Chapter 36: Farthen Dûr
- Three days prior
The room was elegant and large enough that a Kell could have stood within at full height. Human buildings weren't usually built like that. Alkris assumed it meant that the man behind the wooden desk was important and powerful enough to live in such luxury.
Unlike practically every soul they'd encountered in the mountain, he did not flinch and gape at the sight of the Eliksni. Alkris narrowed his inner eyes. He wasn't sure if that was a good thing. Fear had its purposes.
Alkris clicked his mandibles as he and his charges were marched forwards by the hairless human. The Marauder had arrayed himself between the unpleasant man and Paltis, who made clear her desire to tear out the human's throat. Alkris didn't blame her; he found the human just as distasteful, but they couldn't begin making enemies. Not with their own humans exposed.
The man waiting for them was noteworthy for appearance alone. He dressed in fine, though not overly fancy, clothes in the form of a tapered red and gold vest over a purple shirt. His scalp was bare of hair, but he wore a thick black beard over his jaws. His eyes bespoke of both intelligence and power. He looked like a noble.
When he spoke, his voice was deep and booming, full of confidence. "Welcome to Tronjheim, Eragon and Saphira." His eyes settled on another member of their party. "And you too, Tellesa. Please, seat yourselves."
There were only three chairs and none of them large enough for the Eliksni. Alkris and Paltis stood on either side of Saphira, hands drifting close to holstered pistols. Their swords and knives had been seized - in a manner they would not soon forget or forgive - but the humans didn't see arcarms or even Tellesa's rifle as weapons. Even if they had, to not shackle the Marauders showed how much they underestimated the threat Eliksni posed.
If Kiphoris gave them the order, they could bring the entirety of the hidden mountain city crashing down.
Ajihad snapped his fingers. Alkris tensed. A man stepped out from behind a staircase to the side which led to a balcony. He was bald and practically identical to the other man who had escorted them to the room with little-human Orik. Paltis hissed.
"Your confusion is understandable; they are twin brothers," Ajihad explained with a small smile.
Alkris tilted his head. Twins were such a strange concept. He had only heard of it from rumours, commonly of Cabal and their young, but he had always written it off as an exaggerated tale. Litter-mates who were identical in every conceivable way? Preposterous.
And yet evidence to the contrary stood before him.
"Odd," he muttered.
The Twins retreated under the stairs and regarded everyone else impassively. Ajihad settled down in a high-backed chair behind his ornate desk. He pressed his blunted fingers together and stared at the human children. Eragon in particular. After some time one of the Twins was beckoned back. The hairless human whispered something Alkris couldn't catch, but it evidently made sense to Ajihad. He nodded and turned his attention to Murtagh.
"You have placed me in a difficult position by refusing to be examined. You have been allowed into Farthen Dûr because the Twins have assured me that they can control you and because of your actions on behalf of Eragon and Tellesa. I understand that there may be things you wish to keep hidden in your mind, but as long as you do, we cannot trust you."
"You wouldn't trust me anyway," Murtagh said bitterly.
Ajihad's expression, once neutral, morphed into something Alkris considered worrisome. The Marauder softly trilled in the back of his throat. Paltis responded in kind. It went unnoticed by the humans.
"Though it's been twenty and three years since it last broke upon my ear... I know that voice." Ajihad stood, chest swelling. "It came from another man, one more beast than human. Get up."
Murtagh warily complied.
"Remove your shirt," Ajihad ordered. With a shrug, Murtagh pulled off his tunic. "Now turn around." The young human did so, allowing the light to fall upon his scarred back. "Murtagh," Ajihad breathed.
Orik grunted in surprise.
"Did you know this?!" Ajihad thundered, turning to the Twins.
They bowed their heads. "We discovered his name in Eragon's mind, but we did not suspect that this boy was the son of one as powerful as Morzan. It never occurred-"
A seething hiss came from Saphira. Eragon stared at his friend in disbelief.
"And you didn't tell me?!" Ajihad raised a hand to ward away their excuses. "We will discuss it later." He switched his focus back upon Murtagh. "You still refuse to be probed?"
"Yes!" Murtagh snapped. He let go of his tunic and allowed it to slip back down. "I won't let anyone inside my head."
Ajihad leaned forward. "There will be unpleasant consequences if you don't. Unless the Twins can verify that you aren't a threat, we cannot trust you. Without that verification, the people here, dwarf and human alike, will tear you apart if they learn of your presence. I'll be forced to-"
"Nama!" Paltis snarled so ferociously even Saphira flinched. Alkris' mate strode up to the desk and bared her fangs. "You will not!" She said through her glossator. "We protect the humans. Is our duty. Kiphoris-Captain order it." She flexed her claws. "Their safety is our life-duty. Watch your words. Threat will bring fight."
Ajihad stonily met her gaze for so long that he could have passed off for a statue. Finally, he bowed his head. "My apologies. I haven't quite afforded you the attention I should have. You are not human, or of any manner of creature I have seen. Nor heard of. Who... what are you?"
Alkris stepped beside his mate and tried to be the voice of reason. "Eliksni."
"Eliksni." Ajihad tried the word like a delicacy. "I imagine you are not native to Alagaësia."
"Nama."
"Nama?" The human frowned. "What does that mean?"
"It means no," Tellesa said quickly. She was watching the exchange with a guarded expression. "They're saying that Murtagh is under their protection."
Ajihad nodded slowly, his frown deepening. "I... see. I assume, then, they do not comprehend the significance of Morzan's own son arriving to us now, of all times. And in the company of a Dragon Rider no less."
"Your mages already checked Eragon," Tellesa argued. "Do they say he's a spy?"
"No, they do not. But that does not mean Murtagh is not."
"You don't know if I'm a spy." Her eyes narrowed. "You know my name. How?"
Ajihad's gaze softened. "Rendan would commonly engage in correspondence with the Varden. He was a dear friend of mine. And a friend to you too, if I am not mistaken. You are someone we know."
"I vouch for Murtagh." Tellesa looked like she dared him to argue. "And so does Alkris and Paltis."
"I'm afraid that doesn't change anything."
Alkris had had enough of listening in. "Humans are safe here? Eragon, Tellesa, Saphira safe?"
Ajihad bowed his head. "As safe as they can be. On that you have my word."
The Marauder nodded. "Good. We leave. With Murtagh."
The Varden's leader paused. "Again, I'm afraid that's not possible. What if you are captured and brought before Galbatorix? He will extract every secret from your minds, no matter how strong you may be."
Paltis bristled. "Humans cannot fell us."
