Chapter Twenty One – Remember Brom

A gentle breeze arched its way across the ground, lifting and swirling a modicum of dust in the stilled air. No one paid it any heed. Harry stood, eyes narrowed in concentration and glasses stuck to his face with a simple charm, in the midst of Ajihad's central battalion, awaiting the inevitable. Around the scattered warriors of the Varden heartbeats could be almost heard, and every breath drawn in was done so with a mixture of fear and hatred towards their enemy. Brom stood to his left and Eragon to his right. Further down the line he could see Arya, while Murtagh was closer to the left flank. Orik was under Hrothgar's command, and thus was not nearby.

In the distance, echoing through the tunnels, he could hear the clinking and clanking of steel boots on rock.

"This is it!" Ajihad shouted from the front, roaring to be heard by one and all. "We are the last line of defence for our families! Give them no quarter, no mercy! Fight for your homes, for your freedom as men of Alagaësia! For peace! Kill them all!"

As one, the warriors of the Varden raised their swords and loosed a deafening war cry. Harry may have emptied his lungs dry, such was his motivation. He knew that despite their hidden traps in the tunnels and flaming trench, still illuminating an entire area otherwise shrouded in darkness, the Urgals would break through. They would have Kull – the elite, powerful warriors of their kind – with them, and Durza would be their commander. Every ounce of courage would be a prerequisite, every drop of strength a necessity.

It was time to fight for life itself.

He suddenly felt a twinge in his mind, which meant that the Urgals had breached his attempted wards in the tunnels already. He wasn't surprised. Spells like 'salvio hexia'? There was no real expectation for them to be useful, and that also meant...

Inhumane screams and roars of pain filled the air as Brom's magical traps detonated like bombs, spraying the monsters in showers of the acid Angela had developed. Harry grimaced as he thought of her words. 'Flesh-dissolving'.

"Don't let it concern you," came a soft voice from behind him. He looked around, only to find Angela herself, armoured lightly and carrying a mysterious, graceful weapon. It looked like a sword-staff hybrid, with a finely whittled oaken grip large enough to accommodate both hands comfortably, and two deadly blades on either end.

Harry smiled grimly, before looking back. "Why am I not surprised to see you here?"

"You can't keep me away from the centre of things," Angela replied calmly. "Nor Solembum, but he's currently disguised as a young boy in Jörmundur's regiment. He thought that section was less guarded."

"My wards were useless, so get ready," Harry informed her abruptly.

The clanking of metal had been impaired somewhat by Brom's trap, but it had now resumed louder than ever before.

"Now!" Ajihad shouted.

Several groups of warriors lit on fire the cauldrons of pitch they stood beside and then tilted them sideways, so that the scorching hot liquid was emptied onto the Urgals from above. More choking cries could be heard, and Harry couldn't fight back a grimace. If he had only known more about wards or magical traps he could have helped, but short of silly pranks, there was nothing even remotely combat-effective in his arsenal. Apparently half-assing with the Weasleys instead of taking Hermione seriously had come with a massive price. He vowed to right that wrong in the future... if he made it out of here alive.

His hand tightened as Urgals began to stream from the tunnels, all pretence abandoned. They broke any regular formation and began to run towards the Varden, roaring for all their worth. Harry was relieved to see none could jump his magical pit, however, and the fire was deterring. The Urgals faltered, and those who stopped were immediately picked off by archers, who were skilled and aimed for the neck. Those who continued to run tried to leap the gap, but even if they jumped the distance, they could only cling to the edge, which promptly set them alight, before sliding down into the depths, screaming in agony.

"Clear a space," Harry ordered loudly. He had purposefully told Brom to choose a spot near the front, despite the risks that came with such a decision. The warriors near him separated, giving him room to work with. Harry raised his left arm, screwing his face up in determination.

"Expulso!"

One bone-jarring bang later and any Urgal in sight had been obliterated, their entrails scattering across the area with sickening thuds. Harry continued this process as the monsters continued to rampage through the tunnel opening – this was the true, horrible beauty of his trap. The trench itself was insignificant. In this case, he and the archers had them caught in a deadly crossfire, and subsequently rained down a barrage of barbed arrows and spells, cutting their ranks significantly.

It wouldn't work forever, of course. Sooner or later something would manage to break through. It had to give eventually, simply because it seemed far too easy for anyone's liking. This ultimately proved true when Harry fired one too many spells at the area, and a reasonably powerful Urgal magician was able to deflect the blast away from the enemy vanguard. The effort cost him his life, but he still directed it into the ground in the middle of both armies, severing all lines of sight as a cloud of dust was spawned.

A little dust got into Harry's good eye, and he was forced to hesitate from the sudden pain. After shaking it out, he immediately took aim and fired again, but his bearings were off. He missed the main contingent of Urgals by feet only, and in those few seconds one of their spell weavers was able to extinguish the fires before them and block the hole with the rocks from Harry's first missed spell. Harry swore violently as the Urgals began to swarm across the makeshift bridge, which didn't falter under their substantial weight.

"Brom!" he shouted frantically, looking back.

The old man nodded and relayed an immediate order to the magicians in their general area. A great 'whoosh' was heard from the battlefield, and the Urgals were halted in their tracks. These were the wards Arya had managed to redirect from around Tronjheim to the tunnel mouths, and now they trapped the Urgals like rats in a maze.

