The Red Rider - the tale of the other rider, the first son of Selena; mirror storyline avec missing pieces. MxN.

OMG you guys, I am so excited! The time of Eragon and Murtagh draws to a close within the next few chapters! This is so exciting! I can actually tell Murtagh's story with due diligence. But I'm also kind of scared because there's barely a bony structure and I could totally mess this up...Ah, the hell with it—on we go!

Note1: I was rereading the last chapter and I realized the beggar sounds like more like a pirate than someone from of ye old English. Haha, sorry about that.

Note2: I have a job for you guys (aside from reviewing, of course) I'm pondering how I want to characterize the whole Murtagh-Nasuada relationship. I know my story is rated M, but I didn't have any intention of putting any explicit sexual content in it. I mean, I know that can be done tastefully…but I, personally, would feel like some creep playing Evony. The M-rating was mostly me being apprehensive about any extremely blood/gory scenes esp. the torture scenes that are in the last book. But ANYWHO, my question to you is tell me how you imagine Murtagh and Nasuada, in an ideal situation. Give me some food for thought.

Also, I apologize in advance for this chapter. I really tried my best, but there really wasn't much to work with; but to make up for that I made it extra long! (partly because there's not much action in the beginning and partly because I'm trying to up my writing proliferation) though I think there is some interesting foreshadowing here ;) And we see Murtagh's softer side :)

xoxo —ei

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

Chapter 9, Arya

Only half a league from Gil'ead, still well within eyeshot, we began losing altitude. Saphira drifted down to a clearing, landed on the crest of a hill. She extended her wings and rested them on the ground. She was shaking tremulously, jolting all of her riders so that our weapons were sent flying when she landed with a tremendous thud.

Snowfire and Tornac, still picketed where I had left them, snorted nervously as the she landed.

Eragon jumped to the ground and immediately went to Saphira to gauge the lengths of her wounds, leaving me to the elf. I scrutinized her seemingly lifeless body as I dripped a water-soaked rag over her parted lips.

"Murtagh!" Eragon called softly. "Come help me."

I went over to him, and peered carefully where he was indicating. I found an arrow embedded in one of the large muscles of Saphira's flying arm. The arrowhead poked through its underside. Warm blood dripped off it.

"Hold her wing down." Eragon instructed. "I have to remove this arrow."

I gripped the top of her wing, carefully not to nudge her arm and agitate her. Readying herself for the pain, she stretched out her neck and grabbed a thick sapling between her teeth.

"Hold on," Eragon told me. And he broke off the head of the arrow and swiftly pulled the shaft out of her arm.

With a yank of her head, she pulled the tree out of the ground, clamping it firmly in her jaws. Her wing jerked involuntarily, clipping me in the chest, knocking me to the ground. She shook the tree, spraying us with loam.

After topically healing her wounds, Eragon checked on the unconscious elf.

I untied our steeds and readied them for travel, packing concisely and discarded anything that was not of utmost necessity.

I found myself a little rueful. I had enjoyed my stint of sociability, a reprieve from an inevitable lifetime of damned solitude—though I did not enjoy deceiving him, I could not stand the gratitude in his eyes for me turn to prejudice.

Saphira took flight and we began to ride at a fast clip. Behind us, we could see the fires of the Empire's soldiers as they searched the outskirts of Gil'ead. We traveled on through the night, not stopping even when our strength flagged and our eyes burned in the wind.

I wondered what went in Eragon's mind though I could guess.

He was besotted with his elf and would stop at nothing to save her. But what would that take? Forays into another city for medicines? We didn't even know what plagued her. And what of his venture to the Varden? He had seemingly forgotten, but he would soon have nowhere else to go. Was our time together coming to an end?

Not again.

-x-

As the morning star rose, Eragon slowed. "We have to make camp," he said wearily. "I must sleep—whether they catch us or not."

We met Saphira at the base of a small cliff where we found her drinking from a small stream. She trumpeted softly as we approached. I dragged the elf from the makeshift saddle onto a blanket stretched taut on the ground, sagging to the ground beside her, exhausted.

