As Saphira took off and winged her way into the Empire, Arya shook her head with disbelief and frustration. Although she could not argue against the dragon's logic, she could not help but feel this venture was ill-fated. Turning back to the column of troops now assembling across the plains, her heart felt uneasy. They had won the battle of the Burning Plains, but the cost had been high. Hrothgar's death, Murtagh's betrayal and Eragon's defeat had all taken their toll on the morale of the Varden. Not for the first time, Arya looked to the horizon, hoping to see the wings of a green dragon snap open in the setting sun and fly towards her. Since the last time they had heard from Imrik, he had sent no word. She worried he had been waylaid, perhaps the Rhana Dandra had come and forced him to stay behind, or his preparations had been discovered and he was now perhaps imprisoned awaiting judgement. The unknowing gnawed at her like a thousand hungry rats, but she had more pressing issues to deal with here.

Turning back to Nasuada, Arya saw the lines around the young woman's eyes deepen with stress. So far, she had proven herself a capable leader, and Arya was impressed by her resilience. In a way, Nasuada represented the soul of the rebellion; while Eragon was its figurehead. "Come," said Arya, "we must begin to follow to column. The Empire's army will regroup soon, and we will need to press them to prevent them from overwhelming us. Hopefully this fool's errand will be done before we need them back with us."

Nasuada nodded without saying anything, her eyes still following the retreating form of the dragon. She took a heavy breath and looked at the ground, then fixed her gaze on her troops. "Yes. The wounded are being transported back to Cithrí, and our supply train is loaded and ready to move. From what we know, the imperial army are still in retreat, so it's unlikely we'll encounter much resistance until the border." Nasuada's brow furrowed as she considered her options and Arya spun the plan in her mind. There was no obvious flaw that she could see, and she trusted Nasuada's tactical insight, but something unsettled her. She scanned the horizon once more and saw a soldier riding hard towards the command tend, and her fears mounted. There was blood on his jerkin and he was slumped in the saddle slightly.

"Barzul," she said, cursing in the dwarven language as the rider came galloping up to the tent, two guards running forward to grab the horse. The rider practically fell into the arms of one of the men, and Arya rushed towards them, preparing a healing spell to try and save the man if she could. As soon as she saw his wound, however, she knew he was beyond her help. They carried the wounded man to the tent as Nasuada turned, with an alarmed look on her face.

"What happened? Who is this?" she asked, her eyes flashing with worry.

The wounded man looked up at Nasuada and rasped out in a voice that was thick and bubbling with blood. "Arman... my lady. I was sc-scouting the river, watching the enemy retreat. They've turned, ships in the river... they carried troops, and a banner with a red rose with a black sword through it. I tried to- to get closer, see what was happening, and I saw a man with white hair in plate armour, then one of their scouts found me. I ran for my horse but," at which point he gestured to the broken arrow shaft that protruded from his lower chest, "they hit me. They're coming, mistress. The enemy... they... they're coming." With that the man passed, and Arya looked down at him with an impassive face, but inside her mind, her thoughts were whirling into overdrive.

"A rose with a black sword... white hair," pondered Nasuada.

"It's Karadin," said Jörmundur, his face grim. "He's the commander of the Aroughs forces, and by the sounds of it he's brought up the regulars from the city. If we face him in an open battle, without the dwarves or Eragon in support, he'll crush us. We have to retreat, Lady Nasuada."

"I don't want to abandon our position here. We need to press forward if we are to liberate the Empire, but I fear that with trained fighters amongst the army, it's unlikely we will be able to break them as easily as before," Nasuada sighed heavily, then looked at the dead messenger. "Bury him, and signal the column to retreat to Cithrí. If these reinforcements are from Aroughs, it's unlikely we will be flanked from that direction. Arya, I'd like you to ride on and begin to prepare the city for siege. Perhaps we can crush this army against the walls of the city. If not, we can only hope Eragon returns soon, or Imrik arrives with reinforcements before we are defeated."

"Of course, my lady. I shall try to contact Imrik when I arrive in Cithrí. Hopefully he shall come to our aid," said Arya, then left the command tent. She refused the offer of a horse, and began to run across the hard earth. In her mind, she began to review what she knew of Cithri's defences. She knew the city had walls, but they were not particularly strong or tall. A siege of the city would likely be swift and brutal, and there was no easy way out of the city to a safe location. If Cithrí fell, it would be the end of the Varden's invasion force, and perhaps the organisation itself. As she sprinted into the dying light, Arya's eyes were fixed on the horizon, hoping against hope for Imrik to appear. It seemed now that his arrival was a matter of life or death.

The underbrush of the woods of southern Caledor split apart as the worldroots uncurled their magic and allowed the army of Asrai to emerge from within the magical passageway. For the first time in millennia, the wood elves had returned to their ancestral homeland. Behind them, Imrik and the Dragon Guard walked out of the gateway, blinking in the sun. Lastly, the dwarven throng of clan Ironblood came stomping into the Dragonrealm, an even more momentous arrival. The irony was not lost on Imrik as the two armies formed up for march and organised a column. Kellarin, the glade lord who was to lead the Asrai, and Burlok, the lord of the Ironblood clan, both approached him as their respective forces were assembling. Imrik looked down from his seat atop Gwihir, looking into alien faces and realising that they must become two of his closest allies in the spaces of a number of days.

"We have reopened the path we used to bring you to Athel Loren here, so I believe we are very close to your mansion, Prince Imrik," said Kellarin, her silver hair spilling from behind the elegant war-crown she wore.

"Yes, it should be little more than a two hour's march to the Manor from here. These are my lands, and with Tethana and the Dragon Guard to escort you, none will challenge you here. I will fly on ahead to prepare the rest of the army that gathers at the Manor. That way, we might depart tomorrow, and be in time to lift the siege on Cithrí," said Imrik, looking around the woodland and mountains. "Take in the sights while you march, Lord Ironblood, for you are the first dwarf to set foot in these lands for over five thousand years. This is Caledor, the greatest of all the realms of the elves. It is from here that our greatness springs, tread with care. When you arrive, encamp your forces and come to the mansion, we will need to hold council tonight to determine how we shall advance tomorrow."

"Aye, elf, we'll see you there. It's an odd place to be, the elf-lands, and a stranger way of getting here. I think in future, we dwarves should stick to using our boots over elgi magicks," replied the dwarf lord, his armoured fists on his hips. Imrik smiled ever so slightly.

"I'm afraid there is one more part of the 'elgi magicks' you must endure, for tomorrow, I must open the gate that will allow our armies to traverse the void and enter into Alagaësia. Make sure you get a good night's rest tonight, my lord, for you will need your constitution for tomorrow."

With that, Imrik and Gwihir soared into the sky and began the short flight home to the mansion of his forebears. Imrik watched the towering peaks of the Dragonspines go by, and tried to commit the moment to memory, to ensure that, no matter what happened after tomorrow, he would always remember the way the morning sun shone on the peaks, the smell of the pines on the wind and the cascading rainbow of the winds of magic as they were pulled into the Vortex. No creature on earth could deny the beauty of the roiling torrent of raw chaos, but few understood just how deadly it was, and how precarious the bindings around it now were. They swung down through the mountain pass and headed south, the towering column of smoke from Vaul's Anvil marking the skyline like a black smudge on a light blue canvas as dawn broke. Over the plains of farms and forests, they glided on thermals until the mansion came into view, and the army that gathered at its base. Rows of tents in a rainbow of colours covered the grounds. Horses were picketed around the outside of the camp, along with livestock, wagons of supplies and civilian elves attending to various tasks. Imrik managed to pick out the banners of Yvresse, Ellyrion, Chrace and Tiranoc, as well as Naggarothi banners. The Druchii tents were picketed aside from the Asur, and Imrik could see guards posted on both sides. He could not blame his kin for being distrustful, but when they went into Alagaësia, he needed them to put aside their hatred and fear, and work together if they were to survive.

Imrik took a deep breath, Gwihir mentally bolstering his resolve, and the two of them descended towards the Dragon Cave. As they came into land, Imrik noticed the presence of three other dragons, and heard the cries of eagles and griffons that were being stabled within the cave. The dragons look up as Gwihir touched down, and Imrik recognised Celarandra and Cithraldor, and his heart lifted to see his cousins were here ahead of him. The third dragon was a mystery to him, however, but its massive white-scaled frame filled the opening and made it clear that it was a star dragon.

Bowing low, Imrik apologised for his rudeness, "Great ones, I must beg your pardon, but I must attend to the lords and ladies which await me within the manor. If you want for anything, please inform me so I may instruct my servants to assist you."

