CHAPTER FIFTEEN: Battle of Belatona
Roran felt a strange satisfaction settle within him as he glanced at the walls surrounding Belatona with his arms folded across his chest. The rest of the Varden would be here soon enough – yet Roran felt proud that he was going to be leading the first wave into battle. He could not have asked for a higher honour.
"Roran!"
It was Carn. There was a horrified look on his face as he fought through the crowd getting ready to seize Belatona. Roran whirled around as Carn hurried up to him.
"Look, up there on the battlements."
Roran's gaze followed where Carn was pointing. His eyes widened and he found himself filled with dread as he realised that the rumours had been true. A lone figure stood on the battlements, their short red hair whipping in the breeze.
Hellfire…a Shade!
Roran had never battled a Shade before and he never intended to. He glanced upwards, shielding his eyes from the sun. Saphira soared overhead, Eragon on her back. Roran knew his cousin had killed two Shades now. Would Eragon be capable of killing a third?
"Tell all the spellcasters to focus their attention on the Shade," Roran commanded, "I'm not certain about the rumours concerning the Red Rider, but if he turns up we will discuss a new strategy then."
Carn nodded, his eyes saying what Roran didn't need to hear. Murtagh would be even more powerful than the Shade. If they were both fighting in Belatona today, most of the Varden would not make it out alive. Steeling himself, Roran lifted his hammer.
"We only have one chance at this. Let's give it all we've got."
The Varden roared in agreement and Roran led the charge towards Belatona's gates. They had managed to breach Feinster. Surely they could now do the same with Belatona. The elf spellcasters moved forward, many of the human magicians with them. They would attempt to break down the gates.
Roran instinctively looked up. The Shade was nowhere in sight. Saphira streaked across the sky towards Belatona, disappearing behind the walls. Roran clenched his hammer tightly in his hands, hoping Eragon would manage to open the gates.
Inside the walls of Belatona, Eragon and Arya dismounted as Saphira watched them. Eragon was on edge, looking around for the Shade – yet there was no sign of him. Arya rested her hand on his shoulder, her eyes gleaming.
"Eragon, we must open the gate."
The young Rider nodded and they both drew their swords and headed towards the gatehouse, cutting down any soldiers in their path. The Empire had never shown them any mercy, so why should they return the favour. Saphira launched herself into the air again, breathing fire at any archers that threatened her.
"This way!" Arya called, jumping down and landing nimbly on the ground. Eragon followed her lead, gripping Brisingr tightly. A group of archers on the battlements shot down at them. Eragon whipped around and raised his hand, but Arya shook her head.
"You must conserve your strength."
She barked something in the ancient language and the arrows stopped flying. The archers fell to the ground and then Eragon and Arya were running again. A group of soldiers charged down one of the streets towards them. Arya sprinted towards them and ducked the first blow, cutting the man's throat.
Eragon was not far behind. He cut down two men in quick succession, before decapitating a third. He did not relish killing, yet he knew it was what needed to be done. The remorse could wait until later. The Varden could not.
Eragon saw the Shade then, watching him and Arya from the distant height of the battlements. He ground his teeth, wanting nothing more than to charge the Shade and attack him right then.
No, little one, Saphira told him, You must focus on the task given to you. Later you may get the chance to destroy the Shade but for now, follow Arya!
They charged towards the gatehouse expecting more resistance. The soldiers that opposed them were quickly cut down and Eragon felt that they were leaving a trail of bodies behind them. Just when they were closing in on the gatehouse, a lone soldier stepped in their path.
Arya raised her sword, before quickly realising that although the soldier had a sword in his own hand, he made no attempt to use it against them. He reached up and pulled the helmet from his head, throwing it to the ground.
They found themselves looking upon a pale young man of around nineteen or twenty years old. Eragon wondered how long he expected to last – he was fairly small and very thin. The young man was somewhat like a scarecrow with his tawny hair, freckled face and watchful eyes.
"Follow me," he said calmly, turning on his heel and setting off at a jog.
Eragon and Arya exchanged a puzzled glance. Did this young man not know who they were? If he did, why was he helping them? When he realised their hesitation, the young man turned and sighed pointedly.
"Look, do you want to help the Varden or not?"
They approached the gatehouse with suspicion, both Arya and Eragon wondering whether the young man was leading them into a trap. He clambered up the steps and knocked on the door to the gatehouse.
The door opened and the young man's hand slipped down and clenched around the hilt of a previously hidden dagger.
"Ah, it's only you," one of the soldiers inside said.
The young man swallowed. "I'm so sorry."
He moved quickly, cutting the man's throat and then doing the same to the other two men that were in there with him. The young man was still gazing regretfully down at the soldiers as Arya and Eragon entered the gatehouse.
"Why are you helping us?" demanded Eragon, "Who are you?"
The young man offered him a wry smile. "That can wait until later."
The portcullis started to open with a deafening screech and Roran felt his hopes rising. Around him, the Varden warriors roared in triumph. Roran raised his hammer and charged towards the slowly opening portcullis, the other soldiers following him. Above them, Saphira flew over the wall and into Belatona.
