For Alagaesia: 46. The Mysterious mountains

White was the only colour his eyes registered. Wherever he turned, he could see nothing but white. Trees looked like white pillars and legs sunk foots into the ground. To make matters worse, a blizzard blew from the west making it impossible to move towards their destination. The biting cold had already consumed atleast a dozen battle-hardened warriors.

Roran wondered if he had made the wrong decision in accepting to carry out Nasuada’s crazy plan. He wouldn’t have worried so much if it was just him who was going into death, but the soldiers who accompanied him: elves, dwarves, urgals and humans had come on his call. It was his responsibility to take them safely to the other side of the mysterious and dangerous mountain range that was Spine. They had believed him blindly and had offered their help in his scheme to take down Teirm.

“Hey lady, Madhura, could you stop this storm?”, Roran screamed above the howling snow-laden winds to the elf woman who was leading the elven team under him.

“That is impossible, Stronghammer. These winds are nature’s strongest forces. Not even riders can stop such storms.”

Roran cursed under his breath. ‘If this goes on for another hour half of the army will be dead.’

“Is there nothing you could do?”, he asked desperately. Snowfire, walking beside him neighed as if endorsing his words. The elf walked silently for a while and then said, “Perhaps, if all of us pool our strengths then we could slow it down.”

“Then do it.”, Roran said excited.

“We can’t be sure even then if we could have enough energy to sustain the spell for as we move higher, the blizzard is bound to get stronger. If a stage comes at which we will have to relinquish the spell, the army would be devastated in the harsh regions.”, the elf said.

‘Harsh regions? What do they call this then?’, Roran thought. He nodded to the elf and tried to find a way so that they could wade the snowy mess that was the spine. When no idea came to his mind, he decided that staying at their current location until the blizzard abated was the only viable solution.

So he called all his subordinates to assemble around him: Yarbog of the Urgals, Madhura of the elves, Ralear of the Varden and Narheim of the dwarves.

“I don’t think it the best idea to travel in this storm further into the spine. If this blizzard gets worse then we will have to endure severe damages.”, he said.

“What use is it staying here, Stronghammer? This place is no better shelter than the interiors of the spine.”, Narheim protested.

“I don’t think this is the worst of the storm, master dwarf. The interiors shall hold much more power than this and it would be plain suicide to travel there at this time.”

“So do you propose that we stay here? Let me remind you this: staying here is inviting suicide as much as going further up the mountain. Atleast then we will have made some progress.”, the dwarf said in a voice that combined both mockery and hopelessness.

“Stronghammer, if I may?”, Yarbog said a little reluctantly. Roran found it unbelievable. In all the months that he had been in contact with the Urgals, not one was reluctant to say anything. They were always open and arrogant.

“Speak up, Yarbog. Anyway the others seem to be out of ideas.”, he said. The Dwarf cleared his throat, showing that he didn’t like to be spoken ill of in front of the Urgals.

It had always intrigued Roran why the Dwarves who were much more civilised than the Urgals, were so reluctant to accept the Urgals as their friends when Urgals were open to the notion of Dwarves as their friends. He fairly had an idea that it all stemmed from the clearly demarcated and followed order of hierarchy and power in the Urgal’s customs and the completely divided clan structure of the dwarven political makeup. But it still interested him how the advancement of civilisation didn’t have its effect in such crucial matters. ‘Maybe, Eragon was right. Maybe civilisation is only for the eyes and the Urgals are as civilised as any of us.’, he thought.

Yarbog who had been ready to speak stopped short and glared at Narheim. The dwarf glared back at the Urgal. A fight between the races was the last thing Roran wanted in that situation. So he decided to intervene. “Yarbog. You informed that you had some plan.”, he stated looking at the Urgal chief.

Yarbog turned his attention towards Roran. But Narheim wasn’t leaving the matter too easily. Roran couldn’t decide what to do. Ralear, the human captain pulled Narheim into a conversation, thus avoiding an ugly confrontation. Roran nodded at the human captain for his excellent presence of mind and listened to Yarbog.

“I don’t propose this as a plan. I merely want to suggest this. If you don’t like what I say, please ignore it.”, said Yarbog. It kindled Roran’s interest. Not everyday do Urgals plead with you, afterall.

“Go on”, he said to the Kull.

“I hail from here. The spine has been my home ever since I was born.”, Yarbog said a little too meekly for an Urgal. Roran didn’t interrupt him. By now Narheim and Ralear had joined in to listen to Yarbog. “My village is very near from here. We could stay there if it is not hurting your pride.”

The way Yarbog said the last part of his sentence spoke of the bitterness he still harboured for the other races of Alagaesia that had always tried to exterminate them. After spending months and months with the Urgals, Roran could now sympathise with them. The small conversation he had had with Eragon during one of their lunch-talks after Eragon’s rescue about the Urgals when his cousin admitted that he and everyone of the people of Alagaesia were wrong about the Urgals supposed uncivilised culture and that he had learnt his lessons about the race through scrolls and personal experiences came to Roran’s mind. ‘Those words probably are true.’, Roran thought.

So what if the whole world was against the Urgals? How long could a truth be crushed? On retrospection, it seemed to Roran that hating Urgals was probably a longer if not greater evil than not knowing the true nature of Galbatorix. A wrong belief like that wasn’t supposed to be lingering. He would do anything in his limit to change the way things worked. He knew that the Urgals weren’t beasts to be despised but a civilised race just as the humans, dwarves or the elves. So he would visit their village as a guest and start what would be a long lasting relation between the Urgals and the other races.

“We shall go with you Yarbog, to your village.”, Roran said to the waiting Urgal.

“It shall be a honour to visit the place where our allies live.”, Madhura backed Roran. Ralear and Narheim seemed to be in shock. They didn’t utter even a word for nearly minute. They kept staring at Roran as if he had suggested that they jump off a mountain. Roran waited patiently for them to speak out their objection. After a while Ralear seemed to get hold of his senses and he spoke to Roran coming near his ears, “General. It is not in our ways to visit the Urgal villages. Those are cursed places. We go there only to destroy them.”

