So, I'm surrounded.
Eragon leapt over a curled sword that was thrown by one of the five. Still in the air, he held his hand over the spinning ground.
"Erftën Bedgt Siccht!" Magic spilled from Eragon's lips as he righted in the air, and pulled himself down to the earth, aided by spellcraft. Blood and rainwater squalshed with sickening fullness as the Sealed pounced.
An elf bounded towards his back shoulder, as two more approached from the front. Eragon's ears twitched to the sound of the elf's footsteps behind him through the bedlam.
He stretched his right leg out forward, grinding it into the earth as he spun on his left. In a propelled arc, the tip of his blade cut the throats of the two Sealed elves. Their black blood splayed from open throats as their useless husks fell backward.
Eragon muttered into his collar, back halfway turned to the Sealed elf from behind, now nearly upon him-
As the elf rose to strike, Eragon opened his palm into the beasts gaping maw.
Brisiniya had been the spell Eragon uttered, said utterance still tingling on his lips as the dark elf's skull exploded backward. A fine bullet of blue fire spun from the monster's head and into the dark as its nose crumbled inwards.
Eragon lowered his gaze to the final pair immediately before him. His worry extended to his surrounds, as well.
Now that the Rider had his bearings, he could see clear enough that Morzan's teleportation had brought them to the battle-
Albeit, not together.
Eragon didn't smile, but he partitioned a facsimile of joy in face of the grimness of the grotesque dreamscene. He hated himself for it, but he knew he had to admit it to himself.
I've gotten stronger.
Eragon pounced forward, clapping his fingers together in a flashing arc.
"Liezcht Stûrenya!" Eragon bellowed.
The exotic elven spell of Liezcht Stûrenya manifested as black lighting that rebounded between the two elfspawn, causing both of their bodies to explode from the chest upwards in a plume of smoke and bubbling skin.
Eragon felt sweat threaten his brow. He readied his sword as more enemies approached. The sound of fighting- it seemed louder than before, closer and more intense.
Eragon's ears could no longer quite clearly hear the steps of enemies that got too close.
But where his ears failed, his magic still prevailed. He picked up two more Sealed elves disengaging from the general horde that fought savagely towards him.
Eragon noticed, upon detailed inspection- that not only were the Laen forces under Oromis nearly vanquished, but that the Sealed elves were fighting and killing each other as well.
How far away am I? He thought as the wind blew a whipping gash of blood across his face.
His senses howled as three joined the approaching two. Sealed elves were fast, and their muscled legs beat against the ground, shiny obelisks of shrieking phantoms in heathen dusk.
He won't turn in time-
"BRISINGRÄNTA" Eragon bellowed as his voice cut the wind itself, shaking droplets of rain off course from their banishment to the ground below.
A wall of flame erupted behind Eragon's back, devouring all who ambled from behind. The blue inferno crackled savagely with Eragon's pride, his magic boastful.
Specks of lighting crumbled between the devouring flames as they turned dark elf into ash. Yes, Eragon had grown powerful.
He breathed heartily as sweat dripped freely. His face was freshly shaven, and his long hair bounced boyishly against his forehead.
He staggered.
More elves came, beating their swords against the ground.
Eragon pushed forward, fist baring the cold rain as it grew from a residual shower into a darkened downpour.
Chittering and shrieking laughter chilled Eragon's thoughts as the rain poured. They were nearly upon him.
He panicked.
"Atemluft!" Eragon shouted another powerful spell. His voice had lost the boisterous appeal he bore mere minutes earlier.
The boy swayed on his feet as his magic pulsated from an extended sword. Air, heavy with force, sliced forward, cutting the heads of the elves that came before him.
They tumbled-
More clawed ahead. They had taken notice of him. Eragon's rider eyes turned to slits as the scene grew darker. He then knew that this wasn't just the clouds-
It was magic. And while Eragon was by no means a master magician, he was well versed.
And he knew well enough that this was advanced craft.
The laughing he heard became louder, more desperate as elves screamed out in pain and violent lust. Eragon was horrified at was he saw. Sealed elves held down dying elves and dwarves, pulling at their skin until organs were exposed. They pulled out the innards joyfully, causing Eragon to retch in revulsion.
