Sorry that it has taken so long for this to go out, but I've been incredibly busy these past few weeks, and honestly this chapter needed some time to work out completely. I think this one might be one of the longest chapters I've ever written too at almost 10.5k words.
Anyway, hope you enjoy!
Chapter 50 – The Flames of Death
The arrival of the dwarves was met with a thunderous cheer, one that rang up early in the morning and sent every member of the Varden into a half daze at the volume. As the dwarves poured onto the field surrounding Dras-Leona and began their preparations for war, the notable increase of morale among the troops caused the cities defenders to nearly double the number of men stationed on the walls. Orik and his company set their camp on the eastern edge of the Varden's own, and Eragon waited with the other officials outside Nasuada's tent for his imminent arrival.
Arya stood next to him, her brilliant elven armor strapped tight to her person, while the two dragons lingered behind them next to the tent. Eragon was similarly garbed in his own armor, though Nasuada had instead worn a fine dress for their welcoming party. King Orrin lingered near his own advisors, his clothes some of the most ostentatious Eragon had ever seen him wear. Of the elves, Blödhgarm and Glenwing were in attendance, the latter smiling at any who looked at him.
Eragon had been surprised at the friendship Glenwing and Orik at stricken up during their stay in Ellesméra, and he knew Glenwing was eagerly awaiting a moment to speak with the new monarch.
A murmur of conversation stirred as the surveying soldiers parted, and Orik strode through with his head held high and Volund strapped to his waist. A few of the other Chieftain's Eragon knew followed behind Orik, as well as a number of his own guard, and each of the dwarves was met with a hearty slap on the shoulder in greeting. Even beneath their long beards Eragon could see the pleased smile on many of their faces.
Orik stopped before Nasuada and inclined his head. "Lady Nasuada."
Nasuada curtsied in response, "King Orik. It is with immense pleasure that I welcome you among the allies of the Varden. Your arrival is most fortuitous, I admit, for we can no longer delay our attack upon the city."
Orik nodded, his gaze moving across the many gathered officials. When his eyes met Eragon the dwarf gave him a deep nod, one Eragon returned. "We marched with all haste, Nasuada, and only require another day before my troops are ready for the siege."
"That is good to hear," Nasuada returned, before gesturing towards her tent. "If you will, Your Majesty, Brom has prepared a briefing discussing our current situation."
At Orik's nod Nasuada led the others inside, but Eragon lingered outside until Orik strode up to him. The dwarf waved his own congregation aside, waiting until the two were alone to reach out and grasp Eragon's arm. "It is good to see you, Eragon. I have heard many a tale of the devastation of Belatona; those responsible for such things are cowards I would see hunted down if it were but in my power."
Eragon's smile was half-hearted, but he brushed aside his feelings. "How was the march? Any signs of Thorn?"
"Nay," Orik shook his head. "We had luck on our side, it seems." The dwarf eyed him for a moment before his gaze moved to Eragon's right. It was only then that he realized Arya and Glenwing lingered beside him. "Arya," Orik greeted, which she returned. When the King's moved towards Glenwing, Eragon could see a twinkle appear in the dwarf's eyes. "Elfling."
Glenwing laughed before darting in, enclosing the dwarf in a grand embrace, lifting him off his feet. "Orik, my friend! How are you?"
Orik gasped for air, slapping the elf on the shoulder with strong strikes. The Kings guard that remained a respectful distance behind surged forward, only to be dismissed by Orik's other hand waving at them. "Let me down you damned elf!" Orik managed to ground out, each word labored beneath Glenwing's strong grip.
Glenwing obliged, grinning merely at the befuddled King. "Forgive me," he said, the smile still on his face betraying his words.
Orik struck the elf lightly on the arm, "Bah. It is good to see you as well, Glenwing. When we have the time, I have much I would like to discuss with you. And you, Eragon."
Both Eragon and Glenwing nodded. Eragon found that he had missed the dwarf's company since he departed Farthen Dûr, and he could only imagine how Glenwing felt after seeing Orik off after Hrothgar's death.
"Come then," Orik said, twisting his beard in his hands, "Let us get this meeting over with."
Together they entered the tent, and Orik moved towards one of the highbacked chairs set aside for him by Nasuada. Likewise, both her and Orrin were seated in similar chairs, waiting patiently for them before beginning. Eragon and Arya stood next to Brom while Glenwing joined Blödhgarm near the wall of the tent, the many gathered officials forcing the two to stand nearly shoulder to shoulder.
Not that Eragon minded. When their shoulders brushed, Arya merely gave him a look, one which Eragon returned with a slight smile.
Brom clapped his hands, drawing the gathered party's attention to him. "I welcome you, King Orik. Your father and his forebearers would be proud of the dwarf you have become."
Orik placed Volund on the table and inclined his head at Brom. "Hrothgar always spoke highly of you, Rider, and your words mean much to mine ears."
Brom's smiled, though Eragon could see the lingering sadness in his features. "I am no longer a Rider, Your Majesty. That right, I am afraid, can only be claimed by two others here. Now, there is much for us to discuss, and I have prepared…"
The meeting dragged on, and Eragon tuned out much of discussion. He already knew all that Orik was being brief on, and he found his mind wandering until the mention of his name snapped him back into reality.
"Eragon has proposed a way to deal with this Brotherhood, but I'm afraid that we lack the necessary knowledge to discover the tunnels." Brom briefed. "We were hoping that either you or one of your kin, Your Majesty, could help us in this endeavor."
Orik rubbed his beard with one hand, while the other played with the handle of his hammer. "The earth here is soft and claylike, with a fair bit of silt layered through it- horrible for tunneling. If these builders had any sense, they would not have planned one large channel to carry away the city's waste. They would have instead laid down several smaller passages in order to reduce the likelihood of a cave-in, and it is my guess that they would be no wider than a yard or so."
"Then it is possible?" Eragon asked, a sense of excitement overriding his boredom. While he did not relish the thought of traversing a sewer system, the thought of sneaking into the city sparked similar feelings to that of Saphira on a hunt.
"Aye," Orik nodded. "My kin have many ways to find tunnels and hidden passageways if you only but listen. I will have some of my magicians instruct you in their ways."
"Your help is appreciated in this matter, Orik." Nasuada added. "If Eragon and his group can prevent the creation of another Shade, then this siege will be made only the easier for us."
"Will you have time to open the gates?" Orik asked. "From what Brom has told us, you will only have a few hours until the siege begins."
