In a well-lit room, Arya watched silently over lord Elrond and Eragon, as the elf-lord poured his knowledge into the task of healing Eragon's wound. It was strange to her; his use of magic relied far less on words than would be expected for a task like this, and he made use of tools that were only moderately familiar to her. She understood nought of what was spoken, when anything was said at all, for Elrond spoke in Quenyan, as he later explained – the ancient language of the Eldar, now seldom spoken. But she saw only the last of his works, for she had passed out when Eragon was safe and in his bed, and a lady in strange armour and messy hair whisked her away.
But as Elrond worked, his face grim and focused, that lady came hurrying in, with a mop of curly brown hair tied back. She carried a heavy bag, and wore green and yellow armour, and Arya recognised her and was startled. The Wise One gasped at the sight, but moved forward anyway.
"Hello," she said to Elrond and Arya. She turned her attention to Elrond, saying, "You must be this Elrond person I've heard so much about. I'm Angela."
Elrond said nothing for a moment, before looking up from Eragon. "It is good to meet you, Angela. It is a pity we meet at such an unfortunate moment."
"True," she nodded. "It's why I've come, actually. I'm here to offer my not inconsiderable help, in the form of a few potions. Here." She reached into her bag and pulled out a vial, handing it to Elrond. "It's something that'll help the skin heal, and reduce inflammation. You just pour a few drops over."
Elrond took the potion and applied it, murmuring softly all the while. "Thank you," he said, handing it back. Then he sighed. "There was a great darkness on that blade. It was cursed. Húna, Arya, would be the word for "cursed" in Quenyan if you were wondering; but in a conversation with another elf, or one learned in our language, you would use the Sindarin word, rhaich. And many curses have passed on to Eragon. I can dispel some of them, and lessen the effect of others, but there are many I cannot affect altogether, for they are unknown to me."
Arya and Angela looked on in sorrow. The skin was still raw, but it was not bleeding any longer; a great white scar had grown over it, from the nape of his neck to the bottom of his back on the opposite side. The face of Eragon was covered in sweat and was anguished, and the young boy shook with occasional tremors. Then Arya spoke, asking, "How will he be when he wakes up?"
Elrond thought for a moment. "There is still much healing to be done, but the rest, save for what curses are left, shall be mostly superficial. The worst of the damage has been dealt with, as best can be dealt with: I have healed his spine, so he shall be able to walk, even run. He will be able to wield a blade, and he can draw a bow. But how much, even I cannot predict. Too much strain, and he shall collapse into seizures and pass out. And he shall suffer from pain in all his waking hours, though if I have done my task well, it shall be minor."
"What about magic?" asked Arya.
Elrond sighed deeply. "I cannot say. Magic, as you call it, would not affect him, were this Middle-Earth, for there it is different, and we elves do not call it 'magic', save as an explanation to mortals. But hither, magic may affect him, or it may not. I cannot say. I am sorry."
Arya nodded, and Elrond turned back to Eragon, continuing to speak in Quenyan, when Eragon shivered and began to sweat even more. His breaths came out ragged and hard; he groaned as in pain, until at last, with a great heave, he stopped, and breathed normally.
Elrond stopped speaking, peering deeply into Eragon, searching for something. He tilted the boys head, looking with a curious intensity. Then he closed his eyes, and Arya perceived his mind brushed against Eragon's. Then he opened his eyes and turned the Rider over onto his back.
"Eragon," he called, authority and power filling his voice. "Nanwen ana cuilë. Cuiva, Eragon. Vá fúmë! Palau sina hlívë!"
Slowly, painfully slowly, Eragon opened his eyes. Behind him, Elrond heard Arya and Angela release their breath. Blinking Eragon tried to sit up, groaning, but Elrond stopped him.
"No, Eragon," he said. "You need to lie down. You have been through a great ordeal, Má Telemna. Lie down, and I shall send for food and drink. I advise thee to rest for no less than two days, though truthfully you should rest for many weeks."
Eragon sank back down.
"How do you feel, Eragon?" asked Elrond.