Eragon knelt over her, examining her thoroughly. "How did the King capture an elf?"

"As far as I know, she's the first elf the king has captured." My tired voice sounded raw. "Ever since they went into hiding, he's been looking for them without success—until now. So he's either found their sanctuary, or she was captured by chance."

Eragon blanched.

"It is more likely by chance." I assured him. "If he had found Ellesméra, he would have declared a war and sent his army after the elves. We would know. So the real question is were his men able to extract the elves' location before we rescued her?"

"We won't know until she regains consciousness. Tell me what happened after I was captured. How did I end up in Gil'ead?"

I relayed the story quickly.

"So the Urgals are working for the Empire," Eragon said thoughtfully. "And the Shade as well…but then, why haven't the people of the Empire rebelled?"

I opened one eye and eyed him pityingly. "Most never hear of the destruction in Cantos or Yazuac. Even if they heard of these outrages, few would make it to the Varden. With the Urgals under his command, the king has enough warriors to close the Empire's borders and remain in control."

"But if they rebelled together…" Eragon protested.

I shook my head. "No matter how disruptive people are, with such a rule of terror, he will be able to shape the Empire however he wants. And though he is hated, people could be galvanized into joining him if they had a common enemy."

"Who would that be?" asked Eragon, confused.

"The elves? The Varden? With the right rumors they can be portrayed as the most despicable monsters in Alagaësia—fiends waiting to seize your land and wealth. He might even say Urgals have been misunderstood all this time and that they are really friends and allies against such terrible enemies. I only wonder what he promised them in return for their services."

"No one could be deceived that easily about Galbatorix and the Urgals." Eragon looked beside himself with outrage. "Besides, why would he want to do that? He's already in power."

"His authority is challenged by the Varden, with whom the people sympathize. And there is also Surda, which has defied him since it seceded from the Empire. Galbatorix is strong within the Empire, but his arm is weak outside of it. As for his subjects, they'll believe whatever he wants them to. It's happened before."

To me.

My words seemed to weigh down Eragon and Saphira more than the day's weariness, for they sat in tense silence.

Suddenly he looked up at me and said earnestly. "You risked your life to rescue me; I owe you for that. I couldn't have escaped on my own." My entire face seemed unbearably hot in the cold night air and I rubbed my necked distractedly. "How did you manage to get into the castle?" He asked curiously.

I snorted derisively. "By paying a steep bribe and crawling up a filthy coal chute. But without Saphira, all would have been lost. Thank you." I looked her directly in her shimmering blue eyes and she hummed contently.

The air between Eragon and I had changed. This was twice I had saved him, not that I was keeping score. And yet, I did not feel burdened by him. Remarkably, I felt more akin to him than ever. We had been aligned by a common enemy, similar interests. But where Tornac had been more of a father to me, Eragon was rather like a brother.

Coincidentally, he even looked something like me.

Eragon knelt forward and examined the elf. As he shifted, he nudged her arm. My eyes were drifting closed already so it was several seconds before my mind realized what it was seeing. Eragon, too, froze as his mind registered his sight.

The elf's arm was mottled with a layer of bruises and cuts; some were half healed, while others were fresh and oozing a thin light pink fluid.

With trembling fingers, Eragon unlaced the back of the elf's tunic. As the leather slipped off, I swore.

Her back was muscled, but it was covered with scabs that made her skin look like dry, cracked mud. She had been whipped mercilessly and branded with hot irons in the shape of claws. Where her skin was still intact, it was purple and black from numerous beatings. On her left shoulder was a strange tattoo inscribed with indigo ink.

"Can you heal this?" I asked in a hushed voice.

"I-I don't know." He looked sickened. "There's so much. This is going to take some time. Can you get me food? Also, boil rags for bandages; I can't heal all her wounds."

I shook my head, looking off into the distance where tiny pinpricks of light in the receding darkness indicated the ongoing search for us. "We can't make a fire without being seen. You'll have to use unwashed cloths, and the food will be cold."

I fetched him provisions and clothes.

