Chapter 1


Author's Note: Guys, before you dismiss this story because the main female character is an OC, please note that she does not look like Miss Universe, she cannot shoot fire out of her eyes and her name is not 50 words long. Now that we got that out of the way, I hope you like the story:)


The feebly flickering flames in the wall torches didn't manage to light up the large throne room completely – they were no match for the sunlight which this grim castle never saw. Yet the King took pleasure in living in constant twilight. The dark atmosphere suited his frame of mind. And he was furious now; barely restraining himself from crushing the skulls of the useless slaves crouched before him, he listened to their words and his rage grew with every passing second.

'You are saying,' Galbatorix began coldly, stroking the handle of his sword, 'that you failed to capture a boy half your age, a boy with practically no experience?'

'He was not alone, Majesty,' one of the men mumbled, keeping his eyes averted from the King's. 'His dragon and the traitor Murtagh…'

Galbatorix frowned at the mention of Murtagh. Shruikan, curled on the floor behind him, raised his head and breathed out a thin cloud of smoke, sensing his Rider's mood. After Morzan's death, Galbatorix allowed Murtagh to stay in his castle and even gave him academic and military education. However, the king was far from being sentimental. When Murtagh betrayed the Empire, he ordered his army to kill the boy if they spotted him.

'Your pathetic excuses,' Galbatorix interrupted the soldier in the same indifferent tone, 'do not interest me. I do not want to be disappointed even more. Leave me, and send for Medea.'


Medea entered the throne room, trying to ignore the goose bumps that instantly appeared on her bare arms. She'd been urgently summoned during her archery practice and was still dressed lightly. 'No matter what time of year it is outside, in here it's always winter,' she thought fleetingly.
She approached Galbatorix, wondering what he needed her for. Normally he had little to no interest in her, and Medea knew that spending time with her, which he did very rarely, was equal to a tiresome chore to him. As she grew older, she stopped seeking her father's company.

Galbatorix looked up when she approached. 'Medea. I have decided that it's time for you to prove your worth and loyalty to me and to the Empire. It seems I cannot count on my own men to do a simple task, so I am passing it over to you.'

'My worth. I have to prove my WORTH to my own father.'

Medea didn't voice her thoughts, knowing all too well what would follow. Instead, she inclined her head, saying, 'It is an honour, father.'

'I want you to capture the Rider Eragon and his dragon,' the king carried on speaking, watching her reaction closely. 'Bring them here. I do not need Murtagh, however. You can deal with him as you wish.'

Medea's eyes widened in surprise. Overpowering two men and a dragon was considered a simple task? Two men, at least one of whom had proven more than once to be more skilled than her in combat. A dragon, against whom she certainly had no chance. This was a mission which seemed almost designed to make her fail. As if Galbatorix did not truly expect her to succeed, but was simply testing her willingness to do his bidding at the expense of her own life. She wouldn't put it past him.

She did not know Eragon, having only heard of him. But she and Murtagh grew up together, receiving the same education and similar treatment. Yet for as long as she could remember, Galbatorix favoured Murtagh over her, showing more interest in him, perhaps seeing that he had more potential; this alone was enough to destroy all friendliness between Medea and Murtagh. When they were younger, the height of their imagination was playing fairly harmless pranks on one another. But as they got older, their mutual dislike took on a more serious character. Now they competed at everything they could think of: archery, running, swordsmanship… And, as Medea reluctantly recalled, the strong, fast-learning Murtagh won most of the time.

Then suddenly Murtagh left. Medea's life got a lot easier. But little as she liked him, the idea of murdering her only childhood companion, the person she had known all her life, made her uneasy.

'You may take the Ra'zac with you,' Galbatorix's voice interrupted her thoughts. 'I am sure they will be enough. Leave as soon as you are ready.'

Medea's dark eyes hardened. She was hoping for her own sake that her heart did, too.


'You know, I'm worried about him.' Eragon told Saphira, pointing at Murtagh, who has been sitting on a rotten log nearby for a while without moving or saying a word. His almond-shaped grey eyes never left the horizon.

'Leave him alone, little one. The fact that he's not as noisy as you doesn't mean there's anything wrong with him,' the sapphire dragon replied indolently, her heavy lids half-closed.

Eragon considered this for a moment, then crawled across the long grass towards Murtagh, making a deep growling sound and pretending to bite him on the leg. Without looking around, Murtagh grabbed the younger boy's hair, holding his head at a distance. Eragon snapped his jaws a few times and gave up.

'Can you stop being boring and talk to me?' He enquired when Murtagh let him go.

'You've got Saphira to talk to.'

'But she's asleep,' Eragon pointed out, sitting down on the ground beside Murtagh. 'And you're not doing anything, anyway.'

Murtagh let out a small sigh. He didn't feel like explaining that thinking actually was doing something. 'All right. I think we should…' he stopped mid-sentence and jumped up, drawing his sword. Eragon quickly did the same, taking a step towards Saphira, who awoke instantly.

A thin-bladed dagger cut through the cool air, pinning the bottom of Murtagh's cloak to the ground. Out of the corner of his eye he noticed two shadows descend from the trees above and slip behind his back. Hearing Eragon cry out in alarm, he started forward, ripping his cloak free, to see a third figure walking calmly towards him, its face concealed by a light helmet. The person stopped a few feet away from Murtagh and drew their sword, clearly challenging him. Behind him Saphira roared in anger, tearing at a Ra'zac with her claws while Eragon clashed swords with the other one. Murtagh noticed that, oddly, both Ra'zac aimed to injure the dragon and his rider, not to kill them.

The third person appeared to be human. Without saying a word, the soldier started moving to the right, still facing Murtagh, who shortened the distance between them and slashed at the other man with his sword. The soldier counter-attacked with a series of quick blows, forcing Murtagh back. He wasn't as strong as the son of Morzan but his fighting technique was very similar, and he was light and quick on his feet.

They carried on exchanging futile blows, and only once Murtagh's rival managed to reach his body, cutting him on the shoulder. The cut wasn't deep, but from then on Murtagh kept his distance, mostly defending himself and occasionally lunging forward. Trying to avoid a particularly dangerous blow, the soldier slipped and lost his balance. Taking advantage, Murtagh knocked the helmet off his head and pushed him roughly on the ground to finish him off – and froze when he realised who was in front of him.

A very familiar-looking girl lay on her side, still clutching her sword, her face screwed up in pain. Murtagh kneeled next to her. 'Medea?'

The girl opened her eyes.