Disclaimer: The Inheritance Cycle and Wolf's Rain are not mine. If it were, Wolf's Rain would have involved dragons and the entire IC would just be one big... Ah, never mind. My want to avoid needless spoiling prevents me from saying more. But let's just say it would have an unexpected ending no could could have foreseen! All original material is mine, yadda yadda, let's just get on with the story.
His head pounsed as if hammered by haevy construction-grade tools. A numbing sensation plagued his limbs, stealing his control and turning his proud stride into an uneven stagger. Weak as he was, the giant black wall of fur that always remained at his side provided a support, allowing him to carry on even when he was about to drop to the ground. There was a bitter taste to his mouth, this one true instead of figurative, and an all-too familiar stench hung over him like sickness.
Morzan Black knew he was drunk, there was no denying that, but he wasn't about to find a bench and sleep it off like most drunkards. The prey he had tracked down for weeks was within his grasp. She was so close he could almost taste her, and the unpleasant effects of alcohol wouldn't be enough to prevent him from having his vengeance. No, not even Angvard himself could stop Morzan when he was on the trail of his favorite and only prey.
Despite his unyielding perservance, nothing could disguise his intoxicated state from the crowds that disdainfully walked by him. Several greedy eyes watched from the shadows of allies and windows, belonging to useless bums that thrived on the weakness of others, like parasites off this already corrupted society. Opportunistic hunters as they were, they noticed his vulnerable condition and would not hesitate to use that to their advantage. Drunk alcoholics like him were the easy targets the unsavory characters of the world always kept a weather eye out for.
Of course, his misleading appearance belied his true strength. Morzan always carried a large black gun with him, kept to his person by a strap he slung over his shoulder. In any other city, such nonchalant treatment of a dangerous weapon would have warranted fear from the populace and to be instantly arrested by the police. Here in the Outer Rim, such displays of power by gang-bangers and fearful civilians was commonplace. But, unlike those cocky hotshots, Morzan knew how to aim and fire his weapon with the deft speed of a hunter. Should the need call for it, he could walk of a common brawl alive and most likely un-shot.
But the main feature that deterred the muggers and thugs from his seemingly vulnerable hide was the black dog that faithfully trotted by his side. His animal companion's head reached up to his elbow. An impressive feat, considering that Morzan was a taller-than-average man. With sharp claws and fangs he bared at all those that stared at him, this dog seemed more like a hellhound than even the man-eating abominations that roamed the streets of the Outer Rim at night.
Suddenly Morzan stopped in his staggering walk, his obedient companion halting the moment he did. Red-stained blue eyes narrowing in suspicion, the man withdrew something from his pocket and held it out to his dog's snout. The things Morzan held in his hands were bloodied scales, a prize his hound had ripped from the she-dragon with his merciless jaws. The same scales that still had her scent and could now be used against her.
Inhaling the scent, the beast's nostrils quivered at the smell of his prey. Slobber began to drip down from his maws and a growl burbled up from his throat. Unusually intelligent dark violet eyes turned from the scales down another street. His muscles tensed, a telltale sign that Morzan knew all too well.
As if doused in cold water, the drunken haze vanished from Morzan's body. Adrenaline pumped through his veins, energizing his tired form and stirring the excitement of the prospect of the hunt within him. His stubbled face turning upward into a half-smile, he knew he had cornered his quarry at last. She may have been able to evade him longer than the others, but in the end no dragon could escape his endless determination and the sharp nose of his faithful companion.
"Find her, Shruikan."
Galvanized by the command, the monstrous black dog went bounding down the street. Gripping the leash tightly in one hand, Morzan grabbed his gun and readied it with the other. Though Shruikan was enthusiastic with the pursuit of their prey, his loyalty to his master kept him always by his side. Even when it would have been a simple matter to break free of his leash and bring down the she-dragon by his own; the stupid but faithful beast he was.
Yes, Morzan thought as the ran full speed down the street. Considering the circumstances, I could not have found a better instrument to help my achieve my vengeance against all of the dragons. Willing to die for me, and without the gall to go out and act on his own power.
Shoving the musing aside for a more suitable time, Morzan focused on the task at end. Together he and Shruikan had a monster to kill. And the joy of at least being able to spill her lifesblood would be glorious.
The place; the headquarters of the Dras-Leona Investigative Services, located in the city's Inner Rim. The time; his watch had broken last spring (though these days it seemed only like a slightly warmer version of the ruthless winter) and such trivial matters of order had stopped mattering to him weeks ago. The condition of matters; no further than he was last night. Progress had been practically nonexistent since he had started the case on the Red Strikers almost a year ago.
