New Legacy

Ch.15

It’s going to be okay, Shimmer. It will be fine. The goal is to find Durza and pierce his heart. The yaks won’t stop just because he’s dead, but they’ll turn from a coordinated barbarian army into an uncoordinated feuding army more interested in the battle than in destroying us. If I remember right, in canon, the Urgals turned on each other readily when Durza’s control was broken.

“I’m worried too, Shimmer.” Roran voiced with a hand on my armored snout. I was garbed in plain polished steel-plated armor, Roran having told the armourers that I didn’t want ornamentation. Meanwhile, my sister was clad in almost garish silver-polished armor. The fact the armourers had the skill to accomplish even that much in such a short time was impressive.

“Let them come, I want to pay them back for that ambush in, what was that village again?” Elric said with incredible malice even though he was tuning an accordion for some reason.

“It wasn’t in the village.” Eragon commented, likely not wanting to admit he’d forgotten the name of the village. I did too, but that’s because we didn’t even get to rest there like we had planned.

“Whatever. I just want to punish these invaders for endangering civilian lives.” Elric grumbled and I huffed out smoke, lamenting that even though Saphira and I had matured enough to carry our wings to our anthro forms, we still didn’t have our fire breath. “I’d like to sing them a song.” Elric snarled, causing everyone around him to leer suspiciously at the accordion. Magic is well-known in these parts after all.

“I can guess why you wanted to defend a tunnel by yourself. Well, with the sounds of digging only coming from a couple tunnels, you’ll get your wish, Elric.” Brom then turned to us. “Eragon, Saphira, Roran, Shimmer. As much as I wish I had more time to prepare you, I’m afraid that this will be a trial by fire. Do not land. Remain airborne whenever and wherever possible. Since you cannot breath fire on them, instead you’ll be taking a more unconventional approach.”

“What Brom is getting at, is that you’ll be dropping things on the heads of the enemy from above.” Arya cut to the chase, the elk’s no-nonsense personality showing. I’d done my best to help soften the formerly cold and distant female’s persona, but at her core she was as dutiful and impersonal as the majority of her people I fear.

“Really?” Eragon asked in dismay, but Roran couldn’t withhold his enthusiasm. “Wait, what did you get up to with the smiths earlier?”

“We made bombs. Non-magical explosives made from chemical waste and other byproducts. Instead of dropping plain weights which wouldn’t be worth adding on to the burden our partners carry for us, I was helping them make stable explosive powder while they had some potters make clay shells for them and they had their tailors donate plenty of rags for wicks.” Roran smirked darkly and I felt my pride in my Rider increase even further.

“So even though we cannot directly intervene aside from possibly doing a divebomb swipe, we’ll at least be a potent force multiplier. Good work my Rider~.” I crooned and Roran actually blushed a bit with his smile. Aw, I love you too Roran. I just wish you didn’t have it so hard for Katrina that you had trouble seeing me intimately.

“Indeed. You’ll be dropping firebombs on the invader’s heads in place of breathing fire on them. As for me, I’ll be with Ajihad and Hrothgar on the battlefield, commanding Du Vrangr Gata. Yes, it is syntactically incorrect, but that’s their name.” Brom glared at us and I snorted along with Saphira. “Now, return to the Dragonhold. You’ll be using it as your resupply point and also where you launch into the fray.”

“What about Murtagh?” Eragon questioned and Brom looked at me, to which I solemnly nodded.

“He will be joining the battle. He is still a capable mage even if he prefers the sword and bow, so he’ll be lessening the lost firepower with the Traitor Twins disposed of.” “I still greatly dislike this ploy, Shimmer. Even though we told him his fate and the suffering involved, he still volunteered in the end.” Brom griped for good reason in private telepathy, which I cut Roran off from. It felt wrong to deny my Rider something, but like in canon, Riders and Dragons can choose not to share everything.

“It saddens me too, Brom. I like Murtagh. He’s a good pony and a surprisingly supportive sibling for Eragon, but his betrayal, unwilling or not, is necessary for Sombra’s downfall.” I perked up at hearing the war horns echoing through Tronjheim, the already frantic work of the forges picked up even further, the wargs shouting and singing both in wargish and the Ancient Language for the smiths using magic in their craft. “The battle is upon us! Come, Roran!”

