Disclaimer: I own nothing remotely familiar or related to the original material.

Hi guys, sorry, real life took over for a while. Work, emotional-turmoil, and I was pretty bedridden for a couple of weeks too. Erk. So I'm back and I'll try to make up for all those lost weeks!

Chapter 53: The Tolling of War's Bells

The leaders of the army, Melikir and Orrin, scrambled toward the direction that the guard pointed at. At least a hundred people followed them. Nasuada wanted to go after her brother too, of course. She can't leave his side, and besides, she wanted to know what was happening. In that huge crowd though, she would probably just end up at the back of the group. With a grin, she followed her fellow Riders, mounting their dragons who ran to the scene.

At the fortifications at the edge of the camp, a lone soldier rode furiously across the land in between the two camps. Birds of prey swooped low above him, as if anticipating a coming battle. Solaris shuddered. They smell blood and flesh. War is coming.

Nasuada kept her hand on her sword's hilt, ready to either draw upon the power stored in the sunstone pommel, or to draw it and jump into battle. She also considered the vials of potions Angela supplied her with, or some tricks of witchcraft that the herbalist taught her. We should be prepared.

Murtagh looked grim as he glanced at Nasuada worriedly. He looked quite mature that way. A little troubled and concerned. "This doesn't look good."

"No, it doesn't," Nasuada agreed. She smiled. "Do not worry. We shall prevail."

"I hope so."

The soldier arrived, reining in his black stallion thirty yards away from the fortifications. It was like he was so disgusted that he was compelled to keep his distance from the Varden. "You have refused the generous terms of surrender laid out by King Galbatorix! You have chosen to die. We will not open negotiations with you anymore. The king has extended his hand of friendship, and you returned a fist of war! Flee if you still hold regard for your rightful sovereign, King Galbatorix the all-knowing and all-powerful!"

Nasuada filtered the rest of the man's sickening words and swallowed back her bile. How could Galbatorix brainwash so many men?

It is not just brainwashing. It could also be the work of magic, Solaris noted with equal disgust. No leader should force out the love, loyalty, and obedience of his men.

"Look," Katrina said in horror.

The soldier untied a canvas sack, flourishing a severed head. At the back of the huddled Riders, Aesyr retched. Nasuada couldn't blame her. The soldier tossed the head to the crowd, and a group of men let out high-pitched screams. With a cackle, the soldier dig in his spurs, and galloped back to the enemy camp.

"What do we do?" Nasuada asked as Melikir approached them. She could see the fear and determination in her brother's eyes.

Melikir's eyes darkened. "I do not violate the sanctity of envoys. The Empire has, though. We will give them their due."

In front of them, Eragon cried out as Saphira reared. Without a warning, the other dragons followed, and they let out a roar of challenge to the enemies – a sound that shook Alagaesia to its core. It was a call to arms for everyone who hated Galbatorix and what he stood for.

The loud roar frightened the soldier's steed so much that he veered to the side and slipped on the heated ground, falling on his side. The startled soldier was flung off and landed in a crack in the ground that erupted in flames the very moment he landed. He let out a loud cry, raw and horrible. The hair at the back of Nasuada's head seemed to prickle. Then, the man did not move again, and the birds above him descended.

Ignoring his men's cheers, Melikir shook his head with a small grin. "Justice well served. Do you not think? They will most likely attack at dawn. Katrina, take Aesyr with you and please gather Du Vrangr Gata and their… enigmatic Surdan guests. Eragon, Murtagh, please coordinate with the men assigned to the frontline defenses. Vanir, I want you to continue working with the spy reports. Nasuada, Arya, please join Faolin. He will be assisting the evacuation of our camp followers. Brom, do what you think you must."

Aesyr felt herself shudder as Sardonis stalked right behind her through the camp. The dragon's violent thoughts were seeping through her, and she was not pleased. Judging from what she heard from the others, she could not afford to lose a clear head and succumb to bloodlust in the middle of a battle. Of course, she had been in fight before, but only as an archer who joined the retreat once the Urgals were closing in on Tronjheim.

The camp was in turmoil. Everyone was running around to finish last-minute preparations. Families of the fighters and other followers like farriers and blacksmiths were being gathered ready to evacuate at a moment's notice. Pikemen scurrying around bowed to them before rushing off to finish one thing or another.

I am afraid, Aesyr admitted.

Sardonis regarded her with amusement. You would be a fool not to be. All two-legs must feel fear.

And you?

I shall burn everyone and everything in our way.

But you cannot breathe fire yet!

And you do not understand figures of speech. I shall tell Brom.

You will do no such thing! Aesyr tried to stop herself from bristling.

They were soon interrupted by the five Daughters of the Serpent. Rishaelle, Trianna's younger sister, bowed the deepest. "So we meet again, Shur'tugal," she murmured.

