Chapter Twenty Three – An Old Friend Lost

In hindsight, Harry should have been expecting such a horrific scene.

Yet, despite that, he was visibly appalled by the wounds his friend bore. Murtagh had truly been stricken by 'dark' fire, as Angela had aptly named it. His skin was blackened and charred along one entire half, the charcoaled appearance culminating just below his collarbone with a surface not unlike burnt firewood. Besides that, red and pink scorch marks coated his left leg, giving the outer layer of skin a bubbled appearance, parts of which were white, strewn by innumerable, poisonous-looking blisters. Worse still was the fact that he had been wearing armour; parts of the steeled interior had melted and reshaped with the heat, moulding into unrecognisable heaps of metal that were engraved upon his torso.

Judging from the wounds, Harry didn't see him lasting the night. Parts of the metal had scorched him, but since the steel wouldn't melt unless at an incredibly high temperature, his skin had also been seared.

"He managed to rip the breastplate off before it spread," Angela said quietly. "If he hadn't he would already be dead. That's why the lines on his hand have been burned off cleanly. The heat of the metal..."

Tears in his eyes, Harry slowly ran his fingers over the wounds, before reapplying the bandages. Understandably, Murtagh was in an almost comatose state, half of his body scorched and half almost pearlescent from loss of blood.

"If the heat was great enough to do this, his lung hasn't escaped unaffiliated," Harry croaked. "I might be able to help cut away and replenish the damaged tissue, but I really don't know enough to not worry about making things worse... he's lost far too much blood as it is. Even if he does wake again, I'm not sure he'll be able to breathe properly. And if, by some miracle, he can... this side of his body will be scarred for the rest of his life."

Angela rested a consoling hand on his shoulder. "Eragon has been to see him several times already. I suspect he is having the same difficulties you are."

"What difficulties?" Harry asked, shaking her hand off.

"Difficulty in letting go," Angela said after some hesitation.

Harry blinked, her words hitting him like a battering ram. Surely there had to be something he could do to help. He couldn't recall ever dealing with such wounds, however. Maybe Madam Pomfrey could have healed him up in a matter of hours, but she was not here.

Harry blinked.

"Kreacher!"

Kreacher arrived on-scene with a pop. The elf's appearance hadn't changed much, although he did look slightly more hunched over than usual, an effect of serious fatigue.

"Master calls, and Kreacher answers."

"Kreacher, how soon can you go back to the Wizarding World?" Harry asked quickly.

Kreacher did not seem to understand. "Master called Kreacher here, but Kreacher does not know where here is. Kreacher must be a bad elf-"

"I refuse to let you punish yourself," Harry said firmly. "But to answer your question... well, I can't do that either. I don't know where here is exactly. But you got here, Kreacher. Surely you can disapparate back to Grimmauld Place?"

Kreacher shifted uncomfortably on his feet, and Harry knew he was struggling to obey his order regarding punishment.

"Kreacher? What is it?" Harry demanded.

"Kreacher cannot go back," Kreacher said finally. He looked at Harry with morose eyes. "Kreacher is not yet healthy and the strain would kill him, oh yes... he would surely die..."

Harry sighed and folded his arms. "Okay. And I'm assuming it would exhaust me if I attempted the same feat?"

"Wizards' magic is not like Kreacher's magic, master Harry. Us can apparate where you's cannot. The effort would surely kill poor master."

"Damn it," Harry muttered. "What do I do now?"

"Your people, they know of a cure for an ailment such as this?" Angela asked.

Harry glanced back at her. "Yes, I would imagine so."

"But you've never seen it before yourself?"

"I... maybe, I don't know. I can't remember!" Harry growled, frustrated.

Angela nodded solemnly. "Well, since your soul is now intact again, that would mean your memories are much clearer than before. If you can't remember then I can only assume it's because these exact circumstances are something you have never seen before."

"Great, you know something else about me... somehow..."

"I can sense it," she said simply.

"It doesn't matter," Harry said with an absent heart. "Even if I could remember you couldn't brew the potion in time, could you?"

Angela blinked.

Harry gave a bitter smile. "I can do the same thing, you know."

She gave a solemn nod at that, and his smile dropped entirely. There had to be something else he could do. He was feeling desperate now. Frantically searching his mind. Hoping for an answer. Finding none. Thoughts drifted to and fro. He attempted to sort these into various groups, dispelling what was unneeded. Harry found himself drawn back to his vision, annoyed that he had to take care of it as well as Murtagh. Roran. Carvahall. Katrina. The Ra'zac.

Harry blinked. Surely not...? But... yes.

He had it.

Maybe.

"Stay with him," he told Angela. "Kreacher, go back to the dragonhold and rest!" Harry shouted, sprinting from the room.

Eragon was frustrated. Perhaps he should have expected such constraints, but arguing with the self-imposed temporary leader of the entire Varden over any specific issue could prove groundless under the least taxing of circumstances. That being said, the current situation was far from relaxing in nature, with many issues and debacles to be sorted before the army of freedom fighters could even contemplate marching north.

Under most cases, Eragon would have let the commanders manage their own affairs, as all had been given specific tasks by Jörmundur and Brom, but this was a contentious issue. It also affected Eragon personally, and he knew Harry would have something to say when he woke up.

"The elite guard need to remain centred in any moving column," Eragon said. "The wounded will have to be carried by caravans and carriages, so they'll need protection in case we're attacked."

Jörmundur shook his head, appearing firm in his decision. "No. That would slow our progress exponentially, and supplies will be short as it is. We have to move with pace, and that means any veterans need to double as scouts to ensure our route can be mapped safely."

"You can't leave the caravans wide open to attack," Eragon argued. "Without the dwarves our numbers are spread too thin and that leaves the most vulnerable in a serious position of danger."

"We won't be leaving them wide open," Jörmundur said sharply. "Du Vrangr Gata will be providing support and there will be plenty of swordsmen in reserve, not part of the scouting corps. And feel free to stick with the caravans if you're that worried. I know they'd welcome your presence.

"The wounded will be encircled within what remains of our forces as a whole," he continued. "At this stage it really doesn't matter because there's nothing more I can do. We have to hope the king doesn't attack, because if he does it won't matter how elaborate our defences are. We won't stand a chance."

