AN: So so so sorry, for being so late in uploading this chapter…even though it was written down on paper weeks ago, I had no access to any pc or even a smartphone to type it up….so yeah sorry. Now that I am home, the next chapters will come up regularly.
About Roran, there will be a whole series of chapters dealing with his struggles much later in the storyline. Be patient.
Chapter 4: Betrayal
May 19th, 1901 T.E Ivarstead
The last two months since the Battle of Greenspring Hollow had been hectic to say the least, for Eragon and his expanded corps of senior officers. Their area of responsibility had been expanded to cover the whole of the Southern Approaches to and from the Brodding Kingdom. Ivarstead itself had been completely expanded, its wooden palisades replaced with walled ramparts that stretched out in arrowhead shaped projections that covered all approaches to the walls from any side. The garrison had been increased to 600 infantry and archers and the cavalry strike force under Eragon had been increased to four turma of heavy cavalier or sixty and hundred men and three turmas of hobilars and light cavalry archers.
Eragon himself couldn't get out on many patrols, he had to make do with organizing and sending out several smaller groups of patrols to police the surrounding areas. The cavalry riding out to far flung reaches of the hold while the infantry patrolled the areas within a day's march. Things had been hectic, yes but Eragon found the busy routine much to his liking, it kept his mind off the strange sounds and visions that haunted his sleep. In the beginning the noises and visions had been formless, making no sense at all to his sleep occluded mind and leaving him bewildered when he woke up, unable to recall anything apart from a growing sense of unease. Now he dreams were whispered message or warning of some kind…how he knew this, he himself knew not, but he felt it in his soul that the dreams were conveying a message of great import to him, and his inability to recall or understand this message frustrated him to no end.
The war was drawing slowly to a close and the men and women of the north were preparing for a final thrust northwards, to push away the Outlanders back into their frozen wastelands. Talk grew of a revenge attack into enemy territory, to seek out vengeance for the lives lost and the damage done…. A counter invasion that would be so devastating that the Outlanders would tremble with fear at the thought of the Northern Provinces. Eragon had heard that this talk originated among the new crop of riders who had seen combat for the first time. A young rider named Galbatorix was the leader of these aggressive riders.
He was broken out of his thoughts when Lucannus, his second in command entered his office, with a rather grave face.
"What is it, my friend? Why the long face?" Eragon asked.
"The Red Rider has been sighted my lord. He seems to be heading directly here."
That made Eragon frown. The Red Rider, Morzan was a contemporary of Brom and was one of the few who gave the riders such a bad name. Rude, arrogant and a right pain in the ass for everybody, Morzan was thoroughly disliked by other riders and his subordinates. The fact that he was a brilliant tactician and fighter was unquestionable, but his prowess made him even more insufferable for others. The rumor was that wherever the Red Rider went, disaster followed.
"Prepare an honor guard and make sure that all are wearing their parade best armor… how long do you think it will take him to arrive here?"
Five minutes or so, sir…I have already told the men of the honor guard to prepare. They will ready for the rider in two minutes or so."
"Good." Eragon nodded, dismissing the Captain as he himself made ready, asking his adjutant to get his ceremonial armor ready for donning.
Eragon watched with increasing trepidation as the bright red spot approached from the west horizon, growing ever closer until he was unbelievably huge, its blood red body blanketing his entire field of vision. The dragon hovered over their camp, its huge wing strokes sending huge gusts of winds through the sends, collapsing several and causing his own legionary tent to flutter dangerously. As the dragon slowly descended, Eragon was forced to shield his eyes from the mini dust storm that momentarily sprang up.
He had arranged an honor guard of two columns of fully armored chevaliers facing inwards at a gap of about a hundred feet, to cater for the large body of the dragon and the rider. He himself was mounted, sitting astride Roheryn, the black destrier that had seen him through far too many scrapes. The rider, meanwhile had just descended from his saddle more than twenty feet above the ground.
Eragon drew his sword and saluted the rider, raising its point to the sky. Morzan did not return the salute, sneering at Eragon as if he had insulted his wife! Forcing back a strong desire to slap the man with his armored fist, Eragon greeted him with a cold formality.
"Welcome, Morzan Shrutu'ugal to Ivarstead. I am Eragon BloodBorne, Senior Tribune of the 2nd Millarian, Valeria Victrix."
The man nodded in reply and swept his hand towards the Commander's tent, "I have missives of great import for you, it would be better if we continued our discussion in the privacy of your tent."
Eragon agreed and led the way to the tent, quite deliberately forgetting to welcome the dragon, a serious breach of protocol, yes but one he felt compelled to do nonetheless.
"The Invasion which but three weeks ago seemed almost over, has evolved into something far more sinister, the Urgal tribes attacked and destroyed the port city of Riften three days ago. So swift was the attack that we received no warning from the city's garrison. Instead a wild dragon who was flying overhead observed Urgal packs chasing down fleeing citizens and intervened, saving some and buying us some time.