Roran didn’t find it right to have the conversation in private. So he said loudly for all to hear, “What if the Urgals had thought like this and kept attacking us rather than supporting our cause against Galbatorix. Think Ralear. Are, we, the humans so cruel that we are incapable of returning the favour the Urgals did to us by joining us in our cities. Can’t we join them in theirs? What kind of civilised people would we be if we are not even able to do what the Urgals did?”

Ralear breathed in sharply. He seemed to be in anger. But Roran couldn’t care less. Ralear was a respected warlord but not a great politician and surely not an orator. He would not try to split the army. Roran was sure up to that. So he simply ignored the silent protest that Ralear was giving. Narheim wasn’t as controlled as Ralear though.

“Urgals are filth, general. I won’t set foot on their land as an ally.”, he said.

Yarbog bared his teeth at the dwarf but kept his ground. Roran was grateful for that quality of the Urgals. They always respected the rank and order of the society. In this case, as the re,mark ws directed at Roran whom Yarbog had accepted as his leader, the Urgal stood silently.

“That was a unwelcome comment, Narheim. Do you want Galbatorix to win this war against us? Do you want to doom Alagaesia into further misery? And do you think, Galbatorix will leave you alone for long? No. If we are to lose this war, he will make sure to hunt down each one of us. The only way we have against a man as powerful and evil as Galbatorix is to stand united. Urgals are part of the civilised population of Alagaesia and leaving them out of the revolution against Galbatorix is inviting doom upon us. Thousands of years, we have hated the Urgals. Why don’t we turn back and see who has done more damage to the other side? I bet it is us, the humans, dwarves and elves who have murdered a lot more Urgals than they have us. What right do we have to call them filth when we ourselves are guilty?”

It was now Narheim’s turn to huff and puff. The dwarf had no answer to him. That was what he was hoping for. He knew that the hatred of the dwarves and the humans towards the Urgals would not die down by some words from him. He had only sought to silence the men and the dwarves through his speech and he had achieved that.

He waited to see if any one of them – Ralear or Narheim – had anything more to say. When he was sure that they were spent, he said, “It is decided then. We stay at the Urgal village till the snow storm abates.”

Ralear and Narheim practically glared at him, but didn’t offer any resistance to his claim.

“You did well, Roran-vodhr.”, the elf woman, Madhura whispered, coming near him, “It is an honour to work under your leadership.”  Roran nodded his head at the elf. He knew the magnitude of such a praise and what it took to be praised by an elf.

“I want each one of you to gather your people and follow the Urgals.”, Roran said to them commonly and then to Yarbog, he said, “You will lead us, Yarbog.”

“Of course, Stronghammer.”, the Urgal said.

The next one hour was spent on rallying the troops for the travel to the Urgal village. The dwarves proved to be the most difficult to convince and Roran almost started hating the various factions in the dwarven administration. The humans protested, but gave up when Roran pointed out that there was no other way for them to live through the storm.

The march towards the Urgal settlement was again an adventure. Roran was confused to see that Yarbog was taking them through a much more harsher route than the one they were taking.

“Are you sure that this is the route, Yarbog?”, Roran asked when he got down from a sharp hill with bruised feet.

“Yes, Stronghammer. I am sure.”, he said and after a while of silent walking added, “We are forced to build our homes where humans don’t dare to venture.”

Roran was struck by such a claim. The Urgal was suggesting that they, ‘fearing’ human invasion, had made their hmes in unforgiving terrains. It raised serious questions in his mind about the supposed ‘noble’ qualities of humans. ‘How noble are we when fear for us has forced them to move into such difficult locations?’

After a three hour walk, Yarbog climbed down a valley that was very well hidden from the outside world. Roran was simply amazed to find the scenery below him. Chunks of homes – or what Roran guessed to be homes – lined the whole expanse of the valley. From his perch high above the valley, Roran could say that it was as great a settlement – atleast in size – as Teirm or Dras-Leona, perhaps even bigger than those.

“There lies Rapparanzhlar, our greatest and only remaining city. My home.”, Yarbog said.

Roran could see how his face lit up at seeing the city. The high spirits of the Urgals was palpable as was the amazement of the humans.

“You are the first of any other race to lay eyes on it. Not even the riders of the elder days knew about this city. It has been one of our most guarded secrets.”, Yarbog said.

The humans and the dwarves openly commented on the ‘realness’ of the city. They were suggesting that it was some play of the eyes and that nothing existed down in the valley. The Urgals, thankfully, didn’t take offence at such outrageous comments.

When they were a about a league away from the city, Yarbog turned around and took centre stage before the army. Then he said, “Friends, I would ask you to stop speaking in this way when we enter the city. The people in the city are not as tolerant as us.”

The clamour in the army that rose as a result of the Urgal’s short sentence made Roran fill with mirth despite the seriousness of the situation. They were accusing each other for convincing them to come down the monster-infested place. But his initial amusement turned to apprehension when the sounds started raising.

“My people, we are not helping our reputation as civilised people by fighting over the monstrosity of our hosts. As you can see they are no monsters and their city is no less impressive than any of ours. If we keep up this spiteful behaviour what do you think the Gods will do with us? If you are not afraid of Angvard, touch your heart and say the same things you did moments before; even your heart will revolt against you. If it doesn’t then Galbatorix is a better man than you.” Roran said and paused for a while to see if his accusation sunk into the men’s heart. When there was utter silence, he understood that he had achieved what he had hoped for: silence the people atleast for the duration of their stay at Rapparanzhlar.

“I plead you to behave politely with the Urgals of the city.”, he said finally. The people remained silent. Then an appalling thought occurred to him: Eragon explaining the not-so-attractive mannerisms of the Urgals when Roran had pointed out that they were arrogant and too much caught with themselves. So he said hastily before he lost the attention of the people, “Just remember that their customs are different from ours and what looks and sounds offensive for us are actually their ways of receiving us heartily.”

As they neared the city, the look that the Urgals of the town gave him, made him reconsider his decision to accompany Yarbog to his city. He even felt stupid and guilty for going into an Urgal settlement willingly. ‘Their customs may differ but disdain is clear in their faces. What madness drove me into this place?’, Roran thought.