"I… I'm not certain," he said. They were silent for a while, before Eragon's eyes widened in concern. "Saphira! Where is Saphira? And Arya? What happened to them?"
"They live, Eragon," reassured Elrond. "Arya is here, and Saphira awaits you outside, and Murtagh too. Shall I bring them in?"
The boy nodded, and Elrond stood and walked to the stone door. "He is ready to see you." As soon as he spoke, he jumped to the side, as a large blue head, nearly as big the door, shot through the doorway. Two figures walked beside the long neck.
Elrond stood by the wall, smiling. The gathering of friends was ever a beautiful thing, more so when one has returned from the shadow of death.
Eragon and Murtagh began to speak, and Murtagh told how the Urgals fled once the spirits of Durza, the ulquifairë, those evil phantoms, flew over the battle grounds. He told Eragon how he was helping Ajihad chase Urgals through the tunnels, and that Gandalf was in search of the Twins.
The conversation grew sombre, as Murtagh and Eragon thought of the future and the dead. Then Murtagh lightened up, and said how Eragon was a hero. And indeed he was, for that was no small feat he performed. He duelled with, as Elrond understood, one of the most dangerous and powerful creatures roaming the land, and survived. In Middle-Earth, he would have been likened with the heroes of old, such as Turin and Hurin. Indeed, Elrond counted him amongst them anyway.
Then he spoke with Arya, asking what happened. She spoke, telling how she flew down on Saphira and did the only thing she could think of to distract him: she broke the star sapphire. When they neared the ground, she used magic to stop the pieces from falling, for if they had they would have shattered, and killed him.
"Yes, and it nearly killed you as well," muttered Angela. "I've been at my wits end trying to keep you alive. It's a damn good thing we had lord Elrond about. Otherwise I'd have to keep you both alive, and then you'd both be worse off. Alive, maybe, but certainly not as good as you might now be."
Eragon blinked heavily, before asking with trepidation, "How long have I been here?"
"Almost a whole day," said Arya. "You are fortunate beyond belief. Were Elrond not here, you may have not recovered for days longer. Or at all."
The dragon rider looked for Elrond, and nodded at him. "Then I'm in your debt, Lord Elrond."
"Certainly not, Eragon," dismissed Elrond. There was no debt, in Elrond's mind. He healed the boy, for that was his duty as a healer. He had the skill; he'd be remiss not to use them. And the boy had done them all a great favour, at a terrible cost. "I am glad you are well."
"Thank you," said Eragon. Then his eyes grew in fear, and he reached for his back. Angela grasped it, and Elrond's face grew grim.
"Eragon, you have to understand one thing," said Angela. "That blade was filled to the brim with curses. Curses that lord Elrond has never dealt with. And it was a heavy blow—it cut through the bone. I don't—"
Eragon yanked his hand away from her, and reached for his back. For a moment, it seemed as though he felt nothing. But then his hand moved the base of his neck. He froze, before moving his hand down his back along the scar.
"You have paid a terrible price for your deed, Eragon Shadeslayer," murmured Arya. Pity and sorrow were on her face.
"Yes," laughed Murtagh grimly. "Now you're just like me."
"I have healed the bone," explained Elrond. "And I have fixed thy muscles and nerves as best I could. But this is not Imladris. I have not the tools I might usually have. And there are many curses that linger yet which are outside my knowledge, and that of Arya as well."
"And almost certainly mine," interjected Angela. Elrond nodded.
"But I have not failed wholly. You can walk, and run, and you can use a blade and bow, and with as much skill as before. But how long, and how well, ere your pain flares up again? I cannot rightly say. Alas, Laimënehtar, that you forgot to call us when you were summoned. But no matter. Rest, Eragon, while I send for meat and wine."
Later on, when food and drink had been sent to the boy, Elrond headed to the healers, for there was much work to be done. Many long hours did Elrond work, and healers came and went, and many Men and Dwarves were saved by his hand; many who returned from the brink of spoke thereafter of a great light, chasing back shadows and nightmares. Ever was Arya by his side, giving aid and learning what she could, but Elrond spoke little, and what he spoke was chiefly in Quenyan, save when he gave instructions to Arya.