"Waíse heill!" He whispered over and over, his gedwëy ignasia sparkling in the light of the morning star. The elf's skin rippled as though I were looking at it under water and new skin flowed over the damages.

He sat, hunched over her, for hours.

At some point during the morning, I fell asleep, propped upright next to him. Later, sensing his movements, I jerked awake. "Is it done?"

He nodded weakly, his face pale and wan.

"Will she live?"

"I don't know," he mumbled. "Elves are strong, but even they cannot endure abuse like this with impunity. If I knew more about healing, but..." He gestured helplessly.

He rose and went to the wineskin in his saddlebag, but his hand was shaking so badly he spilled most of the wine. "We'd better start riding again." He was a walking corpse.

"No, you must sleep." I insisted.

"I can sleep in the saddle." Eragon stifled a yawn. "But we can't afford to stay here, not with the soldiers closing in on us."

He was right. We had a lead, but it was small and it was imperative to our lives that we keep it. I took Snowfire's reins and lead him as Eragon slumbered.

I gazed at him pityingly as he slept.

A terrible sadness rose up in me. I had never wasted my sympathies on others, for who had suffered a life as troubled as mine? And yet, here was Eragon, tossed into the rivalries of a war decades old, doomed to a life as turbulent as mine.

We were not so different.

He looked so small in sleep. He was no more than a child, really.

-x-

Eragon slept through most of the day, waking only when we stopped for the night. The lack of sleep was draining on all of us, though Eragon had an especially sour look on his face when Saphira landed.

Throughout the day, I had charted the soldiers' progress. They were gaining on us, and new soldiers were stationed at every fallen tree and fork in the path, slowing us down immensely.

We ate our meal in silence; matters seemed to be weighing on everyone's mind.

I slept what seemed like minutes. It was still very dark when Eragon shook me awake and I reluctantly readied my horse. "We can't keep up this pace," I groused groggily. "We aren't making any progress. Another day and they will surely overtake us."

"What choice do we have?" Eragon snapped. "Were it only the two of us and we left the horses, we might fly out of here on Saphira. But with the elf, too? Impossible."

He was right. I was a liability.

"Perhaps, we ought to go our ways, Eragon. I did not endanger myself to save you only to have you die on my account. I can't expect you and Saphira to stay and risk imprisonment."

Eragon's eyes flashed. "You insult us. The only reason I'm free is because of you. I'm not going to abandon you to the Empire. Poor thanks that would be!"

I was heartened, yet I frowned. "Your words warm me, but we are still in a quandary."

He gestured at the elf. "I wish she could tell us where the elves are; perhaps we could seek sanctuary with them."

"Considering how they've protected themselves, I doubt she'd reveal their location. Why would they want to shelter us anyway? The last Riders they had contact with were Galbatorix and the Forsworn who undoubtedly them with memories less than pleasant." I frowned. "And I don't even have the dubious honor of being a Rider like you," I added.

Eragon shrugged. "We must flee, but in which direction—north, south, east, or west?"

"We must leave the Empire." I said, considering his words. "Few safe places within it are safe and all are far from here and thus difficult to reach without being caught or followed. To the north is the forest, Du Weldenvarden—which we might be able to hide in, but I don't relish going back past Gil'ead. Only the Empire and the sea lie to the west. Surda in the south is a possibility and may lead you to the Varden. And the Hadarac Desert is in the east." I sighed. "Each seems bleaker than the next."

"It's too dangerous to go to Surda. We would have to traverse most of the Empire, avoiding every town and village. There are too many people between us and Surda to get there unnoticed."

Which meant…

"You want to go across the desert?"

Eragon looked defensive. "I don't see any other options. With their flying steeds, the Ra'zac will probably arrive in Gil'ead in a couple of days, so we don't have much time. And it'll at least lead us from the Empire."

"Even if we do reach the desert before they get here they could still overtake us. It'll be hard to outdistance them at all. Though to catch us, they'll have to leave the soldiers behind, which is to our advantage. If it comes to a fight, I think the three of us can defeat them."

Eragon looked heartened.