Now that they had reached near enough to the city to assess the homes, he could see that what looked far more impressive from afar had dwarfed into a group of messy buildings.

‘So much for thinking that the Urgals are equal to us.’, he thought. But then, another thought entered his mind: ‘Does the notion of beauty and rightness remain the same when even mannerisms change?’

Feeling confused and embarrassed, he thought of the purpose of his and his army’s arrival in the town and promised himself that it was the best way to escape the cold blizzards of the Spine, if not a ‘friendly’ visit. He could hear the jeering of the Urgals behind their backs.

A huge ground lay at the centre of the town. Yarbog led them to the ground. Thick frost covered the ground and made it impossible to know if there was floor beneath it or if it was just soil. From the ugly houses that surrounded him, he guessed that it would be just plain soil.

“My people, I come with word from Nar Garzhvog. He wants you to give my companions the respect they are due as brothers.”, Yarbog said. Roran was taken by surprise. He had just seconds ago lamented his decision to bring his army into Urgal land. But the Urgal was calling him and his men ‘brothers’.

“These people have bled with us on the battlefield. They stand with us against Galbatorix, the liar and usurper of our lands.”, Yarbog continued. But all those words seemed unnecessary for the Urgals had simply left their jeering and staring when they heard that Garzhvog wanted them respected. The devotion and respect that Garzhvog commanded among the Urgals impressed Roran. Their devotion for the Urgal leader seemed much more than the respect Eragon evoked among the Varden.

Yet again, Roran was left to feel ashamed of himself for considering the Urgals as uncultured brutes. ‘What uncultured people would place their trust blindly on a single person?’, he thought to himself. But then again, the Urgals didn’t move to speak to any of them and that hurt his pride. ‘How could these creatures remain unmoved by our presence. It is we who gave them a lease of life by allowing them to fight alongside us against Galbatorix.’

‘Would we invite Urgals into our most secret lair, that which we have guarded from the very Urgals for millennia?’, the other part of his mind that rationalised every action of the Urgals thought. Roran realised that it was of no use to fight within himself for and against Urgals and turned to an Urgal-woman - one among the first females of the race he had seen – whom he guessed to be the overlord of the city. From what Eragon had told him about Urgals and their culture, it only seemed right that a woman acted as the overall-head of the Urgals. It was, according to Eragon, a move by the Urgals to remove the bias of physical strength, when males took to the throne of the Urgals. Males were subject to challenges (and they HAD to accept challenges) that more often than not, males with brute-physical-strength tended to end up as the ruler of the Urgals rather than a wise-one as was the need. When females were made ruler, the decision could be purely made based on the wisdom of the woman.

Roran said to the female Urgal, “Herndall, We were on our way to Teirm in a bid to capture the city for our alliance. But the weather has become dangerously worse in the past day and we can ill-afford to lose soldiers to the cold. So I request you to grant us roofs to stay under until the blizzard abates.”

The Urgal-woman looked at Roran with her head held high – a sign of friendship and trust (as Roran remembered Eragon teaching him) – and said, “We respect the Varden for the strength and resilience shown by you in your war against Galbatorix. The noblest qualities expected of a person are those very things. As the leader of the Varden army, you are welcome with us and so is your army.” Roran relaxed, releasing his tense shoulders and pent up breath. “This day marks a big shift in our history. Never has a creature of another race set foot on Rapparanzhlar before this day. Yet you have today – elves, humans and dwarves. We have placed trust of the highest order in you by allowing you to see our city. From this day, our futures are bound together. If we die, we die together and if we live we live together.”, the female Urgal continued and concluded.

Roran wanted to point out that it was the war-loving nature of the Urgals that made them enemies of the other races and that the other other races were always ready to accept the Urgals as friends, if the Urgals could leave their war-mongering behind. But decided against such words because he had a fair idea that the Urgals were aware of their shortcomings already and because he was quite unsure if the dwarves would ever accept the Urgals as their proper friends.

They were then shown to homes made of dried mud, dry leaves, twigs, leather and other such naturally available and easy-to-prepare-and-use artifacts. The ugliness of the homes didn’t bother Roran as long as they provided him respite from the cold. He didn’t have any true friends on this journey for he had not taken any Carvahall villager with him. It probably was a partial decision where he feared for the lives of his friends, but he reasoned that they were not good enough warriors to take on Teirm. He had chosen very experienced hands and that ruled out his friends. It bemused him that he was now a complete stranger to his friends – the general-commander of the Varden’s army.

Having none to keep company while he rested at the fireplace, Roran decided that he would look around the city. It was not every day that you got to lay eyes on the only Urgal city afterall. As time passed, Roran found that the city held some interest to him.

Everything in the city was a picture of order and status. Only, the measure for status was quite different with the Urgals than it was with the humans. Here, the material wealth was replaced by number of victories, a person earned in their fight. Any one who had won many one-on-one combats was a ‘wealthy’ person here. Roran felt that the Urgals had a more even playing field than that of the humans because in case of humans, people inherited huge wealth from their parents. With the Urgals, they had to earn everything by themselves: in short, the more talented you are, the respected you become. The only problem was that most fights tended to go down to the death and if not, the fights paved the way for grudges to be held. It simply hampered peace among the Urgals.

Roran got a lot of insight into why the Urgals were so fierce in battle apart from their incredible physical strength from the city. They trained even in the biting cold. They simply didn’t seem to notice that a blizzard was blowing around them and that it had the capability to kill any of them at any time – although the blizzard was noticeably lower in intensity in the valley. The young and the old trained together. Children who seemed to be only about thirteen years old were pitched against youth in their early twenties.

The one group that amazed him was the Kull battalion of the city. Their training was almost comparable with that of the elven ways. Roran was no stranger to the rigorous elvish ways of training. He had more than once seen elves and elven-trained, Eragon sweat it out on the training fields. The weird exercise that Eragon and the elves performed almost on all mornings - something by name, Rimgar – was simply impossible for him to do or even to imagine doing. It was true that the Kull’s exercises and training weren’t that graceful and methodical as that of the elves, but it shared the ‘physical’ rigours. While at the Varden, the Kull and the ordinary Urgals never trained as much as they did in their city.