At last, when he deemed his work was finished, Elrond and Arya returned to the battlefield. The dwarf Orik sat on a rock, tired and bloodied. There was a bandage on his arm, though he was sharpening his axe.
"My friend," called Elrond to the dwarf. "Are you well?"
Orik looked up at the elf. "Aye, though one of the fiends had just managed to get a nick on the arm. 'Tis but a scratch. A healer looked to it, so it shan't get infected. I spent the better part of the night chasing down the rest of the Urgals."
"I am glad you are well," said Elrond. "Have you seen Gandalf or Murtagh recently?"
"The wizard? No, can't say I have," said Orik. "But last I heard, he went down into the far right hand tunnel, in search of the Twins. They've cleared out that tunnel, so the traitors may be skulking in there. And as for Murtagh, I saw him last aiding Ajihad in one of the tunnels."
"I see," said Elrond. "Thank you. The rûdh gwairth, the bald traitors, that is, Arya, shall be in a rather unfortunate situation if old Gandalf does find them. No matter. Where is Ajihad? I would aid him in whichever tunnel he is in."
Orik thought for a moment, before pointing to the centre tunnel. "That one, I think. He has ordered everyone to keep an eye out for the Twins, and to report to either you, Gandalf, or himself if they are found. As for me, I should think about getting a meal to eat."
The elves brow furrowed. "Indeed? That would prove useful," said Elrond. "Thank you for informing me."
He walked then towards the centre tunnel, while Arya tarried a while, speaking with Orik. All about him, there were men and woman untangling loved ones from Urgals, weeping for their loss. Urgals were being stacked in massive mounds to be burnt, and their weapons and armours were being pillaged to be melted down and reforged.
At one pile of Urgals, Dwarves were cutting off the horns of Urgals. Elrond frowned; they may have been foes, but quite unlike the orcs, there was proof that they were an actual society, if primitive and violent. They should still be treated with the same respect as others.
He went over to one of the dwarves cutting off the horns. "Why do you do that?" he asked.
"It is for the bows," answered the dwarf in a thick accent. "Urgal horns make good bows for dwarves. It… a very strong material. The doing is slow but worth it."
Elrond thought about this for a moment, then nodded and continued. It was at least useful, and not some foul degradation tactic oftentimes employed. He would rather they didn't, but he could not stop them.
At last, he came by a small outpost by the central tunnel. It was manned by a small force, some twenty men. They all stood ready for a battle. If things went ill for Ajihad, then these soldiers were here to fight off any charging Urgals.
"Is Ajihad still in there?" he asked one of the soldiers.
"Aye, sir," answered the soldier "Went in near the beginning of the day. He should be back any minute now, though."
"I see," said Elrond. He thanked the guard, then went to sit on a nearby rock.
While he sat, a young dwarf with a charcoal coloured beard came up to him, sitting beside him for a moment in silence. At last the dwarf spoke without turning, "I hear you came from another world, lord Elrond."
Elrond eyed the young dwarf curiously. He had lost someone in this battle, no doubt. "I am," he answered.
"Are there dwarves where you come from?" asked the dwarf gruffly.
"Indeed there are," said Elrond. "A party of thirteen dwarves came to my home, Rivendell, only a few short months ago, on a quest to reclaim their homeland, Erebor, the Lonely Mountain. They needed my help reading a map which had a secret message, written in moon-letters, which can only be read under the light of the moon, sometimes only under certain circumstances."
"And you helped them?" asked the dwarf, raising an eyebrow.
"Certainly. Many come to Rivendell; be it by fate or by design, seeking my help, or needing it at least."
The dwarf was silent for a time. Then he turned to Elrond, his eyes red, asking, "Do you know any of their songs?"
Elrond smiled warmly at the young dwarf. "I know many. I will sing for you the song of Durin, the first and greatest of the dwarven forefathers, who is said to live on in the lives of his descendants."