"Archers!" Ajihad screamed above the creatures' roars of fury.

The rear ranks hefted their bows and unleashed a volley of buzzing bolts above the heads of the sword and spearmen at their front; the arrows fell through the air and buried themselves in the general area of the brutish creatures, felling dozens in one swoop, such was their inability to so much as move a muscle. Harry was unable to join his efforts together with them, as these wards were all-encompassing and designed especially to keep out magic of all kinds. If he destabilised them by accident it wouldn't end well.

It was frustrating, but he had to accept it.

The Urgals, however, could also play at that game. Their bowmen finally found their marks, and began to return fire with glee, dropping men left, right and centre. Harry watched in horror as an arrow flew directly for him, and barely responded by raising his shield at the last possible moment. The tip embedded itself in the shield, and he snapped the shaft in half with a snarl, throwing it to the ground.

Eragon felt his heart pounding as he watched the scene unfold. He was firing arrows at will, and had scored at least four or five hits. Harry's and Brom's plan had been truly ingenious, and was giving the Varden a serious advantage. Besides several taken down by sporadic ranged fire, they hadn't been so much as dented yet, whereas the Urgals had lost at least several hundred of their Kull already. He growled and fired directly at one of the monsters closest the front, hitting it between the eyes with a soft flump. The protection of the Varden was his fire, Yazuac was his fuel, his friends' safety his motivation.

Saphira was almost tempted to fly into the fray and slaughter the creatures from above, but she had been forbidden in advance. It would make her a prime target, armour or no armour, and there was every chance she could sustain a serious injury. She settled for opening her jaws and yelling as loud as possible, heartening the allied army into redoubling their efforts. The archers fired as rapidly as they could, the Urgals simply unable to break down the wards before them.

The defences were much too powerful for even Brom, Angela and Arya together to have conjured, so Harry greatly suspected he had used a large portion of Aren's energy for the task.

"There's no end to them!" Eragon exclaimed, as more continued to charge from the tunnels. No matter how many they slew, another two took its place. That's when he realised something. Eragon paused in the act of nocking another arrow to stare, wide-eyed, at what was occurring. The strongest, thickest Kull were banding together and charging the invisible barrier, butting it with their horns viciously. He saw a flicker of energy and knew they were beginning to falter.

"Oh, shit," Harry thought, also noticing the disturbance. "Aru, tell Trianna to get ready. We're going to have wounded."

"Be safe, Harry..."

With one ferocious lunge the barrier vanished. The Urgals seemed surprised at their success, but were able to form a passable front line and began to charge the three battalions, shouting in their hoarse voices. Harry couldn't risk further explosive spells – there were simply too many Urgals to stop at once, so the only result would be a blinding of the Varden's vanguard. Instead, he tightened his grip around Aiedail and took a few deep breaths as the warriors in front of him quickly reformed their lines.

"If any man of you attempts to retreat, I'll gut you myself," Brom declared fiercely. "Now, spears!"

At the last, the front line raised their mixture of pikes and speared weapons, roaring in the face of their enemy. The Urgals did not hesitate in the slightest. They ran full pelt at what would be some of their deaths, and crashed into the unit with a thud that almost forced Harry a step backwards, despite his being in the fourth line from the front. Then, all went to hell.

Urgals were scrambling to their feet, having crashed over before their eyes, and promptly throwing themselves at the battalion with a fiery and horrific brutality. Men were savaged before their very eyes with broadswords cleaving skulls and horns ripping out intestines in the frenzy. Harry shouted his war cry again as the first of the abominations reached him and raised his shield to block its powerful front swing. The impact was bone-jarring, but he paid it no mind and hastily retaliated with a lunge, burying his sword deep within its sternum. He twisted the blade and withdrew it with a grunt. The Urgal fell dead at his feet, as Aiedail gleamed with a blinding red glow.

A massive Kull charged him, swinging a blood-stained axe above its head and baring its yellowed teeth. Their lack of speed would be their true undoing, Harry knew. Before it could even bring the weapon down, his sword was embedded between its collar and cheek bones. When he removed it the spurt of blood was truly relentless, and he sidestepped to avoid getting any in his eyes. Beside him, Eragon swiftly cleaved his opponent's head in two across the centre, and stabbed another in the chest from behind.

Warriors up and down the ranks were now embroiled in frequent melee bouts, whilst the rearmost soldiers held ready to relieve the fallen and prevent any from breaking through. Archers lining the fortress walls continued to impose themselves upon any who dared break through, although they tended to be inaccurate out of fear of hitting their comrades. Several began to take losses as Urgal crossbowmen retaliated by sending poisoned bolts through their chests and stomachs from long-range.

Harry spun as his supersensory charm kicked into action immediately and whipped his shield around in a half-circle, catching his opponent in the face with an almighty crash that knocked it off-balance. Without hesitation, he stabbed it in the back of the neck and quickly removed the blade to parry another from the opposite side.

Brom was embroiled in a ferocious contest with three simultaneously. Knowing the old Rider's antics, Harry was unsurprised to see him use the terrain to his advantage by forcing his adversaries to trip and fall over any rocks that happened to be nearby, before casually dispatching them and moving to the next.

