For Alagaesia: 53. The coastal town

Defeated. Defeated beyond repair. How would he face Eragon again? What would he say to his cousin? Eragon had effectively left the Varden in his protection and he had failed miserably. A fortnight of Eragon’s absence was all it took for the Varden to disintegrate itself. The best warriors of the Varden were fighting a lost battle atop the monstrous wall of Teirm and their leader was taken captive by the monstrous dragon and its rider.

Lost. He had lost the war. He, Roran, was responsible for the Varden's demise. He had failed. And it hurt. Badly. Roran, who had known no defeat in his short life as a warrior, stared at defeat for the first time and it was bitter.

But No. He should not lose this battle; not when Nasuada wasn't there to lead the Varden and not when the loss would mean derailment to the whole of Varden's campaign. If for none else other than his child and Katrina, he wouldn't accept defeat.

But he was. He was defeated. There was nothing much to do than retreat back into the Spine where eventually they would all die, what with the ever increasing furore of the winter and their much depleted strength, numbers and will. Then again retreating was not only repulsive for the consequences such an act would bring upon the ones retreating but also because retreating would mean leaving his friends and followers who were fighting valiantly atop the wall of Teirm in cold-blood to fend for themselves. They would eventually be captured or killed. THAT he wouldn't allow. He couldn't. Not when he had strength in him to fight the empire soldiers.

Roran ran. Ran towards the wall. Ran towards the ladder. If he was to die then he would die fighting alongside his men who trusted in him. Not laid low by something that none in Alagaesia could control – weather. He closed his eyes for a few seconds amidst his mad rush and everything came to a standstill. Trees, tall and mysterious surrounded him. He was sleeping, resting his head on Katrina's lap. She was combing his hair with her hand. And singing soothingly in his ears. And then he opened his eyes. The monstrous wall of Teirm stared back at him smugly. To whatever god there was, he gave his final wish: 'Let Katrina forget that I even existed and live happily.'

When he reached the ladder, he didn't care to check if he was covered from empire's arrows. All he cared was how fast he could climb up the ladder. And he climbed, like a mad man would. But his mad rise up the ladder was inhibited by someone who caught him from behind. Roran turned in rage and swept his hammer at the person holding him from reaching his men.

“You shouldn't go up there, Stronghammer.”, Madhura, who had dodged his swipe quite easily, said.

“Who are you to stop me?”, Roran asked. Nothing would stop him now.

“I am your advisor. And if that is not enough, I have promised Eragon Shur'tugal that I will watch over you and I don't intend to back down from my promise.”, the elf said, completely ignoring his harsh question.

“I am the leader of this army. Not Eragon.”, Roran shot back. The elf looked stunned at his reply. Eragon would want him alive, he knew, as much as he needed Eragon to live. But Eragon would accept, or at the least understand his choice. Dying in war was much nobler than dying in the cold of the winter, defeated. Even if he survived, with help from elves and Kull, he would be looked down by the humans as the one who ran away abandoning his friends to death.

“Very well. Then atleast let me be at your side.”, Madhura replied. She sounded disapproving. But he didn't care. For all it was worth, his short friendship with the elven commander wouldn't have lasted for more than a few more days – when he would eventually have succumbed to the cold or shame. Losing it in this way for a cause that sounded noble, atleast to him was far better.

“As you wish.”, Roran said and restarted his ascend, the elf keeping close to him. Two more elves and a few Kull followed him up the ladder. The remainder of the Kull and Urgal forces were still trying to dent the famed gate of Teirm – 'the gate of death', Roran thought, suited it better.

Once he was up on the wall, he found that the Varden soldiers that had been fighting there had lost ground in a bid to protect him from the flurry of empire arrows that had been targeted at him when he started climbing the wall. But then, the three elves who had come along with him made quick work of the empire soldiers who were pushing the Varden back, combining forces with the lone elf who had been fighting there. When the lost ground was regained, the Varden fell back to maintaining their position. The portion under the Varden's control included three watch towers. Those gave Roran, a bird's eye view of his army and the empire below him, outside and inside the wall respectively. He could say that even now – when his army was only half its original size – the Varden could overpower Teirm, provided the gate was broken.

And then he looked around him at the warriors fighting from atop the wall. Just a few hundred feet away from where his group was, there was another island of the Varden. “Come my men, crush the empire between us.”, he yelled at that group.

And they came to the call of their commander, the elf with that group leading the way, as did the elves in his group. The Kull followed and then the humans and dwarves. It wasn’t by any deliberate plan or arrangement that this happened but by nature. The elves being fast and sharp reacted first and fast; the Kull who didn’t want to be left behind in any battle rushed after them without much thought about what they were doing; the humans and dwarves – similar in thinking to the elves but a tad bit slower to react because of physical constraints coming last.