"Fear not, youngling, you are expected within, and we shall not add to your troubles with our pride. I am Da'vosan, I have decided to accompany your army into this new world, and to take in my charge some of the eggs returned to us by the Druchii," answered the great white star dragon, its eyes glittering like the night sky. Imrik bowed once more, then quickly headed out of the cave and up to the manor.

"Wish me luck," he said to Gwihir as he sprinted away.

"You will be fine, keep your head and they will see the need of our cause," replied the dragon as he turned to his kin and began to fill them in on the journey he and Imrik had just had.

Heading into the mansion through the colonnade and into the atrium, he made a beeline for the reception hall, where he could hear animated talking. He threw open the doors and stepped within, all conversation ceased as the assembled elves turned to look at him. Imrik saw his father and sister, his cousins Elorfildur and Isorfindel, as well as six or seven Caledorians he did not know by face. Swinging his eyes around, his heart swelled to see Lutheni standing there, a smile on her face, as well as the Chracian Princess Eladriel, and another Chracian lord. The remaining Asur made up the lords and ladies of Yvresse, Ellyrion and Tiranoc. They looked at Imrik with surprise and judgement, as they sized him up to see if they were right to risk themselves on this venture. Imrik didn't blame them for it, he just tried to make himself seem as imposing and confident as he could.

"Imrik, welcome home," said his father, smiling.

"Thank you father, it is good to return. My lords and ladies, you honour me with your presence. I shall assume that you are all at least somewhat aware of what I intend for this gathering, and so if we might sit and have refreshments brought, we can begin to discuss the finer details of this expedition, and I shall endeavour to answer all of your questions to the greatest of my ability," Imrik said, gesturing to the table and taking a seat for himself in the centre. His father sat to his left, Feldra on his right. The other highborn followed suit, and it was only then that Imrik noticed Malerath leaning against a wall in the corner of the room. She looked angry, as if she was at the edge of her patience.

"Dreadlord, will you join us please? Your people are integral to the plans our Lady has set in motion after all," said Imrik, gesturing to an empty seat near Lutheni. Malerath raised an eyebrow at this, but moved to take a seat at the table. Imrik may not trust the Druchii commander, but he had to appear as if he did.

"Prince Imrik, with the respect that is due to your bloodline in your own home, I ask you why you have invited these foul creatures onto your lands, and now wish to hold council with one? There are many incredulities in this world, but Caledor becoming friends with the Druchii is not one that can stay a mystery," said one of the Tiranocii princes, a sallow cheeked individual with pale blonde hair bound with a diadem of silver.

Imrik turned to him as Malerath took her seat, and smiled. "I invite the Dreadlord to our table because her people intend to lay down their lives for the future of all of elvendom. They came here with no promise of safety, offering themselves in service because Lileath demanded it. Malerath is loyal to Lileath, as am I, as is Prince Teclis. The goddess works to save our people from the End Times, but to do so, we must cease warring among ourselves, and unite to forge a new realm for the elves. That, my fellow highborn, is why you have been called here. We few are the future of the Asur, for if Ulthuan falls in the coming wars, our expedition will be the last chance for our civilisation. We, with the help of the Naggarothi, the Asrai and a small complement of dwarves, will marching into the country of Alagaësia, a foreign land that may become our salvation if we are prepared to fight for it. I have been to Alagaësia already, as has Princess Lutheni," said Imrik, indicating Lutheni across the table from him. Some of the elves looked at him with incredulity, others with confusion.

"In this new world, we discovered realms of elves, men and dwarves; a world untouched by the forces of the dark gods. There are vast forests, high mountains and bountiful plains in a climate similar to Ulthuan. This new realm is an ideal place to settle a colony to guard against the bloodshed of the Rhonda Dandra."

"That is scaremongering, Prince Imrik. You act as if Ulthuan has already fallen. Why should we be taking our forces into other worlds when there is war on the horizon? We should be here, defending our homeland," said the same Tiranocii prince who had spoken before.

"Forgive me, my lord, I do not know your name," said Imrik, looking into the other elf's pale blue eyes.

"Prince Morthil Wynnelis, of Tiranoc, my lord," he replied, his frown evident.

"My thanks. Prince Morthil, the Vortex is failing. Nagash has risen, consumed the soul of the Everchild and slaughtered many of the great heroes sent against him. He has ripped the Wind of Death from the Vortex and embodied it. In the north, the dark gods stir and prepare their final assault on this world. The gods have made it clear to us; if we do not find a way to leave this world, we shall be destroyed. Teclis tries to untie our three peoples into one nation to fight against the darkness. If you wish to stay and fight in Ulthuan, you should take your forces to him, and drown in the wars that come from the blood of Aenarion. I shall follow the example of my ancestor, and seek the better solution for the sake of my people. If you wish to see a world where your descendants may be taught to sing, write and love without the threat of ever-present war, then I ask you put your trust in me."

The room was quiet for a moment, then Morthil looked at Imrik with hard eyes. "Alright, Prince Imrik. I have come this far in the hope of a better place for the elves. Tiranoc has seen enough bloodshed at the hands of Aenarion's bloodline. We shall put our trust in Caledor once more. Tell us more of your plans."

"Thank you, my lord. I shall not fail you or your people," replied Imrik with what he hoped was a confident smile. Internally, he let out a sigh of relief. "As I said before, Alagaësia is a bountiful land, and free of the evils of this world. There are, however, complications to settling within this new world, the main one being that there is a human empire that seeks the domination of all life. The king of this empire is a mad human named Galbatorix. He is skilled in the magic of this world, a powerful warrior by all accounts and has a dragon of enormous size enslaved to his will. He reaches out from his seat to strike at all who value freedom and peace, and so now an alliance of elves, humans and dwarves marches against him. His defeat is a necessity for the founding of a colony, as he will doubtless be threatened by our presence. To ensure his defeat and to prevent excess loss of elven life, an alliance must be made with the native elves, dwarves and the human resistance called the Varden.

"I already have friends and allies within all these factions, which will aid the process of negotiating fair settlement after we have made the land safe for all. After all, this war is not ours, and we must demand compensation for involving ourselves in it. This price will be lands to settle on, trade and friendship with the various kingdoms that survive the war, in exchange for our martial prowess to speed the war to a favourable conclusion. Do my lords and ladies find this acceptable?" Imrik looked around the table, seeing if any would challenge his assessment of the situation. A prince from Yvresse looked as though he would object, but then his face changed as he reconsidered Imrik's words. Imrik took the silence for acquiescence and continued.

"Excellent. Now, my lords and ladies, we must begin to plan for our journey to Alagaësia." Imrik rose and crossed the room, pulling a map of Alagaësia from a pile of scrolls he had left behind when he had gone to Athel Loren.

"The Varden are currently besieged at the city of Cithrí, here," he said, gesturing at the map as the assembled lord and ladies leaned in or rose out of their chairs. Imrik felt the mood of the room shift and become more comfortable, as minds stopped worrying about the politics of the war and more about the mechanics of it. Imrik allowed himself a small smile, and was gladdened to know that his allies were at least grounded enough to see the important issue at hand.

"The siege must be broken, else we will struggle to strike against our enemy, and founding a new realm will be almost impossible. As the dwarves," he said, tapping his finger over Farthen Dûr, "have recently lost their king, and now meet to decide a new ruler; their forces in the region are limited to those dwarves already within the Varden. The elves," running his finger up to the approximate location of Ellesméra," attack from the other side of Alagaësia. We are the only relief force that the Varden can hope for. I shall try to open a gateway as close to the city as possible, so we may engage this human army with our full strength, but the magic that allows me to travel between the worlds is ancient. I understand little about it, so I may not be able to place the army as close as I would like. In that event, I would fly on ahead with our flying forces, as well as our cavalry, and attack with that while the infantry follow up as swiftly as possible."

"That tactic is very risky, Prince Imrik. Without infantry support, your cavalry would be overwhelmed after your first charge. It would be better to attack in waves, attacking at range and drawing the enemy away from the city, delaying them from taking it long enough for our support to arrive, and then turn upon our foe while they are disorganised," replied an Ellyrion Princess, her eyes inspecting the map, then looking up to meet his. "My people are experts at this form of war, and you would struggle to find swifter steeds anywhere then the ones that bear my reaver knights."

"Thank you for your insight, my lady. I hope we shall not need to rely on such methods, but I welcome your assistance in directing such a battle if the need arises."

"Besides, these humans will never have seen an army the likes of ours. With dragons, eagles and griffons at our side, our knights shall shatter their lines and drive them before us. The dragon princes await your orders, my lord." said one of the Caledorians, a youth who looked of age with Imrik, if a little older. His blonde hair was bound with ilthilmar and a gleam hung in his eyes. Imrik recognised the hunger for glory in those eyes and smiled.