That had all occurred in the blink of an eye. Everything was sped up tenfold, and he was barely aware of Saphira roaring and swatting foes aside like flies, so concerned was he with his own surroundings. The charm let off an emergency wail inside his mind, and he rapidly threw the shield behind his head by bending his arm backwards, halting an arrow that had been gunning for the top of his neck. Growling in fury, Harry rolled to his left as an Urgal took a swing at him with a mighty hammer, and jumped up, spinning around. The blow was a swift one, and its head slowly slid off its shoulders and fell to the ground with the satisfying swish of steel slicing through flesh.

"Saphira, put out your right forearm," Angela shouted. Saphira obliged and watched as the surprisingly athletic fortune teller ran and vaulted off of her paw into the air, before falling to the ground in a corkscrew of spinning steel. Her Hûthvír seemed to scream in delight through her descent as she landed between a group of four unsuspecting Kull, all of whom fell to the ground together, minus a head each.

Eragon grinned his approval and continued to cut his way through the never-ending horde of eight-foot Kull before him, angling towards Arya. Without speaking, they stood back to back and began to fight together, twisting and spinning, almost able to feel rather than see the other's movements. Arya ducked and Eragon instinctively whirled around, decapitating the foe who had been too close for her to stab. Eragon stepped to the right and she, feeling his shift in position, reversed her blade and plunged it into the torso of the Urgal who had attacked him from an angle too narrow to defend against. Both ducked at once and Saphira whipped her tail at the six who had surrounded them, sending them packing into their comrades.

"Jierda!" Eragon shouted. The Urgal who had been about to attack Saphira's tail with a two-handed axe felt his neck snap. Eragon was enraged at their attempt to maim the partner of his heart. Conscious of the adrenaline rush, he roared in fury and ran at the nearest group of Urgals, slicing and parrying his way through, one at a time. He was dimly aware of Harry casting several sectumsempra and diffindo curses in his aid from several metres away.

Harry turned from Eragon, who was bloodthirsty, to deal with the Urgal magician attempting to accost his mind. Harry grinned over at him.

"Let me help you with that," he said, opening his mind. The Urgal foolishly ventured inside, and Harry retaliated immediately by exerting a massive force upon its own sanctuary, pouring his essence into the mental blast of raw magic. The Urgal screamed, its face contorting into an unrecognizable heap of agony as it melted inside its own armour. Harry saw with a gleam of joy that a group of around thirty of its kin fell dead after it had, prompting cheers from the Varden warriors they had been embroiled in combat with.

Harry began to get caught-up in the action wholly; the blood was pumping in his ears, and he yearned for his enemies' blood to flow before him. Conscious of this determination and the little room obtained from killing that enemy magician, he began to cast severing and bone-breaking curses at anything he could see that wasn't friendly. He refrained from using the killing curse, as these carried the same effect and didn't disgust him quite as much.

Ironic, considering the ends he delivered with them were far less pretty. Perhaps it was the knowledge of what the killing curse had been used for that stayed his hand.

In the corner of his eye, Harry saw Brom stumble to the ground and panicked. With a roar, he scrambled to his position and plunged his sword through both sides of the Urgal who had been about to finish him.

"Harry, look out!" Brom shouted.

It was too late.

Harry's face contorted as an arrow struck his outstretched arm. With an aggrieved growl he quickly jolted it away and tore the archer to bloody ribbons with a powerful cutting curse.

"Damn it," Harry muttered.

"Heads up!"

Harry ducked as a sideways swipe aimed for his head was inbound, and felt it sail over his head with relief. The supersensory charm wasn't immediate, but it could be pretty damned close. Before he could react, however, Brom was on his feet and stabbing the Urgal to death with a dagger he had hidden next to his bracers, tearing its throat asunder.

With a grunt of pain, Harry snapped the arrow in half and pulled it out. Thankfully, the barb hadn't penetrated his skin, but the armour was dented inwards near his wrist. It hurt like hellfire and damnation itself, and he was sure to be black and blue come the morning.

"I'm sorry," Brom said faintly, panting. "I had to take energy from the wards or I would have been killed."

Harry waved his hand dismissively. He pointed over towards Angela with his sword. "Go and help her, if you can! I'll heal myself."

Not even conscious of taking orders from Harry – he was a comrade in arms, not an underling – Brom nodded and moved off as fast as his legs would allow him. Age had definitely caught up with him by now, and he hated the feeling. His energy was in rapid decline, even when one considered Aren.

"Waíse heill," Harry muttered quickly, and the throbbing subsided almost immediately, although it did still twinge a little. He looked up. "Oh, shit!"

Without so much as blinking, he ducked under the warhammer that swung for his cranimu and used his legs to sweep the Urgal's feet out from under it. Before he could kill it, however, a spear was thrust through its skull, resulting in a horrific sound of bone cracking. Harry looked up to find Murtagh riding Tornac, who reared as Murtagh withdrew the spear. He threw it at an approaching Kull with a grunt and caught him directly in the eye, an instant kill.

Murtagh quickly dismounted and Harry accepted his hand up. "Go, Tornac!" Murtagh shouted, hitting the horse's flank sharply and removing his hand-and-a-half sword from across his back. "Get out of here!"

With a cry, the horse quickly galloped back towards Tronjheim, out of harm's way. There was no time for chatting, though; within seconds the pair of them was set upon by an entire squad of the deformed wretches, and both were struggling to overcome what was clearly a much more organised unit. Dealing with Harry, to their detriment, proved to be a massive pain in the ass; when they foolishly backed off, spears and swords daring them to attack, he rolled his eyes and blew them to smithereens with a simple wave of his wand.

