Brisingr

We can’t risk letting her out until the Ra’zac are dead or gone.
What if they won’t reveal themselves until we do let her out? For some reason, I can’t
sense them. They could hide from me until doomsday in here. So do we wait for who
knows how long, or do we free Katrina while we still have the chance? I can place some
wards around her that should protect her from most attacks.
Roran was quiet for a second. Let’s free her, then.
They began to move forward again, feeling their way along the squat corridor with its
rough, unfinished floor. Eragon had to devote most of his attention to his footing in order
to maintain his balance.
As a result, he almost missed the swish of cloth sliding over cloth and then the faint
twang that emanated from off to his right.
He recoiled against the wall, shoving Roran back. At the same time, something augered
past his face, carving a groove of flesh from his right cheek. The thin trench burned as if
cauterized.
“Kveykva!” shouted Eragon.
Red light, bright as the midday sun, flared into existence. It had no source, and thus it
illuminated every surface evenly and without shadows, giving things a curious flat
appearance. The sudden blaze dazzled Eragon, but it did more than that to the lone
Ra’zac in front of him; the creature dropped its bow, covered its hooded face, and
screamed high and shrill. A similar screech told Eragon that the second Ra’zac was
behind them.
Roran!
Eragon pivoted just in time to see Roran charge the other Ra’zac, hammer held high. The
disoriented monster stumbled backward but was too slow. The hammer fell. “For my
father!” shouted Roran. He struck again. “For our home!” The Ra’zac was already dead,
but Roran lifted the hammer once more. “For Carvahall!” His final blow shattered the
Ra’zac’s carapace like the rind of a dry gourd. In the merciless ruby glare, the spreading
pool of blood appeared purple.
Spinning his staff in a circle to knock aside the arrow or sword that he was convinced
was driving toward him, Eragon turned to confront the remaining Ra’zac. The tunnel
before them was empty. He swore.
Eragon strode over to the twisted figure on the floor. He swung the staff over his head
and brought it down across the chest of the dead Ra’zac with a resounding thud.
“I’ve waited a long time to do that,” said Eragon.
“As have I.”
He and Roran looked at each other.
“Ahh!” cried Eragon, and clutched his cheek as the pain intensified. “It’s bubbling!”
exclaimed Roran. “Do something!”
The Ra’zac must have coated the arrowhead with Seithr oil, thought Eragon.
Remembering his training, he cleansed the wound and surrounding tissue with an
incantation and then repaired the damage to his face. He opened and closed his mouth
several times to make sure the muscles were working properly. With a grim smile, he
said, “Imagine the state we’d be in without magic.”
“Without magic, we wouldn’t have Galbatorix to worry about.”