Chapter 19: Yazuac
The group landed in the same clearing where Harry had arrived. Around one year ago, Harry had arrived here. He poked his head inside the tent and called out. "It's safe to come out!"
They filed out into the treeline. Arya scrutinized the location, taking note of the sea stretching out before them. "We're just above Carvahall. Across the north sea the closest elven city would be Osilon. The most direct route to Teirm is the ocean shore across the Spine."
Brom shook his head, unfurling an old paper map. "Nay. Between the mountainous terrain and murderous urgals, we shall have to rely on the Empire's relative security to keep them off our backs." He traced a gnarled finger across the paper. "I say we follow the Anora river. We can resupply and gather information at Yazuac and Daret. It will be further, but we can follow the Woadark river back up to Teirm."
Harry rubbed his head. "Why do we have to resupply at all? The whole point of the cabin and now tent was to produce supplies. We have unlimited food, weapons, and armor at hand."
The storyteller tugged at his beard. "True, but despite your best efforts you are not a master of every craft. There are bound to be things we might need quicker than you can learn to make them." He shook his head. "Regardless, we need the information. If the Varden's shipments and supplies are being hit so regularly, we must accept it is likely missives and agents are receiving the same treatment. We must trust no information we do not personally bring before them.
"The Varden?!" Eragon gasped. "You're working for the rebels?"
Brom scowled. "Of course, boy. You think that story I told was just imagination and wishful thinking?"
"But- the Varden," he murmured. "Like in the stories, wow."
Harry laughed, "Eragon, you hate the Empire, and are a fugitive. They're perfect for you!"
Arya sidled up to Harry. "What do you plan to do about your arm?" she asked quietly, with some sympathy.
Harry looked up, surprised. "I'll just make another one," he said as if it was obvious.
"What." Arya asked flatly. The possibilities of this wizard's healing abilities! If it worked then perhaps Glaedr… "Explain." she ordered curtly.
"Back home, people well knew how to regrow limbs. Amputees were extremely rare. Off the top of my head I can only think of two out of the whole society; Mad-Eye Moody and Peter Pettigrew. Magical healing can fix anything but cursed wounds. Mad-Eye was a sort of man-at-arms/ranger, he hunted down rogue dark wizards and enforced the laws of Magical Britain. We called them Aurors. He had lost a leg and wore a peg, probably one of his arrests going foul and someone cursed it off. Pettigrew," Harry growled angrily, "He sacrificed his left hand to some ritual to bring Voldemort, the present dark lord, back to life. Voldemort couldn't or wouldn't regrow it, instead he made a prosthetic out of liquid silver which seemed to work the same way for Pettigrew as his old hand. That's the spell I intend to learn for the interim. Alchemy has ways to create entire new bodies, I figure even an amateur can make an arm."
Arya's mind raced. New bodies, regrown and recreated limbs, Harry could bring the medicine to make crippled elven war veterans whole again. She needed to read the books he had on healing.
Harry led her back into the tent. Instead of the open blank sky and walls, the flap opened out into the ground floor of the cabin. It was a separate door from the front one, which still opened out onto a balcony overlooking the Spine. The mountain range extended a few miles in every direction before fading into an illusion. They went to the library. "Point me the spell Voldemort used to give Pettigrew a silver hand!"
Harry was guided to a book which looked rather repulsive. It was bound in human skin and the script was a dark red. It couldn't be human blood since it would have dried and flaked off long ago. The unsettling tome was labeled by an author whose name made Harry freeze.
Darke Magick
Herpo the Foul
Arya noticed Harry's reaction. "You recognize this author?" Harry's face twisted in disgust, nodding.
"Herpo the Foul was well named. He explored the worst side of magic. Herpo was the first parselmouth to really taint its perception. He bred the first basilisk, inventing the process of their creation." Blinky slithered over and coiled on his leg. "They are infertile, they are exclusively made by hatching a chicken egg beneath a toad. The reason is nonsensical, but it doesn't matter. Herpo created the first basilisk, then bound the hatching process to the species."
Arya was thinking that this guy didn't sound so bad.
"His most notable achievement and the reason for his moniker was the Horcrux, a device which holds a portion of a user's soul."
The elf's head whipped about and she glared at Harry. "Why is an external item containing a soul such an abomination?" she asked angrily.
