Chapter 25: The Great Plains
That night around the campfire, Harry groaned and massaged his arse. "Wow, riding horses sucks," he commented idly.
Brom glared at him. "What did you expect, a carriage?" he snorted.
Harry waved him off. "Nope but it would be nice. Us wizards have been egregiously spoiled in regards to transport. The ability to teleport renders all but the longest journeys instant. We could cross the width and breadth of our country in one jump, the more skillful ones could go even further."
"Did your people often leave body parts behind?" Arya asked curiously. She wasn't asking maliciously or teasing, so Harry answered.
"Yes, actually. It's called 'splinching' among my people. Apparating is taught by our government because it's so dangerous to get it wrong. When apparating, you must visualize your destination not unlike scrying, gather your magic, and twist while sort of willing yourself to your destination. Problem is, if you lose focus or skimp on the magic, the technique is prone to leaving parts behind."
"If it's such a problem, are there many wizards lacking limbs, or do they simply choose to forgo the risk?" Eragon interjected.
He laughed. "Wizards can replace the limb. I've known people to splinch half their entire bodies and be just fine. I just couldn't return to the farm to retrieve the arm. It likely would have already burned up anyways. I was foolish in attempting to apparate such a large group. Even the most powerful wizards never sidealong more than two passengers in a jump. We have portkeys for moving groups of people."
"Maybe it's worth learning how to make these 'portkeys,' Brom joked. "After all, you only have so many limbs to lose."
Harry nodded genuinely. "I know how to make them, I simply didn't have the time to do so. I don't have a lot of practice with it. It's not a skill I ever expected to need. Apparition licenses are sort of a rite of passage. It's symbolic of freedom; the ability to travel anywhere instantly. Well, anywhere you've been," he amended. "Making portkeys was restricted by the ministry, and I'm not overly sure why. It could have been because the ministry wanted to control long range travel, or it could be fiendishly difficult. Whatever," he waved airily. "If they want to come here and arrest me, so be it."
They fell silent for a moment. The fire crackled and suddenly Saphira growled angrily at Eragon. "What's wrong, Saphira!?" He exclaimed.
The dragoness projected her thoughts. "You. You are the problem. Every time I let you leave my sight, you are attacked! You barely survived the ambush in Yazuac, and now you have procured a prey animal to ride upon instead of myself." She pinned Eragon with a glare, reaching out a talon and poking him carefully in the chest. "You will ride upon me tomorrow, or I shall pick you up and carry you anyways. You are a dragon rider, not a donkey rider."
Arya hid a grin with her hand. There was very little arguing with a dragon, she thought in amusement. Saphira folded her legs and sat back down, still glaring but with less heat. Eragon looked like someone signed his execution papers.
"Hold your horses, Saphira," Brom warned. "Without a saddle, you're just as likely to flay his legs again if he's not careful. I'd rather not explain to Selena in the afterlife how Eragon died because he fell off his dragon." She growled but did not reject him.
Eragon, Harry, Arya, you will practice swordsmanship while I make the saddle." Brom retreated into the tent, leaving the group standing around. Arya did not speak as she blunted her sword. Harry morosely drew the ponderously large sword from his back, and Eragon whipped Zar'roc from his sheath.
When Brom emerged from the tent, all three of them were sweating profusely. He looked surprised at the signs of exertion on Arya's brow. "They gave you a true challenge?" he asked her curiously.
Harry grinned. "I've discovered something which will help even the playing field a bit so to speak." He explained what he'd discovered. "When you breach the barrier between yourself and your magic, it floods you. I noticed that I feel a sort of high when I access it. That same high makes me a bit faster and stronger. Eragon discovered the same thing."
Arya stood there indifferently. "It's amazing!" Eragon gushed. "If this is what you feel like all the time, I could hardly bear to go back!" he exclaimed.
"It was two versus one," Harry admitted, "But I think we made a good showing of ourselves."
The elf nodded. "Their form is improving quickly. I was skeptical of Harry's weapon choice," she admitted, "but he wields the greatsword well. Eragon is very quickly approaching the limit for humans as well."
Brom looked proud. "Well then, it seems we have all the more time for other pursuits." He tossed down a complicated pile of waxed black leather. It had a myriad of straps broken by complex ties and loops which acted in place of buckles. "I haven't a clue how to forge buckles," he admitted. "We can always add them later."