"We will try," Eragon answered. "If we cannot, then Saphira and Fírnen are more than capable of taking care of it, especially once they deal with the soldiers on the walls." They would not be alone, for Blödhgarm and the other spellcasters would be with the dragons in order to shield them from harm.
Many of those in attendance blanched at the thought; they had seen firsthand the power of a dragon against a city, and Eragon did not begrudge them their trepidations.
Orik nodded, and the conversation turned to other matters of war. Nasuada and Orik discussed the best ways in order to join their forces together, but Eragon was not concerned. Many of the dwarves and humans had fought together in Tronjheim against the Urgal's, a bond that was not so easily severed despite the fact that they were assaulting a city instead of defending one.
The meeting continued, and Eragon's mind wandered once more.
Despite Orik's declaration that the dwarves would be ready in one day, it had taken an additional one for them to complete their preparations. The King had, however, come through with his promise of magicians; two of Orik's personal magicians had taught Eragon and the others the method of discovering underground chambers and tunnels.
The darkness that surrounded them was so absolute that not even his enhanced vision was enough for Eragon to see clearly. Only the faint werelight that hovered over his shoulder allowed them to see enough to not trip over one another. Eragon pulled his cloak tighter against his body as they walked, his gaze sweeping over to his left at Arya then to Glenwing at his right. The elf Blödhgarm had chosen to join them was Wyrden, who followed behind Eragon and the others diligently and without a word since departing.
No one else spoke much since leaving, scarcely a whisper of sound escaping them in the chilly night. The addition of the gentle rainfall was not a welcome one, the water chilling them even through their cloaks, but still they continued. Nasuada and a few others had seen them off an hour ago on the edge of the camp, alongside Saphira and Fírnen, and Eragon knew that it would only be a few more until the Varden began its siege.
Arya suddenly stopped. "We are as close as I can manage," she whispered. "This darkness makes it hard to reckon distances, but we shouldn't be more than a few thousand feet away."
Eragon nodded and gestured at Glenwing. The elf kneeled on the ground and began singing the dwarven spell gently under his breath, his bare hand digging into the soft wet dirt. Glenwing's face was serious as he concentrated, and Eragon was glad that he chose to bring him along. Despite his propensity to act a fool, there were few enough Eragon trusted beside him in a battle.
While Glenwing sung Eragon turned to Arya, his hand moving under her cloak and grasping her own gently. In the faint blue light from his werelight he saw her raise her an eyebrow at him even as her fingers tightened around his. Wyrden had taken up position next to Glenwing, the elf's back to them.
"What is it?" Arya asked quietly.
Eragon shook his head. "Nothing. Just promise me you will be careful."
Arya's other eyebrow rose alongside the first. "Perhaps you should take your own advice. Usually, it is you who finds trouble."
Eragon chuckled lightly and withdrew, his hand falling to his side just as Glenwing stood. "Found it," the elf declared.
Eragon stepped away from Arya. "That was quick. Let us go."
As Glenwing and Wyrden led the way Eragon fell instep beside Arya, the silence filling the cold moist air between them once more. They crossed a road and climbed over a few small hills in their trek, until at last Glenwing stopped them inside a shallow channel.
"It's somewhere nearby," Glenwing stated, gesturing towards the opposite side of the wash.
The search for the entrance took longer than Eragon would have liked and involved them prodding the ground several times with long sticks. He had increased the light from his werelight so that they could see their work as they went, but even then it took them nearly thirty minutes to find the entrance.
It was only when a sharp ring of metal echoed did they strike gold, and Wyrden softly called out, "Over here."
The elf gestured towards an overgrown hollow in the side of the ban, which once parted revealed a stone tunnel at least five feet tall and three feet wide. Old, rusted bars blocked their way, and together with Glenwing Eragon pulled off the grating as carefully as they could. The iron snapped easily beneath their hands, crumbling into sharp jagged pieces that they tossed aside into the brush.
"Tracks," Arya whispered. "They lead away from the city. This might be a known smuggling route."
On closer inspection Eragon saw that Arya was right; a faint path could be seen leading away from the tunnel, the tracks smoothing away the dirt from their trampling. He could not tell how old they were, but the fact that someone had previously used this tunnel before meant they should be cautious.
Eragon moved in first, stooping low in order to pass by the ceiling. The others bent over as he did, carefully picking their way past random sticks and rocks that littered the filthy floor. The echoing sound of their steps made Eragon pause before whispering a spell to dampen his trek, motioning for the others to do the same. Only when all four of them were as quiet as the night around them did Eragon lead them on, his werelight bobbing in the air before him.
The passage was as straight as an arrow, never wavering from its course. He thought he could sense an ever so slight tilt to the floor as they continued, but the darkness ahead and behind them made it impossible to tell. After near an hour of walking -as best Eragon could tell- the tunnel opened into a large rectangular room, the half-domed ceiling fifteen feet high above them.
Only a lone rotted barrel occupied the large space, and across from where they entered three near identical pathways led away into the darkness. Eragon stopped in the center of the room and let his werelight illuminate the space as best he could, while the others peered down the hallways silently.
Glenwing, Arya, and Wyrden only traveled a few feet down each archway before returning to Eragon. "Anything?" he asked quietly.
The three elves shared a look and shook their heads, and Eragon sighed. There could only be so many chambers under Dras-Leona, and he did not want to spend the rest of the night searching through cramped tunnels and looking for what might very well only be a single staircase. None of the others offered a suggestion on which way to proceed, so it was left to Eragon to decide.
The center was the most obvious choice, but Eragon hesitated before choosing it. If any still traveled these tunnels then it was likely that it would be the most used, and while it could get them to their destination faster he wanted to avoid being spotted so soon.
Which leaves left or right.
He drummed his fingers lightly against Brisingr's pommel under his cloak, aware that the others were staring at him as he considered their choices.
When there is nowhere else to go, you might as well go right.
Eragon moved forward and down the right passageway, the others falling in silently behind him. It was only then that Eragon realized that it was not another tunnel through the archway but a large room, one that was near twenty feet wide. At the far end was another archway, and Eragon could see that the patterned continued on beyond it. All of the rooms were suspiciously large and empty. Only dilapidated furnishing could be found as they traveled down the many corridors, and each time they came upon another choice Eragon choose the path to the right.
Eragon nearly cursed when their path eventually led to a large circular room with seven archways. Down each of them held only more corridors leading into the darkness, and as Eragon stepped into the room two of his many wards reacted.