"Be that as it may, humans are not all that Galbatorix employs. And to face a trained Rider is an entirely different matter. We cannot take that chance. It would endanger all we have built here."
"Will you hold me prisoner forever?" Murtagh demanded.
"No," Ajihad said. "Only until you let yourself be examined. That goes for the three of you. If you are found trustworthy, the Twins will remove all knowledge of Farthen Dûr from your mind before you leave. We won't risk someone with those memories falling into Galbatorix's hands."
"Mind-Breakers!" Alkris recoiled. His eyes snapped to the Twins. "No! Our minds are not open! If you dare, Scars will fight you!"
"Scars?" Ajihad leaned back.
Tellesa sent Alkris a warning glance. "The Eliksni aren't alone. These two are of a small hunting party we encountered outside Dras Leona. Their leader, Kiphoris, told us that his people have arrived in numbers. They call themselves the Scars."
Ajihad remained silent for some time, digesting the information. "Then..." He scowled. "This is a difficult position you put me in."
"They need not be our enemies," Tellesa pleaded. "They saved us from the Ra'zac. And they helped us rescue Eragon from a prison in Gil'ead. They hold no love for the empire."
"And yet my hands are tied. I am as much a prisoner of duty as the Eliksni. I cannot bid anyone leave without the safety of the Varden and the dwarves assured."
Paltis made to further argue their point, but Alkris shushed her with a soft bark. He faced the human, closed his inner pair of eyes, and said, "Not enemy. No open mind. We will wait for Scars to come."
Ajihad flashed an apologetic look. "I can reserve for you a room and allow you free reign of the city as the dwarves allow it, but I cannot let you leave. Not now." He refocused on Murtagh. "As for you... I admit, I am not surprised by your choice, though I had hoped otherwise. Guards!"
The door behind them opened and warriors rushed in. Alkris forced himself to remain still.
"Take him to a windowless room and bar the door securely," Ajihad ordered, pointing at Murtagh. "Post six men by the entrance and allow no one entry until I come to see him. Do not speak to him, either."
The warriors surrounded Murtagh. The young human wore a stony, resigned expression, and he did not give voice to his complaints as he was briskly marched out.
Alkris exchanged a worried glance with Paltis. Their charges were now in the hands of the Varden. Their task was complete, but now they were, in essence, prisoners. They could cut their way out, but that would put Murtagh at risk. And neither of them were willing to do something that would put one of their humans in trouble.
"Psekisk," Paltis swore.
"Psekisk," Alkris agreed.
- Present
"It still won't work!" Paltis snarled. "Accursed machine!"
Alkris kept his distance and his silence. She was fuming. It was always best to give her some space when she was fuming. It was a pity their room wasn't large enough for that.
The little humans - what Eragon called dwarves - had set aside a room for them in the mountain city. It was bare and mostly unfurnished. A bed of soft cotton and straw rested in the middle. A basin of clean, clear water stood off to the side. The floors, walls, and ceiling were of smooth grey stone
Alkris loved it. It was bigger than their cabin on the Monoliks-Syn. And it was genuinely upsetting that they had to leave it.
Or rather, leave it when their radio decided to work with them. It frazzled and hissed, utterly refusing to connect with the other comms nodes held by their brethren. They had no idea where Kiphoris, Tarrhis, or any other Scar Loyalists were. They could be anywhere on the planet.
"Don't hit it!" Alkris quickly blurted. The raised claws slowly lowered, and Paltis' burning eyes found him. Alkris shuffled back. He realized he had made a grave mistake. "I, ah, I must-"
There was a knock at the door. Alkris practically leapt for it and threw it open. The dwarf on the other side looked momentarily surprised. The squat human looked agitated, and he spoke in quick, but broken, strings of humanish. "Quick! Must go Ajihad! Must go!"
Paltis brushed past Alkris, scowling murderously. "Speak clearly!" She demanded, though their own human speech was likely to have been just as messy.
"Ajihad summons you! Very important!"
The Marauders exchanged a glance. Alkris shrugged: what was there to lose? Their radio refused to cooperate, and while in the mountains they were a guest of both the Varden and the little people who stood no higher than his knee. Kiphoris would have wanted them to be gracious guests, he knew. And what was he but loyal to his Captain?
Even so, how the dwarves had survived long enough to carve out their own kingdom of the small was beyond him. They were funny creatures - though possessing of fiery tempers that belied their miniscule statures. Like half-sized Paltises, really.
The city was straight forward as settlements went. The tunnels were confusing at first, but the two Eliksni quickly figured it out by tasting the airways that filtered through the many corridors and passages located throughout Tronjheim. The scents never lied. They guided the Eliksni to all the places that mattered: feast halls and living quarters.
The dwarf led them through a maze of twists and turns to Ajihad's office. The city was practically deserted; humans had a fixed time for sleeping that they found difficult to resist. It had been much the same with the children, and it was just as prevalent in their cousins the dwarves.
They met Eragon and Saphira on the way there. Alkris clicked a greeting to them; they hadn't seen all that much of each other after arriving in the mountain city. Which was a shame. The children had become dear to him, dragon included, and he didn't want to cut off those ties.
"Human," Paltis said in her usual haughty tone, but Alkris didn't miss the sliver of warmth.
It was more than he ever got. Lucky human.
Eragon returned the greeting more readily. They met Orik, the heir of the little-humans' Kell, outside Ajihad's study. "Come, the others are waiting," he said.
A pair of guards opened the door for them. Ajihad stood behind his desk, inspecting a map with a troubled expression. Arya, the quick-human they had ferried unconscious across their nation, was there too, along with Tellesa and another human warrior. The Varden's leader looked up. "Good. You're all here. Meet Jörmundur, my second in command."
Jörmundur resembled something akin to a soldier, but he possessed none of the Kell-strength that Ajihad did. Nor did he hold himself as a proud Baron. No, he looked more like a dutiful Captain - but a human Captain. No Eliksni Captain would ever be that diminutive a size.
They all acknowledged each other and turned to Ajihad. The human bore a bleak expression. "I've roused the nine of you because we are all in grave danger. About half an hour ago a dwarf ran out of an abandoned tunnel under Tronjheim. He was bleeding and nearly incoherent, but he had enough sense left to tell the dwarves what was pursuing him: an army of Urgals, maybe a day's march from here."
Everyone began talking at once. Alkris and Paltis exchanged nervous looks.
"Quiet!" Ajihad raised his hands. "There is more. The Urgals aren't approaching over land, but under it. They're in the tunnels. We're going to be attacked from below."
