Belatona!

As she rode Kalla through the huge gates, a guard on the battlements cried a hearty bellow, "Riders!"

The citizens were greatly unlike the citizens of Feinster, whom Kalla had related to her Rider the story of their procession through the road. The men and women were dressed in strangely patterned clothes and brightly coloured. Men and women cheered and cried in awe as they proceeded down the street, while children stared at them in amazement. Many had obviously never seen one of their kind in their lifetime, gaping like a dead fish at them as if at some curiosity. Frelsa smiled as the cried of adulation and praise, enjoying the feeling of soaking it up.

The crowd grew thicker and thicker, until at last they formed an impassable barrier that even their dragons could not forge through. Frelsa looked at her dragon, We could just fly over.

Dýrgrir, however, advanced and growled loudly, the crowed parting like a school of frightened fish, their shouts of joy dying for a moment, before returning. A soldier pushed his way to the front of the crowd, shouting, "Make way! Let the Riders through to the Keep!"

The Keep? She glanced at Shepherd.

Play along, he replied.

They concluded the arduous journey through the seething crowds and blockades of cheering bodies, they arrived in the courtyard of the keep, a spacious clearing of stone and grass, ringed with tall walls of stone and trees.

A young woman in fine jewellery came to greet them, bowing so low that her features were hidden. She muttered something so soft Frelsa wasn't sure at first she had even spoken, but the woman repeated, "My most sincere apologies for the absence of my father, he is away at the moment."

So this was the Lord's daughter. She looked up for a moment then her gaze fell immediately, and Frelsa saw that she was barely a woman, the girl couldn't have been older than herself.

Glancing to one side she saw Drukjl sitting impassively as ever, while Shepherd was trying, in vain, to neaten his trail stained tunic, burnt in several corners, and straighten his hair. He gave the girl a smile he must have thought 'dashing', "So, m'lady, what hospitality might we be offered in 'tis great city?"

She kept her gaze fixed earthwards, stuttering, "Y-You may sleep and rest in one of the rooms in the Keep, perhaps the guest rooms-"

"Nonsense!"

A tall, spindly man with a sharp goatee and moustache stepped forward from behind a line of royal guards with an insincere smile plastered on, "You'll have the finest rooms this city can offer, come, please!"

"And our dragons?" Drukjl asked. The effect on the man was immediate, his smile falling away and staggering on his next step, before he straightened and his grin returned, "Of course, we will have them all taken care of, we had a large section of the Keep's roof reconstructed to accommodate Riders. Come, come!"

The man unnerved Frelsa, the way he walked and talked, as if he had a thousand things on his mind at once and a thousand more queued behind. He eyes remained fixed on a point, but his eyelid would twitch slightly and the tip of his thin lips would keep on jerking up.

Shepherd easily slid off Errol's back, bowing slightly to the man, "An honour…"

"My name is Oper, Steward of Belatona, and I do beg your pardon, it is I who should be bowing."

Shepherd nodded slightly, bowing to the Lord's daughter and actually kissing her hand, "And your name, m'lady?"

Frelsa pitied the girl, who answered sheepishly, "Sildine."

Shepherd gave another smile, "A beautiful name for a beautiful girl, would m'lady deign to treat this Rider to a tour of the grounds?"

Frelsa sighed and slid off Kalla, saying to Oper, "I would like to wander the streets for a while, I have heard stories of the famed craftsmen of Belatona and would very much like to see them for myself."

Oper, who had been gazing distractedly into some indistinct point, turned to her as if realising where he was again, "You do? Oh yes, an excellent idea! Come, I shall assign a few guards to follow you."

That will not be necessary, Kalla said, Oper paling as his mind brushed against hers, but the smile not leaving his face while the dragon continued, my Rider will have my company at her side.

"Actually, I'd like to go alone."

Kalla looked at her inquisitively, and she was aware of Oper's confused gaze on her. She said, "I'd like some time for myself, to relax after our journey."

The Steward's unnatural smile returned, "An excellent, excellent notion, but would you at least care to have a change of clothes and a chance to wash up?"

She looked down and became suddenly self conscious in her tattered, burnt, torn tunic, with a little shred of dried seaweed hanging off one tear. "That would be nice."

So it was, she had a chance to at last feel clean and refreshed again. Shepherd had somehow managed to persuade Sildine to bring him on a personal tour of the grounds. She gagged at the thought. Drukjl had opted to remain at the Keep, and she knew why. An Urgal in the city, even a Rider, would never really be welcome. Kalla kept on fretting worriedly, Are you sure you'll be safe?

I'm no more a hatchling then you, Frelsa pointed out, patting Delswoir's pommel at her side. But Kalla was still not convinced.

The trouble you two-legs find is more than should be physically possible, and I worry for my favourite Rider.

But I'm your Rider aren't I?

Exactly.

Dýrgrir and Errol had already flown up to the roof, but Kalla tarried a while longer still. Frelsa looked up concerned at the grey dragon's figure as he disappeared onto the roof. She turned back to her dragon, And try and give Errol a break, please? He's taking your cold treatment really hard it seems.

That's the point of a grudge, Kalla reminded. We'll… solve it, on our own time, you needn't worry. Just go and do whatever you two-legs find 'relaxing'.

Just-

Go before I eat you.

Walking through the gates of the Keep and back into the city, large crowds that had gathered outside the Keep walls cheered for her, but she managed to squirm into their number and disappear. The cheering continued for a while further, until she went deeper into the city's winding streets where the populace had returned to the daily grind.