Roran also noticed the places of worship that the Urgals used. He didn’t know what god the Urgals prayed to, but he got a pretty good feeling that the Urgals method of worship was more aligned with the human and dwarven way than he had imagined – further proof that the Urgals were similar to any of the other four sentient races of Alagaesia: humans, elves, dragons and dwarves.

But the things that caught his attention the most were the Urgals women and little children. Having seen the Urgals in war, Roran had never even thought of the Urgal children and women. They were just like their human counterparts: caring women and playful children. How much ever proof Roran got from the city about the culture of the Urgals, his mind wasn’t ready or trained enough to accept them as his equals. But he resolved that he would one day get it in him to think them as his equals who had the right to roam the human settlement as much as the dwarves, elves and dragons.

The food provided to them was actually tasty. Roran had not hoped to get real food in the Urgal city – his unwilling mind, not yet ready to accept that the Urgals ate and lived like humans. But the fact was that the food that was provided to them was as good as any food served to him at the Varden. Roran ate to his heart’s content for he knew that he would not get such food for a long time after that. By the midnight, the blizzard had stopped leaving an even whiter ground in its wake.

Roran made arrangements for leaving from the city through the night as he saw no reason to stay after the snow-storm. In fact, he was now wary that the strained relationship between Dwarves and Urgals would deteriorate further and that there may be risk of physical confrontation between the two races; not to mention the madness, a few humans shared with the dwarves in hating the Urgals as much as or much more than Galbatorix’s rule itself. He had brought them to the town only because he didn’t want the blizzard to kill them off. Now that the blizzard had abated, his only aim was to put as much distance as possible between the Urgal-city, Rapparanzhlar and the dwarves & humans. The memories of the tension between the Urgals and the Varden when an idiotic human had killed an Urgal and had claimed it victoriously remained fresh in his mind. Another such incident and that too at the Urgal city couldn’t be afforded. With the blizzard absent, Roran even wondered what had gotten into him to make him bring his army into Urgal territory.

When he went to sleep finally, the early hours of morning had already passed. He thought he would sleep for maybe a couple of hours. But when he rose, he was pretty sure that the time was much past a few hours. In fact, he could see that the sun had started its descend already which meant it was already afternoon. Enraged with his men for not waking him up earlier, Roran stormed out of the home, he was resting in.

What greeted him outside made him forget all his anger and stand in amazement and confusion: a huge company of Kull stood at the city-centre, fully armed and armoured – ready to travel. The Varden and the allied army stood right behind the Kulls. Madhura, the elf-leader who stood near him whispered, “Roran-vodhr, the Kull have volunteered to aid us in the war on Teirm.”

”What?”, Roran whisper-yelled, not quite believing the elf’s claim. But the elf had resumed her calm and silent ‘watch’ already – a quality he hated in all elves.

The ruling lady Urgal of Rapparanzhlar emerged from amidst the Kull warriors and greeted him. Then she said, “General Roran, the Urgals don’t promise themselves in bits and pieces.” Apparently a dig at the elves – their greatest enemies - “When we promise aid, we aid with our full resources. Accordingly all of our organised warriors are with your army at the Varden except the elite guard of this city. Now seeing as you have a paltry army with which it looks impossible to defeat a great city such as Teirm, I have decided to let the Kull-guard go with you. We will retain one company of the elite battalion for the security of our city but the other two companies shall accompany you. We have the approval of our military leader, Nar Garzhvog and the council of political leadership for this. We contacted the Nar yesterday and he was delighted to know that you were in our city. As the only Nar in two hundred years, he personally recommends all help we could offer you be offered.”

Roran was left to wonder what Nar meant and how could Garzhvog be the holder of such a great title. Garzhvog afterall had strange customs and rough mannerisms. Roran cursed himself in the next second after thinking ill of the Urgal leader. ‘Garzhvog is Urgal and their tradition and notion of greatness is vastly different from that of the humans.’ he instructed his mind and moved on to more important matters.

The addition of a great company of Kull in the ranks of his army was risky at best. Kull, however learned and cultured – in their own way – weren’t accustomed to human’s ways and the human and dwarven hatred toward them was so great that their joining his army was more a bad thing than a good one. Not to mention that the Kull were sworn enemies of the elves – the only beings in the entire creation who could challenge and hope to win against elves, dragons apart. He, himself in way was a fan of the elite Urgal warriors.

But these were not just elite Urgal warriors. These were the elite among the elite. The advantage that the Varden would gain against the strong walls of Teirm would be so great and if only he could find a way to keep the Kull out of any potential confrontation with the humans and dwarves, his army would - in effect - get elven assistance against Teirm: which Roran felt was necessary to win over the coastal city.

The same madness that made him accept Yarbog’s offer to provide shelter in the hidden city of Rapparanzhlar made him accept this offer too. “I, Roran Stronghammer, general commander of the Varden army, on behalf of Lady Nasuada Nightstalker, leader of the Varden, accept your offer of assistance in the Varden and allies most important battle of this winter. May this be the start of a long lasting bond of friendship between Rapparanzhlar and the Varden.”, he said.

A round of silent applause from the elves and a few Kull followed. But the dwarves and the humans restrained from praising his move. It made him feel nervous. He looked at the huge army under his control: a collection of battle-hardened humans, dwarves, elves and Urgals. It simply seemed to have come from out of the world he lived in. The sight of the Kull - fierce, tall, enduring, resilient, strongly built and eerily handsome, the elves – calm, graceful, fast, powerful, extremely skilled and dangerously unpredictable, the dwarves – short, stout, strong, vengeful and masterfully crafty and the humans – determined, hardened, skilful and uncomfortably familiar moving together under his command made him reel. He was afterall a mere farm boy just over two years ago. He was shaken in his mind – the four races had never fought under one banner; not even during the fall or before it. And not even when the Varden fought at the burning plains, Feinster, Belatona or Dras-Leona recently were the four races fighting under the same leader. But now they did and he was to lead that army – he had taken only a few Urgals with him from the Varden just to avoid such a situation. Now that the Kull had joined the ranks of his army, there were about 700 humans, 500 Urgals, 400 dwarves and 50 elves under him – a sizable number from each race. Shepherding the army to Teirm now seemed more daunting than defeating the city itself.

