章 21: Chapter 21: Arya in hand
[3,052 words]
A thrill of anticipation ran through Eragon as his heart pounded in his chest. 'Perfect,' he thought, taking a deep breath to steady himself. Now was the time to act. The Shade was preoccupied with Brom and Saphira, just as planned. All he had to do was move swiftly, get to Arya, and get out. The real challenge was over, but Eragon knew the path was open.
His facial expression relaxed as he slipped from his hiding spot and left the guards room, his movements precise and silent. It was time for him to play his part in this carefully crafted plan, and there was no room for error.
The fortress was in disarray. Soldiers ran to and fro in disorder, their movements erratic and without logic. Eragon seized the opportunity, blending in with a platoon of heavily armed soldiers who seemed to be heading in the same direction he was.
'This is perfect,' Eragon thought happily, his face though mirrored the frightened expression of the surrounding soldiers. 'It seems these soldiers are heading exactly where I need to go.'
The platoon led him up several flights of stairs until they reached the fourth floor. At the end of a long, brightly lit corridor stood a massive steel door guarded by two men. The guards stood tall, their eyes sharp and focused, their hands resting on the hilts of their swords.
"Halt!" one of the guards shouted, stepping forward. "No one passes this point without authorization! Turn back, or we will attack."
The platoon of soldiers stopped, and from within their ranks, one of the men stepped forward. "We were sent by the city lord to reinforce your position," he said confidently. "He doesn't want anything going wrong with the elf."
'She is here!' A sharp glint flashed in Eragon's eyes.
Swoosh~
The guard on the left of the steel door opened his mouth to respond, but before he could, Eragon sprang into action. His body moved with incredible speed and precision, far beyond that of any normal human. He was upon the platoon of soldiers in an instant, his red sword flashing through the air as he began cutting them down with ease.
"What the—!" one of the soldiers stammered, his eyes widening in shock as he caught sight of Eragon cutting through their ranks.
"Intruder!" another soldier shouted, his voice sharp with alarm.
"Don't let him get away—kill him!" barked their captain, drawing his sword as the others scrambled to surround Eragon.
Weapons were drawn in a flurry of motion, the soldiers' eyes wide with both fear and determination. They moved to flank him, swords gleaming in the torch light, but Eragon remained calm.
Swoosh~ Clang~ Clang~ Swoosh~
He moved like a blur, his speed far beyond what the soldiers could respond to. The first clash came swiftly—Zar'roc met the blade of an advancing soldier, and with a resounding crack, the soldier's sword shattered upon impact.
Eragon's strength was overwhelming, his strikes powerful and precise. Before the soldiers could react, he was already upon them, his movements fluid and lethal. Each swing of Zar'roc sent sparks flying as more swords and armors snapped under the force of his blows. The soldiers, stunned and disoriented, barely had time to raise their shields before they were disarmed, outmatched by the sheer speed and power of their enemy. It was as if they were trying to fight a force of nature—unstoppable and merciless.
With every swing of Eragon's blade, a soldier fell, their desperate attacks barely a form of futile resistance.
In a few seconds it was clear, the soldiers had no fighting chance. Bodies fell to the ground one by one, blood pooling beneath them as they gasped their final breaths.
The two guards by the steel door watched in shock and confusion as the platoon of soldiers was being slaughtered. It took them a moment to recover, but once they did, they sprang into action. The guard on the left shouted a spell in the ancient language, "Cador esh srofh et uto!" A large flaming ball erupted from his hands and shot fast toward Eragon.
At the same time, the other guard used his mind to launch a mental attack, attempting to invade Eragon's thoughts while he was distracted and seize control of his body.
'So these guards are magicians,' Eragon thought to himself sullenly. He felt the second magician's mind pressing against his mental defenses, but he ignored it entirely. His [Mental Invasion Resistance Level 90] was more than enough to protect him without him needing to actively defend, so he continued cutting down the soldiers without hesitation.
