Having little time to decipher the words which rang in his head, Murtagh slowly got up, brushing his hand against the grass to clean the sticky dragon saliva that made his skin slimy as a snail's body. Immediately after he got up, he couldn't help but sketch a smile at the sight presented in front of him. Two distinctive colored tails were swishing from side to side, resembling a predator whose brimming excitement could barely be contained before a pounce.
With no other words spoken mentally or growls used to express different feelings and emotions, Murtagh raised an eyebrow quizically and looked in the same direction as Thorn and Shruikan, curious to find the culprit behind this unusual silence. Nothing seemed to be different aside from the golden field with its lethargic grass that moved and bended every time the wind would blow.
Concealing everything from view, the thick vegetation which dominated the plains seldom betrayed its intimate secrets, or its inhabitants alike. Murtagh sighed and prepared to turn around when a glimmer of brilliant light reflected by a shiny object attracted his attention. It was an all too familiar sight, yet even now, after all this time, it would send a cold shiver down his spine: the elves had arrived.
Feeling a tinge of worry crawling inside him, Murtagh walked with alert steps towards the two dragons which were lying on the ground close to each other. Jumping past the black tip of Shurikan's tail, which for some reason was in a constant motion, Murtagh walked forward, ducking slightly so he could safely pass past the black wing which was naturally tucked against the side of the onyx scaled dragon? To avoid triggering a defensive reaction from Shruikan, Murtagh made his presence known by running his hand across the warm, velvety wing membrane as he moved forward. Only when he reached the black dragon's left foreleg, which was quite large in both diameter and height, he slowly placed his hand on it and spoke, I am not as experienced as you are, Shruikan, for you have seen more horrors than I can ever imagine and fought more people than I can tackle in ten lifetimes. He paused for a second, a bit uncertain on what he was about to suggest. What would you say about using your flames to distract them while I finish them one by one? Zar'roc has no problems in cutting through any kind of ward, no matter how strong it is.
The contact immediately summoned the attention of Shruikan. Turning his large head around, the dragon spoke, you have a sharp mind for one that has yet to reach adulthood, Murtagh. We could certainly do as you say, but none of the elves would be incinerated as long as they have wards, and your visibility will be as low as theirs when we unleash our fires, something which they can exploit as well.
Then I will have to do my best after the fight begins. Exploiting their weaknesses is crucial if I am to find a proper way to counter their attacks and finish them off, thought Murtagh to himself as he stared in the distance.
A gust of wind blew across the plains, flattening the skyward plants under its might. Murtagh's long, black hair rippled into the wind as the powerful breeze passed by, revealing the previously concealed bodies of the group that was moving closer and closer towards them.
We should prepare for battle, said Murtagh apprehension present in his rough voice. He only managed to take a small step before an unexpected force nudged his body to the point where he almost lost his balance. Turning around in an instant, Murtagh was pleasantly surprised in finding himself looking into Shruikan's large, amber eyes.
Take heart, young one, for every enemy, no matter how fast and proficient with magic it is, has a weakness which can be exploited. Keep your mind clear and your sword steady, for when the battle begins your concentration becomes your skill, said Shruikan, pushing his snout closer towards the Rider.
Smiling, Murtagh placed his hands on the smooth black scales as a gust of warm air enveloped his body, causing him to shudder slightly, your words will not go unnoticed… I promise… whispered Murtagh, rubbing Shruikan's snout for a brief while before he broke the contact by moving forward, stopping right besides Shruikan's clawed forepaw.
The gust of wind diminished in intensity after a moment. The plants slowly rose from their bended position, giving the landscape the same look as it had before: everything around was bearing the mark of the autumn season as the different nuances of gold surrounded the three companions. But they were no longer alone.
Due to superior speed and their nimble, yet silent footsteps, a group of proud elves soon joined Murtagh and the two dragons, stopping dead in their tracks at a certain distance. Six in numbers, the long hair of the elves was hanging loose into the wind while their identical green tunics and brown leggings were decorated with intricate lines of gold.
Four of them were male, and two female, but gender meant little when their stares, which seemed devoid of any kind of emotion, seemed to tap into anyone's soul While their clothes were the same, the equipment differed according to their preference and specialization. One of the females held firmly a thin staff with an emerald crystal on its end while the other one had a fine bow with an arrow notched on it, ready to fire deadly arrows at the unsuspecting foes.
The four males, whose hair was almost the same nuance of gold that you could hardly differentiate, were equipped with fine swords, each elf caring one such blade.
Murtagh's eyes moved from elf to elf quickly as he tried to learn as much as he could from their look and their equipment before the impending clash. It was obvious that the two females were not the type that would engage in close combat, while the males lacked the possibility of attacking from afar except with spells, which would probably be used as a last resort. Any experienced close quarter fighter would know that using a spell was the wrong thing to do, even when put into a dangerous situation. Should spells be used, all the attributes that strengthen the warrior would diminish, making him an easy target for faster and stronger adversaries.