"Why didn't the dwarves know about this sooner?" Eragon asked. "How did the Urgals find the tunnels?"
Orik bellowed, "We're lucky to know about it this early! There are hundreds of tunnels throughout the Beor Mountains, uninhabited since the day they were mined. The only dwarves who go in them are eccentrics who don't want contact with anyone. We could have just as easily received no warning at all."
It seemed a major mistake to Alkris. If the tunnels couldn't be watched, then they were a security risk. Someone should have collapsed them. A flaw in the defense like that would have led to a Captain's docking.
Ajihad pointed to a spot on the map. "This is where the dwarf claimed to have come from."
"Orthíad!" Orik exclaimed. "It's an ancient dwelling of ours that was deserted when Tronjheim was completed. During its time it was the greatest of our cities. But no one's lived there for centuries."
That was even worse than leaving open tunnels. Foes could have, and may have, used the city as a forward camp and garrison troops there. Alkris could scarcely believe what he was hearing. And these were supposed to be warriors!
"I suspect that Orthíad is being called Ithrö Zhâda. That's where the Urgal column that was chasing Eragon and Saphira was supposed to go, and I'm sure it's where the Urgals have been migrating all year. From Ithrö Zhâda they can travel anywhere they want in the Beor Mountains. They have the power to destroy both the Varden and the dwarves.
"How many? Are there Imperials with them?" Tellesa asked quickly.
Ajihad shrugged. "We're unsure on both fronts. If there are Imperial soldiers with them, we will not survive. But if there isn't then we may stand a chance. Neither Surda or the elves, or any of our allies, can help us at this late hour. Even so, I sent messages to all of them with news of our plight. At the very least they won't be caught by surprise if we fall." He wiped a hand across his brow. "I've already talked with Hrothgar, and we've decided on a course of action. Our only hope is to contain the Urgals in three of the larger tunnels and channel them into Farthen Dûr so they don't swarm inside Tronjheim.
"I need you, Eragon, and you, Arya, to help the dwarves collapse extraneous tunnels. The job is too big for normal means. Two groups of dwarves are already working on it: one outside Tronjheim, the other beneath it. Eragon, you're to work with the group outside. Arya, you'll be with the one underground; Orik will guide you to them."
"Why not collapse all the tunnels instead of leaving the large ones untouched?" Eragon asked.
Orik rubbed his hands together. "Because that would force the Urgals to clear the rubble, and they might go in a direction we don't want them to. If we do cut ourselves off, they could attack other dwarven cities - and we would be unable to assist."
"There's another reason," Ajihad said. "Hrothgar warned me that Tronjheim sits on such a dense network of tunnels that if too many are weakened, sections of the city will sink into the ground under their own weight. We can't risk that."
"What about the city? Will there be no fighting there?" Tellesa inquired.
Ajihad nodded. "We can't defend Tronjheim's entire perimeter - it's too big for our forces - so we're going to seal all the passageways and gates leading into it. That will force the Urgals out onto the flats surrounding the city, where there's plenty of room for our armies. Since the Urgals have access to the tunnels, we cannot risk an extended battle. As long as they are here, we will be in constant danger of them quarrying up through Tronjheim's floor. If that happens, we'll be trapped, attacked from both the outside and inside. We have to prevent the Urgals from taking Tronjheim. If they secure it, it's doubtful we will have the strength to roust them."
"And what of our families?" Jörmundur asked worriedly. "I won't see my wife and son murdered by Urgals."
Ajihad sighed. "All the women and children are being evacuated into the surrounding valleys. If we are defeated, they have guides who will take them to Surda. That's all I can do, under the circumstances."
Alkris tilted his head. Why wouldn't the human females fight? Surely the Varden needed the extra soldiers.
"Is Nasuada going as well?"
"She is not pleased, but yes."
There was a pause.
Then, "I'm not going." Tellesa narrowed her eyes. "I'm fighting."
"I cannot-" The Varden's Kell began.
"I'm fighting," she repeated. Her tone brooked no argument.
Alkris nudged Paltis' arm. "Sounds like you," he muttered in Low Speak.
His mate snorted. It drew all attention to them
"What of you?" Ajihad asked. "What will you do?"
Alkris took a while to formulate an answer. In the end, he pointed at Tellesa and Eragon. "Not safe."
"We fight." Paltis added in a reluctant, albeit determined, voice.
"Eia, we fight."
The humans looked between them with apparent confusion. "Just like that?" Tellesa inquired. She wore a strained, nervous smile.
Alkris closed his outer eyes. "We fight together, yes?"
"Alright."
Ajihad cleared his throat. He sent the Marauders a grateful nod. "You've already done so much, safeguarding Eragon, and now this... I owe you my thanks."
"Only Urgals," Paltis grunted. "No trouble."
Orik chuckled. "Right about that."
Ajihad squared his shoulders. "The Urgals will arrive in a matter of hours. We know their numbers are great, but we must hold Farthen Dûr. Failure will mean the dwarves' downfall, death to the Varden - and eventual defeat for Surda and the elves. This is one battle we cannot lose. Now go and complete your tasks! Jörmundur, ready the men."
They watched the mass exodus of humans from Tronjheim with disapproval. Alkris couldn't understand why the Varden would waste such a large fighting force. It was important to safeguard children, yes, but the children did not need that many potential warriors to accompany them.
Humans were strange.
At least not all of them were foolish.
Tellesa accompanied the Eliksni as they made their way to where the Varden and dwarves were assembling their army. Without the use of explosives or any ranged weaponry, barring bows, their chance of persevering over the Urgal threat was not quite as high as Alkris would have liked. But no matter his doubts, he had a duty to perform. He would see that the children would be left in safe hands, just as Kiphoris ordered.
The human soldiers were silent, garbed in crude metal armours and bearing weapons of dubious quality. Many had swords, but more had only spears or axes. Archers tested their bow strings in the back. Alkris would have traded the entire archer division for a handful of shockshooters. Primitive bows were nothing compared to wire rifles. The dwarves were better equipped than their taller cousins. Their armour was heavy and it almost looked like they were being squashed beneath all the steel they wore. Most held mattocks or axes, along with thick roundshields stamped with the crests of their clans.
A messenger came for them and invited the Eliksni to a tent where food awaited. They didn't pass up on the offer.
Eragon, Saphira, and Tellesa were already there. The food was just bread, water, and a few strips of dried meat, but Alkris and Paltis partook of the meal graciously. They used the opportunity to ingest a cup of ether each as well. Alkris exulted in the ice-cold feeling of sustenance filling his limbs. It made him feel strong.
