Chapter Twenty Five – Lurking Strategists

As he sat upon his newly-constructed throne, Galbatorix was the picture of contention, but that was merely a visual deception. On the inside, the king was frustrated beyond belief, bad news for the servants who had been assigned to duty in the throne room that day.

"Take those bodies away," Galbatorix commanded, "and bring me Tarquintus."

The captain of the guard nodded, saluted and departed without a word, shaking on the inside. Tarquintus was a soldier, recently granted the status of general by the king himself after swearing oaths of fealty upon the threat of death. Unlike that traitor Nyos, however, he was bound by these oaths, as the king was not stupid enough to forget. Not that Durza had been stupid. He had merely been negligent; such was his awe of the feeble amount of power he had contracted.

And now he's dead, the king scoffed. Not that I care, but how he managed to lose in battle to a band of savages is truly astonishing. Perhaps it's more to the good that he's gone. I would have killed him myself eventually.

"Your grace, I am yours to command," Tarquintus said, walking to the foot of Galbatorix's throne and kneeling. A tall man, well-built, with close-cropped brown hair turning grey. His face was still, not betraying any emotion, and he carried himself with grace. "Your wish is my duty, and-"

"Oh, do skip the pleasantries," Galbatorix said, bored. "Come, my friend, rise; what word have you received from our spies within the Varden's ranks?"

"The spies have reported Brom is moving the Varden in its whole to Du Weldenvarden," Tarquintus said, rising to his feet. "Captain Saleera has prepared a strike force, and will be on them within two days, although Saleera may decide to infiltrate the camp beforehand. Do you wish to attack?"

"How many men?"

"As per your instructions, two hundred."

"Good. We need the brunt of our forces to remain here, so as to prepare for war with the elves... and then the east," Galbatorix mused. A surprise attack would damage morale amongst the rebellion, and he might just get his hands upon a few valuable hostages. Brom was a fool if he thought his people were safe, although he most likely didn't at that. "Have a message relayed to the spies – they are not to compromise their position. They will fight among the Varden and retain their standing as loyal warriors, in order to feed us information once they reach the elves."

"Very good, my lord." Tarquintus shifted, curious about the other part of what the king had said.

"What is it?" Galbatorix asked, not missing the action.

"I... forgive me, my lord, but war with the east? I thought they were supposed to be our allies?"

"You're a smart man, general. Can you not work this out?"

"...I could only guess at Your Grace's intent, but I think you have planned this for some time, sire," the general said, feeling nervous now. One wrong step could see him dead in an instant.

"Correct. I never planned to share power. Why would I? I am divine, am I not?"

"Of course, sire!"

"And once I have my Riders to command, the Eastern Empire will be crushed," Galbatorix said with determination. "They harbour a fear of the Riders, believing that the old order is still in control of Alagaësia, which is why they've never attacked before. Technically, I have protected this land from disaster, even while the Varden call me tyrant. The irony is palpable."

"They're fools," came the confident reply. "You know what's best for us all, my lord."

Oh, joy to the pompous suck-ups of the Empire. Galbatorix could see through them in an instant. It was a good thing he received an inane pleasure from having his feet kissed – metaphorically, of course; he would never allow those filthy vermin to touch him – or he might have snapped a long time ago and started killing everybody in sight, simply to pass the time. In truth, he hated niceties, preferring instead the subtle art of vicious politics, where he could crush opponents with cunning and guile. It was immensely satisfying to outthink a thinker, especially one well versed in the subject of power.

"Is our guest still alive?"

"No, my lord. He died sometime in the night and was disposed of this morning."

"Good. His screams were beginning to irritate me. All twelve Canderin magicians are now dead, minus a soul each. I'm sure the glorious King Alder would be pissing his pants if he could only see their worthless husks."

Tarquintus paled. He knew the result of that little experiment, unlike most people. Even the Shade had almost been killed from the effort, although he had somehow survived. It was certainly a profound accomplishment in the long history of magic, but a dark and evil one nonetheless. And Tarquintus was a mere soldier. Magic unnerved him greatly. To bring back the dead...

"Y-yes, sir," he said, shuddering. Unthinkable. Absolutely detestable and unthinkable.

"He has finally regained full strength as a result, and will be ready for battle within the month. See to it," he ordered.

"Yes, my king. Will I prep the army for battle as well?"