The sounds of metal on metal were plentiful in the air, as were cries for blood and screams of agony and terror. The ground around Eragon was littered with the dead from both sides, although the Urgals' first offensive had been broken apart in the main. That was partially due to the culmination of Harry, Brom and his partnership with Arya and Saphira, however. He quickly realised Angela had been fully right in saying Jörmundur and Hrothgar didn't have the type of firepower Ajihad did in this battle, and thus the two flanks were suffering heinously. Varden warriors were being cut down in droves, whilst the Kull rampaged like wolves among the sheep.

"Eragon, you're to relieve Hrothgar. The battle goes badly for him," one of the twins relayed.

Eragon had already been on his way when the message was delivered. Sword in-hand, he sprinted towards the right flank, a furious scowl on his face, and hastily dove into combat, flowing from one Urgal to the next as Zar'roc took delight in his lust for action. He was driven by a furious motivation to protect those around him, and dismembered any Urgal he came across with the utmost ease. He hacked and slashed, parried and blocked...

Hrothgar himself was an immensely gifted warrior, his golden armour glittering as his mighty hammer crushed breastplates and skulls with the speed of a hurricane. He nodded at Eragon in appreciation, before turning to dispatch no fewer than four Kull at the one time. Eragon maintained his posture of attacking first, since he still had the element of surprise.

In the background, Saphira roared.

Eragon doubled up in pain, feeling as though his left calf was on fire. His eyes watered through the agony and his legs buckled. A massive Kull, standing at least eight foot tall, towered over him, grinning down with horrific black teeth. It raised its sword. Eragon felt slow and heavy. The adrenaline was beginning to thin out. He raised Zar'roc to parry one blow, then another. He couldn't comprehend the problem – there was plenty of energy left in his body.

What if- oh, no! "Saphira!"

"I'm fine!" she hastily responded.

"No, you're not! I can feel it myself!"

"Focus on your opponents, little one! I will endure..."

Eragon snarled and began to attack the Kull ferociously, twisting and spinning in a deadly flourish of poses. This was no mean Urgal, however. It was clearly some type of veteran or even a commander, and possessed much greater skill than any he had previously encountered. A second wave of pain came at the worst possible time; the commander swung at Zar'roc with all its might, and the force, coupled with the pain, knocked the blade clean out of his hands. It skidded to a halt ten feet away, resting against a large boulder.

Eragon raised his palm. "Brisingr!"

The Kull's wards deflected the flaming spell with ease. It raised its sword for one final blow...

There was a whooshing of steel and a pained grunt. Eragon watched as the Urgal's head was lopped off. It flew into the air gracefully. Harry, who had been running to his position, saw this and grinned widely. He raised his wand-arm.

"Reducto!"

The head was brandished at a second captain, who cried out in agony as his comrade's horns pierced his own eye. His misery was compounded as Harry rushed to him and drove Aiedail through the second and directly into his frontal lobe, killing him instantly.

Eragon was in shock. He was angry at himself for losing one-on-one to an Urgal, of all creatures, and he was afraid for Saphira. Arya helped him to his feet. She had saved his life. There were no two ways about it. Harry would have gotten there much too late, although he was preoccupied. Eragon looked at her.

"You saved me," he stated blankly.

"I owed you," she smiled. The glorious elf quickly spun to her right and gutted a charging foe, before turning and driving her blade through the chin and out the skull of another. Eragon ran to retrieve his sword, then hurried back to her, where they stood side-by-side.

"That doesn't make it any less significant," he informed her simply.

She briefly glanced at him sideways. "Does it matter so? We may be about to die here anyway. Come. Let us regroup with Harry and Murtagh."

Eragon paused. Harry had really had a massive influence upon him if he was about to do this. What the hell? He thought to himself, shaking his head to clear it. "Well, if we are to die I feel no shame in doing this first."

She looked around when he did not elaborate, and he chose that moment to lean forward and gently kiss her on the lips. She appeared shocked, a noticeable first.

"I'll apologise later," Eragon said, flushing. "For now, let's find the others."

Saphira roared as the pain cascaded through her front leg once more. An insolent creature had taken it upon himself to slice through her limb with his disgusting blade, and it was nauseatingly truly agonising. Angela and Brom were by her side, and no single Urgal could hope to best either of the two. The fortune-teller-woman surprised Saphira with her prodigious skill, but it was a pleasant surprise. Saphira snapped her jaws at a measly insect her dared approach her with a simple axe, and crushed him with her paw. She swiped at a small group nearby with her claws, shredding through their breastplates and ripping them to pieces in a single instant.

Angela was a true master with her mysterious staff-sword-blade, Saphira could see. She twirled it around with unprecedented speed, utilising the narrow frame to its utmost potential. Reams of Urgals fell before her, and likewise, before Brom. The old man had forgone his offensive style to focus solely on holding the Kull at bay, but even that was tiring him significantly. His energy would not last forever, and she knew his wards had already begun to fade. And yet, despite all that, he fought with a determination unmatched.

Harry was currently engaged in battle with several squads of soldiers, who had banded together in a mismatched attempt to push the Urgals back. Their captain had been slain, however, so it fell to someone to step up to the plate. Harry chose to shoulder that responsibility himself. Standing there, gleaming blade in hand, clothes splattered in blood and hair more haggard than anything before, the men were happy to listen to him. He probably frightened the new recruits as much as the Kull did.