They watched with interest as the dwarves began fitting armour to Saphira. It looked, and smelled, like plain steel, but it was better than nothing at all. It moved with her, which was good, and didn't offer any difficulties around her joints. It was nowhere near Eliksni quality, however, but that would have to bought with more than mutual respect.
The army split up soon after, dividing itself into three battalions. Each battalion repositioned before collapsed tunnels, where anyone arriving could climb out. The plan wasn't foolproof, but it could work in Alkris' mind. Provided the number of Urgals was within reason.
The Marauders did not accompany the soldiers. Paltis found Tellesa, who was about to trail after a group, and simply said, "Follow."
The human appeared perplexed, but she acquiesced all the same.
"What is it?" She asked. Neither Alkris or Paltis answered until they found a good spot - an outcropping of rock that had view of almost the entirety of Farthen Dûr. There, Alkris turned around and unclasped a sheathed sword from his hip. He held it up with as much gentleness as he could muster and offered it to Tellesa.
"Wait..." She stepped back. She looked at him with uncomprehending eyes. "What is this for?"
"Fighting," he answered bluntly.
"Yes, I get that, but... it's your sword!"
Paltis groaned. "Draw weapon."
After a moment's hesitation, Tellesa drew the Imperial sword. Alkris unsheathed his shock blade, activated it, and sliced right through the human weapon. The steel blade clattered to the ground.
"Ah," Tellesa nodded. Understanding dawned on her.
Alkris sheathed his weapon and offered it again. "Take."
She took it. He unslung his wire rifle and clambered up the rock. If the worst happened and it came to a close-quarters fight, he still had another sword. Alkris felt better knowing that at least one of his charges had some measure of protection.
000
Eragon greeted Tellesa and Orik as they arrived. The dwarf wiped his brow and said, "All the men and dwarves are on the battlefield. Tronjheim has been sealed off. Hrothgar has taken charge of the battalion to our left. Ajihad leads the one to our right."
"Who commands this one?" Eragon wondered aloud.
"Jörmundur." Orik sat with a grunt and placed his axe down beside him.
Saphira nudged Eragon. "Look."
His hand tightened on Zar'roc when he saw Murtagh, helmed and carrying a dwarven shield and his half-and-a-half sword, approaching.
Orik cursed and leapt to his feet, but Murtagh quickly said, "It's alright; Ajihad released me."
"Why would he do that?" Orik demanded.
Murtagh smiled wryly. "He said this is an opportunity to prove my good intentions. Apparently, he doesn't think I would be able to do much damage even if I did turn on the Varden."
Eragon nodded slowly. The revelation of Murtagh's heritage still shook him, but he had gradually come to terms with it. He wasn't quite comfortable with the fact, but he saw no more reason to judge Murtagh harshly because of it. Tellesa had been instrumental in that; it didn't seem to bother her at all that they were in the company of one of the Forsworn's heirs.
Besides, Murtagh was an excellent and merciless fighter - exactly whom they needed during the coming battle.
"How do we know you're not lying?" Orik asked suspiciously.
"Because I say so," announced a firm voice. Ajihad strode into their midst, armed for battle. He put a strong hand on Eragon's shoulder and drew him away where the others could not hear. He cast a critical eye over Eragon's armour. "Good, Orik outfitted you."
"Yes... Has anything been seen in the tunnels?"
"Nothing." Ajihad leaned on his sword. "One of the Twins is staying in Tronjheim. He's going to watch the battle from the dragonhold and relay information through his brother to me. I know you can speak with your mind. I need you to tell the Twins anything, anything, unusual that you see while fighting. I'll also relay orders to you through them. Do you understand?"
The thought of being linked to the Twins filled Eragon with loathing, but he knew it was necessary. "I do."
Ajihad paused. "You're not a foot soldier or a horseman, nor any other type of warrior I'm used to commanding. Battle may prove differently, but I think you and Saphira will be safer on the ground. In the air, you'll be a choice target for Urgal archers. Will you fight from Saphira's back?"
Eragon had never been in combat on horseback, much less on Saphira. "I'm not sure what we'll do. When I'm on Saphira, I'm too high to fight all but a Kull."
"There will be plenty of Kull, I'm afraid," Ajihad said grimly. He straightened, pulling his sword out of the ground. "The only advice I can give you is to avoid unnecessary risks. The Varden cannot afford to lose you."
With that, he turned and left.
Eragon returned to Tellesa and Murtagh and hunkered down next to Saphira. The four of them waited in silence just like the hundreds of warriors around them. Light from Farthen Dûr's opening high above waved as the sun crept past the rim of the crater.
Eragon turned to scan the encampment and froze, heart jolting. About thirty feet away sat Arya with her bow on her lap, a quiver of arrows lying beside her. Though he knew it was unreasonable, he had hoped she might accompany the others out of the mountains. Concerned, he made his way over. "You will fight?" He asked.
"I do what I must," she said calmly.
"But it's dangerous!"
Arya's features darkened, and Eragon knew he had said something wrong. "Do not pamper me, human. Elves train both their men and women to fight. I will not run away at the first sign of danger. I was given the task of protecting Saphira's egg... which I failed. My breoal is dishonoured and would be further shamed if I did not guard you and Saphira on this field. You forget that I am stronger with magic than any here, including you. If the Shade comes, who can defeat him but me? And who else has the right?" She narrowed her eyes. "Tellesa stays. Will you not attempt to convince her?"
"She would not hear of it." Eragon stared at Arya helplessly, knowing she was right. "Stay safe."
"It is my wyrd to be here," the elf murmured. "The debt must be paid."
He abruptly retreated to Saphira. Murtagh looked at him curiously. "What did she say?"
"Nothing."
Wrapped in their own thoughts, the defenders sank into a brooding silence as the hours crawled by. Farthen Dûr's crater was thrust into darkness, save those places where reddish lanterns glowed or fires heated barrels of pitch. Eragon examined the links in his mail to pass the time. Orik repeatedly ran a whetstone over the blade of his axe, periodically eyeing the edge between strokes; the rasp of stone on metal was irritating. Tellesa repeatedly emptied and loaded her rifle with shaking hands. Murtagh just stared into the distance.
They were joined at some point by Paltis. The Eliksni crouched down beside them, not saying a word. Her eyes pierced through the darkness like tiny, furious stars. She chittered to herself in her native Eliksni tongue.
"Where's Alkris?" Eragon found himself asking.
Paltis pointed behind them, into the distance, to a boulder jutting out of the ground like a shattered fang. Eragon could scarcely make out the glowing eyes.