"No. Our recruits still need time to train, although we cannot dither for too long, else the enemy will grow in strength exponentially. We will wait several months and then begin our attack. Any man not trained in combat by that time will be used as ballista fodder."

"A-as you wish," Tarquintus stammered, never one for a waste of life. He joined the army to keep the system secure, even if he didn't necessarily support the king himself. He had no family, but vowed to fight for the security of the land. The Varden couldn't possibly orchestrate a social upheaval and stop the entire nation from falling into chaos. A strong leader was needed at all times.

When the general departed, Galbatorix returned to his earlier musings. He couldn't attack with all his might or the elves would cut him to pieces from the rear after the Varden were defeated. True, he was being much more cautious than usual with regards to the lives of his soldiers, but recent events had to be taken into consideration. He had obviously underestimated the Rider and accomplices, his otherworldly friend in particular, but would not do so again. The two hundred men he had prepared were not expected to survive. They were a diversion so that Saleera, his most trusted assassin, might sneak into the camp and retrieve the eggs. That was all that mattered.

The king prided himself on strategic intelligence. He knew there was a very real chance that three Riders could pose a massive threat to the Empire itself. He couldn't risk killing them, which meant the danger was simply unparalleled. Except the one known as Harry Potter. His opinion there hadn't changed – he had to die, unless Galbatorix personally got to him first somehow. But they could wreak havoc within his army, and if elven spellcasters joined forces with them, the devastation might be impossible to recover from.

If his current calculations were correct – and they were – the royal army would number over one hundred thousand within half a year, but together the elves, dwarves and Varden might be able to field between fifteen and twenty thousand warriors. People who had seen combat. That meant a lot in the tide of any battle scenario. It was fortuitous that he destroyed Surda, or there might be a real problem at hand.

Galbatorix would have simpered if he wasn't above such disgusting actions. He loved this game of cat and mouse and always had. He knew the leaders of the Varden were planning ahead and predicting his moves, as he was for them. The trick was to out-plan their countermeasures and employ methods that might be questionable under most circumstances, hence the impending sneak attack. The Varden would know by now of his forces at Gil'ead, but he had only gotten there the day before, after ensuring Surda was under his control. It was hard for many to believe that Orrin was in charge only a week ago, and now the men of the Empire controlled every major city and trading port.

His forces would take time to traverse the plains, but he had a distinct advantage there. It was a shame Durza couldn't grant him the ability to 'apparate', as he had called it once, but no matter. Shruikan was as effective as any form of transport. So, the Varden would know of his presence beside the army, but they wouldn't be aware of the attack, unless someone was conscientious enough to post scouts leagues to the west. If that were the case, he might even have a formidable rival to contend with. The thought was strangely enticing. He hadn't faced a real challenge in decades.

Silently, he turned to gaze at the floating ball of raw materials, taken from the ruins of Urû'baen, nearby. His plans hadn't changed. Constructing a massive fortress with magic was a sound idea, provided it didn't disrupt the balance of trade and economy in Gil'ead. Perhaps if he built it a little away, making the usage purely militaristic, there would be no problem. There would also need to be a place to store the Eldunarí safely. He had recovered those from their separate hiding place – a magically hidden alcove under the Ninor River itself – after dealing with Orrin.

But that was worrying in itself. It was purely insulting that the thieves from before had gained entry to his throne room, and possibly his own private quarters. There could be no mistakes this time around. Maybe his new friend could help, once Tarquintus was assured he was back to full health.

Slowly, the magic holding the sphere was released and it fell onto his palm, where he clenched his fist around it tightly, finding the smooth surface oddly reassuring.

He would think of something.

Harry awoke with a smile upon his face. It deepened when he felt Trianna breathing against his neck, their arms entwined. Part of him could hardly believe what had happened the night before, but the biggest part of all was overjoyed. Not even for the act itself, but because he had found someone to be with, someone who loved him in earnest.

"Harry... I do hope you know I could feel what you're feeling now."

"But you were sleeping!"

"And I can see everything in your mind, like it's still happening."

"Stay away from Saphira for a while," Harry suggested.

"You're funny," Aru snorted. "You know I haven't matured enough for that just yet."

"Poor you. But don't worry, you'll get there... if the red hatchling doesn't impress her more."

"Like hell," Aru said, full of determination.