He froze in place, holding a hand high in the air to stop the others. Ever quick, the elves stopped their movements completely. Eragon glanced behind him and motioned his head towards Arya.
Arya leaned forward from behind him and placed her head near his own.
"Something's wrong," Eragon whispered to her. "Some of my wards triggered."
"A trap?" Arya questioned. They would have communicated through their minds were it not for the worry that their presences be felt from the magicians above them in the city.
"No," Eragon answered, frowning. It took him a moment to figure out which of his wards were disturbed, and when he did he continued, "One of them only activates when another spell detects my presence."
"An interesting ward, Shadeslayer," Wyrden commented from behind them. Eragon nearly jumped in surprise when the elf spoke; he was unused to working with others who could hear as well as he could, especially when stealth was the primary objective. "Are we compromised?"
"That was the second ward," Eragon returned. "It negates any that does end up detecting my presence, but its odds of success are not always a sure thing. I am glad I thought to add them before we left."
"As am I," Arya stated. She held up a hand towards the empty room and began to whisper spells of detection and finding. As she did he refreshed the two depleted wards about him,
When she was finished she held still with her head cocked before nodding to Eragon.
He stepped lightly into the room, stopping first to make sure his wards did not trigger a second time. When they remained active he continued, sweeping across the room until he was sure that not a single spell of detection remained.
The three elves stepped into the circular room when he signaled them, each of them peering down into one of the many archways leading away from them. Arya had wisely taken Támerlein and marked the stone with her blade, an easy and surefire way that would ensure they were able to backtrack if the need arose.
As they examined the corridors Eragon glanced at the ceiling, stilling completely as his eyes focused on the many cracks above him. Arya was the first to return to him as he gazed up at the ceiling, and only then did she call out, "Wyrden."
Above him were not cracks, but sprawled ancient runes written across every square inch of the ceiling. Somewhere covered in moss and dirt, but many of them were still legible and easy to discern.
The elf stopped his examination of the last archway, his gaze swinging over towards the two Riders in the center of the room. Wyrden gaped in amazement, which finally drew Glenwing's attention.
His friend hurried to where they all stood, frowning at the ceiling lightly. "I cannot understand these runes. What does it say?"
"The history of Tosk," Eragon answered slowly. "The one who worshipped Helgrind and started their despicable religion."
Arya blinked at him, surprise coloring her features. "You can read it?"
"It was one of the dialects when I was born," Eragon said, unable to help the small smirk that rose on his face. "Just because I do not speak it plainly does not mean I cannot understand it. Tosk merely took it for himself when he authored his book."
"There are few enough that survive outside our race that are as old as you are, Shadeslayer," Wyrden stated. The elf's gaze never left the ceiling as they spoke, eagerly taking in the history depicted upon the ceiling.
"Except Angela," Eragon murmured. And Tenga.
"Come," Eragon urged the others. "We cannot linger here."
Wyrden seemed especially displeased that they could not study the runes but did not fight Eragon's orders. If there was time after the siege Eragon would ensure someone transposed the scrawled words, but he did not wish to be trapped underground any longer than was absolutely necessary.
Walking over to the one corridor Wyrden and Glenwing had not examined, Eragon stopped and listened carefully to the darkness ahead. Nothing stood out to him, but the feel of a slight breeze flowed from the corridor, one that he would have not noticed if he were not remaining as still as he was.
"This way," Eragon said.
He moved quietly down the corridor, his gaze fixed firmly ahead, when something out of the corner of his eye caught his attention. The wall to his right was made of stone, and the slight bulge in the wall stood out harshly against its otherwise apparent smoothness.
Eragon lifted a gloved finger and felt along the stone, surprised when his fingers met a lip in wall. With a grip stronger than any man he pulled at the stone, his other hand swinging to his sword when a portion of the wall swung open. Glenwing, his sword in hand, was the first to peer around the corner, and the elf let out a gasp before backing away.
Worried, Eragon drew Brisingr and moved through the hidden door. Inside was a small room, and its true purpose was unclear, but the gruesome sight it contained was not one Eragon wished to see again. Blood coated the walls, the dark red color appearing almost purple in his werelight, long since staining the stone underneath it. Numerous bodies were stacked inside, all of them wearing black robes and kerchiefs wrapped around their faces. Various limbs had been tossed about the room, and the smell of festering entrails nearly made Eragon gag.
Arya and Wyrden appeared beside him. They covered their mouth and noses and gaped at the sight, but Eragon had already seen enough. He hurried them out of the hidden chamber and pushed the door closed, the deep breath he took of the stale air of the corridor barely refreshing.
"Who were they?" Wyrden murmured, even as he coughed. "Citizens of the city?"
"They were garbed in black," Arya stated, her expression tight. "The Priests of Helgrind?"
"It would follow with what Brom said," Eragon choked out. "The Brotherhood had taken over the city. It would make sense that they would want to remove the Priests in their feud."
"I knew that they were foul, but to cast aside the corpses of their fellow kin as though they were trash?" Glenwing scowled. The anger on his face was clear and was in stark contrast to the elf's usual jovial countenance. Ever since Eragon had met him he had never truly seen Glenwing this angered.
"There might be others," Arya said. At Eragon's look she clarified, "Hidden chambers."
"Aye," Eragon nodded. "I only saw this one because it whoever left it did not close it entirely."
"When this is over," Arya vowed, "We will tell Nasuada. Even if they are Priests of Helgrind, no one deserves such a burial."
He gave his group a few minutes to recuperate after the gruesome spectacle, though the entire time his gaze moved across the blank expanse of the walls surround him. How many hidden chambers were contained behind them, hiding the same ghastly view?
A shudder ran up his spine at the thought.
When they were recovered enough to continue, Eragon led them down the corridor towards the opening. The moment he crossed the threshold his wards triggered again, and Eragon paused. Arya and the others seemed to understand, freezing in place immediately.
"More spells of detection?" Arya whispered.
A few of his wards that searched for such things had been triggered, but that was not all; his palm itched, the Gedwëy Ignasia's warning of danger only adding to his trepidation. Glancing down, Eragon examined the floor carefully.
"Look," he said, pointing. "There are small holes spaced out on the floor."
"And in the ceiling," Wyrden added.
Eragon followed the elf's gaze and noted that they were of matching size and spacing. Whatever their machinations, it was plain their function.
"An obvious trap," Glenwing muttered. "But what do we do? If we backtrack now, we may run out of time before the siege starts."