In this city, it seemed, everywhere was fair game for the placement of a bazaar stall, and everywhere else was crammed full of the tired who wanted a seat.

Every street was lined on either side by stalls, and there was only a space of two arm lengths to walk through, cramming through spaces inbetween shoulders and under raised arms. Stall owners roared out whatever great wonders they were selling, at one area a crowd had gathered and each person was yelling out a bid higher than the last.

And they truly were selling wonders. The stories the others on the island had told her of fell far short. The stalls were piled high with strange contraptions and puzzles, tall structures and carvings. A dark-skinned Surdan man grinned at her and held out a statue of a dragon in flight that seemed rather mundane, until he pulled a spine on the tail and the wings slowly began to flap and the legs began to dance like clockwork. Another man held out his arms, no patch of skin visible under the blanket of necklaces and jewellery that covered them as he yelled out the prices of various pieces. Another had a stall filled with fine gold carvings of entire fish skeletons and snake bones caught in dynamic poses suspended in strange oils and concoctions.

Frelsa pressed her fat purse close to her skin, aware that there could be any number of pickpockets here, just waiting for a turned eye to reach out and fish for their marks. She subconsciously counted out the fat golden coins, thanking the little boy Dog for the umpteenth time for the fortune at her side. She knew she wouldn't need gold if she showed the silver on her palm, but that seemed disturbingly like stealing to her.

She reached forward and held a polished metal statue of a Rider on his dragon up to the light to examine it, tracing one finger over the scales of the dragon and over each ridge painstakingly carved in. The Rider had been whittled from metal down to amazing detail, each scar on his face visible. The stall owner, a fat bald man with a full beard, asked impatiently, "So, girl? Are you buying it?"

"Not yet, just looking first." There were a thousand other dragon ornaments and statues in just this tiny stretch of street, so why had this one caught her eyes. She noticed something on the edge of one scale, a tiny fleck of paint, red as blood.

She felt something deep in her bones, a warm shiver up her spine. There was something about this statue, something she couldn't place. Frowning, she put the statue back, asking, "Who is the Rider and dragon depicted in this statue?"

The man attached a looking glass and squinted forward, nodding as if happy about her taste, "That, my girl, was a legend, and some say still is. That be Murtagh and the Red Thorn."

She ran her hand over the sculpture again, feeling the cool of the metal under her fingers, remembering the stories of the two. They had appeared during the civil war, a tall Rider upon a red dragon, striking fear into the hearts of men before burning them to ashes. They were said to have actually won against Eragon and Saphira. After the war, some said they went to the icelands in the North, or the poison jungles in the South.

The man continued, "This thing was once painted so well it looked like a real dragon and Rider, but it's changed hands so many times the paint's all but rubbed away. Shame, really, ain't worth as much as before."

Frelsa took one last look, before leaving. She knew that the two figures had some kind of connection to her, but she just couldn't place it. Like a vision, or a dream, or a memory…

She found a rare spot on the side of the road to sit on, and huddled against a wall as she drew her knees close and closed her eyes, trying to remember. It never worked well, but today it worked better. She actually remembered something, even if it was the part she saw in her dreams. The sounds of the markets, shouts and bids, was shut out for a moment. She saw them, mountains, tall dark giants rising through the plains of snow, defying the shrieking wind and roaring blizzards. Then the ice, the cold, then a roar, and the heat.

Then no more.

The shouts and shrieks of the market returned. She never usually felt so, but today she felt frustration in her as she struggled to remember more. The Rider and the Red Thorn were tied to her past, she knew it, but how? She banged her head against her knees a few more times, hoping that would help her memory. It didn't, obviously.

When she looked up, Frelsa was greeted with the seething mass that were the legs of the crowd, but saw something else, an old man, which would not really be very abnormal in this city but what was strange was that he was sitting on a rocking chair in the middle of the street, looking back at her.

The citizens didn't seem to see him, just walking around him like he was nothing more than a large fallen column blocking the way. He pulled on his long white beard, before a man passed him and he seemed to just disappear.

Frelsa got to her feet and forged into the crowd, finding the spot where the old man had been. She looked around, ignoring the stares and impatient jostles of the moving crowd she was obstructing. No old men in rocking chairs.

Turning back to the Keep, she mumbled, "I need some rest."

Shepherd bent down and lightly placed his lips upon Sildine's slender hand, looking up, "A beautiful tour, m'lady, I hope that we may indulge in each other's company very soon."

She smiled sheepishly but didn't answer, hesitating a moment before walking down the passageway, continually glancing back at him. He smiled.

Making his way back up to the roof was a fairly easy task, unlike Feinster Keep and the rest of Belatona, this place seemed to have been designed by a mathematician. Everything conformed to a strict grid like blueprint, nothing ever spilled out of its boundaries or encroached into another's.

When he reached the roof, a large square courtyard, half of it was exposed to the Sun and the other half had a stone roof over it. Shepherd realised that Durkjl must've been somewhere in the Keep. Kalla lay in the Sun, Errol in the sheltered area, and Dýrgrir in between. Kalla was obviously still at edge with Errol.

They had been brought food, but Errol hadn't touched his, pushing the juicy fish towards Kalla, who once again, placed her claws on it and pushed it back. The grey dragon would hang his head in failure for a while, before pushing the fish back to Kalla again, who would push it back. Dýrgrir's head lolled to one side, eyes lazily following the fat fish as it was pushed to and fro.

Shepherd sat down next to Errol, who asked miserably, So? How'd it go?