The storyteller sank into a lawnchair and withdrew his pipe. "Tonight I wish to further explore magic with you all. I think it would behoove all of us to learn of each of our respective brands of magic," he nodded at Harry, "and see what common ground exists. Perhaps the inspiration for a powerful new technique lies in the secrets of another tree of magic entirely."
He withdrew his wand and rubbed it idly. "I have only carried this stick for scant days, yet I already feel more attuned to it than with my Gedwey Ignasia, a mark I have carried for over a century."
Harry choked on his drink. "Centuries? How old are you!"
Brom grinned. "I'm coming up on my one hundred thirtieth birthday this year," he said cheekily. "And what a spring flower I am!"
He snorted. "I suppose that's not that much of a stretch. You look old, and my people regularly reached past one hundred years. My school examiner, Griselda Marchbanks, was old enough to have been my Headmaster's examiner, and he was one hundred fourteen. I'm just surprised, wizards only began living that long after many medical advancements were made with magic. Very few have cracked immortality. The oldest recorded wizards are nearing seven hundred. They used an alchemic artifact called the Philosopher's stone to prolong their life."
Arya was intrigued. "This Philosopher's stone, it bestowed agelessness on anyone?"
Harry shrugged. "I don't know if the Flamels tested it on muggles or not, but I'd suspect so, yes. Why? Are you worried for your family or something?"
She loosed a peal of laughter. "Nay, elves, riders, and dragons alike cannot die of old age. We are felled only in combat or from incurable disease. I am simply curious."
"Ah," Harry nodded. "Well, I'm getting into Alchemy anyways to replace this arm," he knocked on the silver before shaking the bruises on his left hand. "If I can manage it, I'll tell you what I discover."
He glanced over at Eragon and Brom. The storyteller was watching the interaction curiously, but Eragon was frozen in shock. His eyes nearly bulged from their sockets at the revelation that he was immortal. "I'm immortal?" he breathed in awe.
"Ageless," Arya corrected. "You can still be slain by swords, poison, starvation, and the like. You will simply never feel the bite of old age."
"While your dragon survives," Brom corrected sadly. "Saphira is the source of your eternal vitality. I looked to be twenty for nearly forty years. After the partner of my heart and soul died, that virility eluded me, and over the next eighty some years, I became what you see today."
"Is this like what the Urgals spoke of when they claimed dragons flying overhead blessed the fields below?" Harry asked.
Arya nodded sharply. "Dragons are the most intimately connected to Alagaesia and her magic. Before Du Fyrn Skulblaka, elves were just as humans; ephemeral, temporary, passionate. We lived and died. But after the bond, we became ageless and eternal. When a dragon bonds with their rider, they grant their bonded those same gifts and more besides." She took another bite and chewed it while thinking. "When the humans were added to the pact," she paused and thought. "They were added much later. But the effect was noticeable. Humans in general were less savage and thoughtless. They began to congregate in cities. Artisans, musicians, and the intellectually inclined became more prevalent. Some of your race's greatest achievements came about during that golden age. Given more time, I doubt your race would not have enjoyed a much extended if not endless lifespan."
Brom agreed with her. "There were other effects. Magicians were born much more readily to humans during that time. But now that the dragons are gone, Alagaesia and humans in general have steadily declined. Lawlessness, brigandry and bandits are more common than even the time before human riders. We bound ourselves to the dragons, and suffer for their absence."
"Elves too have declined in power and prosperity," Arya concurred. "I am old enough to remember those days when Galbatorix and his servants slew a bloody path to the heart of Vroengard. My kin laughed less and smiled rarely. We were blessed with even less children, and our power waned with the dragons. Many hopes are riding upon you, Eragon."
The rider seemed to be shocked at Arya's age but bore the surprise well. He was simply overwhelmed by the implications of an eternal life.
They were snapped out of their reverie by Harry's words. "Immortality is not always a gift, Eragon. You'd better marry an elf or rider, or else you'll have to watch them grow old and die while staying the same age."
That sobered him.
"Enough of this dreary talk. We're on an adventure to topple the Empire," Brom exclaimed. "I intend to explore the mysteries of magic rather than mope around all day." He withdrew his wand and waved it in the air, causing a shower of sparks to erupt.