Harry tried to placate her. "An external container holding someone's whole soul is called a phylactery. It's still considered necromancy and extremely illegal, but anyone could in theory do it with enough study. A Horcrux holds a portion of one's soul. In order to make one, the user must literally tear apart their own soul. There's a ritual worked out and everything," Harry leafed through the thin parchment quickly.
He ran his fingers down the pages, skimming, looking for anything to leap out at him. "Here!" Harry exclaimed triumphantly. He turned green, glancing at a diagram. "Ugh, I did not need that illustrated. 'Tearing the soul is unnatural. No conditions exist in life which would violate the natural order so much that the eternal soul would be shattered. Instead, one must use death to facilitate this schism-' Oh my god, I-"
Harry voided his stomach on the ground. He slammed the book shut. He could scarcely believe Voldemort was willing to go this far to ensure his immortality. That he did this several times beggared belief.
Arya seized the tome and flipped quickly through the pages, searching for the passage with a horrible similarity to a certain draconic secret- "Careful with that book!" Harry hissed. Arya found the passage and upon regarding the diagrams, looked back at the wizard with revulsion. Why did he want to keep this evil book? "I still need the spell for the silver arm," Oh.
"Argentum," Harry whispered, carefully tracing an extremely complex motion with his shaking left hand. The first and second attempt fell flat, but the third time was apparently the charm in this instance. A glowing blob of silver which looked like liquid mercury undulated and rippled in the air. He marveled at the spell. Even before the hand was attached to his stump, Harry felt linked to the silver floating in the air. He focused. The formless blob formed into a hand.
The neural link was already present. He made a fist and watched the detached floating limb oblige. He had not been without arm for so long his brain had forgotten how to send the proper signals, for which Harry was immensely grateful. The silver spread as if around an invisible mannequin arm, forming the whole missing limb. Curious, Harry thought. It's making more material than the conjuration started with.
Mischievously, he willed the silver into a different shape- "Yes!" he exclaimed with a borderline maniacal laugh. "FEAR ME!" he announced. His audience glanced at their resident crazy wizard. Floating before him was a silver sword blade, razor sharp and nearly rippling in the light of the library. By applying his will Harry managed to transform the limb into all sorts of bladed weapons. The appendage cycled through scythe, sword, knife, rapier, nunchucks, and various other weapons.
At his direction, Harry's new arm floated to his shoulder. A sharp lance of pain resonated from his shoulder as the silver tore through the skin over his stump, but it quickly faded as the prosthetic took on all the functions of a biological arm. He flexed it and stretched curiously.
"This is so bizarre," Harry marveled with awe to Arya. "I know silver should weigh more than this. I should barely be able to lift my arm." The limb cycled through the weapons again. Inspiration struck him.
"Accio Bow!" Harry exclaimed eagerly. The urgal bow gift from Ezra flew from somewhere and into his waiting grasp. He focused and drew back on the string. Carefully, a silver arrow grew between his index and middle finger. He aimed it down the ridiculously long library hallway and released.
Like a streak of moonlight the arrow raced down the aisle. "YES!" Harry shouted in exultation. Arya looked begrudgingly impressed. "Infinite arrows!" he crowed. "I should consider cutting other limbs off," he mused. The elf looked at him horrified. "Relax," he placated her. "I just might put Alchemy off a bit. I promise I'll replace it."
Camping with the magic tent was a sort of bizarre experience. Brom forced the entire group to walk with him, refusing to carry the rolled up tent himself. "If I'm suffering to walk, you're coming with me," he'd said. Given that they left Carvahall on fire in the wake of their leave, it wasn't really the best place to get their hands on mounts. The nearest village besides Therinsford which was in the opposite direction was Yazuac.
Eragon seemed to accept Brom without too many questions, simply focused on revenge. He proposed searching trading records to find the evil beings, a more perfect arrangement the storyteller could not have asked for. He didn't even need to subtly manipulate the boy into going there. Saphira for her part seemed to highly trust Brom and Arya. She was a bit leery of Harry, but after his miraculous healing and escapes, the dragoness begrudgingly accepted him. Harry personally suspected Brom had spilled the beans to her about his own previous riderhood.
The first day they made it past Carvahall by skirting the shore of the North sea. Arya kept sending longing glances at the body of water. When the sun began to fall, they made camp. It was entirely unnecessary of course, but the atmosphere was still rather fun. Brom tried to coyly light the campfire by pretending 'Fire' was a curse word, but Harry pointed out rather dryly that Eragon already knew they were all magicians.