Fine, thank you, but I'd like to know how this is going, Shepherd asked as Errol received the fish again from a silent Kalla. She's not still angry for you snapping at Dýrgrir is she?

No, something else.

Care telling me?

He slowly pushed the fish back towards Kalla who was looking away, or pretending to. I might've said something she didn't like back at the lake, before dawn.

Kalla pushed the fish back, not even deigning to regard Errol. Shepherd raised an eyebrow, Gods, Errol, what did you say to make her like this?

I'd, rather not repeat it.

You could just show me your memories.

Errol tossed the fish from side to side, the cold dead body's mouth lolling from side to side. I'd rather not either.

It'll help to talk about it.

The dragon didn't answer, instead pushing the fish back to Kalla. Shepherd looked at his dragon with concern. If you're not going to tell me what you said, can you at least tell me if you told her that you… fancy her?

Errol stared at him as he took back the fish, Of course not! If I had, she'd either be happy with me or I wouldn't even be here.

The fish had been pushed around so much that one side had been totally rubbed smooth and stripped of scales. The grey dragon kept the fish for a while, laying his head on the ground and staring the fish in its dead eyes. I messed up big time.

I'm thinking that you did, Shepherd said frankly.

What am I supposed to do? Errol asked frantically. I try to apologise to her, she rubs me off, I try to give her something and she rubs me off.

Kalla shifted so she was facing the city, her tail to Errol, who continued miserably, Even when I don't do anything, she rubs me off.

Shepherd was pretty sure Kalla didn't turn towards the city to give Errol the cold shoulder, but he was still taking it badly. If you want my advice, tell the truth.

Errol gave him a stare that was answer enough. Shepherd continued, Just tell her how you feel, why you did what you did, and she'll understand. She holds a mean grudge, but she'll drop it if you give her a reason to.

It's not that simple! The grey dragon snapped at his Rider, tossing the fish from paw to paw.

Dýrgrir eyed the fish hungrily, asking, Since you seem to have given up on giving that to Kalla, might I have it?

Errol glared seemingly angrily at Dýrgrir, who was oblivious, focusing on the fish alone. The grey dragon batted the fish to the brown dragon, who picked it up with his jaws and slid it down his throat.

A cold wind blew through their roof courtyard, and Shepherd shivered, wrapping his hands around his arms. This new tunic wasn't very good at keeping the drafts out. Errol, just tell me what your problem is, I know it isn't as simple as it seems.

He eyed his Rider for a moment, before saying, Frelsa's just entered the Keep, you should talk to her.

He reached out with his mind and indeed felt Frelsa climbing the steps. Getting up, Shepherd kept his eyes on his dragon, This conversation ain't finished, and talk to Kalla and make nice. Like, now.

Frelsa climbed up through the Keep, reaching into the higher levels which contained the guest rooms. They had been given the most luxurious rooms, but that wasn't where she was headed to, making a beeline straight for the stairs to the roof.

Halting in her steps, she turned her head to one side, there, such a familiar sound, like a huge wheel rolling across the floor. She knew that sound. Cautiously, she poked her head around a corner, asking, "Red?"

She peeked around the corner just as the tip of a red, armoured tail disappeared. What was he doing here? Frelsa advanced, peeking out the next corner to see one tip of red armour rolling to cover.

Red, for it was most assuredly him, led Frelsa on a longwinded chase around the whole floor, circling it several times over and cutting through and across, sometimes appearing behind her and other times shooting like an arrow, rolling through the space between her legs. Frelsa almost felt like laughing as she saw Red roll away, there was something about chasing a little armoured ball that didn't bore you. Maybe it was because it reminded her of her time raising Kalla.

She smiled, peeking around the next corner, only to see that Red was not in sight, but a door was open.

The door was pretty ordinary, she had probably passed this corridor a thousand times during Red's chase, but she'd never noticed that the door was open. From her knowledge, there shouldn't be anybody using the rooms at this level, not even the servants.

A light poured out from inside the room, and something almost like a light mist. She took a cautious step forward and felt the cold mist on her legs. The door had a ghostly feel to it, to say nothing of what may be inside the room, but Frelsa had an idea what it was going to be.

She raised a hand to shield her eyes as they adjusted to the strong light, and when she took it away she was not disappointed.

A woman with curly brown tresses flowing down her back sat in a wooden chair, her back facing Frelsa. "About time you found me."

The room was brightly lit by some kind of lantern hanging from the ceiling, but what dominated the room was the huge green thing where the bed had once been, a hole had been carved into its centre and huge vines and stalks poured out, leaves and sprigs of countless different plants, weeds and flowers. The yellow bellied, blue scaled gecko climbed between the vines while the huge spider stalked through the sprouts beneath. Red was there, bouncing around on the bed and picking out flowers and nuts and crushing them in his maw. His eyes were fiery as always, seeming to leave a glowing trail behind them.

Frelsa advanced into the room, noticing a big black shaggy cat relaxing on the table next to Angela. She tipped her head towards him, speaking with her mind, Thank you for leading us out of the dark, and also for leading us to the lake.

His eyes, yellow this time, seemed to pierce through her, sifting through her secrets, Thanks are not needed for one doing his job, but they are certainly appreciated.

Job? Frelsa asked, confused. Solembum certainly had no responsibility to aid them.

A means to an end, he said mysteriously.

Angela waved her closer, not looking up where she was bent over a collection of strange herbs and a mortar and pestle. Frelsa glanced at Red and said, "Red's grown since I last saw him."

The Salamander had indeed, stone like plates had begun to appear on each of his red skinned legs, they were still thin compared to the rest of his armour but looked formidably strong nonetheless. And she was almost sure that he'd grown taller and stouter.

