"Ajihad wants to see you immediately." A kid came rushing up to Harry. He was at the west tunnel entrance to Farthen Dûr, watching the Dwarves work on elaborate fortifications blocking off the massive corridor. They'd built twenty foot high walls with battlements for spearmen and archers. Holes in the ceiling of the tunnel were open for defenders to drop nasty surprises on Urgal heads. Harry spotted cauldrons of tar ready to dump on attackers.

It made the killing curse seem rather kind.

"Jarsha," Harry said. "Where is he – in his office?"

The kid shook his head. "Tronjheim's north gate. It seemed very urgent."

Harry nodded. "Thanks. I'll head over. Are you coming back?"

Jarsha bobbed his head. Harry indicated for the runner to join him on the saddle of his borrowed horse on the way back. Jarsha clung to his waist as they galloped across the giant open field to the dwarven city. In no time, they were stopping at an impressive tent with a couple of guards in front beckoning them in.

"Enter," Ajihad boomed.

Harry stepped inside. Arya and Brom were already present, as was Orik, the twins (yuck), a few humans he didn't recognize, and a dwarf wearing a crown with a massive warhammer at his hip.

"King Hrothgar," Harry guessed, surprised.

The dwarf gave a shallow nod.

"We are honored," Ajihad said. His expression said that Harry had better show Hrothgar more deference than he did to him.

"Harry, you have not met Jörmundur, my second in command and the Varden's commander. These are my generals," he introduced the other four men. "We just received critical intelligence. Eragon should be on his way soon. This was recovered by a scout who expired moments after delivering it from deep in the tunnels beneath the Beors." He flattened a scrap of half burnt paper on his table.

Harry listened for the important points: Ithrö Zhâda was probably the Urgals' reference to Orthíad, the Tronjheim before Tronjheim, an abandoned city to the northeast, which was exactly where the Urgals had been congregating according to aerial reconnaissance. Ithrö Zhâda was Urgalish for Rebel's Downfall, which felt a bit obvious to Harry, but maybe they weren't very creative.

Command of the army was given over to some Urgal, under Durza, under Galbatorix.

"So the Shade is here, commanding the invasion?" Harry clarified.

"Unless you think there is ambiguity in the missive," Brom said. Arya glanced at Harry and held his gaze for a moment.

"It will likely be you three and Eragon's task to deal with him," Ajihad said. "The most concerning part of all of this is how they will arrive. There is a proper tunnel that connects Tronjheim to Orthíad, but we do not think they will use it. He gestured to King Hrothgar and bowed his head."

The King had a dwarvish accent yet immaculate grammar. "The Urgals are coming through the tunnels beneath. They may emerge wherever they please, anywhere across the Beors if they can navigate well enough. Even beneath our very feet."

"Ajihad and the others request your presence immediately," Jarsha rushed.

Eragon and Murtagh glanced at each other. "Think he wants you too?" Eragon asked.

Jarsha's brows met. "Ajihad said nothing of bringing others. Saphira is expected as well."

Murtagh shrugged and set down his sword. Eragon had been growing accustomed to the armor by sparring with him. Murtagh had to be getting sick of being battered around. Eragon won every bout by a mile, and Murtagh had trouble fending off even Eragon's probing strikes. Even with dulled blades, he had to be extremely careful not to accidentally shatter his half-brother's bones. By unspoken agreement, Eragon had not been adding his wins to the tally.

"Tell me if it's interesting." Murtagh sheathed his sword and picked up a history book the dwarves had brought him and went back to reading, rubbing his bruises.

Eragon mounted Saphira and they coasted off the top of the dragonhold. Saphira was wearing the dragon armor the dwarves had given her, perhaps her new most favorite possession. Though she was heavier wearing it, Eragon agreed she looked terrifying wearing the massive set of plate.

The balconies were all empty on his way down. He expected it of the upper levels. As he got lower though, the emptiness became unsettling. Tronjheim had been hollowed out, its heart gone away to the valleys to the south.

A few stragglers passed them by headed in the opposite direction. Saphira coasted under the massive cathedral-like interior of Tronjheim, the dragonhold and Isidar Mithrim hardly spots of color at the top of the endless column of balconies overlooking Vol Turin.

A woman shouted below them. "Argetlam! Argetlam! Please!"

He could sense Saphira's intention to ignore her. Eragon reminded her what Brom and Harry had both tried to tell them.

The Varden is watching, he thought. Everything we do works for or against our reputation. Will we be known as the dragon and Rider who do not care for the ordinary folk? I don't want to be; I am an ordinary folk. You are what makes me special.

