CHAPTER EIGHT

Battle of Carvahall

The following morning, I woke with a sense of purpose heavy in my chest. The air was crisp, and the faint calls of birds outside felt like a cruel mockery of the chaos about to unfold. I steeled myself as I prepared for the day ahead, knowing I had to convince the villagers to abandon their home and leave for the Varden. However, I also knew that many had grown complacent. They saw the village, fortified with my inventions and their training, as an impenetrable fortress. The absence of the king's army thus far had lulled them into a false sense of security.

Just as I stepped out of the house, the distant sound of hurried footsteps drew my attention. A scout—a younger villager whose name escaped me—came sprinting down the dirt road from the direction of the nearest town. His face was pale, his breaths ragged.

"Soldiers!" he shouted, his voice breaking as he came to a stop in front of me. "Imperial soldiers are coming! They'll be here by afternoon!"

My stomach clenched as the words sank in. Damn it. Without hesitation, I reached out mentally to Brom, relaying the news as I bolted toward home. I burst in, finding them in the midst of preparing breakfast.

"Pack everything you can't live without," I said sharply. "Imperial soldiers are coming. You need to get to the airship—now!"

Their faces blanched as the gravity of my words sank in. Horst's jaw tightened, and Elain quickly began gathering important belongings while I stepped back outside. By now, Garrow, Albriech, Baldor, and Roran had joined the effort, loading carriages with what could be carried. I sprinted to the village square as the alarm bell tolled, its mournful sound echoing through Carvahall.

The villagers gathered in the square, murmuring anxiously as they looked to me for answers. I climbed atop a crate to address them, my voice firm but strained.

"Imperial soldiers are coming—possibly led by the Ra'zac. We cannot stay and fight; there are too many of them! You have to leave, now!"

The crowd erupted in a cacophony of protests. Some villagers demanded time to pack; others outright refused to leave, insisting they would surrender peacefully to the soldiers.

"You think surrendering will save you?" I snapped, my voice cutting through their chatter. "The Ra'zac don't take prisoners. They'll torture you, burn your homes, and feast on your corpses. Staying here is suicide!"

Still, resistance lingered. I cursed under my breath and relented. "Fine. Those who want to survive, start packing your belongings. Do it. But quickly. I'll buy you time."

The villagers dispersed, a frantic energy overtaking them. I sent a mental message to Eragon, instructing him to prepare and remain hidden aboard the airship with Saphira. Then I made my way to Brom's house, finding him already gathering supplies for the explosives.

"Good, you got the bombs. We'll set traps along the road," I said, helping him load the materials into a cart. "They won't stop the soldiers completely, but it'll slow them down."

Brom nodded, his face grim. "We'll need every second we can get, if we want to survive this madness of a plan you have come up with."

By midday, we had finished laying the traps. The faint shimmer of metal on the horizon marked the soldiers' approach. Brom and I stood together, watching as the figures grew larger. Behind us, Roran approached, flanked by villagers armed with crossbows, swords, and spears

.

Roran hefted his hammer, the weapon bringing a determined glint to his eyes. "Almost everyone is on the airship," he said. "Just need a bit more time."

I glanced at him, then at the group of villagers. "Are you sure you want to do this? You could die."

Sloan, gripping a butcher's blade, sneered at me. "Do you doubt our resolve, boy?"

I shrugged, a wry smile tugging at my lips. "Alright, then."

The soldiers triggered the first set of explosives, a deafening series of booms that sent plumes of dirt and rock into the air. The screams of injured men carried over the chaos, drawing cheers from the villagers behind me. But I knew it wasn't over.

The smoke began to rise, unnaturally thick, obscuring the sun. Brom's expression darkened.

"It would seem that they have a magician in their ranks," he muttered.

Fear rippled through the villagers, but Roran stepped forward, his voice steady. "We've trained for this. Stick together, and we'll make it through."

Then, a bone-chilling screech pierced the air. My blood ran cold as two massive Lethrblaka emerged from the smoke, their leathery wings beating against the sky. On their backs sat the Ra'zac, their voices hissing like venom.

"We are back, boy," one of them rasped. "You killed our nest mates. You shall pay. We shall feast on your bones!"

I grinned, drawing my sword and muttering a fire incantation, igniting the blade with a burst of flame. "So rude," I taunted. "No greetings, straight to the threats, and here I thought you had learnt your lesson after our first dance."

Brom gave me a nod, his power armor glinting faintly under the smoky sunlight. "Good luck, and fight smart."

"I don't need luck," I shot back, smirking. "Focus on the magician. Use the energy in your armor—don't drain yourself."

Turning to Roran and the others, I raised my flaming blade. "Well then? Shall we indulge them?"

