INHERITANCE: Memorandum Of Scales

A NIGHT WITH DURZA

Brom swung his broadsword in front of his face as a zigzagging blow from Durza was narrowly evaded.

Their swords rung together like some unholy chorus. Durza leapt backwards, his face painted in hues of satanic mirth.

"I never thought fighting one of the Forsworn would be so easy, Caomhim!" He jeered as Brom shuddered, a splash of blood staining the yellow grass, pale in the twilight shine of the moon.

The wound on his shoulder stung as another gash across his torso burned, and a broken rib protested with each breath he took. He felt his energy fading, his eyes growing tired as he stood, swaying on his feet precariously.

Durza rushed at him again.

Brom shot his eyes open and ducked underneath a savage sweeping blow, rolling on the ground so that he was now behind Durza. Durza yowled in surprise as Brom cut his calve, the tip of the blade dragging across the bulging leg muscle of Durza's borrowed body. The former Forsworn raised his blade for the killing blow, but Durza swung around at the last moment, punching Brom hard across the face. Brom groaned as he was thrown backward, hearing the sounds of the Ra'zac as it fought Eragon and Arya.

I need to stay alive. For them. For Saphira.

He saw her face then, as clear as the sun shines during a summer day. Her dark hair, her solemn eyes . . .

Selena. He saw his dragon next, also named Saphira, beautiful and radiant, featherlike wings flapping against the air as she rose into the heavens, like some fallen god returning to a lofty and celestial throne.

"Now, you die," Durza murmured as he pounced, unaffected by Brom's wound. Brom, reinvigorated, ran as well, meeting Durza in the middle of their battlefield.

The fire Eragon started grew rapidly.
They were lit not only by the moon, but by the ethereal blue flame that jumped and kicked and sparkled as it consumed the tall plains.

Brom and Durza engaged in a swirling dance, their heels kicking up dirt as they evaded, blocked, attacked, paused, only to resume their dual offensive.

No magic was uttered, no insults were levied. They dueled, like two Knights fighting for a lost love. Both of their faces were drawn in concentration, a strange sense of enmity mixed with companionship as they gradually understood the ebb and flow of each other's movements. Soon, Brom knew where Durza's blade would swing next, and Durza, Brom's. For what seemed like hours this persisted, two supernatural beings bent on destroying the other.

Durza crouched and jabbed his sword at Brom's stomach, but Brom twisted aside, swinging his sword in a sideways half-arc. Durza bellowed as he caught the blow with his open palm, causing Brom to sever the upper portion of Durza's right hand. Blood spurted from the wound as Durza laughed and fell on his back, Brom continuing the assault. He raised his sword and brought it down, again and again and again, Durza's defense growing feebler every time.
With each strike Durza cried, first in fury but then, as his sword lost power and shattered, in crazed humor. He slid away from Brom, grasping his wounded hand as Brom advanced, kicking away fragments of Durza's useless weapon.

"Caomhim. Even if you kill me, you will not succeed. You know what I am."

Durza laughed hysterically, his hair falling over a face beaded with sweat. Blue flames waved behind him, giving him an even crueler look as his eyes regarded Brom with fear.

"You should know Caomhim. The one they call Alauinel. Morzan's student. She has found a way to return the Dragons to what they were, before time began."

Durza cackled, waving his wounded arm at Brom, black blood splattering over Brom's face.

Brom's sword wavered. Durza sprung at him, his good hand cut as a shard of his former blade dug into pale fingers, a makeshift dagger that Durza desperately stabbed at Brom's eyes. Brom leaned his head back, plunging a pommel into Durza's stomach. Durza staggered backward, his mouth filling with blood.