"We are once again honored by your presence, Daughters of the Serpent," Katrina said in a tone that would have put nobles to shame. She was a natural. "Do you have any particular need of us? War is on the horizon, and we must alert Du Vrangr Gata."

"Aye, we understand that," the fair-haired Daughter said with a knowing smile. "We have not yet introduced ourselves, but I believe that time is against us. We shall have proper introductions later. For now, we have a favor to ask. After all, you do not need two people to rally Du Vrangr Gata."

Aesyr tensed, afraid that it might mean trouble. Her hand flew to her sword hilt, ready to whip it out and fight if need be. "What do you need from us?"

"Only you, Black Rider. We only need one thing from you. Your companion here seems to be highly capable in the more standard form of magic. But you… you seem to have the gift of sorcery, and we wish to hone it."

"Preposterous!" Katrina said. "She has not yet even completed her training with Brom."

"Rider training can only take you so far in the field of sorcery, Silver Rider." Rishaelle watched Katrina placidly, flames of excitement in her eyes. "We are not like other sorcerers. Her body and soul shall be safe in our hands. She might even become the first Daughter who is also a Rider!"

"If it is my approval that you want, then you will have it," Brom said with a grunt. He stroked his beard appraisingly as he watched the Daughters of the Serpent. "Ah, so they always said that the Daughters' prosperity was tied with the Riders'. Then again, so were the Sons of the Raptor, but from last I have heard, they are with the dwarves. Most of my other pupils – past and present – are already honing and improving their gifts. I would not deny Aesyr of the opportunity."

Aesyr's eyes widened. She never was as good as Katrina or the others when it came to spellcasting. She was good enough for a Rider, but still not one of the best. Excitement bloomed within her thoughts, threatening to burst through her. She smiled. "It would be an honor!"

The flame-haired Daughter smiled. "Then we begin. Come, follow us."

Brom turned to Katrina. "Do you not have something to convey to Trianna and Du Vrangr Gata?"

Katrina blinked, surprise etched on her face. "Oh, yes! Yes." With a quick nod – and a doubtful glance at the Daughters of the Serpent – she sprinted off with Luneria right behind her.

As for Aesyr, she followed the Daughters of the Serpent to the western side of the camp. Sardonis trailed behind her, his rage and bloodlust simmering deep within him. At the very edge of the area was a bright green tent with six war horses picketed right outside. Rishaelle smiled. "Welcome to our headquarters. Trianna is right inside, waiting for us. Before your tutelage begins, I will be taking my initiation vows."

"It would also be good for you to see how sorcery works," the fair-haired Daughter said. With a mischievous grin, she nodded to Aesyr. "I am afraid that we all know your name, but you do not know ours. My name is Laerys."

The honey-haired girl beside her bowed deeply. "I am Artemarin."

"You may call me Oreinna," the flame-haired girl said. Oddly, she did not sound like a Surdan – more like someone from the eastern reaches of the Empire.

The last Daughter, the one with chestnut-hued hair, smiled. That did not quite reach her eyes, though. "So that makes me Firaline."

"As our newest initiate, you must watch what we are to do next closely," Laerys said quietly. "It is very important for you, as you will get a glimpse of how true sorcery is done."

Dressed in their armor and armed with their weapons, Riders and dragons congregated before Melikir, who was equally dressed and armed for battle. An elven sword hung from his belt – probably a gift from Faolin.

Roran watched the young leader a little nervously. Though Melikir was good with keeping up a confident appearance, Roran couldn't miss the apprehension in the older boy's eyes. They may have been men in the eyes of some people, but they were all little more than children taking their first steps into the real world.

Faolin approached them, flanked by four Urgals – Nar Garzhvog included. Roran kept his anger down and did his best not to start attacking. Eragon and Murtagh's hands flew to their sword hilts, and Nasuada actually hissed. Strangely enough, Faolin was conversing to the Urgals in their own harsh language, though he kept stumbling over the words.

"Probably wants to be an Urgal ambassador," Arya said with distaste.

Melikir kept his eyes on the Rider, as if assessing them. "I need you to be impartial. Use your logic and reason. I know you have it in you."

"We're not fools," Vanir said.

Melikir nodded. "Good. Live up to your words, then. I am doing my best to make sure that we do not lose – and that we all stay alive. Our skills, my leadership, our plans, they will all be for nothing if any of you got killed. Not even I or the kings who will march with us could do anything to protect you should Galbatorix show his face here."

"Nor do we expect you to," Roran said earnestly. He did not want to imagine that possibility.

Murtagh looked down. "He is right. But we can't let anyone sacrifice themselves for us," he mumbled. "We cannot afford to lose people – especially those that are close to us. We have always known that only we would, and could, face Galbatorix."

"Don't we all know that?" Melikir said with a tired smile. "Do you think he would be here?"