"Soon enough, my lord, but we cannot be overconfident in our superiority. The enemy command magics that could bypass our wards if we do not take proper precautions."

"Will you be able to teach us to counter these forces, Prince Imrik? I do not like the thought of going into battle without my magic," said one lords of Caledor.

"I plan to do just that as soon as we are finished here. I have enough knowledge to tutor any who can already wield magic in how to cast their spells and enchantments in Alagaësia. It is largely just a shift of where we power our spells from, as the Winds of Magic do not exist."

"So, when we arrive in this new world, you plan to assemble a column and march straight to the aid of the city. What kind of military force are we facing when we reach the walls, and what will be the state of the defenders? We will need to construct this scenario before committing to the field to maximise our advantage," said the Chracian lord, leaning back and frowning.

"The Empire army is large, somewhere near the mark of seventy thousand by my best guess. The lack cavalry, however, and they have no knowledge of black powder. As for the defenders, we will likely find them hard pressed. I know very little of the terrain around Cithrí, but it is likely defensible enough. How long the Varden can last within is a mystery, which is why we must move with all speed. I intend to depart tomorrow morning at dawn."

"No black powder and no cavalry will make the battle easier for us. A charge to the centre of their line with our best knights and the dragons might shatter them, and they will lack the ability to respond to flanking movements from our infantry formations," suggested one of the Caledorians.

"No," barked the cold voice of Malerath. Many of the Asur turned to look at her with anger and accusatory looks, but she held her ground and glared right back. "Charging headlong into an army is a sure way to lose more warriors than you need to. It's foolish. The enemy lack cavalry and fast firing artillery or ranged units. We must exploit this by firing upon them from range, drawing their archers out to the fore, then committing our infantry under the cover of archers and bolt throwers. Once the front lines are engaged, the reavers can disable the war machines, while the heavy cavalry engage flanking formations, and force the enemy to withdraw from the city to cover their rear. That way, our allies within the walls can sally and force the humans to fight on three fronts. That is when we should hit them with the dragons. Their morale will already be low from their inability to control the flow of our cavalry, and the charge of the dragons, combined with the sally from the city should be enough to put them to flight."

The dreadlord looked around waiting for the Asur to contradict her. Elorfildur leaned back in his seat. "The dreadlord is correct, we cannot commit to any battle without utilising every advantage we can. Remember, my lords and ladies, that once we cross that threshold, there will be no turning back, and no reinforcement. We cannot sustain heavy causalities, and anything we can do to reduce the numbers we lose should be our priority when planning for war."

The Asur looked around each other, and Imrik could see that realisation of the scale of the war they were about to fight was dawning. To their credit, the Caledorians, the Chracian prince and the Ellyrion princess looked excited to begin. The others looked slightly more nervous. But Imrik could tell that the mood had shifted from confusion and anger to one of restlessness. He could feel it in his own limbs, the anticipation of the battle that would come made his blood sing. He grinned openly.

"Come, friends, let us eat and drink and get to know each other slightly better, as I am not acquainted with the majority of you. We shall discuss who shall take to the front line in Malerath's battle plan, which I believe is our best option. We must also decide whose forces will ride ahead if we are required to split our army in two in order to save Cithrí." Imrik clapped his hands to summon the servants, and requested they bring light food and refreshments for the guests. The Asur mellowed at this, and even accepted Malerath slightly more easily than before. They no longer shot her evil looks, but rather ignored her in favour of learning more about their companions. Imrik felt a small stab of sympathy for the dreadlord, but knew that it would take time for the Asur to trust the Druchii and her forces.

Gods, I barely trust her. But I have her oath, and I have beaten her once before, so hopefully she will not think to break faith once we are within Alagaësia, he thought as he took a sip of the wine the servants had brought.

Through conversation, Imrik learned the names of those who he would be commanding in Alagaësia. He tried his best to commit them all to memory, but made a point of at least remembering the names of the elves in charge of each faction. For the Yvressians, that was Prince Telivyn, a silver-haired elf with stern grey eyes but a kindly face. He introduced Imrik to his two lieutenants, Vinyala and Girrion, who both smiled politely but avoided making long conversation. The Ellyrion princess introduces herself as Yventress Everbloom. She smiled and talked warmly with Imrik and his father, and it seemed they were old friends, which gladdened Imrik. It was good to have someone he could trust outside of his immediate family and friends.

The Tiranocii he had already met, although the grim-faces prince Morthil introduced Imrik to his cousin, Prince Kohadreal, who was as different to Morthil as night from day. The Tiranocii shook Imrik's hand with considerable force and grinned, saying "This sounds like a fine venture to me, Prince Imrik. I'm honoured to accompany you into the new world. May they sing our names for the next ten thousand years!" Imrik laughed and agreed, but he could tell Morthil was not convinced, as the sallow-cheeked elf heaved a sigh at his companion before refilling his goblet of wine.

The Chracian lord introduced himself as Calendrol, and seemed pleased that other Chracians had answered the call. Eladriel and Lutheni both seemed pleased to see Imrik, which gladdened his heart, and when he enquired after Tellion and Calamir, he discovered they had lodged their people among the Chracians, due to the small nature of their force. Imrik thanked them all for making the journey south. Seeing Lutheni, the only one other than Gwihir who and been to Alagaësia with him, emboldened his spirit and made him feel more certain in his course.

"You're doing well, Imrik. Few Asur would have the stomach to ally with Druchii, dwarves and the Asrai, but you've somehow done it and made others feel like it's acceptable. You either have a talent for persuading people to see your crazy vision of the world, or the gods truly do watch over you. Perhaps both. Who knows? All I can say is I'm glad to see you, and even happier to fight beside you once again."

"Thank you Lutheni," said Imrik, laughing. "Hopefully I can keep the gods' favour through the coming battles, eh?"

Gwihir contacted him as the day began to fade into the afternoon, to let him know Burlok and Kellarin had arrived, their forces had encamped and the respective leaders were being escorted to the mansion. Imrik had just finished meeting the last of the Caledorians, who consisted of Elorfildur's three children, Isolfindel's son and two other Princesses from the lands around the Inner Sea.

"You'll have to be careful, too much merrymaking and you'll never get anything organised," warned the dragon with a rumble. Imrik agreed silently, and called the council back to order.

"Come my friends, now that we all know each other and have decided our plan of assault for breaking the siege of Cithrí, we must decide where we shall position each of our forces to make this battle swing in our favour. But before then, I would introduce the last two members of our Council." The doors to the room swung open as a servant bowed and ushered Kellarin and Burlok into the dining room. "Glade lord Kellarin, of our woodland kin, sent by the Everqueen herself, who now rules in Athel Loren. And Lord Burlok Ironblood, who had brought is clan to assist us in our endeavour in the new world, and to secure a future for his own people. Welcome to you both, please take a seat. We are beginning to organise our army, so that when battle is joined at the city of Cithrí, we have the most advantageous usage of our resources."

Imrik swiftly outlined the scenarios the council had already discussed for battle for the new comers, then asked for the strength of each of the small armies that had gathered below. Between them all, they totalled some ten thousand strong, including the allies from the dwarves, the Asrai and the Druchii. Imrik had known all along that they would be outnumbered in Alagaësia, but the size of the force he had was less than one tenth of Galbatorix's army at the Burning Plains. He knew his kin could match the prowess of any warrior from another race, but numbers always told in a battle, and he could not afford to take the same rate of causalities as the Varden, the dwarves or even Islanzadi's elves. The thought unnerved him slightly, but Gwihir pushed into his mind with a calm determination that reassured his heart. Brightening, Imrik smiled and began to draw up a rough outline of what he assumed the wall of Cithrí looked like, and a rough approximation of the placement of the enemy forces.

"So our front line of soldiers should consist of the more heavily armoured troops, allowing our lighter forces to skirmish and attack flanks. I would suggest Lord Ironblood's soldiers take the left flank, close to the wall so that you cannot be flanked easily. As for the centre, I would commit the Dragon Guard, and the majority of the spearmen from Caledor, Yvresse and Tiranoc, along with the Voidblades and Malerath." This raised objections as to who had to form the flanks of the Voidblades, which Malerath rolled her eyes at.

"Put my forces on the front line, Prince Imrik, and I will carve you a path to the city gates. If your kin do not wish to sully themselves by fighting alongside warrior-born Naggaorthi, then we shall fight beside the dwarves. They are at least clear-sighted enough to see that the common goal is greater than petty disputes."