Saphira relented and landed to see what the bleating sheep wanted from the dragon. Eragon shook his head ruefully and more carefully separated his thoughts from hers.

It was a harried looking woman carrying a bundle in her arms.

"Thank you," she said desperately. "Please, Argetlam. Bless the child." She turned the bundle towards Eragon, revealing a squalling baby.

"She has nothing and no one," the woman begged. "I am all she has. Please, bless the child."

Eragon struggled for a moment. Bless the child? Did she want him to pray over her? Or could he do something more meaningful, more potent to ensure the baby had a chance. She was clearly desperate to have stayed behind during the evacuation.

You have been standing silently for a while, Saphira broke through his thoughts.

Eragon shook himself back into the present. He took off his gloves and laid a hand on the baby's brow, devising the right words for the job. He was aware that he was supposed to be elsewhere at the moment.

"Atra gülai un ilian tauthr ono un atra ono waíse skölir frá rauthr," he murmured. May luck and happiness follow you and may you be shielded from harm.

He accompanied the words with heartfelt well wishes, imparting them with some flavor of the magic Harry might cast, telling a story. Whatever happens little one, have a good life.

Eragon fed as much power into the blessing as he could afford with battle in the near, uncertain future.

In the empty main interchange at the center of Tronjheim, they stood alone. "Hopefully her life will be better than ours," Eragon smiled ruefully.

Saphira bent over the baby. The woman's expression showed fear for a moment before she touched her snout to the tiny human's forehead. She exhaled and stepped back.

A star-shaped silvery spot marked the baby's brow. Eragon touched his Gedwey Ignasia. "Safe to say she will be exceptional," Eragon added.

The patter of running footsteps approached from the north. It was Harry, wearing new robes and looking relieved to have found him. Durza's sword hung at his hip. "The whole war council is waiting for you," he panted. "We gotta go. Merlin. They make armor for dragons?!"

The woman turned to Harry. "The wizard," she realized. She offered the baby to him. "Bless her, please. She has no one and nothing. Bless her, wizard."

Harry stopped short. Eragon saw him go through the same bewilderment as him before stepping forward. "Her parents died?" he asked.

The woman nodded. "I am all she has."

Harry was still for a moment, looking down at the baby with the strangest expression. Sympathy?

He put his palm on her forehead as well and marshaled his thoughts. "Find happiness, and let things work out for you," he said quietly. Eragon felt the world sigh around them. Goosebumps raised on his arms as some ethereal force visited them for half a moment before it was gone.

"Now go!" Eragon scolded the woman. "Rejoin the evacuees. Be safe, both of you."

The woman bowed and thanked the three of them profusely, then headed to the south and away from the gathering storm.

Harry gestured for Eragon to wait a moment. "Remember when I left to go save Arya, I left you two doses of Wiggenweld?"

Eragon nodded.

"Do you still have them?"

Eragon climbed up into Saphira's saddle and rummaged through his bag for the medkit. He unfolded it and held up the pair of precious green vials. Eragon felt Saphira's conflicting feelings on the potions.

Harry took a deep breath. "I need one back."

Eragon blinked. "You used them all on Arya?"

"She needed five," Harry said.

"You had six," Eragon remembered.

"Yeah. The last one went to someone who needed it more." Harry looked up at Eragon. The wizard usually did not ask or need anything from anyone. It felt odd. Out of character.

Eragon leaned down to place one of the vials in Harry's hand.

"It's good you have one left," Harry said, fingers closing around the vial. "Just in case, right?"

Eragon swallowed. "Just in case. Now, didn't you say they were waiting for us?"

He nodded.

"Then let's go."

When Harry arrived back at the command tent with Eragon, Ajihad's generals were arguing.

"Giving the beasts a clear path to attack is madness," one insisted loudly. "If we funnel them and as you suspect, they are being controlled by Galbatorix somehow, in the numbers we have, they will overrun us no matter our fortifications. A clear path channels their force to meet us while organized and at full strength."

"If we don't lure them in, we will have no idea where they'll emerge," another cut across. Harry's map weighed heavily in his pocket. "Our warning will be their forces pouring out of the ground like insects, running behind our lines."

"Let them come at us split into pieces and disoriented by the maze beneath," the first insisted.

"They may emerge beneath Tronjheim!" the second insisted. "They may take the dwarves' city from within and hold us out."

Eragon cleared his throat. Ajihad looked to him. "Eragon ?"

