Wyrda: Father of Dragons (Eragon Book 5)

Chapter 18: Battle of Dras Leona

             The sun was just beginning to rise, as Roran woke up. He looked at the army of King Orrin, still outside of the city for the beginning of the third week and he groaned. The ground between the army and the city was covered with corpses, arrows protruding from some of the bodies. He saw where the traps he had laid on the ground had caused devastation to the enemy ranks as the soldiers had fallen into the dark pits to meet their doom. The traps made it almost impossible to cross uninjured. Boiled oil was still burning on part of the destroyed battering ram. The walls of the city had been battered and ruined, every day, at some points weakening to a dangerous level. Destroyed siege towers lay on some parts of the walls, but their bridges had been burnt so the enemy could not enter the city. His eyes turned to the soldiers on his side, all bruised and battered. The dead had been burnt to stop the spread of disease in the city and smoke from the burning buildings and bodies entered Roran's lungs making him cough. Scavenger birds were circling the battlefield, feeding on the corpses of the dead. The sleeping soldiers were unmoving, tired from the constant fighting. The city could not last much longer.

             Roran tried to walk but a large gash on his leg prevented his movements to a minimum level. He was battered and bruised in many parts of his body. His eyes fell on his shield, that was full of scratches from the countless weapons that had hit it. He lifted his hammer from the ground and put it on his belt, ready to be used. His armor was full of dried blood, and on his body, there was dirt. He saw his men, who had fought bravely for two whole weeks trying to stop King Orrin from taking the city. They had managed to hold him off through lots of tough battles and he was proud of them all. The soldiers looked at Roran with awe and respect and treated him as one of their own, almost as their father, and strived to fulfill his commands. In the past weeks, he had learned that the dwarves and elves were moving towards Illeria as fast as possible. The elves had already arrived near Gilead and the dwarves had just left the Beor Mountains. They would need at least another week to get to Illeria. On his left, he saw Martland Redbeard. The one handed general had a grim look on his face as he twisted his long white beard with his fingers in a constant motion as he was thinking. He used to be Roran's first commander, and now in a twist of fate, Roran was Martland's commander. During the weeks fighting together in the city the two men had become close friends. On Roran's right, Alarik the Olympic champion stood, his huge muscular body covered with dirt and blood. His arms were full of scratches from the countless weapons that had tried to cripple him. He had gained a large wound on his left arm, from his shoulder to his elbow that needed to be healed in order to prevent infection but he still stood proud, on his general's side, silent as he watched the army below.

              A loud horn rang from inside the city, signalling the beginning of yet another day, yet another attack. Roran looked as the enemy soldiers ran towards the walls of the city, to try and enter it, through the use of stairs. What posed the greatest threat were two giant battering rams that moved towards the city to replace the still burning destroyed one. The wood was wet to make it more difficult for a fire to burn the battering ram and there were archers protecting it from all sides so that Roran's men could not attack and capture it. Roran ordered the archers on the walls to fire a volley and then another but then an answering wave of arrows came from under the wall, killing a few of his men as the rest of the arrows bounced harmlessly on the wall. Roran ran and pushed a man climbing the stairs to the walls and tried to throw the stairs down but the stairs were secured with hooks on the wall. One of the stairs fell on the army below, screams of terror and pain being heard. The situation would be grim if they didn't manage to stop the soldiers from climbing on the walls. The ground trembled as one of the trebuchets hit the weak wall with a large boulder of rock. Small pebbles flew in the sky from the impact, killing a few men and injuring others. Roran smashed his hammer on the head of a soldier and then he hit another on the back with his hammer. A loud sound could be heard as the battering rams started hitting the already weakened gate. Roran and his soldiers fought as hard as they could for several hours, not giving any ground or sign of giving up.