"There're to many 'probably's in you plan for my liking." Both Eragon and Murtagh turned around to stare at him. His tone sent shudders down Eragon's spine.
"What do you mean?" Eragon demanded, "Do you have a better plan?"
Roran's lips twitched in a mocking smile. "What I mean is do you really think Galbatorix is going to just toss us in a lake and be done with us? Yes, I do have a better plan. He said that he'll let us out once there's only one of us left – didn't he?"
"Yes," Eragon frowned, "But what has that got to do with anything?"
Roran stared his cousin straight in the face, "And I intend to be the one who survives." And he swung a thick-knuckled fist at the rider's head.
Eragon leapt back just in time and the blow missed. But Roran swung again, and Eragon caught his wrists with an iron-grasp. Roran struggled, and despite Eragon's superior strength, almost broke free. And then Murtagh was there, and together the two riders pinned the mortal man to the ground.
"Stop that!" the red rider snarled, "Did you really think that if you killed the two of us, the king'll send you back to your Katrina? If you did, than you are a fool! And a dead one at that! And the king does not want us dead! What use would we be then? He wants us to weaken each other. Together, we are too strong for him."
Roran had grown still. The expression on his weather-beaten face was one his cousin knew well. Roran had caught the scent of a prey. "Let me up," he said, as if he was not quite there, but in his own dreams of slaying the tyrant-king. Eragon nodded to his half-brother, Roran was not going to attack them.
Murtagh and Eragon backed away, but Roran continued to lie there, a triumphant smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. Oh, he had a plan all right.