"But, if we reach the other side of the Hadarac safely, where from there will we go? Those lands are well outside of the Empire. There will be few cities, if any. And then there is the desert itself. What do you know of it?"

"Only that it's hot, dry, and full of sand," Eragon confessed.

"That about sums it up," I said sourly. "What it lacks in shade and water, it makes up for in searing heat and sweltering sunshine. It hosts poisonous and inedible plants, venomous snakes, scorpions, and no end of scoundrels. You remember the Great Plain we passed en route to Gil'ead?"

Eragon nodded.

"Then you are familiar with its immense range. It fills the heart of the Empire. Now imagine something two or three times its size, and you'll understand the vastness of the Hadarac Desert. That is what you're proposing to cross."

Eragon blinked in surprise. His brow furrowed as he tried to picture what I was describing to him. Finally, I scratched a picture in the dirt with an arrowhead.

He exclaimed. "No wonder the Empire ends at the desert. Everything past it is too far away for Galbatorix to control."

I gestured to my crude map. "All the land beyond the desert was under one rule when the Riders lived. If the king were to raise up new order of Riders under his command, it would allow him to expand the Empire to an unprecedented size. But that wasn't the point I was trying to make. The Hadarac Desert is so huge and contains so many dangers, the chances are slim that we can cross it unscathed. It is a desperate path to take."

"We are desperate," said Eragon firmly. He studied the map carefully. "If we rode through the belly of the desert, it would take well over a month, but if we angle southeast, toward the Beor Mountains, we could cut through much faster, roughly equal to what we covered on our way to Gil'ead."

"But that took us nearly a month!"

Eragon shook his head impatiently at my dismay. "Our ride to Gil'ead was slow on account of my injuries. If we press ourselves, it'll take only a fraction of that time to reach the Beor Mountains."

"Fair enough. But, you have overlooked one key point. As I'm sure you noticed, I bought supplies for us and the horses while I was in Gil'ead. But how can we get enough water? The roving tribes who live in the Hadarac disguise their wells and oases so no one can steal their water. Carrying enough for more than a day is impractical. Just think about how much Saphira drinks! She and the horses consume more water at one time than we do in a week. Unless you can make it rain whenever we need, I don't see how we can go the desert."

Eragon pursed his lips. He rocked back and forth on his heels and suddenly leapt up, stalking into the darkness purposefully.

I stared after him, surprised his sudden departure.

What was I doing? Following this Rider after I had expressly decided not to involve myself politics again. If I continued to stay beside Eragon, my name would surely get back to the King. No matter, the wilderness beyond the desert was impenetrable; I could wait a while longer for my solitude.

Eragon returned after an hour, his face tired but triumphant.

"Well?" I prompted him.

"We will have water." Eragon looked squarely at me, his eyes glinting in the light. "Then, shall we go?"

I glanced back, the way we had come where smoke from soldier encampments was clearly visible in the pre-dawn light, smiling mischievously.

"Let's. I always did like races."

Eragon laughed harshly. "And now, we are in one for our lives."

And we galloped on into the gloom.

-x-

We drove the horses as hard as we could without killing them, sometimes dismounting and running on foot to give them a respite.

The soldiers in Gil'ead were far behind, but new soldiers plagued us with every passing town. Somehow the alarm had been sent ahead of us. Twice we were nearly ambushed along the trail, escaping only because Saphira happened to smell the men ahead of them.

After the second incident, we avoided the trail entirely.

When we reached Bullridge, we led the horses on foot around it by a wide margin, listening attentively still to avoid any hidden camps. When we were past it, it was almost daybreak, and we all breathed more easily.

We had covered over forty leagues in three days.

When the sun rose again, we had reached the edge of a steep bank covered with mounds of brush. Water roared below as it tore over boulders. The bank came to an abrupt end where the river ran dark and swift. White mist wafted up from the water.

The Ramr.

The river was to the left, but also five miles to the right. The river continued south for several leagues, then doubled back on itself in a narrow loop before curving west.

"We have to find a place to ford safely," I called over the thundering water.