"It's good habit, boy. Make a habit of using magic to light campfires and the first time a stranger swans in, you'll out yourself as a magician and the next thing you know, the whole of the Empire is nipping at your heels," Brom grumbled. "Eragon!" he snapped abruptly.
The boy looked around bewildered. "You're a rider and as such, must learn the art of the sword." Harry suppressed a smile. Somehow he knew Brom would make these sword lessons less pleasant than Potions with Snape. Suffering would push Eragon to improve, fast. "You're not getting out of this." Harry froze. Shit.
Arya had apparently been press-ganged into being a second instructor. It was honestly a tossup which one you'd less rather train with.
The old man started by tossing sword-shaped sticks to the both of them. Rather than use twigs, Harry deftly transfigured the wood into wooden mock swords. He had to use his offhand since the silver one didn't conduct magic properly. Brom gave a grudging nod, then struck.
For the first night, Arya just observed. Eragon was hesitating and holding back his strikes, but Harry felt no such restraint. He'd seen the old guy run and knew he was faster, stronger, and quicker than even a man in his prime. Something the Riders eventually grew into, he supposed since Eragon was still a midget weakling.
"This isn't archery, idiot. Keep your legs closer!" He stabbed the blunt wooden point into Harry's shirt.
"Eragon, if you mimic him, I will hit you in a very uncomfortable place. LEGS CLOSER TOGETHER!" Brom bellowed.
The geezer was a whirlwind of wood. Harry began to regret transfiguring the swords because Brom did not hesitate to use the grossguard effectively. Several times the wizard had held his sword in a poor grip and Brom's own blade skittered down the wooden length, heavily bruising his abused fingers.
After that they paused for a second. "Hold it like this," he corrected. Brom displayed his own grip, helping rearrange their fingers. The fight resumed its frantic pace. It only slowed when the storyteller called out and ran through a form in exaggerated slow motion.
In an effort to lessen the humiliation, Eragon and Harry began to fight together as one, rather than trading darting attacks and retreats. Brom nodded approvingly. "Good! Excellent teamwork will nearly always prevail over numbers!"
"But we outnumber you," Eragon observed.
He scoffed. "In bodies, maybe. In skill, this is like one on one hundredth."
That spurred them on. The clacking of wood and thump of soft connections continued on for over an hour. Finally, Brom called a halt.
"You're both terrible," he said flatly. "But then you were miles better than most fresh swordsmen." Eragon seemed to brighten at that. Arya ruthlessly crushed his happiness.
"Elves, Dwarves, Urgals, Ra'zac, and Shades are all many times stronger than men. The rider bond will strengthen you, Eragon, but it takes many years for those changes to be wrought. Even the best human swordsman will fall to a mediocre elf."
"Then why are we learning this?" Eragon kicked at the dirt angrily. "If it's such a waste of time, why bother?"
Arya considered. "You will not always be this weak. And I have no doubt Harry will find a solution for himself, if for no other reason than to rub it in our faces. This will give you an appreciation for your strength when you do gain it."
Brom did not trust Harry's campsite wards and posted a rotating sentry for the night. Saphira was too large to be running in and out of the tent, so she slept curled around it. Arya simply laid down and fell into a restful trance with her eyes fixed on the forest. Harry would leaf through old Alchemy books in search of a limb replacement method, extending an alert ward as far as he could tied to intelligent life. He did not want his throat slit by an Urgal or Shade because the magic didn't count them as human. Eragon nestled up against Saphira and enjoyed her company. Brom simply smoked his pipe and sat deep in thought.
Despite the annoying and totally unnecessary watch, they slept like kings in the tent's many suites. They had no need to hunt or gather food and instead feasted on fresh produce from the greenhouses. Arya had introduced several elvish recipes to their daily fare and Harry had to admit, they rivaled Hogwarts feasts. The vegetarian race overcame their dietary limitations magnificently. The humans and dragon of the group still appreciated a hearty fare every so often, and busted out the shrrg meat.
The next night, Harry introduced s'mores to the group. It appeared that none of them had ever had chocolate, the ecstasy on their faces after the first bite was amusing to the wizard. Marshmallows were a good deal trickier to manage, but the dead came through with the recipe. During the trek the following morning, Harry was forced to add on another extension to the lab. Apparently according to Eragon, you couldn't just stuff wheat stalks into an oven and expect bread. Lots of his crops required processing to be edible.