An Urgal woman came forward and announced, “We, the Urgals of Rapparanzhlar, present these vests to the Varden. They resist the cold amazingly. Over the years, we have seen the marvels created by all other three sentient races – the elves, dwarves and the humans. These are our answers to them: these vests are enchanted and they need very less energy to sustain the warmth that they produce. Our years and years of life in the Spine have led us to this discovery. We make these vests from the fur and skin of a rare animal – the only one that we never kill to eat; the only one we respect: the Yenagu. Wearing one of these is an honour of the highest order. Only the great Urgalgra warriors and rulers are allowed to wear them. We salute the determination and strength of the Varden by presenting the vests to the leaders of this army.”

A present from the Urgals to keep the cold away – a feat that even the elves couldn’t achieve was improbable and impossible to imagine. Roran even thought that the Urgal-woman was bluffing. But sure enough, a small pile of furry clothes was brought forward. Roran was presented with one of the vests then and there by Yesrantha, the ruling lady of the city. It was light and soft. A dress that had to be worn during a romantic trip, not at war. But when Roran threw it around his shoulders, thus covering his body in it, he gasped for he felt as if he was pulled into a warm spring day abruptly from the freezing winter evening except that his surroundings remained the same. He stood speechless struck by the exquisite workmanship of the vest over which armour could be worn quite easily when Madhura, the elf-leader commented, “Indeed, it drains miniscule energy: a drain that can be ignored considering the energy that the body uses up fighting cold by itself.”

“When are you planning on leaving, General?”, asked Yesrantha. Roran, only then remembered that he had forgotten why he had come running out of his quarters as he did, in the first place: wanting to scold his men who had left him to oversleep.

“If everyone is ready to leave, then now would be the best time.”, said Roran.

“We are General.”, a Kull came forward and informed – apparently he had replaced Yarbog as the leader of the Urgal divison of the army. Roran decided to confront about the change later for it would only create further argument about who was superior to whom in the army. “So are we.”, Narheim sounded rather rushed. Roran smiled inwardly: if all their competitions were this positive, then he could manage the burden of having to lead sworn-in enemies acting as allies under the same flag – the Varden. The humans and elves indicated their preparedness and hence they left Rapparanzhlar abruptly – as abruptly as they had entered it.

Just when they reached outside the valley of Rapparanzhlar, Roran felt the temperature change abruptly. The dipping in temperature was very much pronounced since he had not worn the vest gifted by the Urgals. It felt too wrong for him to be shielded from cold when his men had to brave it. The uneven and harsh terrain that they had to take to leave the valley made Roran pity the Urgals for the first time. It was his race, the humans, that had forced the Urgals to find such a ‘sheltered’ land to build their city.

The marching of the army was very different now from the march they had done from Dras-Leona to Rapparanzhlar. The humans and the dwarves took extra effort to match the Kull (and the elves). It pleased Roran. As long as the human’s and dwarves intentions were only to outperform the Kull and the Kull kept their stance of staunchly adhering to their aim – downfall of Teirm, there wouldn’t be too many problems for him to worry about other than a plan to breach the impregnable walls of Teirm.

“Uru’baen could be defeated in a fair war. But not Teirm.”, Jeod had said to him before he had left for the mission to capture Teirm. Those were the words from a man who found a way into Uru’baen and lived almost all of his life in Teirm. “BUT if there is someone in all of Alagaesia who could do that then it is you.”, Jeod had followed up his gloomy words. But those words, uttered in light vein rather than out of studied calculation as were the earlier, didn’t help raise Roran’s hampered spirits. But looking at the Kull moving alongside his army brought back the confidence that had driven him this far in the war against Galbatorix. ‘If such brute-strength can’t break those walls then nothing can’ – was his conclusion. One day or another, they had to break those walls if they were to win over the whole of Alagaesia from Galbatorix and what better time to do that when Galbatorix was unsuspecting and reinforcements from other towns were impossible to come by.

 *   *   *   *   *   *   *   *   *  *   *   *   *   *   *    *

Ice and frost combined with severe snowfall was all Roran could find in the Spine, the mountains that were once assumed by the people to be too mysterious and dangerous to roam. He wasn’t more thankful to the Urgals than he was now after days and days of being in the cold. The vest that the Urgals had bestowed upon him – whenever he wore it – gave him the most comfortable of times except maybe when he was with his family – his father, mother, Eragon and Katrina.

Traversing the Spine for even a few days was like spending epochs in a desert. Days and nights passed by without any sense of time. Roran had calculated a week in travel when Madhura informed him that it was two days since they left Rapparanzhlar. From that moment on time seemed to come to a standstill. If the travel was going to be this horrendous then how could they hope to be able-bodied to defeat Teirm when the ships and walls of the great coastal city oppose them? That worry and the weather which was in some sinister way gloomier than even the days of the blizzard combined made Roran hate his decision to leave Dras-Leona to embark on this hare-brained scheme.

As the day grew older and they travelled farther, a strange evil seemed to engulf the very air surrounding them. Something told Roran that great evil was nearby.

Within minutes he heard a strangely calm voice murmuring, “Oh, So it is you. The one they were telling me of. Beware of the Spine, boy, for when it wakes, you will fall asleep never to wake again.”

A maniacal laughter followed – so eerie that hearing it sent chills down his spine. “Fool!!  Have you gone mad out of fear? How can a lifeless mountain wake”… There was a pause and a snigger. Then, “I see that you have gone mad. Ah, how great a achievement this is!! I have made him mad!! I have made him mad!! Vrael is mad!! Lord Vrael is mad!!” The evil voice sung.

“It is not just a mountain, boy. It is the Rock of Kuthian.”, the calm voice – that Roran now knew to be Lord Vrael, the last leader of the riders said.

“What are you blabbering old elf? Your race’s rule has ended.”, said the evil, arrogant voice – that Roran now doubted belonged to the evil King of Uru’baen said. “So has the human’s and the dwarves.”, Galbatorix added in an undertone. “As for you old, mad Vrael – what were you trying to say with that mental message, I just stopped? And to whom?”, Galbatorix asked heatedly.