Imrik had to suppress a small smile, for at the Dreadlord's words, one of the Caledorian princesses volunteered to have her forces take up Malerath's right flank, between the Voidblades and the Dragon Guard.

"Thank you Princess Aeglos, it is a great honour to be first into the fray and I hope your warriors will give a true accounting of themselves. Now, the right flank of infantry, I would place the spears from Ellyrion and Chrace, as well as the Chracian hunters. Kellarin, your troops are largely ranged, so I would ask you to set up your infantry behind the combat troops to add weight to our archers firing on the enemy to cover the advance of our troops. Your missile cavalry should join with Yvertress' reaver knights in harassing the enemy formations and destroying their war machines. The stag-riders have less armour than our cavalry, and I have little understanding of their abilities, so if you wish to command them personally and ensure they are as effective as they can be, I would be grateful. Lord Ironblood, your ranged units do not have the range to join our archers in the bombardment, so I would ask you use them to disrupt the enemy cavalry and their supporting formations so that our cavalry can manoeuvre freely."

"Aye, we can do that. Our quarrellers will devastate those humans if their armour is as sparse as you suggest," said the dwarf lord, stroking his beard as he looked at the makeshift battle plan.

"I agree to this plan as well. I will take command of the hunters of Kurnos, and we will draw out the enemy formations so that your heavy cavalry might run them down. If we get the opportunity, we will clear the walls with our hawk-riders," replied Kellarin as she stood next to Malerath. The two outsiders seemed to have ended up next to each other and had formed a tenuous alliance. Imrik would not call it a friendship, as both warriors seemed too wary of each other for there to be true trust. But they seemed to understand each other better than the Asur understood them.

"Excellent. Once the front has committed and the light cavalry have began to harass the enemy formations and destroy their siege weapons, the heavy cavalry can move around on the right flank and pick off enemy formations that are out of position. You must be careful not to over -commit to combat, because if the humans are able to rally to each other, you may be overwhelmed. Assuming those engagements succeed, the enemy will be left with a vulnerable rear, while they are engaged on two fronts with our soldiers and the city defenders. This is when the dragons and griffons will strike, attacking from the sun to reduce the change of their ranged units being able to target us. Myself and Da'vosan will use fire and claw to clear away the gates of the city, while Isorfindel and Elorfildur will land in the rear and force the humans to retreat back through their own defences and siege lines. The griffons will charge any group that tries to rally, and once the rout has taken hold, reavers and Asrai scouts will continue to harass the enemy as far as the Jiet River."

Imrik looked up and took in the faces of the commanders of the army; his army. They looked at him with a mixture approval and excitement, quiet determination and cautiousness. Imrik felt his heart swell and spread his arms over the map. "Agreed?"

"Agreed," chorused the various princes, princesses and other commanders.

Imrik grinned and raised a glass of wine for a toast.

"My lords and ladies, tomorrow will be a historic day. Tomorrow, we stake our claim on the fate of Alagaësia. Tomorrow, we refuse to bow to the ruin of Chaos, and forge our own destiny. Tomorrow, we cast aside the hatred and horrors of this world, and step into the bright hope of our new home. We will fight and bleed for it, but such has ever been our way. Fear not, for we are Asur, Asrai, Dawi and Naggarothi. Alone, our races contain some of the greatest warriors and mages this world has ever known. United, we bring together the skill and knowledge gained from millennia of war. There is no force in Alagaësia that can even come close to the martial prowess of our army. We are the chosen of the gods, the brightest flames of our civilisations, and we shall burn away the darkness of Galbatorix, bringing hope to millions, and to our descendants. Lords and ladies, it is my honour to serve alongside you, and to lead you forward into this new age. To the future!"

All the elves, and the one dwarf, raised their goblets. "To the future," the chorused and all drank deeply.

Once again, conversation overtook the room, and Imrik moved through the crowd to his father and sister, and ushered them to a quiet corner of the room. They smiled at him, and his sister gave him a quick embrace.

"I'm proud of you," she whispered. Imrik dipped his head and smiled in acknowledgement, then blew out a long breath.

"Well, no-one is killing each other yet, so it's a positive start. Is everything arranged for our departure tomorrow?" asked Imrik.

"Yes, all the supplies are loaded; the horses and soldiers have been prepared as best they can. All that remains is for you to organise the mages, and to cast your spell tomorrow. Father and I have also been talking while you have been away, and we have decided that I should come with you. He and Mother shall go to Tor Caled with those who remain behind."

Imrik was stunned by this. He had not expected Feldra to decide to come with him, but he welcomed it all the same. "Well, it will be good to have another Gwindorian with me. Although you'll have to get used to following my orders, big sister."

She grinned at him. "I'm sure I'll survive that ordeal. I'm oddly excited. I'm looking forward to seeing this new world and to meeting your friends there. It will surely be an adventure worthy of song."

"That it will," replied Imrik. Inside, Imrik's feeling of dread and anxiety, which had been so loud earlier that day, seemed to fade in the presence of his family. Gwihir purred in his mind.

"You will always have us, Imrik. We will never desert you," he said, and Imrik's chest felt warm.

"Thank you both, for everything. I should attend to the mages, I'm sorry. I will see you both tomorrow."

"Of course Imrik," replied his father. Imrik bowed and moved away, talking to each lord or lady in person, thanking them for their support and informing them of the arrangements for tomorrow. He decided to have the Chracians lead the way into Alagaësia, as their skill in the woodlands and mountains of their homeland made them ideal forward scouts. Behind them, the Caledorians, then the Ellyrions, Tiranocii and the Yvressians. The Asrai and Druchii would come next, with the Dwarves forming the rear of the column with the supply train. He also requested they send any magic users within their forces to meet with him this evening, so that he might tutor them in the appropriate spellcasting methods.

He was glad that his kin had accepted his leadership so readily, but he had a nagging feeling that the road ahead would not be an easy one to travel. Many battles would be fought, and many elves would die. For the first time, Imrik truly confronted the task ahead of him, and its enormity threatened to overcome him. Not only would he have to lead an army of his kin into a foreign land, he would do this while maintaining alliances between four factions who had been at war with each other through most of history. He would march his forces into human lands, and settle a colony of elves, changing the balance of power in Alagaësia, no matter who came out on top. And he would attempt to kill a Rider who had been amassing power for the last hundred years, a man who had killed hundreds of Riders and their dragons, humans and elves with powers far beyond his own. It seemed too much to even dream of, a fool's errand into certain doom, yet as his fears and doubts mounted, a strange feeling came from Gwihir and took hold of Imrik's heart. It was more than anything he had ever felt, a feeling that words could not express. Imrik looked again at the forces arrayed against him, and felt eager to begin, to shatter all expectations, and to show Galbatorix that he was not invincible.

He reached through their link and thanked Gwihir for his support, gaining a glimpse of the dragon's conversation with Da'vosan. Gwihir had been sharing more of what he had learned at the feet of Glaedr, and the elder dragons seemed incredibly interested in the history of their cousin race. Imrik then socialised with the various lords and ladies, getting to know them slightly better if he could, and before long, the elves excused themselves to see to their forces. Soon, only Lutheni, Burlok and Malerath remained, as well as Imrik's family and Elorfildur. When it became clear that no one had any intent on leaving before they had said their piece, Imrik smiled and sat once more at the table, the setting sun plunging the room into a ruddy orange glow. The marble of the table reflected the light, making the stone appear like fire.

"Come then, what have you all to say," he said, gesturing out to the room. Malerath looked around and stepped forward.

"By my kin's standards, I am a patient person, prince Imrik, but I would ask that you remind you princes and princesses to mind their manners. If we are to be allies, we must have respect, and if your commanders refuse to respect me, then that will test what little good will I have. Am I clear?" Her face was set with a fierce scowl, and her eyes burned with anger. Imrik sighed, but it was Lutheni who spoke before him.

"Dreadlord, until today, no Druchii has ever come to Ulthuan in peace. For thousands of years, our two peoples have warred and killed, murdered and butchered each other. It will take time to overcome such a heavy prejudice. If respect is what you wish from them, earn it. You shall have your chance tomorrow, and in every battle after that. Show them you are worth their respect, and you shall have it. Already your implacable attitude and sound tactical advice have forced me to revise my first impressions of you. If you are here to help Imrik save our people, and if Lileath truly guides you both, then you'll receive no vexations from my warriors or any of their kin. Prove yourselves true, and I shall stand at your back, just as I stand at Imrik's."

The Chracian princess and the Dreadlord stared at each other for a moment, and Malerath's eyebrow twitched ever so slightly as her face softened.