The farmboy was an incredible help there, helping him understand what he needed to do. The next extension was opposite the animal farm and contained a number of massive magical machines. Threshers, winnowers, washers, and crushers pressed up against the walls with fermenters and distillers. Instead of sugar beets and sugarcane, Harry was now filling silos with sugar and actual flour. Whatever preservative measures Eragon suggested taking, the wizard happily ignored. The stasis enchantments on the silos were good enough for picky potions ingredients that had to be harvested at a certain lunar phase had to be good enough to keep food from going bad.
A clever enchantment Harry learned from Molly Weasley of all people forced the now extremely populous chickens to lay frankly absurd quantities of eggs. The same enchantment with minor tweaks yielded rivers of milk from the cows. By playing with the harvesting enchantment, Harry was able to collect discarded feathers. He might have unlimited arrows, the Varden did not. After learning how to properly fletch arrows from Eragon, Harry set up magical automation to collect them. Their shit was already magically shoveled into the farms.
Bushels of arrows began to stack up in great cylinders. Harry still practiced with Ezra's bow daily, despite his silver arm he was making great progress. He handily beat Eragon in competitions. The rider was good and had the benefit of years of experience hunting, but Harry practiced for hours a day, pounding bullseye after bullseye.
They reached the Anora river that night. During the evening hours, Harry begged off practice and used his rudimentary carpentry skills to construct a large skiff. Using a sealant learned in third year Potions, he fused bent wooden boards from his lumber supply into a boat shape. Harry enchanted eight oars to propel the little thing. He was an impatient man and the repetitive task let him incrementally improve the enchantments and woodwork gone into the tools.
The next morning Eragon glared halfheartedly at Harry for leaving him to his tortu- lessons with Arya and Brom by himself. That attitude faded quickly when he unveiled his project. The boat was large enough to comfortably fit all four of them plus a dragon.
"I could have simply flown," Saphira remarked.
Harry waved it off. "Making stuff is fun, and this is my first boat. Besides, it would feel wrong to leave you out like that."
Brom looked rather nervous at the idea of riding in Harry's first attempt at a water worthy vessel. "Relax," he reassured. "It's not like we're braving the whitewater rapids."
The storyteller reluctantly mounted the boat, followed by an awkwardly clambering Eragon, nervously shifting with the skiff in the water. Arya simply leapt gracefully off the shore and directly onto the planks.
With a tap of his wand, the eight oars synchronously pushed off, scything through the water and sending up a fine mist behind them. Saphira perched on a sturdy wood platform at the back, using her tail lazily like a rudder in the river current.
Eragon marveled at the speed of their travel. Some might say he was a true landlubber, there were no lakes or rivers that ran through Carvahall. The Anora river was too far to travel to with impunity, and most of the villagers had a healthy respect for the North sea. The skiff was his first aquatic travel experience, and he found himself enjoying it immensely. Cool water rushed past his splayed fingers under the river surface. The clear water rippled, distorting the image of the fish swimming up and down the current.
Arya seemed to bask in the sunlight, gazing at the river as well. She had a rapturous expression on her face and the group all felt the feather light touch of her mind on theirs. She was connecting to nature around her.
Rays of light sparkled and shone off the crystal clear rippling water. Everyone could have watched the sight all day, but Brom broke the silence.
"When we get to Yazuac, at this speed no later than tomorrow evening, let me do the talking. The four of us are family, you three my children-" Harry coughed delicately. "-grandchildren," Brom grumbled. "We left our small hamlet, chased out by Urgals who killed your parents. We're headed to Teirm to start a new life. Understood?"
They assented. "When we get there, I'll find you some gloves, Eragon. You hide the Gedwey Ignasia well, but it only takes one slip up to bring the king down on all our heads."
"Gedwey Ignasia?" Harry asked curiously. Eragon held out his right hand palm up. An ovular silver mark filled most of his palm.
"I got it when I first touched Saphira," the rider explained. "It's apparently the mark of the riders."
"'Tis the seal of the compact between Elves, Dragons, and later, Humans," Arya spoke up. "A great honor and responsibility to bear."
Brom waved it off. "No magic, any of you." he commanded. Addressing Harry he continued. "This is not some community where magic is rare but accepted. Peasants in the Empire will report you to the king's servants. Use telepathy sparingly. There is always the chance someone with shields notices you and reports it. You need different clothes. Yours are distinctive and abnormal in Alagaesia. It's as good as a sign to Durza who you are."
