The battle was raging fiercely at the end of the tunnel, but with Eragon's help the tide was turned and the fight moved on. Eragon's mind went blank, and he fought without pity, smashing eggs with spells muttered simultaneously with stabs; dragons fell under the attack.

Elves were dying left and right. The rock became slick with blood, the once still air ringing with shrieks of pain and delight from both sides. From the corner of his eye Eragon thought he saw fresh dragons flying to their home, but he could not pay attention to anything that was not within a three foot radius of him. Too much was happening, tails swinging, swords hacking, fire spurting, teeth flashing in the starlight. A waxing moon turned red over the cliffs, testifying to the great murder being done in its light, appeasing the Grave with an appropriate setting.

Eragon had the endurance and speed of an elf, but after three long hours of constant battle he felt as though it was a lost cause. For every dragon felled there was another to take his place, for every egg smashed there were four or five more waiting to hatch.

And no matter how smooth the cliffs had looked from the ground, they were a rugged mess on top.

There were cracks several strides wide, and they were hard to avoid. Eragon saw far too many of his comrades fall in thanks to a well placed tail of a fire-spewing dragon.

Despairing, Eragon wondered if anyone was going to survive the night. Reinforcements were needed, and badly, but there was no chance of them coming. Well, since this was the nesting place as well—there was a strong chance that if most of the dragons died the remnant wouldn't stand a chance against the army that had been left behind. It had seemed that the Queen was of the opinion that the "left behind" army was a large collection of ninnies with swords, and if the elves failed this night all would be lost.

"Truce," Eragon's mind shouted at him, "You have to find a truce. It's your last chance."

"Truce only delays ultimate destruction," he argued back.

"Okay, okay, you're almost right. Why haven't the envoys of the past helped us any? No form of communication! You can't have a truce unless the two parties can reach a sort of agreement of the terms."

"That's genial—but you've really got to shut up now unless you want us dead!" Eragon grumbled to himself as he dodged a beam of flame.

"Stop going for the stomach! The only good it does is bend your sword. You've had to replace it about five or six times already. Try the armpits, or if you're lucky, under the jaw. You know there's hardly any protection there!" Eragon's other self shouted as he mangled yet another sword.

"Nice observation," he noted sourly. "Mind telling me these things sooner?" He grabbed his seventh sword from a melting soldier, deciding he was going to have to name that irritating second side of himself.

"Oooh, call me Eragon, Eragon. That would clarify things real quick."

"And on a more serious note, I hereby name you Bid'Daum."

"The most random and stupid sounding name I've ever heard in my life."

"Which is why it's yours."

"You do realize that in a sense you just named yourself something stupid."

"Will you shut up!? We—I admit it—are trying to survive here. Now please stay shut."

With rising irritation at himself, he decided it was no longer safe to be in the heat of the battle—he was distracting himself far too much for some serious safety. Besides, he wasn't a very experienced fighter, as he usually did all the dirty after work. It was just luck—ahem—fate that he was able to adapt to situations with amazing speed.

But everywhere he went it seemed the battle was just as fast paced. There were fewer soldiers on both sides, but it mattered little, the fight was being fought with ever more intensity. Eragon ended up just saving lives by dashing to and fro and making good use of his seventh sword and his ability to sneak up on things. He found that in between the frills on a dragon there was also very little protection—which actually surprised him, though Bid'Daum—man that name really was annoying—claimed he knew it the whole time.

Eventually the battles he was fighting were further and fewer in between, with the circumstances of each fight becoming more and more severe. He was able to put more energy into smashing eggs, a task that did not take so much out of him, though by now he was starving and dead tired.

"Okay, I think it's about time to get out of here," Eragon admitted to himself after he had a surprise encounter with a mother dragon guarding the last of her eggs. He breathed heavily over her carcass before going to the nearby cliff edge.

"I suppose if I jumped down I wouldn't get too smashed..." he thought to himself.

"Since you've taken the trouble to name me, master Eragon, I am going to make use of myself. The only way you would be able to survive jumping is if you used magic to slow your fall to that of a jump from a four foot wall—and you can't hardly walk." Bid'Daum stated matter-of-factly into Eragon's head.

"I certainly have invested too much brain power in you. I believe I've split my personality. Now why did I do that?" Eragon thought tiredly, turning from the ledge and sitting in between the shoulders of the blue dragon he had defeated.

"Apparently you have too many conflicting thoughts in your head, so you decided that in order for them to make sense you would have me come along. Then I could argue with you to your hearts content, and you would go crazy." Bid'Daum laughed to himself.

"For whatever reason, I think you're right." Eragon muttered grumpily. It really was comfortable here, in between the shoulders. He could wait here, catch his breath. Argue with Bid'Daum. Now that was a great idea.