"Time is on our side," Eragon told the generals. Harry thought he did an admirable job making himself heard in a room full of adults. His voice didn't waver or break, and he projected knowledgeability.

"We have unlimited food. If they take Tronjheim, so what? It's evacuated, we can lay siege to it and starve them out. I'm sure dwarves know more secret passages and back entrances than the Urgals could possibly guard, we could infiltrate and harass them from within. They'd be making a huge mistake to try and hold a gigantic dwarven city from dwarves themselves."

"We are not allowing my city to be taken by Urgals," King Hrothgar announced flatly.

Harry supported Eragon's argument. "We can track the Urgals better than you think in the tunnels." He produced his magic map and flattened it on the table. Gasps and reactions of awe followed from around the circle as the generals and King Hrothgar got a look at the moving names. The Twins took special interest. Harry swallowed his dislike and continued.

"If you funnel them into us, that's it. It's a straight-up brawl. We can do whatever fortifications you want over the tunnels (and you still just have to pray they take the bait) but the result will be a head on collision between our forces. Nobody wants to fight giant horned men head on. It's fair to say they have the advantage in that case, right?"

Ajihad nodded, troubled.

"So keeping them trapped below, in the darkness, splitting them up in the tunnels, keeping track of the clumps and squads and repositioning whenever enough of them coalesce that they threaten to break through and being prepared to meet disoriented, fragmented forces, wouldn't that work?"

Hrothgar rubbed his thumb over his warhammer's handle.

"Remember that every day they're stuck down there eats into their supplies, while we will have home turf, beds to sleep in, fresh food and water, and good morale," Eragon added. "Saphira and I can be anywhere quickly to plug up breaches."

Ajihad looked to Hrothgar. "I'm inclined to side with them, your majesty. What are your thoughts?"

"I dislike giving up the ability to set the battlefield," King Hrothgar said. "There will be no fortifications. Urgals will emerge fragmented, but they will emerge onto even fighting ground. No raised archer bulwarks, no anti-cavalry stakes, no pitch cauldrons, nothing but a fair fight. I dislike allowing them to pick and choose where to come from."

Harry raised his hand. Hrothgar glanced at him and ignored the raised hand.

"I know they will not have perfect bearings," the dwarf king allowed, "nevertheless, the risk is too great of them doing as Jormundur says, holding us out of Tronjheim."

Harry chewed his lip, thinking. The tunnels were a maze…but how to ensure the Urgals got lost? Unpleasant memories resurfaced.

"Suppose we could be certain they'd get lost?" he voiced.

Hrothgar ground his chin into his palm. "The tunnels beneath the Beors are complex because they were dug over thousands of years by dozens of factions for different purposes. They are not an actual maze. There is no guarantee the Urgals won't find a way through. They are no animals."

"Humor me," Harry insisted. "If we could be certain."

"How would we be certain?" King Hrothgar asked. "I'm not going to risk Tronjheim without guarantees."

Harry wiggled his fingers. "Trust me. I've got a few nasty ideas."

"Attempt them before they reach us," Hrothgar ordered. "Report back, and we will revise our plans. Our remaining time is measured in hours."

He nodded. "The tunnels have to be evacuated. Completely." Harry tapped the map. "Anyone down there is going to have a bad time."

Hrothgar nodded. "I will put mine knurlan on it. Most are gone already. Those that remained are the stubborn ones."

Harry thanked him and turned to Ajihad, Arya, Brom, Eragon, and reluctantly, the Twins. "I have an idea for our magicians. When we're done here, if the magic casters and Ajihad can meet with me, we need to talk about it."

Ajihad indicated that they'd speak afterwards. The rest of the meeting was pretty dry. Jormundur and the other generals spoke with King Hrothgar about where dwarves would augment their battalions, how they would alter their fortifications with new knowledge of where the Urgals were coming from, where they would funnel them to if Harry's plans didn't work out, boring stuff like that.

Harry could not contemplate battalion compositions without wondering when Oromis was going to send his reply to his request for elf troops.

After what felt like ages of sitting around waiting, Ajihad's generals dispersed to carry out his orders. Ajihad dismissed his guards and after only a moment of hesitation, so did King Hrothgar. Harry made an effort to swallow his dislike of the Twins.

"I'm not an expert at this, but as far as I understand, magicians hide in the middle of the army to stay close to the people they're warding, to cut down on distance tax. Correct?"

The magicians in the room nodded.