Harry grumbled but acquiesced, transfiguring his modern wear into eighteenth century peasant wear. Sneakers morphed into leather boots, eliciting yet another frown from the wizard. If this was how he was expected to dress in every Empire holding, he would hurry the journey along as fast as possible.
Brom's words held true. They camped for the evening, looping a rope around a tree close to shore and tying the boat off. The tent was pitched and guard set up with little fuss. Scarcely hours into their river travel the next day, Saphira called out their destination. Flying high above them as she was, it took until dinnertime to actually reach the village, but reach it they did.
"Stay high up or better yet, far away Saphira. We don't want your location advertised to the king, if he is even certain you have hatched. The Ra'zac may not have made it back to Galbatorix yet," Brom instructed the dragon. Saphira's blue mass wheeled around and flapped hard, gaining altitude quickly.
Dismounting the barge/skiff hybrid, they made their way to the town. It was eerily silent. Footfalls echoed off the cobble paved roads, reverberating off of empty buildings. None of them spoke.
"What happened here?" Eragon whispered anxiously.
Brom shook his head and continued, but shifted a gnarled hand to the pommel of his sword. Arya similarly readied herself to draw arms, yet left her blade sheathed. The further in they got, the more eerie the atmosphere became. It was as though some unseen tragedy hung foully in the air, tainting the very stones themselves. Broken shutters hung askew on single hinges. Doors creaked eerily, blown back and forth by a silent breeze. Harry began to pick out blackened yet suspicious stains on the ground.
They rounded the corner of an alley to the town square and were stopped dead. Eragon gasped. Brom had an ugly look on his face, and even Arya looked very unsettled. There, in the center of the square, a macabre pile of bodies stacked nearly a dozen feet up. Limbs with horrendous gashes or impaled weapons tossed haphazardly in a pile. And on the very top, a pale white baby was impaled through the eye with a black barbed spear.
Harry threw up on the ground, retching until his stomach was empty. He heard the twang of a bowstring and straightened, wiping his lips. Eragon had just shot a vulture out of the air, one which had intended upon feasting on the vile display.
"Who would do this?" Eragon demanded hoarsely.
Brom looked solemn. "It goes by many names and faces, yet the only title for this deed is Evil." Arya watched silently.
"Come on," Harry spoke softly. "The least we can do is burn the bodies and keep the vultures away."
The storyteller looked like he wanted nothing less than to forbid it, lighting a bonfire was sure to draw attention, perhaps even that of the party which did this. But Harry's face was set. Though his stomach churned and twisted at the thought, he could not in good conscience leave them to scavengers to eat. He readied his wand to cast the fire when Brom stiffened.
"Run," he breathed. "Run! They're still here!" he shouted. They sprinted away, backtracking towards the alley they arrived in. Arya pulled ahead instantly, oustripping them with ease. Rather than abandon them, she kept on high alert for whoever committed the atrocity.
"Stop!" the elf commanded to her companions. "They have barricaded the way."
Harry peered over her shoulder. Four massive kull leered, baring teeth, horns, and weapons menacingly. Yet it was not their stance which startled him. No, it was their eyes.
Burning red irises, filled with unfathomable malice. They regarded them, sneering. They made to move forwards, stalking closer slowly. "They're stalling!" Brom called. "I count twelve more, moving to hem us in!"
They dashed the opposite direction, hoping to outpace the flanking Urgals and escape the jaws of the trap set before it closed about them. Heart pounding, Harry pumped his arms as hard as he could, pushing off the ground with heavy footfalls. The opening to the square was just up ahead…
Spiked barricades tipped over, obscuring their path. "Bombarda!" Harry shouted, flinging his left hand out. A bolt of light shot towards the barricade. Just before it struck, someone flung a burning torch upon it. Drizzled oil flared up, coating the spiked wood with hungry and hot flames. The blasting curse reached the barricade at nearly the same time. Flaming debris was hurled in every direction. Harry had to lean to the side to avoid a flaming spike which nearly impaled his right eye.
Guttural roars sounded from the kull. They charged the group as one. Some were nearly fully twice their height, wearing steel-shod boots and heavy armor, wielding cruel spiked weapons, the very earth shook at the furious charge. Harry had time only to morph his silver hand into a razor sharp bastard sword. Brom drew that strange red sword and tossed it to Eragon, pulling from his pack a generic steel one. Arya readied herself to meet the charge–
And the kull were upon them. Whatever preparation the second blood war had given Harry, it did not compare to the furious melee. With his left hand, he cast a Protego shield, creating a shimmering magical sort of buckler shield. He stabbed furiously towards an Urgal, silver point flashing. The great ram twisted with a speed belied by his incredible bulk. Instead of descending through his heart, the sword merely sliced through the mail on his right side.