"Far from the action," Orik grunted.
Tellesa gave a strained smile. "Not quite," She said cryptically.
Occasionally, messengers ran through the encampment, causing warriors to surge to their feet. It was always a false alarm. The men and dwarves became strained; angry voices were often heard. Paltis didn't budge. Not once did she move. Her eyes were trained on the tunnel ahead.
The worst part about Farthen Dûr was the lack of wind - the air was dead, motionless. When it grew warm and stifling and filled with smoke, there was no reprieve.
As night dragged on, the soon-to-be battlefield stilled, silent as death. Muscles stiffened from the waiting. Eragon stared blankly into the darkness with heavy eyelids. He shook himself to alertness and tried to focus through his stupor.
Finally Orik said, "It's late. We should sleep. If anything happens, others will wake us."
Murtagh grumbled, but Eragon was too tired to complain. He curled up against Saphira, using his new shield as a pillow.
His dreams were confused and disturbing, full of horned beasts and creatures with metal skulls. Over and over he heard a deep voice ask, "Are you ready?" But he never had an answer. Plagued by such visions, his sleep was shallow and uneasy until something touched his arm. He woke with a start.
"It has begun," Arya said, voice full of sorrow. The troops in the encampment stood alertly, weapons drawn. Orik swung his axe testingly. Arya nocked an arrow and drew back the string.
"A scout ran out of the tunnel a few minutes ago," Tellesa explained to Eragon. Her rifle was fitted against her shoulder. "The Urgals are coming."
A minute dragged by. Then another... and another, another, another. Without taking his sight off the tunnel, Eragon hoisted himself onto Saphira's saddle, Zar'roc in hand.
A man cried," I hear them!"
The warriors stiffened; grips tightened on weapons. No one moved. Somewhere nearby, a horse nickered nervously.
Harsh Urgal shouts shattered the air as dark shapes boiled upward in the tunnel's opening. Almost instantly Paltis and Tellesa opened fire, startling those nearby. The devastation left in the wake of the projectiles was immense; Tellesa's weapon ripped through flesh and armour both while Paltis' burned it so thoroughly only ash remained.
At a command, cauldrons of boiling pitch were tilted on their sides, pouring their contents into the tunnel's hungry maw. The monsters below who didn't perish in the crossfire howled in agony and flailed their arms. A torch was tossed in. An orange pillar of greasy flames roared up, engulfing the Urgals in an inferno. Sickened, Eragon looked across the other two battalions and saw similar fires by each.
More Urgals soon stamped the pitch down and clambered over their burned breathren. They clumped together, presenting a solid wall to the men and dwarves. Behind the palisade at the lip of the tunnel, the first row of archers pulled on their bows and fired. Eragon sheathed his sword and used his own bow to add to each volley. Arya did the same. The arrows, along with the barrage kept up by Telles and Paltis, tore right through the Urgals.
The line of beasts wavered, threatening to break, but they covered themselves with their shields and weathered the attack as best they could. Those shields did little to stop bullets or the lances of lightning tossed from Paltis' weapon, but they managed to ward away the arrows. The archers continued firing, yet the Urgals continued to stream onto the surface at a ferocious rate.
Eragon was dismayed by their numbers. We are supposed to kill every single one? It seemed an impossible task. His only encouragement was that he saw none of Galbatorix's troops with the Urgals. Not yet, at least.
The opposing army formed a solid mass of bodies without end. Tattered and sullen standards were raised in the monsters' midst. Baleful notes echoed throughout Farthen Dûr: Urgal warhorns. The entirety of the Urgal mob charged forth with savage cries.
They dashed against the rows of stakes, covering them with slick blood and limp corpses. A cloud of black arrows flew over the barrier at the crouched defenders. Eragon ducked behind his shield and Saphira covered her head. Arrows rattled harmlessly against her armour.
Momentarily foiled by the pickets, the Urgal horde milled with confusion. The Varden bunched together, waiting for the next attack. After a pause, the war cries were raised again as the Urgals surged forward. The assault was bitter. Their momentum carried the Urgals through the stakes, where a line of pikemen jabbed frantically at their ranks, trying to repel them. The pikemen held only briefly, as the tides of Urgals could not be stemmed, and they were soon overwhelmed.
With the first lines of defense breached, the main bodies of the two forces collided for the first time. A deafening roar burst from the men and dwarves as they rushed into the conflict. Saphira bellowed and leapt toward the fight, diving into the whirlwind of noise and blurred action.
With her jaws and talons, Saphira tore through an Urgal. Her teeth were as lethal as any sword, her tail a giant mace. From her back, Eragon parried a hammer blow from an Urgal chief, protecting her vulnerable wings. Zar'roc's crimson blade seemed to gleam with delight as blood spurted along its length.
From the corner of his eye, Eragon saw Orik hewing Urgal necks with mighty blows of his ax. Beside the dwarf was Murtagh, his face disfigured by a vicious snarl as he swung his sword angrily, cutting through every defense. Then Saphira spun around, and Eragon saw Arya leap past the lifeless body of an opponent. Paltis had drawn her own blades laced with lightning and cut through Urgals with effortless finesse and frightening brutality. Tellesa was beside her with an Eliknsi blade of her own in hand, and though she had none of the speed or strength of Paltis beside her she was nonetheless skilled and determined. A handful of bodies already rested by her feet.
An Urgal bowled over a wounded dwarf and hacked at Saphira's front right leg. His sword skated off her armor with a burst of sparks. Eragon smote him on the head, but Zar'roc stuck in the monster's horns and was yanked from his grasp. With a curse he dived off Saphira and tackled the Urgal, smashing its face with his shield. He jerked Zar'roc out of the horns, then dodged as another Urgal charged him.
"Saphira, I need you!" he shouted, but the battle's tide had separated them.
Suddenly a Kull jumped at him, club raised for a blow. Unable to lift his shield in time, Eragon uttered, "Jierda!" The Kull's head snapped back sharply. Four more Urgals succumbed to Zar'roc's thirsty bite, then Murtagh ran up beside Eragon, driving the press of Urgals backward.
"Come on!" he shouted. They rushed toward Saphira, who was embroiled in a mass of enemies. Twelve spear-wielding Urgals encircled her, needling her with their lances. They had already managed to prick both of her wings. Her blood splattered the ground. Every time she rushed at one of the Urgals, they bunched together and jabbed at her eyes, forcing her to retreat. She tried to sweep the spears away with her talons, but the Urgals jumped back and evaded her.
