Chapter 35: War Footing
"Murtagh, there's no way out!" Brom shouted. "This place was chosen for that exact reason. Follow me, and I promise you will make it out alive!" Snowfire was nervous from the thunder of the waterfall, and it took precious concentration for the old rider to keep him steady.
Murtagh shot him a hateful glare. "I'm not trying to run, fool. I'm the least important one in the group. Staying at the rear just makes sense."
Eragon looked startled at his proclamation. Slinging his bow around, he kept a continuous stream of accurate arrow fire up to cover the last leg of their journey. It was nearly impossible to hear each other with the falls so close, and it made the terrain slick and treacherous. His dark brown hair was matted with sweat and mist and he worried that if he was forced to use Zar'roc, his fingers would slip on the grip.
Arrow after arrow found their mark, eliciting choked cries when they struck a vital point, but much more often simply enraging their marks. "Brom, how much further!?"
"It's on the opposite side of the lake. We're halfway there!"
Murtagh kept Tornac steady between his knees and held his sword steadily. Eragon knew the man was a swordsman of the same calibre as himself, a high honor indeed. He could hold his own. Except, he cannot escape with magic or the assistance of a dragon.
Saphira harassed the column, dropping rocks or biting and snapping, but the Urgals tended to give as good as they got. Each time she flew from behind cover, the black barbed arrows of the Urgals skittered and zipped around her. She had three arrows still stuck in her, and another two which went straight through her flight membrane.
"Help is coming," she said.
Suddenly, the hidden door burst open. A column of dwarves in plate armor with heavy weapons trooped out, spreading to form a line. A few archers lingered behind, but dwarves clearly did not traditionally fight with ranged weapons. Behind the column, Eragon spotted something. Or rather, someone. Resplendent in gleaming armor with a violet-plumed helmet, Arya charged out bearing a kite shield and her leaf-shaped blade, Du Sundavar Freohr.
Lingering behind her and now floating a few feet off the air, Harry wielded a strange white bow in a shape Eragon had never seen. The tips seemed to bend back on themselves. The weapon's effectiveness could not be argued, though. It looked rather silly to see Harry drawing what looked like nothing and firing, but it yielded results. Wherever the wizard looked, Urgals fell.
It was nearly impossible to spot with the mist and rainbows and his own wet bangs obscuring his vision, but Eragon could see Urgals stagger as if struck with a mace, then collapse, dead.
Rallying, Eragon stowed his bow and drew Zar'roc with a triumphant cry. He, Murtagh, and Brom all began clearing out one shore of the lake, Arya and Harry the other. He quickly lost track of time and fatigue, narrowing his focus to only the armored Urgals that fell beneath his sword.
Where they were all mounted and had the advantage of some mobility, it was mostly a hindrance. Hooves slipped dangerously on the mossy wet rocks, and the enemy were kull, tall and broad enough to stop a cavalry charge contemptuously. "Dismount!" Brom shouted. "We'll be more useful on foot."
Murtagh swung easily from his saddle and snapped Tornac's reins, sending him galloping towards the open passageway. Eragon imitated his actions himself, while Snowfire simply cantered over of his own accord. Brom must have made him do it with his mind!
Saphira was a menace unto herself, submerging in the lake, then lunging out and snapping at the kull, biting through steel plate and weapons with ease, often dragging live ones down into the depths from where they did not resurface. Eragon spared a glance at Arya and Harry. The whirling long hair and gleaming sword she wielded made his heart pang, and he nearly forced himself to turn away. "Watch out," Murtagh bellowed, a glint of silver flashing in his vision. "Ogle the elf when you're not in a fight, brother mine!"
Eragon grimaced as the head of the kull about to deliver a lethal blow slid slowly off his unresponsive body. The Urgal slumped bonelessly.
They began to be forced to retreat when the column did not relent. Eragon had killed dozens of kull yet they sallied forth in an unending stream. Beside that, he and his companions were not at their peak when the fight began, and that fatigue he had felt so sharply on the journey was beginning to make itself known, in the lead of his bones, the burning of his muscles and lungs, the blur of his vision.
Some dwarf blew a horn which must have been the signal for retreating. As everyone backed towards the open passage, Harry kicked it into gear, loosing more than an arrow per second, each one without fail slaying a pursuing Urgal. As they retreated, Eragon watched the results of Harry's every bow's retort. Kull staggered backwards, gaping holes blown out on their chests straight through armor. The ones wearing poorer armor nearly exploded. Whatever invisible projectiles were hitting them had splintered on the chestplate, fragments doing even more devastating damage. When the wizard hit headshots, his targets' heads were simply gone.
There was a cacophony of shouting in dwarvish as the split prongs of the warriors fused seamlessly into a neat block and retreated at a march, ushering them all to the dim safety of the tunnels of Farthen Dur.
Orik himself was part of the company, but not as a commander, rather a sort of squire for Harry. They stood together awkwardly against the carved wall silently. An older dwarf wielding a mace barked orders to the troops who were slapping each other with metal gauntlets against armored backplates, creating a ruckus. The noise reverberated uncomfortably against the stone walls, so much so that Eragon nearly covered his ears.
Shrieks of steel on steel heralded sheathing weapons, and the tromping of feet indicated their slow retreat from the now sealed doorway. A fresh garrison emerged from a corridor and passed the now rather bloodied troops to guard the entrance.
For all that the dwarves were changing guards, there was always a sharp eye kept on the group. A representative of Ajihad's came to collect them. "Ajihad waits for you in his office." The tall man with thick grey hair firmly led them down the hall, a suspicious eye posted firmly on Murtagh. The suggestions he made sounded very much like orders to Eragon's ears, but there was little gainsaying the leader of the Varden. He suspected only his father could do it, and whether he was successful was up to chance.
Harry and Arya fell in behind them, Arya looking rather flushed and eager after the battle. By contrast, Harry looked somber and miserable, his strange new bow in hand. The wizard's vibrant green eyes were fixed on some detail on the limb of the bow. The pair spoke quietly to each other in the ancient language and Eragon was too far to easily make out the still somewhat unfamiliar language, especially after all the tromping and clopping of Snowfire, Cadoc, Tornac, and Glenwing, and the clicking of Saphira's claws against the polished stone floor.
They eventually reached a pair of tall and imposing doors flanked by six kitted guards wielding pikes. Their escort bowed out. "This is where I leave you, honored rider, honored dragon, Brom, and…guest." He chewed on the word guest while glaring at Murtagh and Eragon was positive 'guest' was not the first term that came to mind when he saw his half-brother.
The pikemen slammed their pikes against the ground and announced them all. The heavy doors ground open and they entered. Brom crossed to one of the chairs and slumped into one, yawning. Eragon and Murtagh were quick to follow suit.