People thought Detective Murtagh Rider crazy. That was alright, recently he was beginning to doubt his own sanity as well. Since the Red Strikers had been stepping up on successful raids of caravans at an alarming rate, he had rarely left his office. Unkempt brown hair fell into his face, which hadn't had seen a comb in weeks. Unsweetened black coffee was perhaps the only thing that allowed him to remain awake, though it might have also been responsible for the rampant thoughts that constantly swirled about his mind.
Grabbing the mug, Murtagh downed the last of his beverage with a wince. The coffee was cold, but the short boost it provided would be enough to ward off exhaustion for a while. Dark eyes turning back down to the files and pictures laid out on his desk, he began to shuffle through them again. While the department now relied on their computers to store information, he preferred things the old-fashioned way. His hands were restless, and he wanted something tangible to rake over in his mind.
The Red Strikers had first showed up in the Outer Rim approximately about a year ago. Their tactics were unconventional and efficient. Within a few short months they had ruthlessly beat out the impressive competition to become the best gang in Dras-Leona's slums. They had even risen above the petty chaos that infected the Outer Rim, and were setting their sights on the bigger and grander prizes the Inner Rim offered. The Strikers were launching raids on the secure supply trains that traveled to the Inner Rim on a daily basis. Previously the trains had been heavily guarded and considered entirely safe from all of the gangs. The Red Strikers were beginning to prove otherwise. While the overly-proud officers of the Inner Rim decided to believe this was not the case, Murtagh didn't choose to shy away from the grim truth. This unique gang of criminals was beginning to pose the supposedly impregnable core of Dras-Leona a genuine threat.
What made apprehending the Red Strikers so difficult was their utter unpredictability. They could hit three different supply trains three nights in a row or not show at all for days on end. There was no pattern to their raids, no other way to foresee an attack other than by sheer instinct. The Strikers ignored the most enticing of convoys, and hit the smallest of them. Erratic as the weather, there was no surefire tactic to apprehend them in mid-act.
Automatically shoving these to the far corner of the desk, his hands found and snapped open a familiar file. It was a small one, holding only a thin pile of papers worn by frequent use. Positively minuscule in comparison to the files he had massed up against suspects from other cases, this one file contained all of the available information on the very elusive and effective leader of the Red Strikers. The blurry photograph showed a man that looked some years than younger Murtagh himself, but appearances were deceiving. Murtagh felt his eyes narrow in a glare of hatred as he gazed at that photograph. Though the picture was bad quality, the man's brown eyes cut through to him like knives. They were hard. Inhuman. The eyes of the calculating puppet-master behind the Red Strikers.
His alias was Thorn, and that was what everyone in DLIS referred to him as. The man's real name was unknown, any past records of his history nonexistent. Hell, Murtagh didn't even know if the punk was an Alagaesian native or if he had moved in from Varden or Surda! Some time ago he had arrived on the scene in the Outer Rim, and had quickly ascended to the top of the food chain.
Mysterious as Thorn was, he was also as wily as a fox. Pinning him to the Red Strikers was like Murtagh trying to kill his own damn shadow. The leader took great care to never be sighted by witnesses as his men often were. If he did help out his gang in the actual raids, it was on the ones where no survivors or cameras were left behind to reveal him. As such, DLIS officially deemed him useless. He was just another unimportant thug to them, another piece of scum in the sewer system that was the Outer Rim. All word of his leadership of the Strikers came from what his higher-ups called 'unreliable sources' that couldn't be trusted. So long as that was no irrefutable evidence of that fact, Thorn mattered as little to the authorities as much as all of the other rapists and thieves that prowled the streets.
...Unless Detective Murtagh Rider's grand plan to finally bring down this gang-lord succeeded.
The Dragon Fangs had been a gang not high up on the social ladder, but were ascending it with astonishing progress. Several years ago they were fast becoming a force to be reckoned with, conquering and assimilating other smaller groups into their swelling numbers. Had they been allowed the time to grow, then perhaps the cops in the Inner Rim would have finally gotten off their overpaid asses and done something about the city's record crime levels.
But such an opportunity never presented itself to the Dragon Fangs to reach their fullest potential. About a year and a half ago the abandoned apartment building they had dubbed their home base had caught alight, all the incriminating evidence inside going up in smoke. For once, the fire department had responded to this emergency. (After all, the building was very close to the Inner Rim's barrier and no one wanted that to burn down.) When the flames had been doused, Murtagh had been among the DLIS agents sent over to find out the start of the fire. (Because if some street punks were planning to set buildings on fire so close to the precious Inner Rim, they had another thing coming.) What had been discovered inside was one nightmare the detective could never forget.