"Can you disable them?" Arya asked him. She moved forward to stand next to him, taking care not to step further into the corridor then Eragon had.
"Possibly," Eragon murmured. "But, again, it may take too long. I have a better idea."
Arya sensed his meaning, her hand snapping out to grab his own that he reached across the opening. He was quicker, however, and the moment his hand extended past the archway amethyst spikes sprung from their home up and down the corridor and pinned his hand between them. His wards flared and he felt them immediately start to drain him, and Eragon grimaced.
Before he could react Támerlein arched through the thicket of spikes, the green-tinted adamantine blade shattering the crystals easily. Shards flew out and sliced at them, cutting through their warding, and Eragon winced as a few scored his hand.
That they could pass by his wards so easily was deeply concerning.
Arya drew back her blade and continued cutting through the now risen spikes. As she passed him Arya gave him a dark look, one that seemed more dangerous than the evil magicked amethyst spikes she carved through. He drew Brisingr and began cutting as well, Glenwing and Wyrden following carefully behind them as they went.
Ahead of them was another opening, a dark chamber that loomed over them in the distance. From the meager light he allowed his werelight to shine he could make out some sort of circular pattern on the floor, the polished stone stark against the dreary rock that made up the rest of the underground labyrinth. Neither he nor Arya dared to step into the chamber until they had cleared the last of the amethyst spikes, their blades ringing out loudly each time they swung.
Only when they were finished did Eragon peer closer into the odd chamber and examine the strange circle. Spaced around it were more amethyst, though these were unlike their spiked cousins; each was no larger than his fist and were housed in silver collars, spaced around the circle equally. One of the stones was shattered, and Eragon wondered at what had happened here as well.
On the far side of the chamber stood a black altar garbed in red and gold, two closed doors flanking it on each side. The left door stood slightly opened, but only darkness met his gaze past it.
"What sort of dark ritual was this used for?" Glenwing spat.
Eragon shook his head in answer.
A large wooden platform was centered in the circle bearing two cup-like protrusions on it. Scattered around the platform were shattered bits of stone, each jagged piece smooth and bearing odd lines. He stepped as close to the edge of the stone circle as he dared, allowing his werelight to cast its glare as far as it could reach.
Two crumpled carapace forms had been smashed to gory bits, no bigger than a werecat in their four-legged form. The deep rigged chest and narrow beak made what this creature once had been easily apparent.
Ra'zac.
The others stood next to him, and Glenwing cursed loudly. "I thought you killed all of them."
"So did I."
While Eragon was glad to see the old human foe dead, he could not help the chill that rushed up his spine. How many more eggs survived? We these the last two Ra'zac's?
The Priests of Helgrind worshipped the Ra'zac and Lethrblaka, and them hiding away two eggs made sense, but what had happened to the creatures? Was this the work of the Brotherhood?
Too many questions were coursing through his mind. A gentle hand on his shoulder snapped him out of his thoughts, and he turned his head towards Arya. The dark look she wore earlier was gone – though he knew it would make its appearance once again later- and in its place was a softer, more familiar one.
"We should go," Arya said.
He nodded at her solemnly. "Aye."
Glenwing and Wyrden had moved towards the two doors. The two elves must have examined their interiors while Eragon was stuck in his thoughts, for Wydren motioned for them. "This one has a hallway. Torches had been lit recently, but I dared not open the door on the other side."
"Good," Glenwing grimaced, "Because you really don't want to know what's in the other."
Eragon shot the elf a look, but his friend merely shook his head in reply. When they were all congregated before the door Eragon hefted Brisingr up before him. "Draw your weapons," he said to Glenwing and Wyrden. "I have a feeling we may need them soon."
The did as he asked, drawing their fine elven blades. With a nod he stepped into the broad corridor lightly, tracing his way down its length towards the archway. Despite his apprehension, the only thing that met them were more maze-like corridors and rooms. Unlike the previous ones, however, these were more tastefully furnished; tapestries and furniture lined their contents, and every so often he would see a desk weighed down by books.
This part of the underground had been frequently used by the looks of it, though the lack of their residents made Eragon weary.
He led the party onward, and whenever they were presented with more than one option he simply followed his instincts. On and on it went, until at last the passageway ended in a flight of stairs.
His palm itched, and Eragon stopped.
Faint footsteps echoed down the stairs, and Eragon extinguished his werelight. Darkness crept in around them, and his enhanced sight was barely even able to make out the passageway. He was glad that the other's sights were as good as his own, for they had not bumped into each other as Eragon feared.
Licks of light appeared from the top of the steps, and the sound of footsteps grew louder. By their cadence he knew there to be only two approaching, but he did not wish for them to be revealed just yet.
Arya crept up next to him, and Eragon leaned towards where he thought her pointed ear was. "Spell yourself invisible and tell the others to do the same."
He thought he saw her nod, though it was hard to tell through the darkness. Taking his own advice, he whispered the spell he used to bend light around his body, taking care to ensure that Brisingr was similarly hidden from sight.
Light began trickling down on the stairs, and from their flickering Eragon knew them to be from a torch. Whispers met his ears, though they were far too quiet for him to make out clearly.
Something brushed his back, the light touch tracing down his arm and grasping his hand. Fingers pulled at his own and their owner -Arya, most likely, he thought, - brought them up until they rested on a slender shoulder.
Understanding what she was doing, Eragon traced his hand up towards her neck and once again leaned in towards where he thought her ear was.
"I only hear two," Eragon whispered.
He felt her nod.
The approaching footsteps echoed loudly down the passageway, and Eragon was able to hear their words more clearly.
"-I swear! It sounded like bells ringing from below!"
"Your hearing things," another voice muttered. "Why'd you rope me into coming with you?"
The first voice, which was higher pitched than the second, answered. "You know what Brother Keres would say if we did not at least look! They started already, and you know I do not have the stomach for the work."
The second person grunted. "Do not let the others hear you say that. Besides, are not you the one who convinced me to join in the first place?"
Brother Keres, Eragon thought. A sudden rush of anger came over him, and he felt Arya's hand dig into his own tightly.
Eragon whispered, "If they leave we will follow them. If they do not, I will take the one on the right."
Arya nodded again, her grip loosening and falling from him. Eragon in turn traced his hand down until his rested on the back of her arm lightly. The first thing he saw on the staircase was the bottom of the two men's robe, and it did not take long for them to fully appear.