“What do you think, you would be able to do if you knew what I was trying to send and to whom? Nothing, child, you can do nothing. If you need, know this…. I was trying to share the secret of the Kuthian with one my friends. But it seems that nature doesn’t want it to be known. The secret shall remain hidden. It wasn’t you, young man, who stopped me…. It was someone else….. much more powerful than you or me. You couldn’t have hoped to stop me, Galbatorix. Don’t fancy yourself powerful.”, Vrael’s words were again calm and collected.

“You really are mad, Vraels and what is that stupid bit of parchment in your hand. It is just a empty bit and you lost your sword to protect that. How pathetic…. You really are mad, Vrael. I will give you freedom from this miserable life and I will leave that bit of parchment as a gift from me to your body, that will rot here at Ristvakbaen.”, Galbatorix crowed.

A furious growl followed and Galbatorix laughed again – the same maniacal evil laughter that sent chills through Roran’s spine – “Ah yes, Vrael’s partner. You have use. You will help me show Vrael how I felt when my beloved Jarnunvosk was taken from me. DIE!!!”

Roran was shaken out of his reverie and he returned back to his surroundings. He looked around and saw that even the elves were affected by the onslaught of those voices. The place now seemed far worse than a cold-infested rolling mountain range. Why would such meaningless voices reach them and how? Who had sent them? What was that about?

Roran didn’t speak or attempt to calm his soldiers – he himself was confused and afraid. Those last words … “DIE!!!” … had had its toll on Roran. He was shaken. His respect for Eragon increased a thousand-fold: resisting such evil and arrogance for 2 months was simply unthinkable.

The elf Madhura came forward and whispered in his ear, “Stonghammer, We fear that the worst has occurred. He is near.”

Roran head spinned. He – Galbatorix was near. But … how… how did they know?

“Sharpen your mind.”, the elf said, “You will hear it….”

Roran tried his level best. Clearing the mind at such a time seemed completely out of his ability. Yet something gave him power; some inspiration from deep within his heart – a want, a need to return to the most precious – gave him power. And he heard it in his mind. The same evil voice, chanting, “Wake up…. Wake up…. Mountain…. Stand up to me…. I have the parchment. Give me your power. I want to end that dog’s resistance. I need him as my slave; just like his brother…. Wake up…. Wake up….. Stand up to me…”

“What do we do?”, Roran asked in a strangely clear voice.

“Hide and hope that he doesn’t notice us.”, was the elf’s curt and almost unwilling answer. Roran hated it about the elves - they remained cool and calm, whatever the situation. And their pride: the elves were too proud to admit that they weren’t a match for Galbatorix – evident from the unwillingness of Madhura to utter the word ‘hide’.

Complete hopelessness engulfed Roran. It was the first time since he had decided to fight for Carvahall that he was lost for motivation. He was left stranded on the snow as the whole army – panicking and afraid looked to him for guidance. ‘Hope’ – the word that Madhura used seemed like a mockery of their state to him. It had forsaken him and his army. The vast expanse of white that surrounded him gave a picture of his mental state: blank.

But then his eyes fell upon something colourful: a scarlet with petals as beautiful as the sweet lips of Katrina growing alone on nothing but the cold cruel icy ground. How could he let that happen? How could he leave Katrina – his Katrina – their child alone in the cruel world? No. He couldn’t and he wouldn’t.

“Can you make some cover for us?”, he asked Madhura, new energy suffusing  through his body.

“I don’t know how much such moves would help us, Stronghammer.”, the elf replied gravely.

“We have to try to hide, shouldn’t we?”, Roran asked irritated. He wasn’t ready to leave Katrina alone in the cold world.

“It will be done, General.”,the elf replied and went to join her race. The next few minutes were just diametrically opposite to the earlier two-three days – they flew in a blink of the eye. Not even half of the army had taken refuge under the behind rocks and trees when the whoosh of the wings was heard right above them. Roran froze in his tracks hoping that his immobility would provide him somewhere to hide.

Roran felt someone pulling him and he budged without any resistance and let him be pulled. He was then forced to duck behind something. All his ears registered were the buffets of wind producing whooshing sounds in the air. All his eyes met with were the monstrous black wings that seemed to bring night in an instant to the bright winter day. Somebody seemed to call him from far away. But he didn’t care to respond. Somewhere in his crazed mind, he still believed that Galbatorix and his monster of a dragon may miss to notice them and fly away.

Roran’s hand brushed against something hard. The metallic sound of it brought him back to his surroundings.

“General Roran…”, somebody was calling out to him. Roran turned toward the person and made a motion with his head as if to ask ‘what?’

“He has seen us.”, the person said. Instinctively, Roran’s hand flew to his other hand from which the metal scrapping sound was heard. He felt as if it was something important – like an obsession – and touched the metal on his hand. The cool metal somehow calmed him down – somehow. Then everything came rushing back to his mind. He had to inform his Katrina about his plight. The ring could help in that. But No. He shouldn’t do that. Katrina will be worried. It wouldn’t be good for her health.

But once the thought of the ring came to his mind, Roran couldn’t control his desire to contact his wife and cousin – probably for one last time. He looked up at the sky. It was still filled with the black wings of the enormous beast of Galbatorix. This dragon was just the opposite of what Saphira was – if Saphia was the epitome of beauty meets enormity, Shruikan seemed to be the epitome of terribleness meets enormity. Roran rotated the golden ring around his finger and whispered, “Save me Shadeslayer. Save me Brightscales.” But then he removed his hand from the ring abruptly. Why should he get Katrina and Eragon worried unnecessarily when they could do nothing about his state?

Galbatorix made no move to attack them. But Madhura who had apparently pulled him into the hiding spot said, “His obsessive chanting is gone.” Roran nodded. He wasn’t going to go down without a fight. If Galbatorix was a terrible warrior-king, he was the leader of the army that has opposed and defeated Galbatorix’s army more than once. “I expected it to.”, he said. Madhura’s face contorted in confusion and surprise. “Stronghammer…”, she said.