"Okay, push forward!" he shouted, leading them with his vivacious fighting talents and powerful spells simultaneously.

"Harry, get to Ajihad now!" one of the twins 'shouted' at him.

Harry detected his urgency and spurred 'his' company towards the centre. They moved as a unit, fought as a unit and took fire as a unit. Harry was dealt another blow when his helm was clipped by a warhammer, resulting in the metal being bent inwards. Scowling, he ripped it off, lest it impair his already damaged sight. When he got to the middle, he saw that Ajihad was faring very badly indeed.

He and Nyos were struggling to contain the hoard that just kept on coming with what few men and dwarves remained. In fact, despite his efforts and those of his friends, the central battalion appeared to be suffering worse than any of the other two, and the reason was quite plain. There, stood, armoured in black and armed with a pale blade, was the one he hated more than any other.

"Durza."

"Harry, be careful!" Aru said angrily. "I don't want you coming back dead as well!"

"He's the one who'll die, not me," Harry growled. Harry didn't break ranks – he couldn't leave his fellow warriors to die. "Okay, now!" he shouted. "Break into groups and dispatch those Urgals attacking Ajihad! Right half, go and assist Hrothgar!"

The men were keen to follow his orders, having seen his prowess, and quickly did as they were told. Harry ran, cutting through Urgal after Kull, but time seemed to slow down as Ajihad began to face off against Durza directly. Almost before he could cry out, Durza drove his sword into Ajihad's chest, a smirk twisting his contorted features. Ajihad's eyes bulged, before sliding shut. With a hiss he pulled the blade out, only to follow with a backhand swing and chop off the dead man's head, a final act of horrific brutality.

Nyos exclaimed angrily and charged at Durza, who smirked at him and blew him backwards with a simple spell. He lay flat on his back, pinned by the Shade's magic.

Nyos didn't speak, he merely spat in the Shade's face.

Durza chuckled and wiped his face clean. "This is the end for you, traitor," he hissed. "You may join your family in the afterlife."

He raised his sword and began to bring it down, but never got the chance to finish it off. Harry chose that exact moment to cast the most powerful banishing charm he could, hoping to penetrate his wards and blow a hole through the bastard's heart at the same time. Unfortunately, he only succeeded in knocking him twenty feet and in seriously pissing him off.

Durza looked at him and growled. "You again! I don't care if the king wants you alive. This time I'll have my fun with you until the end! Say goodbye to your other eye!"

"Let's finish this," Harry intoned, raising his blade.

Durza charged.

Harry was much better and prepared than he had been in Teirm, but the Shade's twice-damned speed still echoed heavily in his mind. He was forced to rely on instinct alone as even the supersensory charm was overruled by the speed of his blows. They attacked and parried one another in unison, although Durza had the upper hand. He began to push Harry back towards his earlier position, weaving a straight path through the battlefield. He was laughing the entire time.

"Ha, you still cannot compare!"

Bloody hell, the pretentious arsehole was going to gloat again!

Harry wouldn't stand for that. He felt untold fury as Durza taunted him and redoubled his attack, moving faster and faster with each swing. Durza stuttered in surprise, and began to find himself on the back foot. Harry took a swing at his head, aiming to decapitate him again, but the Shade predicted this approach and batted the blow aside, before gunning towards Harry's blind side.

Harry coupled his attacks with spells from his wand, but they were all deflected with simplicity. At one point he tried to blind Durza by casting the strongest lumos he could muster, but even that was short-lived as the unholy terror simply grinned and appeared wholly unaffected.

"I've learned how to avoid that one," he simpered.

"Avoid this one, if you can!" Harry shouted. "Sectumsempra Maxima!"

The massively over-powered spell would have skewered a cave troll with a single blow, but all it did was knock Durza off balance. Harry had been counted on that, meanwhile. When the Shade stumbled, he charged and lunged towards him, nicking his ribs, before Durza reacted by immediately swinging his fist upwards and catching Harry in the side of his nose, sending him packing. Harry tested it and found it was broken. He spat a mouthful of blood onto the ground and wiped his lips with the back of a hand, standing tall once again. Rather than be overcome by anger, he held his sword up defensively.

"Come on, you ugly, clown-looking piece of shit," Harry provoked.

Durza did not understand the reference to It, but he did know when he was being insulted and began to attack again, roaring in fury. He seemed to have forgotten Galbatorix's orders, and was aiming to kill with as much pain as humanly possible. When he got too close, Harry seized his opening and surprised the Shade by headbutting him in the face with as much force as he could muster, causing him to howl in pain and back off, holding his eye in agony. Harry felt light-headed from the attack, but he merely shook it off and took the opportunity to cast more offensive spells, attempting to weaken Durza's wards as much as he was able.

Durza moved to attack once more, and Harry saw with satisfaction that a massive purple bruise had already formed around his right eye. He made ready for the next assault, but was halted by a roar from nearby. Both he and Durza turned and watched with wide eyes as Saphira's jaws opened and a massive wave of fire erupted from inside, drenching him in a roaring hot inferno. His wards still held, but a flicker in his supersensory charm told Harry they were starting to fail.

"Looks like Galby didn't give you enough power for this job," Harry spat triumphantly, backing off to avoid the currents of fire.