The one on the left stopped and held his torch out in front of him, squinting against its light. "I don't see anything," he said, his voice the higher of the two.
The second man took a few steps forward before grunting. "Best we see what it was, anyway. No telling if any of the priests still remain."
They bickered for a moment between them, but eventually they stepped forward, their torches held high above.
It would only be seconds before they were upon them, and Eragon squeezed Arya's arm lightly. The two of them dashed out, silent as the night, their blades piercing clumsily placed wards and sinking into flesh. Eragon's target - the one on the right- tried to scream, and Eragon held a gloved hand over the man's mouth.
It was over before it even began.
A quick glance told him that Arya had likewise killed her target, and Eragon began to drag his victim down the corridor and out of sight of the staircase. It was eerie seeing a corpse being carried in the air by itself, but it was only Arya similarly disposing of herself of her burden. When they rejoined the others it was to hear Glenwing and Wyrden whispering in the ancient language, scouring the ground of the freshly spilled blood.
He could not see the others, so it took some time to reorganize themselves, and Eragon once again led the way towards the stairs. Luckily, his wards did not alert him when he placed his foot lightly on the first stair. When he reached the top it was to find a freestanding wall covered in scrollwork and carvings, their motif somehow familiar to him. He peered around the wall and blinked against the bright light shining through rose-tinted glass, astonished at what he found.
Eragon may have never stepped foot in the cathedral at the center of Dras-Leona before, but there could be no other place they had found themselves in. The tall columns that held up a high vaulted ceiling gave it away easily, as did the few scattered pews that had been pushed aside carelessly. In the place stood a group of robed figures surrounding two others, one of which had been bound to a chair. There must have been at least thirty magicians in total, far more than Feinster and even Belatona long ago.
His blood began to boil at the sight; the ritualistic words the robed figures chanted was the same as Belatona and Feinster. They were chanting loudly, so Eragon turned and whispered to the others. "We need to stop this."
Something shimmered in the air to the left of him, and Wyrden's voice emanated quietly from its place. "They will likely be shielded by the same wards you encountered in Feinster and there are far more here."
"What do we do? By their chanting, I do not think we have much time." Glenwing asked to Eragon's right, another shimmer giving away his position.
Arya's voice came from in front of him, but unlike the other two her disturbance of light was less noticeable. "We have the element of surprise, and I suggest we not waste it."
Eragon nodded, realizing belatedly that the others could not see him. "I have an idea."
Glenwing and Wyrden did not understand, given their silence, but Arya clearly did. "Are you going to attempt the same thing here?" Her words had a hint of disapproval to them. "There were only three magicians before. It will require more energy than you can spare."
"I will manage." Eragon turned his head and peered at the slight distortion of air that had been hanging over his head ever since they left the Varden. Only Arya knew what was contained within, though when he first cast the spell she claimed she was not able to see anything.
It was the work of Tenga, and Eragon was glad that he took Saphira's advice to ask him. He had used the parchment the hermit had gifted him that night and was surprised when Tenga immediately offered a solution; a spell that, when cast, would hide anything placed within inside in a pocket of space folded over on itself. It would follow behind the caster at a fixed distance and would be almost impossible to see, but Tenga advised him that it would be sharper than any sword.
He was glad that Tenga had told him to read his journal, for if Eragon did not, he would have never understood the meaning behind the spell.
Taking the risk, Eragon reached out his mind and brushed against Glaedr's, glad when the elder dragon quickly lowered his barriers.
Greetings, Skörungr.
Glaedr-elda.
The dragon gently nudged his consciousness, and Eragon let the dragon flow deeper into the recess of his mind. Glaedr searched quickly through his recent memories, the ancient dragon's examination no more than a gentle breeze that was over as quickly as it started.
I have kept my mind hidden as asked. You and your group managed your task admirably, Skörungr. What need have you of me?
Only your strength and wisdom.
Glaedr rumbled in his mind, and Eragon got the sensation that the dragon was pleased by the praise. You have it.
He let his gratitude flow across their connection and felt Glaedr peer through his own eyes. It was similar to when Saphira did it, and Eragon suddenly felt a stinging pain at the distance between them. Glaedr wisely did not acknowledge the feelings flowing through Eragon, only gently directing his mind back to the task at hand.
The others were silent before him, but he had the feeling that they were growing restless at his lack of directions. "Try to reach the center," he told them, "but leave the warded magicians to me."
A quiet murmur of understanding reached his ears, and Eragon said, "Go, and be careful."
The air shimmered before him as they left, and Eragon took a deep breath. He cast his mind back the fight at Feinster, recalling the wordless spell he had used against the magicians before. It was difficult, he knew from his reading, to replicate a complicated wordless spell completely from memory alone; too many variables changed between now and then, and even his intent was slightly different, but it helped him picture his need. Luckily for them, it looked as if only half of the magicians were required for the ritual, for the others who did not chant with their brethren merely remained silent in their vigil.
While he was preparing, some part of him was aware of the situation around him. Arya and the others had crept towards the circle of red-robed magicians, and a sudden shout of alarm came from one of the ritualists when he keeled over, an artfully crafted elven blade suddenly appearing through his chest.
Two others were killed in the same manner, and at the same time the three elves dropped their concealment spell. Robed figures rushed at the elves immediately, even before a haunting voice shouted, "Stop them! They cannot interfere with our work!"
Sounds of clashing blades reached Eragon's ears as he concentrated, and the chanting of the magicians grew to a feverous pitch. Grimacing, Eragon reached down into the depths of his own mind, pulling at the magic that was contained within him. Wordlessly, Glaedr poured in his own strength into Eragon's intention.
Eragon directed his magic towards his intention, forcing the world around him to meet his will. Unexpectedly, there was a large resistance to his effort, but whatever tried to stop him was no match for the combined strength of a dragon and Rider.
The sound of wards collapsing was reminiscent of his accomplishment at Feinster; a loud pop echoed through the cathedral and sounds of alarm rose from the others. Eragon stumbled from the sudden release of energy, but Glaedr was there, channeling more strength into his body.
"Heresy!" A booming voice shouted. "You dare interfere with the work of Karth! We will show you the truth, and release upon you your devastation!"
Arya and the others were carving through the robed figures, and it was then that Eragon realized that his spell did more than he intended. He had wanted to merely strip the wards from the magician's part of the ritual, but by the sprays of blood and collapse of bodies he knew that his spell had instead removed all of the Brotherhoods wards.