Harry chuckled quietly. He knew there would be some type of competition if the red dragon turned out to be male, and Saphira would surely delight in making them jump through hoops for her affection. But if Arucane managed to show his worthiness before it even hatched, she would keep that in mind for the future. He could very well have the future romance sewed up before being even two months old, at this rate. That had to be some kind of record.

It was unusual to think about, granted. But then again, dragons matured very differently to people, so was a comparison between the two really just? Probably not. Most unfortunately, that line of thinking hit home in one profound way. He was immortal, a frightening prospect.

Harry looked down on the raven-haired beauty beside him, her eyes still peacefully shut, and sighed quietly. Maybe he hadn't given this a lot of thought before now. How was he going to live forever, if Trianna was mortal? It was the worst type of dilemma. Death was the only certainty of life, but now that had been removed? Complete insanity! What was he supposed to do? What could he do?

"Don't think about it," Aru said soothingly, letting his mind wash over Harry's in comfort. "You're both still very young. For all we know Saphira may breed a host of new eggs and one of those could very well hatch for Trianna."

"Maybe," Harry said, "but there's no certainty there. And even if you're right, how long would that take? It could be decades before that happens, and by then..."

"By then you won't be attracted to her anymore?"

"That's not what I meant!" Harry snapped. "You wouldn't understand. Dragons grow bigger, but their physicalities don't change much. I know that I love her, but watching someone grow old and approach a natural death while I live on... it just feels wrong, Aru. It hasn't even happened yet and I already have a guilty conscience. And put yourself in her shoes – how would she feel, seeing me like this fifty years from now? I know Riders age in looks if Brom is anything to go by, but that could just be because he lost his dragon. What if I stay looking this young for centuries?"

"It's a strange thought, to be sure," Aru admitted. "But take it from me, who's even younger than you are: your time won't be spent idly thinking about your personal life. You'll always have responsibilities and problems to solve. And if you ever decide you've had enough of people, then that will be your time for self-reflection, not before. But that could take centuries."

"Or it could happen tomorrow."

"The future is never certain, little one," Saphira said, interjecting. "Don't look ahead in fear when you can look around now with joy in your heart. Live for the moment, or you'll never be happy and only suffer disappointment when your expectations fall short. You love Trianna, and she loves you. For the present, that is all that matters. Don't burden yourself, as I feel you're burdened plenty already."

Aru agreed with her. "If not for yourself, think of the people around you. Think of her, partner of my heart. I know you'll do anything to protect her, because I feel the same now after you bonded with her."

"You consider her family because we had sex?" Harry asked, blinking. "Maybe I should have realised that would happen."

"Hah! As if that would have stopped you."

Despite himself, Harry blushed. He did feel a little better now, though it wasn't likely to last if he didn't change the subject. If only he had a pensieve, then he could store these depressing thoughts inside and never cast a glance at them again. It was probably a good idea to get her opinion on the matter as well, even if he wouldn't like the answer. It was certainly her right to come down on either side of the argument, all things considered. He wondered if the implications had even hit her.

"It might be precarious, but it shows the depth of your feeling for her," Saphira said. "And brood-brother-Arucane gave you his permission, as he said. That means you've chosen wisely. I will do the same for Eragon, when the time comes."

Deciding that was a good angle to change the subject, Harry jumped at the opportunity.

"You two were brood siblings?" he asked with confusion. "Err... wouldn't that cause genetic problems if the two of you were to... you know... mate?"

"We don't share the same parents," Saphira clarified. "But we call ourselves siblings because we rested together for over a century, unhatched. We were in each other's presence constantly."

"The touch of our minds was always present," Aru added.

"That sounds... enthralling."

Harry spent another few minutes conversing with the dragons, who were flying together over the camp outside. He then dressed, without waking Trianna. The Varden would move at a designated time, but that wouldn't be for another hour. Until then, he would let her sleep. Flushing at the thought, he knew that physical exertion usually meant a lot of rest the next day.

Deciding to clear his head, he left the tent after writing her a short note to explain where he was going and went to get breakfast with a few other members of Du Vrangr Gata, who he was getting to know rather well. There were a lot of names to remember, but once he had them nailed down all that remained was not mixing them up and causing any offence. The magicians weren't overly powerful, with most being healers, but they were hardworking and caring to a point, which counted for something in the time of war.

"What are you doing here?" Harry asked in surprise.

