Ok, I'm back, and I'm so sorry it's late! I'm failing biology and socials right now, and if I don't bring my grades up I'll have to do them over again... So it's been hard to find the time to write. But here is chapter nine, I hope you enjoy, and as always reviews are greatly appreciated : )

PS I have started another fanfiction, so I may be updating less frequently. I will try to publish a chapter roughly once every 1-2 weeks. The more reviews I get the faster I'll go : )

From somewhere behind Meralaena, wings beat a constant rhythm into her head. Above her the bright yellow sun shone down on the world as if nothing were amiss. Where am I? Meralaena wondered, her thoughts hazy and slow. How did I get here? She waited for Char to respond, but there was nothing. For a while she just relaxed, letting her wings carry her where they would. Her mind felt sluggish, as if in a dream. A dream…

A sudden burst of understanding momentarily drove the haze away. A dream! I must be inside Murtagh's head again! But that didn't seem quite right. After all, she was flying, and she knew Murtagh couldn't fly except for Thorn… Thorn! She glanced back at her body and was shocked by what she saw. Her wings, for they were hers, shone cherry red, and her four feet were tough and scaly, with sharp talons protruding from each foot. Yards behind her she glimpsed her – no, Thorn's – tail, meters long and thick as a tree stump, with deadly-looking spikes, each as long as Char's whole body. Meralaena twisted her neck farther and saw Murtagh sitting in a worn leather saddle. As always the cold, sick look in his eyes sent a jolt through her, but she pushed it away.

Now Meralaena knew what was happening, she realized that she didn't have complete control of Thorn's body. Even as they flew Thorn went into a spiral dive, without Meralaena commanding the movement. As they circled down towards a large town that looked familiar, she slowly felt herself receding, falling into velvety blackness. For a moment, she felt both Thorn's body and her own, and then she was scrambling to her feet from a dusty side road in Furnost.

Meralaena? Char said.

I'm fine, she replied, too used to her visions to be shaken. Did you see what I saw?

Yes, I did. His tone was guarded. After a pause, she asked curiously,

What happened when I had the... dream? She used the term for lack of a better word.

You collapsed, Char said. One minute you were walking down the road and the next you fell and I started to see the same thing you saw, but only because we were mentally linked. If our minds had been farther apart I probably wouldn't have seen anything.

How long did it take? She inquired.

I don't know, he replied. Meralaena glanced up at the sun, which told her it was just before midday.

We have to hurry up, she said. That town Murtagh and Thorn were landing in was Furnost, I'm sure of it. She hitched the satchel up on her back and set out again towards Glenaldor, giving Char no opportunity to ask questions she didn't have answers for. She only hoped they could find Glenaldor before Murtagh found them.

OoOoOoOoOo

Thorn landed with a jolt, rattling Murtagh. He climbed out of the saddle without commenting on the unusually rough landing. They were just outside Furnost, hidden behind a huge dune to prevent anyone seeing them till they made their move against the elf. Murtagh glanced up at the sun – midday.

Hopefully we can get out of here before sunset, he said to Thorn. The dragon didn't reply. Murtagh made sure that the dragons Eldunari, the source of most of his power, were safe in Thorn's saddle before setting out towards the town on foot.

Wherever they went people fled. They fear our powers, Murtagh said to Thorn as a street full of men, women and children quickly emptied at the sight of the blood red beast and his Rider.

No, his dragon replied. They fear our deeds. They fear what we have done before and what we might yet do. What they fail to understand is that Galbatorix orders it all.

Aye, Murtagh replied with a bitter edge to his voice. He has turned us into the monsters the people fear instead of himself. We are blamed for atrocities and vile deeds while the real beast sits on his throne and watches.

Thorn rumbled in agreement, and they continued on in silence.

Ten minutes later they stood before an abandoned farmer's field.

This is the place, Murtah said.

How can you tell? Thorn asked.

There are traces of Magic here, he replied. I can tell that someone cast a powerful spell here not long ago, and whoever it was is still here. Since we can't see anything, I'd guess the spell was a concealment charm. The counter spell to that is quite complicated but-

He broke off as the air before them began to shimmer. Thorn cast him a questioning glance, but Murtagh didn't know what was going on any more than his dragon. He gripped his sword's pommel as the clear space in front of them rippled like a see-through curtain, as if the air was water and a stone had been dropped into it.

Suddenly, with a loud crackling sound, the wavering wall of air rent apart like a curtain opening and dissolved, and a man who looked to be about twenty-five stepped out from the void. A few meters to the left Murtagh could see a small house had appeared from behind the same magical barrier. The man's face was slanted, and his deep purple eyes were angled, like a cat's. His silver hair shone burnished white in the bright sunshine, giving him an ethereal effect. And the elf, for they were certain this was the elf, was holding a drawn sword in one hand and a black wand in the other. The light of battle shone in his eyes, and Glenaldor leapt forward, shouting a fierce battle cry as he came at the red ride and his dragon with the fury of an avalanche.