"Yes, yes," Angela agreed distractedly, "I didn't anticipate this rate of growth, but I suspect it was the potatoes, yes, definitely the potatoes."

Angela picked out a few herbs and crushed them in her palms, releasing a favourable smell. Frelsa asked curiously, "What are those for?"

Angela turned to face her, holding up the crushed leaves, "These? They're just to make the place smell better. They never clean these rooms, had a horrid stink when I came."

"The Steward doesn't know you're here, does he?"

"Why ever would he?"

"You know, he's in charge of this Keep after all, and you know…" Angela didn't seem to comprehend what she was saying. "Anyways, what are you doing here in Belatona?"

She returned to her mortar and pestle, throwing in a few strange roots and sprigs, "I'd gotten word of something befalling a former colleague of mine, he lives at Feinster, I'm just passing through here on my way there."

Frelsa wondered whether 'passing through' meant staying long enough to growia towering mound of plants.

Angela took out the fine powder from her mortar and produced a potato from her dress, sprinkling the powder over and rubbing it into the potato, before throwing it at Red. The Salamander hopped up on his little legs and snapped the treat out of the air.

"Hey Frelsa, so I heard you-"

Shepherd rounded the doorway and entered the room, pausing to take in what he saw. After a long moment, he pointed at Angela, "You."

Frelsa looked at him, then her, "You know Angela?"

"Of course!" the herbalist exclaimed, "I remember you and your nice Urgal friend, you're Shepherd yes?"

He knitted his brows, "I never told you my name, did I?"

"Didn't you? Then I did you a favour, no need to say it now."

Shepherd was obviously uncomfortable, "Drukjl and I met her when we were looking for you, she told us that at the top of the volcano there was an entrance."

Frelsa frowned, that couldn't be a coincidence. Angela plucked a flower from the huge pillar of intertwined leaves and vines, throwing it whole into the mortar and grinding it up. The Herbalist seemed to mutter something to herself.

Shepherd inched over to Red, looking at him curiously. "And this is what, some kind of mutant dragon?"

He scratched Red under the chin, to which the Salamander responded by biting the fingers.

Shepherd screamed and placed his other hand against Red's snout, trying to push him away, cursing. Angela said, "He's a Salamander, and I'm sure he's made clear he doesn't like chin scratches."

Red pulled back, he and Shepherd caught in a humorous game of tug-o-war. At length, the Salamander lost interest and let go, curling into a ball and bouncing on the bed. The wounds on the Rider's hands weren't deep, considering that Red's teeth were still dull with youth, but he was still in a great deal of pain.

Frelsa, once her sides had stopped aching and she managed to stifle her laughter, asked, "So, just now, you said that it was 'About time you found me'. What did you mean by th-"

From the North.

Frelsa shivered as the werecat spoke to her. Shepherd obviously couldn't hear, but Angela seemed to start for a moment before her features rearranged themselves. Her eyes focused on the black cat on the table. He stared at her with striking yellow eyes. The answer comes from the North. Find the Old Rider on a Red Dragon. They have the answer.

What? She asked curiously.

The cat said not a word, instead easily hopping off the table and strolling out the room. Frelsa reached out a hand to stop him, but Angela halted her, "Don't, Frelsa, he won't give any more information on the subject. I reckon he doesn't even know himself."

She stopped in her tracks, reluctantly, and could only watch as the werecat leisurely exited the scene. Angela sighed, "Now, I know you scurriers have some place to be all the time."

Frelsa was startled at how sudden the invitation to leave was. "But we-"

"I understand, don't worry, you have to be on your way to Palancar don't you? And you all should hurry up and sprt out what's going on between your dragons."

Shepherd took a step forward, "Wait a moment, what-"

Angela left her mortar and pestle and started herding them to the door. "No words, just hurry up and scurry off."

Frelsa tried to resist but the Herbalist was surprisingly strong, forcing both the Riders out of her room. The door slid shut even though Angela obviously didn't touch it, the light shut off completely, but not before the Herbalist said, "And find the House on the hill.

The moment the wood banged shut in her face she pushed it open again, but the room before her was bare. No pillar of plants, no gecko or spider, no Salamander and definitely no Herbalist. She walked around the dim room, coughing from the dust. What kind of magic was this?

Back up on the roof courtyard, Errol and Dýrgrir were at each other's throats, literally.

They rolled around on the courtyard, snapping at each other. And from their mental presences boiling with hate, they weren't playing around this time.

Errol slashed Dýrgrir on the snout, his claws sliding between the scales and drawing blood. The brown dragon roared and pounced back, propelling both of them so far Errol's back leg slipped off the edge of the roof. The grey dragon attacked again, before Dýrgrir slammed down and pinned Errol's skull against the ground, roaring at him. Kalla tried to intervene several times but was obviously struggling to keep both of them at bay.

Errol! Shepherd cried, What is this?

Errol regarded Shepherd for a moment, and Dýrgrir sensed the two Riders' presence, leaning back slightly and giving his quarry some freedom. The grey dragon promptly proceeded to lunge and bite Dýrgrir upon his flank.

Errol! Shepherd rushed forward and tried to separate them, but obviously couldn't. What's one human to two raging dragons?

Dýrgrir slashed Errol on the neck and the dragon relinquished his bite, before slamming into Dýrgrir again. They roared in unison and continued to roll around the courtyard. Shepherd cried out as one of their ivory spikes slashed him across the arm.