Those that were not immediately fighting were quick to recast their wards, but that could not save them from the ferocity of three elf warriors. Eragon took a haggard breath and stepped forward, his movement caught by the man still standing within the ritual circle.
"You!" the man said, sneering at him. "Eragon Shadeslayer, I presume."
Despite speaking no louder than a normal conversational tone, the words seemed to reverberate around Eragon as though the man had shouted. The man – Keres, Eragon guessed- was endowed with a similar red robe as to the others, and the only remarkable thing about him was he the engraved golden-linked chain about his neck.
Unliked the other robed figures, Keres's hood laid flat upon his back. Eragon could see that the man was easily into his fourth decade of life by the leathered skin he bore, though it was nearly as pale as milk. Keres head was clean shaven, as was his face, and Eragon was also able to see that the man did not have any eyebrows either.
"Twice now you have interfered, Rider, with our most holy of rites. That you dare step into our midst is a blessing that only Karth could have foreseen," Keres said, the malice in his words washing over Eragon like oil. "Two hundred years ago you prevented Karth from fulfilling his destiny, but we have succeeded in his place. Our God walks with us, and the only thing we have left to accomplish is to see Karth's revenge fulfilled."
Two magicians rushed Eragon, and Brisingr flashed without conscious thought. His attackers fell around him, and Keres scowled. "Nothing can stop us, Rider. Not even you. Galbatorix will have to find another Rider for your dragon, unfortunately, as your death is already foretold."
A fury unlike anything Eragon had ever felt before came over him, amplified by Glaedr's own mind still mingled with his own. The anger that flowed into Eragon from Glaedr seemed to come from a deeper part of the dragon, one similar to the feeling that Eragon had felt whenever Saphira cast her magic. He could barely ponder it before Glaedr growled in his mind. Relieve this miscreant of his head, Skörungr, and show him the rage of my kin.
Eragon strode forward slowly, his arm that held Brisingr trembling in his anger. "You turned Thorn into a Shade," Eragon stated. The fury that had risen gave way to a cold wash of steel, the clarity of battle a familiar comfort. "All of you will pay for your crimes, but not before you tell me."
Arya and the others were still fighting, the clashing of swords a constant drum. The magicians were skilled swordsmen in their own right, though were unable to keep up with the elves. Instead, they relied on magic, stronger than any human magicians Eragon had seen before. The swarmed the elves and kept them on the defensive, more coordinated than many soldiers Eragon had seen in battle before.
"And what would that be?" Keres smiled.
"Why." Eragon spat. "Why you would do this. Why Galbatorix would allow you."
Keres continued to smile at him, and by some unspoken command three more robed figures swarmed Eragon. Two were men but the third was a woman, though it hardly gave Eragon pause. All three fell just as quickly as the first two, the spell they had managed to cast before their deaths stopped cold against his wards. Glaedr channeled more energy into Eragon, the supply a seemingly endless pit of strength.
By some luck Glenwing had managed to down one of the ritualists, which only caused the remaining others to redouble their efforts. Eragon rushed forward, his blade striking out against the wave of cultists that came forward to meet him. Keres held up a hand, and a shadowy light shot at Eragon.
Not knowing what manner of magic the cult leader used, Eragon instead dodged the flash of light. A multitude of minds slammed into his mental barriers, seeking to immobilize Eragon in place. Eragon gritted his teeth against the assault, and Glaedr's own consciousness rushed forward. Their minds intertwined in a way that Eragon had only ever done with Saphira, the dragon's deep-seated anger stroking the flames of his own fury once again.
Together they pushed back, sharping their minds and piercing into the consciousness of a handful of cultists. All the while his blade swung, cleaving through robed figures as they struggled to deflect his blows. Their seemed to be no end to the enemy, and as Eragon twisted around under the blade of one such cultist he could see more robed figures storming in from some hidden part of the cathedral.
Many of the Brotherhood brandished swords and long knives, but a few seemed to have instead grabbed the nearest object that could be used at a weapon. Brisingr cut through wooden clubs and metal candlesticks alike, never slowing in its path.
Keres, all the while, remained sequestered inside the ritual, smiling at the carnage taking place before him.
Eragon fought endlessly, only ever catching glimpses of the others; Arya was a sight, her emerald blade a blur as she decapitated two men in a single swing. Glenwing was fending off three cultists at once, his expression intense and counter to its usual jovial stature. Wyrden skillfully wove through the robed figures with a grace only befitting an elf, his movements sure and precise.
Something shifted in the air, and both the cultists and Eragon's party paused.
Bright flashes of light swarmed around Keres inside the circle, and Eragon realized that they had sprung their ambush too late. Keres laughed and splayed his hands. "Welcome, my friends! Come, and fulfill your end of the bargain, spirits: I give to you flesh and bone, so that you may remake this world in your image!"
No.
Not again.
Dozens of shifting orbs of light moved to hover over Keres, and the cultist laughed in delight again. Eragon was too far to stop what was coming next; at least twenty feet and a score of robed figures separated Eragon and Keres, and for the first time in centuries Eragon felt overwhelmed by the odds against him.
It would be impossible to stop the creation of a Shade, and the destruction it would lay upon Dras-Leona would leave the city in the same state as Belatona.
The deepest part of himself screamed to stop what he knew would happen, and so Eragon did what he swore he would never do again. The spell slipped silently passed his lips, his mind chanting the incantation endlessly.
The wording to the gramarye may have been lost to time, but the name it had been given was forever carved into Eragon's soul: Istalrí abr Freohr.
The Flames of Death.
Black fire spilled from Eragon's erect palm, seeping over the ground towards the cultists. Many tried to extinguish the flames with both magic and stomping feet, but both were consumed in the ever-burning flame. Any that touched its edges were consumed, the dark magic tearing away equally at both flesh and wards. The flames gave off no heat nor smoke to the surrounding air as they burned, and Eragon felt a part of him break at what he was unleashing.
Men screamed, and Eragon directed the flames with but a thought. It spread across the ground quickly, consuming the stone beneath it as it raced towards the frightened cultists.
Eragon never learned when the spell had been created, or by whom, but he had seen its capabilities during his time in the east. Both forests and buildings had been destroyed by the flames, leaving behind ground that could never again be habitable.
Thousands had perished in the black flame. When Eragon and the elves of Isathdell – the elves to the east he had met – had finally put an end to those who cast it, they had all sworn to never allow the dark magic to become known of again.