Elrond stopped for a moment, closing his eyes in thought. Then, slow and steady, he sang in a deep voice.
The world was young, the mountains green,
No stain yet on the moon was seen.
No words were laid on stream or stone,
When Durin woke and walked alone.
He named the nameless hills and dells,
He drank from yet untasted wells.
He stooped and looked in Mirrormere,
And saw a crown of stars appear,
As gems upon a silver thread
Above the shadows of his head.
The world was fair, the mountains tall…
As Elrond sang, more and more dwarves stopped and listened. Soon, they began humming in tune with the song. When Elrond finished the song, there was a definite silence throughout the mountain. To his left, a voice spoke up.
"Very impressive, Elrond," said Ajihad. "I'm glad I finished this tunnel before you finished your song. I think Hrothgar would appreciate a copy of the lyrics."
The dwarves returned to their grim work, and Elrond turned and smiled. "I am glad you enjoyed it. 'Tis an old song the dwarves of Middle-Earth sing of Moria, or Khazad Dûm in the dwarves language. It was once the greatest of the dwarf realms, built before the rising of the sun and moon until it was abandoned."
"Remarkable," nodded Ajihad. "Well, as long as you're here, we were just about to have a small meal, and then head back for the night. You're welcome to join us. I know how you've been hard at work for quite some time."
Elrond thought for a moment. Truthfully, he'd come here in search of Gandalf, and barring that, aiding Ajihad, but since both were unlikely and he was, after all, weary, it would be a good idea to eat something.
"Perhaps it would be best," he said.
Gandalf had sent Saphira away as soon as he arrived at the furthest tunnel, thanking her for her assistance; he could feel her anxiety for her rider. This strange bond was most interesting to Gandalf, and he would certainly inquire into it when he got the chance. They had flown around Tronjheim first, hoping to espy the traitors, then he asked her to go to stairs that led to the depths of Tronjheim. The investigation of the Twins lair was soon abandoned, for they had set the place on fire. He asked Saphira to send him to the furthest tunnels, and afterwards sent her on her way.
His investigation of the first tunnel proved fruitless. He found Urgals a-plenty, but no sign of the Twins. Of course, there was much chaos that could hide signs of their going, and much more that followed once the Varden and the Dwarves came charging down. Gandalf managed to slip out without being noticed by the army, but it did give Gandalf an idea.
He made his way back to the battlefield and sat in waiting for the soldiers to return, smoking his pipe. The old wizard kept a careful eye out for any signs of the Twins, but was otherwise so still, he seemed to disappear into the wall next to the cave.
The soldiers took quite some time in the tunnel, for it was long, and there was much work to be done. Many an hour passed, ere the company returned from their gruesome work, with Ajihad at their head. His horse's head was hung low, and it was panting. Gandalf approached the Varden's leader.
"Gandalf," greeted a weary Ajihad. "I'm glad to see you are well. How goes your search for those traitors?"
"The search goes poorly, alas," confessed Gandalf. "Which is why I hoped to come here, and ask that you order your men to report to me, Elrond, or yourself, should they come across the Twins. If everyone keeps an eye out for them, or two if they can, perhaps we shall find the fiends sooner."
Ajihad nodded. "It shall be done, Gandalf. How fares Eragon?"
"I have not had time to visit him," said Gandalf. "I have been to the Twins lair, but they burnt everything. I suspect they may yet linger, seeking one last chance for treachery."
"Then we must all be one our guard," said Ajihad. He pointed to a wandering man. "Send out word to all: The Twins are traitors. Whoever finds them must report back to either myself, Gandalf, or Elrond. Under no circumstances are they to be engaged."
"Yes sir," said the man, and hurried off to spread the word.
"Where might they go, Gandalf?" muttered Ajihad, dismounting from his horse, and handing the exhausted beast to another. "If they haven't disappeared down the tunnels, what blow might they wish to deal us?"
Gandalf gave no answer, thinking about the question. What indeed? There was any number of strategically crippling blows they may deliver, any number of leaders they may kill, Ajihad the most crippling of all. If only he knew better the security the leaders here were afforded, he might be able to know who they would kill.