Harry glanced at Brom and Eragon. "There is a spell I know that can hide things perfectly – if you can find someone to trust with the secret. It can be in plain sight, and it works on hiding an idea. Mostly, it's used to hide places. But it can hide any idea, if you don't have to claw the knowledge away from too many people who already know it. How many people really know the names of all the magicians in Du Vrangr Gata?"

The Twins exchanged looks with Ajihad. "All are known to some, only we are known to all," one said.

Harry thought so. "Suppose we hid this secret; Trianna is a magician of Du Vrangr Gata."

Ajihad gestured for him to continue.

"She'd be untouchable," Harry described. "Or at least nobody would have a reason to target her. The enemy magicians wouldn't be able to find her because nobody who hasn't been told the secret can even hold the idea in their head that she's a magician. At most, they can be confused that there's a woman in the middle of the battalion."

"The rules get fuzzier from there. The spell is weird in what it protects. You can't just blow up the whole army to try and kill the magician. The more you try to work around it, the less you can affect the target. But incidental damage still works, as far as I understand."

Harry saw understanding in Brom's unholy, gleeful smile.

"Our magicians would be free to cast offensive magic with impunity, without fear of retaliation. Our own troops would be protected not just by your magic, but by ours as well, with no fear that a magician going down means the death of a large portion of our men," Brom realized. "This is revolutionary."

He looked around the tent, suddenly solemn. "This goes no farther than this tent. This is the sort of advantage that turns wars."

Harry nodded. "I need to meet with them, and we need to pick a secret keeper. Ajihad is the best pick, I think. Nobody will be able to know the secret unless he reveals it. Even people who know it can't reveal it to others unless they also become secret keepers if Ajihad is dead. Anybody who needs to work with Du Vrangr Gata will have to speak with him, or else live with the Varden's magicians being suddenly mysterious and faceless."

Ajihad had no complaints. "Make it happen," he commanded the Twins. "Everyone who will fight must attend."

It was remarkable how quickly things could happen when enemies were headed for you, Harry thought. Within the hour, all of Du Vrangr Gata was assembled in Ajihad's tent, along with Ajihad, Brom, Arya, and Eragon. The tent was enchanted with every secrecy spell and ward the lot of them knew

Harry set out a sheet of paper and explained the rules of the fidelius charm to the magicians. "This is going to impact how you're able to operate later," he announced to the thirty-odd people in the tent. Were there really so few? "People won't be able to make the connection, even if you tell them. Ajihad himself has to give them the information. There's a way around it, but we'll get to that later. We're all going to be read in on each other, but outside of this tent, Du Vrangr Gata is going to change."

He beckoned the first person in line to step forward. "Du Vrangr Gata won't be a secret. People will still know the Varden has magicians and that they're working to help them. They'll just have no idea who each member is. People can't even figure it out. Even if they notice that all of you are constantly having meetings with Eragon or Ajihad or whatever, they just won't be able to put the pieces together. You don't have to hide it. But the consequence is that Du Vrangr Gata is going to become a shadowy, secret organization overnight. Be prepared to work a bit more indirectly, that's all."

Harry raised his hands and cast the first fidelius on a tall, lean man of middle age who gave his name as Carn. Ajihad accepted the secret and the tent experienced a minute of utter bewilderment before he announced that "Carn is a magician of Du Vrangr Gata," and the confusion cleared up.

With the charm demonstrated, an excited buzz arose in the air. Everybody knew what this meant.

One by one, the magicians stepped forward to receive the charm. The magicians took to testing it in the time before Ajihad announced the secret to the tent, trying to think around the issue, wondering why some strange person was in the tent with them when it was supposed to be magicians only. Each time the secret was revealed, they all marveled anew at the power of it.

When the last magician was done, Harry finished explaining. "Only Ajihad can reveal the secret. For now, we'll keep this between ourselves. After the battle, we can talk about what that looks like, and who needs who to know. Any questions?"

"What happens if Ajihad dies?" Carn asked immediately.

Harry kept his expression neutral. "We'll cross that bridge if we get there."

"Is it permanent?" Trianna asked.

Harry shook his head. "It can be dispelled. Though, we need Ajihad for that." He gave Ajihad a meaningful look which the man caught. Ajihad dismissed Du Vrangr Gata, all except the Twins.

"Now tell us the parts you did not mention," Ajihad instructed.

"You can write the secret down," Harry said promptly. "And it still counts. You can share the piece of paper instead of needing to personally speak the words to everybody. It's extremely risky, obviously if anyone gets ahold of the paper, they can learn the secret and they can also share it as they please. But in this case, it might be worth it to have someone else you trust hold a list or a bunch of slips for each member, just so people don't have to come all the way to the top for everything."