Swoosh~ Bang!
Just as Eragon finished killing the last soldier, the flaming ball from the first magician arrived. Eragon smirked, not bothering to raise a magical ward. Instead, he casually backhanded the flaming ball, causing it to dissipate harmlessly in the air. His hand remained uninjured, his [Magic Resistance Level 99] and [Heat Resistance Level 180] making the spell useless against him.
"Th-that's impossible!" the first magician gasped, his voice trembling with disbelief as he watched Eragon swat his fireball aside with nothing more than a casual backhand, as if it were no more than a fly.
A sharp whistle of air cut through the corridor—Swoosh!—as Eragon surged forward with terrifying speed. "You're both just useless, nothing more!" he spat, his voice dripping with disdain.
"Shit!" The first magician's eyes widened in panic, sweat beading on his brow as he desperately tried to summon another spell. His mouth opened, words flooding out with fear and anxiety choking his voice.
Meanwhile, the second magician's brow furrowed in concentration, his mental assault intensifying as he poured all his strength into trying to break into Eragon's mind. But Eragon's mental defenses were like an impenetrable fortress, indifferent to an attack of such level.
Eragon closed the distance between them in the blink of an eye. His fists were like battering rams, cutting through the air with deadly intent. The first magician not having enough time to complete his spell, barely had time to scream before Eragon's fist connected with his head.
Boom~ Splat~
The impact was catastrophic—his skull shattered instantly, exploding outward in a spray of blood, bone shards, and viscera. The walls behind him were painted with the gory aftermath, a gruesome testament to the force behind Eragon's strike.
Boom~ Crack~
The second magician's fate was different, but no less swift. At the last moment, Eragon restrained himself, his sword stopping just short of a killing blow. Instead, his sword hilt smashed into the man's face, crushing his nose with a sickening crack and rattled his brain. The magician crumpled to the floor, unconscious, blood streaming from his broken nose as Eragon stood over him, victorious.
The corridor fell silent, save for the sound of dripping blood. The whole ordeal took Eragon less then 30 seconds to kill a platoon of heavily armed soldiers and 2 magicians.
Eragon wiped the remnants of the blood from his hands and turned his gaze toward the steel door.
'Time to rescue a princess locked in a stone tower,' Eragon thought, a satisfied smile playing on his lips as he prepared to make a hero entrance.
He walked to stand before the imposing steel door as his mind raced with possibilities. He could almost feel Arya's presence behind it, just within reach, yet so frustratingly out of his grasp. The cold metal gleamed in the torch light of the corridor, a stark contrast to the chaos of blood and broken bodies that lay strewn around him. He tightened his grip on Zar'roc, its crimson blade reflecting the dark scene.
Trying to open the door, Eragon whispered, "Ládrin," channeling his magic into the word. The spell should have worked—he felt the familiar rush of power coursing through him. But nothing happened. The door remained stubbornly sealed.
Frowning, he e focused again, this time pouring more energy into the spell but used a different word for unlocking the door. "Mor'amr!"
Still, the door didn't budge. Eragon clenched his fist, realizing that the door must be protected by powerful magical wards, ones far beyond his current abilities to dismantle. 'Damn it,' he thought, feeling the precious seconds slip away. He glanced down at the lifeless bodies of the two magicians he had so easily dispatched.
Eragon's thoughts raced 'There has to be a way in,' he mused, glancing around quickly. He wasn't desperate, but time was slipping away. 'I don't believe Durza come and open the door personally every time Arya needs to eat. There's got to be a key—or a mechanism, something.'
His eyes scanned the stone walls, looking for any sign of a hidden lever or latch. He crouched down, pressing his ear to the door, listening for movement inside, all the while keeping an ear out for any approaching soldiers. The urgency of the moment pushed him, his heart pounding, but his mind remained sharp, focused on finding a way in before Durza could return.