It seemed that the sight of their commander among them, fighting to the death, raised the spirits of the Varden, for they took the empire soldiers sandwiched between their two groups by storm, while maintaining their position on their other frontier, thanks to the ever reliable dwarven soldiers.

Putting his hammer to use at long last, Roran smashed the armours and helmets of empire soldiers. It felt good in a way. For the first time in this battle Roran thought he was doing something useful. Commanding the men was his actual strength, but he enjoyed being in the thick of the action, where it really mattered. Although, not as trained in warfare as professional soldiers of Teirm were, Roran had the will and inspiration to succeed and the body that would obey his mind. And his mind was focussed on only two things now: survive and never surrender. Not until the gods get tired and take away the last of his energy. And so it was, he fought through the ranks of the empire soldiers, alongside his trusted men, elves, Kull and dwarves, crushing armours and breaking helmets.

In a matter of a quarter of an hour, the two groups of the Varden extended their boundary to touch each other, thus annexing the part that was under empire control.

With that, the part of the wall under the Varden covered ten watch towers and an important supply chamber with enough food stored in it to support their group’s combined strength of fifty for a day or two. It was a minor victory in the series of losses but most importantly, the part just brought under Varden control was a part that could be guarded from empire’s attacks for a sustained period – atleast a full day, provided the bases of the watch towers were secured too.

Roran sighed. ‘Perhaps there is still a chance for us, however slim it is.’, he thought.

He then took measure of their situation. There were fifteen other islands of Varden-controlled areas on the wall. Although, their presence on the wall was just a fraction of the length of the wall, it gave the Varden a certain strategic advantage, if the closely arranged groups could leverage their proximity as his group had done. He passed on the message to Madhura and asked her to notify the elf in each group to stage an attack similar to the one they had done. Although such moves didn’t improve their prospect in the battle as a whole, Roran had no option but to do this and wait. He would try till the end. Returning back to Katrina was more than worth the try.

Such little victories of the Varden would distract the strategists of Teirm and that would end up in some form of advantage to the Varden, Roran hoped. Soon all over the wall, the surging of the Varden’s forces was visible. As he had expected, the soldiers from other watch tower bases were moved to places where confrontation was happening. Of the six attacks staged, four had been optimal successes, while one failed, another had just marginally won. During the frenzied movement of soldiers below them in the city, Roran sent men to secure the watch tower bases that lined the part they controlled.

Slowly but surely, as hours passed, Roran realised that a deadlock had occurred. Neither the empire nor the Varden could advance any further. The never tiring Kull taking turns to handle the battering ram, whose sound had now become customary, a dull thud that reverberated in the background.

The Varden had secured the top of the wall around the gate, thus inhibiting any serious damage that could be inflicted by the empire on the Kull handling the ram. The dwarves who had tried to use their ram on the gate facing the sea had long since given up and had joined the growing number of the Varden atop the wall.

But the presence of huge number of empire soldiers just behind the gate and its levers thwarted any attempt by the Varden to sneak into the city and open the gate. Furthermore, the soldiers of Teirm had realised that it was futile to try and take back the portions of their wall under the Varden’s control and had begun to consolidate the portions that were still in their control, which obviously was a much larger part than what was under the Varden’s control.

The gate had started to dent, but was not yet near breaking point, the Urgals had informed. A few dwarves had taken to hurling stones from self-made catapults, in the absence of arrows, at the empire soldiers on the wall to which the empire soldiers responded by firing arrows at the Varden.

The whole situation was so frustrating because either side needed just one little tipping point to turn the battle in their favour. Roran had to be proud of his army’s achievement: from utter hopelessness, they had rallied behind him to a position of balance. But the balance was a dangerous one because even a small ripple in the balance could cause huge consequences. If anything, it was the empire that still held an edge because there was more chance for help to come by for them (from Kuasta for example) than the Varden whose  closest allies were at Dras-Leona lamenting the capture of their leader and separated from them by the Spine.

But then there was nothing he could do about those external things and so he concentrated back on the situation at hand: somehow breaking the deadlock and forcing a victory, snatching it from the jaws of empire-controlled, Teirm.

Hours passed with not much improvement in their prospects. Each minute, atleast one life was lost in the battle. But the number game was enormously in favour of the empire. For every single death of Teirm’s soldiers, they took two Varden lives. This worrying development seriously hampered Roran’s dreams of winning easily once the gate was broken open.

And thus the battle went on without any gain for either side, entering its first night. Night brought with it, a wave of cold that was typical of winters in Palancar valley. The already battered Varden, tired even more in the cold. They had braved nearly two weeks of much more bitter cold to reach Teirm, but now at the sight of blood being spilled they lost their intensity.

And then, out of nowhere, as if conjured out of thin air, a flaming javelin came and struck one of the city’s numerous watch towers. Roran was so surprised to see it that it took him a few seconds to even close his gaping mouth. He saw that all his men were in the exact same state as he.