Ajihad digested that in his stoic, unmoving way. "And what happens if I die?"

Harry sighed. "It would be best to leave everyone believing the secret will be kept perfectly, permanently. The truth makes you a target."

"I am already a target," Ajihad pointed out.

"If you are killed, the spell doesn't break, but everybody who knows the secret becomes secret keepers. They can share the secret themselves." Harry didn't know for certain, but he suspected the spell itself became weaker. Though even then, he had no idea what that would look like. Either the fidelius worked or it didn't, right?

"And if they start dying too?" Brom asked.

"Nothing, until the last one dies," Harry answered. "At least, that's what I assume. I've known the first step to happen, and I've known people who knew the secret to die while the charm still held. I can't imagine it would work any other way."

"Why didn't you protect yourself?" Eragon asked.

Harry rubbed his forehead. "The charm is about trust. It takes three parties to work. The person whose secret is being protected, the person being entrusted with the secret, and the caster of the spell."
"You can't cast your own fidelius," Arya guessed.

"Five points to Gryffindor," Harry said tiredly.

"But you hid your–" Eragon cut himself off. "-place," he finished lamely.

Harry nodded. "A building is not as personal as your identity. You can sort of trick yourself into casting it like that. I can't exactly step outside of my identity like I can with a building."

Ajihad began writing down names on his paper. Harry conjured another sheet and cut it into a bunch of strips. When he finished with the list, he started again on the strips. Ajihad folded the sheet up.

The Twins stepped up to take the list. Something in his gut told Harry letting them have it would be a mistake. "Hang on," he interrupted. One of them stared at him with pitying disappointment as the other waited with his hand outstretched.

Ajihad shot him a look of chastisement.

"They're going to be fighting, right?" Harry reasoned quickly. "It doesn't make sense to put the list in reach of Urgal magicians and Durza, the very people who need those names to kill our magicians."

Ajihad pulled the list back a bit from the edge of the desk. The Twins glowered.

"Very well," Ajihad said, dark eyes boring into Harry's. "You may keep custody of the list. Until," he added, "after the battle. Then it is the Twins' duty as head of Du Vrangr Gata to manage it. Understood?"

Harry nodded. He could work with that. "And the strips. I can make something for the magicians to keep so they can reveal themselves if they need."

Ajihad handed over the fistful of paper strips. Harry conjured a bag for them. He glanced at the Twins to find they were not glaring furiously. Their faces had gone eerily flat. That unsettled him more than any evil stares.

"You understand the trust I am placing in you," Ajihad said solemnly.

Harry nodded again. This was not the time to be flippant. "My parents died because their secret keeper betrayed them. I would never endanger your magicians."

"Good," Ajihad said. "If there is nothing else, you are all dismissed. Harry, you have a lot to do and little time to do it. Secure the papers, then work on King Hrothgar's assignment."

Harry headed back up to the workshop. He was keenly aware of the bag of names on him. Paper had never weighed so much.

The twins didn't fight to get custody of the list. It was odd. Harry didn't like it.

He pushed through the revolving door and headed through the main doors to the workshop. The place was mostly empty. Most of the team had finally evacuated. Maria and Misha were the only ones left. Anika had taken the racks of potions down to the healers' tent, Leif was going to fight with the Varden's modest cavalry division, Shrrg was going to fight, Skelmu had headed into the valley to find his family.

Maria sat at her bench alone, sketching new designs. Misha was sitting in the commons, staring into the fire blankly. Harry recognized the nerves.

He headed over to Maria and handed her the bag and the folded sheet. "Don't open them, don't read them," he instructed. "Don't let anyone have them, no matter what. Got it?"
Maria nodded seriously. "What–"

"Just swear to me," Harry insisted. "It would be disastrous if someone got their hands on them."

"I won't," Maria swore.

"Good." Harry sighed. Handing off the names felt like releasing a heavy burden. "Sorry, I just have to be sure. If you're staying here, you can hold onto them."

He raked his fingers through his hair.

"What's happening?" Maria asked.

Harry breathed out. "Too much. I need to get back straight away to test a big spell. They're evacuating the tunnels right now since that's where the Urgals are coming from. We're probably going to be fine, but I sent a letter asking a friend for help and he still hasn't gotten back to me–"

His voice died as he glanced over at his desk. The other mailbox's flag was up. "Hang on." He ran over and scrambled to get the envelope out and unseal it. There was a letter and another sheet of paper inside.