The sight of Saphira's blood enraged Eragon. He rushed ahead with a wild cry and stabbed the nearest Urgal through the chest, withholding nothing in his frenzied attempt to help Saphira. His attack provided the distraction she needed to break free. With a kick, she sent an Urgal flying, then barreled to him. Eragon grabbed one of her neck spikes and pulled himself back into her saddle. Murtagh raised his hand, then charged into another knot of Urgals battling men of the Varden.
By unspoken consent, Saphira took flight and rose above the struggling armies, seeking a respite from the madness. Eragon's breath trembled. His muscles were clenched, ready to ward off the next attack. Every fiber of his being thrilled with energy, making him feel more alive than ever before.
Saphira circled long enough for them to recover their strength, then descended toward the Urgals, skimming the ground to avoid detection. She approached the monsters from behind, where their archers were gathered. Before the Urgals realized what was happening, Eragon lopped off the heads of two archers and Saphira disemboweled three others. She took off again as alarms sounded, quickly soaring out of bow range. They repeated the tactic on a different flank of the army. Saphira's stealth and speed, combined with the dim lighting, made it nearly impossible for the Urgals to predict where she would strike next. Eragon used his bow whenever Saphira was in the air, but he quickly ran out of arrows.
Soon the only thing left in his quiver was magic, which he wanted to keep in reserve until it was desperately needed. Saphira's flights over the combatants gave Eragon a unique understanding of how the battle was progressing. There were three separate fights raging in Farthen Dûr, one by each open tunnel. The Urgals were disadvantaged by the dispersal of their forces and their inability to get all of their army out of the tunnels at once. Even so, the Varden and dwarves could not keep the monsters from advancing and were slowly being driven back toward Tronjheim. The defenders seemed insignificant against the mass of Urgals, whose numbers continued to increase as they poured out of the tunnels.
The Urgals had organized themselves around several standards, each representing a clan, but it was unclear who commanded them overall. The clans paid no attention to each other, as if they were receiving orders from elsewhere. Eragon wished he knew who was in charge so he and Saphira could kill him.
Flashes of light reaching across the battlefield alerted him to Alkris' actions. The Eliksni was using his spot to great effect, killing off Urgals from afar. He appeared to be focusing on those close to standards, perhaps hoping that some of those kills were of an Urgal commander. He had already claimed many a victim.
Remembering Ajihad's orders, he began relaying information to the Twins. They were interested by what he had to say about the Urgals' apparent lack of a leader and questioned him closely. The exchange was smooth, if brief. The Twins told him, "You're ordered to assist Hrothgar; the fight goes badly for him."
"Understood," Eragon responded.
Saphira swiftly flew to the besieged dwarves, swooping low over Hrothgar. Arrayed in golden armor, the dwarf king stood at the fore of a small knot of his kin, wielding Volund, the hammer of his ancestors. His white beard caught the lantern light as he looked up at Saphira. Admiration glinted in his eyes.
Saphira landed beside the dwarves and faced the oncoming Urgals. Even the bravest Kull quailed before her ferocity, allowing the dwarves to surge forward. Eragon tried to keep Saphira safe. Her left flank was protected by the dwarves, but to her front and right raged a sea of enemies. He showed no mercy on those and took every advantage he could, using magic whenever Zar'roc could not serve him. A spear bounced off his shield, denting it and leaving him with a bruised shoulder. Shaking off the pain, he cleaved open an Urgal's skull, mixing brains with metal and bone.
He was in awe of Hrothgar - who, though he was ancient by both the standards of men and dwarves, was still undiminished on the battlefield. No Urgal, Kull or not, could stand before the dwarf king and his guards and live. Every time Volund struck, it sounded the gong of death for another enemy. After a spear downed one of his warriors, Hrothgar grabbed the spear himself and, with astounding strength, hurled it completely through its owner twenty yards away. Such heroism emboldened Eragon to ever greater risks, seeking to hold his own with the mighty king.
Eragon lunged at a giant Kull nearly out of reach and almost fell from Saphira's saddle. Before he could recover, the Kull darted past Saphira's defenses and swung his sword. The brunt of the blow caught Eragon on the side of his helm, throwing him backward and making his vision flicker and his ears ring thunderously.
Stunned, he tried to pull himself upright, but the Kull had already prepared for another blow. As the Kull's arm descended, a slim steel blade suddenly sprouted from his chest. Howling, the monster toppled to the side. In his place stood Angela.
The witch wore a long red cape over outlandish flanged armor enameled black and green. She bore a strange two-handed weapon - a long wooden shaft with a sword blade attached to each end. Angela winked at Eragon mischievously, then dashed away, spinning her staff-sword like a dervish. Close behind her was Solembum in the form of a young shaggy-haired boy. He held a small black dagger, sharp teeth bared in a feral snarl.
Still dazed from his battering, Eragon managed to straighten himself in the saddle. Saphira jumped into the air and wheeled high above, letting him recuperate. He scanned Farthen Dûr's plains and saw, to his dismay, that all three battles were going badly. Neither Ajihad, Jörmundur, nor Hrothgar could stop the Urgals. There were simply too many.
Eragon wondered how many Urgals he could kill at once with magic. He knew his limits fairly well. If he were to kill enough to make a difference … it would probably be suicide. That might be what it took to win.
The fighting continued for one endless hour after another. The Varden and dwarves were exhausted, but the Urgals remained fresh with reinforcements.
It was a nightmare for Eragon. Though he and Saphira fought their hardest, there was always another Urgal to take the place of the one just killed. His whole body hurt—especially his head. Every time he used magic he lost a little more energy. Saphira was in better condition, though her wings were punctured with small wounds.
As he parried a blow, the Twins contacted him urgently. "There are loud noises under Tronjheim. It sounds like Urgals are trying to dig into the city! We need you and Arya to collapse any tunnels they're excavating."
Eragon dispatched his opponent with a sword thrust. "We'll be right there."
He looked for Arya and saw her engaged with a knot of struggling Urgals. Saphira quickly forged a path to the elf, leaving a pile of crumpled bodies in her wake. Eragon extended his hand and said, "Get on!"
Arya jumped onto Saphira's back without hesitation. She wrapped her right arm around Eragon's waist, wielding her bloodstained sword with the other. As Saphira crouched to take off, an Urgal ran at her, howling, then lifted an ax and smashed her in the chest. Saphira roared with pain and lurched forward, feet leaving the ground. Her wings snapped open, straining to keep them from crashing as she veered wildly to one side, right wingtip scraping the ground. Below them, the Urgal pulled back his arm to throw the ax.
