Chapter 24: The Race to the Varden

[3,392 words]

The landscape blurred around Eragon as he sprinted across the plains, his legs moving in a relentless rhythm that defied the limits of human endurance. His arms cradled the unconscious form of Arya, her weight barely registering to him as he pushed his body to its utmost limits.

Overhead, Saphira soared through the sky with Brom securely on her back, their movements perfectly synchronized with Eragon's incredible speed on the ground. Saphira's massive wings cut through the air with powerful strokes, and she easily kept pace with Eragon, who ran faster than the swiftest horse.

The wind whipped past Eragon's face, but he barely noticed it, his mind singularly focused on the task at hand. His superhuman speed allowed him to cover vast distances in mere minutes, and his body with Fatigue Resistance, hardened by more than a year of relentless training, showed it's results now.

As the ground flew beneath him, Eragon's thoughts began to drift. 'Finally,' he mused, 'this useless journey will come to an end soon, once we reach the Varden I would once again have a place to train at peace.' The realization brought a mix of relief and anticipation. It wasn't that he disliked seeing new places; on the contrary, the adventure had its own charm.

But ever since he and Brom had left Carvahall, his training had slowed down significantly, and that frustrated him. The constant travel and the necessity to stay hidden had left little time for the intense physical and magical training he had grown accustomed to during his year and a half in the Spine.

The prospect of resuming his rigorous training brought a sense of satisfaction to Eragon. He needed to grow stronger—stronger than a Shade, stronger then Galbatorix, stronger than anyone in this world had ever been. Only then could he achieve his goals and live comfortably with wealth, admiration, beautiful woman and, most importantly, the power to shape his destiny.

As Eragon ran, he tried to piece together the current timeline in his mind. 'Let's see,' he thought, 'in the original story, after Teirm, Brom and OG Eragon would have gone to Dras-Leona, where Brom died. Then Eragon would've met Murtagh, and together, they would have gone to Gil'ead. Eragon would have been captured by Durza, and then Eragon would've escaped with Arya. From there, they would've rushed to the Varden, where Durza would lead the Urgals in an attack on Tronjheim after about a week.'

A glint flashed in Eragon's eyes as he remembered those events happening in the book. But things were different now. He and Brom had skipped several steps, Brom didn't die and they moved directly from Teirm to Gil'ead without detours much faster. 'We did things a lot faster in this timeline,' Eragon reflected. 'Which means that before the attack on Tronjheim, I should have at least a month or two for training. It's not a lot of time, but it's better than nothing.' His mind was already racing with plans on how he would use that time—intensifying his physical training, refining his magic, and strengthening his various resistance skills.

'Though I wonder what will happen to Murtagh... According to the original story he is out there hunting the Ra'zac at Dras-Leona. He's a skilled fighter but I don't see him killing superhuman creatures such as Ra'zac easily. Will he die?' As the thought past through his mind Eragon dismissed it. 'Oh well, not like I care really, it got nothing to do with me...'

As Eragon's thoughts swirled in his head, the hours passed, and soon the sky began to darken with the arrival of nightfall. Overhead, Saphira's voice entered his mind, her tone calm and reassuring. 'Eragon,' she said, 'Brom says we will rest here tonight and continue tomorrow.'

Eragon nodded to himself, slowing his pace as he looked for a suitable spot to make camp. He found a small clearing near a cluster of trees, and with a final burst of speed, he came to a halt. Saphira circled above once before descending gracefully, landing softly on the ground with Brom dismounting shortly after.

"We'll rest here for the night," Brom said as he surveyed the area, his eyes lingering on Arya's still form in Eragon's arms. "She looks worse, the poison still in her system is probably the reason.. You made the right call Eragon, we can't afford to delay too long."

Eragon gently laid Arya on a patch of soft grass, her face pale and her breathing shallow. Despite her condition, there was a certain strength in her features that reminded Eragon of the powerful warrior she was in the books. 'She'll pull through, she did it in the book so there is no reason she can't now' he thought, more as a reassurance to himself than anything else.

Brom knelt beside Arya, checking her pulse and the state of her injuries. "She's holding on," he muttered, mostly to himself. "Eragon, let me do another round of healing while you set up the camp."