To Harry and Arya, the office was familiar. Both of them often received summons and assignments which led them to the expansive split level office. The horses stayed outside with the guards.
For Eragon, Saphira, and Murtagh, the office was dim. They went from fighting in broad daylight to the perpetual evening lighting of the tunnels in just minutes, and everyones' blood was up from the fight. Most of them had some superficial wounds, but Saphira was clearly in pain. She breathed laboriously and had left a slick trail of burning hot blood along the floor on her way there.
While Ajihad sized them all up, Harry and Arya silently went about healing the dragon's wounds, carefully anesthetizing wounds where the arrows were still in her wings, then sealing them. Arya was not familiar enough with Harry's magic to use healing charms skillfully and instead used the native magic. Harry thus took up the more serious wounds to conserve strength. Soon spear stab wounds, slashes, gouges, scratches, and arrow wounds sealed up without a mark. Saphira purred in relief. Eragon's shoulders also slumped, releasing some tension he hadn't known was there.
Ajihad stared at them.
Brom stared back.
Ajihad stared even harder.
"Guys, just kiss and get on with it," Harry snarked. Brom spun and glared at him, but Harry grinned back insolently.
Ajihad cleared his throat. "Welcome back, Brom."
"Yes, I feel very welcome," he groused. Blatantly ignoring Ajihad in his own office, Brom withdrew his pipe and lit it, propping his feet up on the desk. "So, how's my resistance movement been doing?"
Arya hid a smile while everyone else choked in surprise. "Y-you founded the Varden?" Eragon asked shakily.
"That's your pops," Brom agreed cheerfully. "I gave birth to the first free rider in a century, the one who is going to topple Galbatorix from his throne. What have you done in the last twenty years, Ajihad?"
He seemed to consider that, arms completely still on the walnut desk. "Prevented dozens of small children from tearing the resistance apart from the inside." Brom nodded sagely.
"An excellent achievement, young whippersnapper." Harry couldn't contain his snort (though he wouldn't have even if he could.) "Any news on the mass Urgal migration?"
"Ah, yes we- received- some- must you do that?" Ajihad sighed at Harry. He'd conjured a large bright red rubber ball with a handle protruding from the surface and bounced around riding it like a bull. Emblazoned in bright yellow letters on the front, a label proudly announced the vehicle as a 'Hop.' Each jump made an obnoxious bouncing noise, and Harry was using magic to augment his jumps, sailing over a dozen feet into the air per bounce.
Harry straightened and vanished the hop. "Sorry, I didn't realize only Brom was allowed to play the 'obnoxious' game." Ajihad pointedly ignored him.
"We discovered a pair of traitors in our midst, ones who had plans pertaining to that in their minds." Brom's visage darkened.
"Ten crown says it was those creepy little slimeballs," he trailed off, searching for names. "The twins! They didn't have names." Ajihad laughed.
"Astute guess, but I'm afraid you'd have poor luck finding someone to take that bet. Yes, it was the twins. Harry here," Harry gave a little wave and conjured confetti along with a chorus of party popper noise makers. Ajihad gave him a long suffering look. "Took exception to our policy of screening the minds of newcomers to weed out traitors and retaliated against the twins' mental probe. He found damning evidence of their betrayal and an upcoming Urgal invasion which would come in now…" he checked a calendar, "-five days."
Reactions varied from Murtagh's outrage on their policy of mind screening to Eragon's hopelessness at a looming invasion he'd be expected to turn for the Varden. "One of them attempted to kill Harry with magic and fell to…retaliation. The other one was inspected mentally by Angela the herbalist, where their treachery was unearthed."
The dark skinned man surveyed them all. "Now, we are here. The founder of the Varden and a dragonless rider, his son the dragon rider, the elvish egg-bearer, a strange magician, an herbalist, Morzan's son, and a dragon." He steepled his fingers. "You all bring me a conundrum. You come to me for sanctuary, a thing I cannot offer you with the Urgal host bearing down upon us. You come to me to escape the Empire, something I cannot safely offer the son of Morzan. You come to me for my trust, something I cannot offer the son of Morzan. What would you all have me do?"
Harry cleared his throat. Ajihad shot him a bemused look, but gestured for him to continue. "Well, if we manage to kill Durza, the invasion is screwed. All the Urgals I have yet seen were under his thrall. Their eyes are naturally yellow, not crimson."
"Hmm," he mused. Ajihad reached behind his desk and withdrew a sword. Murtagh tensed, fingers creeping towards the hilt of his own weapon. "There will be no killing in here," he warned the young man. The sword Ajihad unsheathed was long, straight, and gleaming steel. "Have any of you seen Durza's sword? There is a long, deep scratch which I put there trying to cut out the fiend's heart. Few people hate the shade more than me, and I believe most if not all of them are in this room. Harry, I know, hates Durza for obliterating his first mountain home, for enslaving the Bolvek tribe which he is friendly with, and generally for trying to kill his friends. Arya, for slaying her companions and forcing her to lose the egg, Eragon, Brom, and Saphira, for trying to kill them and their friends. But you, Murtagh, you present me with a dilemma."
"What's that?" he asked quietly.
"I'm inclined to believe you when you claim you hated your father. But I'm not the only one you need to convince. When we face a threat like the one upon us, there can be no dissension. Thus, I shall have you moved to a cell until the current crisis passes, and then we may revisit this situation. Fair?"
Murtagh looked mulish, but he seemed to realize it was the best he was going to get. "You'll take care of Tornac, my horse? And return my possessions when I leave? And not violate my mind?" He nodded.
"I accept those terms. Guards!" he raised his voice. The doors banged open. "Take this man to the nicest cell we have without windows. He is to be treated as an honored guest in all things except leaving. Understood?" The six pikemen nodded. Two split off to escort Murtagh to wherever it was he was going.
The doors closed and Ajihad sighed, rubbing at his temples. "A problem solved, a problem gained. What am I going to do with that man?" It seemed like a rhetorical question, one Harry normally would have answered just to be annoying, but he had no answers either.
"I can take him to the Endless Plains, if you like?" Harry offered.
"Perhaps after the invasion. I want to keep an eye on him until this is over." Ajihad turned to Eragon. "I was told you were hesitant to come here just yet. Have you an idea why?"
Eragon frowned. "Brom told me the Varden was a mire of politics, that everyone would be trying to get a piece of me; you, Islanzadi, and Hrothgar, and that I should stay away until I was comfortable dealing with politics and would not be unknowingly manipulated."
Ajihad nodded sharply. Brom gave him a warning look, but he soldiered on ahead. "Do you know why we are all fighting over you?" Eragon tilted his head.
"Because I'm the only free rider?"
