Shepherd woke up and saw a roof of stars above his head.
He took a deep breath of the world, the smell of dead leaves and rotting wood. The smell of sea wind and rain.
Groaning, he tried to sit up then there was a flare of pain from his stomach. Screaming, he fell backwards and lay there panting as the pain began to spread from his abdomen again. His left hand slid down across his tunic and felt the hole in his stomach. The cloth was torn and ragged, crusted with dried blood. He wondered if any amount of washing would ever renew the ruined silk. The wound seemed to have stopped bleeding, but it still hurt and gave off excruciating flares of pain. As the salt sea wind blew it found his ragged wound, making the red exposed flesh tingle and turn icy cold.
A shot of pain from his right arm. Shepherd screwed his eyes up and curled into a foetal position as something began tugging and nudging his arm. He felt something under his broken arm, something soft and plush, covered in fur.
Shepherd groaned as it tugged again at his arm and tried to wriggle out. He'd gladly let it away, if only he dared move his broken arm. Then he heard a pitiful whimper and paled at the sound.
He gritted his teeth and looked down. Buried in the folds of his blood crusted shirt was a small bundle of white and black-flecked fur, soaked in his blood. He looked at it with wide, shocked eyes, and two wide yellow ones stared back.
Frelsa didn't dare to walk the streets, and not because she'd be obvious and in clear sight upon them. They were so much wider and giant when she was next to them. She realised that here five dragons larger than Saphira could wake shoulder to shoulder. The very size daunted her, and she was unsettled. Instead she stuck to the sides, hugging the edges of the half caved in buildings.
Here her werelight's glow seemed pitifully weak. The buildings were so huge, almost all of them were caved in or had collapsed walls, some were little more than giant cornerstones, but still they were bigger than the biggest from Nyr Doru Araeba. Even the bricks were larger than her, giant blocks of stone that were seven feet high.
Frelsa ran a hand over the last remaining wall of a building long gone, the pits and scars in the bricks seemed to speak a story to her. Of life, of joy, of betrayal and death.
All the tiles that paved the roads were of gigantic proportions like the rest of the island, they were thicker than Frelsa's arm and five metres wide at any point, inscribed with Elven runes and patterns from whom the colour had long ago faded away. All the tiles were cracked and shattered in one place or another, laying in huge jagged parts like a strange puzzle to be fitted back together. They clicked and chinked underfoot uncomfortably.
Frelsa gripped Delswoir with a shivering hand as another cold sea gale blew through. Against and upon the grey walls grew tall gnarled trees, strange and fell, whose leaves were brown and seemed already dead while still upon the branch. They rustled in the wind and seemed to herald the impending Hunt.
Frelsa continued down the side of the street, hugging the huge walls. She laid the hand holding Delswoir against one wall and it immediately gave a deep groaning. Silt, dust and a hail of dead leaves showered down from above and Frelsa immediately recoiled from the wall. When she'd passed it she looked back and fancied she saw the huge wall swaying in the wind.
It was so quiet here, the only sound the soft rustling of leaves and the hissing wind. She didn't dare make a noise, she felt like if she gave a single whimper it would echo for hundreds of miles all around the island.
The moon was barely visible, hidden behind a veil of clouds. Delswoir scraped against one of the walls and Frelsa willed her werelight to glow a bit brighter. Another strong gale and she raised a hand to shield her face and the werelight as she was pelted with leaves and dust.
There was a roar from the forest. Frelsa shuddered and stopped in her tracks, looking back. The black forest seemed to be pressing against the city of Doru Araeba, threatening to reclaim the city as its own. But the roar that had sounded, it chilled Frelsa to her core. It wasn't the howl of Kalla, Errol or Dýrgrir, not the roar of any Dragon she knew. It wasn't the howl of a Shrrg, or indeed the howl of any beast she'd ever heard. Who knew what creatures festered and had grown there since the Fall. She'd heard stories of strange beasts, among them grubs that could split into a dozen other worms to dig into flesh or soil.
Frelsa remembered when Eragon had recounted the story of the Fall to them. It seemed like an ancient happening, so long ago that even Eragon and Spahira had not been born yet. Thirteen spiteful Riders and their Dragons, the Forsworn, came to Vroengard and stormed Doru Araeba. They were empowered by strange forbidden magics, and killed and ransacked with recklessness. Their forbidden magic was strong enough that almost all the Riders and their Dragons were slaughtered.
Then a single Rider sacrifice himself with a spell that tore his body apart on such a scale that it released the energy within him, epelling all his magic at one instant. The result was a catastrophic magical detonation that coated Vroengard in an invisible poison and destroyed much of Doru Araeba. The Riders were decimated, nearly all killed, the City of Dragons was gone and Vroengard was a volatile cesspool, but for the sacrificed Rider's efforts the Forsworn hadn't even been killed. She felt sad inside at the thought.
Frelsa remembered what Eragon had told them about the invisible poison that was in this island, laced through the air and mixed into the water. The plants were soaked in it and the animals lived on it, growing strange and becoming different. Many who went there and had not protected themselves from the poison came back and fell ill with unknown sicknesses, dying within days. There were stories that the poison had faded away after the decades, and Frelsa wondered if that was really true.
