Hey, sorry for the lateness. It all boils down to a little form of torture teachers came up with called Trigonometry. I have a question. If my parents can't do it and it has been proven that most congress and people in general can't either, why the hell do I need to know it? It just makes my head explode.
Well, there's Trig and a new story I am writing that is 100% mine. I've had a spree of inspiration on it and so it's all I've had time to react on.
Anyways, enough bout me. You wanna hear about the battle. I must admit, god biggest writers block on this chapter. So I've half written things over and over till just recently, I decided to use part of a discarded form of last chapter. You fan girls are going to drool. This chapter switches perspectives a lot, from everyone's favorite tortured rider(and no I don't mean Eragon), to the brothers, to bits and pieces of a good many other people. It may get confusing a bit based on which characters it follows, but bear with me. If any of you have any good ideas about how to help it along I'm all ears.
Song: From Yesterday by 30 Seconds to Mars, You're Not Alone by Saosin
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The deafening pounding of the rain was nothing compared to the extreme bone-numbing chill of it.
Murtagh couldn't help but shiver a little as Thorn glided above the battlefield. The red could felt it and through the link between them, Murtagh could feel him transferring his rider heat. Wordlessly, he thanked him as the great dragon pumped his wings again.
The blackness of the skies was lit up to a bright slivery-lavender color as another volt of lightning danced across the sky. In those second, everything below became crystal clear as he watched.
The Varden were using the typical tactic when they were ridiculously outnumbered. Archers wildly shot their weapons, praying it hit a target. Near the fringes, men fought from their trenches and holes. Latters were being pushed over and the men put special pressure on the catapults and the massive battering ram slowly making its way to the city.
Try as they might, the battle was already over the way Murtagh saw it. From their spies within the city, they knew that the Varden had not been expecting an attack on the city itself. The vast majority of the best men were on the north front, fighting with the elves that had suddenly seemed to think now was the time to start fighting. Murtagh could feel a little over a hundred men. Their greatest hope was divided, Eragon having been vastly overwhelmed by the loss of his dragon spiritually. The only real reason they were here was to collect the real prize along with the city and eventual complete possession of Aberon.
He was a tinge frustrated Galbatorix had to drag this out so much. His plan was to draw out other forces, so he could annihilate every major group in the country so his take over would be completed. Every so often, he could feel the men bellow waning as the rider king and his stolen dragon sucked up their strength to keep their pitiful adversary from being annihilated.
You forget, boy, that as long as that accursed blue rider is hiding down their, we can't afford to kill them all. Kill him and she will die. Murtagh gritted his teeth. How did he feel it was necessary to break into his mind all of the time just because he could?
As he repaired the barrier, he focused more downwards, sifting through the individual mind for the exceptional ones. For the most part, they all seemed insignificant, expendable. They all seemed to know Eragon was here; even a few of the weaker minds couldn't keep memories of the blue rider training them from his mind. He smiled. Eragon was just as powerful, if not more so than he remembered. Once they had found him, he wasn't going to go easy. Even without Saphira.
But then, he came across the mind of a man known as Rae. A different side of the great rider filled his mind. Memories this man had of living in a small room near the rider's. Rumors being spread from one person to the other of him loosing what he had. The constant solitude. The snappy demeanor. A certain detachment to his voice Murtagh hadn't heard since the battle of the burning plains and Murtagh's great revealing of their relationship.
It struck him then just how bad things really were. How much he'd fallen apart after loosing real connection with Saphira. For the first real time, he found himself wondering what it would be like to be in Eragon's shoes. Loosing contact with Saphira. Having her almost kill him several times. The revelation of a battle which would have been painful without the knowledge that afterwards, should they loose, he'd loose a lot more than just Surda. He realized then the truth and cursed mentally.
Unfortunately, the rider king had been listening to the whole thing. He could just imagine the smirk on his face. Very insightful, Murtagh. You're probably right too. That's why we need to find him before he does anything stupid.