Harry laughed happily at his enthusiasm. "Shall I get the first year books?" he asked teasingly. He retrieved a transfiguration text for first years. It was chosen because the discipline was unheard of in Alagaesia and hopefully would prevent Brom from accidentally using native magic to complete a task instead of his own.
"The first task we completed in Hogwarts was turning a matchstick into a needle," Harry explained.
"Matchstick?" Brom asked.
"It was a replacement for flint and steel," Harry explained. "A chemical called phosphorus on the tip of a dry wooden stick. When struck against a rough or grippy surface, the phosphorus would flare into a small flame, which was used to start fires instead of kindling and sparks."
The old rider thought that was a brilliant idea. He hated using a flint and steel, and often pretended to swear 'Brisingr' to avoid the whole rigamarole.
"Since we don't have matchsticks and conjured items are harder to work with, you'll just have to use twigs." Harry scooped up a bit of brush and picked out a trio of twigs, setting them out in front of his ever attentive students. "Take your wand and visualize your desire. You are taking the image and form of a needle and forcing it upon the twig. The twig is not disappearing, it is merely being forced into a different shape. The wand movements are as follows." He traced out the pattern with the flagrate charm in the air, leaving a fiery trail to follow. "And the incantation."
Brom was the first to attempt the transfiguration. Harry noted that his movements were actually quite close. For someone unfamiliar with a wand, his coordination was excellent. Unfortunately, it did not help him. With a bang and a flash, the twig exploded into soot and splinters. The old man cursed and spat out soot, wiping down his blackened beard.
"Do not consciously reach for your magic," Harry instructed. "Your wand is a conduit, it is designed to connect to your magic for you. If you breach that barrier and flood yourself with power, you have no hope of controlling magic's flow carefully and precisely."
Brom gave him a sour look, but acquiesced. He snatched Eragon's twig up and ran through the motions, pronouncing the incantation carefully with exaggerated vocalization. The twig shimmered and became a perfect needle.
"Awesome!" Harry crowed. "That's quite possibly the fastest anyone's ever gotten that," he praised. "Your experience with visualization for scrying will be an immense aid for transfiguration as a whole. The wand motions and incantation are guides which carefully guide magic down narrow paths. You, I think, will be able to discard them very quickly. All transfiguration really requires is visualization. Once you cast enough transfigurations to get a taste of the magic so to speak, you can simply draw that power up and impress it on anything with the image in your head."
Brom took that to heart and the rest of them began practice in earnest. Arya was the second to get it, astonishingly enough on her very first attempt. Eragon struggled more, but in time he too managed the transfiguration.
Meanwhile, Harry practiced the native magic. His vocabulary was unlimited and as such he was limited only by imagination and power. He stayed away from high powered and esoteric applications of magic, instead completing mundane tasks easily.
He was able to gather gold dust from underground with trivial ease and bind it into ingots. After that success, Harry began sucking up every element he could think of that might be desirable. Plastic containers filled with zinc, copper, tin, aluminum, gold, and iron stacked up. It was a taxing exercise, but rewarded him handsomely. Brom whistled when he saw what the wizard was doing. "Getting gold like that's not easy," he complimented. "You've got a lot of power."
Harry grinned. "I was worried I'd have to genuinely go mining after I blew through that much iron with Horst. This is much more convenient."
He experimented with tasks which charms normally handled like drying, warming, cooling, and freezing. Harry could bend light and manipulate water just by speaking. As he got more familiar with the ability to breach that magical barrier, spells became even easier. The difficult tasks were still taxing, yet simpler ones like guiding arrows were ponderously easy.
"Have you given any thought to learning about portkeys?" Brom asked, blatantly hinting what he wanted Harry to do.
"I have," he admitted. "I'll learn them tonight. The resurrection stone isn't just for sentiment. I can call any dead experts to teach me their craft. I'm sure someone up there knows how to make a portkey," Harry said.
When Harry went to bed, Blinky was waiting for him, ready to start his mental lessons. The wizard was beat in every sense of the word. Physically, Arya still trounced him and Eragon despite their newfound physical augmentations. Magically, Harry had just summoned particles of gold from every cubic foot of soil and stone within hundreds of yards in every direction. And now, he supposed, I'll be mentally exhausted.