Eragon nodded silently, then turned his attention to setting up camp. He used his magic to clear away debris and smooth out the ground, creating a comfortable area for them to rest.

Once the camp was set, he dug up a deep pit on he ground and stood in front of it. He closed his eyes and concentrated, channeling his energy into the earth beneath him. He spoke the words in the Ancient Language, feeling the power flow through him as he drew water from deep underground. The ground trembled slightly before the small pit filled with fresh, clear water, perfect for Saphira to drink her fill.

Saphira lowered her head to the pit, drinking deeply while Brom watched Eragon with a mixture of awe and concern. "It's unimaginable," Brom said after a moment, shaking his head in disbelief. "After running all day at such speed, you still have the energy to cast spells like that?"

Eragon shrugged, trying to appear nonchalant. "I have energy to spare, my body doesn't tire easily, you know that." he replied, though he could see the doubt in Brom's eyes.

Eragon couldn't help but chuckle inwardly at Brom's expression, a hint of amusement tugging at his lips. The older man's disbelief was palpable, and though Brom had witnessed his growing strength and stamina over the past months, he still seemed taken aback by Eragon's endurance every time all over again.

As Saphira continued to drink from the pit, her wings occasionally ruffling, Eragon's thoughts drifted. 'He doesn't even know the half of it…' he mused, glancing down at the ruby embedded in Zar'roc's hilt, the deep crimson stone glimmering faintly in the light.

'Even after running the entire day, carrying Arya, I still had energy left to spare…' He chuckled softly to himself. 'If only Brom knew that I've been channeling my energy into the ruby while running as well.'

The thought of Brom's reaction made Eragon smirk. The older Rider was already astonished by his abilities, but to know that he had not only been running at inhuman speed but also storing magical energy on the side would likely leave Brom speechless.

Eragon glanced at Brom again, pretending to stretch his shoulders casually. 'Best to keep that little detail to myself, I don't want him to have an heart attack. Carrying one person while running is already bothersome as it is, thank you....' he thought.

In truth, his stamina and endurance were beyond anything a living creature should have, even an elf, thanks to not only his powerful physique, but also his resistance skills. The [Fatigue Resistance Level 223] and [Dehydration Resistance Level 80] had both played a significant role in keeping him going without tiring.

Although Eragon still doesn't know what the levels of his skills represent precisely as his system seems to lack those functions, he still feels the difference every level up brings to his body.

After everyone had eaten and Saphira had drunk her fill, they prepared to sleep. Eragon, ever mindful of the dangers that could be lurking in the night, volunteered to take the first watch. "I'll keep watch," he offered, earning a sharp look from Brom.

"No, you won't," Brom said firmly, his voice carrying a tone of finality. "You're a freak, Eragon. Not even an elf should be able to do what you've done today, and there's no way in hell I'm letting you keep watch after all that. I'll do it—I did practically nothing today while you and Saphira did all the hard work. You both need to rest."

Eragon knew better than to argue with the stubborn old man, so he simply nodded in agreement. "Alright, Brom. I'll rest." He lay down next to Saphira, her warm presence comforting him as he pretended to sleep. In reality, he was far from tired. His mind was still buzzing with energy, and he decided to use the time to further strengthen his resistances. Namely his magical resistance.

Closing his eyes, Eragon silently began to channel his magic, focusing on a different type of resistance training then usual. He whispered the words "Kveykva hcashmel oti" in the Ancient Language, summoning tiny sparks of electricity that danced across his skin under his clothes. The sparks crackled and snapped, their sharp light momentarily illuminating the darkness around him.

Eragon quickly casted silencing and light-concealing wards around himself, ensuring that Brom wouldn't be alerted to his late-night training. The protective barriers shimmered briefly in the darkness before blending seamlessly with the night, masking the faint crackle of electricity and the subtle flashes of light from his spellwork.

Next to him, Saphira noticed his actions but made no move to intervene. She had long grown accustomed to his nightly routines, understanding his relentless drive to grow stronger. Instead, she shifted closer, curling her massive body protectively around him. Her tail wrapped gently around his form, creating a shield against Brom roaming eyes that might stray their way.