He nodded, not replying to the rider king. His eyes went back down to the battlefield and back to searching minds. As his mind sought out soldiers, he couldn't help but watch a small group, fighting near the fringes of the battlefield. Well, not most of them, but a pair of rather young looking men. Their moves were so practiced, carefully orienting themselves around each other. The kind of connection which only forms after, what had to be a lifetime, to form. One had a rusty old blade that he—while obviously skilled with it—seemed to realize how bad his weapon was. The other had his helm ripped off, revealing scruffy brown hair.
Murtagh couldn't keep himself from watching. Scruffy slashed out at a man near Rusty, his blade cleaving through right beneath the armpit. All Murtagh could do was imagine his howl of pain as Rusty brought his own blade down on the man's neck. Both boys seemed to acknowledge each other before tag teaming a particularly big man near by. Scruffy met his blade, striking out at him while Rusty zipped to his side, his blade catching the man in the leg. Off balance, the older man turned his attention to a group of soldiers who'd spotted them and rushed them.
Rusty seemed at ease with his opponent, dodging the worn man's blows with half way decent speed. The man, frustrated, began lashing out rapidly, forcing Rusty to parry the blows much more than he had before. Rusty made a small lunge to him and Behemoth sent his blade crashing to the ground. Murtagh could just imagine the "uh-oh" as Behemoth advanced him. In a swift motion, Rusty managed to role under the man and grabbed his blade, though not before Behemoth's blade grazed his back bad enough to leave a bruise tomorrow. He thrust the blade into Behemoth's back and the man fell to no more rise.
Taking up Behemoth's sword in place of his own, Rusty rushed one of the group of three currently focused on the younger. He took the one by surprise, a common farmer no doubt, and soon there were only two. Scruffy seemed much less skilled than Rusty. His movements were sure, calculated. He could see him taking careful aim at even motion, parrying and retaliating at such a pace; he knew that the other man couldn't last much longer.
He suddenly turned towards Scruffy, who had lost his blade and was being pursued by the other soldier. Rusty quickly turned back to his opponent. Tapping his side with the blade rapidly. This forced the man to parry frantically, but left his opposite side wide open. With his free hand, Rusty punched his face, knocking him several feet backwards. Momentarily disoriented, he quickly made use of his time and stabbed through the man's chest.
Not even bothering to watch him fall, Rusty turned towards Scruffy to give him aid. This is where he made a mistake. With a powerful lunge, the man Rusty had been fighting sliced his knee open. The lightning crackled again, alighting the scene. Even from this height, Murtagh could see the blood gushing out as he turned and stabbed the man again, this time watching the life drain from his eyes.
Scruffy seemed, he could tell, was distracted by Rusty's injury, his movements less rapid as he occasionally glanced to his comrade. Who ever these boys were, they had a deep affinity for one another. Despite his gushing injury, Rusty was soon at Scruffy's side. The two turned to each other and nodded and took off to different sides. The man couldn't make up his mind who to try and hit. He aimed for Scruffy, knowing he didn't have a blade. But this allowed Rusty to get too close and for it, he got a deep stab in the ribs.
Retrieving a sword from the ground, Rusty and Scruffy both rushed him. Both boys' blades managed to cut through his armor. Blood spurted from his mid section and he fell to the ground. Rusty and Scruffy let the rain clean their blades for a moment. Then, despite Rusty's seeming unwillingness, Scruffy dragged the older man away past the battle field and began to clean up the wound.
Ah, how sweet… Galbatorix snarled in his mind suddenly. I leave you to look through the minds and take my half. And when I find you again, you are just sitting there watching those two fight. What? Does it remind you of you and Eragon?
Murtagh didn't answer. But he didn't need to. It was written across his face and stained his mind. It was obvious that they were brothers or something similar and this brought back intense memories of him and Eragon making their way across the country, fighting back to back. He wished they could be like this. Like Scruffy and Rusty.