Scores of robed ritualists were consumed in the flames, and Eragon kept feeding it more of his strength. Cries of pain and anguish rose around him, and when the Istalrí abr Freohr neared Arya he quickly redirected the magic towards her foe. The ritualist fell before her, and Arya turned her head and followed the dark flames back to its originator.
He could not decipher the expression she bore, but Arya regained herself quickly and moved away from the flames. Glenwing and Wyrden both separated from their foe, watching with awe-stricken expressions as the Istalrí abr Freohr consumed all in its path.
All except Keres and the bound man inside the circle. The flames licked at the edges of the ritual, eager to consume all in its path, but one of the shifting orbs of light over Keres's head had separated from the others. It stood alone against the black flames, holding them at bay. The flames spread around the circle, encompassing it entirely. A wall of black fire stood between Eragon and Keres,
The ritualists who had been chanting their incantation were dead, but their work had been completed. Keres spoke, and at his words the remaining spirits darted in towards the bound man. He convulsed the moment they touched his skin, and his mouth opened in a soundless scream. Black lines snaked their way through the quickly paling skin, and a thrum of magic echoed throughout the cathedral.
A Shade had been born.
Keres laughed.
The Shade stood, his crimson hair stark against the pale color of his skin. Two maroon eyes opened, and the Shade smiled. "Our name is Varaug. Fear us."
The spirit that stood alone against Eragon's flames pulsed brightly once and then dimmed. Whatever magic it wielded against the Istalrí abr Freohr had faded, and the flames eagerly jumped forward and swallowed the spirit whole.
Eragon did not know if the spirit had died, or if such a thing was even possible, but it did not emerge from the black flames. Varaug stared at the black flames with interest and stepped forward, touching the Istalrí abr Freohr with a pale finger. Unlike the lone spirit, the flames did not seem to harm the Shade, and Eragon felt a pit of dread open in his stomach.
"Istalrí abr Freohr," Varaug smirked. "The Flames of Death! We have not seen their like since the Burning of the Old Ones."
The whole time the black flames had been consuming his enemy, Eragon had kept up a steady chant of the incantation in his mind. He stopped his chant and instead spoke aloud the words to end the Istalrí abr Freohr, knowing full well what would come next: The wall of black fire collapsed in on itself and rushed towards Eragon, and he grimaced as pain erupted from his Gedwëy Ignasia.
It was unlike any pain he had bourn before; the flames threatened to consume his very being as they flowed into his palm, every one of his nerve endings in his body screaming out in agony.
A pain filled scream spilled from his lips as Eragon was driven to his knees.
Arya cried out for him, but she was interrupted when Varaug darted forward towards her. The Shade bore no weapon and instead struck out with a closed fist, too fast for anyone to block.
Except Wyrden. The elf suddenly appeared before Arya and attempted to stall the strike with his blade, but not even the elven steel could stand under a Shade's onslaught. His blade snapped with a resounding clang, and the Shade's fist barely slowed. Wyrden's wards flashed and stopped the strike inches from his chest.
A moment later there was a loud pop as his wards collapsed, and Wyrden went flying ten feet backwards. Eragon could not see whether the elf was dead or not, but his vision danced and prevented him from looking.
"You shall die," Varaug growled.
Glenwing swung his blade, and the Shade retreated under his onslaught. Arya attempted to help Eragon to his feet, but he muttered, "No. Help Glenwing."
Arya stilled for a second before nodding, Támerlein held arcing through the air towards the Shade.
Glaedr's presence had receded from his when he reversed the spell, and the dragon's mind came crashing into his own.
Eragon, Glaedr murmured, channeling energy back into him. On your feet, Rider.
The energy rejuvenated him and eased the tightness of his muscles, but it could not stop the tremors that ran through his body from using the Istalrí abr Freohr. Still, Eragon did as his former master commanded, moving to his feet despite the pain that coursed through him.
A powerful mind, one that threatened to overwhelm him, slammed into Eragon. Unlike the efforts of the cultists before this one was strong enough to immobilize him. Both Glenwing and Arya were similarly affected, their bodies freezing mid strike. Varaug was stronger than Durza, and in Eragon's weakened state he was unable to fight off the Shade's might.
Glaedr, able to perceive all that was happening both through Eragon's mind and his own Eldunarí, growled.
You will not harm these hatchlings!
The dragon's mind drove towards Varaug, sweeping between the Shade and the others. Whatever Glaedr was doing to isolate the Shade was working, and Eragon felt his limbs suddenly respond to his commands. Glenwing and Arya were freed as well, and they showed no hint if they were surprised at Glaedr's sudden appearance.
The Shade cried out in anger. Arya swung Támerlein at Varaug at the same time Glenwing struck, forcing the Shade onto the defensive.
Hefting Brisingr up, Eragon made to join the others, but his eyes caught on the retreating figure of Keres.
I will not let you escape, Eragon swore in his mind, the same cold fury from earlier rising.
All of the Brotherhood had been felled by Eragon's spell, and Keres seemed to realize that he would not be able to control Varaug as he previously thought. The cultist leader moved towards one of the numerous doors housed inside the cathedral, and Eragon was halfway there when he suddenly remember the Shade behind him.
Glaedr would not be able to help the others if he left. When he glanced back towards the others he was surprised to see Wyrden on his feet, the elf weaving his blows in between Glenwing and Arya. The Shade was agile and able to dodge their blows, though his movements grew sluggish as the fight went on. Even so, Varaug was striking out against the three elves, forcing them back with wild fists and powerful blows.
Damn it.
Thinking quickly, Eragon cast his mind towards Arya, waiting until she lowered her barriers for him.
When she did she did not speak, and Eragon instead told her of his plan.
Her eyes met him as she swung Támerlein again. Go, she said. We will be fine.
Part of him wanted to doubt her words, but he trusted Arya and her abilities too much to give it any merit.
Eragon modified the spell containing Glaedr's Eldunarí, choosing instead to have it latch onto Arya. The distortion of space behind him wavered briefly before darting towards her, and only when Eragon was sure that it worked did he turn around and run after Keres.
He would not let the man escape. Not after what he had done to Thorn.
Keres had disappeared into one of the doors, and Eragon blew it off the hinge with a shout. "Jierda!"
The door had not even completely fallen before he was in the room, his feet carrying him swiftly as his eyes took in his new surroundings. He was in a corridor that led to another door, and similarly Eragon shouted a spell to clear his way. When harsh light met his eyes Eragon blinked quickly, and he was surprised to find himself suddenly outside.