'But that may not be their intent,' thought Gandalf to himself. 'They may fear Galbatorix's wrath for their failure. But what may they use to curry favour with him? The death of a leader in the Varden may help. But there may be something more. Galbatorix is fickle and petty. Something more personal may...'
The answer came to Gandalf at once, and cold fear gripped his heart: Murtagh. But then, what if they did not wish to kidnap Murtagh? After all, he was the one who discovered their secret. Perhaps they would go after himself instead.
"I cannot rightly say, Ajihad," answered Gandalf. "It may be that they intend to kill a strategic leader, or kidnap one and ferry them to Galbatorix for interrogation. It may be also myself they might wish to kill, for I discovered their secret, and they desire revenge. But it may be, however, that they have a less strategic target in mind, but one more likely to garner favour with Galbatorix: Murtagh."
Ajihad froze. "That would be terrible. Murtagh's skill with a blade is quite remarkable. He's probably one of the best swordsmen I've seen in a while, barring Eragon and Arya. If anyone could defeat Eragon, besides that bastard king, it would be him. And I can't imagine what Galbatorix would do to Murtagh as punishment."
"If I can at all stop it, Ajihad, I shall," assured the wizard. And he meant it. He had grown fond of Murtagh, in the little time he spent with the boy. The young man was an interesting character, and he hoped for more time to spend with him and to heal him of his many hurts.
Ajihad beckoned Gandalf to walk with him. "Come," he said. "It can become very late without you realising it in this mountain. Let us find food to eat, and we can discuss things further over a meal in my office. The dwarves specialise in mushrooms, you know."
"Do they?" asked Gandalf, raising his eyebrows. "I think they should then come to visit a small country I know. The people there will get along astoundingly well if mushrooms are involved."
Ajihad inquired into this, and as they walked Gandalf told him a little about Hobbits. As they walked, Gandalf loosed power from Narya. It wasn't much, he felt, but it was something. The people of the Varden needed hope, now more than possibly ever. He hoped there were places like the Shire here. Innocent places that have not yet been touched by malice and the griefs of war, filled with simple people with simple lives. Peaceful places where one could rest. The Shire had its own little magic, Gandalf always felt. It was the only place where one may be busied with a lot of little tasks, and yet feel rested at the end of the day. But it was also a place where one may do absolutely nothing and feel completely justified in it.
But the pleasure and peace of the Shire would need to be set aside for the time being. There was work to be done here. The Twins were still at large, and Gandalf hoped to find them before they left for Ellesméra. If they managed to return to Galbatorix, they could do great and terrible damage to the Varden. Who knew what secrets they uncovered?
Soon, they came to a kitchen, and Ajihad ordered food be taken to his office for Gandalf and himself.
"What food would you have, Gandalf?" he asked. "There is meat and vegetables aplenty, and we have bread and wine, and mushrooms, and many other delicacies, many which are unique to the Beor Mountains. I am aware that the Elves do not eat meat, so if you are like them, then you still have many options."
Gandalf was surprised by this. The elves did not eat meat? That was curious. He would have to ask Arya about this. But he told Ajihad he would eat anything offered to him.
As they neared Ajihads office, they came across many weeping dwarves. They went the long way around, for the dwarves would not let anyone disturb Isidar Mithrim, on pain of death. And Gandalf had no desire to disturb the rest of that once great jewel.
In the office of Ajihad, they ate silently, for a time. Until at last Ajihad spoke, saying, "You plan to go to accompany Eragon and Arya to Ellesméra, along with Elrond."
Gandalf nodded. "I think that will be the wisest course of action; the two of us require knowledge, particularly in the area of magic and history. Two things I suspect shall be best found in Ellesméra. However, I wish to find the Twins first, and it may be that I decide to chase after the Twins, should they escape."
Ajihad nodded. "I understand. I would have liked to have you or Elrond around as advisors; the current advisors and elders are competent and helpful, but after so many decades they have eventually degraded into lusting for power and scheming. But you are quite right, for the elves hold knowledge of millennia past, which will undoubtedly be useful for yourself and Lord Elrond. I can only imagine what you might be capable of with the knowledge the elves have on magic."