The two dragons waged their battle for much longer, until Frelsa stared pointedly at Kalla. The green dragon rolled her eyes and agilely leaped into the fray and finally untangling her two companions.

Shepherd lay against the ground and nursed his wound, muttering a healing spell, before asking aloud, "So, anything you two would like to explain?"

Dýrgrir bared his teeth, Ask your own dragon, he's the one who began it.

Sure, push the blame on me, right, coward? Errol snarled accusingly.

Say that once more, grey little rat.

Coward.

Enough! Kalla roared, stepping in between the two dragons. She spoke aloud to all of them, Errol says something very, very snide, Dýrgrir get's angry and says something back, one thing leads to another and Errol decided a tussle would be in order. To 'settle our differences' yes?

Fine, take his side! Errol snarled accusingly.

I took no one's side!

The grey dragon fell into silence, glaring at both Kalla and Dýrgrir. Shepherd looked uncertainly at Frelsa, before saying, "You all settle your differences nice-like. No fighting, no biting."

Several seconds passed in tense silence. Dýrgrir glared at Errol, and at length said, You… are forgiven.

Errol seemed to want to pass another snide comment, before Shepherd gave one of 'those' looks. As… are… you…

The brown dragon silently nodded, before turning towards the edge of the city. Frelsa began, "I can heal your-"

I can wait for my Rider, but appreciate your concern. Dýrgrir sat on the edge of the courtyard facing the city.

As Frelsa went off to tend to Kalla's wounds, Shepherd went to Errol. The grey dragon snarled, That blasted brown lizard, one day he'll receive his due.

And what may his due be? Shepherd asked as he patted his dragon on the side. Or better yet, what is his due for?

Errol brushed his Rider off, Don't. I'll last infinitely longer than Dýrgrir ever will. Don't heal me till Drukjl does to him.

Errol, do you know how stupid that sounds?

Please, his voice had lost the venom and was more pleading, just this time.

Shepherd realised how his dragon's eyes kept on drifting to Kalla, Fine then, is it to let her see?

Errol growled warningly, to which his Rider smiled, Never gets old.

The dragon seemed to slouch a bit and let his head thump against the ground. How will I ever get her to even talk to me again? I'm sorry, but she doesn't let me apologise.

Females, go figure.

But you court, no sorry, attempt to court human females on many occasions. That human female, Sildine?

That's different. And anyway, we're talking about you, not me.

Errol seemed to sigh and looked sadly at Kalla's back. She'll hate me more than ever now. After what happened just now, I'm sure I've fallen another notch to her.

That's your own fault, mate, Shepherd pointed out.

I know! I just need to know how I can fix all of this. Errol was truly asking for the impossible now. A one shot fix to all his problems? Nope.

Shepherd inspected one of the deeper gashes on Errol's neck before saying, You've got to do something for her, I reckon, to show her you feel truly sorry.

I am!

And to show her you won't do anything of the like again.

Errol proceeded to start slamming his grey head against the nearest wall. But that's the thing. I don't want to do it, it just happens, like I'm a spectator in this body.

Don't worry, we all do a lot of stupid things in our time. But we'll turn out the better for it. Just look at me!

Forgive me if I'm not over-thrilled.

Shepherd laughed at his own expense, and actually felt some happiness from Errol. The grey dragon looked dolefully back at Kalla, It's not just that, Shepherd, it's almost like… almost as if…

Yes?

Like there's-

"Shepherd!"

He turned around to the voice calling him, Drukjl stood in the doorway to the keep, axe in hand, "The north wall is under siege, our aid is needed!"

Frelsa frowned even as she got up, "North wall? Isn't that the side facing Leona Lake?"

"It is."

Shepherd drew Shorren and leaped onto Errol's back and disregarding his dragon's pleas, healing Errol's wounds. "Come on then! Let's go!"

Under attack was something of an understatement. Half the wall had collapsed, the rubble falling into the lake and allowing a clear path into the city for the invaders. Fiery bolts seemingly materialised from the clouds and rained upon the rooftops, setting houses alight and scattering ranks of soldiers struggling to rally.

As they got closer, Shepherd could just make out the invaders themselves. They seemed to be all hooded in blue and white robes, carrying golden staffs of seven rings. Four blue lines of cloth stretched out behind every one of them. He knew them all too well. Sentinels. But here were more than he had ever dared possible to be, innumerable ranks pressing into the city, a sea of white hoods with metal laurels upon each of them. The legions of Belatona's soldiers were like rocks of the coast, assailed perpetually by the roaring waves, each surge taking a little rock away with it.

Kalla roared and plummeted like a stone for seemingly no reason. Dýrgrir roared at the legions below them, but a fiery bolt slammed into him sending both Urgal and dragon free falling with a terrible roar. Shepherd would have done something, but Errol roared something about Kalla and dived down like a falcon.

Something struck him in the shoulder and he was forced off his seat on Errol's back. He waved his limbs uselessly through space, before his body was enveloped by the cold water. He paddled furiously, trying to figure out which way was up, before his head breached the surface. He must have landed in the lake, and could only hope the others were as lucky.

Crawling ashore, Shepherd was heartened to find Shorren still in his hand, and a shadow fell over him. Looking up, he found himself face to face with his father.

He looked fearfully into the strong man's eyes, eyes that weren't sunken in and ragged from the bayou-sick like before, in the last days he lived. His father crossed his arms and looked down disapprovingly at his son, scratching his jet black beard. "Did we not raise you as best we could?"