Eragon sighed and shook his head, staring with narrowed eyes at a spot on the floor. He didn't look reprimanded, but more like an equal, deep in thought. "At the very least I'll be instructing Saphira to stay close to the middle when we don't scout ahead. Hopefully her presence will be enough to deter any would-be attackers."

Jörmundur nodded. "That should help."

Suddenly, Brom came bursting through the entrance to the command tent. "There you are!" he exclaimed, spotting Eragon. "Come with me. Now."

Eragon frowned at Jörmundur and followed Brom outside. The old man didn't even bother to check that he was pursuing, but rushed away. Eragon raced through a frenzy of activity as the Varden prepared for evacuation all around him, storing supplies in sturdy containers and gathering precious belongings together.

"Hey, wait up!" he demanded.

Brom ignored him.

"What do you think is happening?"

"I do not know," Saphira said. "But he seems agitated."

Eragon snorted. He was ready for any trouble, but if that was the problem Brom would have informed Jörmundur. Besides, the men around him didn't seem agitated – more than they already were – so he loosened his grip on Zar'roc. Brom led him to the armoury, where Eragon was shocked to see Harry having a heated discussion with the blacksmith.

"What the hell are you doing?" Eragon demanded, noting that his friend was also garbed in leather armour.

Harry turned to face him, looking deathly pale from tiredness. "Finally! What took you so long?" he demanded of Brom. "And good, you're already armed."

Brom glowered. "I don't follow your orders. Eragon, you're here to speak some sense into this complete ass. Tell him to go back to bed and rest before I knock him out cold."

Harry scoffed. "Ignore him, Eragon. You're here because I need your help."

"This is your last warning-"

"Help with what?" Eragon asked sharply, overruling him.

Brom shut his eyes dramatically and hit his own face with both palms.

Harry ignored him. "I had another vision a little while ago. We need to leave."

Eragon started. "What, you mean-"

"Obviously not."

"Then... ah. And the only person would be..."

"Exactly. You can't tell me you refuse to help, considering that."

"Dare I ask 'why'?"

"Only one person the king would have trusted."

"Not even a person... fine. I'm in."

"What the hell are the two of you talking about?" Brom exclaimed, looking physically pained. "How did either of you work out what any of that... that babble meant?!"

"Mental communication," Eragon retorted, rolling his eyes as though it were obvious.

Harry had used both spoken words and mental images to clearly convey his intentions as quickly as possible, something the two of them had been experimenting with for quite some time. He showed Eragon the finer points of his vision, glossing over the least important aspects of sitting and waiting, whilst focusing upon the trouble Carvahall found itself in. Eragon thought he wanted to abandon the Varden at first, but now he realised how silly that had seemed. The only person both of them were willing to temporarily leave in order to help was...

"Roran?" Brom spluttered, blinking at Harry's revelation. "You can't be serious. We left him those letters for a reason! He needs to help himself!"

"Bollocks to that," Harry growled. "I can apparate again, so I'd rather not take the risk. Give me an hour."

"You look ready to drop dead," Brom said with no decorum. "In an hour you very well could."

"In one hour the two of us will tear that entire damned company to pieces and rip that creature apart from the inside-out," Harry declared, a vindictiveness emphasising his sincerity. "Let me borrow some of your energy and this will be a whole lot smoother."

Brom snorted, crossing his arms in derision. "I'm adverse to the entire idea of you two going."

"Oh, Brom," Harry chided, rolling his eyes. "After this entire time do you still not realise you can't stop us from leaving?"

Eragon smirked.

"Oh, for fuck's sake," Brom muttered, causing Harry to chuckle. He knew they were right. Harry proceeded to tell him how his apparition ability had returned, which would let him reach Carvahall in an instant. Nobody mentioned it, as Brom knew this mission would take priority, but all three were aware of how fundamental this could be in helping the Varden reach Du Weldenvarden.

"Don't give me that look," Harry requested, catching his mentor's expression. "I can only side-along apparate one, maybe two people. Possibly three, at the most. And I have no idea if it'll be less or more strenuous with a dragon involved, so it'll just be the two of us this time. I can't move the entire Varden."

"Why not let someone go with you who isn't exhausted?" Brom grumbled, conceding his point.

Harry tsked. "Simple, really. Eragon and I know Carvahall. Nobody else does. We're both Dragon Riders, and thus much stronger than anyone else you could muster up. We've both fought the Ra'zac and know its tactics. Roran means more to us – especially Eragon, for obvious reasons – than anyone here, especially a bunch of strangers who don't even know him."

"He'll want to take that girl Katrina," Brom said. "I hope you're up to the task of carrying both of them."

Harry hesitated, before nodding firmly. "Consider it done."

"I don't consider it done until it is," Brom retorted with some good-nature. "Don't take any unnecessary risks, either of you. And send me a message via scrying once you have the town secured. Do not engage the enemy directly."

"Huh," Eragon said simply.

"What?" Brom demanded, sounding weary.

"I'm surprised you're letting us go so easily, is all."

"It's not like I have a bloody choice in the matter!" Brom complained. "So I'd rather tell you to stay alive. The energy stored in Aren will replenish both of you, and there'll still be enough left for a good while. Take it, then get out of my sight before I report this bullshit idea to Jörmundur. He would clap you in irons before letting you go."

"Then it's a good thing you're not him," Harry muttered, reaching for the ring's power as Brom rolled his eyes. He took his fill, feeling satiated from the boost in energy, and then waited for Eragon to do the same.

"Aru, I'm sorry I can't take you with me. I'm still slightly weakened and I don't know if I could manage a dragon. Besides, you're still not ready to fight."

Arucane was unhappy at that. "If you hurt yourself again I'll cut off your balls."

Harry choked. "Aru!"

Aru snorted in sardonic amusement and wished him luck, before cutting the mental connection for what may be quite a while.

"What's the matter with you?" Brom grumbled.

"Arucane just threatened to castrate me if I injure myself."

"I'm not surprised," Brom said, narrowing his eyes as he accepted Aren back from Eragon. "That dragon seems to have picked up a lot of dialogue from your own world, and it appears quite different to that of this one."