"Am I not allowed to eat here?" Nyos grunted, sliding onto the stool across from him.

"I thought you'd be with your men."

"They've been on rotating shifts since the crack of dawn, so I'm letting them get some rest, including the cooks. That means I had to find somewhere else to eat, and here we are."

"Here we are," Harry said, toasting with his bowl of soggy oats. "To the fine cuisine of the Varden."

"May it never change," Nyos chuckled, matching the gesture.

"Murtagh should be okay now," Harry said, resuming eating with his spoon. "I forgot to mention that last night."

"Good to hear, that. I also heard from someone who may or may not be Angela that you and Eragon snuck away from camp yesterday. Something about magical teleportation all the way to Carvahall?" he asked, lowering his voice. Around them, the magicians of Du Vrangr Gata continued their own conversations in normal voices.

"We would have invited you, but it was something of a rush," Harry said, understating the point supremely.

"Ah, I'm not bothered. I had a lot of clean-up work to do, and unlike you I wouldn't go unpunished for leaving like that. I can't bloody run from two armies, you know. One was bad enough."

Harry laughed. "Good point."

"Just remember that I owe you and Murtagh a debt. You helped give me my freedom, and I want to repay you someday."

Harry raised a hand, his expression placating. "Please. You have absolutely nothing to repay. You've fought with us, bled with us and travelled across the desert with us, all at risk to your own life. If there was a debt, which I contend, by the way, it's long been settled."

"Well, I don't feel entirely unaccommodating, as part of me disagrees. But I'll let it lie, so long as you remember that I'm here if you ever need a favour," Nyos said.

"I'll keep it mind," Harry said appreciatively, nodding. "Wait. How do you know Angela?"

"Ah, funny story, that," Nyos grinned. "We met on the battlefield. I had just caved a Kull's head in two, when all of a sudden she appears, swinging that Hûthvír of hers in all directions and carving the Urgals up like a cut of beef."

"And from there the relationship deepened," Harry bantered.

"Isn't she your type instead?" Nyos asked, sipping a cup of water. He was far too experienced with lewd military humour to rise to such simple bait, and was widely known as an expert in deliberately making the men under him uncomfortable. All for the sake of a cheap laugh, of course.

"No, I... have someone else in mind," Harry said, faltering as Trianna herself walked into the larger tent. She smiled at him, before grabbing food of her own and joining them, choosing a stool next to Harry.

Nyos watched the two of them interact, the grin on his face growing larger each second. The playful kisses... the constant smiling... the blushing... he had seen it all before.

"Way to go, Harry," he said cheerfully, as the noise naturally died down for a second. "What was the sex like?"

Harry spluttered.

Darkness.

Coldness.

An empty chasm, filled with noting but darkness and coldness, no hope for escape. And when he fell the cold burned, roasting and freezing his naked body with the tact of a rampaging dragon. There was no reprieve, no relief to be had. The pain was constant, endless, and surely death would not be far behind. But no. He lived on, waiting and hoping to be saved from the nightmare that had befallen him, that would not be quelled by him alone.

And as he fell, Murtagh screamed in agony and confusion. He knew not how long this had been happening for, but surely the Sun had gone cold, or at the very least a thousand generations had passed in the blink of an eye. Visions of friends old and new swam before him, raining down anger and frustration at his failure, his failure to deliver. They damned him, accusing him of skimping on his promise to aid the Varden, and beat him relentlessly.

It was suffocating. A dark, pungent cloud of smoky terror wafted through his lungs, choking and splitting all in one. The pain was so great tears fell openly from his eyes, and they too stung his cheeks before flying away, taken by the speed of his ongoing descent into nothingness.

"Kill me!" he screamed.

"Murtagh! Murtagh, listen to me! You have to reach for my voice!"

Who was that? It sounded like Eragon, or Harry, perhaps Brom... Nyos? It was all of them and none of them. No, it was Tornac, or maybe Galbatorix playing with his mind.

Galbatorix, the spectre who appeared before him, now grinning with mad disdain. And he drove the point of a dagger into Murtagh's lungs, stabbing constantly.

Back and forth. Back and forth. Back and forth.

Murtagh awoke with a cry. His breath was wheezy, and his body coated with sweat. He choked for water, which was quickly administered. After draining the contents of an entire flask in mere moments, he lay back, panting. The coolness stilled some of the burning ache in his throat, and he could think clearly again. Looking up, he saw the fortune teller from the battle looking down at him, concern etched across his face.