If those four have something in their heads instead of pebbles, they will not exchange their movement speed and lightning fast attacks for the use of a spell which might be blocked by wards. Still, despite their lower potential when it comes to magic abilities, they are the most dangerous ones for they can inflict damage when I least expect. It's best not to let them sneak behind me or the dragons.
Murtagh's gaze switched towards the female which carried the bow, that archer is going to be a nuisance for as long as she remains alive, for my wards will most likely fail to block all the arrows fired at me, and when that happens… No, she must go down as quickly as possible, else I will have to dispose of her bow and quiver somehow. A warrior without a weapon is as good as an inexperienced trainee.
The Rider's eyes drifted towards the last elf, the female which was placed at the left edge of the group. A belt with a few minuscule objects that glimmered in the sunlight particularly attracted Murtagh's attention.
That one is definitely a spell caster, and probably an experienced one too. The staff she carries and the belt must not be ordinary items seeing as no other elf I met carried such objects, not even the Rider. No, her higher rank and expertise with magic were well known by the other elves if she was gifted with such precious items. The energy she has probably stored in those gems pales in comparison to a large eldunari, but even so, she has a huge advantage over the other elves. She must go down as quickly as possible, for her spells would greatly help her allies and inflict serious damage if she chooses to go all out on the offensive.
Even Galbatorix would be proud of your thinking, Murtagh. We'll assist you if-
Despite his reluctance to do so, Murtagh was forced to cut Shruikan off, take care of yourselves and finish off the swordsmen. This way, chasing after them would not be a problem seeing that they have to take risks if they are to participate in this fight.
Shruikan growled approvingly, an act which triggered a response from the elven war party.
"Just as I suspected… Murtagh, the king's servant, Thorn, the vile, twisted beast, and also Shruikan, the king's abomination… I feel my eyes being stabbed with ice cold daggers for every moment I stare at you, vile killers," shouted one of the male elves.
Thorn snarled viciously at the directly thrown insults, but Shruikan quickly intervened.
Do not let their words affect you, young one, for they are part of the poison that affected their souls when you unwillingly ended the life of Oromis and Glaedr. Focus your attention on the upcoming fight and shield your emotions, for words can be as sharp as a sword, said Shruikan calmly.
Thorn's snarl diminished, having acknowledged the words of the elder dragon. Murtagh also took a moment to throw a quick look at Shruikan, who did not seem perturbed at all by what he just heard.
It must be hard for a dragon to withstand such vile insults, but Shruikan ignored them like they were insignificant words. That's probably because his pride was already tarnished after he was forced to fight for Galbatorix, thought Murtagh, feeling more pity for the black dragon the longer he stared at him.
"See his reaction, my brethren! The red beast thirsts for blood as red as its scales after they were covered with the blood of our masters," shouted the same elf, yet the others seemed impassive to his words.
Maybe the others realized how much of a pest can that arrogant prick be, smiledMurtagh while his mind thought of different ways on how to take advantage of the current situation. It was clear that the other elves were not that different from the one with the big mouth, but maybe, just maybe they were not as fanatic to this cause as their companion.
Shifting his weight from one leg to another, Murtagh tried to piece together the myriad of words that went through his head in the most effective way possible.
"Elves, I have nothing against you, and believe me that I want to stop this conflict as much as you do. I deeply regret for killing your masters, but it was not my intent to strike him down. Galbatorix forced me to-"
"I heard this story before, and I do not believe it the slightest. Do you think that those who dyed the earth red with their blood when your blade went through their chests believed your lies?" asked the elf mockingly.
Murtagh opened his mouth to speak, but he was cut when another one of the male elves interrupted him.
"You killed many, son of Morzan, for you bear your father's legacy. Just as he enjoyed extracting misery from his victims, so did you when you became Galbatorix's hand of vengeance. We cannot simply put our weapons aside and forget what you have done, even if you want to change. It's far too late for clemency."
Murtagh clenched his teeth as a drop of rage ignited inside him," I did not do it willingly! I wish you were in the same position I was put in, and then see if you would have done better than I did."
There was silence between the group of elves until the female with the staff stepped forward, "You lived a harsh life, Murtagh, harsher than any of us, and it is unjust for us to condemn you here and now for your actions, for I believe that someone can truly change if their will is strong and pure. But even if we want to, we cannot avoid the clashing of swords and magic. After Oromis and Glaedr fell lifeless from the sky, a part of us swore in the ancient language that we will put an end to your life when we our paths converge. Our choices are limited, just like yours."
They went farther than I have imagined, added Shruikan.
Murtagh bit his lip at hearing the elf's words. Fight seemed unavoidable as promises in the ancient language could not be reversed or were notoriously hard to, depending on the uttered words.
"And what if I manage to change my true name? What if I will be free of Galbatorix's grasp?"
The female opened her mouth to speak, but the same arrogant elf that spoke first cut her.
"Do not let his lies taint you, Isindrel. A murderer like him could never change, and even if he does I will not spare him. With all of them gathered here, we have the chance to rid Alagaesia of their filth for good. Fortune itself smiled upon all of us when a chance like this was offered to me on the same day when you have slain our masters, traitor!" shouted the elf loudly, readying his sword in the process.