Some charred and others unharmed by the inferno, all bore signs of horrifying violence that had been inflicted before the fire had ignited. Entire abdomens had been ripped open, their innards strewn carelessly about like a macabre display of child's art. Many bore vicious slashes that seemed to be the work of claws and indentations of massive fangs that belonged on one of the feral dogs or some other demonic creature. But it was the pure terror that still gleamed in those glazed-over eyes, the shrieks of agony that now remained frozen forever in time, that haunted Murtagh's dreams.
This had been no mere gang brawl, that much was for certain. Twisted as these dark souls were, none had the steeled resolve and complete absence of any human empathy to ruthlessly torture the entire Dragon Fangs group to death before setting their bodies and former base alight. Who was the one responsible for a show of cruelty that had shocked even the hardened agents of DLIS?
Their very leader, perhaps. All of the burnt corpses had been identified as simple thugs and followers that already had records on the street. According to the informants, none of the dead had possessed the brain power to control such a rising and fruitful operation. Which meant their leader had escaped the heartless massacre and the later blaze. Out hiding in the streets and the most likely suspect for the crime.
Currently, Murtagh was betting that this elusive Thorn was the one behind it all. Both the Dragon Fangs and the later Red Strikers had employed similar tactics unique to only the the gangs, with the same impressive degrees of success. Both were headed by mysterious leaders that stayed out of the spotlight and managed their operations from the shadows.
Though much of the crime-scene had been ravaged during the fire, enough circumstantial evidence had survived so that anyone could be convicted upon the multiple charges of murder, assault, torture, and many others. Murtagh was more than prepared to arrest Thorn and at last imprison the gang-banger for life... Once his higher-ups were satisfied, that is. Eager as DLIS was to finally close that unnerving case they needed at least some shred of proof that Thorn was even connected to the Dragon Fangs in the first place. Enough to settle the small shadow of doubt permanently.
Knock knock.
Startled from his thoughts, Murtagh swivelled around in his chair to face the door. One of his fellow agents had barged into the office, seemingly unconcerned at the other man's ire at the rude disruption.
"Saddle up, Rider. We've got a severe disturbance at Eden Park."
The other man arched a skeptical brow, keeping his doubts silent. Eden Park was in the Inner Rim, one of the most secure areas in the entire Empire, excluding only Urubaen itself and possibly Teirm. Here a 'severe disturbance' usually constituted no more than a minor squabble between high school students or some other minor disruption. Certainly nothing that warranted the attention of his department.
"Really? What emergency can be so big that the local police can't handle it?"
The other agent shrugged mockingly. "Oh, I don't know... Maybe an armed lunatic with a freaking monster of a dog menacing a park. A bastard from the next door hellhole that managed to bypass both the barriers and the guards, a bastard that not even the ordinary authorities want to deal with."
Suppressing a groan of exasperation, Murtagh jumped to his feet and quickly donned a coat to protect him against the biting cold. "Let's just go arrest this psycho, then. The last thing Mayor Tabor needs is an outcast from the Outer Rim ruing his perfect paradise."
Hurrying after his fellow agent, Detective Rider stole one last wistful glance at his desk. Soon he would find the missing key that would link Thorn to those murders beyond a shadow of a doubt, and then he could have that killer off the streets for good. Until then, real life was calling him...
Also located in the prestigious Inner Rim of Dras-Leona was an impressive building that housed the main branch of Epiphany Labs. While the company had originated in Surda, its main facilities were based in the Empire for access to better resources and opportunities. Epiphany's presence was because of an alliance between Lord Galbatorix Voskian and Lord Orrin Larkin. For while portions of Surda sided with the Varden, these were small groups of radicals that had nothing to do with their nation's official position. As far as the Empire was concerned, Surda had no affiliations with either Noble families except matters of pure business. As the agreement stood, the Empire would continue to host Epiphihany Labs in Dras-Leona so long as they were provided any new research or technology they requested.
Which was why Dr. Katrina Ismira was so nervous as she toured the halls of the famous labs. It was no mystery that Epiphany was the best of its kind in all of Alagaesia. Many of the scientists employed there were Surdan. So being an Imperial native allowed to work at the greatest haven of scientific achievement ever was considered a great honor. Far too great for her little insignificant brain to process.
Yet here Katrina was, in the very sacred halls she had wanted to be in since she was a little girl. Giving her a tour of the facilities was Sloan Butcher, director of this branch of Epiphany Labs. The middle-aged man led her through the area, curtly describing each wing and and the things being developed or studied within. Things continued on in this manner for a while until the pair stopped outside a metal door protected with formidable security systems Katrina didn't even want to know about.