"No, but I think the Forsworn will be here," Eragon said nervously. He fiddled with his sword belt, looking so much like the youngest brother that Roran and Murtagh always looked out for. He matured so much more than them but right then, he looked vulnerable. "That will be our real test in this fight, I think."

"Eight against six? The odds are starting to turn in our favor this time," Katrina said. "I won't mind trying some new things against them."

"Do not be so confident," Arya said softly. "They have learned so many, and we have barely started learning what it truly is to be dragon and Rider. But we shall prevail. We must."

"Well said, Arya," Melikir murmured with an approving mile. "I have heard that the dwarven contingent we currently have here with us are going to send some guards to protect you during the battle. I want to improve upon the concept. Aside from some human guards, I asked Garzhvog and seven of his finest rams to be your guards. They agreed to even let you examine their minds for treachery."

Roran narrowed his eyes. "I do not think it would be a good idea," he said. "There is too much bitterness and anger."

"They are monsters. The dwarves would take it poorly," Eragon said bluntly.

"Do not say that," Murtagh said sharply. "They also deserve the benefit of the doubt. They have wronged us and our race for so long. We cannot be bitter. We cannot afford to be. This is war, and in war, you take all the help you can get."

Melikir smiled approvingly. "You show wisdom beyond your years, Murtagh. I am sure Brom would approve."

"We have been… talking during our travels," Murtagh said, turning red. "He anticipated me to become a voice of reason whenever someone decides to act… irrational."

Roran gritted his teeth. "Irrational?" He was the eldest brother. He was the one who looked out for everyone and took care of them. He mediated all the time.

"Yes, irrational," Arya said dryly. "Like that."

"Stop," Vanir growled before someone could utter a retort. His elven calm was gone, replaced by the quiet fury he once exhibited around the Riders. "We cannot afford to bicker amongst ourselves. This is war, like Murtagh has mentioned earlier. We must accept the assistance of the Urgals. We are Riders, but also need the support of other people, even when it is unwelcome."

The little one is correct, noted Saphira. A hint of praise was in her thoughts as she projected her opinion to everyone present. Eragon winced. The elves said the same things you say to Urgals during their war with the dragons. Where are we now?

That promptly silenced the Riders. Melkir motioned to Faolin and the Urgals. "So what will it be, Riders?"

Nasuada nodded to Eragon. "You have proven that you are the best at reading thoughts and examining minds."

Eragon went white, but not in rage. That was a good sign. "I cannot do it alone, not in this," he whispered.

Arya smiled. "We are with you."

With those simple words, the Riders joined their minds. Roran felt aware of everyone – even the dragons – and their warmth and affection for each other burned like a bright, fiery star that will forever be imprinted within them.

I haven't felt this strong or confident before, Eragon said in wonder.

We are one, Askanir told him. Go on, young Riders. Do what you must.

Eragon took the lead. Faolin nodded to him encouragingly, before stepping away to stand right beside Melikir. The young Rider turned to the Urgals, trying to gauge their mood. Disappointed, he realized that their features were to different for him to glean anything useful. He couldn't find it in himself to empathize with them. He grew up seeing them as nothing more than feral beasts – monsters born for slaughter and mayhem. But then again, did that make him any better than Galbatorix?

Wisdom comes to he who realizes the mistakes of other men and reflect upon them, Vanir said softly.

The little ones had good reason, but maybe learning about your enemy could make them less so, Saphira told him.

Eragon fought back his hatred. "Nar Garzhvog, we were told about the eight of you. You have agreed to allow us into your minds?"

"Yes, that is correct, Icesword. Lord Nightstalker told us that it would be required. Believe me, it would be a great honor for us to be given the chance to battle alongside mighty warriors such as you, who have done so much for my people."

Murtagh frowned. He exchanged looks with Thorn. "A favor. Did I hear that right? But surely you must remember that we have killed many of your kin already."

You remember Oromis' scrolls? Nasuada asked in excitement. Urgals determine ranks through combat, not age or gender. This is why they are always in conflict with each other and even people outside their race. I think we are equivalent to war chiefs in their eyes!

"Have you not killed Durza and gave us our freedom?" Garzhvog frowned. "We are forever in your debt, Firesword and Icesword. No ram will dare challenge you because of your feats. You and your companions will forever be welcome in our halls with your flame-tongued dragons, as no outsiders have ever been."

Eragon blinked, surprised by the depths of their gratitude. "I – we won't forget that. Believe me." He nodded to the other Urgals before turning back to Garzhvog's yellow eyes. "Prepare yourself, for we shall begin."

Steeling himself and making sure his link with the others was secure, Eragon reached towards the Urgal's consciousness. He made sure to at least be gentler than the Twins. With the others' assistance, he sifted through years of memories, searching for malevolent intent. The Urgal flinched every now and then from discomfort.

