Brisingr [en]

“Lay down your weapons or die!” Eragon shouted.

Bellowing in unison, twenty soldiers ran at him, brandishing their swords. The others either dispersed and fled toward the heart of the city or else took Eragon’s advice and placed their swords and spears and their shields on the gray paving stones and knelt by the side of the street with their hands on their knees.

A fine mist of blood formed around Eragon as he cut his way through the soldiers, dancing from one to the next faster than they could react. Saphira knocked two of the soldiers over, then set another two on fire with a short burst of flame from her nostrils, cooking them in their armor. Eragon slid to a stop several feet beyond the rearmost soldier and held his position, his sword arm outstretched from the blow he had just dealt, and waited until he heard the man topple to the ground, first one half, and then the other.

Arya and Blodhgarm emerged from the guard towers just as the gates groaned and swung outward, revealing the blunt and splintered end of the Varden’s massive battering ram. Above, the archers on the parapet cried out in dismay and retreated toward more defensible positions. Dozens of hands appeared around the edges of the gates and pulled them farther apart, and Eragon saw a mass of grim-faced Varden, men and dwarves alike, crowded in the archway beyond.

“Shadeslayer!” they shouted, and also “Argetlam!” and “Welcome back! The hunting is good today!”

“These are my prisoners!” Eragon said, and pointed with Brisingr at the soldiers kneeling by the side of the street. “Bind them and see that they are treated well. I gave my word that no harm would come to them.”

Six warriors hurried to follow his order.

The Varden rushed forward, streaming into the city, their jangling armor and pounding boots creating a continuous, rolling thunder. Eragon was pleased to see Roran and Horst and several other men from Carvahall in the fourth rank of the warriors. He hailed them, and Roran raised his hammer in greeting and ran toward him.

Eragon grasped Roran’s right forearm and pulled him into a rough hug. Drawing back, he noticed that Roran seemed older and hollow-eyed compared with before.

“About time you got here,” Roran grunted. “We’ve been dying by the hundreds trying to take the walls.”

“Saphira and I came as fast as we could. How’s Katrina?”

“She’s fine.”

“Once this is over, you’ll have to tell me everything that’s happened to you since I left.”

Roran pressed his lips together and nodded. Then he pointed at Brisingr and said, “Where did you get the sword?”

“From the elves.”

“What’s it called?”

“Bris—” Eragon started to say, but then the eleven other elves whom Islanzadi had assigned to protect him and Saphira sprinted out of the column of men and surrounded the two of them. Arya and Blodhgarm rejoined them as well, Arya wiping clean the slim blade of her sword.

Before Eragon could resume speaking, Jormundur rode through the gates and hailed him, shouting, “Shadeslayer! Well met indeed!”

Eragon greeted him in return and asked, “What should we do now?”

“Whatever you see fit,” Jormundur replied, reining in his brown charger. “We have to fight our way up to the keep. It doesn’t look as if Saphira would fit between most of the houses, so fly around and harry their forces where you can. If you could break open the keep or capture Lady Lorana, it would be a great help.”

“Where’s Nasuada?”

Jormundur gestured over his shoulder. “At the rear of the army, coordinating our forces with King Orrin.” Jormundur glanced out over the influx of warriors, then looked back at Eragon and Roran. “Stronghammer, your place is with your men, not gossiping with your cousin.” Then the lean, wiry commander spurred his horse forward and rode up the gloomy street, shouting orders to the Varden.

As Roran and Arya started to follow, Eragon grabbed Roran by the shoulder and tapped Arya’s blade with his own. “Wait,” he said.

“What!” both Arya and Roran demanded in exasperated tones.

Yes, what? Saphira asked. We should not be sitting and talking when there is sport to be had.

“My father,” Eragon exclaimed. “It’s not Morzan, it’s Brom!”

Roran blinked. “Brom?”

“Yes, Brom!”

Even Arya appeared surprised. “Are you sure, Eragon? How do you know?”

“Of course I’m sure! I’ll explain later, but I couldn’t wait to tell you the truth.”

Roran shook his head. “Brom... I never would have guessed, but I suppose it makes sense. You must be glad to be rid of Morzan’s name.”

“More than glad,” Eragon said, grinning.

Roran clapped him on the back, then said, “Watch yourself, eh?” and trotted after Horst and the other villagers.

Arya moved away in the same direction, but before she went more than a few steps, Eragon called her name and said, “The Cripple Who Is Whole has left Du Weldenvarden and joined Islanzadi at Gil’ead.” Arya’s green eyes widened and her lips parted, as if she were about to ask a question. Before she could, the column of inrushing warriors swept her deeper into the city.

Blodhgarm sidled closer to Eragon. “Shadeslayer, why did the Mourning Sage leave the forest?”

“He and his companion felt that the time had come to strike against the Empire and to reveal their presence to Galbatorix.”

The elf’s fur rippled. “That is indeed momentous news.”

Eragon climbed back onto Saphira. To Blodhgarm and his other guards, he said, “Work your way up to the keep. We’ll meet you there.”

Without waiting for the elf to answer, Saphira jumped onto the stairs leading to the top of the city walls. The stone steps cracked under her weight as she climbed up to the wide parapet, from which she took flight over the burning hovels outside Feinster, flapping quickly to gain altitude.

Arya will have to give us permission before we can tell anyone else about Oromis and Glaedr, said Eragon, remembering the oath of secrecy he, Orik, and Saphira had sworn to Queen Islanzadi during their first visit to Ellesmera.

I am sure she will once she hears our account, said Saphira.

Aye.

Eragon and Saphira flew from place to place within Feinster, landing wherever they spotted a large clump of men or wherever members of the Varden appeared beleaguered. Unless someone immediately attacked, Eragon attempted to convince each group of enemies to surrender. He failed as often as he succeeded, but he felt better for having tried, for many of the men who thronged the streets were ordinary citizens of Feinster, and not trained soldiers. To each, Eragon said, “The Empire is our foe, not you. Do not take up arms against us and you shall have no cause to fear us.” The few times Eragon saw a woman or child running through the dark city, he ordered them to hide in the nearest house, and without exception, they obeyed.

Eragon examined the minds of every person around him and Saphira, searching for magicians who might mean them harm, but he found no other spellcaster besides the three they had already seen, and the three were careful to keep their thoughts hidden from him. It concerned him that they did not seem to have rejoined the fight in any noticeable way.

Maybe they intend to abandon the city, he said to Saphira.

Would Galbatorix let them leave in the middle of a battle?

I doubt he wants to lose any of his spellcasters.

Maybe, but we should still tread with care. Who knows what they are planning?

Eragon shrugged. For now, the best thing we can do is help the Varden secure Feinster as quickly as possible.

She agreed and angled toward a skirmish in a nearby square.

Fighting in a city was different from fighting in the open, as Eragon and Saphira were accustomed to. The narrow streets and close-set buildings hampered Saphira’s movements and made it difficult to react when soldiers