“Be safe!” Roran called out to Brom, Elric and Arya before I ran back through the halls to the heart of Tronjheim. “Don’t worry about Katrina and Diane. They’re with the civilians in the King’s Great Hall, which is at the bottom of a chokepoint spiral staircase.” Roran informed me, allowing the niggling worry I had about the non-combatants with us hopefully not needing to use the skills they trained up these past months.

“Good. I couldn’t bear to think of them coming to harm. Especially not Katrina.” Roran knew I loved her as much as he did, but it didn’t hurt to reinforce that point.

“Mum! Peppy’s elevator brings bombs!” Peppy reported the moment we emerged in the Dragonhold. “Go burn baddies!” The short-haired warg quickly sprinted into the stairwell, where just below the Dragonhold, his elevator operated.

“I still find it disturbing that he’s your pet from your previous life.” Eragon commented from his saddle on Saphira before joining me in looking at the piles of small clay jars with wet rags that stank of chemicals sticking out of them. “While this feels a bit dirty, they’re savages being controlled by an even greater monster. Let’s get started.”

“Don’t tell me you’ll have to put those filthy things in your trousers.” Saphira scrunched her snout in distaste and I did too.

“No, Elric made us belt satchels that let us access our fancy Inventory space when handling potentially dangerous things. Murtagh cursed him right good when he found out he’d been storing his sword next to his tallywacker for no good reason.” Roran chuckled while shoveling the jars into the satchel on his belt, Eragon doing the same. “Alright, let’s go!”

“Guide me, my Rider.” I declared before I blanked my sense of individuality like Brom had instructed us was key for a Dragon Rider to truly become more than just another person. We took to the air and dove for the incoming line of screaming, bellowing barbarians. We turned to bank slightly to dodge incoming projectiles while our Roran half lit and tossed the primitive grenades into the enemy’s midst.

The effect, while not astounding, was quite potent. The detonation rattled those far enough not to be set ablaze by the flammable cocktail contained in the jar. Those lit aflame screamed in horrifying agony if they weren’t lucky enough to die instantly from the explosion alone.

We steeled our resolve and continued our bombing run, passing over the enemy lines and watching them continue to march even as they lost troops by the dozens, the towering 6-9 foot tall burly fur-coated beasts simply got angrier and continued to march towards the Varden’s lines.

“Welcome to my concert! I hope to see your innards by the end of it.” We heard Elric echo through magic before dark and foreboding accordion music drifted on the wind from the direction of Tronjheim. We suppose Elric is making good on his desire before.

I snapped to individual awareness when Roran disconnected from our temporary fusion. “We need to head back. I’m out of bombs.” I nodded in understanding and turned back towards Tronjheim, only to gasp and dive when a 20-foot long serpentine monster almost tackled us from the sky. “What is that?!”

“That’s a Fanghur, a flying serpent! I’m surprised it didn’t use a psionic scream to try and destabilize us first!” I dodged another swoop from the feral beast and snarled, my chest getting hot before I instinctively drew a deep breath and unleashed my anger upon the creature, surprising myself with the gout of white fire that washed over the beast and caused it to shriek.

“You have your breath! Keep up the pressure on the beast while I prepare.” Roran’s request was logical, so I pulled on the power in my chest, the fury and righteousness I had felt before and kept the primitive winged snake at bay with my bright whitefire. “Okay, lower your head below my eyeline, but stay steady!” I did so immediately and was rewarded with a thunderous crack, followed by the Fanghur giving a choked shriek and falling down onto the yaks below.

“Was that a blunderbuss?! It is! My clever Rider!” I praised him and coughed. “I don’t think I should keep using my fire so much. I just got it, so it might be bad if I overtax myself.”

“Then let’s head back for more bombs.” Roran said, but moments later a dark, evil creature emerged from the top of Farthen Dur and flew northwest. Not uncoincidentally, the yaks suddenly turned on each other. Oh no! “Eragon!” Roran metally shouted in realization and I flew with all haste back to the Dragonhold to find that Isidar Mithrim was shattered, leaving a gaping hole in the floor down into the heart of Tronjheim.