Her warm breath fanned across his skin as she settled in, her presence both comforting and reassuring. The world outside their small bubble faded into the background, leaving only the two of them in their shared space. Eragon appreciated her silent support, knowing that she, too, understood the importance of what he was doing.

With Saphira's protective embrace and the wards securely in place, Eragon felt a deep sense of peace as he resumed his training. The night was theirs, a time to push boundaries and prepare for the trials ahead, and he knew he could rely on Saphira to watch over him until dawn.

[Electrocution Resistance Level 6]

[Magic Resistance Level 102]

[Electrocution Resistance Level 6]

The sensation was both painful and exhilarating as the electricity coursed through his body, testing the limits of his Electrocution Resistance and Magic Resistance. Each jolt sent a sharp tingle through his nerves, but Eragon remained composed, controlling the flow and intensity of the magical electricity with precision.

His skin prickled and his muscles twitched involuntarily under the electric assault, but Eragon welcomed the discomfort, knowing it would only make him stronger. 'I need to be ready for the war in two months, I was a fool not training electric resistance before today and I almost paid the cost for that mistake' he thought, his focus unwavering as he continued to push his body's limits.

The sparks intensified, their brightness growing as they danced across his arms and chest, but Eragon remained calm, allowing his body to adapt.

He paused every few minutes, allowing his body to recuperate quickly before pressing on. His physical strength and speed weren't the only things remarkable in his evolved physique; his recovery rate and healing speed were extraordinary as well. Injuries and ailments that would take an ordinary person days to heal vanished within an hour, as if his body was constantly renewing itself. It was as though his muscles, bones, and the very cells worked in overdrive, repairing any strain or damage almost as soon as it occurred.

This allowed Eragon to abuse his body without worry or need to waste his energy on healing himself with magic.

The air around him buzzed with the energy he was generating, and the scent of ozone filled his nostrils. Each pulse of electricity was a challenge, a test of his resilience and control over his magic. The practice was necessary, he knew, especially with the unknown dangers that awaited him in the future.

As the hours passed, Eragon gradually increased the intensity of the sparks, pushing them to their limit. His resistance levels were rising, and he could feel his body beginning to acclimate to the sensation, the damage reduce as his tolerance grew.

Finally, satisfied with his progress, Eragon released the spell, the sparks flickering out as quickly as they had appeared. He took a deep breath, his skin tingling in the aftermath, but the discomfort was already fading. His body had adapted once again, growing stronger and more resilient with each passing moment.

'It won't be long before I'm ready for more,' Eragon thought as he lay back down beside Saphira, a faint smile playing on his lips. The night was still and quiet now, the only sound the gentle rustling of the trees. Saphira shifted slightly beside him, her breath warm and steady as she slept.

Eragon allowed himself to relax, his mind at ease as he fell asleep, taking a break for 2 hours.

The next morning, Eragon awoke with the first light of dawn, feeling refreshed and ready to continue their journey. Brom, looking more tired than he let on, grumbled something about young people having too much energy as they packed up their camp. Saphira, who had kept a silent watch over them throughout their activities, greeted Eragon with a mental nudge, her thoughts a mix of warmth and concern.

'Are you ready? Today you will need to run for several hours longer then yesterday.' she asked.

'If there is one thing I'm most confident in, it is my stamina. Today will be a piece of cake just as yesterday.' Eragon replied, lifting Arya back into his arms. Without another word, he started running again, his pace as relentless as the day before. Saphira took to the skies with Brom on her back, flying high above as she scanned the landscape for any potential threats.

As they moved through the countryside, Saphira guided Eragon from above, telling him when to take detours to avoid Empire soldiers or groups of Urgals. There were times when soldiers spotted Saphira's massive form in the sky and the fools attempted to give chase, but their horses were no match for Saphira's and Eragon's speed. They easily outpaced them, moving like a shadow across the land.

By midday, they reached the Ramr River, its waters flowing fast and deep. Eragon paused at the riverbank, waiting for Saphira to land on the other side. Brom quickly dismounted, and Saphira made a trip back to the other side, prepared to pick Eragon across the river.

Saphira wrapped her powerful wings to allow Eragon and Arya to get on her back before she took to the skies again, her wings flapping with tremendous force as she soared over the water.