"Yes and no. Not just for that, but for what it represents. Each of us has sacrificed much. Islanzadi's people ferry Saphira's egg between them and the Varden–no easy journey. Hrothgar and the dwarves house our people at great risk and no small cost to themselves. But we, the Varden, have dedicated our existence to removing Galbatorix from the throne and creating a better Alagaesia for everyone, elves and dwarves included. We were the ones to steal the egg from Galbatorix–more rightly, Brom and Jeod did." Ajihad steepled his fingers.
"You are the beginning of a new generation of riders, and whoever controls the riders, controls Alagaesia. Everyone will be clamouring for your loyalty, in the hopes it will garner your protection, and hopefully once Galbatorix is overthrown, power. The elves have their own teachers who will help you grow into your station as a rider, and through that they will influence you. Hrothgar will try to corner you into being indebted to him, or perhaps try to gain your fealty some other way. No one surrounding you is not scheming for your loyalty. The trick is making sure you are present for the deliberations, and understand the impact of your words. As the last free rider, you have a responsibility to topple Galbatorix, something you will need the aid of these three factions to accomplish. Tread carefully, and speak even more so, Eragon. The future of Alagaesia depends on it."
The meeting soon concluded and Harry returned to his allotted room with Arya and Orik in tow. They had a timetable now, and it looked rather grim. Some of the Varden were definitely going to be fighting with normal swords. He collapsed into a couch with a miserable look the second they entered the living room. Arya seated herself gracefully, and Orik scrambled and struggled a bit to get seated on the relatively tall armchair. "Do either of you ever have problems with killing in battle?"
Orik frowned. "Aye, lad. The first dwarf I killed when I was seven-and-ten. He had murdered my parents, something which resulted in me being fostered with my sister's brother, king Hrothgar. I saw him in my sleep for weeks until Hrothgar sat me down and set me straight. Killing in battle's not supposed to be easy. But it's necessary. We are not blessed in battle with an abundance of time to make the perfect decisions, to cost the least lives. All you can do is fight your best and deal with whatever's left."
Harry did not look overly reassured. "I'm a wizard, though. I should be able to avoid killing them. I worry about this invasion. I do not think I can look Nar Garzhvog in the eye, having met his mum and saved his life, and just kill him."
"Nor should you," Arya told him quietly. "I was much older than Orik when I killed my first Urgal, and I remember the obsessive madness he speaks of, the doubt which worms its way into every little crack of your mind, threatening to tear it apart. Something which I wish dearly was not so; it gets much, much easier. Far too easy. What were you looking at in Ajihad's office?"
Harry handed his new bow over miserably. Just below the grip in flowery script were the numbers 231. "It was so stupid," he swallowed. "Dudley's old games had this thing called StatTrak weapons which told you how many total kills you had. I thought it would be interesting, now I'm just reminded of how many people I've killed."
"Then use it as a reminder; the real cost of war." Arya advised him solemnly.
He reasserted his composure. "I can do that." Orik shifted in his chair. His armor–and Arya's as well–was covered in dark blood and other bits of Urgal that Harry didn't really want in his armchairs. "Come on, you guys are smearing guts all over my chairs. Orik, I'll show you to a room where you can clean yourself and your garb." The dwarf got up, all the while sounding like a metal lobster, armor pieces banging on each other with every movement. Arya glanced at him for a moment, as if making a difficult decision. Whatever it was, she decided against it, since she swept imperiously up the stairs and into her own suite to clean off.
It took nearly an hour for either of them to return from their showers. Orik likely because he didn't know how anything worked at first and unfortunately, Harry had sized everything in the house for humans. He came back down with damp hair, clean clothes, and a massive smile on his face. The dwarf toted a bundle of metal which must have been his plate armor. "What a magnificent contraption, Ascudaruna! Why, I felt cleaner than when I came kicking and screaming into this world." Harry helped Orik stuff all his armor into a sack. "I must thank you for forging me Dawnbreaker. It cut through Urgals like cheese, armor and bone alike."
Harry grinned. "You're welcome." He cricked his neck. "Do you want to come with me to deliver Ajihad's new weapons?"
Orik got a glimmer in his eye. "Aye." Harry made to get up when his breath caught
Arya was descending the stairs with damp hair and an intense gaze, locked on Harry. She wore rather thin and also tight clothing which had pulled even closer to her damp skin. He swallowed loudly. "Uh, we were- Orik and I were about to deliver a bunch of weapons to the training ground and armory. Would- would you like to come?" Harry stammered. Arya nodded with a devious smile.
They heard the unruly clattering of fighting far before the training yard came into view. Shouts and metal banging rang out over the wide open dirt field. Sharp ears could catch clacking wooden staves and the thumps of arrows. The field was dominated in the middle by a knot of soldiers struggling with tall pikes and heavy armor, drilling formations. Dispersed throughout the field were hundreds of men and dwarves training with every medieval weapon imaginable. Harry spotted swords, maces, flails, spears, cudgels, knives, and even pitchforks. Off to the side a row of cloth dummies received relentless poundings, volleys of arrows piercing them from bows wielded by dwarves and humans. Nearly everyone wore armor of some kind, ranging from full plate for the formation of pikemen, to mail for the skirmishers, to boiled leather for the archers.
Upon their approach, a bearded man with broad shoulders noticed them and strode up. He wore a mail coif and a still-hairy oxhide suit. Strapped to his back was a greatsword even bigger than Harry's own. "Knurla Orik. You've been gone too ling. There's nobody left to spar with."
Orik smiled. "Oei, that's because you bruise everyone from head to toe with your monster sword."
"Everyone except you," he corrected.
"That's because I'm faster than a giant like you."
Frederick boomed in laughter and slapped Orik's shoulder. "He speaks the truth." Turning to Harry and Arya, he frowned. "I'm Fredrick. Ajihad gave me orders to see how proficient Eragon is with weapons. Do you know where he is? I admit I assumed he'd be with you," he nodded to Arya.
Harry shook his head. "We came to deliver weapons, actually." he gestured behind him at a covered wagon which Stupid and Glenwing had dragged along for them. "I got a list of weapons a couple days ago and I've worked non stop except during that battle outside Kostha Merna."
Frederick nodded. "Aye, heard of that one, I did. None of the Varden's men were near enough to get a piece of the fight. Very well, let's see what's in your wagon…"
"Harry Potter."
"Harry Potter, then." He offered him a hand. Harry quickly thought about how he might escape shaking hands with the incredibly sweaty and rather smelly man, but quickly concluded there was no escape. "The wagon, you say?"
"Yeah, come on." Harry led them over and unhooked the canvas, throwing it over and uncovering the bundle of weapons.
The weapons master whistled lowly. "Who else helped you out? 'Cause this steel's incredible." He picked up a sword and held it to his eyes, scanning the blade critically. "No imperfections, scratches, dents," he hefted it, then sighted down the spine. "Perfectly straight and balanced exactly where we want 'em to be. Who forged these, Harry?"