Shepherd gripped Shorren with pale and numb fingers. This thing wasn't his father, it couldn't be. But still the apparition spoke just as the man would in life. "You ran off to chase your fairy tales on that accursed island. You left your mother and I to die!"

"NO!"

"Yes!" His father pointed at him with a hand calloused from decades spent working wood into strange shapes and purposes. "A good son wouldn't have left us alone, you would've chosen to stay with us! If you did, we would still be alive!"

"No! You're not real!" Shepherd screamed as he pointed Shorren at his father. He scowled at his son.

"Lifting a weapon against your own family? A disgrace to your family."

"You're not real!"

"The only thing real here is the cowardice in your heart." And with that the man turned and left.

Shepherd looked palely at where the man had been, oblivious to the silent legions of Sentinels passing on either side. That couldn't be true. Couldn't be real.

He got shakily to his feet and was surprised to see that the Sentinels paid him no heed, not even bothering to acknowledge him as they passed by on either side. Their shoulders bumped into his, but he did not pass out or feel faint.

A scream. A scream so loud it seemed to sap the sound from the world around. Shepherd knitted his eyes shut and fell to his knees, slamming his palms against his ears. But even then he still heard the scream. He opened his eyes and looked fearfully behind and saw the source of the wailing, the ghostly waling, a woman in a faint white dress that seemed to flutter though there was no wind. Her hair was the colour of bone, flying in a wild halo around her head like she was underwater. Her skin was likewise pale. Shepherd knew what beast this was, the stuff of children's stories and boogie man tales. He screamed along in unison with the banshee as she wailed.

The banshee wailed and wailed and Shepherd screamed in fear as he felt his world fade away and the Banshee's song fill him up. Then it ended. He looked up and saw the Banshee gone, and in its place was Drukjl, with tattered white robes in one hand and his axe in the other. "Come, Shepherd, we must find Frelsa!"

His ears still rang, but he managed to hold up one hand which Drukjl grasped, pulling him up. He leaned on the Urgal as he lead them through the crowds of Sentinels, none of them noticing them, and even when they touched the hooded figures they suffered no plight.

They found Frelsa fighting off… something. A skeleton, dressed in ancient Elven armour, a discoloured, tattered cap flowing behind it. The skeleton's morbid grin seemed almost gleeful as he struck down again and again at Frelsa. Shepherd winced as he lunged forward and plunged Shorren through the beast, the blade easily sliding through ribs and the ancient cuirass.

He smiled grimly to himself, before there was a cracking sound and the skull turned on its spine to face him. The grinning visage's mouth hung slackly open, taunting him in undeath, until a green blade swept through the spine and severed the head. The skeleton sank to its knees and fell over. Frelsa nodded, "Thank me later."

They huddled together, back to back. Shepherd asked, "Where are the dragons?"

A roar was their answer, from the left. Errol recognised that roar, Dýrgrir definitely, followed by Kalla's. Where was Errol?

Frelsa rushed off into the crowds of Sentinels, disappearing into their ranks. Shepherd called after her, before rushing to follow, following the curve of the lake bank.

The faceless crowd of hooded figures surged and waxed around him, and something struck him in the forehead and knocked him back. He rubbed his bruised skin and winced, looking up saw another horror before him, a snake that was as thick as his waist and whose length was so long he couldn't see the end of it. It bared its fangs and hissed, bright yellow venom collecting into small droplets at the tips of those serrated teeth. He screamed in horror and turned tail, running back into the crowd of Sentinels, only to see that they weren't there anymore. Instead he faced a legion of grim warriors, their faces hidden behind long faced helms of steel, two small slits marked where they looked out from, sunken and tired eyes were visible behind them. Each soldier was clothed in silvery plate armour with black scarfs and cloaks thrown over, each had a wickedly curved sword in hand. One of them carried a flag, and Shepherd knew the sign upon well. Many children have heard of it in fairy tales and stories, a sickle whose blade curved around three figures, the sigil of the Reapers of Men.

Shepherd wielded his blade unsteadily, backing up till he knocked into another Reaper. These were the heroes of legend, each one of them a master of war and duelling. The last time they'd marched from the South all of Alagaësia fell to their sickle-like swords, and they reigned unchallenged until the Riders mustered a counterattack. That was almost seven hundred years ago. If they'd marched on Belatona, three Riders would be no challenge to them. But no Reaper paid heed to him, not looking at him. They parted like water around a rock, providing him an island of sanctuary.

Another roar, this time of pain, Shepherd turned to it with widened eyes, shouting, "Errol!"

Running into the ranks of the Reapers, Shepherd was ready to fight his way through this indomitable force if needed to find his dragon, but none of them even seemed to get within arm's length of him.

He stumbled into a clearing in the ranks, and found Errol. He stayed close to the ground, his body marked by innumerable bleeding wounds and gouges. Shepherd wondered why he did not fly away, then saw Kalla. She lay immobile on the ground, a spear impaled in her side. Her ribs rose raggedly with each breathe and her breathing was laboured. Shepherd paled at the sight of the blood leaking from her.

Three figures surrounded them, Shepherd realised from the height that they must be Dwarves. Errol reached down and slammed his jaws shut over one, lifting him into the air and flinging the unfortunate Dwarf far into the ranks of Reapers. Shepherd struck forth with Shorren and caught one of the Dwarves unawares, his blade sinking through armour and flesh. Errol quickly swept aside the last one. He planted one foot on the Dwarf's back and pushed him off the blade, before looking to Errol, You okay?

His wounds looked mean and deep, but he snarled, Kalla! Save her!