Everything was silent; except for the crumbling watch tower. For once the elves were not faster than humans in processing the happenings.

It was there again, striking at the same tower again, ruining it completely. But this time Roran saw where it came from: the sea. A sailing ship was visible for just a fraction of a second when the javelin was released from it.

Apparently the elves had noticed the ship too for he could see the elves concentrating hard, closing their eyes and furrowing their brows – trying to reach out to people on the ship. A few seconds passed and an elf announced, “They are friendly.”

Friendly? What did the elf mean by friendly? That the ship was from some other part of the world across the sea? Did he mean that they didn’t intend to fight the Varden or did he mean that they had come to help the Varden? The elf’s words were insufficient. He needed to know more.

But he was saved the effort of asking by Madhura, who said, “They come from Surda. Jeod Longshanks is with them.”

Roran was dumbstruck. Jeod? The old merchant who had helped the villagers of Carvahall escape Teirm? The man who had claimed that his final adventure was the theft of the Dragon Wing? But then suddenly it struck him that it wasn’t strange at all. In fact, he could make perfect sense of Jeod’s actions. Teirm was Jeod’s home. Wouldn’t he want to take part in the battle to free it from Galbatorix. Wouldn’t it be high on the list of things he would feel proud to do? From what he knew of Jeod, he was a man of extreme sense of pride. It was surely in him to do such an act of courage and in this case, utmost necessary help.

But then how would Jeod have rallied men to accompany him? He knew a few sailors from Surda. But they couldn’t make up the whole crew. Could they? His mind raged at a little suggestion his mind made: perhaps the men of Carvahall?

“Lady Madhura, was there a man named Horst on the ship?”, he asked hurriedly.

A look of surprise passed across Madhura’s face at his question and he didn’t want her audible confirmation. They were here. At the invincible gate, following him. No. He won’t let this battle to be a failure. Never. Not with his villager’s life at stake. Horst had just had a child and he was here to help Roran.

“General, there are two more ships!!”, Madhura called out. She sounded surprised. And Roran was too. Sailing three ships from Feinster, Aroughs or Dauth to Teirm during the winter was a highly commendable feat – as difficult as crossing the spine or even more so than it. It seemed that the people of Aroughs and Feinster were very much thankful for the Varden’s takeover that they wanted to repay their debt by helping out the Varden in its endeavours.

Three faint cannon shots reached his ears which were followed by two raging fireballs and a javelin that crashed into another watch tower instantly deforming it.

“Make contact with the ships. We need to coordinate their attack if they are to be helpful.”, Roran commanded having violently brought out of his musings by the crumbling watch tower.

The elves hurried to follow his command. Soon an agreement was reached between the ships and the Varden army on land. Roran took control of the ships actions on the shore, while the captains of those ships took care of troubles at the sea.

The new set of attacks made the Teirm army go berserk. They looked absolutely clueless and leaderless, which was a surprise since they had moved and fought with calculated precision till then. Using the opportunity, Roran occupied further portions of the wall and extended the Varden’s influence inside the city. But the city’s leaders, whoever they were, were clear in their strategy: Never let the gate be opened from inside. There were soldiers surrounding the gate, bracing it against the impact of the battering ram.

Roran knew he had to draw those soldiers away, if there was any chance for them to break or open the gate. So he worked on it. He concentrated all his army inside the city in regions surrounding the gate, except for a few who were assigned the duty of guarding the Varden’s position. He did all this gradually over two hours, so as not to alert the city’s strategists.

The city was too busy with countering the ships of Jeod and Carvahall’s villagers. Two war ships from Teirm were deployed to fight the Varden’s ships. That and various other distractions that the Varden created had the intended effect on Teirm’s strategists: no reinforcements were sent to the gate. Roran waited for another half-hour making sure that the soldiers at the gate felt safe. False security was the worst kind of mistake one can make in war. And then he unleashed his army on them. Madhura, despite his reservations, had opted to lead the operation, which included five elves and fifty each of Kull, humans and dwarves.

Thus, the one hundred fifty or so strong Varden army faced the three hundred Teirm soldiers at the gate. It was the watershed moment in the battle, Roran knew. Victory for the Varden would signal the ultimate demise of the empire stronghold, whereas a defeat could severely hamper the chances of the Varden. Hence, even though he was reluctant to send Madhura, a high-ranking commander in his army to the mission at first, he was glad that she had disobeyed him and had gone.

At first the battle seemed overwhelmingly in favour of the empire. The surprise attack had resulted in naught but loss to the Varden. There were even mages among the empire soldiers as seen from the death of a few of the Varden seemingly because of nothing.

But then the elves reacted fast with Madhura leading the way. They first took out the magicians, in their own peculiar way. It looked as if the two empire mages had a sudden head-ache and fell to the ground writhing in pain and died. But Roran knew better. He had a fair idea about the mental attack thing from Carn, his one time associate and from Eragon.