I dove in and alighted to find much to my horror, Eragon’s left wing was severed, laying in a bloody heap of feathers to the side. Arya was with him, using her magic to heal the stump of what had been his wing. “Saphira!” I rushed to my sister. She was hurt too.

“Sister. The dark beast, it’s teeth have punctured my neck and my shoulder. It hurts to breathe.” Saphira weakly told me from where she lay, her armor gushing blood in the locations she described. I nosed the injury, licking at it and helping Roran remove her armor. Wounds don’t turn purple like this, not inside the wound! “Sister. It burns…”

“No! No, no, no! That must’ve been a Lethrblaka! It might’ve coated it’s fangs in Seithr Oil! Stay with me!” I pleaded, keening and wailing in despair, not caring that my tongue and lips were going numb from having lapped at her wounds. I felt my eyes burn, my nictitating membrane closed and I sobbed, nosing my sister’s injury, praying to any deity out there that Saphira-.

*Flash!*

I collapsed against my sister in exhaustion, feeling more tired than I’ve ever felt. Not even the mad dash and flight here from the edge of the Beors had drained me this much. Everything felt like it was put through a cotton filter and the bright sconce of energy in my chest that was ever present felt dim and weak.

“Sister! Stay awake!” I heard Saphira plea, confusing me. Wasn’t she the one who was poisoned? “You fool! Take some of my mana!” The power in my chest suddenly felt less empty, the cotton in my brain was ripped away and I gasped when I came back to my senses. Saphira was fine. Her wounds were gone and I had no idea how that happened. “You fool. You precious, beloved fool.” Saphira was cuddling me, wrapping around me almost with her neck resting over mine.

“Thank you, Shimmer.” I managed to turn my gaze enough to see Eragon, still missing a wing, leaning against Arya. “I was too weak and injured to help Saphira. Thank you for saving her.”

“Eragon...your wing…” It was one thing to have a painful injury across the back, but to lose a limb? Poor Eragon…

“Bah, what does it matter so long as Saphira is alive? She’s my wings. She always has been since she hatched.” Eragon hammed, likely hiding how much the loss of his wing pained him both literally and emotionally. “That said, Arya, mind starting my training sooner than when we’re at your home?” Eragon, don’t deflect like that…

“Once you can move without crippling pain.” Arya declared sternly before wargs and Varden poured in.

🥚

Eragon had slayed Durza, as expected. What I hadn’t expected aside from the loss of one of Eragon’s wings, was the presence of a Lethrblaka directly aiding Durza in place of that fake monster from the movie. Both of these surprises told me that my presence was well and truly throwing canon out the window. Sombra wanted Eragon and Saphira dead, because with me, he still had another potential broodmother.

So now here I stand, snuggled to my sister’s side in our anthro forms in a corner of the meeting chamber that Ajihad, the maneless and short-cropped tailed zebra leader of the Varden, Hrothgar, the 4 foot tall positively bushy braid-bearded black warg King and Brom the Ex-Rider were using to hold an after-action debriefing.

Elric was next to us in the corner since he was wearing the bloodstained skull and a coat made from the hide of the same yak said skull came from. Apparently, as a born Skaven, it was his people’s tradition to wear the bones and flesh of their enemies. So he was kindly requested to not sit at the nice table and stand next to us instead. Also, there were a lot of people seated at the table and I didn’t feel like sitting right now. I’m tired enough that I might just sleep.

Elric wasn’t helping with that though. The yak pelt he’d skinned was annoyingly cozy and the way he was hugging Saphira and I to his sides to comfort us after our first real taste of combat was making me sleepy. It didn’t help that this was all politics and that bored me to tears. “Do I have to be here, Roran?” I whined in private to my Rider while tugging on my tunic’s skirt.

“I personally don’t think so, not with you so tired and uninterested, but I’m afraid the others would protest one of the heroes of the hour slinking away to sleep.” Roran grumbled at me in equal privacy.

“Fuck them! I want to sleep~!” I mentally wailed and tried to pretend I was listening to the meeting, even though I doubted anyone would bother to address me. Even though we’re anthro right now, it seems people still treated dragons not entirely as people in this world since they’re not used to them.

“Such meetings, bah, it's why I volunteered for the Extra Planer Exploration program, to avoid them.” Elric sighed with a scratch of his cheek. “Clan Scruten are known for how political they can get in colonial management, for instance.”