I tossed a broken branch into the currents and watching it being carried away by the furious torrents, bobbing on the rough water. It was impossible to see the far side.

"How deep do you think it is?" asked Eragon, sounding a little unnerved.

"I can't tell. Can you see how far across it is with magic?"

Eragon shook his head. "I don't think so, not without lighting up this place like a beacon."

With a gust of air, Saphira took off and soared over the Ramr.

After a few minutes, Eragon replied. "She's on the other side. But the river is over a half mile wide. It bends here and in widest. She is offering to ferry us all over one by one."

"A half mile!" I exclaimed. "I don't think we ought to try it, for the horses' sake. Ask if there is a shallower place nearby where we could cross."

Eragon relayed the message. Soon thereafter, Saphira landed besides us once more and he told me, "There is no place near to ford. The water is both deep and strong, upstream as well as downstream. She will have to carry us over one by one."

I shook my head. "Then I had better go over first, so I can watch the horses." I scrambled onto Saphira's saddle. "Be careful with Tornac." I told him, worry coloring my voice. "I've had him for many years. I don't want anything to happen to him."

She took off so swiftly she nearly unseated me.

Murtagh.

I started. It was so rare that she chose to speak to me directly, and not through Eragon's buffer, that when I felt her presence nudging my mind, I instinctively tried to attack, just as I had the first time.

Stop your histrionics. It is I, Saphira.

I relaxes my offenses. What is it you want?

I have noticed, being alongside you for these last few months, something very peculiar. I find that in spite of your differences to Eragon, you still show the same magnetism that I sensed in Eragon for which I chose him.

Magnetism?

You come from a long line of old magic and Dragon Riders. I would not be surprised if you found yourself on top of a Dragon one day.

It must have been my father's blood in my veins that she was sensing. I flushed guiltily. No doubt she would not say this if she knew who my father was. How can you know this?

I may be younger than you in years, but I am ancient in my thoughts. Look at the way you ride atop me, so viscerally. Eragon, even, did not know how to ride me at first.

But what does this mean?

Do not worry about these things. Find peace in where and what you are now. Things have a way of turning out for the best. Let events unfold as they may.

She had landed on the far side of the Ramr and I slid off of Saphira, more than a trifle confused. She blinked impassively and took flight again. She did not attempt to speak any more to me.

When everyone and both the horses had been ferried across, we continued riding, with the Ramr to our backs. The air filled with the calls of birds waking to a new day. Eventually the ground became soft and gave way to sand.

When the sun was high overhead, the Ramr River was no more than a fuzzy line behind us.

We had reached the Hadarac desert.

-x-

A vast expanse of dunes spread to the horizon like ripples on an ocean. Bursts of wind twirled the reddish gold sand into the air. Scraggly trees grew on scattered patches of solid ground—ground any farmer would have declared unfit for crops. Rising in the distance was a line of purple crags. The imposing desolation was barren of any animals except for a bird gliding on the zephyrs.

The hot, dry air stung my throat.

"You're sure we'll find food for the horses out there?"

"See those?" I indicated the crags. "Grass grows around them. It's short and tough, but the horses will find it sufficient."

"I hope you're right," said Eragon, squinting at the sun. "Before we continue, let's rest. My mind is slow as a snail, and I can barely move my legs."

We took a reprieve in the shadow of a dune, at ease. It was now four days since leaving Gil'ead. We had already covered thirty-five leagues, a monstrous feat; and still, we slept just long enough to clear our heads and rest the horses.

Galbatorix would not give up so easily.

As for me, my contentment at our narrow escape had faded with the sweltering heat, and I was critically reconsidering our plan onward. Eragon had foolishly chosen this path. Who knew what, if anything lay beyond the desert.

We may as well start digging our graves here in the sand.

I was angry, mostly at myself, for remaining with him. I should departed for the Spine for the life of solitude I had planned for. Nowhere Eragon was going would be ever be solitary. And yet, I had not been able to bring myself to leave.

It would have meant certain death for him and a lifetime of guilt for me.