Listen, boy, work out your personal life later. I need you to search their minds. They seem to be the best soldiers out of the bunch. Not saying much, but I do think your brother would probably be more likely to focus on good men. If you encounter any resistance, any at all or things you are thinking are suspicious, take them.
Murtagh didn't truly give him much of an answer, but the rider king knew he'd take care of it. With a sigh, he focused his attentions on the brothers and was instantly met with intense resistance. One of the boys, Scruffy he figured, even lashed out. But the guard came from much more than just them. Eragon. Murtagh instantly though. This would be fun…
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"Pace!" Hayden yelled as he himself moved out of the way of the angry looking blade. He watched as his brother's life blood spilled onto with the white light of sky electricity lit the sky. He was about ready to run over there, heedless of the soldier chasing him. But Pace brought his blade down heavily and watched the man's last death throws.
With a limp to his stride, he tried to make his way over to Hayden, who had his hands busy. Weaving in and out of the trenches they built to protect them, Hayden was nearly exhausted. He fought to get back over to where his blade had fallen, but the man wouldn't let him advance on the actual battlefield. Nor did he allow him a break. Every time he started to get close, his adversary threw an arrow at him. While not being shot from a quiver, that didn't mean they couldn't hurt, he reflected as he vaguely felt the arrow lodged in his ribcage burn. It was just the wrong spot.
Pace's leg burned painfully, but he wasn't ready to throw in the towel just yet. How could he with his little brother struggling to gain back his weapon? Suck it up, Pace. He thought to himself. He focused on the sound of the rain. On his brother's eyes and his adversary's blade. And slowly, he was able to put aside the pain.
It didn't take much for him to be at his brother's side. The man before them seemed a little overwhelmed that there were two of them now when he had already been having such trouble with one. Seeing Hayden's blade right behind him, less than a few lengths away, Pace turned to look at Hayden. Hayden's body was tense and they both gave a slight nod.
With in seconds, their unspoken plan was in action. Hayden went to the left and Pace to the right. Both stayed in a decent range for the overwhelmed soldier. He lunged for Hayden, obviously less eager to tango with a new opponent who had a sword and only the gods knew what fighting style. It was all Pace needed to slide his blade through the floppy, ill-fitting armor, cutting into the man's ribcage.
A short cry escaped from his lips as Pace glanced to Hayden, briskly jogging despite a heavy pain in his leg. Not a scratch. He beamed. Hayden gave a half smile back, worry painting his features slightly. The boys repeated the strategy they had used before and received outstanding results, both boys' blades sliced his sides open, nearly separating him into two messy pieces.
Drenched in rain, the two boys took a moment to marvel at their accomplishments. True, the rest of their group had gone further in. But a little less than twelve corpses lay on the ground, all from them.
"Not bad work for one leg huh?" Pace joked.
Hayden glared. "So not funny dude."
"Sure it is. I mean, I walk like Dreyor. You know."
"Of course Pace. Now, let's stop you from loosing a leg like Dreyor did."
"Oh come on Haydi. I've dealt with worse."
"Not on a battle field you haven't." He half-lead, half-dragged Pace toward a far away trench.
"You know, I never did learn what happened to that crazy old coot." Pace offered, obviously trying to take his mind off the pain as Hayden roughly cleaned his wound.
"I think he drowned in that small pond out back." Hayden answer. "Dunno how. I mean, the thing was less than an inch deep."
"You ever dunked your head underwater just to see how long you could hold your breath before the spots start to go across your eyes?"
"No." Hayden grimaced at the wound. Only a scratch. Sure. And the ocean is only a puddle.
"Huh, must just be me."
Hayden felt several tiny pieces of metal lodged in. "This is going to hurt, Pace. Hang in there."
Pace nodded, though his mouth kept spewing out completely unrelated things. "You remember what Mom told us rainstorms were?"