Looking around, the Shade was nowhere in sight. Roran felt a surge of victory. Perhaps he had fled. Eragon exited the gatehouse along with Arya and a scarecrow-like young man a little older than Roran.
Eragon immediately mounted Saphira when she landed, evidently planning to attack from the air. The young man waved a hand and Arya followed him. Roran watched him with a frown – he was clearly from Belatona, so why was he helping them?
Arya followed the young man down the streets. He said he could help them and he had. So why did she still feel that there was something important she did not know? Saphira bugled overhead, breathing fire down onto the archers who attempted to shoot her down.
"This way!" cried the youth.
Arya became aware that they were making their way towards the manor where Lord Daemyn of Belatona lived. She slowed her steps, wondering why the young man was leading her this way. A resigned expression crossed the youth's face as he turned to look at her.
"Look, elf, I'm trying to help you. The soldiers of Belatona will only stand down if Daemyn orders them to. Do you want to capture him, or not?"
Arya nodded imperiously without commenting. She saw no alternative. Whoever this strange young man was, he was actually trying to help them. He set off again at a run, Arya easily keeping up with his strides.
"There will be no guards," the youth told Arya, "F…Daemyn always sends his soldiers into battle rather than allowing them to guard him. We should have no trouble getting in."
The youth's steps slowed to a determined march as they moved into the manor. He had not been lying – Arya drew her sword, looking for trouble, yet finding none. A man with greying hair was walking towards them with a hard look on his face. By the rich fabric of his clothes, Arya knew at a guess that this was Lord Daemyn.
"What have you done?" he demanded of the young man in a harsh voice, gripping him by the shoulders and shaking him fervently, his teeth bared, "You have sold me out!"
Daemyn roughly pushed the youth from him and Arya saw the resemblance – the wide-spaced eyes, the same straight noses. The young man who had led her straight to Lord Daemyn was the man's own son, Lucian.
Lucian did not appear perturbed by his father's anger. Instead, he pressed his lips together in a hard line.
"You serve a monster, Father." Arya was astonished at how opinionated he was. Did he know he could be killed for saying such things? "I will not bow to Galbatorix. He employed a Shade to help us. Mordecai could just as easily have turned on us. I did not ask them to kill you, Father."
"You have ruined me, boy!" howled Daemyn, reaching out and striking his son across the face. Arya moved quickly, placing herself between the infuriated noble and the strong-minded youth who had helped her.
Eragon marched in, his hand on Brisingr's hilt. He witnessed what was going on and his eyes widened as he also realised the truth about their guide's identity. Lucian observed his father with a hard expression on his face.
"All you have to do is surrender, Lord Daemyn." Eragon's tone was even. "We do not wish to harm you."
Daemyn's eyes were bulging.
"I will not give you possession of Belatona!" he spat, "I am a staunch supporter of Galbatorix and you rebel barbarians cannot convince me!"
Lucian stepped forward, his eyes smoldering. "If you grant my father and I mercy, and cease killing the people of Belatona, then we surrender to you."
"How dare you!" roared Daemyn as more Varden soldiers filed through into the manor, "You have overstepped the line, boy. I will see to it that you are disinherited. You will never become the Lord of Belatona!"
Eragon exchanged a glance with Arya, who nodded slowly. She was sure that the decision the young Rider was about to make would have Nasuada's blessing.
"He already is."
Daemyn shut up immediately, turning to face Eragon with worry etched across his face. A pair of Varden soldiers grabbed him by the arms, restraining him.
"What?"
Eragon couldn't help but suppress a smile.
"Henceforth, Lucian is the Lord of Belatona, by the Lady Nasuada's decree."
Lucian looked pleasantly astonished, while Daemyn struggled futilely against his captors. Eragon turned his gaze upon the rotund noble.
"Put him in the cellar until Nasuada arrives. She can decide his fate."
The Varden soldiers led Daemyn – who was complaining loudly – off to the cellar. Eragon turned to face Lucian, who had been very quiet for the past few minutes. Despite the fact that he looked young and vulnerable, Lucian was strong and tenacious and Eragon didn't doubt that he would make a fine new Lord of Belatona. There was a question that the Rider felt the need to ask.
"Why did you help us, Lucian?"
"Allegiances aren't set in stone, Shadeslayer. Just because my father supports Galbatorix, it doesn't mean that I do."
There was a firm note in Lucian's voice. Eragon sighed.
"I didn't mean it that way. I meant, why did you risk it?"
Lucian studied his nails for a moment, before his eyes met Eragon's.
"You should know better than anyone, Shadeslayer. Sometimes it is worth the risk, worth getting caught and killed because you are doing something you believe in. For years I haven't been certain of where I stood, but now I am."
He lifted his chin and in that moment, they could all see that Eragon had not been wrong in choosing Lucian to be the next ruler of Belatona.
"I have never cared what Galbatorix thinks of me." He raised his voice. "I fight for the Varden."