"Thank you, Princess, for your forthrightness. I appreciate your actions, and will ensure my people uphold the same standard of conduct with your kin. You talk of respect, and remind me of who I am. I hope that, in time, we can all see beyond the enmity of the past, and find respect for each other. Whether it comes on the battlefield or in the courtroom, it is essential that we learn to live with each other, for the survival of our people. I thank you for taking that step, and leading the way for your kin."

Malerath bowed to Lutheni, who bowed in return, then she turned back to Imrik. "Prince Imrik, you can count on the Naggarothi tomorrow. We shall show you our quality. I will see you in the morning."

"Thank you for attending, Malerath, and I apologise for the rudeness of my kin, although their actions are not without warrant, as Lutheni has already said. Still, we must all endeavour to become what the goddess wishes us to be, and that must begin with treating each other as equals."

The dreadlord nodded to him, then left the room.

"Thank you Lutheni, for your words and for your statement. I know how hard that was for you, but you did the right thing," Imrik said, looking up at his friend. She smiled, although it seemed forced.

"Well, one of us had to be the first, and if I can get my people to treat her and her kin as equals on the field, it might just begin to spread. We can't afford disunity in the army, and I won't have this great venture fail because I was too stubborn to work for the greater good. That is what you are trying to do, after all."

"You speak well, lass," said the dwarf lord. "I will emulate your example with mine own clan. The longbeards will grumble no doubt, but if we are to have a meaningful alliance, beat down this human tyrant and safeguard our peoples, we cannot fall into war with each other, either with words or axes." The dwarf banged a fist against his bright breastplate and bowed to Lutheni, who looked slightly taken aback by the gesture. Burlok then turned to Imrik. "Prince Imrik, I wished to ask your opinion on the effectiveness of our runes in the new world. They do not need your Winds to function, but I worry they may be made ineffective by strange magic in Alagaësia."

The dwarf mangled the name, but his point was valid. Imrik thought for a moment, conferring with Gwihir.

"I do not see why the runes would cease to function, and nothing that Oromis or Glaedr taught us about would suggest that magic already bound within objects wouldn't work," he said.

"Remember, our wards and the magic of your armour and spear both functioned perfectly when we were there, so I would assume the same would be true for the Dwarves runes," replied the dragon in a low rumbling voice, sending images of the battle of Farthen Dûr to reinforce his statement. Imrik mentally nodded, then returned his attention to the dwarf.

"I believe, as does Gwihir, that your runes should function as intended when we cross over. My wards and enchantments were unaffected when we were there. The real issue lies with spellcasting, as the energy to fuel the spells will be lacking unless we take due precautions tonight. This is why I have called together the mages within our forces, so that we may work around this."

"Thank you, elfling. That was the answer I had hoped to hear. I shall return to my people, and see to it they are ready not only to march on the morrow, but fight for their place in the new world." ONCE Again, he slammed his armoured fist into his chest, bowed once to Imrik, once to the room, then left.

"How do you intend in adapting our spells to fit the new world, Imrik?" asked Elorfildur, the aged elf peering at his with bright and focused eyes.

"Most mages use a staff or a wand, or in rare cases a weapon, as a focus for their power when casting, as well you know cousin. Many spells can be cast with little power, compared with the rules of magic which apply to the ancient language, so that may save us a great deal of trouble. Still, we will need a reserve of power to draw upon if our mages exhaust their own personal limits. To do this, I intend to have each mage store power from the winds into gems that they can carry on their person. I will also instruct them on how to channel any spare energy they have at the end of the day into a gem, so that each mage can build a considerable store of energy to cast spells from if they themselves are exhausted. A small lesson on magical combat will also be necessary, as our magic users will need to be aware of how the enemy will attack them."

Elorfildur seemed to mull over Imrik's words and plan for some time, then nodded his head. "A good plan, and you are wise to take such precautions. I will await the arrival of my fellow mages, and we can begin this process."

"Excellent, I am glad you approve," replied Imrik, silently breathing a sigh of relief. The issue of magic had worried him greatly of late, and he was unsure if the solution he had devised was the best method of solving it. Elorfildur's endorsement gave him a boost of confidence. "Unless there is anything else, I will withdraw to my chamber until the mages arrive. Please excuse me."

Silence followed him, and Imrik smiled his thanks, then got up and left the room. He needed some time alone to think, to reflect and to bathe, as he had not had a proper path for some time now. Slipping into his room, he crossed to the bathroom and disrobed, before sinking into the seaming water that was magically brought up from the springs near the heart of the mountains. He lay there for a moment, breathing deeply, then cleaned himself, scrubbing dirt and grime and sweat from his limbs. He could have used magic, but the manual labour bought him time to think and remember everything that this mansion, that this place meant to him. He lay for ten minutes more, then combed his hair, redressed himself and began to flick through the fairths he had made of Ulthuan and the wider world since his return. He had ten in all, with one still blank. Seven were of Ulthuan, with images of Tor Caled, the Chracian forests, the Phoenix Gate and his home. The other two were different. One was Athel Loren, in the King's Glade, the other was Karaz-a-Karak. He held the two fairths in his hand, amused that he had seen the homes of other races worth enough to feature the limited portfolio of his world, and yet he was glad they did.

A small knock at the door roused him, and Imrik berated himself for being lax in his training, and not observing the minds of those around him. Throwing out his conscience, he was glad to fidn that it was Lutheni outside his door.

"Enter," he said, putting down the fairths on his bed and standing, looking around the room as Lutheni entered.

"The mages have assembled and await you below, Imrik," she said, but her voice held a note of gravitas that caused Imrik to look at her quizzically. She caught his eye and smiled. "I just wanted to say that, no matter what happens in the future, I am glad to have been your friend. You mean a great deal to me, Imrik, and I would follow you and Gwihir into the realm of chaos itself. I know that what comes next will be hard, and will test us all, but you will lead us to victory and prosperity. I believe it with all my heart."

Imrik felt tears sting his eyes at the quiet passion of Lutheni's words. "Thank you, dear friend," was all he could muster without breaking his voice. He took a deep breath, then walked over to her and embraced her. She returned the gesture warmly, her blonde hair tickling his cheek. Then Imrik stepped back, shook himself and affixed a smile to his face.

"I guess we should be going down, then."

"Indeed. You still have a lot of work to do. I will see you in the morning, as I must see to my own troops. Take care, Imrik," replied Lutheni, before stepping out of the room and heading off down the corridor.

"Goodnight Lutheni," Imrik called after her, then swiftly gathered the bag of gems from his desk side and made his way to the hall where the mages awaited him.

When he arrived, he was both relived and disappointed to see only five figures waiting for him. Elorfildur was there, as was his son, Cassius. The other three consisted of elves he had not met, but two wore robes of Chrace, and the other was Tiranocii. The Chracians could be twins, tall and with fierce manes of blonde hair and broad muscled shoulders that showed that, while they may have been mages, they did not neglect their martial training. The Tiranocii smiled brightly at Imrik as he arrived, her white hair flowing freely around her shoulders. She too looked no stranger to war, with two deep scars visible on her neck.

"Welcome my friends, let us not waste valuable time. You are here to learn the complications of casting magic in the new world. Largely, your casting will remain unchanged, save that instead of drawing energy from the Winds of Magic, you must draw it from your own strength, and from energy reserves stored within gems. This will ensure that, should you become physically exhausted from spell casting, you can continue to cast spells, and any spells that exceed your limits have a power source to use, rather than killing you. We shall do this in much the same way was channelling the Winds before casting a spell, but rather than drawing the magic into your focus, direct it into the gems you have on your robes and equipment. I would like you all to spend the rest of the evening channelling as much power into your own gems as you dare.

"There is also another method of storing power, which I would ask you all practice to increase the efficiency of our spell casting. At the end of each day, before you rest, channel your excess strength into your gems. This will keep your energy levels brimming and ready to use at a moment's notice. You can do this be opening your mind and pressing your will into the gem, as if you were channelling energy for a spell. That brings me neatly to the most important reason for bringing you here: the enemy magic users. The ancient language, the language of magic in Alagaësia, is bound be strict rules that force its users into certain patterns in their engagements. Mages will be scattered throughout the enemy army, and will attempt to seek you out with their minds to see if there is anyone preparing magic. They will attack your minds, attempting to take control of your thoughts and kill you. To defend against this, your mental defences must be strong. It will be akin to resisting the attacks of a daemon upon your conscience, but do not fear to strike back. The humans do not understand the way elves think, and so we have the advantage in these mental duels. If we are able to destroy or disable the magicians, the enemy's soldiers will lose their wards, and our fight will become much easier."

Imrik paused and looked around to ensure he had not jsut ranted at his fellow Asur and that they had actually taken in what he had said. The Chracians looked rather confused, but the Tiranocii grinned as she conjured a small fireball in her hand.