They crossed the river with ease, and soon they were journeying into the Hadarac Desert. The endless expanse of sand stretched out before them, dunes rising and falling like waves frozen in time. The sun hung high in the sky, its relentless heat beating down on them as they moved deeper into the desert.

The Hadarac Desert was a harsh and unforgiving place, its golden sands hiding countless dangers. The heat was oppressive, and the landscape offered little in the way of shelter or sustenance. The intense sunlight baked the ground, causing the scenery to blur and and distort from the heat.

The heat was oppressive, Brom wiped sweat from his face and couldn't help but glance worriedly at Eragon as he ran, the older man wondering if the boy could maintain his pace in such harsh conditions.

"This is going to be a much harder ordeal," he said, voicing his thoughts aloud. "Running on sand dunes, under this blazing sun… It's not like the plains we crossed before."

But Brom's worries proved to be unfounded as Eragon once again demonstrated he was anything but ordinary. Despite the punishing heat and the sandy terrain, he maintained his speed without slowing down, his steps as sure and swift as ever.

It was Brom and Saphira who needed to stop for water breaks, their energy sapped by the grueling conditions. Yet, Eragon barely broke a sweat. Each time they paused, he would join them, drinking from the the water that they drew magically from the ground with an amused smile as Brom cast him worried glances.

Saphira, too, would fix her sharp eyes on him, sensing his unnatural endurance. Though Eragon stopped with them, it was clear that he didn't need the rest—he could've easily continued, his strength seemingly endless. Still, he humored them, if only to ease their concerns, while inwardly feeling the thrill of knowing how far his body had evolved.

For three days, they crossed the Hadarac Desert, the unrelenting sun beating down on them during the day and the cold winds howling around them at night. Until on the fourth day, at last, they saw the tall, jagged peaks of the Beor Mountains rising in the distance.

The Beor Mountains were a sight to behold, their massive peaks towering high into the sky, their surfaces covered in snow and ice. The mountains stretched as far as the eye could see, a seemingly impenetrable barrier between the desert and the lands beyond.

As they approached the base of the mountains, Saphira suddenly tensed, her sharp eyes spotting a group of people ahead. 'There are people up ahead,' she informed Eragon and Brom, her tone cautious.

Brom leaned forward, squinting as he tried to make out the figures in the distance. As they drew closer, his expression darkened. "Slavers," he muttered, recognizing the distinct way the group moved, herding a line of captives ahead of them. He turned to Saphira. "Let's go ahead and clear the path for Eragon."

Saphira's eyes gleamed with a fierce light as she nodded. 'It will be my pleasure,' she responded, her voice carrying a hint of satisfaction at the prospect of action.

Swoosh~

With a powerful beat of her wings, Saphira surged forward, her form cutting through the air like an arrow. She reached the slavers in no time, and as she swooped down low over them, she released a deafening roar that echoed through the mountains.

Roar!

The slavers froze, their expressions shifting from shock to sheer terror as they gazed up at the massive dragon descending from the sky. Their eyes widened in horror, and the color drained from their faces as they realized the enormity of the beast that now bore down on them.

"Dragon! It's a dragon!" one of them shouted, his voice cracking with fear.

"Run! We have to get out of here!" another yelled, panic lacing his words.

The group erupted into chaos, scattering in every direction as they abandoned their captives, the thought of loot and profit forgotten in their desperation to escape. Their shouts turned to frantic screams as Saphira unleashed powerful roars, the sound reverberating through the air and driving them into an even wilder frenzy.

"Get away! She's coming!" one cried, tripping over his own feet as he fled.

Saphira circled above, her massive wings casting shadows over the fleeing slavers. She roared again, a thunderous bellow that shook the very ground, sending the men scrambling faster, their fear turning to blind panic. The slavers sprinted in every direction, desperate to escape her wrath, until not a single one remained in the path. The way ahead was clear, leaving a trail of discarded weapons and abandoned tied prisoners in their wake. Eragon could now pass through the area unimpeded, the slavers' flight ensuring they posed no further threat.

As Eragon ran through the now-empty path, his eyes flickering with approval as he saw the frightened slavers retreating in the distance. 'Good job, Saphira,' he thought, sending her a mental note of appreciation as he entered the mountain range after freeing the prisoners.