Her mind never stopped reaching out, searching for any of her companions, but she didn't feel them. Instead she felt hundreds of other creatures, so many animals here that her mind nearly blanked out with the sheer surge of thoughts. Dogs, foxes, Snalglí and bugs and hundreds of other thousands that Frelsa didn't remember the names for.
Frelsa then heard the strange roar again, and her fingers tightened around Delswoir's handle. She glanced back and saw a flock of shadowy birds take flight and soar away from the forest and into the air. Something must have scared them.
She heard the roar again and felt fear in her, then another sound. A howl. The black trees in a part of the forest far away began to shake and many of them toppled. There was the sound of far away snarling, growling, roaring. The thing gave a great final roar, filled with pain and fear. Then a howl, and silence.
Frelsa took off running down the street, Delswoir scraping the walls.
Drukjl gripped Zhâda tight and leaned against the side of the crumbling brick wall, looking out over the crumbling city. He seemed to be near the centre, where Eragon and Saphira had said a Rider had sacrificed himself with a cataclysmic spell.
He guessed that it had happened North of the building where he was, for towards the North the buildings grew sparser and more ruined, and he could even glimpse the edge of a huge crater on the horizon.
There was a slight snarling from the ground. Drukjl peered over the edge and saw, one that one level down on the street were a few strange dark shadows. One of the Shrrg.
Ever since he'd woken in the middle of the street quite a distance away he'd been tailed by the Shrrg. They'd always kept to the ruined buildings, hiding themselves whenever he looked back. One of them slinked about down there right now, searching for him.
As he surveyed the wolf he rubbed his right wrist, still with a bloody wound through it. It seemed that he'd been healed by the Demon, probably to offer a more entertaining show of a Hunt. But he'd only been healed so his wrist didn't fall apart and he didn't bleed to death, and more importantly he couldn't hold Zhâda with his right hand.
If only the wolf could speak, then he'd squeeze the secrets from it. Where the others were, where Dýrgrir was most of all. The Dragon had not spoken of it when they had been hung up like sacks of meat, but Drukjl could feel through their bond. Dýrgrir had been shot in the back by one of the Demon's great arrows back at the clearing, and though the arrow shaft had been broken off the arrowhead was still there, lying in Dýrgrir's flesh among shattered spine bones.
He spared a thought for his companions, Frelsa was probably trying to find one of them now, wandering the streets. She'd learn soon enough that it was safer to stick to the buildings. Shepherd was definitely in no position to move, and it was for him that Drukjl feared. Unless another one of them found him he'd be easy prey.
The Shrrg continued to snuffle and sniff at the doorway of Drukjl's building. Drukjl contemplated leaving the thing be, but he knew that these hunters were smarter than normal wolves. He knew his quarry was in this building, and if he could not smoke his prey out then he'd give a howl and draw the rest of his pack here. Then he'd have no chance at all.
Drukjl knew he had to kill it. Not a simple task, Shrrg were beasts but they were stronger than most. In his tribe he'd been raised to respect all hunters as equals, especially those that could kill him.
Gripping Zhâda, he shifted forward till he was on the edge of the crumbling wall, looking through the gaping hole torn in the wall and preparing to jump over the edge.
As he shuffled forward one foot pushed a few loose stones over the edge where they fell and clattered against the street. The Shrrg snarled and looked up just as Drukjl came down.
It was true that he had made his perch on the second story, but these buildings were so large that the second story was at least twenty metres off the ground. Drukjl felt a moment of weightlessness as he freefell through the air, then his face was buried in a mountain of brown fur.
The beast snarled and bucked, trying to crane its neck back and bite Drukjl and throw him off its back. Drukjl struggled to hold on to the beast and raised Zhâda high, before sinking it into the Shrrg's body. Immediately the moon-lit fur was coloured dark and wet.
He'd struck its shoulder, not a proper blow. If any other Urgal had seen that display he'd be in great shame. Drukjl remembered back with his tribe, before the Riders, the chief, his father, had taught him about the beasts of the Beors, and how to kill them.
Drukjl struck again, picking his target more carefully. The copper coloured axe sank into the beast's flesh again, right at the base of its neck, before it struck on bone. Drukjl struck in the same spot again and the axe sank deeper. He remembered being taught how the the spine of the Shrrg was weak at the base of the neck.
The huge wolf shuddered, its body now stone still as it stiffened up. The wolf stayed upright a moment more, before its whole body toppled to the side.
Drukjl scowled as his leg was pinned under the wolf's heavy body and dragged himself out from under it. The Shrrg's body, though on its side, still shuddered and shivered pitifully as it convulsed in its dying throes. Drukjl bent down next to it and ended its suffering quickly. A predator as proud as Shrrg shouldn't die a slow, humiliating death.
A howl. Drukjl grimaced as he looked to where it had sounded from. It was not close, but Shrrg were fast. They'd catch him quickly if he stayed put, and killing the scout had only slowed their efforts. Drukjl wiped off the blood from Zhâda and headed Northwards, towards the Crater and away from the pack.