"Your method is rudimentary, Prince Imrik, but it is effective. Storing energy within gemstones will allow us to cast our more destructive magic, but I also think we should consider binding as much power from the Winds into various equipments we have on our person, as once bound, the Winds do not lose their energy. This could give us a potentially infinite source of energy, although after extended use, the object would need to recharge for a period. I fell having at least a few of these objects would be beneficial to our cause."

Imrik smiled at the mage as she extinguished the fireball. The Chracian twins turned to each other and a silent conversation seemed to pass between them before they nodded in unison. Cassius and Elorfildur looked intrigued, and Imrik could feel the pull of magic as each mage experimented with the new form of casting they would have to acquaint themselves with.

"We shall return to our tents and begin to channel energy, Lord Gwindorian," said one of the Chracians.

"We shall ensure that we have enough power to bring the full strength of our knowledge to bear in the battle tomorrow," said the other a heartbeat later. Together, they bowed and left.

"I shall do the same. I must say, Prince Imrik, I am most excited to learn of this world. You must teach me the manner of magic they use; this ancient language. Adding it to our repertoire may be incredibly beneficial for this war, saying nothing of the academic implications of the mixing of two completely different instances of magic. I look forward to observing the results. Goodnight," sadi the Tiranocii smiling still. She tossed her hair and moved her fingers in a few arcane patterns as she left the hall, reminding Imrik of the odd herbalist Angela.

Imrik turned back to Elorfildur and Cassius, who stood politely waiting for the others to leave. The old elf smiled and stepped forwards, taking Imrik's hand in his. "You've done well, Imrik. Cassius and I shall ensure we are ready for tomorrow. After that, we shall see if the training of the White Tower can best these human magicians. I hope it can, for it we are defeated in magic, then we shall be sorely pressed. Still, from what you have told us, and from your own experience, we should have a good chance of catching these humans off guard with magic the likes of which they have never seen."

"I do hope so. Magic may well be what wins us this war, so keep your minds sharp, both of you. And thank you both for your commitment, it means a great deal that you would trust me this much," Imrik replied, gripping Elorfildur's hand briefly before releasing it.

"You are family, Imrik," said Cassius with a small smile, his silvery hair bound into a long braid down his back. "However distant, we could never let you go without our support."

Imrik bowed his head in thanks, and the other two Caledorians did the same.

"We shall leave you to your rest, we shall see you in the morning," said Elorfildur as he and Cassius left the room.

At last. I have done all I can, only time will tell if I made the right choice, he thought as he took a seat. He let out a long sigh.

"Fear not, Imrik. Tomorrow, we shall shatter the traitor's army and we shall see Eragon, Saphira and Arya again. It will be a glorious day," said Gwihir in his mind. Imrik chuckled.

"Glorious indeed. I have a feeling that Saphira and Eragon will be mighty glad to see us, as will Arya. The glittering host will bring a new front to this war, and we shall sweep the enemy before us. I believe it now, as strongly as I feel our bond. We can do this, we will do this."

Horns sounded as dawn broke around the city of Cithrí. Arya was already upon the battlements, watching the movements of the enemy as they prepare their siege engines to bombard the city once more. For three days now, their catapults had thrown great rocks at the walls of Cithrí, attempting to open a breach on the western wall, far from the gate that stood in the east. So far, they had been only partially successful, with the wall crumbling down to form a dangerous ramp of rubble. It could be scaled, but any who did so would be exposed to any attack from the defenders on the walls. Concern for his troops seemed not to be in the mind of the Empire general, however, as now Arya could see rams made of thick trees and covered in hoarding being rolling into position opposite the gate. Instead of waiting and bombarding the city until there were more solid breaches formed, the humans were massing for one large assault.

They have the numbers to take the city, and he knows it. Without Saphira and Eragon we are doomed to die here.

In desperation she looked to the skies, hoping against hope to see the bright blue spark of Saphira, or the deeper flash of green which herald Gwihir and Imrik's arrival. She saw only the dark clouds rolling above her as the storm moved in from the south, driving wind and rain into the faces of their enemy. It was a small advantage to have, but at this rate she was happy to have anything that gave her an edge against her foes. If she could find and kill the enemy magicians with the help of Du Vrangr Gata, there was a chance that they could kill enough men with magic to force the enemy to retreat, but she doubted they could hold them off indefinitely.

The Varden began to form up along the walls, archers testing their strings and firing off ranging shots. They were cold, wet and nervous, but there was a grim determination in their eyes. It pleased Arya to see that the desperate position they were in had not taken too much of a toll on the morale of the men. It did worry her that Nasuada would not be leading the men in battle, however, as she was still recovering from her ordeal during the Trial of the Long Knives. Orrin and Jörmundur had taken up joint command of the Varden's defence, and while they were able strategists, they did not have the same love and respect that Nasuada had from the Varden. If pressed hard enough, she doubted that the Varden would fight to the death for them as they would Nasuada.

Arya took one last look over the assembling formations of imperial troops, then stepped down from the palisade and headed down the stairs off of the wall. She made her way through the busy streets where warriors rushed to their positions. In the courtyard before the gate, barricades were being reinforced by a unit of pikemen who had been staffed with holding the gate should the enemy break through. She passed them as she headed up the main street towards the makeshift command centre that had been erected in a large square near the gate. It was the closest and most defensible place to set up a command base, as the city had no true keep but rather a governor's palace. If they were overrun here, they would fall back to the palace, but it was not ideal to defend. Outside, the six bodyguards of Nasuada stood vigilant. They confronted her as she approached, and announced her arrival.

"Come," came Nasuada's voice from within, and Arya entered the tent.

Within the red pavilion, Nasuada sat propped up in her high backed chair, the cloth bandages on her forearms already touched with fresh blooms of blood from her wounds. Her face looked worn and tired, yet her eyes still burned with the drive that had allowed her to lead the Varden this far. Around the war table stood Jörmundur, Orrin, Nar Garzhvog and Trianna. They looked up as she entered, and Arya could see the anxiousness in their faces.

"Lady Nasuada," Arya said as she entered and bowed low.

"Welcome, Arya. I assume you have news from the walls," replied Nasuada, her voice strained but firm.

"The enemy advance, the time has come. There is no sign of Eragon or Imrik, so I fear we are on our own. The enemy bring up rams to assault the gate, and I feel they will also send regiments against the breach. I believe that if we can kill their magicians, myself and the other spell casters can kill enough soldiers to force them to retreat, but that may be a difficult to accomplish if the enemy force us to concentrate of their soldiers," said Arya.

Jörmundur and Orrin took deep breaths, and Nar Garzhvog made a low growling noise.

"My rams will hold the ramp, Lady Nightstalker. They shall not pass us," said the hulking kull.

"Good. Orrin, I would like your cavalry stationed near the Urgals, so that if they need support, you can intervene and perhaps secure that flank in the event of our defeat. The people will need somewhere to escape from. Jörmundur, you and Arya will hold the gate. If we can make them pay so dearly there, the enemy may lose heart. We cannot hope for outright victory, but if we can force them to retreat today, and give us more time, then perhaps Eragon can return to us and drive the enemy back. I believe at this stage that we must give up on hoping for Imrik's army. It is disappointing, but we could never truly expect him to fight this war for us. This is not his home, but it is ours, and we will fight to defend it."

"We will hold, my lady. You shall see," said Jörmundur. He was putting a brave face on the situation, but Nasuada's comments about Imrik seemed to be voicing a truth that many had already accepted. Still, it pained Arya greatly to think that she would not see him or Gwihir. Somewhere deep within her, she still held hope they would arrive, but it seemed that, once again her hopes would be dashed. If the Varden was defeated here, it would be the end of the rebellion, forcing her people back into hiding and Eragon and Saphira would need to be hidden from Galbatorix until there was time to rebuild forces to stand against the tyrant, if there would ever be such a chance again.

As they stood within the tent, horns and drums began to sound, and shouts and cries rang around the city. The heavy whir and thump of the siege engines added to the cacophony as a runner was admitted to the tent.

"They advance my Lady," he said after a quick bow. Nasuada looked grimly around the table.

"Battle stations then, everyone. Fear not, if we hold true to our cause, we shall survive this day."

