When Destiny Burns, Ep. 2 A Halo and Inheritance Cycle Crossover [Discontinued]

Chapter 16.4 Slow developments

The sparring yard was dotted with elves of both sexes fighting in pairs and groups. Their extraordinary physical gifts resulted in flurries of blows so quick and fast that they sounded like bursts of hail striking an iron bell. They resembled Spartan in a certain way, but without the extreme speed that dominated his movements. Spartan was leagues faster, but Eragon didn't know how that was possible.

Under the trees that fringed the yard, individual elves performed the Rimgar –the elegant series of warming-up techniques that resembled an intricate dance- with more grace and flexibility than Eragon thought he could ever achieve.

After everyone on the field stopped and bowed to Saphira, Vanir unsheathed his narrow blade. "If you will guard your sword, Silver Hand, we can begin."

Eragon eyed the inhuman swordsmanship of the other elves with unease. 'Why do I have to do this?' He asked Saphira.

'You will be fine,' Saphira said, yet he could sense her concern for him.

'Right.'

As he prepared Zar'roc, Eragon's hands trembled with dread. His back hadn't hurt him in a long time since Raia had healed his back, but he didn't want to be belittled as a human compared to the elves with their skills. So he fought Vanir from a distance, dodging, sidestepping and doing everything possible to delay their fight and potentially avoid triggering another fit.

Despite his evasions and counterattacks, Vanir touched him four times in rapid succession –once each on his ribs, shin and both shoulders.

The elf's initial expression of stoic impassivity soon devolved into open contempt, Dancing forward, he slid his blade up Zar'roc's length while at the same time twirling the blade in a circle, wrenching Eragon's wrist. Eragon allowed Zar'roc to fly out of his hand rather than resist the elf's superior strength.

Vanir dropped his sword onto Eragon's neck and said, "Dead."

Shrugging off the sword, Eragon trudged over to retrieve Zar'roc.

"Dead," the elf said again. "How do you expect to defeat Galbatorix like this? I expected better, even from a weakling human."

"Not even the riders of old could defeat Galbatorix like that," Eragon hissed back, carefully biting his sharper retorts back. "You need time to train and learn."

"Coward," Vanir snapped at Eragon. Nobody moved on the field. "Coward I say. Your blood is as thin as the rest of your race's. I think that Saphira was confused by Galbatorix's wiles and made the wrong decision."

The elves muttered among themselves with open disapproval for his atrocious breach of etiquette. Eragon ground his teeth in anger; he could stand insults to himself, but not to his partner. He whirled around and lashed out at Vanir, who brought his own blade up in surprise. But before Eragon's attack could hit the elf, a voice rang out over the battlefield. It was a rough, ragged voice that sounded very familiar.

"Then why don't you fight Galbatorix, instead of hiding away in your little forest?"

Eragon and Vanir turned around to see who had called the elf out and Eragon was surprised to see that it was Spartan. The soldier was marching towards them over the field, followed closely by his black dragon and a silver-haired elf.

Vanir stiffened with outrage. "Because," he said, haughty and self-righteous, "I'm not a Rider. And if I were, I would not be such a coward-"

"Bullshit," the Spartan barked and stepped closer to them, facing the lean elf. Vanir was as tall as any elf was, larger than most men with his six feet. The Spartan towered over him by at least thirty centimeters –and Eragon could very clearly see Vanir's eyes shrinking with shock and...fear? It occurred to Eragon that the soldier was extremely large; most humans were shorter than elves were, but he was even larger than they were. How much of that was his armor and how much was his body? "In war, everyone fights."