He sheathed Shorren and went to Kalla's side. Her mind was so weak it nearly wasn't there. Placing one hand around the smooth wood pole of the spear and the other against Kalla's cold scales, he pulled back and the weapon inched out slightly, Kalla giving a pained rumble. Errol snarled at his Rider, but Shepherd looked back angrily, I can't heal her with this thing in her side!

He kept on pulling on the spear, trying to ignore the sick and gristly noises it made as it slid past bone and flesh. Errol snarled at something and there was a sound like clashing steel and wrenching metal, like the dragon had bit through something. Shepherd winced as the spear came free with a sickening squelch, and threw the weapon aside, placing both palms against Kalla's belly and exhaling. He realised that Frelsa would be better for this, she was much better at magic than he. Then he realised that if he didn't save Kalla, Frelsa would kill him.

"Waíse heill."

The toll on him was strong, he felt his blood racing through his veins and heard his heart throbbing. His knees grew wobbly, his eyelids slid a bit lower, but nothing happened to the wound. He repeated the spell again, louder, but nothing happened still. The toll grew ever greater, one of his knees folded in and he fell to the ground. He noticed the grass still grew tall here. Why did he notice that?

Speaking out the spell again, he prayed for something to happen, however nothing did and he felt the tiny spark that was Kalla's mind get snuffed out. He paled as he said the spell again and again, searched deeper and deeper for the dragon's mind, but nothing happened. You can't heal a dead thing.

Shepherd felt a tear creep out of his eye, but wiped it away. He had to save the others before they found the same fate. Turning, he saw Errol spit out something like a helmet, before turning to glare at his Rider, What happened? Tell me!

He shook his head slowly, I couldn't help her.

No! Errol thrashed and roared at him. Don't lie to me!

He bounded across to Kalla's side, laying his head by her's, nuzzling her neck scales with his snout. Come on, wake up, wake up…

Shepherd drew Shorren, determined to cut down these Reapers, all of them. Errol nuzzled Kalla still, I'm sorry for anything I did, everything I did. Just come back. Please.

Another roar, Dýrgrir's definitely, coming from somewhere out over the lake, but it was joined by another. Shepherd realised who that roar belonged to. Kalla.

Errol knew it too and got up, looking out over the heads of Reapers and across the water surface. Shepherd clambered atop his dragon and saw something swooping over the heads of the soldiers, a brown dragon and a green one. He asked cautiously, Kalla?

Shepherd? Frelsa, we've found him!

Errol looked on in disbelief. Kalla? But then, what…

They turned back towards where Kalla's cold body had been. Ranks of silver clad soldiers, and rising above their heads the tall walls of Belatona, but no still and cold dragon. Errol was a mass of conflicted emotion, and Shepherd was tempted to cut off the connection, but resisted. He patted Errol's grey neck, Come on, let's go!

They soared over the heads of Reapers, until Shepherd realised they weren't Reapers. Now where silver helmets had been were horned heads and fur and iron armour. An army of Urgals, there were so many here that there must be ten clans joined together. They roared and bellowed at Shepherd and Errol as they soared over their heads until their ranks ended, replaced by the surface of the cold Lake Leona.

Errol and Shepherd met them somewhere over the lake. Errol exclaimed immediately, Kalla! Are you fine?

She seemed annoyed, but still answered, Fine, of course, now can anyone help make sense of what's happening?

Frelsa ticked them off on her fingers, first Sentinels, then the grinning skeleton, some strange legion of soldiers in silver plate armour and now clans of Urgals. Then there were the creatures that she'd managed to evade, a ghoul and a man that rose from the water and seemed to be composed of the water itself, and most terrifying of all: a fish with dragon like wings. She remarked, A right mess we've found ourselves in.

"Tell me about it. Those Reapers scared the soul out of me," Shepherd said, he seemed awkward for some reason, like he had seen something he didn't want to.

Reapers? She asked. He gave her a 'tell you later' look.

Drukjl shifted uncomfortably in his saddle. His whole right side was blackened and so were Dýrgrir's scales on his right side, a parting gift from the fiery bolt that had struck them. The Urgal grunted, "These rams, they are not like any I've ever known."

She honestly couldn't see a difference but didn't voice that aloud. Another bolt of fire fell from the clouds and nearly struck them, striking the lake surface and fizzling to embers. "We can't stay here!"

"You don't say!" Shepherd shouted as something, like some kind of sea serpent as thin as a thin tree trunk, rose from the lake like an arrow and tried to latch onto Errols wing. The dragon swooped out of the way.

What do we do? Go to the city's defense or save ourselves? Dýrgrir roared as an arrow pierced his wings.

Frelsa furrowed her brows, yelling, "The city! We can't leave them behind!"

Errol began, But-

To the City, Kalla stated finally. Errol followed without question.

The army below them had changed once again before they got there, now where the Urgals had once been were crowds of strange figures, armoured in long flowing grey amour even more elegant than the Elves'. Their helmets were strange, made of the same grey material and with no visible visor or eye holes. They carried weapons like Elven blades and a few leading the charge had halberds with great flags that depicted nothing but grey. She knew not what manner of men these were, but the shortest was a head taller than the tallest Elf.

Dýrgrir swooped down and picked up one, who struggled weakly in the dragon's grasp, before he was flung into the ranks of his brethren. One of them stomped hard on the ground and a stone, still with some grass attached to the top and soil streaming from it, shot forth from the ground and slammed into Errol, sending him careening away.