With a roar, I charged toward the Ra'zac, flames trailing my sword. Behind me, the villagers rallied, their cries of defiance ringing out as we faced the encroaching enemy. The battle for Carvahall had begun.

The soldiers charged toward me, their faces a mix of confidence and disdain. To them, I was just some idiot boy with a sword, a child wielding his father's sword, playing hero. Their mistake. My blood thrummed with adrenaline, and a grim smile tugged at my lips. I wasn't just a boy—I was faster, stronger, and deadlier than any human they had ever faced.

As they closed in, I unleashed my full speed, the ground blurring beneath me as I left the defenders of Carvahall far behind. The soldiers' expressions shifted to shock as I seemed to materialize in their ranks. My blade became an extension of my will, slashing through their formation like a scythe through ripe wheat.

I spun, sidestepped, and ducked under their clumsy strikes. Every movement was a deadly flourish, my sword a blur as I severed limbs, pierced armor, and spilled blood onto the dirt. A soldier lunged at me from the side, but I twirled my blade behind my back and struck without looking, the sound of his body hitting the ground confirming the kill.

Through quick glances between my strikes, I caught sight of Brom. Empowered by his armor, he moved with precision and ferocity, carving a path through the soldiers. His focus was singular: the magicians hidden among their ranks. Meanwhile, Roran was a force of nature. Leading a tight-knit group of defenders, his hammer rose and fell like a judge's gavel, each blow crushing bone and armor alike.

"Strong hammer!" the defenders chanted, their voices growing louder with every swing of Roran's weapon. The title suited him. Unlike in the books, this Roran was no untrained farm boy relying on trickery and tenacity. Under my brief guidance, he had become a skilled warrior, his instincts honed to perfection. It was in his blood, just like Eragon.

I pressed forward, cutting down any who dared to block my path until I reached my true target: the Ra'zac. The first Lethrblaka screeched as it dove toward me, a monstrous blur of teeth and claws. Its speed was terrifying, but I raised my hand, summoning the ancient language.

"Garjzla Jierda!"

Rays of concentrated light beams erupted from my palm, piercing the Lethrblaka hide as though it were parchment. The beast let out a guttural scream, its body ripped apart, the beast was convulsing as it crashed to the ground. The Ra'zac atop it scrambled to recover, but I was already there, my blade slicing clean through its neck. Black ichor sprayed from the wound, staining the dirt as the headless creature collapsed.

I shook the foul, stinking liquid from my sword and turned to face the second pair. The surviving Lethrblaka roared in defiance, its massive wings stirring the smoke-filled air. Before it could make its move, a shadow streaked across the sky.

Saphira.

She slammed into the larger beast with breathtaking ferocity, her talons digging into its neck as her jaws clamped down. Though the Lethrblaka was larger, Saphira had the element of surprise. Her roar of dominance filled the battlefield as she tore its throat open, blood pouring from the fatal wound. The beast collapsed, and Saphira reared back triumphantly.

Eragon, however, was in trouble. The second Ra'zac had pinned him down, its claws slashing at him as he struggled to parry its strikes. Without hesitation, I sprinted to his aid, my flaming blade drawing the creature's attention.

"Get up!" I barked, slamming my sword into the Ra'zac's side.

Together, we overwhelmed the creature, forcing it back with a relentless barrage of attacks. Eragon's strikes with Zar'roc became more precise as he regained his footing. Finally, I feinted to the left, leaving an opening for Eragon. As the Ra'zac lunged, I plunged my sword into its belly, disemboweling it. Its agonized roar was silenced when Eragon decapitated it with a clean stroke.

Breathing heavily, we shared a look of triumph. "Good work," I said, clapping him on the shoulder.

"You too," Eragon replied with a grin, though his eyes darted back toward the battlefield.

Brom was locked in a mental battle with the enemy magicians, his expression taut with concentration. Then, he overpowered them, before using the ancient language to quickly kill them, the magicians collapsed, lifeless. Brom, though weary, straightened and rejoined us.

"The soldiers are retreating," he said, his voice grim. "But they'll be back, stronger and in greater numbers. We need to leave now."

I nodded, and together we approached Saphira, who was basking in her victory. Her blue scales shimmered even under the dim light, and her chest puffed with pride.

"You were incredible, Saphira." I spoke. She drank in the compliments as if parched

Eragon grinned, his bond with her evident as he added, "The larger they are, the harder they fall, right?"

Saphira rumbled in agreement, her tail flicking playfully.

The defenders of Carvahall approached warily, their awe unmistakable. For many, this was their first glimpse of a dragon. Their reverence for Eragon grew instantly, their gazes filled with both fear and admiration.

Amid the aftermath, we discovered several fallen defenders. The somber mood was palpable as their families gathered to pay their respects. We buried them with care, their graves marked with simple stones. The air was heavy with grief, but also with the hasty Funerals, we made our way to the Airship.