But even as her face swam into view, it faded with his eyes falling tired and shutting of their own accord.

"Where am I?" he whispered, voice so hoarse she surely couldn't understand.

"Relax," she said gently, pressing a wet cloth to his forehead. "Your fever only broke in the night, and you're still very weak physically. But you're back with us. That's a good sign."

An Urgal blasted him with magic, leering intently. The pain flared in his chest, and Murtagh gasped painfully as he clutched at the loose blankets around him, eyes bugging out in fear.

Angela, showing her trade, promptly calmed him with a simple touch. His mental defences were down, and she took advantage by connecting with him to convey a series of peace-invoking images. Places she had seen. Sandy shores, with waves crashing against land... a hidden shrine deep in Du Weldenvarden, overgrown with moss and lichen... a simple view of the sky, laden with birds calling peacefully to one another and flying in the wafting sunshine.

Murtagh exhaled again, still feeling the burning. Angela gave him more water, and he felt slightly better, although still sick to his stomach.

"Your strength will return with time," Angela promised. "Until it does, try not to move."

Murtagh groaned, twisting his body slightly as his joints stiffened. By all signs, he had been lying prone for at least a day or two, possibly more. He remembered being attacked by an Urgal magician during the battle, with Brom's wards collapsing just beforehand. He hoped the old man was alright.

"Harry... Eragon..."

"They're okay," Angela said gently. "But Ajihad fell. Brom and Jörmundur have taken charge of the Varden."

"W-where are we?" Murtagh asked, his voice raspy. He could feel the bumps underneath his body, and the small carriage meant that they were travelling.

"Going to join the elves," Angela said. "Now, that's enough. Go back to sleep."

"I... I want to see-"

He never got the next word out, however, as Angela chose that moment to give him a herbal sedative, which knocked him out after a few seconds.

His dreams were less troubled, although he was still plagued by visions of Farthen Dur. But at least the mad king never appeared again. That was something to be grateful for, at the very least. When he awoke again, it was late into the evening, and Harry was sitting at the foot of his cot, Arucane on the floor at his side.

"Good to have you back," his friend said, smiling.

"Good to be back... I think," Murtagh replied with a cough. Deftly, he found a cup of water on a small table nearby and took a few sips, feeling much better than before.

"Well, it couldn't be any worse than death," Harry joked. "How are you feeling?"

"Not too bad. Or rather, better than before. I believe it'll take a while before I'm back to full strength." Wincing, Murtagh tried to sit up, but Harry held a hand above his chest in order to stop him.

"Don't. Not yet. Angela and Trianna were able to extradite the melted armour from your skin, and the swelling has vanished, but your stomach was lacerated at the same time. It'll hurt for a while, but they managed to heal the exterior with magic. Have you... looked in a mirror recently?" he asked, trying to be as gentle as possible.

Murtagh froze, staring at him. "I guessed there would be scarring, even while I was being burned. But... show me."

"Murtagh-"

"Show me," he demanded, and Harry silently complied. He handed him a small mirror with sadness in his heart.

Murtagh wasn't surprised by his reaction. His outer layer of skin was mostly intact... mostly. One half of his face was scorched in colour, with a closer inspection revealing this trait all along his torso and the upper part of his leg. To his relief, his hair and other areas had been left unaffected, but his face really looked like hell.

Hellfire, he thought, snorting. At least these scars came from battle, not my beloved father.

He threw the mirror back to Harry and announced, "I'll live."

"You really aren't bothered?" Harry asked with scepticism.

"Bothered? Of course I am. But I never had much use for looking in a mirror anyway. As long as nobody keeps saying things to my face, it's no real concern," he shrugged, remarkably calm.

"They won't," Harry promised. "They trust you with their lives now, after you almost gave your own by mistake. They respect you too much to offend."

"At least it didn't take much," Murtagh quipped.

Harry chuckled. "True enough, but what's done is done. Angela has some potions which will help to dull the pain, so you can start walking again soon enough."

"Forget that," Murtagh muttered, moving to get up. This time Harry didn't stop him, as he clearly needed to see for himself. After a few seconds, he groaned in pain and collapsed again. "Damn it."