You are to take all of your cavalry and divert south, intercepting the Urgal packs on the trail of the refugees. Protect the people at all costs, but do not get yourself killed, we cannot afford to lose our most experienced cavalry unit. Any questions?"
Eragon raised his head from the map he had been studying ever since he heard the word 'Riften', "any idea of the numbers of urgals we may face, Shrutu'ugal? And if you could brief me about their tactics and deployment strategies? Like are they moving in traditional fifty strong packs or are they banding together in large armies? Are they using scouts, and the like?"
Morzan reddened in anger, "Just do as you're told, Tribune and stop asking questions of your betters!" He stormed off, dumping the pile of letters at the table.
He heard the heavy footfalls of armored feet on packed dirt and then the jarring thuds of humongous dragon wings beating into the still hot air as he took off. Eragon picked up the loose scrolls and studied them, relieved that they had the information he sought.
"That went well, don't you think?" his adjutant asked suddenly from where he had momentarily stood open mouthed.
Five days later. Midday. Along the Grand Road from Winterhold to Surda
Riften was a small port city that lay snuggled between the Spine on one side and the Sea of Ghosts on the other… the mountains of the Spine extended for about three miles inland before eventually giving way to the vast plains of the Palancar Valley. Eragon knew that the narrow road through the pass towards the city would have been the perfect trap for fleeing refugees and the worst possible place to use his cavalry. They would be slaughtered to the last man.
He had set out five days ago from Ivarstead, taking with him the entirety of his chevaliers and only a dozen scouts. Ivarstead he left in the capable hands of the infantry tribune, Claudius and his men. They were still two days ride from the Eagle's Brood pass to the coast and there was no hint nor shadow of the infantry reinforcements that should've been waiting for them. Eragon grew worried as they drew closer, without infantry support, it would suicidal to venture into the pass, he hoped that the infantry was ahead of them or failing that, the urgals were already done with the city and had moved into the plains.
He drew his horse to a stop and gestured to Luccanus to come closer. Eragon observed the low hills on their right flank, running along the length of the coast and only the first of the majestic mountains of the Spine…He pointed out a small hill and the one behind it, "make camp in the depression between those two hills, the site will provide ample protection from the elements and away from hostile eyes. Get me a faster mount, Roheryn's tired and five of your best riders. Tell them to prepare for a night of hard riding and to don light armour. I'm going to scout ahead...," Eragon told his second-in-command. Luccanus nodded in reply and wheeled away, shouting orders to the quartermaster and the commander of the vanguard to move towards the designated camping site.
Later that evening….Commander's Tent
He looked critically at the men Luke had picked…he knew each one of them, being their CO. they were good, honest men to the core with a clear head and a remarkable sense of honor. Luke had chosen well, he decided and nodded to himself, satisfied with what he had found.
"Sit down, gentlemen and help yourselves," Eragon said, gesturing to the small pile of refreshments on the table and the six chairs behind it.
The men sat down, still straight backed and stiff, unaccustomed to being in the personal camp of the CO, and not one of them touched the food. Eragon shook his head, knowing well that it would take a direct order from him to get them to partake from the food.
"I know very well that all of you must be wondering why you were all approached by Captain Luccanus and told to report here. Let me put your minds at ease by telling you that no, you've done no wrong, atleast none that I know of." That brought a small smile on their faces, as Eragon had hoped it would. "I feel uneasy about the prospect of entering the Eagle's Brood pass, something smells wrong. And even though I know that the people in the city of Riften must be in great suffering, I will not go charging in blindly, and risk all of our lives….Us being dead helps nobody. What I've decide is that we, that is, you five men, who have been adjudged as the best riders in the cohort, and me will ride out tonight to recce the area around and in the pass. Wear black leather armor, carry a sword and a shield and a bow and a quiver of arrows, do not carry too much provisions, we will live off the land. And move heaven and earth to muffle your armor and harness."
Eragon moved to dismiss his men, but paused, "this mission will be extremely dangerous and there is no shame in admitting that you don't feel like coming along…the only shame will be when you die…So anybody who wished to leave, now is the time to speak up." Eragon waited for a count of five and when there was no indication of anybody doing so, he dismissed them.
The first thing he felt when he came to was the blistering heat of a campfire right somewhere behind him….his vision was blurred and all he saw was the dull grey of the stone wall in front of him.
Eragon panicked as he realized that he did not recognize the surroundings in which he found himself, nor did he remember how he arrived there. His hands and feet were bound as well…tightly, it seemed. Fear clung to his heart and mind like a dense shroud, making all his senses hazy….he frantically tried to roll around, to sit up, to do something…but found himself immobile.
Taking a deep breath, Eragon steeled himself to try once again but suddenly felt something push him in the back, making his limp body roll. As he came to, he found himself face to face with the most terrifying sight in his short life.
Again, sorry for the tardiness. A cliffie, where is Eragon and who has him? How do you like it?