“Why can’t they just let us rest?” Saphira grumbled. She may have been healed by my spontaneous use of magic, but she was tired from donating magic back to me.

“It's to get reports from your view, things the others missed.” Elric told us and we both looked at him warily. Weren’t we talking to ourselves?

“They have Roran and Eragon for that.” I grumbled and Elric shrugged.

“Politics.” We groaned at his simple and all-encompassing one-word explanation.

“I hope Roran decides not to become a lord, or at least becomes one without all this dog and pony show bullshit.” I took a moment before I realized that was exactly what was going on here. Dogs and Ponies were the majority species here. I am more annoyed by this irony than amused.

“-So, as it stands. I hold to my previous plans to take Eragon to Du Weldenvarden to further his training. The loss of his wing makes his training with us more important than before.” Arya announced and my attention was sufficiently piqued. Wait, they were talking about not sending Eragon to the elks?

“I can understand that, but please allow him to recover before you work him into the dirt.” Ajihad then let out a long sigh. “I am also afraid that I bring terrible news regarding Murtagh Morzanson.” I felt a sudden weight of guilt and regret. “He was with us in the tunnels while we were hunting down stragglers. Two dark figures assaulted us and killed half of my hunting party, but Murtagh fended them off until the tunnel between us collapsed.”

“These figures. Were they in form-hiding dark robes? If not, did they look like a changeling mated with a wyvern and stuck a vulture’s head on it?” Brom questioned sharply and Ajihad nodded grimly. “Ra’Zac. It only makes sense since a Lethrblaka acted as Durza’s mount and combat aid in the battle. Damn. They’ll have taken Murtagh with them to the capital.” “Curse necessity, Shimmer. That lad is going to suffer.”

“I know.” I leaned more against Elric and watched the leaders of the three factions talk about what may come from Murtagh’s abduction while Eragon looked despondently at the stone table with a glazed and haunted look, especially when Brom mentioned it was likely Murtagh would be forced to swear fealty in the Ancient Language and be forced to betray them.

“Betrayed by Family…” Eragon muttered so quietly that the only reason I knew those were his words was the movements of his lips and my assumptions on his thoughts.

“All of this said, however. I fear that my time as leader of the Varden has run its course.” Ajihad declared, much to the surprise of everyone and I balked. He survived! He didn’t die like in canon, but he’s stepping down anyway?!

“Ajihad, are you sure this is wise? The Varden and the rest of us respect you greatly. You’ve led your people with competence aside from those corrupt misers on your council.” Hrothgar huffed and I was glad those slimy worms weren’t here. This was officially a debriefing, something the council has no say in. Of course, that meant turning it into a proper meeting without them here to muck it up was a brilliant move. Eugh, politics.

“I believe it is time. Following this battle, I’ve come to realize that not only do I tire of these games, I feel more at home leading men directly than from the rear. My daughter, however. She is whip-crack quick of wit and as sharp as the finest blades produced by wargs. I know that she will grow to be the leader the Varden needs, not the one they think they need.” Ajihad ran a hand over his mane-free head and the zebra sighed out of his nose. “This position took my hair.”

“To be fair, Ajihad; long hair is fairly overrated.” Brom joked with a lift of his long snowy locks and Hrothgar, suitably long of beard and hair himself, cackled in agreement. “I’ll be getting it cut soon I think. Now then. Eragon, you’ll still be training with Arya and the elks once you recover. Roran, you’ll be staying here where your keen scientific mind will be of the most use, as well as where you can learn to improve your chosen martial skill sets.”

“Yes.” Our Riders nodded in agreement and stood.

“Um, if it’s alright with King Hrothgar! I’d like to learn to read wargish and learn your history, if you’ll let me.” I practically begged, knowing it was a longshot.

“Unless the wargs can somehow become Riders in the future, I’m afraid that’s out of the question and against our traditions.” Hrothgar factually told me and I wilted, before cheering up at remembering that the dwarves in canon became part of the blood pact after the Rider War was over.

“Is that a promise?” I questioned the king intently and he furrowed his brows at me.

“What are you up to?” Hrothgar asked suspiciously and I wagged my eye ridges at him.

“Oh, nothing you’ll have to worry about for maybe a year.”