Frelsa decided to make her way to the most visible building possible, a tall tower that dwarfed the other huge buildings. It seemed to be the only tall building that survived, even if only partially. Even from her position far away she saw huge black cracks crawling up its sides, the tower even seemed to be leaning to one side. But if she got there she would have a good vantage point, she fancied she could even see the crater rumoured to lie in Old Doru Araeba's centre.
She had slowed down to a brisk walk now, her werelight casting haunting shadows of the smallest rocks. Whenever she passed alleyways between the huge buildings her heart faltered when she looked inside, glimpsing strange eyes staring back.
Frelsa found her first Dragon quickly. She looked around continually as she walked, searching for any sign of the Shrrg that were undoubtedly following her right now. Then something cracked under her foot.
Her werelight seemed to wane as she stopped in her tracks, the cracking echoing through the streets for hundreds of metres. She looked down slowly, and saw something under her foot. A pile of white bones.
She drew her leg out and stepped back, before biting her tongue as she realised what it was. A tiny little creature, barely bigger than a dog, but its skull was the giveaway, lying on top of the pile. A Dragon.
It must have been a baby, no more than a hatchling when it died. Its body wasn't really a pile of bones, it was just so contorted and mangled it appeared that way.
Then she looked up and saw the next one, a bigger creature that must have been the size of a small house. When she'd seen it earlier she'd assumed it was just a small structure, but it was now unmistakable up close. The creature lay on its back, its ribs rising into the air like ghostly monoliths, the werelight painting them white. Half the ribs were caved in. Its skull stared at her sadly, as if pitying her. This one's wing bones were splayed across the street, stretching across the whole width of the road.
Frelsa took another step back, but then heard a howl from behind. She couldn't back away, not now. Not to the Shrrg.
She gripped Delswoir and advanced, stepping around the hatchling's bones, before crossing through the bigger dragon's rib's, the huge curved bones forming an archway for her to walk through.
After her first skeletons the rest seemed to appear from nowhere. She began to notice them in strange places, skeletons of both men and elves and dragons.
Tiptoeing, she looked into a window and saw a skull staring back at her, the thing teetering on the stone windowsill. She looked across the street and saw a collapsed pile of huge bricks, bones poking out of the rubble, both Dragon and man. A larger Dragon's body lay against the opposite side of the street, all of its bones mangled as if something had crushed it against the buildings.
She tried to look away from the mangled bodies, but her eyes seemed drawn to them like a cord connected the bones and her eyes.
Then something off the side of the road. Frelsa looked into an alleyway and saw something, something so huge that it had crushed all the buildings under it to nothing. She was possessed of some kind of morbid curiosity, shuffling into the alley with the werelight outstretched. It was another Dragon, but not like any she had ever seen.
It seemed to have fallen on the back of the row of huge buildings, and even the great structures had collapsed under his weight. The Dragon must have been a true monster in life. Frelsa willed her werelight to flare brighter, bright as it could, and it illuminated almost eight blocks of the huge buildings, but still the Dragon's huge body stretched off into darkness. She didn't dare to go any closer, as if his huge body could come back to life and strike her.
The ribs were half buried in bricks and rubble, but even so the closet rib was so high it disappeared into darkness high above, it was so thick that Frelsa doubted that Kalla could curl her whole body around it. The littlest of the Dragon's claws was larger than Frelsa was. She tried to remember the names of the great Wyrms before the Fall, Beroan, Fundor, Jarnunvösk, Hirador. But Frelsa knew that none of these Dragons had been described as this huge, not even Valinor the King of the Wild Dragons. This thing would have been fifty times Saphira's size.
Disturbing memories came to Frelsa, of the tunnels under Nyr Doru Araeba. The Four Guardians, the grinning skeleton, the huge red-eyed dragon. She shuddered and turned away.
Soon enough Frelsa heard another roar, but this one she knew. It wasn't of any fantastical beast, or any magic formed mutant of the Fall. This one belonged to a Dragon, and one she knew well. Errol.
The roar was filled with anger and pain, filled with hate. Frelsa listened closely, before another one sounded. It came from her right, it didn't sound far but defintitely wasn't close.
Should she go to him? Those roars would attract the Shrrg, if they weren't already attacking him, and the Hunter definitely. But she wouldn't last too long by herself against the pack, neither could Errol. Together they could survive a bit longer, and anyway she couldn't stomach letting him die while she could have done something.
She quickly crossed the wide street, she didn't feel safe out in the middle of the roads. It was far too empty, she didn't know why but the claustrophobia of the close giant buildings was comforting to her nerves.
Frelsa went into the nearest alleyway and forged into it. This side road had walls covered in strange mangled black vines that made a bizzare spiderweb across the already building walls. The walls here were cracked and crumbling, everytime Delswoir brushed one of them there was an unsettling rumbling and a few tiny stones would tumble down and strike her on the back of her head. It seemed like the brick walls were held together by nothing but the vines.
She emerged onto what might have once been a town square. There was a circle of scorched bricks in the centre of the square which was probably a fountain once, but now it was filled with bricks instead of water. Scattered around the square were strange mangled shapes in the dark, Frelsa didn't want to know what they were. She heard an echoing snarl and immediately extinguished her werelight.