Harry shook his head. "I'll keep that in mind. Are you ready?"

Eragon nodded. "Saphira, did you-?"

"I have heard all, little one," Saphira said in an understanding tone. "I hope you rescue your cousin, but be wary. The king would raze the entire village in an instant if it meant spiting the both of you."

Eragon frowned. "What are you saying?"

Saphira appeared to hesitate. "Only that all plans must be revisited at least once. Do not be surprised when your own requires some adjustments. I can see what they may be, but do not know enough to tell you outright. You need to learn how to think on your feet if you're to lead this merry band of squabbling steel-stick-wielders."

"We're a little away from that, but thank you. Be safe."

"And you, little one."

Eragon felt the connection sever. It would be less painful this way.

"Are you ready?" Harry repeated, raising his eyebrows.

Eragon rolled his eyes. "Yes."

"Then grab my arm and take a deep breath. This is going to feel a little strange."

Eragon did so. "I hope you have a plan to convince the townspeople you don't want to kill them."

"Why would they ever get that impression?" Harry asked innocently.

"You fired a patronus at a group of them last time!"

Harry shrugged nonchalantly. "I'll think of something." Now, let me see my destination.

He focused firmly upon Carvahall, wanting to make sure nothing would prevent him from finally accomplishing this feat. With a rush of determination and a supreme feeling of deliberation, Harry reached for the magic he would need and turned into darkness, compressed by an air-sucking tube of discomfort and leaving the sound of a whip-crack in his wake.

The two Riders 'landed' in the Spine just short of Carvahall. Harry felt a little dizzy, having forgotten how disorientating apparition could be, while Eragon tripped and sprawled on the ground. He swore and quickly jumped to his feet, wincing.

"That, was unpleasant."

"Yes, it was," Harry grimaced. A sudden whiff of smoke reached him, and he quickly employed a bubblehead charm for the pair of them, despite Eragon's protestations.

"What's this for?"

"The smoke. If they've set the forest on fire we could get caught in the middle. One deep breath and you're dead without this," Harry said ominously.

Eragon took one nevertheless, discovering that the charm would allow a steady stream of fresh air to reach his face without constraint. "Huh. Your people truly know some useful spells."

"As do yours," Harry muttered in a distracted tone. He poured a few drops of water on his palm, forming a small pool, before proceeding to scry Roran. He saw that both Roran and Katrina were in their earlier position, overlooking the village. The fire must have caught their attention.

"That idiot," Eragon whispered furiously, figuring the same. "He should have stayed in cover."

"He's like you – too curious for his own good."

"Oh, I'm sorry, Mr Let's-touch-the-cursed-goblet."

Harry winced. "That was low. Besides, it was more like a pot than anything."

"I'll make sure to remember for next time."

An audible crack silenced both of them and led to swords being drawn. Both were pointed in the direction the sound had come from, but a quick revealing charm said it had been no more than a hare. Harry sheathed Aiedail. Taking on a serious visage, he crouched and shuffled to the edge of the tree-line, passing through a significant amount of undergrowth. Eragon quickly joined him, before gasping and muttering a few choice curses.

"I guess it's not just the forest," Harry whispered.

His apparition had brought them closer to Eragon's old farm than the centre of the village, giving them a clear view of Palancar Valley. It was impossible to predict, but at least two-thirds of that area was now engulfed by flames, including farms scattered in every direction the eye could see. Eragon spotted a small squad of soldiers forcing a frightened family into the back of a rough wagon and made to help them, but Harry stalled him.

"What are you doing?" Eragon hissed.

"Think about this, Eragon," Harry said gently. "We can't take those soldiers now. If we do the Ra'zac will be alerted to our presence. I could silence the area and even put up wards, but I can bet they've a schedule worked out for the patrols in case someone attempted a move like this. If they don't report we're in trouble."

Eragon was silent for a moment, then snapped his fingers. "We can steal their uniforms."

Harry grimaced. "Not a bad thought, but it wouldn't work. If there's a magician searching each returning patrol just in case of that possibility..."

"The game's up," Eragon sighed, looking deflated. "They've probably got the townspeople rounded up as hostages, anyway. We need to find Roran before we can rescue them."

"We need a plan," Harry said, musing over the available courses of action. "If one of us manages to draw the soldiers away-"

"Won't work," Eragon said immediately, shaking his head. "The Ra'zac would start killing people as soon as it realised what we were doing. Maybe... if we were to wait for the cover of night."

"It can see in the dark," Harry reminded him. "Besides, I doubt its patience will last that long. If the patrols don't find Roran by then you can bet your life they'll start killing hostages."

"Maybe a mock surrender-"

"Not a chance you'll get close enough to kill it, and even if you did, the soldiers might not stop." Harry hesitated. "There is one possibility."

Eragon frowned, then his eyes widened in shock. "Not a chance."

"They won't kill him," Harry said, attempting to placate his friend. "They'll lead him out of the town and then..."

"Then what?" Eragon demanded, knowing he had also reached the same conclusion.

"Then they'll torch it for not revealing his whereabouts. Damn it!"

Eragon turned to look back at the wagon for a few moments. "I think we'd be best sneaking into the village and freeing the hostages, before attacking directly. If we have an escape plan set in motion you can torch everything, including the soldiers."

Harry stared at him, dumbfounded.

Eragon grimaced. "Saphira told me we may have to change our plan, and I think I know why. Even if we rescue Carvahall, what do you think will happen when the king learns Roran has managed to escape and that the Ra'zac is dead?"

"He'll attack again," Harry muttered.

"Forget the damned buildings; he'll burn the people down! We have to get them out of here," Eragon said. "It's the only way. We need the cover of night."

"And where can we take them?" Harry asked, sighing. "I can barely manage to take more than two people with me at a time! There are hundreds down there! Even multiple trips would take days, and by that time-"

"You misunderstand," Eragon said quietly. "We have to lead them out. We can report our progress to Brom and carry on from there, but I'm not leaving those people here to die."

Harry gazed at Eragon intently for a few moments, before slowly nodding. "Neither am I. Despite our troubles, those people took me in as one of their own for a time. I would still be there, but for that ass Sloan and the Ra'zac. We'll get them out. Don't worry. Saphira can help protect the Varden, and they have hundreds of soldiers. The villagers don't."