He expected the alien nature of the Urgal's mind, like the minds of dwarves and elves. Garzhvog was eager to share his experiences, eager to make Eragon see that his kind were not truly monsters. They were not born enemies.

He learned of laughter and pain, love and loss, camaraderie and distrust, honor and fear. With a rush, he realized that he shared many views with the Urgals, who were even willing to put aside old differences and make true allies to overthrow Galbatorix. They were even willing to build lasting peace.

The Urgals were much deeper than what they appeared to be in the surface.

Entering the minds of the other Urgals confirmed what he gleaned from the first. He understood what drove them, and with a jolt, he also realized that Garzhvog's bloodline was as regal as a prince's from any other race. His throat constricted as he finally withdrew, exhausted and feeling much older than he was when he began what seemed like a minimal task.

He stepped back as he withdrew from their minds, exhausted but pleased. He bared his throat, and the other Riders followed his lead. "Nar Garzhvog, we are proud to have you and your companions fight at our side. Tell your Herndall for us that so long as your people remain true to your word, not turn against us, and fight with honor, we will never oppose you."

With that, his iron-hard prejudice melted away, as if Rhunon worked on it in her forges.

You have grown more than I expected you to, Saphira said, positively swelling with pride.

"We shall forever be in your debt, Dragon Riders," Garzhvog rumbled.

The Riders' link with each other dwindled to small threads of thought, though Eragon and Saphira were as close as ever. The warm feeling that the initial linking created remained within him, though, like a bright talisman.

Melikir watched them with curious eyes, though thankfully he restrained himself. "So, are you done? Good. I must go now. Katrina, you and Aesyr will receive my signal from Trianna when you are needed." He motioned to Faolin. "Come, we have a lot to discuss with Orrin and Brom."

Faolin turned to the Riders. His green eyes – so much like Arya's – seemed to read their minds. "Well done," he said softly. "I will be seeing you later, hopefully before the battle starts. May your swords stay sharp."

As he strode away, following Melikir, Orik arrived with his dwarves. He grunted at the Urgals before turning to the Riders. "So Melikir beat me to it," he muttered. "Nevertheless, you sure are lucky that we dwarves are here. There will be no need to worry. We shall watch them all. No one will plant a sword in your backs while we are with you."

Arya peered at him. "But I thought you supported Melikir's decision!"

"We agreed. Did that mean we liked it?"

There is no need for us to try and convince him that Urgals are more than mindless killers, announced Saphira. It is difficult to make them believe something unless they see with their own eyes. And it would not be wise for us to share the Urgals' memories without ther consent.

Darkness began to blanket them, like a massive cloak that muffled shadows and intensified light. He made sure to cast wards around himself, Saphira, and even Orik. He heard Arya and Nasuada discussing softly about castin wards around their own brothers, and he nodded quietly in approval. He carefully transferred as much power as he dared into the diamonds embedded in his belt.

Angela joined them eventually, clad in green and black armor. She held a case of carved wood case, from which she took out and assembled her staff-sword. She twirled the weapon a few times above her head happily, though the dwarves muttered unhappily about someone aside from Durgrimst Quan wielding the huthvir.

As Eragon settled beside Saphira, the dwarves began to hone their blades. He dozed until dawn, when he jerked awake as his heightened senses detected agonized screams from the enemy camp. He wasn't the only startled one. The other Riders gazed around blearily, eyes wide and alert.

"What's happening?" Aesyr asked.

Orik shrugged. "What kind of creature are they torturing in that blasted camp? The sound chills the marrow in my bones!"

Near them, Angela went white, far from her usual cheery self.

Realization dawned upon them. "You did this, didn't you?"

"Poisoned every edible thing I could get my hands on in the camp. Some will die now, others later. I slipped different toxins, some that would even make them hallucinate in battle." Angela glanced knowingly at Nasuada before glancing away. "It is not honorable, but Melikir asked me to do what I can to prevent us from getting killed."

"Only cowards and thieves use poison," snarled Orik as the screams around them steadily intensified. "There is no glory in fighting sick oponents."

"Orik, this is war," Vanir said. "There is no glory in war."

Angela nodded. "If you want your twisted idea of glory, there are thousands more troops I didn't poison. You'll be full of glory once the battle starts later."

So, I'm back just in time to start the "climatic" battle scenes and with a new side-project in addition!

And as for those asking, yup, I had a wisdom tooth taken out wide awake. And yup, that's the norm here. They don't knock you out unless it's really serious. And seeing the needle that they had to jab into my gum to numb me almost made me pass out! Though I didn't feel a thing afterward and had stitches to prove the sheer hardcore-ness!

Anyway, how many enemy Riders do you think are we going to face soon? Will Himeria and Nidavel show up the way you expect them to?

Let the fight commence! Read and review, as always!