"I did." Frederick looked taken aback.
"How in Angvar's name did you hammer out-" the man's voice trailed off as he tried to count the pile of steel weapons in the wagon. "That many swords in two days?" he finished helplessly. Harry grinned.
"Magic." Frederick scowled.
"Bah, we're only in this mess because of magic. If Galbatorix had the decency to die after eighty years, we wouldn't be cowering like rats beneath a mountain." He seemed to realize what he said was rude, because he tacked on, "these weapons are incredible, though. Magic or no, you must be very skilled. Can you wield any of your works?" He eyed a flawless steel greatsword like the one on his back enviously.
"The greatsword," Harry confirmed. Frederick looked at him incredulously, flicking up and down Harry's short frame. "You don't need to be tall to be strong," he said defensively.
"Care to spar?"
Harry glanced at Arya helplessly, who merely looked amused. "I guess," he answered sourly. "One moment, I'll fetch my sword. Kausta." He held out a hand. Fredric looked a bit uneasy, but said nothing. A few moments later, Orik got biffed by the sheathed sword flying through the space he'd previously occupied. Thankfully, it just swept his feet out from under him rather than concussing the dwarf. Fredrick eyed the long sheathe appraisingly.
"Does that not feel long for you when you wield it?"
"At first," Harry admitted. "But I trained hard with Eragon, Brom, and Arya every day for many weeks until I got good enough to wield it effortlessly. Then, I strengthened my body with magic beyond any human, so I should think this won't be much of a matchup. Draw your sword, Frederick, and I will dull it so we do not kill each other." The man hesitantly held out his massive weapon which Harry quickly dulled, then handed it back.
When he pulled his weapon from its sheathe, the weapons master gaped a little. Harry thought rather sheepishly that he had forgotten how blatantly magical this one was, what with its enormous inset diamond in the hilt and its channel down the spine, along with the runes which drifted along the blade. Quickly guarding the blade, he assumed a ready position.
"Begin!" Frederick crowed. He leapt at Harry with his sword in two hands.
Harry had to admit the man had skill. His form was great and if he wasn't able to move so much faster and easier, it would have taken some effort to beat the man. As it was, he was astonished by the effortless ease in which he wielded his own sword. Harry's elvish strength let him complete more daring maneuvers and lended him much greater agility with his strikes. In seconds, the spar was over, and Harry found himself disappointed. He wanted to stretch his skills to the limit.
"Incredible!" Frederick exclaimed. "Why, I've never seen such speed outside of Arya and Brom, occasionally Ajihad." He breathed heavily, mopping at his brow and offering his sword to Harry to remove the guard.
"Someone as skilled as you using this trash weapon offends me," Harry told him, rummaging through the wagon for the array of greatswords. "What's the length of your own weapon?"
The man's eyes nearly teared as he beheld the weapon offered to him. He took it reverently. "I shall clean it, oil it, and sharpen it every day," he promised fervently. "It will last an age." Harry laughed.
"It's magic, Frederick. It can't be broken by any normal means, it will never rust or dull, and it's edge is so keen it would cut thread draped over it." The weapons master was eyeing the bright steel weapon with reverence.
"I am in your debt, Master Harry." he waved it off. "You'd probably have just claimed one anyways once the rest went into the Varden's care. If it saves your life, all the better. Now-"
Just then, he heard a commotion as a brilliant blue shadow ghosted over the field and landed heavily, disgorging Eragon in his light leather armor, Zar'roc at his side and his bow over his shoulder.
"Nasuada sent me for evaluation," Eragon proclaimed. He noticed the watchers and did a double take. "Oh, hello, Arya, Orik, Harry." Harry sensed a distinct impression of amusement from Saphira as she flicked her tail idly, gouging the dirt below.
"Back to work!" Frederick bellowed at the gawkers in the training field, weapons loosely held in numb grips. Reluctantly, the cacophony resumed. The man turned to Eragon. "Right. Eragon, was it?" He nodded. "Are you strong?"
"I have to be to use magic properly." Frederick made to say something, but noticed several magicians staring at him and thought better of it.
"I see. What about endurance? Can you fight for long hours? True sieges drag on for days at a time, we need to see how you fare after holding your sword for hours. What other weapons are you familiar with?"
"My bow."
"Anything else?"
Eragon thought about that for a moment. "Just my fists." Frederick laughed heartily.
"Good answer. Now," he scanned the field looking for someone, "there! Edric! Get over here!" he bellowed at a man who was fighting three on one with a sword similar to Zar'roc and thoroughly trouncing his opponents. He made no indication that he heard anything, but when he finished disarming his last partner, he turned and made his way over.
"How can I help you?"
"This 'ere lad Eragon's here to be tested with weapons. Have a spar, will you?" Edric nodded and drew a blunted sword. "Ready? Go!"
Eragon flew into motion, almost contemptuously blocking every stroke Edric made. Harry watched his eyes flicker slightly, locked onto the other man's own. If he didn't know any better, Harry would have thought Eragon was trying to use Legilimency. Frederick watched the proceedings with glee and cackled when the rider disarmed Edric and tapped his collarbone with Zar'roc's blunted tip. "Well done! Any other takers?" This was addressed to the field at large.
There was a clamor of armor and weapons as people rushed to form a queue. Harry leaned against Saphira's body and watched with some amusement as Eragon went about picking apart dozens of the Varden's soldiers. The comers wielded every sort of weapon and rarely did Eragon hesitate. He looked unsure what to do against the man with the pitchfork, but won anyways by treating it like a spear.
Harry could tell he was flagging. Eragon's breaths became heavier and his movements slower, but he managed to make it through the line all the same. When he managed to get the point of his sword right against the last man's gut, the spectators exploded into cheers. Frederick grinned madly from where he stood. "Incredible! What about you two?" He addressed Harry and Arya who were both now sitting on Saphira's foreleg and watching with interest.
Harry grinned and got up, stretching as he went, and drew his own sword.
"All at once, do you think?"
"It will be a good warm up," Arya agreed with a feral smile.
With a battle cry, they fell upon the entirety of the Varden's ranks. Frederick was quickly proved wrong about the unsuitability of Harry's weapon choice when he felt the jarring impact of a merely glancing blow on his sword. Harry's form was perfect and he was impossibly fast with such an unwieldy weapon. Even Fredrick often had trouble changing direction mid swing, which often caused greatsword fighting to be like a game of strategy; bluffs, double bluffs, and deception. Each stroke was impossible to take back, yet the wizard managed it just fine, feinting with the sword and doling out devastating strikes when his opponents were caught unawares.
Arya was simply monstrously fast, whirling about with her own blade, whacking left and right with the flat of her blade, knocking soldiers unconscious. She and her brother-at-arms laughed and grinned maniacally as they systematically picked apart the Varden's forces. Were every single one of them to attack at once, it was possible to overcome them. However, only a few people at a time were able to fit within effective distance of the pair, and they stood back-to-back.