"The pain will fade, but the potions will help until it does."

"Can't you use magic to help instead? Surely that would be a lot quicker!"

"I'd have to dull your senses," Harry said, shaking his head.

"So?"

"So you'd not be able to feel anything, and wouldn't be able to walk at all. You'd be stuck in that bed for days, if not weeks," Harry explained.

"Ah."

There was a brief silence, until Murtagh sighed.

"Okay, fine. Give me the damned thing," he said, before hastily adding: "please."

"I'll go and get Angela," Harry said.

He left, but the rather silent Arucane stayed behind, rolling on the floor as he had been the entire time. Murtagh almost laughed at the thought of a fully-grown Saphira doing the same as an infant. Almost.

"Harry seems... different," he announced at large, although only Aru was there to hear. The little dragon paused, looking at him. Murtagh felt a strange probe trying to access his mind, and lowered the defences he had immediately re-raised upon waking up. It was better to be cautious than dead, after all. His creed knew that.

"Harry is going through a strange phase," Aru said with mild sarcasm. "He, to all extents and purposes, is a man on a mission. It's because of him that you're alive and well, not to mention Eragon helping a great deal. You may find he's taken on a lot of responsibilities in the past few days, so expect to see his more serious side come to surface with alarming regularity."

"I'll keep that in mind," Murtagh said, blinking in surprise. "What of Eragon himself?"

"He's away on mission. That's the easiest way to describe it," Aru said, growing slightly weary. "I suggest you ask Harry for the full story. For now, I would like to sleep, if you don't mind."

Without waiting for an answer, the emerald dragon curled up next to Solembum's cushion, which was currently unoccupied. Aru probably chose that moment to rest because he knew Harry was returning, which he did mere moments after Aru fell asleep. All to make sure Murtagh wasn't lonely. Harry bore several vials, and promptly handed one to Murtagh, who accepted the concoction gratefully.

"Angela is busy with a patient, but she said to take that and wait for several minutes. The pain should subside enough for you to walk again."

"Then what?"

Harry wrinkled. "Then, you need a bath in the river, my friend. No offence. After that, I'll show you where to get some food."

"Harry, where's Eragon?" Murtagh asked suddenly. "Aru told me you two had a hand in saving my life, but I'd like to know how."

Harry hesitated, before nodding reluctantly. He understood Aru's actions, but Nyos already thought he owed him a debt. Two would be over the top.

"I'll explain when you've had something to eat," he said. That should give him a little time to think of how to spin the story without sounding like Murtagh owed him anything.

At that precise moment, Trianna was conversing with Brom and Jörmundur in the command tent, once more repitched for the nightly break. She was feeling flustered, all things considered, but better than she ever had before. Blushing, she straightened up before one of the leaders could ask her what the matter was.

"Ah, greetings," Brom said, nodding cordially. The old man looked tired, she noted. "What news from Du Vrangr Gata?"

"Harry put me in charge of receiving messages from the scouts on both flanks," Trianna announced. "I've come to report that our western contingent has detected a force of some two hundred imperial soldiers massing for attack. They're trying to slip by unnoticed, but Carn is much too crafty to let them off the hook that easily. They'll be here within a day."

"Hmm, this really isn't unexpected," Brom admitted, stroking his beard thoughtfully. "But I thank you for bringing the matter to our attention. Did Carn give specific details regarding their ranks?"

"The king is not with them, if that's what you're wondering," Trianna said. "Their company commander appears to be a regular captain of the army, although I would hazard a guess that he's a magician, given the small size of the force."

"What if there's a Shade?" Jörmundur asked, worried. "We can't rule out that possibility."

"We'll need to be careful," Brom nodded, "but we can't engage them directly. It's the first thing any foe would expect, and we have the element of surprise. They think it theirs, but there'll be a right shock, I daresay."

"Indeed, and that's why I have a plan," Harry announced, strutting through the tent with confidence.

Brom rolled his eyes. Really, who had timing that good?

"I left Murtagh to bathe in peace," Harry said, knowing what he was thinking. "Otherwise... well, that would be unusual, even if he is still slightly wounded."

"You don't say," Trianna muttered, and Brom grinned. He had heard from Nyos about the two. Most of the camp probably had by now.

Jörmundur didn't hear her. "I'm glad he's on his feet again."

"As am I," Harry nodded, casting Trianna a sheepish grimace.