"No, I don't." Hayden lied. It was one of Pace's stories and he knew Pace knew Hayden could recite it in his sleep. He yanked hard and Pace grimaced.
"She said," he grunted again as Hayden pulled another out. "That it was the ocean's gift to the sky." Hayden ripped another out. "That Silver Lake was the" he growled at Hayden. "You know, could you be a little more careful? This is my knee you're playing with. Not some butchered piece of meat." At the last word, Hayden pulled out the last shard.
"Okay. I'm done with that. Now what bout Silver Lake?" he said as he tore a swath of cloth from his pant leg and started wrapping it tightly.
"Silver Lake was a combination of rain and sky, with waters so light and smooth, they feel like down to swim it. The ocean realized, however, that by keeping this secret only in the lake, the rest of the world couldn't enjoy it. So they made rain."
"I remember all those times, Pace. When we'd just go out in the rain, just to feel it fall on us and go back in." he smiled. "We'd get the floors so wet, Mom would scream at us for hours. Not that we cared."
Even with Hayden going along with it, Pace soon spotted the tip of the arrow in his breast. Without a word, he put his hand on it, mouthing "one, two, three' but ripping it out before three. That was always the trick. It always hurt more when you knew when to expect it.
Pace glanced up at the sky, noticing for the first time how much lighter it had gotten. Though it still rained moderately, it looked as if it was almost over.
"You smell that?" Pace asked. He sniffed the air again. "Jeeze what is that awful smell."
"Ha ha. I have to point out it's not only me, you know. You don't smell like roses and daisies either."
"Seriously Haydi. I didn't mean you." He gagged. "What in the name of all that is good is that?"
Hayden finally smelt it. "My word, it smells worse than that time you tried to cook."
"Hey, I never said I was a chief. Just that I might be able to fix us something better."
"Better than what? Dirt? Cause I'm sorry, you don't even make that. Plus you nearly burnt down a whole forest. In the wetter season too."
Pace gained this much more serious expression. "Get down!" he said, pushing his little brother down and piling protectively over him.
The most ominous roar filled the area. As the sound died, Pace grabbed Hayden and started crawling. Two seconds later Pace bumped cheeks with a cruel looking weapon…
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Thorn seemed more than ready to go after the brothers. He had grown rather bored just flying around, watching people trying to spill each other's guts. No body really seemed to acknowledge him. Him? You know, the massive red, fire breathing lizard?
Maybe they thought if they ignored him he might just go away. No one even shot high enough to try to hit him even.
Murtagh wheeled around the trenches. He knew they were in one of these, but in the dark, he had to wait for the lightning to guide his way. He hated the fact that it was raining. Otherwise, he'd just have to have Thorn breathe fire. As it was, he could barely see.
All of the sudden, an arrow shot straight through Thorn's wings, creating a massive dripping hole. In a normal fight, he would accredit this to mere circumstance. But the shot was so precise, hitting Thorn in the worst place possible. You would need knowledge of dragons in order to be able to pull off a shot like that. And the only dragon they had to learn from was Saphira.
As it was Thorn had trouble staying aloft. He knew he'd have to land somewhere and give his dragon a moment. He could tell from Thorn's storming mind he wanted to go after who ever it was, so he mentally noted where the arrow came from and wheeled Thorn toward a small grove of trees.
As they flew, something was bothering Murtagh as he looked down. Something was different. He watched as a group of men charged each other, bluntly ramming their weapons into one another. They clashed hard, most did, and several from each side met the earth prematurely.
Then it struck him what was going on. There were more on the Varden's side now. Much more. But as he sifted through the presences around him, he knew there was less living then there were at the beginning. Not more. It dawned on him. No reinforcements. These men wore the garb of the Imperial soldier, but fought on the side of the Varden. In a shocking turn, they switched sides!
The rebels had stripped their helms from their heads and fought with more dedication and passion than any other. The ones who rebelled seemed vicious, taking down man after man while scanty archers picked off others.