Harry,

It would be wise to refrain from putting my name on paper anywhere outside of Ellesmera. You are correct in assuming it would be unwise to fly back here yourself. The Queen is still quite wroth with you. If you are the only one capable of making the flight, I would, but if you can send someone else in your stead, please do so.

I judged your craft capable of holding twenty people comfortably. Twenty elven warriors wait at the point marked on the map included. You may give this location away to another pilot. They are prepared to escort Eragon and Saphira to Ellesmera after the invasion is thwarted.

Regarding your question. There is no easy answer but to use your best judgement. Remember that this war may not be resolved for decades yet. Whatever you do today, Galbatorix will attempt to devise counters to, for when you next clash. Obviously, you should not allow the Varden to fall if you can possibly avoid it.

Remember also that this war may not conclude for decades more. Ordinary Riders trained for years and then gained decades of experience before they were considered full members. Whether circumstances allow Eragon to receive such an education is yet unknown, yet remember the Varden has existed for decades already.

The longer this war drags on, the more valuable your logistical aid becomes to the Varden. Be mindful you do not trade a bird in the hand for twenty in the bush. Use moderation, and your best judgement.

Osthato Chetowa

Harry took out the other paper. It was a map, a spot marked on it at the southernmost tip of Du Weldenvarden on the very eastern side of Alagaeisa.

He ran back to the commons. "Misha!" he called.

The big, blonde man looked up.

"Misha. I need you to make a flight." Harry handed over the map. "You need to pick up some elves from here and bring them back, as soon as you can. Got it?"

Misha examined the map, glancing at the marked spot on the other side of Alagaesia. He stood up, almost relieved?

"Is something wrong?" Harry asked.

He shook his head jerkily. "Just worried," he murmured. "How the evacuation is going. The invasion."

Harry breathed out. "I feel you. But you've got to get going. I can't leave and those warriors could turn the tide."

Misha nodded. "I will go. Good luck with the battle." He headed out to the plane.

At the last moment, Harry remembered he had something for Misha. "Wait!"

Misha turned back.

Harry hurried over and got out the vial of Wiggenweld he'd gotten off Eragon. "For your mother. It's brewed with dragon's blood."

The man looked so torn. Everybody around here was so frustratingly noble, it was a breath of fresh air to deal with someone like Brom. "Take it," Harry insisted.

"I don't know that she'll be…alive," Misha swallowed. "After the battle." He shifted his weight between his legs, his face not quite knowing what sort of agonized or miserable expression to make, stuck in between the lot of them like a sort of grimace.

Harry pressed the vial into his hand. "Then you give it back if she doesn't make it," he said firmly. "And take all the time you need to mourn. You're part of the team, Misha. This really is the least I can do."

Misha's fingers folded over the vial. He glanced back around at the workshop. He opened his mouth, then closed it. Misha then turned and stalked away without looking back, like if he glanced over his shoulder, all the willpower he'd mustered would vanish and he'd start bawling.

Harry watched Misha taxi the plane to the runway and a minute later, when the roar of the afterburners reached him, take off over the Beors.

Harry paced back by his desk, marking out the distance and doing the math in his head. If Misha had a short nap on the other side before coming back, he'd be back with reinforcements a few hours past midnight.

He headed back to Maria. Putting both sets of names in the same place didn't sit right with him. It was too many eggs in one basket. "Can I get the pouch back?" he asked.

Maria handed it over. Harry needed somewhere safe to put it. Somewhere beyond the risk of the Urgals. His eyes landed on the mailboxes.

Keep the bag secure. Do not open it. I will write for it back later.

Harry

He tore off the note on a strip of paper and stuck it to the pouch with a sticking charm. Stuffing it into the mailbox, he pulled the flag and sent the names to Ellesmera.

"Dare I ask what's in there?" Maria folded her sheet into her dress.

Harry shook his head. "The identities of Du Vrangr Gata's members."

Maria laughed. "Don't be silly, they're fairly well known. I know–" she stopped mid-sentence, frowning. Her brows furrowed. "I knew– how did you do that?"

He nodded at the sheet of paper in her dress, pacing."Just keep it safe. I'll be back once this is over to collect it."

Maria nodded. "You look stressed," she said kindly.

Harry blew out his lungs. "Really? You don't say."

She tapped her fingers. Some gauntness touched her expression. "I am as nervous for my husband in the battle, and for my daughters in the valley without their parents. But I believe in what we've done here. Whatever is left for you to do, I am certain you'll do fine. What are you planning on doing after we win this battle?"