In retaliation, the Urgal hefted a flanged mace and swung it like a baseball bat, crashing and skittering off the magical shield desperately hefted by Harry. There was a smell of ozone as the magic ineffectually tried to disburse the incredible force. Despite the strength and desperation Harry put behind his cast, hundreds of pounds of force slipped through the shield, tossing the wizard like a ragdoll against a cobbled wall.
"Expelliarmus!" Harry shouted. The red bolt of light connected, flinging his mace away and out of the fight. The Urgal was not deterred, and clenched his enormous clawed hands menacingly, advancing on him. With the time granted him by the deliberate approach, Harry glanced over his shoulder at his companions.
It wasn't going well. Eragon, for all his week of sword training, simply lacked the skill to combat the enormous kull. He was cornered, backed up against a dead end alley. Arya seemed to be fairing rather well, holding off six at once. Two were already dead at her feet. They were hemming her in with enormous black iron shields. Brom was desperately fighting three, hacking and slashing with a steel sword he was rather clearly unfamiliar with. The charging Urgal lowered his pointed horns, aiming to impale Harry's midriff on them and tear him apart.
He would not let that happen. He had a duty to protect Eragon and help overthrow the king, something he could not do if he died in his first fight. He set his legs like a lunge, bracing himself powerfully. If he morphed his weapon too soon, the Urgal would dodge or approach with caution, either of which would spell death. He had to time it just right, wait for him to commit fully… There!
Harry judged the kull had passed the point of no return. He shifted his diagonal sword guard, bracing his sword hand with his left arm, and morphed the silver into a long, lethally sharp lance. The kull's eyes widened and he jinked to the left with all the dexterity he had, but Harry simply grimly adjusted his lance. With a gurgle, the Urgal impaled himself several feet down the lance. So great was the inertia behind his charge that Harry's lance had penetrated all the way through, and he now had his arm up to the elbow in an Urgal chest cavity.
He shook his arm desperately. Now was not the time to be stuck, he needed to get free. Harry changed the silver to a razor sharp greatsword, heaving his arm to the side. The maneuver worked, sliding his arm through the grisly impaled body and out the side.
As Harry readied himself for the three remaining kull to descend upon him, an involuntary grin ghosted his lips. The thrill of adrenaline, the chaos of battle, it was intoxicating. With the silver two-handed greatsword in hand, he felt invincible. The extra force behind his blows was telling. His alley was too narrow for all three to approach at once and so he dealt with two at a time. Their burning crimson stare bored into his eyes, endless hatred in their hearts.
The sword forced Harry to stow his wand, forgoing his shield and all but the simplest magics without it. The kull bore their shields out, swords tips just pointing out. They were being cautious. Harry initiated the fight, Putting all his arm muscles behind a massive diagonal slash. The tip scraped the alleyway wall, sending sparks up. The end of the enormous sword struck the kull's iron buckler where he held it up to guard just below his shoulder. Harry cried victoriously. Enchanted silver cut straight through the soft crude iron weapon, embedding three inches into his massive chest, just above his heart and lungs.
The kull roared, kicking his massive leg towards Harry underneath both of their weapons. With an awkward grip, he managed to block the blow with the guard end of the blade. The kull howled and collapsed as he kicked the blade hard enough to sever his leg halfway up the thigh. His partner pressed the offensive, seeing as Harry's sword was embedded in his fellow's body. Rather than spend the precious time needed to retrieve the greatsword from his enemy's corpse, Harry withdrew his left hand, pulling the Elder wand from his side.
With a frantic incantation and a truly cruel intent, Harry cast the bubblehead charm on the Urgal. His enemy didn't immediately notice, busy raining devastating blows upon Harry's magical shield. Each blow forced Harry back a foot, sliding his boots against the pavement like he was a doll to be thrown about. Then the Urgal paused. The third of its group took point, wielding a morningstar with terrifying ease, whipping it about at breakneck speeds. Again and again he made enormous overhead strikes, slamming the iron ball into the shield, which had began sputtering and flashing.