The elves then located the leader of the army and murdered him. It was a brutal display of power, cruel even. The leader was pulled forward by magic and mocked at by the Kull, humans and dwarves in the army. Thankfuly, Madhura glared at the few who laughed at the plight of the empire commander instantly silencing them. The commander screamed to be released and asked to fight fairly, to which the elves obliged and let him draw his sword to fight. But Roran knew better: Never. Fight. An. Elf. And so it was, the valiant empire commander was killed by Madhura, his throat cut by the elven sword she carried.

From then on, the elves either tired physically or decided to do it fairly and moved to the sidelines allowing the others to takeover.

Roran sighed and swept a glance around him. Fire was everywhere and so was blood. There was fire in the sea, where the ships were engaged in a ferocious battle. There was fire in places where the watch towers were breaking. There was fire outside the gate where the Varden was still engaged in minor skirmishes with bows and arrows. There was fire inside the city where the dwarves’s fireballs had struck. And there was fire near the gate, inside the city. What? Yes, fire. The gate was burning from inside and no soldier was bracing the gate. They were all engaged in battle against the Varden.

“Stronghammer, the gate is giving way”, someone from outside the wall shouted. Roran saw that it was Narheim, the dwarf leader who had taken care of coordinating the Urgal’s attack on the gate. He didn’t know how he heard the dwarf’s cry above all the din surrounding him, but it came as a pleasant surprise for him. He ran towards the gate climbing down from the wall and into the city.

The remaining empire soldiers threw caution to the air and tried to brace the gate. It gave the opportunity for the Varden to deal telling blows on the empire soldiers. Without a leader they looked like mad elephants running around without any aim.

Somehow, the news of the gate’s breaking had reached the city’s overlords, as Roran saw that a company, few hundred strong, was coming towards the gate. Roran ordered his soldiers to take stance in front of the gate. Allowing the large number of empire soldiers near the gate would act as a bottleneck for the Varden’s entry. He didn’t want that to happen. Among the one hundred and fifty five soldiers of the Varden, about a hundred remained while most of the empire soldiers that had already been present at the gate were dead.

Roran knew that they only had to fend off the empire from the gate for a short while. It would still be extremely difficult, but the chance it presented to the Varden soldiers outside the gate was good enough to risk it. The sheer number of the empire soldiers could overwhelm the Varden. He measured the empire’s numbers between seven to nine hundreds with an upward risk to it.

“Return to initial positions.”, he ordered, “Back to standard formation!!”

The Kull, about thirty five strong rushed to form the periphery of the formation, while the humans and dwarves arranged themselves in the main body of the formation. The elves headed the formation, while Roran himself occupied the middle of third line out of the seven lines. That way he could communicate with the army much better he would be otherwise. Madhura, a dwarf, a human and an Urgal who were apparently leaders of each group accompanied him.

“Never show any mercy.”, Roran called out. “Its for you too.”, he said in a low voice to Madhura. He didn’t want the elves to hold back this time. It was time for them to showcase their famed speed, precision and skills. Madhura nodded understanding.

“Crush their backbone first. Don’t let them settle”, Roran said to Madhura. Madhura closed her eyes in concentration for a few seconds and within a half minute seven more elves had joined their company as stealthily as a cat. Not many noticed their arrival. And in another half minute the empire were upon them unleashing arrows, throwing daggers and swinging their swords.

“They have magical protections. Strong I must say”, Madhura said. Roran sighed. He had not expected this. Thanks to Eragon and Carn, he somewhat knew the basic rules of a magic fight. Never be rash. Always be on the defensive and attack when you have the advantage. But the only downside with such an attack was that it would take time, which unfortunately, they didn’t have.

He trusted in the Urgal’s ability to finish off the gate’s remaining resistance and the elves perceived superiority in the use of magic and started the physical fight.

The empire were everywhere. Wherever he turned, he saw the red helmet of the empire. And consequently he didn't care to check whom he was fighting as long as he saw something red on his opponent. The struggle thus went on with the Varden largely successful in its objective of keeping the empire away from the gate. But the cost for that was dear. Most of the Varden had injuries of some kind on them. Roran accumulated his share of injuries: a shallow cut across his chest and a huge gash in his left thigh. Apart from that he couldn't pinpoint his injuries. Most were mild cuts and stabs that burned a little. But he cared not. Every few moments, he would assess the status of their skirmish only to find the situation grim. He didn't know and didn't have the time to analyse if men and dwarves fought as fast as the elves and Kull or if the Kull and elves were as slow as the humans and dwarves; all he knew was his hammer and the blows he dealt the red-clad men with it.

