Alagaesia High

Chapter 9

I am dreadfully sorry for waiting this long to upload, I was busy, please forgive the author. As recompense for my slow-moving ways, this chapter will be an awesome one. Now, I shall recognize my reviewers.

The Ghost Who Walks/ theghostwhowalksintheshadows: Thank you for the reviews, I appreciate all of them, and also many thanks for helping me get reviewers. Kinda weird, that people didn't review that chapter. I was of the opinion that it was my best one. Well, my second best one. But, under the assumption that you are my only reviewer now, good job getting the team. I have reviewed your story, which I liked. I can come off sounding really critical. You're my best reviewer. Scott would like to speak now.

Hello. I would like to inform you that my hideout has been burned, bombed, disintegrated, and for the heck of it, I left a nearly perfect vacuum there to suck up around the size of my hideout. And maybe all of North America. But it's a very small chance.

Garrow slammed his head into the table when his bedraggled family limped in. "Why is it, that every time you go somewhere, everyone gets thrashed?" He had demanded, to a simple response from Roran.

"Because I stand up for myself and my friends." He had said bluntly. Garrow had shot him a glare, but fetched the bandages and antiseptic cream. And some alcohol.

Garrow grinned at Roran, then began rubbing the fluid into all of his cuts. Roran winced as the fluid burned, but he knew that this was preferable to infection. Probably. It still hurt like the devil itself. That stirred memories. Eragon saying it to Izlanzadi after Roran had bashed her. Arya.

Roran's head snapped around and he quickly asked Eragon "Where's Arya? Did you see her leave?" Eragon nodded, cringing as the alcohol cleansed the wound.

Garrow cleared his throat and declared frankly "We're going to jump them. Well, not me, but you lot. It's time. Go get some of your friends together and you can thrash them to your heart's content. Remember; go for the midsection, so the bruises won't show. Gather friends tomorrow, and then get 'em as they walk home." A savage grin lit up Garrow's face. "Been a long time since someone got in a street fight with our family. I almost miss it."

Eragon surveyed the faces watching him. Some were familiar, some weren't.

Catching a particularly familiar face, he grinned and called out "Ghostie! I can't remember the last time I saw you." The white haired girl whirled around at his voice and grinned.

"I couldn't resist when I heard you were recruiting to jump someone. But I wish it was someone else…" She trailed off uncertainly. Eragon raised an eyebrow, but let it be. He had no interest in his friend's past with Murtagh.

He continued surveying the faces, catching Orik's eyes. Eragon nodded to him. He was glad that he would have the stocky man at his side. Others stood around, staring at the ground or grinning defiantly.

Raudhr Blodhgarm, a tall senior, strode into the group, everyone parting before him. Raudhr was not to be messed around with, and had scars on his face that hinted at a violent past. His purple eyes searched the group, his flecks of gold in them attracting much attention. He sighed and turned to Eragon.

"Most of them'll split once you jump 'im. The others have got fire in 'em." He stated, gesturing at Ghostie, "She's got fire." He smirked. "I used to have iron in me. Then it became steel." He growled, and addressed the group, filling them in on how it would work.

He grinned and loped away, ducking into a "Porta-dumper". Everybody scampered into hiding spots along the road, grinning or shaking from nerves. Eragon leaned against a wall, waiting. His nerves began to fray and he glanced at the all the concealed high-schoolers.

Suddenly, a huge weight crashed into him, draining any breath he had from his lungs. A fist pounded his lip, and blood flowed into Eragon's mouth. The weight of his attacker was lifted easily, and Eragon gasped to fill his chest with sweet air. He sat up, looking at his assailant.

Murtagh dangled from Raudhr's powerful arms, his lanky hair obscuring his eyes. Eragon seized his chin and forced Murtagh to look at him. The glared at each other, tension filling the alley like molasses. Eragon uttered one word, a word so charged with betrayal, hurt, adrenaline, and victory. "Why?"