Unchained-8

“Murtagh!” he exclaimed as he saw the man ride towards him on Tormac, armored and ready with his sword at his waist. “They are letting you fight?”

“Yes,” he nodded, placing his helmet on his head and palming the pommel of his sword, “Ajihad thought it better to have me here. One more sword and no chance of treachery he called it.”

“He will come around,” Eragon said, looking at the armor being fitted on Saphira out of the corner of his eyes, “When he sees you kill for the Varden today, there will be no doubts in his mind regarding your loyalties.”

“I certainly hope so,” Murtagh said as he rolled his shoulder, wincing a little as his bones popped, “While comfortable, it was really suffocating to be inside those walls.”

“Where will you fight? In Jormundur’s battalion?” he asked, looking at the lines upon lines of men forming up behind the Varden’s second-in-command, “Or did Ajihad command you to fight by him?”

“Ajihad’s battalion,” came the answer as Murtagh glanced back at the dark-skinned man seated upon a horse, a dark chainmail armor covering him, “We will the center of the army, while Jormundur and Hrothgar will spread out a little more to the sides, so that the Urgals are pushed together. The closer they are, the more difficult it will for them to fight, adn the easier it will be for the archers and dwarves to kill them.”

“Don’t get too close to them,” Eragon warned, “I don’t want you to die, or worse, get captured right after you got free.”

“I won’t,” Murtagh chuckled, before his eyes widened as he caught sight of Saphira, “Fucking Hells! Where the hell did they find a dragon’s armor?”

“The dwarves had it in their possession,” he answered, turning around to look on as a pair of dwarves fastened interlocking pieces of metal plates under Saphira's belly, “It is not a full set apparently, but something is better than nothing.”

“Morzanson!” a runner shouted as he came to a stop beside them, practically biting the name out as he glared at Murtagh, “Ajihad summons you!”

“Well, are you sure you only need to fear the Urgals today?” he asked as the man ran back towards the Varden’s leader,  “That man looked all too happy to stab you right here and now.”

“I guess we will find out when the fighting starts,” Murtagh snorted, tugging on Tormac’s reins to turn the horse around, “Take care of yourself Eragon…Brom would be quite displeased if you died in your first battle.”

“I will, Murtagh,” the Rider nodded, and as he turned around, Eragon continued, “ Son of None.”

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“You both look fearsome,” Arya said as she walked toward Eragon adn Saphira, her one hand holding her bow while the other was clutching the reins of the horse she had been provided with, “Especially you Saphira, You like the dragons of the Old we learned about in

Ellesméra.”

‘Thank you Arya’ the dragoness replied, dipping her head to look her in the eyes properly, ‘Are you going to fight alongside my little-one?’

“Is he assigned to a particular part of the army?” she asked, quirking an eyebrow at him, “I am free to move on the battlefield, and if that is the case with Eragon, then I guess I will probably fight alongside him.”

‘Wonderful’ Saphira thought to both of them, her tail pushing the Rider towards the elf, ‘Please keep him from doing anything stupid.’

“Considering his sword skills, I don’t think he needs much protecting.” Arya shook her head, “But, I will ask you to stay away from Durza should you see him. The Shade is mine to kill.”

“You are not the only one tortured by that abomination,” he returned sharply, memories of his own screams and the burn of Seithr oil upon his back, accompanied by the sting of Durza’s whip surging back in his mind. Saphira growled alongside his words, the phantom sensation of being shackled like a common dog making the fire in her gut roar brighter and hotter. “You can find him, and fight him if you wish so…but should I find that cunt first…I am not going to stop until Zar’roc carves through his blackened heart and baths in his cursed blood.”

“So be it,” Arya nodded shortly, her eyes flashing with unmistakable anger, “Should the Shade cross your path Rider…May the stars watch over you.”

With that said, she turned on her heels and walked away briskly, her horse neighing and snorting at the sudden shift in her grip. And despite the anger threatening to swarm his thoughts, Eragon couldn’t help but lower his eyes to watch Arya’s rear as it swayed back and forth in those tight leather pants.