As the villagers finished loading their belongings onto the airship, a few still refused to leave. "We'll stay," one of them said defiantly. "If you leave, the Empire won't bother with us anymore, we did not fight them."

"That's a fool's hope, when those soldiers return, they will wipe out everything in their path" I argued, my frustration evident.

But Roran placed a hand on my shoulder. "Let it go, Mark. They've made their choice."

Reluctantly, I conceded. As we boarded the airship, I couldn't shake the bitterness of leaving those stubborn few behind. Once the ramp closed, I headed to the control room on the top deck, where Saphira lounged like a queen, still basking in her glory. With a sigh, I took the controls, setting our course for Teirm.

The journey wasn't over yet. We needed answers from Jeod, and Arya awaited, and with her, another piece of the puzzle.

The journey from Carvahall to Teirm was nothing short of breathtaking. The ship, my masterpiece, soared effortlessly above the peaks of the Spine, cutting through the clouds with the grace of an eagle. Inside the flight room, the control panel gleamed under the soft glow of the ship's enchanted lighting. The scry mirrors displayed a panoramic view of the surroundings—above, below, and all around us. They operated much like modern-day cameras, allowing me to monitor everything with a mere glance.

"Clever work," Brom commented, his voice tinged with genuine admiration as he examined the array of controls.

I turned to him with a smirk. "Coming from you, I'll take that as high praise."

"It is," he admitted, running his fingers over the smooth surface of the enchanted control panel. "You've done more with the ancient language than I thought possible."

Beyond the cockpit, the ship was an engineering marvel. The invisibility enchantment, activated with the press of a button, allowed us to pass unseen. The weapons—energy cannons powered by the Golden Heart—were formidable but sparingly used due to their energy demands. The bomb bays, designed for maximum efficiency, could drop gunpowder-packed explosives at a moment's notice. And the wards, strengthened by the crystal's immense energy, ensured that neither physical nor magical attacks could penetrate the ship's defenses.

This was my creation, my pride. None of it would have been possible without the Golden Heart, the crystalline energy source that pulsed faintly on the top deck of the ship like a living heartbeat.

On the first day of our journey, I set the ship on a steady course, leaving Baldor at the helm. The soft, quiet hum of the Golden Heart filled the air, a soothing backdrop to the conversations taking place in the main cabin. It was there that Brom decided to address a truth he had kept hidden for far too long.

Brom stood near the center of the room, his expression grave as he called out, "Eragon, I have something to tell you."

Eragon turned, curiosity flickering in his eyes. Garrow and Roran, seated nearby, exchanged uncertain glances.

"What is it?" Eragon asked, his tone cautious.

Brom took a deep breath, the weight of his words pressing on him like a mountain. "I'm your father."

Eragon blinked, then let out a short laugh. "That's a good one, Brom. Seriously, what is it?"

But Brom didn't smile. His face remained serious, and his eyes flicked to me for support. I nodded solemnly, confirming the truth of his claim.

Eragon's laughter died, replaced by a mix of shock and disbelief as he looked at me. "Wait, he's telling the truth? And you knew?" he demanded, his voice tinged with hurt.

"I did," I admitted. "But it wasn't my secret to tell. Brom asked me to let him do it when he was ready."

Eragon's expression darkened as he turned back to Brom. "Why? Why didn't you say anything sooner?"

Brom's shoulders sagged, and he ran a hand through his hair. "I was afraid," he said quietly. "Afraid of how you'd react. I didn't know how to tell you."

"Afraid?" Eragon spat. "No, you didn't tell me because you thought I was a disgrace! Now that I'm a Dragon Rider, you want the glory, don't you? You want to bask in my success!"

Brom flinched as if struck, the pain evident in his eyes. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a clean rag, wiping his hands before holding one up.

"Glory, you say?" he said bitterly. "I don't need more glory. This is my glory."

The faint silver mark of the Gedwëy ignasia glimmered on his palm.

Eragon's breath caught. "You... you're a Dragon Rider?"

"Was a Dragon Rider," Brom corrected, his voice heavy with sorrow. "I lost my dragon, Saphira, fighting the Forsworn."

He sank into a nearby bench, his hands trembling slightly. "She was beautiful. Proud. And she gave her life to save mine. I've carried that loss every day since. Do you think I stayed silent out of pride? No. I stayed silent because I didn't want you to share my fate. I push you because I want you to flourish, to live, to be more than I ever was."

Tears rolled down his weathered cheeks as he recounted the tale of his dragon's death, his voice breaking with emotion. Eragon, too, couldn't hold back his tears. He crossed the room and hugged Brom tightly, their shared grief binding them together.

"I'm sorry," Eragon whispered.

"I am too," Brom replied, his voice barely audible.