She reached out with her mind and found Errol soon enough, on the roof of one of the buildings at the right side of the square, directly at its edge.
There was another roar and then the snarling of Shrrg. A huge writhing shadow detached itself from the roof, careening through the air as it convulsed and snarled. The thing fell through the air and struck the square with a sickly cracking as it crushed the long dead skeleton of a young dragon, the splinters of bone sliding smoothly across the square. I reached out with my mind but the thing was already dead, a Shrrg definitely.
More snarling and a single growl, before another shadow soared off the roof. It had huge long wings and spread them to its full length, bearing aloft a second creature in its claws, before flinging the Shrrg in its claws to its death. The huge wolf slammed into the side of a building so hard the wall it hit crumbled apart and the wolf disappeared into it.
Errol circled above twice, before seeming to turn sharply and make to fly away. Frelsa frantically reached out with her mind and connected to Errol's, quickly saying, Errol! It's me!
Frelsa? The dragon turned back and circled above twice, before swooping down and landing upon the ruined fountain. Errol kept his distance, his twinkling grey eyes surveying her for a moment, before sliding down the side of the pile of rubble. He looked around, almost fearfully, before advancing to her, his bloody claws scraping the ash laden ground.
Frelsa sheathed Delswoir, her heart calming for the first time since she came here. She came to Errol and laid hand on his snout, leaning in close and feeling his scales against her skin. His scales were warm, almost burning, a welcome feeling in the cold city. She asked, Where are the others?
He growled back, I've not found Shepherd, nor Dýrgrir. I spied a horned shadow on a roof I thought was Drukjl, but when I flew to him he had disappeared and I'm not quite sure what it was now.
And Kalla?
Kalla? I saw a shape flying South or Southeast from here, but I wasn't sure if it was her, and the Shrrg attacked me before I could investigate.
Frelsa's sprits seemed to drop down her throat and the sense of achievement she'd gotten from finding Errol lessened slightly. The rest were still out there, alone probably, and they'd be hunted down within hours at most. But she forced herself not to think about it. So we've got nothing to go on? Nothing on the others?
Nothing, Errol replied with a bit of desolation, but at least together we'll, sorry, I meant 'you', won't get hunted down and killed as easily.
Oh wow, so funny. She nearly cracked a smile.
Errol gave a short Dragon's laugh. There was a howl and he flinched, his body sticking to the ground and his neck craning up as he looked around. He muttered fearfully, Need to go. Need to go, the wolves will find us if we don't keep moving. We need to go.
There was a cold sea gale and Frelsa's long hair was blown around her and into her face. She pushed it out of her eyes and asked, Go where?
Go anywhere! We need to go!
He shifted forward impatiently so Frelsa was right besides him, and he bent down one knee to her. She got the message and grabbed one of the ivory spikes before pulling herself up and onto Errol's back. She hadn't even steadied himself on his back before he took off.
Errol! But he didn't listen to her as he flapped his wings and left the crumbling square.
With a few mighty beats of his grey wings they had soared high above Old Doru Araeba, and with a few more they flew so high Frelsa fancied she could see the edges of Vroengard, or it might have just been the fog.
The huge city seemed small from where they were, the largest towers tiny spikes rising from the ground. The city was shrouded in an unnatural mist that was thick and heavy, so much so that many of the buildings were invisible. Frelsa could see the whole city, evn the huge crater that was still gigantic from their vantage point. It was in the very centre of Doru Araeba, a black pit where they were no buildings at all. The city was huge, and from where they were Frelsa could see the borders of the city where it was ringed by huge black forests that stretched off till they disappeared into the fog.
She assumed Errol had just panicked at the thought of the approaching Shrrg, but he continued to climb higher and higher. Frelsa began to pant for air as the air became thinner, and she pleaded, Errol! Down! I can't… breathe…
He'll find us. He'll kill us. His kind always kills us.
What? But Errol seemed frantic, so scared. He kept on shaking his neck and growling at nothing. Frelsa began to feel lightheaded. Errol! Go down!
No! He'll find us, kill us, kill us all. We need to go, or he'll kill us. His kind kills, kills, kills. Egg-breakers… fire-eyes…
Frelsa hugged Errol's neck as he began flying straight up, water and ice beading on his scales. She tried to find a way to get him to fly down, then shouted, Errol! Kalla's down there!
His wingbeats faltered and his crazed mind seemed to revert back to normalcy. He shook his head as if to clear it of the thoughts, then murmuered, Yes, she is.
And we're not going to leave her down there… to die, Frelsa added though the words felt sour on her tongue. You won't… will you?
He didn't answer but instead flew in a tight turn and began shooting down.
Shepherd groaned as he rolled over onto his belly, keeping the tiny bundle safe under his arm. That was his ticket out of this hell.
He reached forward with his intact arm, or more intact it should be, and dug his bloodied fingers into the dirt. Gritting his teeth, he pulled on it and dragged his body across the dirt. He felt his wounds open up again and the healing he'd been given gave way, blood beginning to flow yet again. But it wasn't as great as before, and he couldn't stop, there was no gurantee the Shrrg wouldn't attack him even if with the tiny bundle under his arm. The tiny creature whimpered and tugged at him, but for all the pain it gave him he didn't let it worm away.