"Now, your plan?"

"Yes," Harry said, "my plan. I propose we leave a section of the line deliberately under-guarded, so that the enemy is more likely to attack that chokepoint. From there, we can hide warriors out of sight and bottleneck them, crushing their will before they ever reach the civilians. We should move them out of harm's way as a precaution, and plant some empty tents as a diversion. They'll never know what hit them."

Jörmundur raised his eyebrows. "I'm impressed."

"I thank you," Harry said respectfully.

Nearby, Brom was beaming. The boy truly was becoming an excellent strategist. However, there was one flaw with his plan.

"How can you be sure they'll take the bait? Their captain may expect a trap. In fact, the king probably told him to expect as much."

"It doesn't matter," Harry said, shaking his head. "If they attack a stronger part of the line it's to their own detriment, and if they veer off-course the units of cavalry I want to commission will ride them down. That keeps us covered either way."

"I like it," Brom said happily. "I'll have the front-guard move the barricades and stakes to the western flank first thing in the morning, but leave a noticeable gap near the rear. It's likely they'll attack there, as most of our forces would obviously be positioned at the front."

"I'll reposition Du Vrangr Gata along the western line," Harry added. "If they do decide to attack elsewhere, we should have enough warning to redeploy beforehand. This seems like a foolish move, all things considered."

"Maybe, maybe not," Jörmundur said, shifting uncomfortably. "If you hadn't opted to send scouts to the east and west, we mightn't have received any warning. That was good thinking."

"Did you just pay me a compliment?" Harry asked, feigning shock. "Wonders may never cease. And that was a joke," he quickly added. "But anyway... I think leaving the eastern flank intact is a necessity, in case this attack is meant to draw our attention away from a second force. The Urgals that escaped are still unaccounted for, remember."

"With any luck they've scarpered home, but you're right," Brom nodded. "Two hundred men is a lot for Saphira to deal with, but she can probably cause more than enough damage before they ever reach our camp."

"Shouldn't we consider sending her out to attack them now?" Trianna asked. "With a magician like Harry on-hand, they might be completely deterred."

"No," Brom said, shaking his head. "That won't work, because if there are magicians and a competent commander they could seriously maim her. Besides, we still need her scouting ahead with Arya for as long as possible, in case this attack is a rouse after all. Anything is possible with Galbatorix, remember."

"Ah, I see," Trianna said simply.

"Don't worry, that was a good idea," Harry told her reassuringly.

"You have no need to patronise me."

"I'm sorry!" he quickly thought to her, before she sent a tone of amusement. "Oh, you're joking."

"Of course. But all the same, I know a good idea when I hear one, so you have no need to tell me," she said sweetly.

"As you say, my dear," Harry said, hoping for a blush. He was always embarrassed by pet names himself. Then he swore internally after realising he had spoken out loud and drew strange looks from Brom and Jörmundur for his part. He coughed to distract them.

"Yes... I think you'd better go," Brom said with amusement.

"Seconded," Trianna said, half-mortified. She grabbed Harry's hand and practically led him outside against his will, where he had the good grace to blush.

"Oops?" he asked, scratching his head and grinning sheepishly.

Trianna rolled her eyes. "I don't mind, really. Your friend already saw to everybody finding out; although why you told him I'll never know."

"I didn't!" Harry protested. "He worked it out! The man's like a bloody mind reader... actually, he is, although he could tell from my expression when you sat down."

"Well, too late to worry," Trianna said, flashing him a reassuring smile. "And we're not children, so it doesn't bother me. Does... does it bother you?" she asked uncertainly, the smile fading.

"What? That people know? Of course it doesn't," he said at her nod. He smiled and kissed her gently, which helped him receive another in return. "I couldn't care less, because the only people who matter are standing right here, talking about it."

"You mean Brom and Jörmundur?" she asked cheekily, sticking a thumb over her shoulder.

"I see Angela has taught you well, my young Padawan."

"What?"

"Oh, nothing. Why do I feel like I've forgotten something?" Harry asked rather suddenly, frowning.

"Murtagh," she pointed out. "But I can see him from here, so don't panic just yet."

"Really? Avert your eyes," Harry joked, looking around. It was now pitch black, but she seemed to have very good eyesight, something which Harry envied slightly. He had to strain his good eye to catch a glimpse of Murtagh. Thankfully, he was already dressed again, his burns visible from even their current distance.