The hammer which was designed to be light by Horst grew heavy in his hand by the minutes. But he forced himself to be faster than the empire soldiers. Just a little more; just a little more, he reassured himself. But then he could see that the empire had slowly pushed them back towards the gate. And he realised that there was nowhere to back now that they had reached a point where their backs were pressed to the wall –  literally.

A wild swearing in the alien ancient language from his side was all the warning he got before the ten elves launched into an onslaught. The speed and grace of their movements were poetic except that they left a trail of blood in their wake. Roran could do nothing but look on in a strange emption that was a mixture of terror and amazement. The blades of the elves glinted in the fire lit upon the walls in the night and made captivating images on the darker side of the wall. The blood that was spilled by the empire soldiers flowed eerily like a river all around him.

For long moments everyone fell silent in awe at the display of the elves. Roran decided then that he would not make an enemy out of elves. As he could see, the repercussions could be quite dangerous. 'How did Galbatorix succeed in defeating them?', he wondered for the first time. He had known that the elves were much stronger than the humans, but this... this uninhibited and dedicated display was just terrifying. He shivered and goose bumps arose all over his hands, out of fear or admiration he knew not.

The Kull seemingly inspired by the display of the elves, jumped into action in their own way of dealing with such situations. They crushed men with their clubs and squeezed others under their foot. They advanced like huge mountains in the midst of little rocks. Their prowess was every bit terrifying as that of the elves. If the display put forth by the elves was the zenith of felinity, the display of the Kull was the zenith of brutality.

The empire were as much astounded as the Varden at the elves and Kull's action. They disintegrated their line and several men fled the scene. Roran wouldn't think them cowardly for he doubted his own ability to stand against such force. His respect for the city of Teirm rose many-fold as most of the empire soldiers stood their ground and even fought back valiantly.

For once Roran pitied his enemies. They were men; men like him. Unleashing such forces upon them was a cruel way of inflicting defeat. It wasn't fair. But then so was Galbatorix's back hand techniques and his defeat of the entire order of the riders. Tens of bodies littered the ground as the elves and Kull pushed the empire army back nullifying all the advantage that the empire had acquired over the entire course of the skirmish.

But as Roran could see, reinforcements were generously supplied to the empire army and the attack of the elves was slowly losing its initial steam. Nevertheless they had pushed the empire all the way back and had instilled fear and doubt in the minds of the leaders of Teirm, both of which were incredible feats seeing as they were outmatched in numbers by the empire five to one.

The freshly arrived soldiers of Teirm fought with even more vigour than their predecessors and they even succeeded in bringing down three elves and seven or eight Kull. But the death of their companions seemed to give more reason for the remaining elves and Kull to fight back harder. All in all it was a perfect match, Roran decided: The vast number of empire soldiers whose numbers were constantly replenished and the highly skilled elves and Kull of the Varden.

Even as the fight was thus continuing a huge crash behind them notified that the gate had finally crashed open. Roran sighed. “About time”, he murmured. The Urgals, humans and dwarves that poured in through the gate must have terrified the empire soldiers for all of them just turned and ran away.

“Secure the city. We will win this.”, Roran commanded emphatically. He knew they were close. Even with the much depleted force, they could take down Teirm. Of the atleast seven-eight thousand strong Varden army, he could only count an approximate thousand soldiers. He knew there were more but they were all spread thin across the landscape. How he wished that the men on the ships would join him on the ground. But they had their own battle to fight – the ships of the empire were fighting valiantly and had the advantage of numbers. There were now six battleships of the empire fighting the three of the Varden. The day long siege had been the most disastrous one he had ever been part of. But then in this battle they had come to a position of strength from the utterly hopeless and almost defeated state.

Madhura, Narheim, another dwarf and two each of humans and Urgals, the leaders under whom the Varden army functioned converged upon Roran. “Stronghammer, how do you propose we defeat the city?”, Narheim asked.

Roran was yet to figure it out. But he had a fair idea about the city, its history and architecture from his discussions with Jeod. Teirm was a city built in such a way that it would repel pirate attacks and other sieges. It was the only 'prosperous town' in the empire thanks to the better administration by Lord Risthart. Militarily, not so strong in personnel but strongest in the empire in terms of built-in defences. The progressively taller buildings of Teirm meant that it was always going to be difficult for any army advancing into the streets of the town. Every military establishment and administrative building including the famed lighthouse rested upon the citadel that occupied central position in the city. The citadel was tall and the steps leading to it would be a bottleneck for the Varden's entry. The more he thought about their prospects, the more he dreaded their loss.

“Surround the citadel. It holds everything that is important in the town. Taking it down is the only way to get to Lord Risthart.”, Roran said to the leaders. They nodded. As none had better options to offer, Roran's simplistic approach was approved.