To his surprise, the first lesson was not exhausting or morally damaging. §This skill iss rooted in communication,§ the serpent spoke. §You can speak with me, but not Hedwig. Reach out and touch her mind,§ she instructed.
It took him less time than last night to reach out. Harry felt less of that thrill of fear from extending himself beyond his mind. The fear of being attacked was now more prevalent than that of falling from his own consciousness.
Like an earthworm after a rainstorm, he slowly extended himself beyond the familiar safety of his mind and reached out. When he did, it was a transcendent feeling. Harry felt like another layer of color was added over his vision. His magical sensory skills combined and augmented his mental presence as it searched the room. Harry felt around his bedroom, marvelling at what he saw.
Every enchanted item in his room sort of pulsed gently with his heartbeat. Even from his bed several feet away, he could feel the warmth of Blinky's sunning stone. Over there was the fledgling intelligence of the moving picture depicting Ron, Hermione, and himself. When he glanced over with his eyes at the piece of art, he felt a happy reaction from the enchantment as the pictured Hermione and Ron smiled and waved at him.
A comforting presence below him denoted the cushioning and temperature charms on the bed. Pushing his senses further, he felt Hedwig happily resting, wing tucked over her head. He felt feelings of contentment, happiness, pride, and love for him in her mind. Unlike a human mind or even Blinky's psyche, Hedwig had a primal sort of intelligence. She understood people's words without knowing their language. Harry was touched by the fierce loyalty she held for him.
Further out still, he sensed the enchantments in the ensuite bathroom. The numerous water conjuring enchantments felt like elemental magic. At the head of the sink tap Harry could smell a mind bending mixture of ocean water, glacier ice, and creek water. The vanishing spells on the drains were like empty holes. There was no clear destination where they led.
Over everything and permeating the very air, he felt a sort of blanket, a gentle billowing stretching magic which kept the walls apart. The space expansion charms were like a breeze across a wide open plane.
Atop Harry's bedside table, both of his wands rested. Propped up against it was his backpack. He could feel bonds with each item. His holly wand had the greatest bond. It felt like warm magic, determination, and heroic deeds. Like a life partner he was grateful to have at his side. The Elder wand had a different sort of thread. Where Harry expected a weapon with fickle loyalty to have a tenuous connection, the bond was deep and secure, gripping his very soul. It felt like victory; the sound of bugling trumpets and joyous shouts. He tasted the clang of metal on metal, the dangerous aura of combat magic, and the sense of invincibility.
Harry felt each and every blood linked item he had made so far. The spear he traded Gedric for his experienced tools was muted in recognition of its status as someone else's property, but he could still feel it like a mirage which would curl up in smoke if he tried to grab it. There was his pack, feeling like motion and storage. The final bond with his tent felt like home. Harry sensed the linking thread traveling from his upwards, but not quite. Rather than in a physical direction, the bond linked him to the room, the house, everything around him. He immersed himself in the feeling of belonging, safety, and warmth.
§Very well done,§ Blinky complimented. Her words startled him out of his introspection. §You have a rare talent for thiss,§ she complimented. §And now you undersstand, thiss ability iss a gift, not a cursse.§
Harry nodded happily. He was still a bit overwhelmed at what he saw. Rather than answer verbally, the wizard continued to explore this newfound power. He pushed his mind out, searching through the cabin carefully, tasting each presence individually. When the myriad of different and unique enchantments bored him, Harry cautiously touched the minds of his companions.
Brom had a weary, melancholic, and proud mind. His mental shields were impenetrable to Harry, but the old man's very presence projected that feeling. Harry noticed sadly that it was missing something, like someone had ripped a pair of conjoined twins apart and not bothered to heal the wound.
Arya's was full of resolve, sadness, and hope. Along the edges of her mind Harry thought he heard a haunting sort of melody, oddly inviting yet dangerous at the same time. They both reacted to his touch; Arya with surprise, Brom with a sort of sense of well done.
Harry did not mean to invade Eragon's mind, but simply touching its borders imparted the information. The rider was scared, conflicted, sad, resolved, everything in a burning maelstrom of emotions. He sensed the grief for his uncle Garrow, joy in his father's presence, and fear. Fear that Galbatorix would kill Brom, would kill Saphira, would kill him. Insecurities which were part of growing up still plagued him, and the very real threat posed by the Empire only exacerbated the tumultuous emotions.