Eventually, he turned his attention to the two guards on the floor.
"Where is it? Where is it?!" Eragon knelt beside them, hastily searching their robes. He checked every pocket, every fold of fabric, but came up empty-handed.
He stood up, frustrated. His eyes darted to the door's hinges. "Shit! If magic won't work, brute force it is!"
Swoosh~ Clang~ Clang~
He lifted Zar'roc, the red blade humming with a deadly sharpness, and struck at the hinges. But the sword, for all its deadly efficiency, left only shallow marks on the sturdy metal. Eragon growled under his breath.
"Break for me you stupid fuck!" With time running out, he reared back and kicked the door with all his strength. Bang~ Bang~ The force of the impact reverberated through the corridor, but the door didn't give. He kicked it again, then again, each blow leaving a small dent on the door. But despite his immense physical strength, the door remained solid as ever.
"Seriously?! I can knock down a tree with one kick, but I can't even budge this stupid door? How powerful are the wards on this thing?!" He muttered in disbelief. He paused, staring at the steel door that still stood firm, only a few small dents in the center showing any sign of his efforts.
"I don't have time for this," Eragon hissed through gritted teeth. He was so close, yet an impenetrable door stood between him and his goal. 'Think, Eragon! Think!' His gaze fell on the unconscious magician he had spared earlier, guessing that if Arya wasn't behind the door he would need someone to interrogate. An idea formed, and he quickly grabbed the magician by the collar, dragging him close.
Eragon closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and began to focus on the magician's mind. In his unconscious state, the magician's mental defenses were weak, and Eragon, though inexperienced in the aspect of invading minds, managed to breach them. Memories, thoughts, and knowledge flooded into Eragon's mind, but he sifted through them, searching for the one thing that mattered.
After two agonizing minutes of mental probing, Eragon found it—a memory of the door, the key, and where it was hidden. He let out a breath of relief and dropped the magician back onto the ground. With renewed purpose, he turned to the wall beside the door. His fingers searched along the cold stone until he found the hidden brick. He pressed it, and the brick slid aside to reveal a small alcove with a key inside.
Eragon shook his head in disbelief and helpless amusement. "This shit is way too Dungeons and Dragons," he muttered to himself as he grabbed the key. With a satisfying click, the key turned in the lock, and the heavy door creaked open.
Beyond the door was a narrow corridor lined with cells. The stench of decay and despair hung heavy in the air. Eragon's heart pounded in his chest as he quickly scanned the cells, searching for Arya.
His breath hitched when he finally laid eyes on her—Arya, lying motionless on the cold, unforgiving stone floor of a cell. Her body was marred with bruises and countless cuts. The flickering torchlight highlighted her delicate features, and though her torn clothes were filthy and dirty, there was an unmistakable grace to her that could not be diminished by the cruelty she had endured.
As Eragon got closer and gazed down at Arya, a realization struck him with sudden clarity. 'Now I understand why, in the books, Eragon was so smitten, so utterly love-struck by her like a lost puppy.' Even battered and bruised, Arya's beauty was undeniable, captivating in a way that left him momentarily motionless.
'She truly is a top-class beauty,' he thought, his eyes tracing the delicate curve of her face, the sharpness of her features softened by the dark strands of hair that fell across them. Her skin, though marred by the signs of torture, retained an ethereal glow, as if she carried the light of the stars within her. It was a beauty that seemed almost otherworldly, beyond anything he had seen in his previous life.
He found himself fascinated by her elven features—the elegant arch of her eyebrows, the high cheekbones that gave her a regal air, and the pointed ears that peeked out from beneath her tousled hair. Those ears, so different from a human's, were a constant reminder that she was not just any woman, but an elf—a being of legend and mystery, one he had only read about before being thrust into this world.
Snapping back to his senses, Eragon knelt beside Arya and gently lifted her into his arms, her body limp and unresponsive.