The catapults had been taken out. The Empire's anyways. The best machinery remaining on the field was the ram, which had been abandoned as the men turned on each other. The final major change was that Galbatorix was missing.
As Thorn touched down in the groove, for the first time, he began to have doubts they would win this.
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From the wall, he shot arrows, moving at what was a lethargic pace for him. He missed a few shots and tried to keep them from seeming too perfect. That all stopped when a scene caught his eye.
Hayden and Pace, near the edge of the battlefield, slowly making their way to a trench. They were completely unaware to the fact that Murtagh was watching them. Had been for quite some time. For they were the only worth while thing watching out there and he kept circling.
He extended his presence, adding to the protection of their minds. He could feel the exact moment Murtagh probed their minds. He thought it was funny how the red rider could claim he loved privacy so much but had thoroughly probed his mind an hour ago, obviously not too concerned with the stuff he insisted on keeping a secret.
He couldn't help but let some of his own anguish about Saphira spread to the rider. Murtagh had no idea exactly how crazy he was about that whole situation, but he'd given him enough of a taste.
Still, he knew the wards on Hayden and Pace wouldn't last long if he intended to collect him. He had to wonder if he made this shot, would Murtagh know it was him?
As Murtagh neared their hiding spot, he realized he didn't have a choice. Aiming carefully, he brushed the feather on the arrow gently. With a fresh sounding twang, the arrow spiraled off, striking its marks perfectly. He couldn't help but give a soft smile as his elf ears picked up the roar beneath the rain and war cries.
Eragon suddenly truly saw the battle field. They were suddenly evenly matched! He smiled as he realized what had happened. These men didn't all want to be fighting for Galbatorix…
Screw his promise to Arribane. The way he saw it, the sky was getting lighter, there were more men covering him, and staying on the wall, now that he shot Thorn, would draw more attention than going to battle. He drew his borrowed blade and shield, hoping he could soften the blows enough that he wouldn't break it too fast.
He ran down the stairs and popped the secret passage, ready to go fight.
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Klieg was just a poor farm boy when the troops stole him and every other man in town. The way he saw it, this was pay back for what they did to his sister as he beheaded an imperial soldier at least a head taller.
He never was a big fan of war, more interested in just living as his ancestors had for years. But now he'd been working with it, there was no feeling in the world like destroying another man to save the country he now dreamed of living it.
Nearby, Fayez gave him a quick smile, her cropped hair damp and dingy from the march. She hadn't been willing to leave him once the two had met in route. This had been her plan all along. They just hadn't expected half the army to join once they turned.
Still, with two dragons around, nothing was certain yet. Except that this fight was getting good. Klieg ducked from the blade of the man right behind him, allowing Fayez a clear shot at his neck with an axe someone had been carrying. His throat erupted into a fountain of blood and he gurgled loudly as Klieg parried another man.
He could feel the rain letting up as the sky brightened, soon a stark white. Still, the fight raged on.
That was when he heard it. Quiet at first, of course, but growing ever steadier and louder. A horn. Wait, two horns. One had a rich homey sound, similar to the one the Varden had blown at the start of the battle. The other was rich and musical. Like he had ever heard before. It was far too beautiful to be mortal.
He turned to the western side, where all the noise was coming from. But it wasn't just him. The rebels separated from the rest and both lines turned to see two companies on the hilltop. The men were in the traditional wear of Surda, flaunting their colors brightly. Then there was a small company of elves, each wearing light armor but from their confident faces, strong armor.
As the two sides formed and sized one another up, he turned to Fayez and kissed her on the hand. The pre-battle was over. The real one was just beginning…
You guys do remember Silver Lake, don't you? Or has it been too long...Jesus. I was writing the next chapter and looking through my work and realized I contridicted myself yet again. You guys probably didn't catch it but I fixed it anyways.