"Oh, ha ha," Trianna deadpanned, following his lead. Together, they two of them walked over to see how he was doing. He appeared to be struggling slightly, as his tunic was rather damp and he grimaced with each step of dressing fully.

"Don't worry, I'm... going... to endure," he said, gasping as he buckled his belt and forced his boots on. "Gods above, that potion only half-worked, Harry."

"It'll get better," Harry promised. "Just be thankful you can still move around. Even with magic it's a bloody miracle you're walking after only regaining consciousness tonight."

"No need to remind me," Murtagh muttered, grimacing as he stood upright and dusted himself off. His hair was dripping wet. "Well, at least I feel clean again."

"I'm very happy for you," Trianna said gently. "Angela was mostly responsible for administering your treatment, but I was happy to assist. Seeing you better is a huge relief."

"Thank you for helping me," Murtagh said, looking at his feet. "I... I'm uncomfortable with being helpless, but I appreciate your understanding. Harry, make sure you treat this one right."

"What? How did you-"

"You're holding hands," Murtagh pointed out.

Harry moved his fingers a little and saw that he was indeed right. He hadn't even noticed. But, sticking to his agreement with Trianna, he didn't attempt to dissuade the notion. He merely nodded and said: "don't worry, I plan to, for as long as she'll have me."

"You mean for as long as she wants to be with you, or-"

"Yes, that's what I meant!" Harry cut-in, blushing. Murtagh smirked at his expression.

"I can see this being very fun, especially when Nyos throws his ideas into the mix."

"He already has," Harry muttered, thinking of the overly-explicit 'instructions' he had given at breakfast that morning. If he had his wand, hexes would probably be dished out before long.

As it stood, however, his practice of wandless magic hadn't exactly taken off as of yet. It had only been one day, however, so he wasn't entirely concerned as of yet. This was never going to be easy under the best of circumstances, and having a few moments to practice when on the run and planning a war was hardly that. Maybe he could afford more time to learning when they reached Ellesméra, although that could take up to three weeks or longer, depending on how easily the forest could be navigated. If the Elven wards were anything to go by on rumour, it would certainly not be easy.

Pushing those thoughts aside for the time being, he instead began to focus on the task at hand: thinking of how to place Du Vrangr Gata where they needed to be. It was easy said, but some of the civilians might feel disheartened if their magicians suddenly upped and left. Maybe there was a way to prevent them from finding out, or at least from panicking. As a last resort, they wouldn't have a choice but to accept it.

"Murtagh, we're going to be attacked," Harry said matter-of-factly. "Tomorrow at some point, most likely in the dark of night. When that happens, I want you to stay with Angela."

"You mean you want me to hide," Murtagh said, very unhappy.

"No, I want you to live. But since I don't trust you to sit it out, Angela will be keeping an eye on you. Trust me, there's no person in the entire convoy less inclined to be fooled, so don't even bother trying."

"You've put some thought into this," Murtagh said, grudgingly impressed.

"I put my friends' safety above all else," Harry said.

"And Eragon? You still have a story to tell."

Harry nodded. "Okay, let's go get something to eat, in that case. I can explain everything you've missed over something hot. And beside something h... no, I won't say it," he trailed off, catching Trianna's raised eyebrow.

She swatted his arm playfully, but whispering in his ear. "I'll make you pay for that later."

Murtagh coughed audibly, which gave Harry the cue he needed to lead the way, before he could think too much about her statement.

In the darkness nearby, a shadowy figure watched the trio leave with interest. So that was the Harry the king was so interested in. He would make a fine hostage, if it came down to that. He was certainly observant, knowing that the attack was imminent. Despite considering him a natural enemy, Saleera was impressed.

But of course, he hadn't seen her. No one ever saw her without her will. Many people didn't even know she was a woman, and her decoy captain was proving a great help in that regard. Galbatorix had personally selected her to be an assassin, trained in magic, after the eggs had been stolen. She was already a proficient spellcaster, but now she outmatched any magician in his army. There was no way she could hope to match the Riders, of course, but that was where stealth came into play. If she wasn't found, there would be no need to fight.

Quickly and quietly, she began to scout the area around the command tent, looking for potential weaknesses that would come in handy tomorrow night.

And for the potential hiding place of a certain dragon egg.