Harry's pacing paused. "Eragon's training is supposedly incomplete. I thought I'd go with him to the elves to help him finish his training."

Maria made a valiant effort to smile. "I hope to be able to use these looms for something other than war. I imagine a colorful world where fine clothes are not only the privilege of the rich. Imagine a street full of people not as a mess of brown but a rainbow."

Harry leaned over to check out the plotted loom designs on her table. Maria tsk'd and shoved them all together into a folder, smiling. "After the battle," she insisted, pushing his shoulder back. "Go win this battle for the Varden. We can plan the fashion revolution when you get back."

Harry rushed down the way and through the tunnels to get back to the command tent. It occurred to him on the way back that if his plan worked out, the tunnels would be impassable and the route to the workshop would be closed. They'd have to use Shrrg's lifts to get in, or the long tunnel to the runway.

He hit each door with a colloportus on the way through. The Urgals were not about to use his shortcuts to get into the workshop. As he went, he focused on imposing an extra condition on the locking spell; it was only to lock from the outside. Anyone within could open it, in case he died and Maria and Misha needed to escape.

Upon emerging into the dim cavern beneath Farthen Dûr, he hunted down Orik.

"Is the evacuation finished?"

Orik gestured to where a cluster of dwarves stood around carrying bags and wrapped in blankets. Some looked like dwarven grandmas with snow white hair and glasses, shawls, and their children close at hand to help them around.

"Every dwarf is out?" Harry checked.

Orik watched the dark passage with a troubled expression. "All that could be found and warned. We used your map to evacuate the last."

That wasn't a very confident answer. Nevertheless, it was crystal clear to Harry that far more would die in battle if he did not do this than dwarves he may accidentally kill doing so. As far as morality stretched, there was a point to where it stopped.

Harry cracked his palms and reached for his magic, bringing it up to the surface. He felt the warmth of potential pool in his palms. He'd only seen it done once before, but once was enough to stick vividly in his mind for the rest of his life. He never heard the incantation, but he knew exactly what he wanted. A simple incantation would work, he was certain. He had simply never tried to cast magic on this scale.

Harry placed his palms on the stone floor of Farthen Dûr. He envisioned the massive network of tunnels beneath him, vast and complex, stretching from one edge of the Beors to the other. He imagined every ramp and tunnel and corridor, every juncture and stairwell and intersection, hundreds, maybe thousands of miles of dark, rough, narrow passage.

It was more than could fit in a human mind. Hundreds of miles from side to side, thousands and thousands of miles of tunnels, a network too vast to comprehend. He leaned into that, evoked the complexity, the confusion, the unknowable vastness, and drove his magic into the ground. He pushed it out of his hands, forcing the heat of his body into the cold stone beneath his skin. He shoved it deep and wide, all the way to the edges, all the way out beyond his senses.

Protect, he ordered it. Confuse. Disorient. Protect your people, accommodate them, guide them. Let the invaders be lost in the dark.

"Motus," he cast quietly.

He felt a surge of magic rush down his arm like a firehose, blazing heat that warmed but did not burn. He guided the power through his palms and into the earth, sending it far and deep and wide. He pushed it with his mind's eye, urging it to spread further, to overtake the borders of the whole network, from north to south, east to west. Every last tunnel.

Orik and the assembled dwarves all felt it. The ground vibrated, scraping noises emanating from the entrance to the maze.

"Is that it?" Orik asked.

Harry breathed out. At least the hedges had been open to the sky. "Yeah. That's it."

"We'll stay on guard," Orik said, watching the tunnel with mingling dark emotions on his face. He glanced between it and him as if reevaluating what he knew of him. "What did you do?"

Harry indicated the live map the dwarves were monitoring. "See for yourself."

He reported to Ajihad later that his spell had been successful and the Urgals were now caught in the middle of the world's largest underground maze.

"And," he muttered quietly, "We'll be getting some reinforcements in under a day. I just got confirmation and sent Misha to get them."

"Wait here," he instructed Harry. He turned to his aides and asked for the generals and all to be reconvened. When everyone had assembled, he turned the floor over to Harry.

Harry cleared his throat. It was a bit intimidating to be speaking to not one but two effective monarchs, several generals, ambassadors, and several other magicians. The weight of the twenty-odd most important people under the mountain fell on him.

"The tunnels beneath the Beors move now," he started. He read doubt and unease in the command tent. He went on to explain how he had cast his spell to be benevolent to dwarves and malevolent to invaders.