The enraged elf quickly dashed towards Murtagh, sword ready to cut anything it would meet in its wake.
Murtagh quickly grabbed Zar'roc, unsheathing the red blade with equal haste. Zar'roc clashed with the glimmering, one handed sword of the elf as the two blades met just above Murtagh's shoulder. Murtagh was immediately pushed into defensive as he parried a multitude of fast, quick attacks until a torrent of black flame was unleashed upon the elf. Murtagh disengaged, rolling away from the inferno just before the flames touched him. He landed onto his knees, getting ready just in time to parry a savage blow from the elf that came out of the flames unharmed.
Focusing his might into a powerful blow, he brought his sword down with all the force he could muster. Murtagh's defense faltered under the impressive force the lean elf put into his attack. The carvings of an elven artisan were easily visible as the blade inched closer to Murtagh's face, slowly advancing as the elf kept pushing Murtagh's sword down. Murtagh's arm and joints felt like snapping under the enormous strain he was put under.
Feinting, he leaned left and ducked with great speed, slashing at his shins as he performed a full spin the moment his sword was intercepted, attacking from an unprotected side. Murtagh's eyes narrowed with awe when the elf jumped and thrust his blade forward, trying to impale through his chest. Although this blow was easily deflected, Murtagh was taken aback by the elf's combat prowess, his morale suffering a greater blow than his sword. If every elf was capable as he was, then this fight would stress his abilities and resilience to their limits.
It wasn't just skill this elf possessed, but his unusual speed offered him an almost unnatural advantage. Although dodging was his weak point, a disengage often followed an almost successful attack. After that, it was impossible for Murtagh to attack, for his blade dance and the fast swerves posed utmost danger in case he would lose his concentration and even dare to go all offensive.
Murtagh's stamina seeped like blood from a dead opponent because of the intensity of the attacks and the ferocity displayed by the elf. Droplets of perspiration covered his red, furrowed brow and began slithering down like liquid snakes, threatening to obscure his vision when his defense was in peril. After he performed a whirlwind of steel, the elf jumped left, a devious smile on his face.
Using his great speed, he placed his blade horizontally and charged from the left, his legs launching him faster than a dragon who was about to launch itself into the air. Murtagh was confident that he can parry what seemed to be a reckless attack, but when his sword was ready to meet metal, it failed to happen. The elf disappeared.
A column of fire erupted from behind him, and in that moment, Murtagh's shock found an explanation. Reacting on instinct, Murtagh attempted to drop down, but his move was slow and could not compete with the fast strike of the elf.
"Feel my blazing fury racking your being, vile traitor." The elf smirked, cackling loudly. "I will end you- as you- ended them." Murtagh gritted his teeth, maintaining a heroic effort not to scream. His left shoulder seared with pain that traversed his whole body, numbing his senses. It seems that the elf was not in a good condition either, for his labored breath and dreary expression were but a testimony to his impressive display. Teleportation over a distance, as insignificant as it was, put great strain on the body.
Smelling the alluring scent of victory, the elf withdrew his sword from Murtagh's shoulder and prepared to land the final blow. This time, it was Murtagh who surprised the elf with deadly cunningness and sheer resilience.
Pain suppression, Murtagh muttered, his lips barely betraying the words for this lesser dark magic spell. Naturally, a pain of such intensity would paralyze his body, and the withdrawal of the weapon responsible for the wound would only make it worse, but due to this spell, Murtagh tricked his own senses, ignoring the sole element that would otherwise bring forth his downfall.
As the elf withdrew his sword and prepared one final strike, Murtagh rotated his body, using his numb left arm to knock his sword sideways as he performed a circular spin. Zar'roc moved through the air at an incredible speed, catching the elf unaware of his impending demise. A loud scream followed by drops of blood was released the moment when the tip of the blade raked the soft flesh of the elf's abdomen, whose evasive move came too late to save him from this injury.
"Don't…be too confident about that," said Murtagh, steadying his grip on Zar'roc. Even if his face was contorted with seething pain, the fire never left the elf's eyes. Screaming loudly, he unsheathed two small daggers he carried at his sides and lunged towards Murtagh in a flurry of wild stabbing. Jumping back, Murtagh tried to keep as much distance between him and the elf as possible, slashing with Zar'roc every time the elf would get close. However, the speed of his adversary was still great, and it did not take long until the wounded elf managed to find an opening and push the blade aside with one twist of his dagger. Preparing to take advantage of this opening, the elf prepared to plunge the dagger he carried in his other hand into Murtagh's neck. He almost succeeded when he was smacked into his arm with the pommel of Zar'roc.
Taking advantage of the momentary distraction, Murtagh quickly rolled to the side, plunging his sword through the elf's side. Screaming in agony, the elf looked at his tormentor venomously, silent words escaping his lips as his demise was at hand.
Flickering blue flames began to take shape on the ground around the elf, but the spell was not able to reach its completion as Murtagh denied it with one simple move of his sword. A river of blood erupted from the elf's neck, followed by a sick thud. The dull gold of his hair mixed with the crimson liquid, replacing the beauty of the living with the sinister nuances of death.