Sloan turned around to face her, dark gray eyes solemn. "This is where our tour comes to an end, Dr. Ismira. And possibly your job, if you don't prove yourself up to par."
Heart stopping in dread, Katrina was unable to stifle the gasp of shock and horror that escaped her. "W-what ever for, Dr. Butcher? From your letters you seemed eager to hire me. Why end it all right now?"
"Because I am asking you to commit technical treason to Lord Galbatorix and your country," the old man intoned bluntly. At his new employee's astonished look, he launched into a brief explanation. "As per terms of our agreement with the Empire, Epiphany Labs must report all new research and developments being carried out. Failure to do so is not advisable. What lies beyond these doors has been in Surda's possession for decades. It is the main reason why we sought to maintain a lab in a city like Dras-Leona in the first place. Lord Galbatorix knows nothing of it, and must never find out."
Glancing from the door to the director indecisively, she mulled over her limited options. Much of Epiphany's funds were sunken into the improvement and creation of new weapons of mass destruction to use against the enemy. Or defensive technologies meant to strengthen preexisting ones against attack. Her speciality was organism-based, not for weaponry and advanced robotics! Refusing Sloan's oath of secrecy was relinquishing her only chance of working at her dream job in a department tailored for her personal expertise.
Sighing in resignation, Katrina nodded reluctantly. Oh, well. Reaching her dream at least was worth some minor treason, right? And wasn't as if she was dealing with rebels or doing anything to harm the Empire or Lord Galbatorix. She was just holding information on some insignificant subject that had nothing to do with global domination or anything of the sort. She could live with the minor consequences. And what was life without a little bit of risk?
Sloan smiled slightly, smugly pleased. "Excellent. You can sign the confidentiaility agreements inside." He turned to the door, beginning a difficult series of proving his identity of the security systems. Once the long process was finally over, the door slid open with a soft hiss, allowing then entrance.
Enthusiastic now, Katrina gleefully bounded forward. A bemused and restrained Sloan followed. The younger scientist glanced curiously about, wondering over the computers that displayed foreign data and at white-coated workers that glanced briskly up in return at her.
"This looks expensive," she remarked admiringly, gazing about at her personal version of heaven. "What does Lord Galbatorix think you're spending all of this money on?"
Sloan smirked thinly. "Surda has its own funds, Dr. Ismira. As far as our Imperial Noble is concerned, this room is just one large storage space. Not enough mysterious money has come out of his allotted budgets for him be convinced otherwise. Only Lord Orrin himself and Epiphany's top specialists are aware of our specimen's existence. But our Dr. Nasuada Housou was hellbent on getting you here with us."
"Specimen?" Attention drawn away from the monitors, Katrina's gaze traveled upward to the enormous tank that took up most of the availible and the curious being contained inside of it. With understandable terrofied surprise, the young specialist tumbled back with a startled shriek of "Oh my gods! Who- what is that?"
The creature inside the tank seemed to have been disturbed her emotional response. Shifting slightly in the fluids that held him aloft and closed eyelids fluttering weakly, the monitors connected to his young body began to chatter in his excitement. Sloan looked fondly at the being, with a proud air Katrina found concerning.
"That is the two-hundred-year-old result of a secret technology long since lost to modern science," was Sloan's almost reverent explanation. "Only partly human and modified with DNA we can only guess at, his extreme sensity to his surroundings is apparent even under suspended animation. One whose full capabilities can't even be recreated today and who was, the superstitious old-timers might still say, crafted from magic."
Revelation dawning, Katrina gasped and took a few nervous steps. Those words were hauntingly familiar to her. Taken directly from the stories she had grown up being read to. "You can't possibly be insinuating that this is-"
"Oh, but I am, Dr. Ismira," Sloan interrupted with a grin. "Meet Eragon, the same boy that has come to be called the legendary Shur'tugal."
Cliff-hanger, and all you folks were waiting months just to read this! I know, I'm evil. But hopefully you won't hate me for it 'cause the next chapter will be out way earlier ;)
Next chapter: This one is finally from Saphira's POV. Mostly. And we've still got one main dragon character yet to be introduced...
1. Shruikan's a dog. (For now.) But no ordinary dog, as you obviously see. I've still got big plans for him and his crazy-ass master, Morzan. ('Cause I needed a Quent, and with Murtagh as the detective Morzan seemed perfect for the role.)
2. That's right. Eragon's the wise and powerful humanoid thingy destined to open the way to Paradise. Sorta like Cheza from the actual Wolf's Rain... just not, you know, female and part-flower. And maybe not as smart, 'cause our darling Ergy's not the brightest bulb in the box :D