Garrow, who had been silent until now, spoke up. "Storyteller, though I don't approve of your secrecy, it's good you've finally told him. But I must ask—what happened to my sister?"

Brom's eyes softened. "She was a remarkable woman, brave and kind. But I was too late to save her. When I tried to find her, she was already gone."

The room fell silent, the weight of Brom's words settling over us.

After some time, Eragon excused himself. "I need... I need to think," he said, his voice thick with emotion. He walked out to find Saphira, who had chosen to remain outside during the conversation.

Roran watched him go, then turned to me. "He'll be fine," he said confidently. "Eragon's strong. By the time we reach Teirm, he'll have come to terms with it."

I nodded, hoping he was right. The journey was far from over, and Teirm would bring its own challenges. But for now, we had taken the first step toward healing wounds that had been buried too long.

The airship glided to a gentle landing just outside the Spine, near the Toark River. The lush, green landscape stretched around us, the distant sound of rushing water mingling with the faint hum of the ship as it powered down. I turned to Baldor, who was at the helm.

"Take off and stay out of sight," I instructed him. "Wait for my signal when we need you to come back."

Baldor nodded, gripping the wheel. "Got it. Good luck out there."

As the ship lifted off, its invisibility enchantment engaged, leaving no trace of its presence, I joined Brom and Eragon on the ground. The air between them was thick with unspoken tension, though they were making an effort to talk. Brom led us toward Teirm, his staff tapping against the dirt road.

As we crested a hill, the city came into view, its grandeur undeniable. Teirm was a fortress of white stone, encased behind a massive wall that stood a hundred feet tall and thirty feet thick. Rows of rectangular arrow slits lined the smooth surface, while soldiers patrolled the walkway atop it. Two iron portcullises provided access to the city, one facing the western sea and the other opening to the southern road.

Above the imposing wall, a great citadel loomed, built from enormous stones and crowned with turrets. Its highest tower held a brilliant lighthouse lantern, which gleamed like a second sun even in daylight. The citadel was the only structure visible above the fortifications, a silent testament to Teirm's might.

"This is our first test," Brom said, his voice low and measured. "Let's hope they haven't received word of us from the Empire. Whatever happens, you two don't panic or act suspiciously."

Eragon, Brom, and I rode toward the southern gate, our movements deliberate, trying to appear casual. Above the gate, a yellow pennant flapped in the breeze, bearing the outline of a roaring lion clutching a lily blossom in its paw.

As we approached, Eragon's eyes widened in amazement. "How big is this place?" he asked.

"Larger than any city you've ever seen," Brom replied with a hint of pride.

I couldn't help but interject, my thoughts drifting to Earth. "The cities back home would dwarf this one."

Both Brom and Eragon turned to look at me, skepticism written plainly on their faces. I chuckled inwardly, thinking of New York City's sprawling skyline.

At the gate, the guards stiffened, gripping their pikes with a bit more authority as they blocked our path. One of them, a man with a bored expression, asked, "Wha's yer name?"

"I'm called Neal," Brom said, adopting a wheezy, cracked voice. He slouched in the saddle, his face twisting into a happy, slightly daft expression.

The guard squinted at us. "And who's th' other two?" He gestured lazily at Eragon and me.

"Well, I wus gettin' to that," Brom said, his voice pitching higher. "This'ed be m'nephews Evan and Jamie. They're m'sister's boys, not a…"

The guard interrupted with a dismissive wave. "Yeah, yeah. And yer business here?"

"He's visitin' an old friend," Eragon said, his voice thick with an exaggerated accent.

Oh, joy. This was straight out of Brom's favorite playbook. I decided to make things simple and played the mute, letting my companions handle the charade.

"We're along t' make sure he don't get lost, if y' get m'meaning," Eragon continued smoothly. "He ain't as young as he used to be—had a bit too much sun when he was young'r. Touch o' the brain fever, y'know."

Brom nodded pleasantly, his performance flawless.

The guard rolled his eyes and muttered, "Right. Go on through." He dropped his pike and waved us forward. "Just make sure he doesn't cause any trouble."

"Oh, he won't," Eragon said with a grin, urging his horse forward.

The moment we passed through the gate and into the city, the sound of hooves clacking against cobblestones filled the air. The streets were narrow but bustling with life. Market stalls lined the edges, and the scent of freshly baked bread mixed with the saltiness of the sea breeze.

Once we were safely out of earshot of the guards, Brom straightened in his saddle and glared at Eragon. "Touch of brain fever, eh?" he growled.

Eragon smirked. "I couldn't let you have all the fun."

Brom harrumphed, muttering something under his breath, and turned his attention back to the road ahead. I bit back a laugh as we continued deeper into the city. Teirm awaited, its secrets and challenges just beginning to unfold.