Harry quickly withdrew so as to preserve Eragon's privacy and withdrew back into his own mind. He sighed in relief. Though the connections were muted now that he was back behind his barriers, now that Harry knew what to look for, he needed only extend the barest wisp of himself to connect with them.
Sheets rustling, Harry scooted over and picked up his holly wand. He looked at the innocuous stick in a whole new light. While without any sort of higher reasoning, he likened the wand to Hedwig: intelligent, but only capable of understanding basic emotions. Harry sent the piece of wood and phoenix feather his gratefulness for its faithful service and was surprised to elicit a response.
The wand sent back happiness, pride, and eagerness to serve. Harry smiled and set it back down. Burrowing under the bedcovers, the wizard slipped into a peaceful sleep.
The next morning Harry rolled out of bed with a groan. His rear was sore and bruised from all that riding, and he had to get right back in the saddle today and ride the whole day. He was sullen and withdrawn while eating breakfast, keeping his nose down and stuck in a beginner's Alchemy primer.
By contrast, Eragon was chipper and upbeat. "I can't wait to name our horses," he chattered. "Garrow named our farm horses. Roran wanted to name them Speedy and Hardy, but uncle had said the names were undignified and such," the rider imitated Garrow.
Harry groaned miserably. If he had to name the stupid beast, he'd go crazy. The emotional attachment would stop him from simply executing the thing when it inevitably infuriated him by prolonging his suffering marathon. He resolved to finish his broomstick design with Mum and Dad tonight while the others slept. It took them days on a fast boat downstream with eight oars to get from Yazuac to Daret. Daret to the Woadark river was over thrice as long and they had to go at the snail's pace the horses would convey them at. There was no way he'd be able to reign in his homicidal urges at the fell beast of a horse he rode if he had to be tormented the whole several weeks it would take.
To top it all off, it looked like it was going to rain. The steel grey skies had darkened and increased in density, angrily roiling above. When Harry emerged from the tent flap, he felt the gentle breeze and knew they were screwed. The low atmospheric pressure could only mean bad things in the very near future.
He watched in reluctant and annoyed bemusement as Eragon placed a hand on his mount's muzzle and stated grandly as if proclaiming a new king; "I name thee Cadoc, after my mother's father. Bear the name and myself well."
Harry snickered and imitated him with his own horse, a dappled white and grey stallion. "I name thee 'Stupid,' he said in English, after what I feel of the form of transportation you embody. I hope you will bear the name better than you do me."
Brom put his face in his hands and groaned while Arya laughed gaily. "Harry, you do know that by saying that in the ancient language, your horse will never respond to another name?" she laughed.
He rolled his eyes. "Good," he said. "I hope he gets embarrassed around all the other horses and is doomed to be an eternal virgin." Miserably, he mounted the horse. Arya and Brom did likewise, (though with infinitely more grace) and Eragon made to do the same when a gust of wind heralded Saphira's heavy landing.
"No."
Brom did not look inclined to help Eragon escape his promise. Crisscrossing Saphira's glittering blue scales was the black leather saddle Brom had crafted. She lifted a talon and hooked it into the scruff of Eragon's tough clothes and dragged him protestingly away from Cadoc before interposing herself between him and the animal.
"You will ride me."
"That's what she said," Harry murmured with a snicker. Arya visibly rolled her eyes while Eragon nervously mounted Saphira.
"Stay close enough to reach us quickly in case of trouble," Brom instructed. With a powerful leap, Saphira drove her wings down and shot into the sky. The old rider watched the sight wistfully, a hint of a smile on his face. Eragon's fearful whoop trailed off into the sky.
The landlubbers set off southwest, trotting slowly along. Harry immediately began loudly complaining about the unsavoury nature of stupid horses, Stupid in particular bearing the brunt of his ire. His companions put up with it for about ten minutes.
"Pinch." Brom stated. Harry yelped and shot him a glare.
"Oi!"
Harry engaged the old man in a staring contest, one which Brom performed admirably in, considering he was unaware the competition was taking place. The wizard used magic to cheat outrageously, wetting his eyes and protecting them from dust and wind. Eventually Arya got bored enough to interrupt them.