He threw his left arm forward again and his fingers dug furrows in the soil and dead leaves, and he pulled himself forward again. Glancing back he saw a path of blood from where he'd dragged himself.
There was a far away howl, followed by roars. They sounded like Errol. Then snarls and growls, so close it was as if they were next to him. Shepherd cursed and reached down with his left hand, trying to draw Shorren. But his fingers were too wet with blood and crusted with soil to get a good grip on the smooth handle.
There was the sound of paws on leaves, then growling.
Shepherd looked up and saw something between the twisted trunks of the trees, the shadow of a huge wolf. Then another over there, and there, and there.
He cursed and fumbled with Shorren's grip. "Gods, no."
The rustling of leaves, and when he looked up the Shrrg had glided silently to a few metres distance. This one was completely brown. It padded forth and bent down to shiff Shepherd.
He stayed perfectly still, looking up at the wolf. It looked down at him with dirty yellow eyes, its fetid breath blowing through its snout into Shepherd's face. Behind this wolf he saw at least two more Shrrg, staring with glowing eyes.
The wolf above Shepherd cocked its head at him and bent down to shiff his clothes. Shepherd's hand stayed on Shorren's handle for so long that the blood on his fingers dried and his hand was glued to his sword. Morbid, but it made it easier to pull his sword out.
He pulled the grey blade out an inch and the scraping noise filled the forest, louder than he thought it'd be. The wolf jerked its head back, before baring its teeth and growling.
Shepherd cursed and tried to yank Shorren out but it was stuck under his body. The Shrrg snarled before lunging at him with its yellow fangs bared.
Errol landed upon a small roof, mostly intact except for one collapsed corner. He bent one knee to let Frelsa slide off, before flexing his shoulders and snarling.
Something wrong? Frelsa asked.
Errol was evidently in pain and discomfort, and he growled, Arrowhead in me.
Frelsa tiptoed and grabbed one of his ivory spines to steady herself, and she inspected his back. His scales were mostly unblemished and she pulled herself up a bit higher but saw nothing.
Where is it? Did you eat it? Frelsa asked.
Errol didn't find that funny. He growled, My chest.
Frelsa waved at him, gesturing for him to lie on his side for her to inspect his wound. Errol groaned deeply, before falling on his side so heavily that Frelsa fancied that the building shook on its foundations.
Errol exposed his belly and chest to her where his scales were thinnest and almost white, except around a spot in his chest where the white-grey was blood red. She retched at the sight of the black arrow buried in the ragged flesh, the shaft broken in half, the end jagged and splintered.
Why didn't you tell me earlier?
You didn't ask earlier, Errol answered as if it wasn't a big deal.
She had no wish to heal the wound with the arrow stuck in him and cement the thing in him, so she laid both her palms under the wound, her hands sliding around on the blood-slick scales. She needed to get the arrowhead out. She muttered, "Oro eom eki… eku… ek-…ekette?"
Problem? Errol growled.
Frelsa didn't even look at him and said, Quiet. Don't move, it makes it bleed more.
What was the word she needed? Ah, yes, "Oro eom eka."
Arrow to me. The arrowhead quivered and shivered in the wound, causing Errol to growl, but it didn't come out. Frelsa frowned and repeated the incantation. Her energy was sapped but the arrow still didn't come out.
It is enchanted, Errol snarled as he struggled to not show his pain. Or it would not hurt this much.
As the Dragon's bony eyelids clicked shut he bared his teeth and growled. Frelsa inspected the arrowhead and tried the incantation again just to make sure. You're right, the head's definitely dripping with magic, so I can't pull it out with magic.
Fine then, I'll fly with it, Errol snarled as he gritted his teeth.
Not a chance, Frelsa answered. I've got a feeling that it'd in deeper than I think, and if you keep flying it might puncture a lung. And anyway, it might get infected, and I'm not good at healing infections.
Errol protested some more but Frelsa didn't listen, instead wrapping one hand around the arrow shaft and placing the other flat against Errol's bony chest and leaning back on her heels as she tried to pull the arrow out.
There was a scraping noise and Errol gave another growl, but the arrow didn't even come out an inch. Frelsa's palms slipped on the blood slick shaft and she fell back onto the roof.
Errol snarled, Is it out?
Not yet, it's stuck in good. Frelsa grimaced as she realised what she needed to do. I'll have to get the arrowhead out manually.
Meaning?
This would probably hurt a lot more than it should, mostly because the arrowhead was enchanted to cause as much pain as possible, and also because she had never done this before. Frelsa flexed her fingers as she asked, You want something to bite on?
No. What are you doing?
Frelsa pleaded, Swear you won't roar.
Errol looked at her and tried to get back up on his feet, but Frelsa pointed at him and commanded, Swear it.
I swear, I swear, now what are you doing?
He swore. She could count on his word. Frelsa drew her arms back, before digging her fingers into his wound.