A flash of movement swept across Eragon's vision and the Urgal was left as nothing more than another bloodied corpse. Paltis stood above it, breathing heavily. "Fast!" She snapped.
With a colossal heave of her shoulders, Saphira righted herself, barely making it over the heads of the warriors. She pulled away from the battlefield with powerful wing strokes and rasping breath.
"Are you all right?" Eragon asked, concerned. He could not see where she had been struck.
"I'll live," she said grimly, "but the front of my armor has been crushed together. It hurts my chest, and I'm having trouble moving."
"Can you get us to the dragonhold?"
"… We'll see."
Eragon explained Saphira's condition to Arya. "I'll stay and help Saphira when we land," she offered. "Once she is free of the armor, I will join you."
"Thank you," he said.
The ensuing flight was laborious for Saphira; she glided whenever she could. When they reached the dragonhold, she dropped heavily to Isidar Mithrim, where the Twins were supposed to be watching the battle, but it was empty. Eragon jumped to the floor and winced as he saw the damage the Urgal had done. Four of the metal plates on Saphira's chest had been hammered together, restricting her ability to bend and breathe. "Stay well," he said, putting a hand on her side, then ran out the archway.
He stopped and swore. He was at the top of Vol Turin, The Endless Staircase. Because of his worry for Saphira, he had not considered how he would get to Tronjheim's base - where the Urgals were breaking in. There was no time to climb down. He looked at the narrow trough to the right of the stairs, then grabbed one of the leather pads and threw himself down on it.
The stone slide was smooth as lacquered wood. With the leather underneath him, he accelerated almost instantly to a frightening speed, the walls blurring and the curve of the slide pressing him high against the wall. Eragon lay completely flat so he would go faster. The air rushed past his helm, making it vibrate like a weather vane in a gale. The trough was too confined for him, and he was perilously close to flying out, but as long as he kept his arms and legs still, he was safe.
It was a swift descent, but it still took him nearly ten minutes to reach the bottom. The slide leveled out at the end and sent him skidding halfway across the huge carnelian floor. When he finally came to a stop, he was too dizzy to walk. His first attempt to stand made him nauseated, so he curled up, head in his hands, and waited for things to stop spinning. When he felt better, he stood and warily looked around.
The great chamber was completely deserted, the silence unsettling. Rosy light filtered down from Isidar Mithrim. He faltered - Where am I supposed to go? - and cast out his mind for the Twins. Nothing. He froze as loud knocking echoed through Tronjheim.
An explosion split the air. A long slab of the chamber floor buckled and blew thirty feet up. Needles of rocks flew outward as it crashed down. Eragon stumbled back, stunned, groping for Zar'roc. The twisted shapes of Urgals clambered out of the hole in the floor.
Eragon hesitated. Should he flee? Or should he stay and try to close the tunnel? Even if he managed to seal it before the Urgals attacked him, what if Tronjheim was already breached elsewhere? He could not find all the places in time to prevent the city-mountain from being captured. But if I run to one of Tronjheim's gates and blast it open, the Varden could retake Tronjheim without having to siege it.
Before he could decide, a tall man garbed entirely in black armor emerged from the tunnel and looked directly at him.
It was Durza.
The Shade carried two swords, one being his pale blade marked with the scratch from Ajihad, and the other a pristine single-edged blade that was as tall as he was and gleaming of perfect silver. His dark helmet was richly decorated with a red horsehair plume, like a general's, and a long snakeskin cloak billowed around him. Madness burned in his maroon eyes, the madness of one who enjoyed power and found himself in the position to use it.
Eragon knew he was neither fast enough nor strong enough to escape the fiend before him. He immediately warned Saphira, though he knew it was impossible for her to rescue him. He dropped into a crouch and quickly reviewed what Brom had told him about fighting another magic user. It was not encouraging. And Ajihad had said that Shades could only be destroyed by a thrust through the heart.
Durza gazed at him contemptuously and said, "Kaz jtierl trazhid! Otrag bagh."
The Urgals eyed Eragon suspiciously and formed a circle around the perimeter of the room.
Durza slowly approached Eragon with a triumphant expression. "So, my young Rider, we meet again. You were foolish to escape from me in Gil'ead. It will only make things worse for you in the end."
"You'll never capture me alive," growled Eragon.
"Is that so?" asked the Shade, raising an eyebrow. The light from the star sapphire above gave his skin a ghastly tint. "I don't see your 'friend' Murtagh around to help you. You can't stop me now."
Fear touched Eragon. How does he know about Murtagh? Putting all the derision he could into his voice, he jeered, "How did you like being shot?"
Durza's face tightened momentarily. "I will be repaid in blood for that. Now tell me where your dragon is hiding."
"Never."
The Shade's countenance darkened. "Then I will force it from you!" His sword whistled through the air. The moment Eragon caught the blade on his shield, a mental probe spiked deep into his thoughts. Fighting to protect his consciousness, he shoved Durza back and attacked with his own mind.
Eragon battered with all his strength against the iron-hard defenses surrounding Durza's mind, but to no avail. He swung Zar'roc, trying to catch Durza off guard. The Shade knocked the blow aside effortlessly, then stabbed in return with lightning speed. He seemingly favoured his pale, scratched sword over the elegant, man-sized cleaver.
The point of the sword caught Eragon in the ribs, piercing his mail and driving out his breath. The mail slipped, though, and the blade missed his side by the width of a wire. The distraction was all Durza needed to break into Eragon's mind and begin taking control.
"No!" cried Eragon, throwing himself at the Shade. His face contorted as he grappled with Durza, yanking on his arm. Durza tried to cut Eragon's hand, but it was protected by the mailbacked glove, which sent the blade glancing downward. As Eragon kicked his leg, Durza snarled and swept his pale sword around once more, knocking him to the floor with the flat of the blade. Eragon tasted blood in his mouth; his neck throbbed. Ignoring his injuries, he rolled over and hurled his shield at Durza. Despite the Shade's superior speed, the heavy shield clipped him on the hip. As Durza stumbled, Eragon caught him on the upper arm with Zar'roc. A line of blood traced down the Shade's arm.
Eragon thrust at the Shade with his mind and drove through Durza's weakened defenses. A flood of images suddenly engulfed him, rushing through his consciousness-
Durza as a young boy living as a nomad with his parents on the empty plains. The tribe abandoned them and called his father "oathbreaker". Only it was not Durza then, but Carsaib - the name his mother crooned while combing his hair...
The Shade reeled wildly, face twisted in pain. Eragon tried to control the torrent of memories, but the force of them was overwhelming.