We stopped when we arrived at the crags we had seen from a distance that morning. The picketed horses nibbled on the sparse grass. I started a small fire and shook the sand from my clothes, wincing at the tenderness of my sunburned skin.

Eragon looked back the way we came. "How far do you think we went?"

"I don't know," I snapped, incensed by every discomfort I had suffered today. "We don't have enough water. And the horses have to drink." He did not goad me and the release I craved from my anger was not granted.

Saphira dug a hole for with her claws, as wide across as a full grown man. Eragon knelt at its knelt and closed his eyes.

Slowly, the earth darkened and finally a trickle of water sprang from it. Slowly, the stream widened and sluiced the hole.

I refilled the waterskins and stood aside as the horses drank. The thirsty animals quaffed gallons. Saphira, too, drank several draughts, and finally Eragon drank and he let the water seep back into the parched ground.

It was freezing when we decamped the next day. The sand had a pink hue in the morning light, and the sky was hazy, concealing the horizon. My mood had not improved with sleep, and Eragon's was rapidly deteriorating.

We spoke tersely to each other.

I kept running over in my mind what I could do when I reached the edge of the desert. Where should I go? I could not follow Eragon forever. What if there was nothing there? What if—

"Murtagh!" Eragon called excitedly, shaking me from my stupor. "Look!"

He was pointed toward the haze that we had woken to this morning. It had thinned since then and the distant purple-blue smudges had gained definition. They were broad, forest-covered mounds with clear outlines. The air above them was pale white, bleached of its usual hue—all color seemed to have been leached out of a horizontal band of sky that lay on top of the hills and extended to the horizon's edges. Indeed, the whiteness blanketed half the sky before us.

I stared, puzzled, unable to understand the strange congruity. "What? I don't see—"

What I had taken to be several hills were actually the bases of gigantic mountains, scores of miles wide. Except for the dense forest along their lower regions, the mountains were entirely covered with snow and ice. It was this that had deceived me to be the sky. I arched my head back, but the peaks were not visible.

"But that's impossible!" I spluttered, squinting and blinking to test my vision. "I knew the Beor Mountains were large, but not that monstrous size!"

"Let's hope the animals that live there aren't in proportion to the mountains," said Eragon lightly.

My spirits lifted. "It will be good to find some shade and spend a few weeks in leisure. I've had enough of this forced march."

"I grow weary as well," Eragon admitted, "but I don't want to stop until the elf is cured…or she dies. Maybe…When we reach the mountains, I could take her to Surda— it's not that far. There must be a healer there who can help her."

But as the day wore on, the Beor Mountains seemed to get no closer, though the landscape changed dramatically. The sand slowly transformed from loose grains of reddish hue to hard-packed, dusky-cream dirt. In place of dunes were ragged patches of plants and deep furrows in the ground where flooding had occurred. A cool breeze wafted through the air, bringing welcome refreshment.

The horses sensed the change of climate and hurried forward eagerly.

-x-

We had covered eighty leagues in five days.

We sat, fatigued and haggard, around a fire that night, triumphant.

Finally, I was outside of the Empire. It was a strange thought. I had been born in the Empire, lived my entire live a stone's throw from Galbatorix's clutches, lost the closest thing I ever had to a father to him, and had nearly died several times since then.

And now, I was free.

Finally, I was free.

I felt jubilant and I whooped, jumping in my ecstasy like a wild animal. I no longer had to worry if my visage would be recognized if I walked into a tavern, or what unspeakable horrors Galbatorix would have me commit if he caught me.

Free.

Several feet away, where the elf lay, Eragon gasped very loudly, like a fish out of water.

"Eragon?"

He did not answer.

I rushed over to his side.

He was kneeling in front of the elf, eyes closed—he might have been praying—but his face was twisted in a painful grimace and his body trembled. All at once, his eyes opened but the pupils rolled back in his head so that he gazed upon me as if he were blind, blinking rapidly. His hands trembled and his brow furrowed.

"Eragon!" I said quite loudly.

Saphira shuffled closer to us.

I shook his shoulders forcefully, but he did not snap out of his trance. I shook him insistently, yelling and speaking plainly and finally Eragon took a shuddering breath and forced his eyes open.