Gandalf murmured in agreement, but said nothing. He and Ajihad ate further in silence, before Ajihad spoke once more, asking, "What do you plan to do, should you find the Twins?"
Gandalf pondered this for a short while, answering, "Arya has greater knowledge in the area of magic than I; I shall take them to her, so that she may deal with them how she can. I would be inclined to put them into a deep sleep so that they cannot use their powers. But perhaps she knows subtler ways than I. Then I shall give them unto you, to do with as you might wish."
Ajihad nodded. "The Varden has been organising daily raids of the tunnels. The first one was completed today and will continue tomorrow and the day after. The going is slow, and the Twins may hide in any one of the tunnels at a time. But they'd likely not, due to the Urgals still hiding down there. However, now that we've cleaned out one tunnel…"
"They may hide there now," said Gandalf. He shook his head angrily. "And may have already anticipated my coming there earlier. I've been slow on the matter, and remarkably foolish, too." He finished the last piece of his meal and rose swiftly. "Thank you for the meal, lord Ajihad. But now there is much I need do."
The wizard bowed his head and left the office, heading now swiftly for the tunnels. He had a plan forming in his mind. He went down to the far right tunnel and found that the soldiers had, for the time being at least, left the cauldrons of pitch where they were. He was glad, but pushed his gladness aside. There needed to still be pitch; it was on its side, so what was left may have run out, if it had not been burnt already. He reached the cauldron and looked inside, and found there was a small puddle. It was quite little but would serve his purpose.
"Um, sir, can I help you?" asked one of the soldiers. He wore a sword on his belt, along with a bag of food, and held a long spear.
"Certainly," answered Gandalf. "Tell me, how long does this tunnel stretch?"
The soldier blinked, but answered anyway, saying, "Well, this is the longest one, but just by a little bit. I think I heard one of the men say it was about eight leagues or so."
"Indeed?" muttered Gandalf. He picked up the cauldron and looked at the puddle, wondering if it would be enough for what he had in mind. "What is your name, soldier?"
"Bregan," answered the soldier. "Bregan Berstsson, sir."
"Well, Bregan, would care to follow me into that tunnel?" asked Gandalf.
Bregan frowned. "For what purpose sir?"
"To flush out a pair of traitors, of course."
Bregan's eyes widened, and he bowed his head. "Yes sir."
"Excellent," said Gandalf. "You can leave the spear. You shan't need it. I'd like you to carry the cauldron for me, Bregan Berstsson."
Without a second word, Gandalf headed down the tunnel, Bregan following behind him, the cauldron in hand. After they had gone in a few metres, Gandalf dipped his hand in the pitch and sprinkled a little on the ground. Every couple of metres Gandalf did this.
Soon, when they had walked until the light from Farthen Dûr no longer shone upon their path, Gandalf lit up his staff. He admired once more the fine craftmanship of the dwarves; the tunnel was quite large, maybe ten metres across, and twenty high, and carved to the millimetre. Here and there he could see signs of age and neglect, for cracks had formed, and water pooled in places and dripped from the roof. The passing of the Urgals and soldiers had done little to help, for they left heavy footprints, which dashed any hope Gandalf had for searching for the Twins footprints.
After some hours of walking, Bregan's arm grew weary, and Gandalf agreed to rest for a while. Gandalf sat down against the wall, and Bregan sat opposite to him.
"Er, lord Gandalf," began Bregan, as he sat down.
"No."
Bregan started. "I didn't—"
"I am not lord Gandalf," explained the wizard. "I am not a lord where I come from, and I am certainly not a lord here."
"Oh," said Bregan. The soldier considered for a moment, before asking, "What are you, then, may I ask? Apologies, but you have a strangely lordly look to you."
Gandalf smiled. Lordly indeed. "Well, if we use such terms, then I suppose I am a steward, in a sense."
"What of?"
"Of everything," answered Gandalf. "Of everything that grows, and breathes, and lives."