When the last one acknowledged his defeat and backed away, only Eragon remained undefeated. Harry made to attack, but Arya held him up. "He will learn more fighting me than you." Reluctantly, he backed up. Frederick nursed an array of bruises while he backed away, forming everyone into a ring around the elf and rider.
They circled for a time, staring intently at each other. Eragon feinted forwards, but Arya did not commit, and so he retreated to his circling. Arya lunged forwards, sword outstretched towards his left shoulder, but Eragon deflected the strike almost lazily with a small counterswing. He tried to punish the maneuver by hooking her leg with his, but she retreated too fast and they returned to their stalemate. Something seemed to pass between them, and the fight began in earnest.
Harry watched in approval as the pair dashed towards each other, locking swords in a devastating strike which they both had put their whole body behind. Eragon knew Arya had the superior strength and it showed. The initial clash had forced him to step back. As the fight progressed, it became clear Arya was not looking to decisively win, but rather give Eragon the chance to display the whole range of his skill.
At first, Eragon played defensively, using counterswings to take the edge off Arya's devastating elvish strength, but the game changed when she deliberately lessened the power behind her strokes. Arya feinted towards his thigh and Eragon fell for the ruse, but managed to recover in time to block. She in turn used his unfavorable position after the awkward block to whip her sword up to his neck, a move Eragon also managed to catch, locking her blade in Zar'roc's hilt.
Rather than force the deadlock towards Eragon, Arya spun around and put all her strength behind a straight blow. He angled his blade and sent it skittering over his ducked head. The instant the opening presented itself, Eragon recovered and stabbed Zar'roc towards her open chest. Arya twisted deftly out of the way and continued pushing him.
The crowd watched in awe as they flowed through their forms, attacking, defending, probing, feinting. The full humans could scarcely pick out the movements they were so fast. That Eragon was keeping up at all was astonishing. Harry could see Arya leading the fight, but it was so fast the rest of the Varden likely couldn't.
Finally, it seemed Arya grew bored with the spar and sped up twofold, transforming from an inhumanly quick swordswoman to a veritable whirlwind of enchanted steel. Eragon was forced to give ground over and over, and was caught out when he tried to change his direction of retreat sideways to avoid the spectators. She executed a series of maneuvers which forced Eragon to move his sword as far as possible, then deftly placed Du Sundavar Freohr at his neck. "Well done, Eragon."
The crowd nearly rioted with accolades. Everyone rattled their weapons and banged shields with a clatter. Arya was even breathing heavily, Harry noted with surprise. Eragon had gotten better on the trip through the desert, something which made him curious about Murtagh's skills.
Eragon staggered over to Saphira and slumped against her, chest heaving. "Good showing!" Frederick exclaimed. "Why, I've never seen sword play like that, and I was there when Ajihad fought Durza!"
"But I lost," he protested.
He nudged the rider with his elbow and winked. "Lad, there's no shame in losing a fight to an elf. Their halfway decent fighters mop the floor with our best. You've yet to grow into your riderhood. By the time we march on Uru'baen, I've no doubt you'll be able to soundly trounce even the wizard," he grinned. Harry rolled his eyes and sidled up to Arya, losing the rest of the conversation to background noise.
"Do you mind if I have a go?" She regarded him critically.
"Guard your sword. I shall do the same."
The field quieted again as they prepared to fight. "One moment, take this." Harry held out a gem he had just topped off his strength with. She accepted it gratefully, closed her eyes, then seemed to be invigorated, like she'd just downed a Pepper-up. "Ready?"
She attacked without warning. There was none of the circling probes, just overwhelming attacks. Harry quickly realized that even if he was a great swordsman with inhuman advantages, Arya had those same advantages and a century of leveraging them for the best results. Without using magic, Harry had no way to level the field, and mentally conceded the fight from its outset. He was determined to give it his all, regardless.
Harry privately thought he would have a better chance if Arya wielded a shield in her offhand. A two-handed grip let her exploit quicker strikes much easier, and put enough force behind each to make them still a viable threat. He found himself spending most of his time interposing his sword between them rather than attacking, though he managed to get in a few good strikes of his own.
Harry leapt backwards several feet to bring Arya within the range he wanted, far enough away that his greater reach served him better, far enough that even her greater agility was not enough to break through his defense. Twice it looked like he nearly had the upper hand, but Arya was always there at the last second, twirling or bending away, or interposing her sword at the last second.
Neither of them wore armor and accumulated many more bruises as a result. Harry wanted to end the fight and leapt straight up, flipping forwards with his sword at full extension, gathering incredible kinetic force behind a single decisive strike. On the fall, he twisted and drove his sword straight down, grappling with his weapon to aim it at her sword rather than herself. Arya looked surprised at the maneuver, but prepared for his arrival. To Harry's surprise, she loosened her grip on her weapon and allowed his devastating slash to drive both her sword and her own deep into the dirt, instead grappling him in a headlock and whipping out a knife which she poked his neck with carefully.
Both of them gasped silently for breath. Arya adjusted her arm so they were facing each other, eyes boring into one another with intensity. Suddenly, her head bobbed forwards and she kissed him, hard.
They split off quickly after that, Harry rather awkwardly begging off, claiming he had to deal with Du Vrangr Gata. Arya stared after him with a husky gaze, but did not challenge or pursue him.
Eragon and Saphira flapped off somewhere, likely back to the dragonhold above Isidar Mithrim where they were staying. Orik stayed to spar, but he was the only one. The atmosphere in the training yard was one of awed silence which gradually faded in the midst of scattered fights which started back up.
When he reached the tent, Harry offhandedly reinvigorated himself with his gem and resumed his smithing work. While he did, he pondered the list of duties Du Vrangr Gata had sent him.
Nearly all of it was related to healing. They were in charge of midwifery, serious and disabling injuries, and sickness. Some were devoted to more widespread duties, like maintaining the blanket anti-scrying ward over the Varden, or assisting Ajihad in various miscellaneous tasks, but the vast majority of them were healers. Harry supposed to a society who hadn't discovered germ theory, a touch of weakened magic probably had drastic effects on mortality rates.
He put together a few proposals for Ajihad to hand out to the non-magical healers. Hopefully it would have a great enough effect that he would not protest Harry monopolizing Du Vrangr Gata's time for a while. "Hedwig! Can you take this letter to Ajihad?" She swooped down and deftly snatched the missive up, vanishing in a flash of white flames.