"The Urgals will almost certainly be fractured, blind and struggling to find their way to Farthen Dûr in the dark," he described. The image was evocative. The dwarves were solemn, the humans paled.

"The downside is that we have no idea where they will emerge. It's possible they'll get lost far from Farthen Dûr and starve to death without us ever seeing them." Harry tried not to imagine that too vividly. "We know where they are collecting, though." He indicated for Orik to take over.

The dwarf stepped forward. "Harry has given us a map that tracks not only the shifting tunnels, but the movement of the Urgals beneath. With it, we may take note of where the Urgals amass and send detachments to guard the surface above them."

Ajihad took over from there. "We have numerous advantages that amount to this; it is unlikely the Urgals will seriously threaten our conventional troops. Likewise, it is unlikely their magicians will overwhelm ours. Therefore, only one wildcard remains in this invasion."

"Durza," King Hrothgar voiced.

He nodded. "A decisive victory would be permanently killing him. That is, stabbing or shooting him through the heart. However, to repel this invasion, all we need to do is force him to reform. Any lethal blow will do. We have fighters that have a chance against him. However, he is still a credible threat, even against all of them at once. Thus while they may aid in the battle before Durza appears, Durza is their first priority and the moment he appears, they will withdraw from the fighting to meet him."

Brom had his hand on the hilt of his sword. Arya had her arms crossed, gauntlets and boots strapped on as the only metal among her leather armor. Eragon looked solemn in his resplendent plate, mimicking the pose of his father. Harry touched the hilt of his own – Durza's – sword. The handle felt too thick, the sword too long and too heavy. Even the Sword of Gryffindor hadn't felt right.

He touched his pocket. What he wanted in his hand was a wand.

Ajihad turned to Harry. "Harry has valid concerns for refraining from fighting, not least of which is that he cannot cast the protection he gave our magicians upon himself, and thus will refrain from direct battle unless the situation becomes dire. Is this a fair assessment?"

Harry nodded.

"Then you will help the Twins coordinate," Ajihad said. He glanced at the pair of magicians in question, then looked back at Harry sternly. "Now is the time to set aside your differences in the name of the Varden's future. Until this is over, I expect you three to work together to the best of your abilities. One of the Twins will stay with me to coordinate our troops. The other will relay mental orders to Du Vrangr Gata, our commanders, and our key fighters while monitoring the live map."

Ajihad stood up. His voice was strong and commanding, and his size lent weight to his words. Harry's attention was drawn along with everyone else, to a man who personified a leader.

"The Varden has never faced a test such as this," he said, surveying the tent. "We have the men, the equipment, the skills, and the drive to send the Urgals scurrying back home. Let's get out of this with as few casualties as possible. You are dismissed."

Harry met with the Twin that stayed behind outside at a low table surrounded by dwarves, checking the time. He took up a post watching the paper. Harry watched with him, ignoring the tense silence. He would not throw the first barb, Harry swore to himself. If the Twins could behave, so would he. It was odd to see one without the other.

Misha should be about to pick up the elvish reinforcements at any moment. Hopefully it would take a while for the battle to really get started, and a while longer for Durza to show his face. Long enough for the A team to arrive. He'd keep tabs on the time.

He watched the Urgals' progress towards Farthen Dûr. They began filtering in from the edges. That was good. Some part of him worried they'd spill out across the mountain range and start emerging all over the Beors, including places where nobody was poised to stop them.

The tunnels seemed to know enough to know they wanted them at least beneath Farthen Dûr. After that, it was anyone's game.

As they emerged from the edges of the map, the dwarves watching grew solemn. Seething masses of ink clustered inwards. Once they got beneath the hollow mountain, the tunnels began to shift.

The maze split the throngs apart, sending them further in, dispersing them across the malevolent network beneath the cavern under the mountain.

There were so many names on the map that they clustered together into scribbles of overlapping ink, almost blotting the parchment out black. Tens of thousands of Urgal names seething beneath the changing tunnels, getting split apart, wandering, and ending up only further and further apart. Before their very eyes, the war meeting watched the Urgal forces be split into hundreds of fragments, wandering lost beneath Farthen Dûr.

Despite the triumph, there was a solemn air among the watchers. Lost in the darkness, the walls closing in, trapped miles from sunlight, the maze shifting around them, it was a nightmarish scenario. They didn't have to set foot down there.

But everyone could imagine.

In the evening a few hours after they took up watch, the first breach showed up.

The invasion had begun.