Durza was on one knee, forced by the raw power of Saphira's flames. He began to laugh, however, and stood up full once more, chuckling openly. "You don't really think this is the extent of my power, do you? I've barely even started getting... ah, forgive the pun, warmed up."

Harry swallowed. He had to be bluffing. But, wait... Harry hadn't grown too much stronger since their encounter in Teirm, so how had he – seemingly – done so much damage?

Oh, no, he's not bluffing! "Saphira, run!"

"Garjzla!"

A sonic boom of power erupted from the Shade's outstretched arm and Harry watched in horror as a jet of deadly red light flew towards Saphira. Mustering every last ounce of power in his wand from the king's wards, he roared "Skölir Saphira fra garjzla!" just as Eragon did likewise.

Even their combined efforts were not enough. The spell penetrated both shields with an almighty struggle, and managed to pierce Saphira's chest armour. Eragon yelled in unrelenting agony as Durza's spell tore into her chest, before abruptly stopping. Massive spurts of blood began to erupt from the gaping wound, and Eragon flung himself off her back as she bellowed in burning pain, struggling not to collapse. He landed heavily on his shoulder and screamed as his shoulder dislocated, but almost immediately jumped back to his feet and began attempting to heal the wound, wincing continuously.

"It's over," Durza said simply, shaking his head. "That was your last drop of excess strength. How long do you think you can you hold out against me by yourself?"

Harry spun towards him.

"Swear to obey me in the Ancient Language, and I will heal her," Durza said calmly, smirking evilly.

"You? What about the king?" Harry demanded, gripping his sword tighter.

Durza uttered the foulest Urgal oath he knew and spat on the ground. "The king can rot. He has cast me aside. Join me, and together we four can crush him!"

"You're deluded if you believe that," Eragon growled, glaring at him with rage in his eyes.

"Maybe I am, maybe I'm not... you won't get the chance to find out if you don't let me save her."

"I'll save her," declared a regal voice. Harry looked to his right, where stood Arya over a small mountain of dead Urgals. This section seemed to have been cleared but for the Shade and some intermittent duels elsewhere.

Durza stiffened. "You! You just don't know when to die!"

"Harry, I need you to distract him," Arya declared, staring at him with fury creasing her brow. "I can heal Saphira."

Durza laughed. "Please, spare me. Him distract me? I could toy with him, sure, but why would I-"

"Bombarda!"

Harry blasted a hole in the ground beneath Durza's feet, which didn't count under his second spate of wards. The Shade yelped in surprise and anger as the rock gave way, and he fell into a small pit, only several feet deep, but enough to work with. Harry rapidly began to non-verbally cast an assortment of jinxes and hexes at the Shade, which would deter him momentarily. He couldn't overpower these newly-erected wards alone; they were much too powerful.

"Quickly, help her!" Eragon exclaimed, feeling the pain burning through his heart. He winced and doubled over, tears freely falling, before catching himself. He needed to protect Saphira! That was far more important than a little bit of soreness! He shot up and rushed to Arya's side. "What do you need?"

"I need some of your power," she quickly told him. "The spell is long and complex. It requires a lot of energy, and I no longer have enough."

Harry blinked as Durza disappeared with a whip-crack noise. He knew what that meant.

"You sneaky son of a-"

A massive boot collided with his back and he flew to the ground, sprawled out. That had broken one, maybe two, ribs. Groaning, he stood up, gritting his teeth. He noted that Durza had lost his sword.

"I'm going to make you pay for Ajihad," Harry swore.

"You alone aren't strong enough to best me, boy. I'm sick and tired of telling you this."

"I beat you last time," Harry reminded him. "Strength isn't everything, and if it is... then it exists in numbers, which I have."

"Which you have! Your companions are too busy tending to your dying dragon, that fool Ajihad is dead, and that bumbling meddler Brom is too busy fighting for his life! What numbers do you have?!"

Harry looked at the ground. He had been wanting to test this one out, and now he had the first and only chance. Earlier would have been impossible, as the Urgals would have angled behind in the tunnels, and the objects had to be stationary in any case. Concentrating on the melee weapons around the field, he grinned a bloody grin and reached for his power. "Piertotum locomotor!"

Durza froze, eyes wide, as swords and axes of all sizes and shapes began to shake around the battlefield. Arya and Eragon looked at what was happening, thinking an earthquake was upon them. Everywhere Harry looked warriors from both sides of the fray were frozen, peering intently as thousands of weapons began to levitate themselves. Many appeared terrified.

"Too many for Durza alone..." Harry muttered. "Get them!" he roared, focusing his mind on the Urgals also. Thank you, Professor McGonagall!

Durza's eyes bugged out in terror as a multitude of weapons began to soar towards him at lightning-fast speeds and proceeded to batter his wards senseless.

"Go!" Harry shouted at Eragon. "Get Saphira to the dragonhold and heal her there. This won't hold him for long."

"Saphira, can you fly?" Eragon whispered, resting a comforting hand on her neck.

"Yes... little one..." she said in a faint voice.

Harry looked at them, noticing Arya was staring at him. He nodded at her. "I promise you I'll kill him. Just heal Saphira, please."

Arya gave him the slightest of nods and then sat behind Eragon as Saphira promptly took off and began to fly towards their newest home.

"And no snogging!" Harry shouted after them. "Don't think I didn't see that!"

Eragon blushed scarlet.