Standing on a hill over the graves of his parents, weeping that the men had not killed him as well. Then turning and stumbling blindly away, into the desert...
Durza faced Eragon. Terrible hatred flowed from his maroon eyes. Eragon was on one knee—almost standing—struggling to seal his mind.
How the old man looked when he first saw Carsaib lying near death on a sand dune. The days it had taken Carsaib to recover and the fear he felt upon discovering that his rescuer was a sorcerer. How he had pleaded to be taught the control of spirits. How Haeg had finally agreed. Called him "Desert Rat".
Eragon was standing now. Durza charged... both swords raised.
The days spent training under the scorching sun, always alert for the lizards they caught for food. How his power slowly grew, giving him pride and confidence. The weeks spent nursing his sick master after a failed spell. His joy when Haeg recovered... There was not enough time to react... not enough time... The bandits who attacked during the night, killing Haeg. The rage Carsaib had felt and the spirits he had summoned for vengeance. But the spirits were stronger than he expected. They turned on him, possessing mind and body. He had screamed. He was - I AM DURZA!
The pale blade smote heavily across Eragon's back, cutting through both mail and skin. He screamed as pain blasted through him, forcing him to his knees. Agony bowed his body in half and obliterated all thought. He swayed, barely conscious, hot blood running down the small of his back. Durza said something he could not hear.
The Shade was sent hurtling aside. Alkris stood there in his place, standing between him and Eragon with a crackling sword raised. He roared furiously. Durza growled, ignoring the startled cries of the Urgals all around, and he swept forth.
The two met in a grand cascade of sparks and snarls. Alkris was fast, gifted with the sword, and possessed immense physical strength. But Durza was just as fast. And this time he employed the second blade. It swept around in heavy, dangerous blows that always sent Alkris stumbling back. It nicked notches in the Eliksni's sword, bit at his armour, and carved bloody lines.
The pain was incredible. Eragon could hardly keep his eyes open against the constant burning waves that emanated from his back, but he did. He watched. And, with growing horror, he laid witness to Alkris' defeat.
Durza knocked his sword aside and swiftly jabbed forwards with the giant's knife. It ripped through metal, chitin, and bone, protruding from the other side of the Eliksni's torso. Alkris tensed up... then collapsed.
In anguish, Eragon raised his eyes to the heavens, tears streaming down his cheeks. Everything had failed. The Varden and dwarves were destroyed. He was defeated. Saphira would give herself up for his sake - she had done it before - and Arya would be recaptured or killed. Why had it ended like this? What justice could this be? All was for nothing.
Then the angel fell from the sky.
000
Ikharos didn't release a war cry as he fell upon Durza. He kept his silence as he crashed against the Shade and struck out with his Dawnblade. Urgals died instantly, burnt up by flung Solar missiles. Durza himself wore an expression of shock and, dare he say it, horror. The Shade scarcely managed to escape the worst of the flames, but his armour was left singed and his cloak aflame.
He retreated towards the hole in the stone floor.
Not this time, Ikharos thought, and he flew after the creature of Darkness. He collided with Durza and grabbed him by his neck. He brought in his sword of flames, but Durza saw it coming and shifted. It ripped into the Shade's hip as opposed to his chest and failed to kill him.
A sudden, brutal pain flared up from Ikharos's own side; the bastard had stuck him. The pale sword went right through him and lodged on a couple of ribs. Ikharos' breath hitched. One of his lungs had been hit. He quickly disengaged and ripped the weapon out, mending the ruined flesh with a cupped handful of healing Light.
Durza used the chance to hobble away. Ikharos's eyes narrowed on the weapon still in the Shade's grasp.
"That's mine!" He shouted and he tore after Durza. His Light ran out, but Ikahros wasn't finished. The flames that wreathed his entire form darkened, turned purple, and the temperature dropped considerably. Durza twisted around and tried to use Ikharos's momentum against him by wielding the Eternity's Edge like a pike.
It failed.
Ikharos adjusted his flight and the blade only managed to slice through his flank. He retaliated by grabbing the Shade's sword arm and, summoning all his strength, ripped it off. They were showered in blood and misted Darkness. Durza screamed. Ikharos plunged his Void-wreathed hand into the Shade's chest and wrapped his fingers around the creature's vile heart.
He squeezed.
000
Tellesa killed the Kull with a quick thrust to the neck and darted away as the horned giant fell. She gasped for air; she felt as if she had been fighting for days on end. The battle around her had turned to a bloody scene of sheer carnage. Hundreds lay dead or dying. Maybe thousands. At any moment she might have joined them.
A Urgal roared and charged her, axe swinging. Paltis stepped up to it and utterly butchered the beast. It didn't even have time to scream. Another sought to take advantage of the distraction and slay the Eliksni. Tellesa intercepted it, parried its uncoordinated blow, and removed its head. It was laughably easy when armed with an Eliksni sword. They sliced through everything.
A roar split the air, but it was not Urgal in origin. Heads twisted around, and eyes were drawn to the sky above. At first Tellesa couldn't see anything, but then a massive shape soared past. At first she couldn't make sense of it - the lights, the gleaming bronze hide, the lack of any wings, legs or apparent head. Her next thought was that it was an insect of some kind, but it was colossal. Larger than even Saphira. It slowed ever so slightly as it dipped down, yet it still moved faster than anything she had ever seen. Four smaller shapes disengaged from it, humanoid but with far too many limbs to be human. A small swarm of bright-eyed, humming creatures followed their rapid descent towards the ground. They landed gracefully and turned their attention towards the Urgals.
They were Eliksni.
Nearby, Paltis cheered and raised a sword into the air. "Kiphoris-Veskirisk!" She bellowed gleefully.
The largest of the Eliksni answered it with a roar, easily outclassing every Urgal war cry. He stood as tall as Kull, garbed in beautiful armour of ivory and gold, a large red cloak trailing behind him. He hefted a long-barreled object that billowed with flames. When he fired, thunder echoed out across the battlefield. A fiery mass shot forth and crashed into the Urgal ranks with a deafening boom. Fire and body parts flew through the air.
The giant insect followed suit. Lightning shot from its front. Urgals died by the dozens. When the other Eliksni joined in, as well as their floating creatures, the horde ahead of them buckled and cracked apart into chaos. And then, somehow, the host before them lost all semblance of order. Urgals quite literally froze in place and began to blink, as if woken up from a dream. They looked at each other, then at the Eliksni... and they scattered.
The horde that had been about to overwhelm the Varden just fell apart.
AN: Massive thanks to Nomad Blue for editing!