He was in a courtyard besides the cathedral, surrounded on all sides by a tall metal fence. In the distance he saw a figure running towards a lone gate, and Eragon hammered his feet against the stone. He was lucky that it was still early in the morning; the rising sun had barely cleared the horizon, and he knew that any moment now the siege would begin.
Keres had gained some distance during Eragon's initial pause, but the cultist leader was not able to escape him. In moments Eragon had bound across the courtyard and was on Keres's heels. Keres turned and shouted a spell that washed uselessly over Eragon's wards, and in return Eragon shouted, "Blöthr!"
Unlike him, Keres's wards were no match for Eragon's strength. Fueled both by his anger and Glaedr's recent donation of energy, Keres froze in place, his body held suspended mid stride.
Eragon released the spell and Keres collapsed onto the ground. The cultist quickly regained himself and tried to stand, but another spell halted his movements. Keres glared up at him, pure hatred in his eyes, unable to speak.
Brisingr trembled in his hands, and for a moment Eragon wanted nothing more than to lop Keres's head clean off, but something inside him made him pause.
Instead, Eragon altered his spell and allowed Keres to speak.
"You will tell me everything," Eragon commanded.
Keres spat on the ground, and despite his situation there was not an ounce of fear in the man's eyes. "You slaughtered my brethren, Shadeslayer. So long as there is breath in my body I will not tell you anything. May Karth take your soul-"
Eragon had heard enough, and with the back of his hand he struck Keres across the face. The cultist leader cried out in pain but was unable to so much as flinch from Eragon's spell. His face bloodied, Keres sneered at him. "You have failed, Rider, while we have not. Our True God is here, and even in death we will rejoice in His magnificence!"
Eragon scowled and drove his mind towards Keres, piercing the man's shielded mind with ease. Keres stiffened as much as he could under Eragon's spell and began to shout. Squeezing with his mind, Eragon took control of Keres body and forced him to stop. Then, using a technique taught to him by the Order, Eragon twisted Keres mind and rendered the man completely unconscious.
Eragon released the spell, and Keres slumped over. He wanted nothing more than to use the opportunity to search Keres mind for the answers he needed, but the reminder of the Shade left behind with Arya and the others made him instead heft Keres's limp body up and onto his shoulder.
He retraced his steps quickly, his heart pounding at what he mind find inside.
Instead of his worst fear, when Eragon walked through the door he had blown apart in his haste he found something that made him sigh with relief.
Glenwing was half supporting Arya, but both of them seemed unharmed. Wyrden was kneeling on the ground beside them cradling a broken arm, his face pale and haggard. Glenwing was the first to catch sight of him and smiled, motioning with his head at Arya towards Eragon.
Moving quickly towards the others, Eragon dumped Keres's limp body on the floor and reached for Arya. She moved in kind, hobbling out of Glenwing's hold and collapsing into Eragon. He cradled the back of her head even as he supported her weight, the relief that she was alive filling Eragon and ridding him of his previous anger. He squeezed her tightly as he fought back his tears, both for her and for what they had accomplished.
Arya, as always, understood him, holding Eragon to her just as tightly. He breathed in the familiar crushed pine-needle scent that she gave off, the smell calming his mind and helping to ease his frayed nerves.
Glenwing cleared his throat and the sound made Eragon open his eyes, but for once the elf did not tease them. Instead he met Eragon's gaze and nodded before moving over towards Wyrden. Glenwing murmured spells of healing on the elf, and Eragon finally pulled back from Arya.
She nearly collapsed, a grimace of pain flashing across her features. Eragon carted his gaze over her figure and found a large gash in her thigh, blood slowly seeping from its edges. Helping her to the ground Eragon held his hand over the wound and whispered, "Waíse heil."
As the skin stitched over Eragon glanced up and met her gaze, unable to help the slight smile that broke across his features. "What happened?" he whispered.
"We killed him…" Arya whispered in turn, sounding surprised. "We killed him, and we did not die. So few have ever killed a Shade and lived."
"Aye," Eragon weakly smiled at her.
She glanced up at him, her gaze filling with wonder. "How did… You fought against a Shade and won. Twice."
"I almost died the first time," Eragon pointed out. "The second I was rather lucky."
She shook her head at him. "Luck had nothing to do with it."
Her wound had healed over, and Eragon gently wiped away the blood from her leg. "Who offered the final blow?"
Arya seemed reluctant to answer, her gaze shifting away from him. "I did."
"Now I shall have to call you Shadeslayer."
"We are both Shadeslayer's, Eragon. And so much more."
A quick glance towards Glenwing and Wyrden assured him that they were not being watched, and Eragon darted in and kissed her firmly upon the lips.
Oh man, this chapter was hard to finish. A lot of credit goes toward CP for both some dialogue and descriptions that I needed to borrow.
I thought of having Eragon use his newly acquired spell, but that might have to wait for a minute. It would have worked here, but the problem I saw was that it would work too well, if you get what I mean, and Eragon at this point isn't confident enough in his ability to wield it without more practice. Such a spell should be saved for when needed the most, and as you saw with the previous chapter it can leave him rather drained.
Anyway, I hope you guys understand how much I appreciate your waiting, and I'm sad to say that it might take me a while again to upload the next chapter. I work on this story when I can, but my days are pretty busy and when I get done the last thing I want to do is write even more.
But, like I always said, I'm determined to never abandon this story.
So thank you all for your reviews, and I hope you enjoyed this chapter!
P.S. Who understands the what I was referencing with the Flames of Death spell? I'll give you a hint: it's in an anime.
Ancient Language translations (Old Norse):
Italics represents the Old Norse translation; Bold represents Ancient Language.
Fyrir Neðan – Below Something. Fallen One
Du vættr Bani – The Bane of Spirits: Name of the Brotherhood
Vættr - being, creature; supernatural being, spirit
Bani - death; bane, cause of death, slayer
Skörungr – leader, notable or outstanding person, paragon. Title for Leader of the Riders; given as an honor.
Guliä waíse medh ono, Skörungr - Luck be with you, Leader.
Grœnn – green. Verdant. More accurately, color of the forest.
Grœnnskular – Verdant-scales.
Lengr – For a longer time
Ginnung – space, void
Lengr-Ginnug – Spacetime Tenga's definition of Space and Time as one concept
Istalrí - Flames
Freohr – Death
Blöthr – Stop, halt.