Orrin and Jörmundur bowed, and left the tent in opposite directions: Jörmundur for the gate and Orrin for his cavalry. Nar Garzhvog bared his throat to Nasuada, then stomped from the pavilion, his heavy tread shaking the very earth. Trianna ducked into a curtsey and left for the gate, shortly behind Jörmundur, and Arya followed her after a short bow. She swiftly overtook the two humans as she lengthened her stride into a run. She reached the gates and scaled the stairs to the walls three at a time. Sure enough, the Empire was advancing. Long lines of troops with shields raised over their heads moved towards the walls with ladders, while others pushed the two great rams towards the gates. Another section of the army had split from the rest and was dashing madly towards the breach, shields above them in a tight formation. She guessed that they would be the professional soldiers from Aroughs, and was glad they were facing the Urgals and not trying to storm the gate. It was a lot harder to break the will of tested soldiers. The conscripts in front of the walls and gates were likely just the survivors of the Burning Plains. Hopefully the defeat still weighed heavy on their minds.

Drawing and stringing her bow in one fluid movement, Arya drew an arrow and nocked it to the string, waiting for the enemy to come within range. The red files of men marched ever closer, like great insects crawling across the land towards her. She drew and fired at the closest group and was satisfied when the lead man went sprawling into the dust, and arrow in his abdomen. She drew again and killed another man, and now the rest of the Varden's archers were within range. A volley of shafts arched down from the walls, many finding shields or the earth, but many others struck home into the chests, legs and eyes of the besiegers. Still the ladders came on, although some groups became increasingly ragged as they continued into the hail of arrows the Varden were pouring onto the field.

Arya knew that the ladders were truly just a distraction force to prevent the archers from concentrating their fire on the battering ram crews, but it still gave her satisfaction when three of the teams dropped their ladder and began to retreat towards the main body of the army that advanced behind them. The other teams pressed on, however, and would soon be too close for the archers to shoot at them. Arya stowed her bow and drew her sword, readying herself for the bloodshed to come. The first ladder swung up against the wall less than two yards from her, and a soldier in a red tunic scrambled over the wall with his shield raised high. Arya dashed forward as the archers scrambled for their swords, and quickly disembowelled the man before throwing him over the rampart and pushing the ladder off the wall. She heard the screams of the men bellow as the ladder toppled over, then a sound rose above the din of ram horns and drums. A winding clear note that rang from low to high, a clarion trumpet call that caught the ears of all. The defenders and attackers both turned to the east where the sun blazed overhead to see a shimmering wave of white and silver approaching the city at pace. Arya's heart skipped a beat as her keen eyes began to pick out the details of the glittering host that approached Cithrí. She saw banners emblazoned with winged horses, eagles, lions and other beasts she did not know. But there in the centre, resplendent in green and red, flew the dragon of Caledor. Imrik had arrived.

Her heart sung with joy and she cried allowed, "The Asur have come! The elves are here! Imrik has arrived!" The Varden around her seemed shocked and confused, but it soon became clear that the mysterious army was good news, and began cheering loudly from the walls. A cry of alarm went up from the Empire army, and Arya noticed they frantically reorganising troops to face the oncoming threat. Looking out again, Arya scanned the elven lines for Gwihir's glittering frame, and found him stood at the rear of the army, fully armoured. The dragon shook his head and let out a roar which shook the air even where she was standing. Another trumpet call, and the elven lines began to advance into positions. Arya smiled, a savage, joyful smile of one who has witnessed their wildest dreams come true just as it seemed they would all come to naught. She knew now that they could win.

Imrik gave the order for the archers to advance into firing positions and to fire upon the enemy as soon as they were in range. Beside him, bolt thrower teams made ready, fitting clusters of deadly bolts each the size of Imrik's leg into the firing mechanism of the Eagle Claws with a skill and precision that could only be achieved after decades of training. He glanced to his left and saw Kellarin and her hunters riding full tilt around the rear of the city.

"Obviously she intends to hit them in the rear. A bold move, but I'm sure it will cause havoc amongst the humans as they try to retreat," he said to Gwihir. The dragon looked up at the sky, where Elorfildur, Isorfindel, Da'vosan and the other fliers were hidden amongst the clouds.

"Soon we shall see just what those prancing deer can do, otherwise I think they should be fair game," replied Gwihir. Imrik laughed aloud, and the sound rang over the nearby war machine crews and the cavalry who were hidden behind a small ridge behind him. In front of him, the army advanced. The archers reached a small line of bushes that may have marked the boundary of a field at some point and began to set their formations. Each regiment left a gap large enough for five elves to march abreast between them, and the spear regiments arranged themselves behind them. On the left flank, the dwarves, Druchii and Princess Aeglos's warriors formed up, ready to anchor themselves against the city wall and advance towards the gate. In the centre, Tethana commanded the combined regiments of Dragon Guard from the Caledorian royal houses, as well as the spearmen from Caledor, Yvresse and Tiranoc. On his right, the Chracians and Ellyrions moved up to cover the flank, but their movements also shielded the advance of the glade riders, Ellyrion reavers and the rest of the Imrik's cavalry. Dragon princes, silver helms and lion knights of Chrace stationed themselves far on the right, their pennants blowing in the wind as the storm moved over them and past on, allowing the sun to shine from behind them. Imrik was glad that he had the sun on his back, as it gave his army a greater advantage.

Imrik took a deep breath, and looked towards the advancing lines of red tunics. They would be in range soon, and the Empire would feel the power of the Asur. He grinned savagely, and felt Gwihir mirror him as they took to the sky with a roar. Flying over his troops, he raised cheers from the Caledorians. Hovering above them, Imrik raised his spear above his head and shouted down in Tar-Eltharin

"Elves, today we show these humans what a real army looks like! Keep to your formations, cover the elf at your shoulder, and may your spears find their mark as surely as Kurnos's arrows. Today, we stake our claim upon this world, and show to all that we are the Asur, the children of the gods. We are dauntless, indomitable and greatest warriors any world has ever know. Forward, into victory and glory that shall last a thousand years!"

A large cheer rose from the entire army and various war cries rose across the battlefield. The Empire army seemed strangely quiet in their approach, but Imrik quickly deduced that they were intimidated by the elves. Despite the fact that the portion of the army that turned to face them outnumber them three to one, Imrik could feel the fear in the ranks of the human warriors.

"They should be afraid. Soon they will taste the wrath of Caledor," said Imrik to Gwihir, the site of the army before him filling him with pride.

"Indeed. Now we show the egg-breaker-foe-men the meaning of fear," replied the dragon.

The trumpets sounded once more, and with a sound like the mast of a ship snapping, the archers loosed a volley. The wave of silver arched into the air, and cries of dismay filled the air as the arrows crashed into the humans. Hundreds died and the first wave of the attack faltered. The elves reloaded and drew again, then loosed as the back ranks of the first battalions stepped over their dying comrades. The arrows fell and scythed down even more warriors, and now the Empire began to bring up their own archers. They stepped up and returned fire from the corpses of their fallen comrades, but their volley fell pitifully short. This was the signal Imrik's infantry had been waiting for. As the tide rushes between rocks and onto the beach, so did the spears and warriors of the elves flowed between the archer regiments and began to march across the plain towards the Empire army. Once again, the archers fired, but their targets had shifted from the warriors to the archers. More men fell, but now their swordmen were beginning to reform to face the incoming elven spear wall.

From the air, Imrik could see that the front advanced in one unbroken line, perfectly straight across the battlefield like a line on a map. Even the dwarves, who were slower than the elves, managed to keep pace, their circular shields interlocking like the scales of a fish. Opposite them, the humans drew up in a ragged formation, levelling spears at the approaching infantry. The Empire archers were firing at the elves, but their volleys were sporadic, inaccurate and caused little damage, but Imrik was pleased to see that the humans were fighting according to plan. He waved his spear above his head, and now the fast cavalry advanced beyond the right flank. They swung around the army in a wide arc, and made straight towards the picketed camp where the war machines stood firing on the city. The Empire cavalry attempted to respond, but a storm of black bolts flew out at them and cut them to ribbons. The dwarven quarrellers kept their weapons trained solely on the cavalry forcing them to retreat behind the safety of their own troops and the reavers raced ahead, circling around the enemy army, firing occasional volleys into the flanks as they rode past.

The Empire army was split now, the forces arranged to fight on two fronts. As the fast knights of the elves swept down the northern flank, more regiments of humans began to break towards them from the rear of the armies, forming a third force. Now the enemy forces were split in three, and each was moving further away from each other. That was their mistake, and as the frontlines crashed with a roar of steel and flesh, Imrik signalled the advance of his heavy cavalry. From the rear, Kellarin emerged around the rear of the city, organised her forces and sounded a hunting horn. The reavers, having dealt with the forces defending the catapults, turned and began to harry their pursuers from range. A hail of arrows arced out towards the enemy, who formed a shield wall to protect themselves. It was a wise move against the arrows, but it immobilised them, forcing them to stand alone in the open. That was all the provocation the knights of Ulthuan needed. The clarion trumpets rang again and the silver helms swept forward, with Lutheni and her lion knights on their right and the dragon princes to the left.