"Ah, yes. What about Sloan?" Eragon inquired.

"The Ra'zac has him," Harry said, wincing as he remembered the torture.

"Is he still alive?"

"For now." Thinking quickly, Harry counted the time since he had seen Murtagh and put it at thirty minutes. "Eragon, we can't afford to wait. I have another purpose for coming here, and it needs dealt with before we can lead the townspeople somewhere safe."

Eragon raised an eyebrow. "Do tell."

Harry quickly did so.

Eragon's mouth was agape. "Harry... this is a massive gamble. If it isn't here, then..."

"I know," Harry said, frustrated. "But it has to be. The properties of his wounds were similar. If we can find it..."

"You're just assuming the Ra'zac carries a magical balm to treat Seithr Oil burns," Eragon said sceptically. "Why it would, I have no idea."

"Because the king wouldn't want any valuable prisoners killed!" Harry exclaimed. "But... don't take this the wrong way, Garrow wasn't valuable to him, or to those bastards. If it wanted to torture Roran the king would ensure there are ways to prevent him from dying, if not from being incapacitated."

"And you think it'll just hand that ointment over?" Eragon asked incredulously.

"Obviously not. I'm going to kill it first."

"Get in line."

Harry snorted. "I'd apparate us directly into the town, but I'm not sure how many trips I can manage without passing out."

Eragon frowned. "Didn't Brom give you some of Aren's energy?"

"You know both types of magic aren't linked. In this case I still feel dizzy, so I won't risk splinching either of us."

"Splinching?"

"If my concentration is off we might disapparate, but leave a part or two behind," Harry said distastefully.

Eragon thought for a moment, then spluttered in understanding. "That's... horrific."

"Quite."

Employing as much stealth as possible, Harry followed Eragon's lead as the pair of Riders trailed the marauding soldiers back towards Carvahall. Despite having spent time in the valley, the fact still remained that Eragon had lived here most of his life, and knew the surrounding area much better than almost anybody. As it was, they were able to sidestep any potential hazards with rudimentary ease, particularly the raging fires that continued to burn away at the heart of the Spine nearby. On the way both communicated through their mental link, devising strategies and back-up plans for freeing the villagers and subduing the soldiers nearby. The soldiers had left the farms closer to the town free of the fires for now, so as to not put themselves in harm's way.

It was also important to steer clear of the Ra'zac's tent for the time being, although Harry would have bet his last crown it would be patrolling come night-time. It seemed to bear a particular affinity for smelling out its prey, and Harry knew damn well it would recognise him after what happened in Teirm. If he was spotted it would probably conclude with a battle royale, and with the villagers in danger that was simply not an option. It wasn't ideal, but with a combination of confounding, stunning and compulsion charms they could carve a path straight through the soldiers cleanly enough, provided they weren't spotted.

For that reason, Harry cast a pair of disillusionment charms over the both of them. Suitably hidden, they carefully meandered around a preliminary checkpoint, where four guards with spears and pikes were stationed beside a makeshift wooden barricade. Harry saw that several bore wounds, and could only surmise the townspeople had struggled, at least for a little while before being overpowered. Hopefully they were busy plotting a more elaborate defensive scheme, and if so, he knew exactly the person they would go to first.

Roran was hiding in Horst's forge. Once the soldiers began to set light to the forest he considered there to be no other option. Even the clearing they had chosen to stay in was not safe from the towering blaze. Katrina was with him, both having snuck back into town once dark had fallen only an hour previous. The route was well-guarded, but a little knowledge went far in any terse situation, and he knew Carvahall like the back of his hand.

Horst agreed to hide the pair, knowing full well what it would mean to his own life if they were caught. Having heard what had happened to Sloan from the rumour-mill working overtime – Birgit had apparently heard the screams when fetching a pail of water from the town well – Roran had convinced the learned blacksmith to gather some of the men most inclined to fight, and here they stood, scrunched together around a bared wooden bench. There was a map of the town sitting atop the surface, complete with markings of where the soldiers were positioned and where they had herded many of the townspeople to use as bargaining chips.

"We're too late," Horst declared amicably. "The creature gave a deadline of dawn for your retrieval. If you're not delivered personally by that time every single one of those hostages is as good as dead. We're only free because we've been forced to 'help' with the search parties."

Roran nodded, face inclined with grave concern. "I understand. And I won't let anyone else take the punishment for me, but we have a problem. The Ra'zac is ruthless. Even if I turn myself over there's nothing to stop it executing every bystander in the town for wanton bloodlust. If that happens no one will escape their fate."

There were some mumblings at this declaration. Many knew his words were true, but that hardly made them any easier to bear. These were simple farmers and merchants for the most part; armed with little but pitchforks, torches and sharpened spades they couldn't hope to match the brute force of Galbatorix's troops in the village. If they fought there was a real chance of death, yet if they did not that seemed to become nothing short of certain. Not one person in that room believed they would be spared if Roran was handed over. Not now. Sloan's treatment had been quite the blunder on behalf of their horrific enemy, as now they knew the lengths to which it would go in pursuit of its quarry.

There was a strained silence. Some of the men present – and indeed, women, as there was no safety to be had for anyone if the Empire won, regardless of gender – exchanged significant glances. One by one, they nodded in quiet acknowledgement.

"I guess that's it," Horst said quietly. "We're fighting."

"May the gods watch over us," Albriech muttered. Horst was allowing his two sons to fight, a surprising move to many as it would leave him childless if both died, at least until Elain give birth.

"Do we go now?" Quimby asked.

"No," Roran said firmly. "We need a plan if we're to take these soldiers. I recommend breaking into groups and picking them off from behind. If we lure them around the houses we can easily subdue them quickly, silently and efficiently."

"Trickery," Gedric scoffed. He was dispassionate regarding subterfuge, a belief reinforced when someone had stolen his leather hides several months ago.

"It's trickery or be killed," Roran snapped. "We're not fighting based on numbers or experience. We can't. It has to be using our knowledge of the town, or we're all dead."

Gedric swallowed nervously, and nodded in reluctant acceptance.