Archers had been stationed on top of the ever growing buildings and they caused significant damage to the Varden. Dras-Leona was a mess with a lot of unknown terrors. Teirm, in contrast, was a open secret; had a neatly mappable build. But the coastal city was more effective than Dras-Leona in causing damage to invading forces. Scores of Varden soldiers fell down struck by arrows. Yet Roran could do nothing about it and the Varden leaders were forced to push the men towards the citadel, ignoring the severe losses.

When they arrived at the Citadel, Roran was appalled to see the number of Varden remaining. He could still count only in the upside of a thousand warriors. 'Where were the others?', he despaired. 'Is this loss justifiable?' He knew not. Perhaps, it would have been best to have invaded the city with Eragon's help. But then, he thought of the advantages that the Varden would have against the empire when they had the city. No. If they had the city. The archers of Teirm had still not ran out of their stockpile, it seemed. They attacked relentlessly even after the Varden had surrounded the citadel. And the citadel was teeming with empire soldiers, fresh and ready to fight. Whoever said Teirm was low on number of soldiers? There seemed to be no end to them.

'No army lesser than a full fledged elven army or a few dragon riders can take this city down.', Roran concluded.

And he heard a loud and powerful horn blow somewhere outside the city. At the sound of it, all attacks ceased. No arrow flew towards the Varden and the constant blasts of the ships at the sea was gone. Even the injured and screaming men stopped making their whimpering and ear-splitting cries. For the sound bore a message with it: death was coming.

Madhura, who had been standing by his side took off. Towards the gate of the city. Not caring to turn when he called out to her and not minding the arrows that flew around her. Apparently her speed had caught some empire soldiers off-guard and they had forgotten to shake in fear as the rest of the city, including the Varden, was doing and had let loose arrows on instinct.

Moments later the two remaining elves of the twenty that had accompanied him from Dras-Leona also went away sprinting towards the gate when the horn blew for the second time bringing to the city, the real feel of night – deathly quiet. Roran, although shaken by the horn tried to assimilate all that had happened in the time since the horn first blew. The horn had terrified each and every member of the Varden and the empire army, true. But he had seen Madhura shiver visibly. At first he had thought she did so in fear. But now, when he thought it in detail, he was pretty sure that it wasn't fear that made her shiver. It was something else. Her eyes had glinted brightly when she shivered. That wasn't a reaction in fear. It was more like pride.

Then it all came crashing down on him. Eragon had intimated him to expect elves days after they lay siege on the city. He had not paid much attention to those words from his cousin in his eagerness to speak with Katrina. They were here. Yes. Who else could make men think of death with nothing but a blow of horn? A surge of energy poured through him. They were going to be victorious after all. They had held on long enough to ensure it.

If there was something called heavenly bliss then this was it, Roran decided. Despite all the losses he had been forced to bear in the last few hours, the most cruel of which was Nasuada's capture, he was in absolute bliss. The reason: they had achieved the unthinkable; the impossible. They had brought Teirm down to its knees; well, they were about to.

As he waited thus, the elves arrived, led by someone to whom Madhura was speaking politely. From her body language Roran could see that the person was obviously one of higher rank. But the thing that actually caught his attention was the elves movement: their foot movement was perfectly synchronised with each other. But for all their strength, Roran was left to wonder how they moved so noiselessly. An army of the size that he was seeing, atleast five hundred strong, should make tramping sound. It added to the masculinity of the armies, he had thought. But this; this display of grace was far far better than the human way of marching. 'Of course, it suits the elves who grow their women as equals to men in warfare and elsewhere', he thought.

The empire soldiers, apparently broken out of being enthralled and afraid, fired arrows at the elves, the first few of which reached near the marching elves. But then on, not one arrow went close to the elves. The arrows bounced off some invisible barrier in the air and struck into some house's door. Every house in the city was closed and Roran had forbidden entry into them for the Varden, fearing the safety of the townspeople whom he would soon have to administer.

But the archers were relentless. They constantly let loose arrows on the barrier and at one stage, an elf was actually struck by an arrow. And then something completely bewildering happened. The archers of the empire turned on each other and killed off their own friends. Roran shivered from fear. Elves were not just different from humans. The were simply inhuman – they were extremely cruel in their handling of the enemies on a battlefield. And yet they didn't eat meat for it meant hurting other living beings. 'How strange!', he thought.

And the procession of the elves was over right in front of the citadel. The elf who had led the elven force, a proud-looking, tall person with silvery hair moved forward and said, “Stronghammer, I am proud to have met a man like you.” He looked proud, but somehow sounded politer than any other other elf Roran had met before. “I am Dathedr, lord of house Por Muraimai and chief advisor of queen Islanzadi.”, he introduced himself. The elf's age? Only god could tell. He was definitely older than Arya and Madhura or Blodhgarm for that matter. Deciding that it was no use to speculate on something for which he was never going to find an answer, Roran concentrated on the tangible and more important things like welcoming and thanking the elves for their support.