Harry returned his attention to Durza. It was a good thing he did, for the Shade let out a cry of rage and unleashed a truly sensational blast of magical energy. The weapons which had began to cut at his face and arms were vaporised instantly, and those assaulting his Urgal army also disintegrated. He truly was something else. The Urgals had suffered massive losses, however, and the Varden began to slowly advance, Jörmundur leading at one end and Hrothgar at the other. Nyos had taken up command of the centre, where Harry had motioned for him to go after he had started fighting Durza, much to the older man's chagrin.

"You miserable little cretin!" Durza screamed, blood seeping from his wounds. "I'll have your head on a spike!"

"Come and get it!" Harry shouted back at him.

Durza ran at him, grabbing the nearest Urgal sword he could find. He didn't stop shouting either; on the contrary, he rained down a swathe of the filthiest insults imaginable with each and every swing of his blade, attempting to mentally cripple Harry as well as physically hurt him. Harry felt his mental barriers being stretched to the absolute limit, but focussing on Trianna's mental kiss was enough to keep Durza at bay.

Harry knew he could only bide time. His unmanned assault had severely damaged Durza's pool of strength, but he was still outmatched in the extreme. He felt Aiedail grow heavier with each swing, and the red-haired demon seemed to notice that as well, for he swung harder and harder with each passing second. But Harry wouldn't submit. Not this time. Their duel continued for what seemed like an eternity, although it couldn't have been more than five or ten minutes in reality. Several times Varden soldiers tried to help him out, but each one Durza slaughtered effortlessly.

Finally, Harry felt like he was holding a stick of lead, and Durza knocked the blade from his hands with a cry of triumph. He didn't take the killing blow, however. He punched Harry in the face and knocked him to the ground.

"I'm going to kill you now," Durza declared simply. "But before I do, you will bow to me. And if you do not, I will make your dragon suffer from the inside out, Rider."

Harry looked up, and noted that his palm was uncovered. His glove had come off at some point during the battle. He refused to answer that.

"I said bow!" Durza roared, kneeing Harry in the face. Harry felt his cheekbone fracture from the impact.

He absolutely refused to consider bowing. He hadn't bowed even under the imperius curse, and he sure as hell wouldn't stoop low enough to think about doing so of his own free will. If he was to die, so be it. He would rather die than show respect to this... creature.

Harry froze.

He had a chance. It was slim, but he had one, final, chance.

"Kreacher!"

With a pop, the house elf appeared before him, unsteady on his feet.

"What!" Durza exclaimed, taking a step backwards in horror at the dirty animal before him.

"Kreacher, take me back to the dragonhold, now!" Harry shouted, grabbing the little elf's arm.

"Yes, master!"

Durza's rage echoed in his ears as he felt himself being compressed into a tiny, suffocating tube, before feeling sweet relief as he collapsed to the floor, the top of Isidar Mithrim.

"Harry! What happened?" Eragon demanded.

"No time!" Harry shouted, stumbling to his feet. "Durza's coming. I can't beat him alone. All of us have to attack at once."

"What about the army?" Eragon asked furiously.

"They've won! He doesn't care about them... only about killing us," Harry said, voice weakening.

"How does he know where you've gone?" Arya asked worriedly, drawing her bloodied sword once more.

"I had to use the word 'dragonhold' for Kreacher to bring me here," Harry explained frantically, grabbing a dagger off of the table nearby. "Thank you for that, Kreacher."

The elf gave a bow and promptly collapsed. Harry went to help him.

"I am greatly interested in what that little rodent so happens to be," declared a cool, rough voice.

Durza stood at the entrance to the cave, looking positively crazed. His newly-acquired sword was being gripped so tightly his knuckles were even whiter than his already sheet-pale complexion, and his eyes were narrowed into a depiction of such vileness Harry knew he would have made a terrific Halloween mask back home.

"How did you get up here so quickly?!" Harry demanded. He knew Durza would look for the dragonhold, but Tronjheim was massive!

"You stupid boy!" Durza screamed. "I can feel you! That's how I found you in Teirm! Not those bald-headed twin pissants! Your soul is like a beacon in the darkness thanks to the part I stole, and I want the rest!"

"The twins," Harry muttered. "I guess now we know."

"Now you know," Durza said with sarcasm. "And now it does not matter. Your soul... is mine."

Harry had almost forgotten Durza had stolen a part of him, and that was why he could no longer apparate. The entire picture led back to this. Voldemort had found Alagaësia, made a special portkey from his own blood and somehow enticed Harry into touching it through an unusual curse. Then, the mysterious Riddle had been formed, a new breed of Horcrux that was separate entirely from Voldemort, hence why he hadn't been killed with his master. He had leeched off of Harry, tried to steal his memories, and was then absorbed by Durza after taking human form and being stabbed by Murtagh. But not before he had taken part of Voldemort's curse with him – a part that disallowed Harry apparition when in Alagaësia. He needed that part of him back, although he would happily skip the evil half.

He was thinking about this because of one thing... the blinding rage that spiked. Almost half a year of tension and fury sprung up inside him, and he dived at the Shade, determined to kill him and take back what was rightfully his. The dagger slipped from his grasp as they collided.

"Harry!" Eragon screamed. Harry's tackle had caught Durza completely unawares, and the force had knocked him over the edge of the dragonhold. Both of them were now plummeting towards the ground and certain death – for Harry, at least – until his quick thinking stepped in once again.