"Is there any real chance of relief from nearby towns like Therinsford? It's possible they've suffered the same fate and have families on the run," Albriech said.

"Not a chance," Horst told his son firmly. "If the Ra'zac attacked another town we can assume its inhabitants have been slaughtered. They didn't have the value of time that we do, brief as it may be."

"Besides, if anyone did survive a potential assault they would never follow their attackers," Roran added. "Especially not if they had a family to flee with. No, we're on our own."

"Damn it," Albriech muttered, fearful. "How about Surda or the Varden? Surely they have wind of what's happening up north."

"The Varden could be five hundred leagues or more from here, for all we know," Horst grumbled. "I doubt they're going to risk giving away their location by marching north to help the likes of us, not when they have bigger things to worry about. Even if they did march to our aid, they would never make it in time. And Surda doesn't directly oppose the king, in any case."

Roran sighed with aggravation. "This is butting heads and words, and nothing more. Why are we all hiding from the obvious truth staring us in the face? Even if we beat these soldiers back more will come. Too many to fight. We have to take our families and get the hell out of here. Now."

"And where would we go?" Morn asked, shocked. "Many of us depend on the town to survive. We can't take our livelihoods with us. We'd be dead in a fortnight on our own wares!"

"Then we don't rely on our own wares!" Roran exclaimed. "We pool our resources, form a convoy and flee! It's a risk, sure-"

"An unnecessary risk," Quimby declared, to some calls of agreement. "Therinsford or some other town will take us in."

"They don't have the spare room. And if they did, we'd be killing them as well. Not that there's any guarantee none of these towns have been razed already," Roran said.

"If we give the townspeople the choice-"

"You have no choice."

All heads turned at the emergence of a new voice, one Roran had not heard in many moons. He stiffened, and his heart seemed to pause for a split second, before accelerating at a rapid pace. He slowly looked towards the entrance to the forge, and there he found both his long-lost cousin and newfound friend standing together, looking for all the world as though they had seen the hellish effects of war and suffered more than any could dare imagine. Both were fraught with cuts, gashes and bruises, some evidently healed and others not, and both bore expressions that were contemplative in nature, but guarded and hidden in plain sight.

"You!" Quimby shouted, eyes wide. "You have a nerve coming back here!"

Roran punched the older man on the arm, hard, drawing a pained exclamation.

"Would you kindly shut up?" Roran demanded, furious. "Do you want to draw the soldiers onto us?"

"Oh, no worries there," Harry deadpanned. "I've already put a silencing ward around the entire room. Let them vent as much as they want. No one outside can hear what's being said."

There was silence for a moment, before his invitation paved the way for an explosion of angry shouting and hurling of insults from several people all at once. Some brandished their makeshift weapons in a threatening way. Horst groaned, burying his head in his hands, whilst Harry and Eragon stood there, smirking and scoffing in tandem.

"-murderer!"

"Oh, please. As if I haven't heard that one before," Harry said with a roll of his eyes.

"-traitor!"

"Same again. Be more creative, why don't you?"

"-scum-riddled goat-son!"

Harry frowned. "That's a new one."

"SHUT UP!" Horst roared.

The clamour abated after a minute or two, and many of the Carvahallans had the good grace to look flustered, embarrassed even, in some cases. Roran was mightily impressed that neither of his two friends had risen to the bait, and seemed to be taking the whole scenario in their stride. He was worried about how... different Eragon seemed. His eyes were sunken, far-off, as his expression sharp. Roran knew all too well that his cousin was a new man, but for better or worse, he could not yet tell.

"I think I speak for most of us," Horst said, glaring daggers at Quimby, "when I say it's good to see you two again and I trust you're well."

"That depends on how you define 'well'. I'm about ready to keel over," Harry said, scratching his head.

"The sooner the better," Quimby muttered.

"Shut up!" Horst shouted instantly.

Quimby tutted, but looked away.

"Look, if it's your time of the month I can always come back," Harry said, pointing his thumb at the door behind him.

"How dare-"

"Quimby, I'm warning you: not another word," Horst growled.

"But he just-"

"Stop provoking him!"

With a growl of frustration Roran swung his hammer at one of the wooden beams beside him, spurring a dull thunk that caught everyone's attention.

"All of you can stop talking. No more acting like children. No more squabbling. No more insults and no more procrastinating. We need a plan. Now."

"That's true," Harry nodded. "And if anyone does decide to speak out of turn again they're going to see just what I can do with this wand. And believe me, I'm not referring to magic."

"On a different note, it's good to see you all again," Eragon said. "Really, it is. Just don't be surprised that I'm not going around the room to embrace anyone yet. I know you distrust us, probably for good reason, and we have more pressing matters at hand."

"Yes, we do. But I think we all need to know where you two have been-"

"Brom helped us escape with the dragon that hatched for Eragon, known as Saphira. We decided to hunt the Ra'zac, before losing their trail. I killed one in Teirm by mistake when I was fighting a Shade. Along the way we decided there was a need to join the Varden, kill the king and, you know, free the land. Before that happened I helped lead a heist of Urû'baen, whereby we stole the last two remaining dragon eggs in existence, one of which hatched for me a short time later. His name is Arucane. Sometime after reaching the Varden's hideout (you'll understand if I don't say where that is – I don't trust half of you as far as I could throw you) the king sent an army to attack us. We destroyed it, killed the Shade in the process and then realised the Varden needed to evacuate. At the same time I had a vision of what was happening here, so we used magic to travel the substantial distance and help you people escape, despite your distrust of us still existing."

They say silence is golden. They also say, on occasion, that Tywin Lannister shit gold. If, at that moment, the man had existed in the world of Alagaësia and was responsible for this golden silence, there is no doubt he would have been found dead in an incessant pool of his own valuable excretion.

Why did Petunia ever let Dudley read those books? Harry mused. Oh, well.

Harry was forced to poke Quimby in the ribs with his wand when he started laughing hysterically, causing the man to seethe in anger.

"I warned you," Harry shrugged.

"Err... Eragon, what's your version of events?" Horst half-pleaded, completely lost for words.