He stumbled forward, lashing about his sword in pure defensive instinct as he gagged. He felled the Sealed elves before him as he advanced drunkenly, fighting in a desperate adherence to Oromis teachings in an ever increasing plight to simply stay alive.
Eragon didn't feel proud then.
He felt fear.
The laughter reached a chorus that bored into the boy's mind.
Eragon fell.
The Shade stared at him plaintively. He couldn't quite see it, but rather, he felt it in the blackness of his subconscious.
For all intents and purposes, Eragon was blind.
The battle raged on around him as the Sealed elf killed Eragon's allies or their own kin. But it sounded far away, and his attention- what little of it left his conscious could spare-
Listened as the shade slithered.
I could save you. You remember the power I gave you when the elf boy mocked you. Mocked us.
Eragon felt himself smile. Yes, he did remember that power. Oromis had taught him to harness it somewhat, but in truth he had been too afraid to use it without the Elf's supervision.
The shade's grin felt several degrees deeper, as it could read his thoughts.
Yes. But it will be a strength of rage, boy.
Eragon felt the Shade's presence as magic ebbed into his numb fingers.
A sword fell into Eragon's back.
He shrugged in acceptance of it, a sharp pang that snapped him back into the battle as it roared in his head. Eyes opened in shock as his vision shook. The full strength of the yelping, canting screams echoed, traveling on wind that was buffeted by freezing rain.
The shade snapped Eragon's focus back to it.
Eragon felt the shade kneading against the last vestiges of his mind. It said nothing, but Eragon knew he only will it inside, and it would take over.
He gurgled up black bile. Mud and grime ruined his clean face, as chunks of phlegmatic blood clung to his hair.
His wounds would be healed.
Eragon eyes steadily opened as he pushed the Shade from his mind with the last bit of his will.
The Spirit didn't react- didn't howl in anger.
It stalked away, silent in reflection.
ERAGON lay among the graves.
NEXT CHAPTER: MURTAGH'S WAR
A/N: just to reiterate; this is not the next chapter. Like I said before, these "mini chapters" will be after each main chapter to develop the other plot lines without ruining the main story.
FEINSTER.
It was a fair city. Old and on the edge of historic Broddering heritage, it heavily carried the testaments of the First Walkers.
Black walls sprouted high from behind mauve-leaved trees, giant behemoths that bore thick and naked trunks that sprung upwards past spiked battlements.
Pointed, heavily stoned spires climbed to the heavens. Spiked chains swayed in the wind, and from them corpses wavered.
At first inspection this might seem debased and cruel, and perhaps it is. But closer inspection reveals the corpses are inscribed with forbidden death magic. The life that once lived in the corpse fueled a dark spell that covered the city's innermost sanctum with a magnetic field, protecting all from within.
The entire prospect of storming that was terrifying enough to Elva, but she knew it got worse.
Angela always said it got worse.
She rose from her seated position. The city of Feinster collapsed in a quiet puddle of water that Elva wordlessly commanded into her carrying-skin, absently applying the magic as she stretched her arms and yawned.
Feinster possessed a Dragon, and a Rider besides.
Elva had pestered Angela about him.
"Avela Massieo, and his dragon, Absolearet." Angela's voice sounded within the young girl's mind as she made her way back to the war camp.
The War-King, Orrin, was preparing his assault. The camp was awash with activity, and Angela had sent Elva ahead to scry the imperial holdfast.
Elva's master was concerned.
Impori witches had reported that the Feinster mages had stopped communicating to the rest of the Empire. In fact, all communications had fallen silent.
Angela's witches had never cracked the spellcode to understand the scry rituals themselves, but they could at least detect when they happened, a credit to their skill.
A city such as Feinster would be sending multiple messages across the realm. Important issues, domestic plights outside of the saga of Kings.
"Something isn't right." Angela had said.
And so, Elva was sent.
Her mind danced back to Avela. She tapped her foot against the earth as she walked to Angela's coven.
I hope he's entertaining.
Elva smiled. what was she thinking? He rode a dragon. He's bound to come with some fun.