Errol snarled and tried to get away, but as Frelsa suspected the pain alone was enough to keep him immobile. He dug his claws into the roof and tried to bite Frelsa and claw her away but she squirmed out of the ways of his scything paws.
Her fingers dug around in the torn warm flesh and she felt aroud inside him for the arrowhead. She looked away as Errol's blood began to flow down her wrists and down her arms, staining her sleeves. The wound was burning and inflamed, so hot Frelsa feared her fingers were burnt, and what unsettled her further was the beating. There was a sensation of a beating heart, so strong that the very feeling made her think she could hear it.
She pushed her hands in to the wound till her whole arm up till her elbow was smothered in bloody flesh, feeling around for the arrowhead.
There! She found the stone head and wrapped the tips of her fingers around it, before bending back on her heels and pulling. Errol growed, convulsing and shuddering, his flesh squeezing Frelsa's fingers. She wanted to pull her fingers out and find another way, but she didn't.
The arrow slid out a few centimetres before stopping. Errol swiped at her and she felt his claws slice through her tunic. She flinched as he placed both his back paws against her and pushed away, but still she didn't let go of the arrow.
Errol's pushing probably did the trick, forcing her away and pulling the arrow out as well. The half broken arrow came out of the wound with a disguisting scraping noise and Frelsa tumbled away.
She groaned and cast the bloody arrow, still with a few slivers of flesh stuck to it, to one side. She gripped her stomach where Errol had slashed her. There was quite a bit of blood but it was a superficial wound, easy to heal.
Errol lay on his side still, panting heavily. He groaned, Is it out?
Finally, Frelsa confirmed. She staggered over to Errol and leaned on him a while, before healing his wounds.
He shuddered once as his flesh reknit itself, before scrambling to his feet before it was done. The Dragon glowered at Frelsa and for a moment she feared he'd kill her right then and there. But he didn't, instead he growled, Never again.
Never again, she agreed as she retched at the sight of her hands, still dripping with blood.
Errol flexed his shoulders again and took a deep breath. That's much better, I can really breath now.
Frelsa was too tired from the healing to even say 'told you so'. Instead she gestured for Errol to come closer. He did, and she reached up as he lowered his snout and he helped her to her feet.
So? Where to now? Errol asked, all the pain from the healing process forgotten.
We… we need to get out of here first. We can't stay in one place too long.
Errol rolled his eyes. Besides that of course. I'd rather not fly without a bearing.
We need to find the others.
You don't say.
Frelsa sighed in exasperation, before asking, You said you saw Kalla?
I thought I saw her, Errol reminded. Drukjl as well, but I'm not sure. They may be more demons of this old island.
It's all we got now. Which one was closer?
Kalla. Errol accepted this without much argument and spread his wings, preparing to fly.
Frelsa realised something and said, Don't fly anymore, the Shrrg and the Hunter will see us easily and find us.
She could feel Errol's spirits falling at the idea of no flight. So the roofs?
Yup, Frelsa confirmed. So the rooftops, and we look for the others. We shouldn't use our minds, so-
Why not?
The Hunter. He's definitely one of those strange shadow things, like the one under the Volcano, Neoettr. They all talk the same, like you said they're all the same kind. And from what I saw back before he sent us here he's got powerful magic.
So? Errol asked.
Well, what would happen if either of us happened to touch his mind with our's? Now no more questions, we can't stick around.
She climbed up onto Errol and he began to make his way across the roof, before beating his wings twice and flying up to the next roof.
As they continued, Frelsa wanted to ask a question but didn't dare to say it. Errol sensed her feelings and asked, Yes? Got something for me?
So. She shifted around on Errol's back, before feigning casually and asking, What's up with you and Dýrgrir and Kalla?
His mind became gloomy and dark. He bared his teeth and glanced up. Speak not of it.
No Errol, I need real answers. If this was between yourself and Shepherd I'd let you two sort it out, but now you're pulling the rest of us into this, and I won't have you endangering Kalla.
Errol scoffed, Me? Endangering her?
Frelsa sighed. Listen, I know she's difficult at times, but I can feel that she's concerned for you. And I know you're concerned for her.
He didn't answer further, instead shaking his neck irritably and facing the front again as he jumped down to the next roof. Frelsa wanted to ask him more, but he asked first.
Are you sure Kalla cares for me?
Frelsa smiled. In her own way.
Errol, though reluctant, followed Frelsa's instructions and didn't take to the skies. Or for long periods anyway.
He spread his wings and glided across the street before landing on the edge of a roof on the opposite side of the road. He took a deep breath of the air with his snout raised into the cold sky, before growling, Shrrg, upwind.
Frelsa felt another cold salty gale and looked to where it came from, the centre of Doru Araeba. She just saw more dark streets, choked with fog and vines and cracks. But she didn't want to put Errol's senses to the test, and spurred him on. Then that means we can't stick around then. Faster now.
Yes ma'am.
Errol sped up, flapping his wings between steps to move faster. Frelsa squinted at the night sky, looking for a shadow against the stars, anything that seemed remotely like Kalla.