Bregan's eyebrows raised. "That is a great charge."
"Yes," drawled Gandalf. "But where I come from, most Men call me a wizard. It is, I suppose, the most accurate title that can be offered."
"I see," said Bregan. He sat in silence for a while, before asking, "Might I ask, sir, what are you going to do with the pitch?"
Gandalf raised an eyebrow. "Do? What else? I intend to burn it."
Bregan frowned. "There won't be much to burn."
Gandalf smiled grimly. "We shall see. I think what we have shall suffice for my plans. Now!" he sprung up. "I daresay we have rested long enough. Come along, Bregan. There is still a distance to go. I am glad that this tunnel is only long, and not a maze. The other two shan't be as simple."
They rose and started once more, the soldier holding the cauldron. Gandalf made sure to use the pitch a little more sparingly, for there was very little left.
Finally, they came to a large room. It stretched out for at least a kilometre, and Gandalf let more light shine. The room was rectangular in appearance, and at the end branched out into smaller tunnels. It was eerily quiet, but all around there was evidence that the Urgals had been here. Ten metres to the left was the centre tunnel, and ten metres after that was the final tunnel. Gandalf had Bregan pour the rest of the pitch at the entrance of the tunnel and then told him to draw his sword.
When the pitch was poured out, Gandalf raised his staff and cried, "Naur an cenid! Naur nathôr i imrad!"
He struck his staff down on the puddle of pitch, and a bright blue flame burst up, spreading from drop to drop, and spreading swiftly to the walls and roof. Bregan took a step back. The fire slowly spread down the tunnel, as Gandalf planned. With luck, the flames would drive the Twins out, if they were at all in the tunnel.
Gandalf turned and sat against the nearby wall. Now it would be time to wait. If he guessed rightly, the Varden would be charging down the second tunnel soon, and then he and Bregan could set about searching the tunnel without fear of encountering Urgals. He told Bregan of his plan.
"I see," said Bregan. "If it's all the same with you, master Gandalf, I might go back with the Varden. I confess wizardry and magic's not for me so much. I'd rather stick with the ordinary, or as ordinary as a man can get in these times, what with Urgals running around, and dragons and shining elves and what."
Gandalf nodded, understanding. "A very wise decision, I daresay. Many men get caught up in businesses beyond their ken, and flounder and become dismayed. But be warned, Bregan, son of Berst: soon the line between what is considered ordinary and what is not shall diminish. It may be that you shall fight alongside the unordinary and against the ordinary, or alongside the ordinary and against the unordinary. Be wary, then, not to lose your feet, and do not dismay. But I thank you for helping me."
Bregan nodded and sat on the wall a little distance from Gandalf. The Istar bade him rest, for they had walked a good distance, and he was evidently tired. The soldier thanked him and was soon asleep. Then Gandalf kept careful watch over the cave, the light from his staff not diminishing even a bit. He walked over to the other tunnels, making sure no Urgals were coming.
All the while, he wondered what the Varden's next move would be. He did not doubt that they could no longer remain in their mountainous base. The maps he studied showed of a land named Surda, and the lady Nasuada had informed him that they were amongst their chief allies, second only to the dwarves and that many of the Varden had family there. So, Surda would be the wisest place to go.
But then where? The Varden here consisted of serval thousand; a force so large would not go unnoticed. There would be many dangers on the road, and the Varden and Surda would no doubt face the wrath of Galbatorix when he learnt of his army's failure.
As Gandalf pondered this, walking back to Bregan, he heard the shuffling of feet, and panting and yowling, and the clinking of armour. He drew Glamdring and turned to the tunnels, and saw that four armoured Urgals dashed out of the central tunnel. Two held axes, and the others held a spear and a sword. One of the axemen were undoubtedly a Kull. They had a frenzied look to them, and a terror was in their eyes. They saw Gandalf, and spoke in their own tongue, before charging him.