"Gravitas penna!"

The featherlight charm came into effect immediately, and he began to float with the speed of a feather thirty feet from the ground. Moreover, that also worked for Durza, as both were attached at the time, and now they began to punch and kick each other furiously. Harry broke the Shade's jaw with a well-timed hook, and he spat a mouthful of blood and teeth into the air. Durza kicked Harry mightily in the kneecap, and Harry felt the bone directly above that bend backwards and snap in half.

When they were mere inches from the ground, Harry began to successively jab Durza between the ribs with his fists, each hit earning a grunt of pain from his nemesis. They both hit the ground with a soft flump, and Durza was now in control. Harry's broken leg immediately buckled and he fell to one knee, remaining in that pose. Looking up, he could see Saphira struggling to carry Eragon and Arya to the ground. He was completely out of power, and Durza still had a little remaining. Thankfully, he had his wand.

The bone-breaker he sent at Durza was deflected into the wall with a resounding crash, imitated by the following combination of lacerating and cutting curses. Even the cruciatus curse was completely ineffectual against the Shade's shield. Durza didn't seem to care that Arya or Eragon would probably kill him – he only wanted Harry dead. With every spell cast he took a step closer, struggling to maintain control. But Harry couldn't win this fight. He knew that now. Durza's boot collided heavily with his ribs, and Harry felt another three break as he fell backwards, his breath leaving him.

This is it... I can't even move. "Aru, I'm so sorry..."

"Harry! Don't you dare give up!"

"I... can't... I'm too weak..."

"You're not weak, or alone!" Aru roared at him, the word 'alone' echoing around his mind.

Harry let out a gasp as images began to flash before him. Angela telling him never to pass up upon a good thing, Trianna wanting to kiss him, promising Arya he would kill Durza for her... strength in numbers... which he had... power stored in mysterious places... specially designed crystals... Aren... the power of the elves and their crafting... the power taken from a hard day's work... numbers... remember Brom... what he had said...

He blinked.

He was staring directly up towards the shimmering crystals he had created, hanging gracefully above Tronjheim, sparkling in the night air, and finally he understood their mystery.

"It is the magic of dragons," Saphira had said.

The magic of dragons worked so mysteriously it could not be quantified, could not be measured or understood. Slowly, Harry stretched out his mind...

Durza stood above him, and raised his boot, smiling in triumph.

Harry found the store, and was blown away. The hard work of an entire city for two days lay there... silently, he took what was needed and added it to his body.

Slowly, he raised his arm.

Durza paused, thinking he was about to speak for the last time.

He had no such intention. The Gëdway Ignasia flashed. Durza's eyes widened in recognition.

Too late.

"Thrysta vindr!"

Durza screamed. A bolt of green energy cascaded its way past his last remaining ward, and penetrated his chest with a crackle of lightning and an ominous thunderclap of power. A smoking hole the size of a quaffle was the end result, and he stumbled backwards, laying a hand over the wound. Harry raised his head, unable to see anything from his angle, and laughed.

Then, quite suddenly, he stopped.

His heart's still beating. You have got to be fucking KIDDING me!

Durza never said another word. His eyes bulged as wide as saucers and he finally began his attack to kill Harry, but he was doomed to fail, even as he tried to speak an incantation, only resulting in pools of blood running down his chin and neck. Zar'roc, alit, came bursting through his already-sundered chest at the last second, and he stared down at the blade, choking on his own blood.

His heart was impaled on the end of Eragon's burning sword, the young Rider growling behind him. He let go of the hilt and walked around so that Durza could see him.

"That was for Arya," he whispered. "Burn in hell, you filthy bastard."

No one would ever know Carsaib's real name again, but at that moment, the doomed young man of ages gone by erupted in a flame of bodily excesses. His skin began to tear, bursting at the seams. He let loose a ghoulish scream, something he had grown accustomed to tonight, having finally met his match, and he felt the light in his own eyes dimly go out as the spirit known as Durza erupted from within. His body seemed to implode, and he existed no more, not even in the afterlife. He was finally dead.

Harry waited as the remains of the Shade, two glowing orbs, approached him and him alone. One pure, one malignant. He waved a hand, knowing it was that easy with Aru at his side and victory in his mind.

"I... I don't need you... Riddle. Go with Durza. Rot... in the darkness. Forever."

The pure magical essence fused with his heart, and the evil, twisted device that Voldemort had created vanished at long last with an unearthly clang, freeing Harry from his curse after so long of searching for a cure. His abilities would be completely normal once he was fully healed, and there would be no lasting side effects. He was free. Two of his most dangerous enemies and an Urgal army had been conquered in one decisive blow, and it had come from Eragon, his best friend.

"Thank you," Harry whispered, smiling.

Eragon gave a small smile as he held his arm in a comforting matter. "Don't mention it, my friend. Now, sit tight. Arya has gone to find Angela. You'll be just fine."

"T-the twins," Harry spluttered.

Eragon shook his head sadly. "Gone. They've fled. Don't worry about them – we'll talk about it when you feel better. We won, Harry. Du Vrangr Gata relayed that they've been routed."

"Eragon," Harry said in a voice that barely registered. "I feel like myself a-again. Whole. Thanks to you. Make sure the others are s-safe," he strained, before losing his eyes to unconsciousness.