Thorn jumped in front of Murtagh before Glenaldor could get at him, giving the startled Rider time to draw his own sword. The dragon blasted a raging inferno of molten flame at the elf, but he easily rolled under it; it hit the old hut instead, which caught fire immediately thanks to the straw roof and old, dry wood. Glenaldor darted forward again, almost faster than Murtagh could block the blow that followed. Murtagh slashed out in return with a powerful crosscut but the elf brought his sword up and met his blade with a shower of sparks. Murtagh pulled back and stabbed out with the speed of a striking rattlesnake, but again the silver-haired elf blocked him. Glenaldor, being many times stronger and faster than a human, darted past Murtagh's guard and, instead of attempting to kill him with a single sword blow, landed a punch that sent the young human flying through the air, stunned. Thorn roared and lunged, jagged maw gaping and a mad light in his crimson eyes as he snapped at Glenaldor.

"Letta!"The elf barked, pointing his wand at the enraged beast. Thorn stopped short inches from the elf, held back by a solid wall of magic. He snarled and swung his mighty tail at the barrier, sending a shudder through Glenaldor as he struggled to maintain the spell against Thorn's fury; obviously he hadn't fought a dragon before. Thorn swung again – and again. Glenaldor's face paled with the strain of holding him in place.

Unnoticed, Murtagh rolled onto his side from where he had fallen and struggled to keep a hold on consciousness. Thorn continued to rain blows down on the elf's barrier, which, consequently, left Glenaldor's back to Murtagh. He clambered to his feet. Through a red haze that was quickly retreating, he knew he hated the idea of stabbing someone in the back when they weren't looking – But we have to kill him, Murtagh realized, his mind rapidly clearing. Galbatorix ordered it. If I try not to one of the King's binding spells will just force me to anyway. Testing his theory, Murtagh took a step in the opposite direction, away from Thorn and the elf, and before he completed the motion an iron clamp seemed to descend on him, forcing him to turn around, pick up his sword and advance towards the still battling dragon and elf. Only when the will to fight returned to Murtagh did the spell release him. He was less than two yards away now, the elf's back still turned as Thorn concentrated on keeping him occupied. Murtagh took a deep breath and tightened his hold on his sword, hating himself for what he was about to do. Trusting his magically enhances reflexes, Murtagh leaped the remaining two yards and aimed a slash at the elf's turned back, fully expecting it to wound or kill the elf. What Murtagh hadn't counted on was the elf's own superhuman reflexes; he wasn't the only one with abnormal physical abilities. Glenaldor spun around just before the blow landed and jumped back – towards Thorn – to avoid it, the barrier between him and Thorn failing with his concentration.

Too late he realized his mistake. It was one thing to leave a nearly unconscious Murtagh behind him when he could defend himself – it was quite another to turn his back on Thorn. A bloodcurdling roar of triumph that was almost a scream sounded from behind Glenaldor. He whirled around just in time to see Thorn's powerful tail sweeping towards him, the longest razor-sharp spike pointed right at his heart.

A spell formed on Glenaldor's lips, but there wasn't enough time. Thorn's tree trunk of a tail struck the elf across the chest, his spikes rending a bloody gash along his torso, breaking ribs as it went. He tried to scream from the unbelievable pain but there was no air in his torn lungs. The force of the blow knocked Glenaldor off his feet and carried him over the tiny hut as his vision blinked out, a line of splattered blood following.

Thorn roared again, and Murtagh felt the ground tremble slightly. The dragon flared his wings and reared back on his hind legs, so that he looked like a carved figure someone might find in a wood worker's shop. Except no one could depict the mad gleaming light still smoldering in Thorn's eyes, nor the savage anger radiating across their mental link, carved from a mere piece of wood. Murtagh drew an unsteady breath and stumbled to Thorn.

Thorn thundered back onto all fours and, reluctantly it seemed to Murtagh, turned away from the bloody scene before them. Murtagh sheathed his sword and climbed into the saddle.

We did it, Murtagh said. Thorn didn't respond.

By unspoken consent the red dragon turned and crossed the field in a single bound, landing beside the tiny house. They both knew it would not be wise to leave the hut standing. The flames still ate away hungrily at the dry wood, licking at the fuel and devouring anything it touched. Thorn thrust his muzzle into the flaming mass and got a grip on one of the four supporting beams. He easily wrenched it out and threw it to the side. The dragon repeated this procedure till the house was no more than a heap of burning rubble that looked a lot like a huge bonfire. Finishing his work he pulled a large wooden bench from the pile and with a single bite broke it in two, then blasted the pile of wood with fire once more for good measure. The elf was lying still on the edge of the flaming structure, obviously dead.

Still not speaking, Thorn took flight in a rush and set their course back towards Uru'baen.

Waaahh, Glenaldor's dead : ( I almost rewrite this chapter and changed that, but for some morbid reason I kept it this way… So please review, you guys make my day/week when I get feedback : ) And to all my reviewers so far, thank you guys so much for your support! Love you all and see you next chapter!