Sighing, Harry pushed away his desk. He had five days until an invasion, after which it was likely he and Eragon would be leaving for Ellesmera in a week. That meant he needed to carefully balance his time. Without information about how the attack would happen, he couldn't easily help the Varden fortify. Instead, he put together a couple massive batches of penicillin and lent his efforts towards helping Angela brew potions. Her recipes were almost all inferior to the ones in his potions books, but they lacked some ingredients to make the more powerful draughts work. Without unicorns, they didn't have access to the central active ingredient in more than half of the common medical potions. Instead, they were required to cobble together improvisational replacements.
Nevertheless, they stockpiled potions at an alarming rate, filling moderately expanded crates with freshly blown glass bottles and jars enchanted for stasis. Experiment unfortunately revealed refilling charms did not work on potions. With Angela's newfound deeper knowledge of biology, Harry was confident the Varden's healers would be capable of keeping the army alive in his absence.
In preparation, Harry had also given Angela an array of expanded containers with all manner of mystical ingredients from the greenhouses and pastures. She would be able to continue brewing while he was in Ellesmera.
Moments later, a blast of white fire emanated from the air in front of him and Hedwig dropped a scroll in front of him. He unrolled it.
I have need of your presence urgently. Urgals spotted. Come immediately.
-Ajihad
Harry scanned the letter quickly and stuffed it in his pocket, leaping up and twisting through space. With a crack he appeared in Ajihad's office. He cursed. The place was filled with people scurrying around, shouting and arguing with each other. Ajihad, Arya, Brom, and an unfamiliar man glanced at him in surprise. The rest seemed not to notice. "Harry, this is Jormundur, my second in command," Ajihad introduced the unfamiliar man, a young middle aged man with dark hair who carried himself like a soldier. "He commands the legion."
Harry shook his hand. "Where were the Urgals?"
"A dwarven runner came out of the tunnels beneath Tronjheim an hour ago, bloodied and near dead. He said they were beneath," Jormundur told Harry.
He shivered. That was a worst case scenario, second only to Urgals rappelling down from the open roof of Farthen Dur. "Any other info? Numbers, timetable?"
"Tens of thousands," Brom said grimly. "I'd presume from the fact they were marching right now, within the day. We need to fortify Farthen Dur and evacuate Tronjheim."
Ajihad agreed. "I had begun the process the moment the twins' treachery was revealed. I sent along your proposal with my seal to the healers, Harry. I hope you're right. We're going to need every magician available on hand to fight. What progress have you made on the weapons I ordered?"
"I've gotten through a quarter of them. The iron ore helped immensely. However, if you want that much armor, you will need to deliver more. The metal is enough to finish the weapons and a couple hundred sets, definitely not ten thousand. I intend to leave for Ellesmera with Eragon when this invasion is over, but I have faith I will finish the weapons before that time comes. In the meantime, where do you need me most?"
"With me," Orik spoke up. "The dwarves have drawn up plans to collapse tunnels beneath the city. It should force the Urgals to go only where we want them; directly into our fortifications. Arya and Eragon have also volunteered to assist."
Harry frowned. "I do not doubt your strength," he addressed Arya, "but I have an advantage over you as far as power," he said meaningfully. "Something tells me I will need every bit of stored power for this. If not for the fight, then for healing everyone after."
Arya nodded thoughtfully. "Very well. I shall reinforce the wards on your troops instead. Harry, have you cast your own? For that matter, do you have your own armor?"
He cursed. "Damn, I didn't even think about that. Do you have a more specific ETA on the attack? I need an hour or two to make myself armor."
Angela tapped his shoulder. He spun around to find she had snuck up on him silently with a mischievous smile. "I can handle the tunnels. I've seen the same spells as you. However, I need a wand."
Harry nodded thoughtfully, but hesitated. They didn't have time to go through the rigamarole of running through dozens and dozens of wands for the right one. There was only one wand guaranteed to match, and Harry wasn't sure he trusted anyone with it.
Sucking in a breath, Harry breathed out heavily. He withdrew a length of wood and handed it over to Angela. "I expect that back." The herbalist just gaped wordlessly at the piece of wood in her hand, a knobbly stick of black wood. "Do not lose it."
Angela nodded dumbly and twisted in the air, vanishing with a crack. Harry glanced at the spot she'd vacated in surprise. He didn't think she would have figured apparition out without him.
Ajihad leafed through a stack of papers quickly, sliding one out and scanning its contents. "Carn will coordinate with us mentally. I will relay instructions through him. Hrothgar and his commanders will lead three legions, myself, Brom, and Jormundur, three others. Harry, the more it looks like we're in trouble, the more of your abilities I want you to employ. You do not need to show all your abilities at the outset, but the Varden surviving is more important than a tactical advantage down the line, no matter how large it is." Harry understood.
"There are a couple abilities I'm not willing to show so early, but I understand your meaning. I can employ some pretty destructive spells which don't cost the proportional strength to cast, but they are not something to be used indoors." Harry was thinking of the siege engine curse, Corascis. It was designed to blow straight through even magically fortified walls, but in a network of dense tunnels like Farthen Dur, it was just as likely the magic would tear through the supports and collapse the whole mountain. "I think it might be best if you were to clear the mouths of the tunnels you expect them to come from for an hour. Perhaps lend me an engineer who understands what sort of fortifications should be set up."
Ajihad rubbed his chin. "You are referring to 'Transfiguration,' yes?" Harry nodded. "Very well. I shall send Derrivan, our best engineer with you. The tunnel exits should be clear for now since the underground work has not yet finished. Is there anything else to be discussed?"
"Yes, what to do when Durza is dead." Ajihad frowned.
"Explain."
"Have you seen the eyes of the Urgals attacking us? They're all red. Urgals naturally have yellow eyes. Durza is employing some sort of mind magic to bring them all under his thrall. Chances are, once he is dead, that spell will break and the Urgals will simply retreat. Failing that, they will likely start fighting amongst each other." Brom watched curiously. "If they stop presenting a unified front, I want you to offer them the chance to surrender. Make the terms generous; they get to keep their weapons and arms and leave unharried. I have no desire to exterminate a race tomorrow because your men and the dwarves hold an irrational hatred for Urgals. Some of them are friends of mine."
Jormundur spluttered. "You want to let them just leave? After slaughtering their way into our home?"
"Not of their own free will," Harry said sharply. "Hit yourself." Jormundur slapped his own face. "Would you blame yourself for that? They are no more responsible than you are for the invasion. Less, even, since they didn't provoke the king into attacking them."
Ajihad rubbed his temples. "I am not agreeing to this course of action, but I will consider it. Depending on the situation when, or rather if, Durza is slain, we will offer them the chance to surrender." Harry inclined his head.
"Then I will go and prepare. I'd like to get a few measurements-"
Angela appeared behind them with a crack, looking drawn and tired, but with a vicious smile on her face. She offered the Elder wand back to Harry wordlessly. "Done so soon?"