"The exact same, though I would add that our dragons are not here with us today. Those of you familiar with the tales of the Riders will know of the Gëdway Ignasia, which we can both present to you as proof of this story. Furthermore... we're willing to provide you with a short magical demonstration if it becomes necessary."

"Emphasis on the 'short'," Harry added. "We're not long from that battle I mentioned earlier."

"What the hell is your problem?" Eragon asked mentally, sounding nonplussed. "You've regressed into a child in the space of ten minutes."

"What can I say? Arseholes like Quimby tend to bring out the worst in me."

"Well, can you please knock it off? We need to get these people out of here and the last thing we need is a declarative duel."

"Sure thing, boss."

"Need I remind you of your rush to find that balm for Murtagh?"

"Relax. These people need to blow off steam before we can help each other. That's all I'm doing. You don't think I just spewed that story out to frighten the daylights out of them, do you?"

"Err..."

"Don't answer that."

"Can Murtagh afford to wait?"

"In his condition a day might mean life or death, but half an hour won't change a thing. I know I'm being immature, but I'm not about to show these people my more serious side just yet. And you can forgive me on both of those counts – they tried to kill me last time, remember."

Eragon conceded that point with somewhat good grace. "But if we don't earn their respect-"

"We'll earn that when we help them escape."

"Fine. Just try to be the better man for the nonce, would you?"

Harry shifted uncomfortably. "You're right. I'm sorry."

"Was that what I think it was?" Roran asked with an air of unease.

"It was. Magicians can communicate through their minds alone," Eragon said.

Eragon watched as the men and women he had grown up with descended into a small series of individual verbal arguments. Nothing was too heated for a cause of worry, but it was still a great shame. He had hoped the lot of them would see reason when it presented itself upon a silver platter, but that was not proving the case. Perhaps a little more insight was required.

"How have things gone in our absence?" he asked.

"Not too badly," Horst said. "After Garrow... well, after you left, things returned as close to normal as they might, besides the vicious rumour mill."

"Forget rumours," Harry said. "We're here to provide you with facts and a chance to escape with your lives, if you still want them. Regardless of whether you believe our story, you know leaving this town is a downright necessity now. The Imperials have been burning villages up and down the great plains for weeks on-end now."

Horst's eyes bugged out. "My gods! We thought the Urgals were responsible for that destruction!"

"They are," Eragon said. "Galbatorix used his Shade to ensnare an army of Kull, and they attacked the Varden only a short while ago. The army Harry mentioned certainly belonged to the king, but it was not one of humankind. They're foul beasts in their entirety, and I would see them all destroyed."

His words regarding the fate of other villages stilled any other discussion in the room, and now many of the townspeople stood with folded arms, staring at the ground or at the two Riders with a mixture of apathy and desperation colouring their eyes.

"Listen," Harry began, "there's no doubt that you have cause to be angry. You have no reason to trust me, and you may even want to kill me. But you have to trust Eragon, of all people. You knew him as a child, and now as a man. Did he not hunt for the village when supplies were running short, risking his own life in hazardous conditions? Did he not help with the labour around the town when required? And didn't he flee his own home in order to protect each and every one of you? If you can answer each of those questions with a 'yes', then you will know we're here to help. If you can't... I'm afraid you might be so blinded by fear you can't recognise reason when it's really the only clear explanation."

"Forget distrust," Quimby whispered, and Harry knew they had won. "What can we do?"

"We can fight," Horst said in his gruff tones. "I have a family, including a child on the way, and I will not let the Empire take them. I believe our friends here, and they are friends. If the soldiers are destroying towns and farms on the king's orders, we have no choice but to run. They'll only come back in greater numbers. For too long has Galbatorix presided himself above us. For too long has he left us to rot in the wilderness. No longer! We fight for our freedom!"

Harry nodded in appreciation as Horst's words were greeted by rapt clamours. It was always fortuitous when you had people who knew how to play to a crowd.

"Horst, pass me that map, would you? Let's get started."

In Carvahall, besieged by the foul Ra'zac and his pet soldiers, night had truly fallen. There was no sound in the entire town, save for the chirping of crickets and clinking of armoured patrols marching through the cobbled streets. Four guards patrolled the area around the town well, the centre of Carvahall, in separate groups of two.

"A still night?" a subordinate asked his commander, as both groups came together.

The commander grunted. "I don't like it. They usually make some defiant ruckus."

"Yes, sir. Although I prefer it-"

The soldier let out a grunt as his heart was wrenched from its main arteries, and he soon bled to death internally. The commander couldn't react, for he was struck between the eyes by a well-aimed arrow, and fell to the ground without so much as a gasp of shock.

One of the two remaining spun around, brandishing his spear, and caught an arrow in the throat for his trouble. He collapsed heavily, and died with wide eyes as his lungs drowned in their own blood. That settled it for the most intelligent soldier, clearly, who turned tail and try to run, about to cry for help. He never took more than a step, as a flash of green light illuminated his plates of steel in the darkness, and his torso split open with a loud crack, splattering the street below him with guts and entrails. He raised a trembling hand to the fist-sized hole next to his heart, and died instantly.

That all happened in a span no longer than eight seconds, owing to the accuracy of Eragon's archery skills and Harry's proficiency with spell-work.

"All right, move up," Harry said quietly, signalling.

As silently as possible with heavy boots, Horst and the ensemble of village militia scurried past the Riders, springing their plan into action. For his part, Horst stared at the dead for a few seconds, before shaking his head in disbelief.

"I see you were telling the truth after all," he stated blankly.

"You mean you didn't believe us?" Harry asked, grinning.

Horst chuckled and winked at the pair of them. "You'll never know."

Eragon didn't answer. He was too busy trying not to throw up, for he had just killed two men with the ease of effortlessness. It was not the first time, as he fought soldiers in Teirm, but then it had not been so simplistic as now. Harry gave him a pat on the shoulder.

"Don't worry. You'll be okay. It sickens me too. Just walk it off."

Eragon gave a weak smile, and dropped the visage quickly. "Let's go."