It was not long before they came to the next Shrrg. Errol came to the edge of the city in his endeavour to find Kalla and Frelsa looked to her right and saw several blocks away the black forest rose, tall and forboding, leaning in on the city. According to Errol, there were perhaps three or four Shrrg prowling in the forest there. But then his mind seemed to darken slightly, I smell blood, but not of Shrrg. It smells like… two-leg's.
Two-legs? She'd heard strange tales of people who still lived on Vroengard, those who'd once worshipped the Riders as Gods, who'd stayed here after the Fall and became changed, became wrong. When Eragon had told the tale she'd shivered at the thought of men who'd dared lived here.
No! It's… Errol took another deep breath, before his eyes opened and they lit up.
Shepherd groaned as Shorren's tip dipped towards the bed of leaves across the ground. The thick dark blood along its length began to slide down and drip into the ground where the moss drank it up. He could barely keep his blade up, and the wolves were becoming more brazen.
The four Shrrg prowled around him in a circle, growling and snapping at him, but they seemed reluctant to commit. Perhaps because of what he did to the brown pelted one. That particular wolf snarled at him, the bloody slashes across its muzzle gleaming in the moonlight.
But that wasn't it, they seemed as if they were toying with him, one of them drawing his attention away as another came from behind and tried to bite Shepherd. But a wide swing from Shorren drove them away.
The giant wolves were here for something other than Shepherd's blood, they were here for the thing under his arms. The tiny bundle of fur growled and bit his already torn skin, but for all the pain he didn't let go. Mostly because he couldn't move his right arm anymore.
A growl from behind. Shepherd snarled and swung backwards blindly, before seeing the horse-sized wolf scamper away. They weren't afraid of Shorren that was for sure, they were afraid of what Shepherd could do to the tiny bundle under his arm.
There was a roar, a dragon's roar, muffled by the stifling black forest. Shepherd smiled and felt a sense of victory, a feeling deep inside like a tugging at his limbs. Then he realised something was actually tugging at his leg. He looked down and saw one of the Shrrg with its jaws clamped down over both his ankles, pulling on them and dragging him across the leaf bed.
He raised Shorren so its tip was just above the tiny bundle of fur in the crook of his arm, stained with his blood. The Shrrg immediately let go of his legs and retreated back into the prowling circle.
His ankles were a bloody mess of rags and torn flesh. Strange, he hadn't felt a thing. Another wound to add to the growing list.
There was another roar. It was Errol, he hadn't a doubt. The wolves stopped their prowling, now they looked up and began to growl. Shepherd let Shorren slip from his grip and it clattered against the soil, he let his head fall back and he looked up to the stars. A black shadow passed over them.
Errol crashed through the treetops and roared. This time it wasn't muffled by the black forest and it came in all its force at Shepherd. The Shrrg snarled as the grey dragon toppled two huge mangled black trunks as he landed.
The grey dragon stood over Shepherd so he saw nothing but his whitish belly scales.
The brown pelted Shrrg gave a low growl, and Shepherd's mind found Errol's and he smiled at the familiar sensation. Sup, Errol.
Errol's mind was escatatic. Shepherd! So you're alive! You were so still and quiet I thought… How did you-
We can celebrate later, Frelsa interjected suddenly. But now we need to find a way to get out of this situation. Shepherd, can you reach up and grab Errol?
Uh… Shepherd tried to move his right arm but pain shot through him, making him convulse silently there. …no.
There was the scraping of a drawn blade and Frelsa spoke in a low, steady tone. "Shrrg, nosu celöbra ono un malabra ono né haina."
Shrrg, we honour you and mean you no harm. Smart enough move.
"Atra nosu waíse fricai."
Shepherd would have scoffed if he could. 'Let us be friends'? Really? That's pushing it.
Shut up, Shepherd.
The wolves' aggression seemed to temper slighty, and one or two of them began to straighten up and back away. But the other two stayed there, close to the ground with their hair bristling and fangs bared.
Errol glanced down and saw Shepherd's ruined and bloodied ankles and the wide collection of wounds he boasted, and the Dragon growled, They did this?
Uh… most of it I guess.
Errol looked up and snarled both mentally and physically, I'll kill them all!
Stop! Frelsa commanded and Errol restrained himself, barely. She muttered slowly, The Shrrg aren't backing off, and we can't fight them.
Yes we can! Errol snarled, the smell of his Rider's blood enraging him. Shepherd felt strangely proud at this.
No we can't! Frelsa said. Look at them, they're nearly your size!
Nearly.
No! We have to run.
Errol didn't like it, obviously, and Shepherd didn't either. He wanted deep inside to make these things feel pain for all the suffering they caused him.
Frelsa continued with her plan, When I tell you to, Errol, pick up Shepherd and fly out of this forest. We have to do this fast, or the Shrrg will get you and pull you back down to earth.
As if it could hear her one of the Shrrg snarled and swiped the air with one paw. The other wolves began to start circling again.
Shepherd looked at them in fear and muttered, They're getting restless.
Frelsa didn't answer, but Errol slowly shifted his claws over the leaves till they were next to Shepherd. He grabbed Shorren and held it in his intact hand, shaking from exhaustion.
