Brisingr

Saphira was better suited than the Lethrblaka to open combat by virtue of her scales—
which were harder and tougher than the Lethrblaka’s gray hide—and her teeth—which
were far more lethal in close quarters than the Lethrblaka’s beaks—but despite all that,
she had difficulty fending off both creatures at once, especially since the ceiling
prevented her from leaping and flying about and otherwise outmaneuvering her foes.
Eragon feared that even if she prevailed, the Lethrblaka would maim her before she slew
them.
Taking a quick breath, Eragon cast a single spell that contained every one of the twelve
techniques of killing that Oromis had taught him. He was careful to phrase the
incantation as a series of processes, so that if Galbatorix’s wards foiled him, he could
sever the flow of magic. Otherwise, the spell might consume his strength until he died.
It was well he took the precaution. Upon release of the spell, Eragon quickly became
aware that the magic was having no effect upon the Lethrblaka, and he abandoned the
assault. He had not expected to succeed with the traditional death-words, but he had to
try, on the slight chance Galbatorix might have been careless or ignorant when he had
placed wards upon the Lethrblaka and their spawn.
Behind him, Roran shouted, “Yah!” An instant later, a sword thudded against his shield,
followed by the tinkle of rippling mail and the bell-like peal of a second sword bouncing
off Roran’s helm.
Eragon realized that his hearing must be improving.
The Ra’zac struck again and again, but each time their weapons glanced off Roran’s
armor or missed his face and limbs by a hairsbreadth, no matter how fast they swung
their blades. Roran was too slow to retaliate, but neither could the Ra’zac harm him. They
hissed with frustration and spewed a continuous stream of invectives, which seemed all
the more foul because of how the creatures’ hard, clacking jaws mangled the language.
Eragon smiled. The cocoon of charms he had spun around Roran had done its job. He
hoped the invisible net of energy would hold until he could find a way to halt the
Lethrblaka.
Everything shivered and went gray around Eragon as the two Lethrblaka shrieked in
unison. For a moment, his resolve deserted him, leaving him unable to move, then he
rallied and shook himself as a dog might, casting off their fell influence. The sound
reminded him of nothing so much as a pair of children screaming in pain.
Then Eragon began to chant as fast as he could without mispronouncing the ancient
language. Each sentence he uttered, and they were legion, contained the potential to
deliver instant death, and each death was unique among its fellows. As he recited his
improvised soliloquy, Saphira received another cut upon her left flank. In return, she
broke the wing of her assailant, slashing the thin flight membrane into ribbons with her
claws. A number of heavy impacts transmitted themselves from Roran’s back to Eragon’s
as the Ra’zac hacked and stabbed in a lightning-quick frenzy. The largest of the two
Ra’zac began to edge around Roran, in order to attack Eragon directly.
And then, amid the din of steel against steel, and steel against wood, and claws against
stone, there came the scrape of a sword sliding through mail, followed by a wet crunch.
Roran yelled, and Eragon felt blood splash across the calf of his right leg.
Out of the corner of one eye, Eragon watched as a humpbacked figure leaped toward him,
extending its leaf-bladed sword so as to impale him. The world seemed to contract