He nodded and in a  gesture of welcome placed his first two fingers over his lips and said, “Atra esterní ono thelduin” somewhat awkwardly. Eragon had taught him those during their idle talks and Roran thought that putting it to use would serve him well. The elf's lips curled up ever so slightly and he reflected Roran by placing his fingers over his lips and said, “Atra du evarínya ono varda.” Roran was aware of a third line, but for fear of spelling something wrongly in the ancient language(especially since he knew the repercussions Eragon's misspelling caused with Elva) he restrained from speaking it.

“We are here to help the Varden in the battle at the request of Eragon Shur'tugal.”, he stated; then looked around him and said, “Sorry that we couldn't arrive on time. But you have done really well to reach the stage in the battle that you have. We have heard of the valour and impregnability of Teirm. It is said that among the human cities, if there is one that could stand the assault of our army then it is Teirm. Your prowess in leading is prodigious as is your cousin's skills with magic and sword-fight, I see.”

Roran smiled, a weak and shy smile. He didn't think he was well-known even outside the Varden's boundaries. “And the Varden is glad to accept the help of the elves.”, he then said, realising that their speech was hanging in the middle.

It was strange, how they were just standing in the middle of a battle filed and speaking as if it was over lunch. But then he could also see the empire soldiers backing away to the inner parts of the citadel afraid at the scenes they had seen when the elves had marched.

“Your orders, Stronghammer?”, the elf Dathedr asked, stunning Roran and everyone around. The elf was recognising Roran as the leader of the allied armies of the elves, humans, dwarves and Urgals, through his words. Roran struggled for a few seconds with the enormousness of the situation especially since Dathedr was the chief advisor of the Queen and because he had seen the elves' display of power. Then mustering all the courage he had and what little experience he had gained over the year since he fought the Raz'ac at Carvahall, he said, “Take care of the archers above before you do anything else. And then work up the citadel.”

“Stronghammer.”, the elf bowed, a formal bow, and turned to his company. “Un heyra Roran Stronghammer.”, he said.

The elves who had stood politely till then, moved (or glided) towards buildings all around the citadel. The archers who remained inactive ever since the first round of killings by the elves must have heard Roran for they let loose a flurry of arrows as soon as Roran finished his sentence. The elves that remained just raised their hands towards the arrows and said something. Every arrow released by the empire's archers glanced off the Varden's heads, or so thought Roran, and went straight towards the citadel. Such calculated deflection of the arrows elicited more action from the soldiers on the citadel. They threw their spears down towards the elves and like every other thing the sharp and deadly spears too bounced off the air when they were just ahead of the elves. Roran even saw one spear bouncing all the way from the right most elf's body to the left most one's and then dropping to the bare ground like a inconsequential cane.

It was not like a one way battle anyhow. Far from it. As the empire saw the elves' prowess they sent out more and more skilled soldiers who targeted the weaker links of the Varden army: the humans and dwarves. The elves couldn't in the heat of battle protect each and every one of the Varden's members especially when even elves faced death at the empire's counter assault.

But then the quotient of loss was turned on its head ever since the elves joined the army. Now atleast three empire soldiers died for every single Varden soldier's death, Roran guessed. And the Varden were making slow progress towards the upper parts of the Citadel. Victory was more or less sealed for the Varden. The empire too seemed to realise it as they slowly drew back and lost much ground even on the citadel.

“Enough!!”, someboody's magically magnified voice yelled, “That is enough!!”

The battle stopped abruptly at the call. Roran himself was in the process of dealing a blow to a man and he forced himself to stop mid-blow. A little later the soldier's sword hit his hammer; the soldier apparently trying to stop Roran's blow.

“I shall surrender. You will not kill any more of Teirm's men.”, the voice said again and Roran could only guess it was Lord Risthart. How very different was he from the Lord of Dras-Leona!

“Show yourself.”, Roran demanded hoping that his voice would be audible without magical enhancements as everyone was silent at the moment.

Through a little door on the castle, Risthart walked out onto a balcony. Some Varden soldier, apparently irked to have lost many of his friends on account of Risthart fired an arrow at the man. Roran helplessly watched the arrow fly. He could envision another bout of fighting in the arrow’s trail and more importantly an increased level of revolting by the city's people after the Varden takes control.

Dathedr, who had been standing near Roran, raised his hand and almost barked, “Letta!!” The arrow stopped midway and dropped to the ground. Roran sighed in relief. A lot of bloodshed had been saved. One of the human commanders, Rishi, tackled the unfortunate soldier and brought him to his knees. Roran kept away from the confrontation and ordered that the man be stripped of his weapons. He reserved judgement to a later time because of his circumstances.

“Forgive his act, Lord Risthart. He was distraught.”, Roran said. Risthart nodded his acceptance. He then asked, “I believe you are the commander?”

“Aye, I am Lord Risthart.”, Roran replied evenly.