Freyja damn his mind…but that was a beautiful ass.

‘I don’t understand what you humans find interesting about a woman’s rear,’ his dragon decoded to comment then, her tone quite confused and bewildered, ‘Interest in a woman’s…teats or breasts I can understand, considering they are necessary for provided sustenance to your young ones—but this strange fascination you have with rears? I will never get it.’

“Shut up you overgrown lizard,” Eragon muttered in response, turning away from the mesmerizing sight to glare at the partner of his heart and mind, “You don’t see me making fun of the thoughts you have been having for the last few days as you sleep.”

‘I am a dragon’ she snorted, and this time, Eragon saw a flicker of flame in her breath—gods, when had she become six months old? It felt like it was just yesterday he had been stuffing her into his chest to hide her. She pushed him lightly with her head and turned around, ‘These thoughts are a large part of who we are. Besides, it is perfectly fine for me to dream of a powerful dragon to mate with.’

‘Because you are a dragon?’

‘Because I am a dragon,’ she nodded, snapping her jaw playfully at him before she growled and started walking towards the tents, ‘I smell fresh meat…deer I think. Come little one, let’s fill ourselves before we descend upon the Urgals, this armor already feels much too heavy to fight with an empty stomach.’

Sighing at Saphira’s views on the differences between a dragon’s desires and a human’s, Eragon shook his head and followed after her. As they walked through the groups of men, he almost chuckled at the awed and the terrified look on their faces. The sight of an elfin, crimson-brown-haired rider was strange enough on its own, but add to that an armored, huge dragon…he was sure that they had never seen something like it.

Taking a few pieces of meat and cheese, Eragon sat down beside Saphira and enjoyed the heat coming off her as he ate slowly, his purple eyes flickering over every inch of Varden’s army.

It was sobering to think that they were going to face an army of Urgals more than five times their size. Sighing lightly, Eragon looked down at the food in his hands and snorted loudly, thinking of all that Garrow and Roran would have to say if they saw what he had become in just six months. From a hunter in the Spine to a Dragon Rider to almost a Shade…Odyn’s beard, what was left in store for him?

‘If you don’t eat and regain your strength, then most probably my dinner, because I refuse to suffer the indignity of you getting killed by an Urgal.’

And people wondered why everyone couldn’t bond with a dragon…you needed a lot of patience for it.

Thankfully, hunting and farming had a way of teaching it to anyone.

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‘They are coming’ Saphira growled as she crouched down, her teeth bared and her claws digging into the stone, ‘They will first emerge from the right, and then from the center, I can feel them pounding their way through the tunnels.’

‘Hear that?” Eragon spoke to the twins, reaching out with his mind towards the Isidar Mithrim, ‘Tell Ajihad and the others.’

Not waiting to hear their response, he cut the mental thread between him and the sorcerers, shuddering slightly as he felt the slimy feeling of their psyche leave the periphery of his mind. Thankfully, the shouts that started to ring out amongst the Varden soldiers made for a sufficient distraction, and Eragon unsheathed Zar’roc, deciding to forgo the helm he had been provided with.

As the sound of the rushing feet started to echo out of the tunnels, and the very earth beneath their feet began to vibrate, he felt his blood rush with anticipation—and the rising bloodlust within Saphira certainly helped a lot in that. Ahead of them, the cauldrons of pitch and oil teetering just at the edge of the openings were made to fall to fall inside.

As the final rope was pulled back to tilt the pitch inside the tunnel, screams of agony began the echo out of them, the Urgals inside boiling and dying a horrific, painful death. He grimaced a little at the already unpleasant voice of Urgals reaching a new threshold of making his ears hurt, and given the wince that passed through almost every face, Eragon knew he wasn’t alone in that thought.