"Do you wish to play this 'Eye-Spy?'"
Brom blinked. "HAHA!" Harry crowed. "I win!" The old man scowled, but looked away. "Sorry, Arya," Harry commented, "I don't think Eye-Spy is the game to play here." The formless grasslands extended to the edge of their sight in every direction. At his remark, Arya just sighed and withdrew her waterskin, taking a swig. "Perhaps Monopoly?" Harry suggested mischievously. Arya sighed again.
"Hey Brom, what if I give you Reading Railroad for Park Place?" Harry suggested with a straight face. "You'll get the fourth railroad- sound good?"
Brom held Snowfire's reins with one hand and his pipe in another. He puffed on it idly. "I-"
"Brom Holcombsson, you will not accept that fool deal!" Arya exclaimed angrily. "I do not wish to pay this-" she searched for a second. "-Child two thousand dollars for your lapse in judgement."
Harry waggled his eyebrows and waved the railroad title deed in the air. Brom looked longingly at the piece of cardboard. "I mean it," Arya warned. With great effort, the old rider managed to tear his eyes from the property. Harry pouted exaggeratedly.
The cloud cover was so dense it turned noon into dusk. Harry warily watched for any hint of a stormfront. The atmosphere was charged with danger and he really didn't want to see Saphira thrown against the ground like a broken toy for daring to brave the elements.
"-Arya, if I don't complete the railroad set, I have no way to make money. It's just two places at the end of the board, how often does anyone land there anyway?" Brom argued.
The board was in deadlock. Arya had the only monopoly, holding both brown cards. The elf had capitalized and bought hotels for both of them, but so far the lucky break she needed eluded her. Down money from her investment, landing on either the expensive four railroad cards or the Boardwalk monopoly could easily force her to mortgage her other cards. The rest of the cards were distributed among the players, displayed on a floating illusory board in front of them.
Arya had learned from her previous failures to deny Harry a monopoly at all costs and it looked like the game would drag on until some deal was struck. Harry hid his concern at the fact that Arya had the only monopoly. If left unchallenged, she would theoretically win. The bank would run out of money and then over dozens of rounds the cash would trickle down to her. Harry was banking on Brom's naivety to win.
"I could throw in some ca~ash," Harry singsonged, rubbing his thumb and fingers together in the universal money gesture. Brom glanced at his hand with ill-concealed longing and caved.
"Fine," he agreed, and Harry triumphantly snatched Park Place from the old man.
"Fool!" Arya hissed. "You've handed him the game!"
Harry grinned insolently and began purchasing houses immediately. The game did not last long after that. Several rounds of the board later, Harry cackled evilly as he collected the last scrap of money from Arya and announced his victory.
"Again?" he asked innocently. Arya hissed like a wet cat and turned her horse away, riding a few paces ahead. "Sore loser!" Harry heckled. When she did not relent, he grumbled. "Fine, we can play something else. What do you want?"
Arya grinned from her position facing away from Harry. "Chess," she said triumphantly.
Harry groaned but obligingly replaced the illusory Monopoly board with a Chess set. "Heads or tails?" he asked, tossing a flipping crown high above him, the gold glinting dully in the low light under the cloud cover.
When the coin had reached its apex, Arya called "Heads!" and Harry clapped the coin upon his arm before revealing-
"Dammit!" he exclaimed. "This is like the fortieth time in a row," Harry whinged. He was pretty sure that damn elvish eyesight was letting her predict the coin toss. "Black or-"
"White!" she interrupted. Harry sighed but obliged. "Pawn to e-4," she called out. The little white figurine obeyed unquestioningly.
"Just take the bishop," Brom nearly whined.
"Shut up Brom!" Harry shot back. "If I wanted a backseat gamer, I'd damn well ask!" He was losing badly. Unfortunately, not a novel experience. Arya crushed him in three consecutive games. Brom got curious and Harry dearly wished he hadn't. "Queen side castle!"
"But I don't want to," his king whined. "I never get to be part of the action!"
His rook crossed its arms stubbornly. "I am not jumping directly into her queen's line of fire."
"Come on guys," Harry coaxed. "I literally birthed you! I'm practically your mother. Listen to your mother, king. Queen side castle."
"No."