Gandalf fended them off, ducking out of the way of one axe, and then another. A spear came towards him, and with his staff and Glamdring twisted it out of his foes grip. He blocked a blow by the swordsman, and dodging a swing from a Kull that would have split him in half, rendered him unconscious with a blow from his staff. He duelled against the three until at last, they all were on the floor.
He dragged the Urgals to the other side of the cave, far from Bregan, piling their weapons next to the sleeping soldier, who had remarkably not woken up. He looked into their minds and memories; it was not a difficult task, but their minds were disordered, and a haze covered a great deal of their memories. Gandalf could make out enough of a picture, though: their people were growing rapidly, too rapidly for their little land. Food would grow scarce soon. They agreed to a deal with Galbatorix, and in exchange for more land, they would fight for him. But something went amiss… some rams were sent to Galbatorix, but they were murdered. Gandalf reasoned this was a term for their warriors, or something similar. He saw the face of Durza. Then the memories grew hazy, and Gandalf could make nothing out.
Then they grew clear once more, but cluttered and messy. Something was wrong with the Urgals mind. Some lingering effect of the power of the dark spirits? He knew that the Urgals were terrified. This Kull was, and the Urgals he examined were also. There was anger, too, and confusion. He considered the blood on their weapons. Regretful though it was, he had become something of an expert in blood, and could recognise the differences in blood, occasionally from sight; orc blood was quite distinct from the blood of other races. This was not one of those moments. He dipped his fingers in the blood and put it to his tongue. He spat it out a second later. It was not blood he had ever encountered before.
Urgal blood, on an Urgals axe.
He sighed; the more he looked, the more he could sense the darkness of the shades touch. It put the Kull's mind in disarray. It would dissipate in time. But if he could banish the presence, he could make out more clearly what had occurred right now.
So, he set about clearing their minds, and speaking words of Command banished the lingering darkness of the shade's touch. When his work was finished, he could see clearly what had occurred at the end of the battle. These four were at the back of the battle. The haze had passed, but their minds were in disarray. They were fighting alongside enemy tribes; this was… it was a little hard to make it out, but it seemed almost sacrilegious. They turned on one another.
Gandalf knew well enough what happened next. He retreated from the Kull's mind. An examination of the others told him the same. A little superfluous, perhaps, but thoroughness was a necessity in his line of work.
The wizard moved back to Bregan. Now what? He won't murder them in cold blood. He could let them run down the tunnel at the far end of this cave.
But as he pondered this, the Kull woke up. He put a large hand to his forehead, and sat up, disorientated. But as he gathered his wits, he saw Gandalf and growled. Though whether in fear or anger, Gandalf couldn't rightly say.
It stood up, looking at his fallen companions. Gandalf moved closer to the Kull. He stopped halfway and leaned on his staff with both hands. It wouldn't do to provoke another battle.
"Hello, my tall friend," he called to the Urgal. "Can you understand me?"
The Kull didn't reply, but lowered his large head, looking more and more like a cornered animal. Gandalf realised that his staff had done a fair deal of harm, so cast it aside. The light still shone, though. He then cast Glamdring aside, on his other side. The Urgal relaxed slightly but remained steadfast against the wall.
Then, in guttural tones, the Kull began to speak. It was slow and deep, but Gandalf could make it out.
"Are you the… one who… gave unto me help?" asked the Kull, evidently uncomfortable with the language.
"I am," answered Gandalf, a little slower now. "I hoped to speak with you; perhaps we may aid each other a little more."
The Urgal paused, as though to gather the right words in the language that was strange to him. But as he moved to speak, they heard a cry from behind Gandalf. The wizard turned and saw that Bregan had awoken, and saw the large Kull. His sword glinted naked in the flames.
Thank you for your patience. I hope that this chapter proves satisfactory. I found the timeline a bit of a nuisance, but hopefully it's clear enough.
Originally, I had hoped for more bonding between Murtagh and Gandalf, but unfortunately, that just doesn't seem like it's going to happen. Which is a pity, but unfortunately going back and editing all the other chapters is going to be a bit too much of a chore. This might be why God invented planning and first and second drafts.
Once again, thank you for reading. I welcome any constructive criticism.