The herbalist smiled mysteriously and flashed Harry a tiny golden hourglass before stuffing it under her jerkin. "A marvelous invention." He gaped at her.
"You made that?"
"It's a far cruder version of the one you are familiar with, and it takes more energy than anyone could hope to hold at once to operate, but yes, I did. Suffice to say, it was not my first experience with that particular brand of magic." Harry whistled lowly.
"And you learned apparition," he remarked. Angela just winked at him.
"Go and do whatever it is you were going to do," Brom waved him off. Harry stuck his tongue out at him and twisted out of the office.
Harry emerged from apparition in the middle of the colossal hollow space beneath Farthen Dur. Three gaping black mouths led into the shadowy tunnels beneath. Workers scurried about near the places, sharpening wooden stakes to plant in the floor for repelling charges, boiling cauldrons of pitch to pour down the holes, setting up elevated bulwarks for archers and other such preparations.
Feeling a bit like a bully, Harry cast muggle-repelling wards around the fortifications and watched in amusement as the men and dwarves scratched their heads trying to parse together where their workspaces just went. Once the area was cleared out a bit, he strode over and began conjuring defenses.
Rather than filling the cauldrons with pitch–a gruesome and inhumane way to kill countless Urgals, Harry replaced the tar with the Draught of Living Death. Though not as strong as when ingested, topical application of the brew would send Urgals into a deep sleep. Unlike tar, it could not be tamped down and the invaders would have to pile unconscious bodies over the liquid, using their comatose fellows as a makeshift bridge over the draught. Harry just crossed his fingers that the sleeping Urgralgra wouldn't get trampled to death.
Just beyond the wards, Ajihad's man Derrivan waved his hands to draw Harry's attention. He quickly amended the wards to let him through. "My name's Derrivan, Ajihad sent me to advise you on fortifications," he introduced himself.
"Well, Derrivan, what would you suggest I add. Nothing is too outlandish, though I prefer non-lethal if possible." The man thought for a moment.
"I would suggest greasing the slope upwards, but by the looks of the cauldrons you already have something in mind. Can you finish the archers' bulwarks?" Harry nodded and used a series of transfigurations and conjurations to complete the raised platforms. Derrivan gaped at him for a moment before composing himself. "Are you familiar with trebuchets?" Harry smiled devilishly.
Derrivan spread another set of plans on his conjured table, glancing out at the tunnel entrances. What he could do with a team of wizards like the one he had… "Oi! How deep can I make the moat here before I run into tunnels?" He consulted the dwarven maps.
"Twelve feet everywhere except there and there." He marked the spots where tunnels crossed shallowly with little orange flags the wizard had given him. They were marvelous devices–easy to set up, easier still to see.
The polished stone floor sunk into the ground without fanfare, and a torrent of water blasted from Harry's wand as he filled it with water. He conjured a platform raised a few feet from the edge of the water to make it even harder to climb up on the Varden's side. "How do these 'water cannons' work?" Derrivan asked curiously.
Harry apparated over, startling the man slightly, and scrutinized the plans. "I guess I drew it poorly. Water weighs a lot, right?" Derrivan nodded uncertainly. "We can put tons of pressure behind it by stacking a lot on top of each other and letting it out in a directed stream. I'm going to build a large reservoir as high up as I can reach and fill the thing with water, then run pipes and hoses to mounted nozzles. The Varden can aim them at large groups of Urgals–shield walls and formations especially–and force them to disburse."
Withdrawing a broom, he flew up the hollow center of Farthen Dur and carefully set up deep metal bolts to hold the reservoir against the rock face. He didn't want to explain to the dwarves how he accidentally dumped a million tons of water all over their heads in the middle of battle, or that he dragged a huge avalanche of rock down from the face of the interior walls. Harry reinforced the walls with magic and constructed an enormous reservoir, enchanting it weightless, then filling it with water. He fused a pipe to the bottom and ran it along the wall until it reached the ground, then had it turn to canvas like fire hoses and snake over to strategically placed water cannons.
Carefully, Harry aimed one at the far wall and depressed the trigger. A beam of water emerged with a faintly sci-fi noise, scattering on the stone wall in a massive starburst. Derrivan gaped. "That ought to be effective," Harry dusted his hands proudly. The engineer nodded dumbly.
An hour later, Ajihad emerged with a party of important people from an enormous tunnel, squinting carefully at the muggle-repelling wards. That was the main problem with them. Aside from being trivial for enemy magicians to tear down, muggle-repelling wards could be outthought by a strong-willed muggle. Something Ajihad was proving himself to be.
Rather than wait for the rest of them to humiliate themselves failing to find the holes, Harry made a sharp stabbing gesture downwards and the wards collapsed instantly. "'Sup."
Ajihad took in the fortifications, rather impressed. Fields of sharpened stakes pointing like shark's teeth towards the open tunnels were not mere wood planted in dirt, but rather metal poles bolted to stone. There would be no kicking them aside. Strange perforated tubing lined the roofs of the openings, apparently to spray misted potions at the Urgals. "They're for the Draught of Living Death. Depending on how much Angela and I can make, that should send more than a quarter of them unconscious. If they destroy the tubing, we can always just dump the cauldrons on them and force them to bridge over it with bodies."
Harry seemed to read his mind, approaching the group.
"Harry, you've met Jormundur, Trianna, Brom, and Arya. This is King Hrothgar and some of his advisors." Ajihad introduced him to a group of dwarves, the central one resplendent in jeweled armor, a fabulous hammer at his belt.
He held out his hand to shake. "Your majesty." Harry wouldn't show deference or submission to foreign monarchs, but he was British, and they knew how to use their manners.
"Ascudaruna, what have you done to our mountain?" Hrothgar did not challenge him or sound hostile, merely curious.
"I finished up the archer bulwarks and stacked two more sets on top of them. I don't know how many you have, but they should all be able to shoot at once without hitting each other. It makes me wish I had made more endless quivers, but you'll have to make do with whatever arrows you have. I gave Frederick a shipment of recurve bows, some of which you may be interested in. They are not so long that a dwarf of shorter stature than a human could not fire them, yet they are no less powerful for it."
"We use Urgal horn bows," the king interjected. "We do not require your witch-bows." Harry felt a stab of anger at that. Urgals used the same bows, but as a way of venerating their ancestors and respecting their prowess. He'd bet his magic the dwarves used it to rub their conquests in the Urgals' faces. Harry ignored it and continued.
"The tubes above the tunnels will cause anything put through them to mist. I have a potion called the Draught of Living Death which when inhaled or ingested causes the victim to go into a sort of suspended animation. They need no food or water, and do not age. In the short term, it will knock out any Urgal who breathes even a droplet in until they manage to break the pipe. The cauldrons which feed the tubes are positioned so if they do that, we can still pour them on their heads."