Harry threw his arms up in exasperation. You lose three little games in humiliation and all of a sudden your troops lose all loyalty.
A figure drummed long fingers upon a sword pommel with a yellow gem, carefully observing the projection of a strange game board. He gazed intently at the tranquil pond in front of him which displayed a floating set. "I think this game is unsalvageable even by us, Glaedr," the figure said.
The figure behind him rumbled in agreement.
After General Harry's inevitable defeat at the hands of the crafty elf commander Arya, he refused to continue. "Sun Tzu says to fight only when it is favorable. Therefore, I shall only play Monopoly," the infuriating wizard said sagely.
Arya scoffed. "Sun Tzu, Sun Who? Where does this man say this?" Harry stuck his head and shoulders down his backpack and reached out, a tough task to do when mounted on Stupid-back. He rummaged about and tossed her a little red booklet. "The Art of War," she read aloud. "Well, even if it's boring, it shall surely be better than playing that disgusting-" she shuddered in disgust, "capitalist game."
Harry quickly grew bored of watching Arya miraculously somehow reading the tiny font of The Art of War while bobbing up and down on horseback. He began using the ancient language to rip tufts of grass from the ground, turning them into portkeys and sending them atop Arya's head.
"Stupid, throw him," she said without looking up. The infernal beast bucked Harry off. Harry shouted in protest.
He shot some targets with his bow but without a competitor, Harry's heart wasn't in it. He considered sticking another pink bow to Brom's hand, but the look he gave him made it clear such an action would be bad for his health.
Finally, Arya finished the book and set it aside. Her eyes glinted evilly. "Let us play Chess again."
Harry got humiliated. Before, Arya soundly trounced him in every game, now he could not make a single move without losing a power piece. None of his pieces even pretended to listen to him, instead frantically whispering plans amongst each other and moving at random. Hey wait, He'd read The Art of War too.
A plan was formed. A devious, evil, brilliant plan. "Do not fight on your enemy's terms." The board reset after yet another checkmate. This time, Harry did not immediately rise to the bait of that taunting white pawn, standing so boldly forwards. He gathered his troops around him and began his speech.
"Courageous knights! Clever queens! Precious pawns! We have been dealt grievous blow after harrowing defeat! But do we give up?"
"Yes." a pawn muttered sullenly.
"That was a rhetorical question you stupid piece of porcelain!" Harry reamed the piece. "Nay! We march onward to victory. Do you fight for honor, or do you fight to win!?"
Harry was rather disappointed at the mixed responses. "Win," he said with fraying patience. "We fight to win! Why should you follow arbitrarily dictated rules? Charge! Charge I say! Charge for your kith and kin, friends and family, god and country!"
With an intimidating roar, the pawns formed a shield wall and ran full tilt against the evil white pieces. Arya's vanguard pawn fell under the strength of Harry's massed army. Chaos reigned as his black pieces fell upon her troops with great ferocity and strength. A great cheer went up among Harry's massed forces who stomped and ground the shattered white pieces into dust.
"VICTORY!" Harry shouted elatedly.
"VICTORY!" his forces echoed his battle cry.
Harry looked at Arya with a shit-eating grin. "That," he said, "is how you win chess."
"An unorthodox strategy to be sure, yet a good one," Oromis remarked.
The elf refused to play more chess, so Harry set out an even more elite strategy game: Connect Four. Brom wanted to play as well, but sadly, Harry was unable to accommodate him.
"Sorry, Brom. It's just, I don't fancy playing Connect One, and anything harder will surely fly right over your head."
Harry nursed a rather large bruise on his side as he pondered his current stratagem. The game was a many-layered, extremely complex high-strategy game. "Scissors!" He shouted triumphantly, absolutely certain in his victorious strategy. Three hundred and fortieth time lucky, after all.
Alas. Arya's hand formed a fist at the same time and she slugged him in the shoulder. Her hits hurt. His elite strategy to always pick scissors and wait for Arya to switch it up was proving fruitless. Time to improvise.
"Rock, Paper, Scissors," he chanted, "-SHOOT!" Harry formed finger guns, lunging forwards to hit her. Arya merely twitched her reins and watched faintly amused as Harry overextended and fell out of Stupid's saddle, filling his mouth with dead grass and dirt. Stupid must have something against him, for the horse did not stop, instead opting to drag the wizard by his foot which was still strapped into the stirrups. Harry spluttered and protested, but Stupid did not relent. Call me Stupid? Come again bitch? His eyes seemed to glint.