“Should I come to you?”, Risthart asked.

“That isn’t necessary. You are the ruler of this city and you will be always. We only wanted to liberate the town from Galbatorix’s evil rule. I will visit you for the negotiations.”

“You mean my rule was evil?” Risthart was one cunning politician. He was asking this in public eye. Everyone knew Risthart was a noble man forced into servitude to Galbatorix and he ruled the city in Galbatorix’s stead. So anything said about the ruler of the city must denote him. He knew it and he was playing with the people’s minds using it.

“Tell him that he plays a dangerous game and that nobody would benefit from it.”, Roran whispered to Dathedr.

After a while, Dathedr said to him, “It is done.”

“No, my lord, I don’t mean you when I say evil. I mean only Galbatorix.  We are not here to usurp power from you. We are here to liberate you and your city from Galbatorix’s cruel policies. You know the history of your town. Tell me, were your fore-fathers paying such heavy taxes to the high-rulers in Illeria? And were your children forcibly drafted into the army? You see these evils and you accept them as rules. But we intend to change that, my lord. That is why we attacked Galbatorix’s army stationed here. If you still believe that we are looters and savages as Galbatorix has led you to believe, I only ask you to show one civilian we looted from during this siege.”, Roran said, addressing not just Risthart but the whole city in general.

He trusted his men to not have looted any house during their time in the city. He knew he was risking the honour of the Varden but then if people looted, even after his order not to do so then the Varden deserved to lose some of its pride.

“Please visit me in the throne room commander. We shall further our negotiations there.”, Risthart said and went inside his castle.

The soldiers of Teirm put down their weapons and walked down from the citadel. The Varden cheered and occupied the citadel.

A personal assistant of Risthart arrived to take Roran to the castle. Roran asked the man if the fight in the sea had been called off yet. The man replied that he didn’t know about it. Madhura, who stood a little away from him said, “It is over. Our friends are just entering the city through the coastal gate.”

‘Elves.’, Roran thought and nodded. He had to thank Horst, Fisk, Albriech, Baldor, Delwin and others of Carvahall. They had risked their safety to come along with Jeod to fight for Teirm.

But he also had the more pressing matter of negotiating with Risthart about the administration of the city. Roran called two each from the four races that now made up his army to join him in his visit with Risthart. He left the choice to the races to choose their representatives. There wasn’t any surprise in the people selected to attend the meeting: Sharang and Narheim from the dwarves, Purush and Rishi from the humans, Dathedr and Madhura from the elves and Ryzrag and Zerrenk from the urgals.

Ten strong soldiers from each race accompanied them into the castle for they didn’t want to be surprised. Even if Risthart was a man of his word, his master, Galbatorix was a twisted weasel and when it came to important decisions it was Galbatorix who had the final say.

The escorts waited outside the throne room when the representatives went in. The negotiations went quite smoothly although Risthart had wanted much greater autnomy, he was denied on the grounds that he had been fine withnearly no autonomy when under Galbatorix and the promise that he would be given ‘full’ autonomy if and when Galbatorix falls in battle or in any other circumstance.

Risthart knew full well that the Varden was no match to Galbatorix and it was in display when he sarcastically remarked that the city of Teirm wouldn’t be autonomous in his lifetime. Roran left the fine tuning of the negotiations with the politically more experienced Dathedr, Narheim and Purush who were all old in age and as such much more experienced.

He then met with the villagers of Carvahall and thanked them for their timely help.

“Friends are meant to do that, Roran. Further what kind of people would we be if we don’t repay the man who helped us save our lives and secure freedom?”, Horst said light-heartedly.

“Well, if I remember correctly then it was on account of me that your lives were in jeopardy.”, Roran replied good-naturedly.

He missed such talks with his villagers. Ever since he was appointed commander of the Varden army, he hadn’t had time to spend with them. He had even feared that they would think him vain. But here they were proving him wrong and even embarrassing him with their love.

He also spoke with Jeod who said, "My home was too much of an attraction for me to ignore it. So here I am in yet another adventure." Roran smiled at the old man. He was certainly good company to keep.

All done, his thoughts went back to Madhura’s revelation, in the morning. Nasuada was captured. Gone. Taken. By the bastard of a dragon rider, Murtagh. What would they do now? If Eragon was their one hope, Nasuada was the other. They were both pillars upon which the Varden’s campaign was built. It wasn’t even a month since Eragon had returned from Uru’baen and now this.

Roran called Madhura to his side and asked her to scry the Varden. He needed to know what was going on in Dras-Leona.

Author's Note:

I know this chapter was a bit of a drag. But I couldn't find a suitable finish to it and hence kept on dragging it. Hope you are not disappointed. But if you like it then I am glad.

Maybe this could be the 52nd chapter. Current 52nd chapter could be swapped with this to create some suspense(?) Sick, ain't I?