"It is easier to kill sleeping Urgals," Hrothgar agreed amicably.
Harry had trouble keeping his voice level. "I created a moat with a raised defender side so the Varden's spearmen can attack the Urgals both before they enter the moat and while climbing out. All over, metal spikes bolted to the ground will stop charges, whether by kull or cavalry. There are trebuchets arrayed around the exits which can be used to blast through knots of soldiers, as well as water cannons."
"Water cannons?"
"I added a tank high above us. Gravity pressurizes the water for us, and the cannons are just nozzles that direct the stream where we want it. Great for breaking up formations quickly."
"Does it kill?"
"Probably not unless you drown them," Harry frowned.
"Shame." He glared at Hrothgar.
"What the hell is your problem, man?" He demanded angrily. Ajihad put his head in his palm. Brom shot him a look that all but screamed shut up, but Harry was having none of it. "Why are you so desperate to commit genocide?"
Hrothgar's advisors and guards looked furious, like they wanted badly to attack him and were waiting only for his word. "Urgals are monsters." he said shortly.
"I'm surprised," Harry sneered. "I didn't realize we had another aspiring Galbatorix among us, eager to wipe a race from Alagaesia. Were the dragons not enough for you?"
Hrothgar growled, clenching his fist around the haft of his warhammer. "They killed my sister and her family, and are a blight on the world. They have presented themselves to us in our own homes, why should we not take advantage of this? And wizard? Compare me to him again, and you will find no dwarf not eager to relieve you of your head."
Harry fumed angrily. The man was like Lucius Malfoy. He saw no problem exterminating those he saw as inferior, and his toadies followed him like drooling dogs, ready to attack for the slightest insult. Unfortunately, he was helpless in this situation. Hrothgar was right that the Urgals were invading his home. "They are under the shade's thrall. Does that mean nothing to you?"
Hrothgar scowled. "I will not apologize for my feelings on them. You may be willing to expend the effort to spare them, but do not expect the same from me. If they come within Volund's reach, they will die." He fingered the grip of the hammer in agitation.
"They have not left their dens in decades, and they live far far away from you. I intend to send them back or recruit them to fight against Galbatorix. Are you so eager to kill them that you would turn aside a potential ally?"
"Fine, wizard. I will not kill the unconscious ones. All the better to send the dogs in first, I suppose."
Harry very nearly hit the dwarf, but restrained himself. "Goodbye," he said shortly, and strode off stiffly. How the hell was Orik related to this loser?
Harry spent the next few hours in the workshop, putting together a set of armor for himself. He was used to fighting in a t-shirt, jeans, and sneakers, failing that, light Hogwarts robes. All the plate armor he had ever tried restricted his movement, stifling his archery and swordplay. He wanted to make a set of armor that was as protective as plate, but did not obstruct his range of motion.
Parchment strewn about outlined the plan. Harry would forge a full set of plate and sacrifice it to make a single breastplate. With the proper enchantments, the armor would magically extend to cover every part of him, exploiting the sacrificed armor pieces to armor even parts of him that wouldn't have been covered by the full set. It was a tricky bit of magic that relied on Alchemy, a branch of magic he wasn't overly familiar with, but Harry was confident it would work.
The process of making proper armor was trivial. He completed the first set with practiced ease, chalking out a circle on the ground and arranging the armor in it as if it was on a man, arms and legs spread eagle. The chant took no time at all, and when it concluded, the outer pieces dissolved into ash. The central breastplate glowed brightly, then faded.
Without even activating it, Harry could tell the sacrifice worked. Ritual magic was all about equivalent exchange. Give something up, receive something else of equal worth. Of course, the trick with good ritualists was finding loopholes or exploits to cheat the sacrifice or recieve more than you gave up. Harry wasn't a good ritualist yet, but he didn't need to be for a straightforward operation like including a full suit of protection into one piece.
Harry slipped on the piece of armor and felt the enchantments activate. It was like a protective blanket which covered from head to toe. Cautiously, he made a fist and banged on a table.
It made a clanging noise, and he didn't even feel the pressure on his hand. It was like there was an invisible layer of protection a hairsbreadth from his skin, one which kept him from hurting himself.
The magic could tell when he wanted to touch something because he could still easily feel the texture of the table when stroking it. He just couldn't hurt his hand bashing it against the surface.
Like every other new project he made, the breastplate had a green diamond set in the middle, right on his sternum. Unlike his bow, the armor was aligned with the earth. Harry wanted to exploit the unyielding strength of stone, and it was easy enough to link an inherently protective piece to earth, the unyielding element.
The more he explored elemental magic, the more interested Harry got. It was an incredibly powerful branch of magic, the only issue being its lack of finesse. Manipulating them directly was nearly an exercise in futility, so Harry opted to go for the next best thing and exploited the more spiritual nature of the elements, infusing their more beneficial aspects into his works.
As more primal concepts, they could be drawn on to augment spells and enchantments easily. With a modicum of consideration as to which element applied best, nearly all magic could be modified to incorporate the powerful concepts. They were sort of like the ancient language of the earth, water, air, and fire. Invoking them innately tied whatever you were doing to their nature, lending their strength to your magic.
Harry had empowered the unbreakability and protective enchantments on the armor with the might of the earth, and it showed. The diamond in the chestplate held the reservoir of power the armor would draw on, yet Harry had yet to push the armor hard enough to make the level dip. He'd stuck his hand in the forge, slammed heavy doors on his fingers, sawed at them with his sword, clamped them in a vice and even the super hydraulic press–nothing even tickled.
He knew he had to be careful still–Durza was able to contemptuously shear off the top of his unbreakable house–but Harry knew the common imperial soldier had no hope of hurting him.
Harry, on the other hand, had very good chances of hurting them. Upon his learning how to incorporate elemental affinities into his works, he'd made up another greatsword of white steel, the same style as his last. It was linked to air, light, and fire. When drawn, the blade could be ignited with a thought, causing white flames to race along the length. Harry had consulted Hedwig extensively throughout the forging process, quenching the blade with phoenix tears and inlaying feathered scrollwork on the hilt in the shape of Hedwig with her wings outstretched, talons gripping a clear diamond. After his first success, Harry had done the same for Arya, replacing Du Sundavar Freohr with the exact same weapon, merely reforged.
It was probably the most he could really get done before the battle began, so Harry went up to bed to sleep before shit hit the fan.
AN: The next chapter is technically the last one in the book Eragon, but there's a wrapup one after that. After Inheritance, I'm writing HP. It'll be our Harry as a baby from the moment Voldemort killed his parents. After that, I'm leaning towards Avatar the Last Airbender. Contrary to advice, I will not be breaking up this fic into four different ones for each volume in the Inheritance cycle, that's just stupid. However, I will be doing that for each successive universe.
Cheers,
androidrainbow