Neither Brom nor Arya made to help him up, instead enjoying the relative peace.
Harry glared balefully at his travel companions. He'd finally managed to extricate himself from the stirrups and had his vengeance upon Stupid, using a permanent color change charm to make him hot pink. The lull in the gaming was peaceful, Harry had to admit. His unfocused gaze lingered on the ground ahead. Above, a glittering blue dragon twisted and dove through the air.
He watched mesmerized at a strange ripple in the grass ahead. The line raced towards them. Why was that? Harry wondered. When the border reached them, Harry wondered what would happen. A tidal blast of wind slammed into him, actually tipping Stupid backwards slightly. He felt like he was sticking his face out of a car careening down the highway at mach speeds. Behind them, Saphira danced without a care in the world. Oh shit.
"Sonorus! SAPHIRA! LAND!" Harry bellowed with all his might. The amplification charm caused his voice to thunder across the plains, nearly deafening him in the process. Brom and Arya shrunk back from the mighty shout, but nonetheless looked terrified at the idea of what the storm would do to a flying dragon.
Behind them, Saphira instantly pulled into a dive. Wings tucked, her nose and body was perpendicular to the ground. She raced down, faster, faster. Half way, two thirds, three quarters, nearly…
The wind struck. Despite her completely tucked wings and steep dive, Saphira's entire vertical body was tossed backwards. "Accio Saphira!" Harry screamed, both for volume and to be heard over the gale force winds. He pointed his holly wand at her, pouring magic into the spell, gripping the thread between them and heaving with all his mental might. Instead of spiraling uncontrolled backwards, Saphira was curiously suspended mid air. Thunder boomed and rolled across the plains as lightning struck uncomfortably close to the dragon.
I need to get her down now! Harry thought urgently. He withdrew the Elder wand and fed it magic in line with his other wand. Sweat was pouring down his brow and he felt a strange unfamiliar hollow ache in his chest as the spell sucked his strength greedily. But it was working. Saphira touched the ground, wings and tail tucked close. Arya, Harry, and Brom galloped with their backs to the wind, desperate to reach them and help. Eragon was laid out on the wind like a flag, gripping a back spike with both hands in a white-knuckle grip.
"Down!" Harry barked in the ancient language. Eragon zipped off Saphira and laid down flat against the ground. When the wizard leapt off his mount, he leaned heavily upwind, shoes skidding off the dry dirt. Growling, Harry dug his feet in and trudged as if underwater against a rapid current towards rider and dragon.
The wind ripped at the group and torrential rain instantly drenched the party. Harry scrabbled at his back with slippery fingers. The leather was wet and his grip kept slipping. Moving his fingers laboriously against the sheets of rain and thunder, Harry managed to pop the buckle holding in the tent roll.
He cursed loudly, the still running sonorous charm pronouncing his profanity for the gods themselves to hear. "ERUCTO!" he called. The rolled tent had flown out of the straps and blasted away with the gusts, flying downwind. In the distance, Harry spotted a glint of black and gold as the tent billowed out and pitched itself. Set in the ground, the stability enchantments kicked in and rendered the canvas as immovable as a buried boulder.
Harry gestured to the tent and shouted at his companions. "Get in!" A finger pointed to the tent. They carefully skidded along the ground like they were skating down a steep mountainside, facing into the wind and leaning carefully. He knew Saphira hadn't a hope of maneuvering her way into the small flap given her bulk and the unrelenting blasts of wind. Instead, Harry grit his teeth and climbed the ground towards her, conjuring a long ribbon as he went.
The fabric cracked and whipped about, trailing behind him, but he could not spare it any thought. Reaching Saphira, he laboriously wound the length around her rear leg, tapping it. "Portus!" Harry shoved his open palm against the ribbon and activated it. The ride was extremely rough, but they emerged (relatively) unscathed on the rear patio near the pool.
Harry breathed out a sigh of relief. His heart was pounding and his veins felt as though they were on fire. Cold numbness crept up his fingers and palms and his vision went double. Harry mercifully passed out seconds later, smacking his head heavily on the brick patio.