Shur'tugal: Teaser Chapter

Surprise

The fire on the deck cast Eragon's world in an odd yellow-green light. The screeching sound grated at his nerves and he regretted not having the time to put his armor on. The only comfort he had was knowing that Saphira was well and capable of dealing with the threat.
The Lethrblaka had come from nowhere and the Ra'zac on its back had tossed a bottle of Kingsfire onto the mainsail. Blödhgarm was busy rallying the elven sailors and the remaining spellcasters swayed from side to side in a circle around the burning mast. They chanted and sang and more than a few of them wept at the beauty of the spell they were casting.
Eragon watched in awe as the mast shuddered and the globules of fire fell off into a pile on the deck. The elves then lifted the roaring, insatiable fire and threw it into the sea where it boiled and bubbled, still ignited.
An elf named Nuan ran up to Eragon and handed him his sword, Brisingr. Eragon stood and accepted the blue blade. He then walked to the front of the ship and shouted in the Ancient Language, "Nam iet Eragon Sundavar-Vergandí, sönr abr Brom! Eka aí Shur'tugal! Un eka weohnata ono vargarí!" My name is Eragon Shadeslayer, Son of Brom! I am a Rider! And I will kill you!
The Ra'zac on the Lethrblaka's back screeched and Eragon knew then in which direction the creature was and how he was to get to him. Eragon sheathed Brisingr and sprinted towards the mainsail, which after being burned by the Kingsfire had begun to topple towards the prow of the ship, the elves too exhausted to repair it.
As he ran up the mainsail, the image of Arya filled his mind—her voice, her scent, her smile. The image suddenly turned bloody and gruesome. Eragon found himself again on the Burning Plains, where he had lost his first battle against his half-brother, Murtagh. Arya was standing in front of him, bloody, bruised, and missing her left arm, cleaved at the elbow. She mumbled something so soft that Eragon barely heard it: "Eka lifrám ono." A sword sprouted from her chest as Eragon realized that what he had heard was an expression of love.
Eragon let loose a cry of such anguish and rushed to her. As her lifeless body crumpled to the ground, Eragon caught sight of her murderer. It was none other than the Ra'zac. The same Ra'zac that had killed Brom, and, impossibly, the same Ra'zac mounted on the Lethrblaka outside of Eragon's vision. The Ra'zac hissed a word and Eragon's mind exploded.




Eragon woke and found himself drifting across an endless sea, broken remnants of the ship surrounded him. He spat out a mouthful of water and coughed up the remaining water in his lungs. He felt like he had fallen from a great height, only to be trampled by a herd of Feldunost. He rolled over and lay back on the hunk of debris that had, no doubt, saved his life.
"Saphira!" Eragon shouted at the top of his lungs, both verbally and mentally.
Across what felt like a great distance, her weak voice answered, I approach, little one. Eragon heaved a sigh of relief and tried to find her somewhere in the sky. Suddenly, the water shifted beneath him and teeth latched onto his leather jerkin and pulled him beneath the water.
Eragon gasped and tried to hold his breath as he was pulled into the deep water. Struggling, he finally freed himself from the jerkin and turned to see what had pulled him beneath the black waves.
Little one, it would be easier if you wouldn't panic. Saphira's big blue eye shone even in the black of the sunless ocean.
Saphira, I can't breathe!
Calm yourself. Remember your lesson's with Oromis-elda.
Eragon closed his eyes and focused on the magic in his mind. Silently, he mouthed the words, afraid that if he lost focus he might obliterate himself and half of the ocean he found himself drowning in. The spell worked and a small bubble of air formed around Eragon's head. Quickly he threaded a small tether of air leading from the bubble to the surface of the sea.
The breath that he let out in relief was almost too much for the air pocket to handle and Eragon made note not to breathe too deeply. Saphira swam close and Eragon grabbed ahold of the saddle and pulled himself in.
Little one, you need to see this.
What happened? Where is the Ra'zac? The Lethrblaka? What happened to the Argetis? Did the crew survive? Where is Blödhgarm?
Saphira roared and bubbles streamed from her mouth. Little one! Quiet! You'll see soon enough.
Eragon frowned at Saphira's shortness and crossed his arms. Finally, Saphira swam into a cave mouth and light filled Eragon's vision. In front of him was a massive teal city surrounded by a purple nexus of energy. As Saphira landed on a small outcropping of rock, Eragon noticed that the streets were empty and the buildings crumbling. Saphira approached the nexus and sniffed before entering.
Gooseflesh rose on Eragon's neck and arms and his hair stood on end. Inside the nexus, Eragon tentatively released the magic feeding his air pocket. The air inside the aquatic city was breathable, and smelled faintly of algae and fish. Eragon dismounted and the two stared at the metropolitan expanse. Saphira, what is this..?
I don't know, but the magic feels familiar. Look at how wide the streets are. And those arches atop the buildings. Eragon knew that she was just reiterating what she'd already made mental note of, but the awe in her voice was present nonetheless. Slowly she made her way to a small encampment on the edge of the city, where a few tents were set up, flying the banner of the elves. Blödhgarm waved them over and the pair walked over to him.
"Eragon," he said, looking slightly ragged and his voice betraying his nervousness, "we have a problem."
"Blödhgarm, where is everyone?"
The lupine elf seemed on edge and his eyes were restless. "Gone. Dead, drowned or torn asunder by the Lethrblaka. Only four others besides me survived. We thought you had not survived, Ebrithil, until Saphira showed up and forged a way into this nexus."
Eragon ran a hand through his hair, slicking it back. "Who...who survived?"
"Nuan, Kÿssana, Arvit, and Si'vram."
"Barzûl!" Eragon cursed. Three-and-forty had set sail, now they were left with seven, including himself and Saphira. Nuan and Arvit were good fighters, Kÿssana was arguably the best magician there aside from Blödhgarm, and Si'vram was an architect and a scholar.
We seem to be trapped. Saphira pointed out, helpfully.
Eragon grabbed his sword, which was sheathed and strapped to Saphira's saddle. "No. We explore. What is this place? There has to be someone still alive down here..."
Blödhgarm made a small noise and Eragon turned. In one of the tents lay a small figure, wrapped up in blankets and shivering. Eragon noticed several things—it had grey skin, pointed ears swept back and stretching nearly six inches, long fine white hair with black streaks, and was completely devoid of magic. "Whatever he, she, or it is, it saved my life and the lives of everyone here."
"It has no life force. I can't feel its energy. It's like it--"
        "It doesn't exist..." Saphira snorted and turned. Approaching the tent, clad in her green flanged armor, was Angela the herbalist.