Lutheni bellowed a battle cry as she swept towards the isolated formation of humans, her chariot racing across the hard packed earth. Around her, the lion pack roared in unison as they charged towards the humans. Axes held high and plumes flowing freely in the wind, the giant apex predators made a terrifying site, especially with the elves of Chrace atop them. To her left, the silver helm units of various kingdoms levelled their lances, which was mirrored by the dragon princes beyond. On the other side of the humans, Kellarin the wood elf began her charge, her stag riders racing forwards with spears held high. As they drew close, the stags pranced from side to side as they ran, and lowered their antlers in preparation for the impact. Lutheni could feel the wind and the specs of rain on her skill, every bump and roll of the chariot beneath her feet. She felt the exhilaration of the charge, of the hunt, the desire to rend and kill. It was a primal thrill, but it made her grin. Holding her axe high, she yelled her family name as the chariot smashed into the shield wall in front of her. Her axe came down, cleaving through the head of one man and into the chest of another. Her driver stabbed out with his blade as the lions crashed deeper into the enemy before laying about themselves with claws and their fearsome jaws. Lutheni pivoted across the fighting platform of the chariot, her axe in a deadly spiral as she brought it down into the shoulder of another man, breaking his collarbone and biting deeply into his chest. Blood choked his lungs, but Lutheni was already aiming for her next target, shattering a man's shield with the force of her blow and cleaving him in twain.

Around her, the knights crashed through the ranks of soldiers, killing hundreds of men with blows from swords and axes, or spitting them on lances. Horses trampled the wounded as the elves laid about them, and blood swiftly soaked the earth. The Asrai charge hit and men were tossed screaming into the air by the gouging antlers of the stags. The Asrai stabbed down with their spears, killing with swift and efficient strikes. The human formation disintegrated as men turned and tried to strike back against the elven cavalry, and the reavers unleashed a torrent of arrows into the exposed backs and flanks of the humans. More men died, but before they could rally for a counter attack, the cavalry withdrew to a safe distance. Lutheni's driver took her out to the north, and the lion knights followed her direction. They arranged themselves for another charge, noticing the dragon princes and silver helms assembling to the east of her, to threaten both the force engaged with the infantry and the beleaguered regiment they had just charged. The humans formed into a tight knot of spears and shields, trying to protect themselves from the elves. Carefully, Lutheni cleaned the gore from her axe edge, and readied herself for the next charge.

She looked up to Imrik, who hovered above the battlefield on Gwihir, then at the city where battering rams were slamming at the gates and men swarmed up ladders. When the gates fell, the human army would be too far committed to effectively withdraw from the battle. When the gates fell, it would spell doom for the Empire, not the Varden.

From the walls, Arya saw the elven cavalry smash into one of the three battle formations the Empire army had formed into. The charge was a site to beyond, and she doubted she would forget it for as long as she lived: hundreds of elves, horses, lions and stags crashing into the human lines, proud banners streaming behind them and their armour glimmering in the faint sun and the falling specs of rain. It was like a painting from the elder days. Tearing her eyes away, she focussed again on trying to clear the walls of enemy soldiers. Imrik's army had lessened the flow of men, and had taken some of the pressure off the Varden, but the Empire seemed intent on breaking into Cithrí. She ran her sword through one man's heart, then took the head off another and kicked a third off the wall to his death. The area around her was strewn with corpses and her boots were slick with the blood of the slain. Running up to the nearest ladder, she grabbed the sides and pushed with all her might. The ladder jumped back away from the wall, and began to topple, the men on it screaming. Behind her, reinforcements arrived and set about doing the same thing to the ladders and trying to prevent the Empire from gaining a foothold on the wall. The general had still not called a retreat from the city, and Arya suspected that it was arrogance on the part of the imperial commander, believing his forces were superior to Imrik's smaller army. How wrong he was, and it was showing. Steadily, the infantry battle was turning in the elves' favour, and the glittering line was advancing towards the gate. There was a sonorous boom, and a bolt of lightning streaked down from above from a storm cloud that swiftly dissipated. It blasted a hole in the formation of men, and the elves poured forward, breaking formation to stab with their long spears, before swiftly covering themselves with their shields and warding off the counter blows of the humans.

What destructive magic the Asur possess. Perhaps their magic could hold the key to defeating Galbatorix, if it doesn't destroy our world first, she thought as she watched a nimbus of light surround the elves in the centre line. Their weapons shone a faint blue, and they began to cut through the men of the Empire much faster than before. Arya thought the men might break soon, all that was needed was Imrik to descend and actually engage them. The Caledorian remained aloft, however, and instead brought a large and ornate warhorn to his lips, and blew a long and winding note that carried over the battlefield. War cries rang out once more from the elves, and many pushed forward with renewed ferocity. Then the skies split open with a deafening roar, and three dragons descended upon the enemy.

Imrik and Gwihir dived for the nearside of the wall as Da'vosan made for the western side. The star dragon roared her anger at the humans, and they quailed before her majesty. Landing next to the breech in the walls with an impact heavy enough to shake the walls, the star dragon proceeded to unleash a torrent of white hot fire into the enemy formations and onto their ladders. Gwihir mirrored her example, landing on the gate house and spewing fire in a concentrated stream onto the rams below. The hoarding offered little protection against the dragon fire. All along the base of the wall, men burned and screamed as they were turned to ash. Imrik dismounted and joined the fight on the walls, killing six men within a second as he leapt like a panther into their midst. He swept his shield around and battered three more off the walls and down into the courtyard. They landed with a sickening crunch and moved no more. Striding forward through the bodies, Imirk decended the stairs towards where the Varden were clustered, pikes at the ready. Through the ruined gateway, Imrik could see the wall of fire from Gwihir's jaws cease. Climbing onto the barricade, Imrik turned to the Varden and used magic to increase the volume of his voice.

"Men of the Varden! I am Imrik of Caledor, and I come to deliver you. My forces attack the enemy beyond the walls, and soon we will force them from the field, but we can only do so with your help. Follow me, and we shall make these bastards pay for every drop of blood they've split in Galbatorix' name. Come with me, through that gate and into the storm of battle, and earn the glory that is due to you. Greatness awaits you and history stands by to record your deeds. The bright light of freedom stands there for you. Now, take it! For Alagaësia! "

Imrik leapt off the barricade and charged through the open gates, past the charred rams and smouldering corpses and into the front of a line of Empire swordsmen. The roar that followed him told him he was not alone. The soldiers cowered back before him, his armour and glowing weapon lending him a fearsome aspect. Imrik laughed as the thrill of battle overtook him, and he threw himself into their ranks, killing indiscriminately. Where his spear flashed, men died, their blood spilling over his hands. Within a minute he was drenched in gore as he fought his way through the press of humans. Gwihir landed close to him and bathed the soldiers in fire before slicing others to pieces with his claws. Across the field, Isorfindel and Elorfildur, atop their dragons Celarandra and Cithraldor, laid waste to the rear of the human army with fire, ice, magic and blade. They were terrifying to witness in their wrath, but none could equal Da'vosan. Her towering white frame loomed over the whole battlefield, almost as tall as the city wall. Where she walked, men died and her rage was unbridled. Jets of flame burst from her mouth as she swung her tail about her, an incarnation of draconic splendour.

Above him, Imrik knew the griffons, eagles and warhawks were making passes at the army, picking off groups of archers or officers and magicians, but he didn't care. All he cared about now was the battle, the thrill of pitting himself against as many foes as he could find, and overcoming them all. With a crow of delight and a battle cry of his own, Imrik dived forwards into the melee once more, cutting down any who stood before him. His armour, wards and sheer skill kept him from being hit by the clumsy strikes of the humans, and he danced through their ranks like death itself. Here was his place, for here he could allow all the worries and problems that assailed his mind to fade away. All that mattered here was life and death, parry and thrust, kill or be killed. It was a simple world, and one that Imrik understood. A savage grin split his lips once more as the red haze descended around him, and he allowed himself to stop feeling, only to act and react.

Gwihir reacted to his ferocity and joined him in it, slaughtering the men before him and burning those who tried to retreat from his reach. Around them, Imrik and Gwihir were vaguely aware that the enemy were retreating, throwing down their weapons and sprinting away from the city. Slowly, reason reasserted itself in his mind as he watched the thousands of men flee before him. Behind him, he heard cheers rising from the city and from his own army. He looked around and saw hundreds of men kneeling with their hands over their heads, and took a deep breath. The battle was won.