She got not any more chance to speak out her mind. “Oh, the Varden. Traitors to their own kingdom and the Dwarves and elves, cowards that have hidden for a hundred years from me. Aren’t you all ashamed of yourselves? Walking and fighting alongside abominations such as the Urgals.”, Galbatorix’s voice reverberated throughout the plain. It had an amused undercurrent to it. “I am impressed. So where to? Still entertaining hopes, are we? Do you want to know how your HOPE, your rider… that puny boy Eragon suffers?”

Roran’s blood burned. The way Galbatorix spoke about Eragon, made Roran want to smash Galbatorix’s face. Only the intuition to keep Galbatorix in the dark about Eragon’s escape stopped him from crowing out aloud that Eragon was no longer Galbatorix’s prisoner.

“You have no right to talk ill of us, two tongued traitor.”, a Kull shouted from the ground. Roran hated the arrogance of the Kull for what was to happen to the brave confronter. But one part of his mind admired the courage

“Who was that?”, Galbatorix’s angry voice said. Roran had hoped that Galbrtorix would miss the words due to the distance. But it was not to be and he braced himself to see the inevitable.

“Oow… The Urgals… Proving that you are animals, are you? Such insolence. Such ignorance. These are not to be tolerated. Not in my Kingdom.”, Galbatorix said, his voice moving from jovially high to gravely calm. And the next second, a lightning struck from the skies and the Kull who had confronted Galbatorix fell down burned and dead.

The Kull army started throwing their crude and heavy weapons at Shruikan at the sight of their dead compatriot. Roran wanted nothing but to join the Kull in their attack, however futile it may prove to be – but was held back by the iron grip of Madhura.

“Don’t decide in haste, Stronghammer. Saving your army is now impossible for you. You are more important. Protect yourselves, General.”

“No. I won’t leave my army. Never. If they are to die, then I shall die with them.”, Roran declared staunchly.

“We know you, Stronghammer. You are noble and unafraid to lay down your lives for the good of the people who believe in you. But think, General. What is good for those who believe and follow you at this time and place? What good will the Varden get if you die with your army in this wilderness? You have time, General. It is for you to decide. I shall hide you from Galbatorix until you do.”, Madhura said.

Roran stopped to think – for the first time – in his nearly two years of experience as a warrior. He was torn between his wish to stay alive and return to Katrina and his responsibility to stand and try to guard his soldiers. He just couldn’t decide which way to go with. In utter confusion, he kept his eyes fixed on the huge dragon and the barely visible rider on its back. The prospect of leaving Katrina back in the world alone hurt him and terrified him. He stared at the dragon that by its mere appearance had put him in such a huge moral and mental dilemma, doing nothing to hide his emotions: confused and terrified.

“Roran!!”, he heard a very familiar voice calling out to him. Joy that knew no boundas burst forth from his mind and with it apprehension. The dark king was known to be able to play mental games. “Roran, just talk. I can hear you.”, the voice said.

“Eragon, is it you?”, Roran asked softly.

“Yes, Roran. It is I.”

Roran was not convinced. Eragon had no reason to contact him now – of all times. “Prove it!!”, Roran said.

“Blast it, Roran. What has happened?”, Eragon’s voice clearly concerned and confused reached his ears. He was now half-convinced. Galbatorix could reproduce Eragon’s voice, but only Eragon could exude the kind of concern that the words emitted.

“Prove yourself, first. I need to know that it is not some sick game that he is playing.”, he said.

“What are you talking about, Roran?”, Eragon’s voice said. Roran was confused. ‘Why wouldn’t Eragon prove himself, if it was him?’, he thought.

Then another voice – Arya’s – said something in the ancient language. Roran turned to Madhura to know its meaning. The elf nodded her head affirming that Eragon’s voice’s claim was true, encouraging Roran to interact.

Roran felt relief course through his body. Hearing Eragon and knowing that he was speaking with his cousin calmed him greatly. “Eragon there is a problem here.”, he said almost casually, surprising even himself. “We sighted Galbatorix and his dragon. They are hovering above us right this instant.”, he said.

Eragon didn’t respond. The only indication that the connection with Eragon was alive was Roran’s intuition that Eragon was with him.

“Roran, who are all with you?”, Arya’s voice asked.

“A company of Kull, humans and dwarves and elves each.”, he replied.

“Where are you Roran and what is happening?”, Arya asked. Confusion was evident in her voice. Roran shortly explained his and Nasuada’s plan and its application.

“You are in the spine and on your way to attack Teirm?”, Arya asked. Her voice clearly indicated that she did not approve of their decision to attack Teirm.

“Yes”, Roran replied not feeling the need to justify himself in the juncture.

“Just ask the elves to give you cover. Run away from there.”, Arya said.

“Drottningu, There is nowhere to go. It is all cold and bare.”, Madhura answered for him.

“Then hide Roran from Galbatorix at all costs. If the king finds him then there will be severe consequences.”, Arya ordered. Roran wanted to protest, but decided against it because he felt that it would be of no use to speak against Arya. He guessed that Madhura would even strike him down if Arya asked her to. The elves respected their princess to that extent.

“We will, Drottningu. But, we don’t know how long we could sustain our spell against the might of Galbatorix.”, Madhura replied. Roran was getting fed up with the talk. He knew nothing could be achieved from it. He badly wanted to talk to his cousin: he had messages to give to Katrina further to his words for Eragon.

But Arya didn’t seem to have lost hope like him. She continuously provided suggestions, each different and weirder than the one before it – but not one of her ideas was enough to act upon without risking detection by Galbatorix. As time went on Roran found himself concentrating more on his inner fears – of never meeting with or seeing Katrina again than on Arya’s earnest efforts to get him out of the tricky situation.

The mini-battlefield before him presented a bleak picture. The Kull company was already reduced to half its original size. They got no strong magical support except for their own ‘rough’ spellcasters as the elves were all concentrating on protecting him from Galbatorix’s view.

Galbatorix fought like a mad man targeting only those who succeeded in hurting or ‘annoying’ him. It seemed as if he was playing games on the sincere army fighting against him. Roran’s fear gradually turned into hate at seeing Galbatorix’s audacity. He wanted nothing but to squeeze life out of Galbatorix.

