Where are they? Murtagh wondered. Eragon had flown off with Saphira to find food over an hour ago; since then night had fallen and brought with it heavy, gray stormclouds. He hoped they would be back soon. Camping so near the road unnerved him, despite being miles and miles from civilization, in sight of the Beor Mountains. Annoyed at being left alone to guard the fire, he kicked at the dirt with his boot. They had even taken Arya, leaving him with no company; though admittedly an unconscious elf wasn't much to talk to.
While Murtagh would never admit it, perhaps he was slightly overwhelmed as well at having left the Empire entirely: he had spent his whole life under Galbatorix's shadow, and being so suddenly removed from it, though liberating, was frightening as well. Now there was nothing connecting him to his former life, except the scar on his back, his horse, Tornac, tethered next to the campfire, and the fading trail leading back into the Hadarac Desert.
The sky seemed to grow even darker, though Murtagh would not have thought it possible. Then the raindrops started to fall. Fat and cold, they spattered into the campfire and dowsed Murtagh's dark hair, chilling him. Shivering, he reached for his hood, and as he pulled it over his head he heard, faintly, the unmistakable clapping of a horse's hooves.
Bolting upright, he stared into the night: was it only his imagination that a dark shape was approaching from the road? It must be a stranger, since Eragon's horse was still in the camp, and Saphira was nowhere to be seen. The approaching horse was easier to see now, though its rider remained in shadow, and even from a distance Murtagh saw that the horse was huge: large even for a warhorse, and trotting directly toward his campfire.
Murtagh had learned long ago that a stranger was as good as an enemy to him. The horse and rider approached, and Murtagh drew his sword.
.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.
Corliss had been riding for hours, flying across the grassland with a growing weariness. She was perched woodenly on her horse's black saddle, slumped over his cropped brown mane. Steadily the horse's galloping had slowed as the sun set, despite its rider's urging. She supposed traversing the Hadarac Desert had taken as much of a toll on the stolen warhorse, Turncoat, as it had on her. Her skin, still red and burned from the desert sun, began throbbing as the cold raindrops seeped through her cloak; Corliss cursed silently.
Once again she pressed the horse onward, squinting into the freezing night: she had to give her information to Ajihad as quickly as possible...and yet, Corliss knew she must stop to make camp soon. Fatigue was gnawing at her muscles and making her head spin, and Turncoat fared no better; she could feel him shaking wearily under her. Just as she decided she must stop or faint, she saw a light ahead of her. A campfire!
Normally, Corliss would be far too wary to approach a stranger's camp in the wilderness, but even a dying fire promised warmth and comfort, and she was too tired to protest. Half-heartedly tugging the reins towards the camp, she slowed Turncoat to a trot and, with a precautionary hand on the dagger in her coat, led him to the edge of the waterlogged fire. The horse snorted at the sight of a cloaked stranger standing by it, a hand-and-a-half sword unsheathed in front of him. "Hello!" Corliss called, somewhat desperately. "May my horse and I share your campfire for the night?"
"What's left of it, you mean," he replied carefully; as he spoke, the last of the orange flames died out, leaving a few sad little wisps of smoke behind. Corliss would have laughed at the coincidence, if it hadn't robbed her of any future warmth. The man seemed taken aback to see a young woman travelling alone on a warhorse, but his eyes remained narrowed suspiciously. "You're welcome to stay awhile, I suppose," he said after a long hesitation. His voice wasn't unkind, but he kept the sword pointed toward her as the girl dismounted. "Thank you," she said, smiling gratefully. The stranger, however, had seemed to instantly regret his decision; he stood with his hood still up, sword still unsheathed, for several moments, and finally grunted, "I'll tether your horse for you."
.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.
As Murtagh struggled to control the girl's stubborn horse, cursing its size, he also cursed his bad luck. The thought of another traveller meeting them on the road seemed so unlikely, he and Eragon hadn't even discussed it. And Eragon and Saphira would return soon...could he convince the girl to camp somewhere else? If she did see the dragon and his rider, she would no doubt learn of Arya as well, unconscious on Saphira's back, even of Murtagh's parentage; she might tell the Empire, the Varden, anyone at all...unless by some miracle she could be trusted. He looked over at her: she was removing a small bag and quiver of arrows from her back, looking weary. Her light brown hair was tangled into a braid, and dark brows framed her pale gray eyes, which were set in a round, sunburned face. "Isn't your horse trained?" Murtagh finally asked her, as she smiled at his efforts to control the beast.
"He is, but it's hard to make him obey," said the girl, going over to help him. She was studying him closely, but Murtagh kept his face expressionless. "His name is Turncoat," she continued. "And I'm...Corliss. Who are you?"
"I..." Murtagh began. Should he use a false name? She had hesitated too; was it a false name she had given? If so, why was one necessary for her? "I'm..."
"It's all right," Corliss interrupted. "Keep your name secret if you wish, and don't bother with an alias. Everyone has some things they wish to keep secret. I suppose you won't tell me where you're headed, either."
Murtagh, surprised by her straightforwardness, racked his brains for a story. "I...I don't think I can," was all he managed. The girl didn't seem too put off by this; on the contrary, she shrugged in understanding. "Then my destination and purpose can remain private as well. Shall I start the campfire again?" she asked, pointing to the damp firewood. "It's stopped raining now. It was probably just a cloud burst."
"You sound as though you've been here often," Murtagh observed, noticing her casual change of subject. "But if you can get wet firewood to burn, be my guest."
Corliss smiled. "I'll see what I can do, O Nameless One." After only a few moments bent over the pile, she managed to create a little tongue of flame that lapped at the wood as though the logs had been dry for days. Murtagh's eyes narrowed again. He had heard her whisper a word over the flint she was using...what had she said? Brisingr... he had heard Eragon use that word too. He decided that he needed to know what she was doing here immediately. He would kill her if necessary, if she proved a threat to him or to Eragon, whom he had sworn to keep safe. "I am curious," he began slowly. "Why are you travelling alone, through such an...empty place? Aren't you rather young to be doing so?"
Now Corliss glared at him. A malicious look gleamed in her eyes as she countered, "And I would ask you the same, except that you're clearly not travelling alone. You have a second horse, and more supplies than a single person needs. "Who else is travelling with you?"
Murtagh reached for his swordhilt- what he intended to do he didn't know- but was interrupted by a loud whinney from Turncoat, and the sudden sound of wingbeats reached the camp. "What's that?" Corliss asked warily, drawing her knife again, peering at the dark blue shape in the sky.
"Blast," Murtagh muttered. Eragon and Saphira were back. Surely, surely Saphira would sense the stranger in the camp. Surely Eragon and his dragon wouldn't be stupid enough to reveal themselves to Corliss...he hoped.
.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.
Eragon, Saphira spoke in her rider's mind warningly. Murtagh is no longer alone at the camp; a stranger has arrived while we were gone. I can smell another human's presence there.
Eragon peered in the direction of the camp, but was forced to rely on Saphira's keener senses. He couldn't smell or see any difference in the little campsite from this distance. "Land anyway," he advised her.
Saphira seemed doubtful. Are you certain this is wise, little one? she asked, but he nodded before she was finished speaking. "Of course. We can't stay away from the camp all night anyway, even if it's stopped raining. Arya needs to rest in the tent. And what's the worst that one person can do? Murtagh will have it under control."
Shrugging her massive shoulders, Saphira angled her wings down toward the camp.
.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.
Murtagh's last thought before Eragon and Saphira landed was "At least...at least he can't be stupid enough to reveal my name."
"Murtagh!" yelled Eragon has he landed in front of a dumbstruck Corliss. "What's going on here?"