An eyeblink later, fire-tipped arrows shot through the sky towards the holes, the orange heads shining brightly before they entered the underground caves with an explosion of light and heat, and the Urgals burned. More than two hundred feet separated them from the entrance they had dug for the beasts, but yet, the sound of Urgals being cooked alive chilled him to the very bone, a splash of cold awakening in the face of the excitement he had started to feel.

However, proving Arya’s words about their mental state true, the Urgals simply trampled and stomped over their dead and dying, snuffing out the roaring flames by simply covering them with their bodies. Silhouetted against the glow of the fire, they started to pour out of the tunnels, and for every single one that stepped forth…three more appeared behind it.

Within moments, hundreds of Urgals appeared above the ground, and hundreds more followed as they started to run towards the Varden host. But, Angela and her band of herbalists had done their job. Due to his enhanced vision, Eragon could see the hundreds of mushrooms scattered within the hundred feet of the tunnels, and how the Urgals ran right over their deaths without even a moment’s hesitation.

White and yellow-colored spores burst forth from the poisonous plants, and dozens of Urgals crashed to the ground a few eyeblinks later, hacking and coughing out white foam—and hundreds more followed as the poison was breathed in by them. The dwarves around him grumbled at the dishonorable act, and a part of his mind wondered would the old Eragon reacted the same way?

“Archers!” the captain nearest to him, a dwarf clad in heavy steel shouted as pointed his ax at the writhing bodies of Urgals, “Knock and shoot at will! Fucking bury these animals in Deathweed!”

With a cry of assent, the archers around him knocked back their strings, the arrows fitted with little pouches of powdered Deathweed. Within moments, almost a hundred arrows were soaring towards the Urgal army, their numbers somehow already replenished despite the poisonous mushrooms they had trampled upon—how the fuck were so many Urgals breathing in that cavern?!—Already, Eragon could see the ground beneath the invaders being replaced with their dead as they stampeded over their brethren, falling and stumbling as the last vestiges of the spores did their work.

The Deathweed exploded amidst them with little clouds of green, and yet again, hundreds upon hundreds of the Urgals fell to the deadly plant. With only fifty feet or so remaining between them and the Varden, Eragon could make out the blank faces and the dead eyes of the savage beasts. Back in Yazuac, there had been anger in their eyes, a lust for blood that he now understood more than ever…but here?

They were just puppets being moved by Durza’s will.

“Gûntera protect us,” the captain muttered as the thunder of the Urgals running towards them echoed throat the mountain, “It is like we have barely made a dent in their numbers! How the fuck are we supposed to defeat them?!”

“Because you know what will happen if you don’t,” Arya said, suddenly appearing from his right her sword unsheathed, “Your friends and family butchered, your land nothing but a burning, plundered husk…and your race nothing but a footnote in the Black King’s accomplishments.”

“That is a good enough motivation I suppose,” he chuckled in response, hefting his weapons on his shoulders, “Men and Dwarves! These animals come to your home to kill your families and take your lands, are you going to let them do it?!”

“NO!” the whole battalion around them thundered, and Eragon saw Jormundur look back with surprise before he smiled at the sight of the raw, unbridled rage on the faces around him.

“Will you let Durza torture your wives and sisters and mothers?!”

“NO!”

“Will you let your children be slaves of the Empire?!”

“NOOO!” the whole army cried out this time, the dwarf captain’s words somehow reaching even the farthest edge of their host as everyone looked ahead at the approaching enemy. If the Urgals hadn’t been under mind-control…Eragon was sure they would have balked and turned tail at the sheer ferocity and anger in the eyes of the men and dwarves both.

Blood pumping with the words and the vibration he could feel from the ground, Eragon merged his mind with Saphira’s for exactly a single fleeting moment—their emotions and thoughts blending into each other so thoroughly that he couldn’t even distinguish which strand of thought was his, and which was hers.