Harry gave Horst a parting wish of luck, and followed Eragon around to the western side of Carvahall. They encountered no opposition, as the main contingent of Imp forces was occupying the southern barricades. This was their plan. The patrols in the centre had to be disabled as soon as the shift changed, which would give them half an hour before a report was due to the company commander. This was the only window of opportunity they had to free the remaining villagers, and escort them to the edge of the Spine, out of sight. Roran and Horst would be taking care of that, however, as those two were more skilled fighters than any of the other townspeople, and Eragon and Harry had a different task to perform.

Finding what they were looking for, Harry cast the magic and vacated the area, meeting Eragon in the centre.

"If only you could cast that... 'locomotor' spell again," Eragon observed.

"It can only be used on inanimate objects," Harry said. "The soldiers would get suspicious if their swords started to float before their very eyes, and those are the only real weapons in the entire village."

"So, kill half of them and then use it?"

Harry grinned. "If I'm not exhausted by then. Come on."

Climbing the rooftops was a relatively easy task with their agility, so that was considered the best option for such great marksmen. Still, care was needed when finding the best possible spot, as one slip-up (literally, perhaps) could end disastrously.

Nearby, Roran led Katrina and the others to the designated safe-spot, where they were instructed to remain until relieved, or an hour had passed, in which case they were to flee for Therinsford alone. Roran was uneasy, having just killed for the first time. The guards hadn't provided any resistance. They were taken by surprise. He knew that Horst was in a similar mind at the moment.

"Be careful," Katrina said gently, kissing him, and his qualms were forgotten.

Would I do it again, for her? Always.

Roran responded in turn, and broke from her reluctantly. "I will. I have too many questions for my cousin to die now."

"And you better share the answers with me," she half-joked.

"Of course I will," Roran smiled. "How could I resist that-"

Horst coughed.

"I'd better go," Roran said.

"Yes, quite," Horst grumbled, grabbing him by the arm and leading him away. "Come on."

Roran waved at Katrina, before shrugging out of the blacksmith's grip and walking next to him; or rather, hunching. They got into position, aware of other groups doing the same nearby. This wasn't going to be easy, even with Harry and Eragon at their side. They had no real weapons. Most of the men were armed with canes and pieces of glass. They carried thick dinner plates as shields, and had no armour to speak of.

Standing against a wall, Roran chanced a peek around the corner, where he spotted the soldiers laughing merrily around several makeshift fires. Many stood, however, and patrolled the area around the Ra'zac's tent. Outside that, Sloan was strung up.

Or what was left of him.

"Do you see what they've nailed him up with?" Horst muttered from beside his ear, causing him to blink in surprise.

Roran looked, and shuddered. His palms had been stuck to a large wooden beam by his own rib-bones, sharpened to pierce skin as easily as butter. From the distance it was hard to tell, but Roran would have betted the butcher was missing both eyes, if the rivers of blood running from the lidless sockets were anything to go by. Wanting to see no more, he turned his head away, covering it once again.

"Do you still feel guiltless?" he asked Horst, the demand without energy.

"For that? No. He doesn't deserve it. But he's been a blight on our town for years, so I don't feel guilty for handing him over. I'm not the monster who tortured and depraved him."

Roran was unwilling to discuss the point any further, so he let it become moot. Killing these bastards and escaping was all that mattered now. If their plan had gone according to script, the soldiers would be encircled by groups of villagers and their own barricades, meaning that escape was impossible.

"Time to rise up," he said with determination, gripping his hammer tightly and remembering the old story.

Beside him, Eragon nocked an arrow. The two of them were crouched. As soon as they stood, every target below would be in range, and the ruse would be up.

"The Ra'zac is a terrible commander," Harry muttered. "Keeping all its forces grouped up? What folly."

"It didn't count on us," Eragon said with strength of mind. "And I'm not complaining."

Harry nodded. "True. Aim for the camp-fire. It should cause a knock-on explosion. I'll get the tent."

"Watch you don't hit Sloan."

"Screw Sloan," Harry muttered, and that was that. "Good luck, my friend."

"Let's send them to hell."

One deep breath later, and they rose together, into the night and fires of death and destruction once again.

"Brisingr!"

"Confringo!"

Eragon's arrow, lit an eerie sapphire, hit its mark well. The campfire was doused with magical energy, and an additional helping of fire spread over such a small area was simply terrific. A blue explosion was the result, engulfing no fewer than four soldiers in one, rip-roaring torrent of flame. Their screams haunted the night-air.

Harry's jet of green light did not perforate the tent as he had hoped, but exploded on impact, setting the entire structure alight. Soldiers all around began to shout in confusion as the blackness was illuminated for all to see. Eragon's fire began to spread, and many hurried to escape its roaring bulk. Nearby, the Ra'zac burst from the tent, screaming in fury as its cloak caught fire. It quickly ripped half away and dropped it, before running into the darkness. Their magic prevented it from escaping, however, as all routes away had been warded as a contingency plan for such emergencies.

The Ra'zac howled, and the soldiers began to fire arrows. Before ducking, Harry fired a jet of sparks into the sky, which was the signal Roran had been waiting for. The soldiers, busy firing on the two above them, missed the forty on the ground. In every direction villagers poured into the area, roaring in tandem. As guards turned in one direction to repel an assault, they were attacked by the emergence of another group from behind, both sides, and above, as Eragon began to fire arrows once again.

Drawing his sword and pocketing the wand in his hand, Harry jumped off the roof and landed stiffly, before being forced to immediately react; two opponents attacked him together, one swinging high and one thrusting for his chest with a spear. In one movement, Harry parried the sweeping blow away and sidestepped the lunge. Almost instantly, the guard holding a sword struck again, forcing him backwards with a succession of blows. The spearman quickly found his balance, and then rejoined his companion in attacking Harry's left flank. They pushed him towards a house nearby, until his back was almost flat against the surface.

Smirking in believed victory, the spearman thrust directly for his face. At the last possible second, however, Harry ducked and rolled to the left. He ended the manoeuvre with an attack of his own. Coupled with the spin from his roll, his slice nicked the aggressor's neck, enough to split the skin wide open. Harry had hit an artery, and now one of his enemies convulsed, attempting to halt the rapid flow of blood with his own hands, but ultimately failing in his efforts.