Impending victory and desperation together spurred the Urgal on, and in one more powerful strike, the morningstar blasted through the shield, causing Harry to sag momentarily. Knowing he had only one chance, Harry reformed the bastard sword, poised to strike. The Urgal reared up, leaning back with his morningstar to deliver the final blow. The instant his elbows went past his ears, Harry lunged forwards, sending the silver point straight through his throat.
The kull collapsed immediately dead. Harry fought the urge to vomit. Clawing desperately at his throat with red eyes from popped blood vessels, the bubble headed Urgal gasped feebly and ineffectually. He wanted nothing more than to let the Urgal return to his family, but he regarded those crimson eyes. This Urgal would not return to his family. If Harry let up even an inch, the kull would use that inch to bring Harry down with him.
Rather than wait for the ram to die, Harry withdrew his sword and poised the sword above his throat. He closed his eyes, breathed out, and pushed down firmly. A sickening noise emanated from the now dead kull.
Behind him, Arya had killed three of her assailants as well. The remaining three had learned from their predecessors failures and were attacking as one, attempting to clear every place she could duck, dodge, or twist in one movement. Harry nearly leapt to help, but what he saw next chilled his blood. Brom's sword had been shorn through, a stubby blade all that remained. He was holding the side previously ran through by the Ra'zac, a red circle of blood expanding on his clothes. Two Urgals approached him. Harry leveled his wand to make the shot. "Ava-"
"BRISINGR!" Nearly faster than Harry could pick out, Eragon fired an arrow towards Brom's assailants. The arrow struck one in the back, blue flames instantly consuming the screaming kull. Its body brightened, then exploded in a wave of blue fire. Every Urgal the wave touched dissolved, living or not. Arya sagged when the ambushers around her died. Then she spotted Brom and Eragon.
Brom was panting heavily, sitting and leaning against a wall clutching his wound. Conversely, Eragon had collapsed and was convulsing. Harry yanked the tent over his shoulders, tossing it into the cramped intersection.
They dragged their patients as quickly as possible to the OR. Harry fixed Brom nearly instantly, though the effort still left them both panting. Eragon on the other hand- he didn't look so good. He feebly gripped his head, moaning. A bit of foam trickled out the corner of his mouth, and a fearsome roar sounded from the main level. Deafening scraping emanated from the stairwell as Saphira forced her way downstairs to see her rider. Two great flaps of her wings carried her extended jump over to Eragon. Lights swung on their metal cables, sending the lighting into a bizarre rapidly dimming and brightening headache.
"What the hell is happening to him!?" Harry demanded of Arya.
"Overuse of magic," she stated grimly.
"What do you mean?" Harry was nearly hysterical. "I've done much more demanding magic than that and I've never bled from my eyeballs." He pointed where red tears trailed down the rider's cheeks.
"Our magics are not the same," the elf snapped. "He is extraordinarily lucky to have survived at all. That he has the strength to live through magic like that must mean he will mature to be extremely powerful. There is nothing to do but feed him and wait."
Saphira growled at the bickering pair, but did not say anything, settling instead for placing her great head on a surrounding table and fixing a pair of enormous blue eyes on the patient.
Harry shivered while he fetched cubed meat, water, and a Pepper-up potion, feeding the unconscious Eragon quickly, before retreating to shower the urgal blood off himself. He shivered uncontrollably. It was the first time he'd deliberately killed someone. "If he's not going to get better except with time, I hardly need to be here. I'm dead on my feet. Come to my room if you're desperate."
Arya exhaled harshly from her nostrils with an angry look, but acquiesced. Brom snored softly but did not wake. The only lab occupants kept up their silent vigil.
AN: Thank you all for the reviews. To Joe Lawyer: Harry did not learn how to make portkeys in canon. The last portkey used was the hairbrush from Andromeda Tonks's house to the Burrow, and it was premade. No portkeys were used in 6th year, Dumbledore made every portkey used in 5th. I figure portkey creation has to be quite a bit harder than apparition, a skill which is already described as difficult to learn. If the ministry forbids making portkeys by themselves, there must be at least some semblance of a reason. The reason I'm choosing is that it's difficult enough to do and disastrous enough if done wrong that you need to be certified to do it legally. Yeah, he's a bit of a dumbass for trying to apparate four people plus a dragon, but then, Harry always was a dumbass in canon. Im trying to give him credible improvements in decision making without simply making him perfect.
also, I'm going to capitalize Urgal when it refers to a person, and not when it is used as an adjective. idk if its wrong but whatever.