“Roran!! Listen to me…”, Arya’s commanding voice brought Roran’s attention back to his allies. “Just don’t look or care about what Galbatorix does. I know what you will be witnessing – not just from the sounds I hear around you – but from my bitter experience of facing Galbatorix’s arrogance and evilness for years upon years.”, Arya said. Her voice carried no emotion, but there was a sincerity in her voice that denoted the truthfulness of her words. And she really was correct for when Roran concentrated away from Galbatorix, he felt so much better.

“The only thing important to you is the way out of there.”, Arya continued but Roran paid little attention to her for another voice in the background – pained and choking - said, “He was to be a father. He should not die. Take me. Leave him. Take me. Leave him. Take me. Leave him.”

Roran was reduced to tears. He had not heard Eragon for some time and had wanted to hear his voice, but now that he did he only wanted Eragon to stop. Arya, at first didn’t seem to care about Eragon’s words – and continued speaking to Roran, but soon fell silent. Roran tried not to break down. But Eragon’s voice was too meek, bleak and pained that Roran simply couldn’t control himself. “Stop it, Eragon”, he cried, tears flowing through his cheeks.

“Ah, the fair folk… What has happened to you now? Last I saw, your broken rider had retained the much vaunted pride of yours. I suppose that the rest of your race has left it behind in your forest. Why are you hiding from me? Aren’t you supposed to be very angry at me? Aren’t you supposed to try and kill me?”, Galbatorix’s mocking words tempted even Roran to jump and try to attack Galbatorix. But the elves were calm. They all looked at Madhura for her order. The elf woman just shook her head and the elves fell silent again, focussing all their energy in protecting Roran from Galbatorix. Roran was amazed by the self-control that the elves displayed for he knew that it was self control that held them back rather than fear as Galbatorix thought. He simply knew how capable the elves were to run away from the spot and he wondered why Galbatorix didn’t realise that obvious thing. If he really were intelligent … “What is it with you? I can feel your energies being focussed on one point. Now tell me what are you upto?”, Galbatorix’s angry voice interrupted Roran’s thought process.

Roran heard the sound of running very near him but couldn’t see anything of that sort around him except for the Kull who were quite far away from him, attacking Shruikan madly. But Galbatorix simply ignored them now – focussing his full attention on the elves. The Kull’s force of attack only intensified because of this and Shruikan sustained wounds. Galbatorix didn’t seem to care for the dragon as Eragon did for Saphira – for he simply ignored the groaning of Shruikan in pain.

“Roran!!”, Eragon’s voice was deathly quiet and the fear it held was too much unlike the Eragon, Roran knew: bold and daring – and lately cold and uncaring. And now Roran knew where the sound of running had come from: it was Eragon running towards him – his image - seen on some surface. “Katrina is with us.”, Eragon said setting Roran’s heart on fire, but then fell silent. It sounded like Arya and Eragon were having a argument. They spoke in the ancient language too quiet and too fast for even Madhura to pick up on their conversation. To Roran, it was all just a bit of whispering, on which he couldn’t pay attention. All his attention was now on only one thing: hearing Katrina speak to him.

“Eragon…!”, he called and the arguing sound of Arya and Eragon stopped abruptly.

“Why is she not speaking to me? Katrina!! Speak to me dear..”, Roran said, choking back the tears that threatened to overcome him again.

“Roran, look here…. You have to escape from there before you can speak to Katrina. She is afraid, Roran. Too afraid to do anything. So I have put her to sleep.”, Eragon replied. Roran gulped down his own rising fear. Katrina shouldn’t see all this – Eragon was right.

“Get away from there Roran. I know you can do it. Do it for Katrina. Do it for your child. Get away from there, Roran.”, Eragon pleaded with him.

Roran’s mind clouded and clouded until he couldn’t distinguish between friend and foe – black and white. He heard someone say, “Well done, Eragon, you have helped your cousin to his death.” And he heard someone else reply, “What else do you expect me to do Arya? What do you know about Roran? All you know is the war and ways to win it. I know Roran. I know my cousin. This will help him. He WILL escape.”

Roran? Who was that? The name seemed so familiar yet so distant: like someone in a dream. But he knew one thing for sure – he had to escape.

‘I will help you, rightful ruler. Your spirit is true to your heritage and relations’, somebody of immense power responded to his unasked request for help.

“Roran, hear me!! What are you doing?”, the same somebody who had wanted, Roran, the somebody’s cousin to escape shouted. But he didn’t care. He had to go forward – he didn’t know why, but he had to. Somebody pulled his hands down but he shook them off. He had to escape. He was the rightful ruler. The powerful helper had said.

A huge dragon was hovering above him. From atop it, somebody shouted, “Ah, if it is not the great Roran Stronghammer, the destroyer of my armies and the cousin of my favourite prisoner and favourite slave!! Come, come forward… you want to attack me? Come boy, try me!!”

There was a lot of commotion around. Many were screaming as if helpless and terrified. But he didn’t care. He had to go forward if he had to escape. It was his only aim – escaping. The person from atop the dragon shouted something along the lines of “Burn him”. He didn’t know how he understood it for it was said in a language that he knew he shouldn’t understand. He only had to escape.

A streak of blackish orange flames came towards him. He would be dead if it touched him. But it didn’t and he wasn’t. Instead he heard the same helping voice thunder, ‘You wanted me to wake up, puny human and I am awake. But know this… I didn’t wake for you.’ And a huge stream of energy flew from around him and struck squarely on the huge dragon. The next moment the sky was cleared of the dragon and bright sunshine lit up the place. But he had not the strength to stay awake to enjoy the change. He was tired. He needed sleep. So he slept.

Author's Note:

Its taken three weeks to write this one. And I sincerely ask for the forgiveness of all those who contacted me asking for update and the others who simply waited for me to update. I have no valid reason for taking this long for the update. I simply wasted away ten days without touching the story. So please forgive me. And enjoy reading.

Looks like Roran has been up against some of the greatest secrets in Alagaesia. Mysterious? The spine? Who said?