There was no need to say something to her, not when she could see his mind as tur;y as anyone could. Knowing that he would have to close his min to her and anyone for the rest of the battle, Eragon took this chance to share everything he felt about her at this moment, and when he closed the connection between them, Saphira blinked at him once with her gemlike eye before she flew off with a loud, ear-splitting roar.

Within eyeblinks, she was flying over the Urgals, her claws moving through the sea of heads and torsos, splitting and cutting open their bodies in a grisly way. Brain matter and torn bodies dropped to the ground as Saphira flew in a straight line, killing more than fifty Urgals before she had to turn back due to the archers.

There were wards upon her, supported by a dozen gemstones he had recovered from around Tronjheim—but no need to test and thin those until absolutely necessary. And given that he was sure Durza was going to come after them…it was best to keep those wards strong.

Emboldened by Saphira’s great roar and her subsequent carnage, the Varden screamed and shouted as the line of Urgals crashed against the shield wall. The first line of men held, but barely, their tall shield digging into the earth along with their feet as they tried to keep the much stronger Urgals at bay. From behind the shield wall, pikemen and spearmen thrust into the black mass, their weapons finding a target each and every time as the sound of meat being pierced filled the battlefield.

“For the Varden!” the archers shouted, launching Deathweed arrows continuously, running poison into the sea of black, while the infantry gripped their weapons tighter and tighter with each passing moment. He turned his eyes towards Ajihad’s battalion, spotting the dark-skinned man and Murtagh both standing side by side as they shot arrows at the Urgals.

However, it seemed like Horthgar’s battalion was suffering the worst—the Dwarf KIng having made up most of his force with dwarves, citing a few clan chiefs as the reason. Powerful and vicious they may in a fight, but even a single dwarf in a shield wall was a foolish decision…and Hrothgar had made more than few of the same.

Why nobody thought to correct the old dwarf, Eragon didn’t know.

The Urgals punched through the first two lines, swarming in and pushing the Varden back as more and more poured inside hte pocket the had created. Hacking and slashing away madly at the resistance, they tore through men and dwarves alike as if they were naught but wet parchment. For a moment, Eragon debated aout going there to assist them, but sight of Urgals punching through the lines in from of him made the decision for him.

Running his thumb over the ruby set in Zar’roc’s pommel, Eragon took a deep breath…and promptly grimaced as the smell of piss, shit and blood and flesh ran into his brain. Truly, in all the lessons Brom had imparted to him, the veteran RIder had never told him that in a battle, people tended to lose their shit literally in their last moments.

“Fucking nasty eh boy?” a rgizled, white haired man next to him smirked, “There is only a single thing I want for me Argetlam, that when I die today, I die a shitless death!”

“Maybe you should try a not death, Icar!” the dwarf captain shouted as they all tense up, the Urgals merely a few feet away from them now. This close, Eragon could see their amber eyes, the ridges on their horns, and even the gore stuck to their weapons as they mindlessly, soundlessly fought their way towards Tronjheim.

“Freaky magic is what it is, never saw an Urgal fight without roaring and grunting,” the now named Icar said, and hte men around them grumbled in agreement, “Elves and Shades and sorcerers, they have no place in between normal people.”

He frowned at the words, but considering what Durza had brought to their doorstep…Eragon could understand why they’d say so. Before he could tell Icar what he thought of the man’s words, a faint glint in the air caught his eyes, and his hand automatically snapped out to catch the arrow coming for his shoulder. Bringing up the shield, he caught a few more arrows upon it, his wards taking care of the ones his shield couldn’t cover. Lowering it, Eragon licked his lips as he saw the distance between him and the Urgals reduce further still, only two lines standing between him and the animals.

However, before he could bring up Zar’roc and move forwards to take part in the slaughter, a weak gurgle caught his attention, and Eragon turned his eyes downwards to look at a dying Icar—the man choking on his blood as his fingers grasped at the arrow ledged in his throat.

“Well,” Eragon remarked, staring the dying man in the eyes, “If only you had a sorcerer friend, maybe the wards would have prevented your…shitty death.”