He tried his best to cover her exposed body with the red cloak from his back. As he carefully draped her over his shoulder, he whispered, "I'm sorry, Arya. I promise to do a proper princess carry once we're out of danger. For now you will have to do with this." He needed at least one hand free to fight off any enemies they might encounter on their escape.
Swoosh~
With Arya secured, Eragon turned and ran out of the cell, his footsteps echoing in the corridor. He retraced his steps back through the steel door, his mind focused on the task at hand—getting Arya and himself out of the fortress and to safety.
As he approached the stairwell, Eragon heard the unmistakable sounds of soldiers running up the stairs. He paused for a moment, assessing his options. 'Should I fight through?' he thought, 'I don't have time for that.' Instead, he sprinted toward the window at the far end of the corridor. He could hear the soldiers getting closer, their heavy boots pounding against the stone.
'I'm ready, come pick me up!' Eragon shouted mentally to Saphira, knowing she would hear him through their bond.
Without hesitation, he reached the window, threw it open, and leaped out into the open air. For a heart-stopping moment, he was in free fall, the ground rushing up to meet him. But just before gravity could claim him, Eragon yelled, "Lemala!" The ancient word for "up" sent him soaring upward, defying the pull of gravity.
As Eragon ascended into the sky, the sounds of chaos erupted from below. Shouts of alarm pierced the air, sharp and frantic. "There he is—the intruder! He freed the elf!
"They are escaping! We need to stop them!"
As Eragon hovered in the air above the fortress, Arya draped carefully over his shoulder, he took in the scene below. The fortress was alive with activity—soldiers swarmed like ants, patrolling every corner, their eyes sharp and weapons ready. Durza had certainly prepared well, reinforcing every entrance and exit with plenty of armed guards. From the ground to the parapets, the entire place was crawling with soldiers, each on high alert, searching for intruders.
'Durza isn't a complete fool it seems,' Eragon thought, watching their movements as he floated silently, his magic keeping them both aloft. The red glow of Zar'roc, now hidden beneath his cloak, remained a comforting weight at his side. The Shade had undoubtedly taken every precaution to protect Arya and the fortress from an external threat. Yet as Eragon's gaze swept across the bustling fortress, a small smile crept onto his lips.
'But you still messed up,' he thought, his heart swelling with satisfaction. 'You never considered that the intruder was already inside.' Durza's focus had been on fortifying the exterior, expecting an attack from the outside, a full frontal assault. He never anticipated that someone had infiltrated the heart of his stronghold long before the alarms went off.
'You underestimated me,' Eragon mused, casting a glance at Arya. She was still unconscious but alive, her breathing steady against his shoulder. His plan had worked, and now, with Durza occupied outside, it was time to get Arya to safety.
"Fire! Shoot him down!" one of the captains bellowed, and within seconds, a volley of arrows was launched into the sky.
Eragon smirked as he saw the arrows coming. With a few deft movements, he used Zar'roc to deflect the arrows, the blade flashing as it intercepted each one masterfully. The soldiers were firing upward, against gravity, which only made their arrows slower and easier to block. 'Even if they had the higher ground,' he thought, 'they would never be able to hit me with how slow the arrows can fly. Not to mention, with my current Cut Resistance and Blunt Force Resistance those arrows won't be able to do any damage even if I let them hit me...'
After deflecting several dozen arrows for Arya's sake, Eragon reached a safe altitude, well out of the soldiers' range. He turned his gaze towards the city gate, where he saw Saphira flying towards him, Brom sitting on her back, holding tightly to the saddle.
Down below, a red-haired man on a horse was chasing after them on the streets desperately trying to catch up—Durza.
Soon, Eragon found himself higher than Saphira. 'Not yet... not yet... not yet... now!' He calculated her speed and distance carefully, then released the spell, letting gravity take over. As he fell, he timed his descent perfectly, landing on Saphira's back mid-flight with a practiced ease that surprised even himself.
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