Kalla landed within the city limits, where the soldiers of Belatona were barely able to hold the line against the onslaught. They were stretched thin across the breach in the wall, standing on rubble and fallen stones, holding their shields together to form their own wall of shields. The grey soldiers pressed forward against them, slashing against the shields with their curved blades and with magic. A blade would land against a shield, then a tree trunk, then a whole body of a fallen soldier. One of the soldiers, judging from his gleaming badges a captain, detached himself and went to where the Riders were, "Hail!"

The soldiers forming the shield wall seemed to sense their presence and raised their shields a bit higher. The Captain shouted, "You need to help us! The men, they're scared out of their mind. First priests, then Reapers, then Urgals and now these things! I can barely keep them from deserting."

Frelsa found it a bit strange, this man was almost definitely twice their age at least, yet he looked to them. Perks of being a Rider, she guessed. Drukjl asked, "What do you need?"

Errol landed, newly healed by Shepherd. The Captain responded not to Drukjl but to Frelsa, not even regarding the Urgal, "We need you to push them back if you can. There's no way we can even hold out for any longer, we need you all to help hold the line until the citizens evacuated into the inner walls. Then we'll retreat and allow them to push into the streets where we can pick them off with arrows."

Shepherd nodded, he seemed slightly fatigued but otherwise fine, "How much time do you think you'll need?"

"The evacuation's been underway for some time now, so an hour or so, but any time more will be appreciated."

"Got that."

Kalla leaped forth first, spreading her wings wide and soaring over the heads of the shield wall and landing in the midst of the grey legion. She roared and snapped at the armoured soldiers. Frelsa could not help but appreciate the tenacity of dragons, these strange warriors were almost as tall as Kalla was.

The dragon spread her wings and knocked back a group of warriors. The soldiers of Belatona behind them roared in fury and charged forth, their swords stabbing down and finding marks in the fallen grey warriors. Frelsa glanced to one side and saw Dýrgrir and Errol wading into the ranks. She swung Delswoir in a wide arc and it stuck on the neck of one of the grey figures. She yanked it back and ignored the sickening crunch of bone. She tried to remember what Eragon had taught her about fighting on dragon-back, but she didn't think his lessons applied to fighting those taller than Kull.

Frelsa felt something to her left and turned to see grey blade bounce off her wards and was sent flying back. She tried to swing Delswoir forward to the head of the wielder but the warrior ducked down and the blade flew over his head. He rose again and reached forward with one hand, easily pulling her off her seat on Kalla.

Frelsa scrambled to her feet to face the giant before her, at least two, maybe three heads taller. He raised his sword high to cleave her in twain, and would have had Kalla not bitten his abdomen and thrown him aside. A part of her wondered why the Sentinels and those 'Reapers' hadn't harmed them but the Urgals and grey warriors did.

She tried to climb up onto Kalla again but something grabbed the back of her tunic and threw her back with so much force that she soared for a good few seconds before landing on one of the grey warriors.

Struggling to her feet, Frelsa raised her sword against the greys in front of her, trying to find the bravado in her heart from before but it wasn't there. She realised that they were doomed to fail against these things as the battle raged around her. Each grey warrior would slay three men before he was cut down, and there were thousands more to follow behind.

There was a scream and she saw one of the soldiers next to her slashed across the face by a curved blade. Another wail as a man was impaled by a stone spire summoned from under the earth.

She saw something through a gap in the crowd, Dýrgrir, just metres away, standing over a wounded Drukjl. A blade reached forth and slid across the Urgal's chest and his flesh parted and blood flowed down. Dýrgrir roared, and Frelsa knew deep down that before his impending wrath the warriors were damned.

But the dragon didn't bite forth and slash as she had thought, the brown dragon looked down at his Rider as the Urgal's eyes rolled back into his skull and he fell, then back at the grey cohort before them. Then he opened his maw and she smelled something like smoke.

The next few moments are hard to describe with words, a torrent of fire and heat, smoke and ash that consumed all before Dýrgrir. The fire was the colour of burnished copper, the edges curling to a rust like colour. The torrent raged and roared, the fires spreading forth like a plague or fell wind and blanketing the ground in flames, then spreading still, over the still water surface like a carpet of bronze tongues of heat. She felt the soldiers around her raise their shields to protect them from the heat, and Frelsa knew the only reason she wasn't in ashes was that her wards offered some little protection. The warriors before her turned to dark silhouettes as they were covered with tender blankets of flame, wrapping gently around their armour, then they seemed to dissipate into nothingness.

When the fire ended and the smoke cleared, Frelsa opened her eyes and immediately shut them again, rubbing them from pain of the smoke. She rubbed the tears from them and looked forth. The field before them could have been some desolate wasteland. The green grass was all burnt and crisped, the soil cracked a thousand times over from heat. Trees were now devoid of leaves and their bark blackened and charred. None of the grey warriors were there any longer, even those who had obviously not been caught in the flames. Somehow, none of the soldiers of Belatona had been caught in the flames, though they still kept their distance from all the dragons. This sight had given all of them, including Frelsa, new respect for the dragons.

What happened? Dýrgrir asked, in a state he had never been seen in since Frelsa could remember: shock.

Kalla bobbed her head approvingly, That, my friend, is called breathing fire.

21-1-13

And that, is chapter 12, sorry for the very late release, I've been preoccupied with family matters for the past few weeks or so. But I'm up and running yet again! Hopefully I'll be able to return to my old speed, not one a day but certainly one every week or one and a half. Hopefully. And remember, a review is what makes writing worthwhile for many writers here, me included.

22-1-13

If you're confused at the events that transpired in the story, then I've done my job well, for that was my intention for this chapter.