He became dimly aware of Frelsa invoking an incantation, something long and complicated with the word 'Brisingr' repeated several times. Fire.
The Shrrg were done waiting. The silver one lunged forward at Errol, flying through the air with its maw bared. Frelsa finished her incantation and shouted as she pointed at the wolf, "… eldavarya Shrrg!"
Burn Shrrg. The wolf caught fire and whimpered as it crashed to the ground, rolling around and tearing up great gouts of soil and moss as it tried to extinguish the flames.
Frelsa pointed at each of the remaining three Shrrg in turn and they fell as well, roaring and snarling as their fur came alight with a strange lightless fire. She yelled, "Errol!"
He didn't reply, instead he wrapped his foreclaws around Shepherd's frail body and bore him aloft, spreading his wings wide as he could before slamming them against his sides, forcing them to shoot through the canopy like an arrow.
He felt the wind in his soil laden hair, the ruffling of his clothes, the salt air on his tongue. And he laughed, all for the joy in the knowledge that he wasn't going to die in the black forest.
His wounds were beyond her knowledge to heal.
Frelsa had repaired his ankles as best she could but many of the more intricate and delicate bones in his heels were beyond her skill and she didn't dare to do anything that might backfire horribly.
He had many bite wounds and scars from being dragged across the ground by the Shrrg and being bitten by them, they were only flesh wounds and easy enough to heal, but Shepherd's stomach. Frelsa grimaced at the sight of it and recoiled at the wound, the whole abdomen torn open and a few ribs visible. He told her he'd been shot by the Hunter, but she feared that the Shrrg might have made the wound even worse with their clawing and biting.
She tried the spells she'd been taught, and many she hadn't been, but she only succeeded in stopping the blood and numbing the pain. With a wound like that Shepherd would die within hours, minutes maybe, with so many organs torn through, and it amazed her that he'd even survived this long. He explained that he suspected the Hunter was keeping him alive to make the hunt last a bit longer. Made sense, she assumed.
Frelsa wanted to continue the search for the rest through the night but Shepherd just could not take it any longer, giving off strange and terrifying moans. Errol eventually landed against Frelsa's wishes and flew through a gaping rent in the wall of a three story building that must have been fifty feet high.
Errol laid Shepherd down gently against the back wall and proceeded to lay down right next to him, tipping his body over to one side and forcing Frelsa to fall off. He looked apologetically at her, before saying, I'll not go any further. Not with Shepherd like this.
She wanted to argue but she knew that with Shepherd's life Errol would not make any compromises, even if it meant putting himself and another in danger. The Shrrg might find them if they tried to camp out anywhere in the city for more than an hour.
But Errol didn't even regard her when she tried to protest, instead laying his grey head on his folded claws and looking at Shepherd who lay against the dusty wall panting heavily. She sighed and sat down near Shepherd, resigning to Errol's ultimatum.
Shepherd soon became well enough to talk, looking at Frelsa through half closed eyes. "Go to sleep or something, girl, I'll keep watch."
Errol was still watching his Rider. Frelsa protested, "But you're…"
"Dying? Nope, thanks to you, now sleep. I'll take up watch, and if there's anything I'll wake you up. You too, Errol, you're both tired."
And you're not? Errol snorted.
"Well, I've been lyind on my back for the past few hours, so I've got more rest than either of you," he joked. "Seriously though, go to sleep. Your magic fixed me up good, I can keep watch for an hour or two. I have to find some way to pay you two back don't I?"
Errol consented eventually, and Frelsa did so as well. Shepherd stayed there, sitting against a wall. As Frelsa lay down against Errol's warm body she noticed that Shepherd had a rag thrown over his shoudlers and arms like a blanket. Where'd he get that?
She yawned and realised that she was tired. She pulled off her sword belt and laid it next to her. She realised Shepherd had something behind that blanket, a tiny wriggling bundle in his arms that he held close. Should she ask him what it was?
Another yawn. That could wait, she wanted to sleep now, her eyelids were so heavy they threatened to fall shut on their own.
Her eyes shut of their own accord and she descended into her dreams.
In this dream she was in a strange brightly lit room. The world around her seemed to be caught in a whirlwind, the colours and images torn into one another like a cyclone tore at them. Then she saw something, clear through the blur. A table.
It was huge, round and made of grey stone intricately carved and embossed in a fashion more beautiful than even the Elves' works.
Seated around the table were a colletion of figures, one, two, three, nine in all. They were all dark shapes, ranging from light grey to silent black. They slammed their fists on the table and jabbed their fingers at each other as they shouted silently.
There was one striking figure, one who seemed more solid than the rest. Less like a dream. A black figure, head bowed over steeped fingers.
Frelsa seemed drawn to him, as if he had a chain attached to her and was reeling her in. His black figure seemed to beckon her in, goad her into letting herself go to him.
Then he looked up and she saw his eyes. Eyes of pure molten gold.
"Frelsa! Wake up!"
Shepherd hissed in her ear and shook her arm, stirring he awake.
Frelsa yawned again, that rest felt abysmally short. She looked at Shepherd sleepily and asked, "What is I-"
He held a finger to his lips.
"Shhh… we're not alone here."