The swordsman gave him no time to reflect on the win, charging him with renewed grit. It was almost too easy. Harry knocked his sword off-balance by deflecting his blow with the flat side of his blade, and then cast the soldier's arm off. Not looking to prolong his suffering – for he would die with such an injury – he quickly finished the duel by driving Aiedail through his chest, ending the endless screams of pain.

Roran proved himself to be a ferocious fighter, more concerned with attacking than defending. He roared almost constantly in battle, swinging his hammer with such force that it crushed bone and lacerated skin with appalling ease. One particularly horrific attack wrung a soldier's jaw around almost ninety degrees, shattering the bone and displacing his spine. He was dead before he hit the ground. But Roran had something, someone, to fight for, and he was damned if he'd ever give up. Horst and the others nearby just stayed out of his arm's reach as he attacked, dispatching those he was unable to finish, and protecting his sides. They had family to kill for too, but did not have the courtesy of fighting for revenge.

Suddenly, the Ra'zac jumped from its hiding place nearby and ran at him, screaming as it brandished a bloody dagger. Roran couldn't react in time. The Ra'zac swung for his head...

Harry saw it, having searched for several minutes, and banished it through a door nearby. The foul creature clattered through the wood, splintering it with great force. Harry felt his supersensory charm activate before Roran shouted a warning, and spun, parrying an attack with a flash of sparks. He made to attack, but was beaten to the punch when Zar'roc burst through the soldier's slightly opened mouth. Harry grimaced in distaste as Eragon withdrew the blade. He stepped back before the body could collide with his legs.

"Harry, the ointment!"

Harry's heart fluttered, and he quickly withdrew his wand, before weaving it in a complex pattern and extinguishing the fires around him.

"Eragon, get the Ra'zac."

The tent had been smouldered. Almost praying what he wanted was still secure, he thrust the tent open, and nearly lost his stomach. The smell was revolting; a mixture of human flesh, faeces and vomit lay over the entire place like a rotting cloud of disease. Covering his mouth and nose with a piece of cloth, he searched for the oil and its balm... he hoped. There were mounds of stolen trinkets nearby, including an ornate chest. Hoping wondrously, he thrust it open and almost laughed in relief. Four separate bottles lay inside, three holding the illusive substance he recognised immediately as Seithr Oil, and the other holding a white ointment-like liquid. He hurriedly shrank all four and placed them in the expanded bag on his belt.

Outside, Roran carefully approached the door. The Ra'zac still lay there in a crumpled heap, apparently unconscious.

"Be careful," Horst said, standing by his side. Around them, the last vestiges of resistance had been wiped out. No soldiers remained. All in all, the villagers had suffered seven deaths and four wounded, but had won the battle.

"It's over," Eragon spat, glaring at the creature lying before them. "I know you're still there, so please stop trying to take us for fools. Get up, and maybe I'll give you a quick death."

There was nothing for a moment, before a slow, venomous hissing noise began to emanate from the creature. Before long, it transcended into a horrible, cackling laugh. With that, the Ra'zac drew itself up, staring at Eragon past a purple beak-like orifice and beetled eyes.

"You ssshall lossse," it hissed. "My lord will find the name, oh yesss, indeed..."

"What name?" Eragon demanded.

"The name!" it shouted, causing him to grimace. "You!"

Harry stopped beside Eragon and glared down at the abomination before him with a mixture of disgust and hatred. He wanted nothing more than to behead the bastard for all it had done, but felt compelled to hear it speak. It may be desperate, but some information could be gained.

"What?" Harry demanded, glaring.

"You are ourssss!"

"'Ours'? It may have escaped your notice, but your friend is dead," Harry said with satisfaction.

"No, you are ourssss!"

All at once, a dragon roared above, and both Eragon and Harry cast their eyes skyward. Two massive creatures hovered there, and they bore a striking resemblance in colour to-

"You, what are they?" Harry demanded, looking down.

As he did, the Ra'zac took advantage of the confusion to tackle him. It caught him in the chest with the full force of its body, which sent him heaving. Harry tried to react, but found his wand yanked out of his hand as the creature sliced his arm open deeply, damaging the nerves. Eragon swung for its head with Zar'roc, but it was too fast in an enclosed space, and ducked, before leaping high over the top of him.

They were stronger at night, Harry now remembered Brom's warning.

Laughing manically, the Ra'zac landed.

"We are endlessss," it hissed.

Before holding Harry's wand high in the air, and snapping it in half.

Harry's throat seemed to constrict. His eyes were deceiving him, surely. This couldn't be happening. He hadn't just lost his wand, the source of his additional strength in fighting Galbatorix and the Empire. He was seeing things. There could be no other explanation. Without even knowing it, he reached out his hand and formed a tight fist, determined to kill the unnatural beast before him.

"AAARRGHHHH! BRISINGR!" he roared, pouring all of his will into the spell. The Ra'zac screamed as fire caught it, and then lost its voice as green pillars of flame burst from its chest and head, roasting it from the inside-out. It cast one last look at Harry, where he could have sworn he saw it smile, and then exploded in a shower of blood and bone.

Above, the great creatures roared in anger, but knew they could not defeat such opponents alone. They turned and fled south, flying back to their lair. Until their master called both to him, they would hide.

"It can't be," Harry whispered, holding the halves of his holly wand gently. Blinking back tears, he clenched his fists around them and bowed his head. His wand, which had saved him on countless occasions, was gone. And he had no Elder Wand with which to repair it this time. It was simply gone. Gone forever. Absent-mindedly, he replaced the pieces in his pouch, and rose to his feet.

"I'm sorry," Eragon said softly.

"Forget about it," Harry said, shaking his head. "Roran, Horst, are the civilians safe?"

Roran nodded. "They're hiding in The Spine."

"Then let's fetch them and get the hell out of here," Harry said. "We're going north east."

Roran nodded, and quickly ran off to find Katrina.

"I'll see to Sloan," Eragon said. He almost glided over to the butcher, feeling his heart pounding. He picked his head up slightly, before dropping it again, where it hung low of its own accord. It was not from Harry's spell, but: "he's dead."

Harry could not speak for a while after Roran left. He was too absorbed in his failure, his inability to act as he had wished. True, they had saved lives, but several had died and now one more could very well be lost because of his negligence.

"I'm so sorry, Murtagh," he whispered.