"Are you alright? You been kneeling here for almost fifteen minutes. I thought you were having a fit."

"I have?" He blinked owlishly. "I talked with Arya, the elf. That's her name. She's been poisoned by a venom, the Skilna Bragh. The antidote lies with the Varden and she's given me instructions to find them. But she only has a few days left. We must hurry."

"How far away are the Varden?" I asked cautiously.

Eragon frowned. "I'm not exactly sure," he confessed. "But from what she showed me, I think it's even farther than from here to Gil'ead."

"And we're supposed to cover that in three or four days?" I exploded. "It took us five days to get here! What do you want to do, kill the horses? They're exhausted as it is."

"But if we do nothing, she'll die! If it's too much for the horses, Saphira can fly ahead with Arya and me; at least we would get to the Varden in time. You could catch up with us in a few days."

"Of course," I sneered. "Murtagh, the pack animal. Murtagh, the horse leader. I should have remembered that's all I'm good for nowadays. Let's not forget, every soldier in the Empire is searching for me now because you couldn't defend yourself, and I had to save you, but, I suppose I'll just follow your feeble instructions and bring up the horses in the rear like a good servant."

"What's wrong with you? I'm grateful for what you did. There's no reason to be angry with me! I didn't ask you to accompany me or to rescue me from Gil'ead. You chose that. I haven't forced you to do anything." Eragon snapped angrily.

"Not outright, no. What else could I do but help you with the Ra'zac? And then later, at Gil'ead, how could I have left with a clear conscience?" I roared. "The problem with you is that you're so totally helpless you force everyone to take care of you!"

I shoved him backward.

"Don't touch me," he snarled.

I laughed contemptuously. "Or, what?"

But he ran at me and struck me in the stomach. The air whooshed out of my in a rush and collapsed in place, swearing breathlessly. I glanced up, glowering at him, and launched myself at him, pounding on him.

He threw me off of himself and we both flew at each other again, tempers ignited—

Saphira's tail slapped between us, accompanied by a deafening roar. I ignored her and tried to hoist myself over her tail, but she grabbed me in an enormous paw and wrestled me to the ground. From the noise and protestations on her other side, I could hear her similarly restraining Eragon. She turned away from Eragon and eyed me severely.

"She wants me to ask you what's really the problem," Eragon called, his voice ridiculing. "She won't let us up otherwise. Saphira growled an affirmative and continued to stare at me piercingly.

I waited until my breathing was even though my anger had not at all dissipated. "I told you before: I don't want to go to the Varden."

"Don't want to…or can't?"

I tried to shove Saphira's leg off me, but she pressed down harder and I swore and relented, "Don't want to! They'll expect things from me that I can't deliver."

"Did you steal something from them?"

"I wish it were that simple."

"Well, what is it, then? Did you kill someone important or bed the wrong woman?"

"I was born," I said darkly.

Saphira released her paws.

Eragon got up, watching me with a mixture of curiosity and irritation on his face. "What does that mean? You're avoiding the question." He dabbed at his split lip.

"So what?" I snarled. "It doesn't matter why I'm in this predicament, but I can tell you that the Varden wouldn't welcome me even if I came bearing the king's head. They might greet me nicely enough, but trust me? Never. And if I were to arrive under a less fortuitous circumstance, like the present, they'd likely clap me in irons."

"Why won't you tell me what this is about?" Eragon asked. "I've done things I'm not proud of, too, so it's not as if I'm going to pass judgment."

I did not look at him, hating him in that moment. Because, if he really knew, he would not; but he would never really know. No one ever bothered to learn. And yet, he had shown me utmost kindness and trust so far. Perhaps, after all I had done for him, he would not judge. He may not be like all the others.

"I haven't done anything to deserve this treatment, though it would have been easier to atone for if I had. My mistake is deigning to exist in the first place." I took a deep breath. "You see, my father—"

Saphira hissed.

We followed her gaze westward.

Eragon paled. "Urgals."

Never the huntsman, always the hunted. It appeared my fate would never change, no matter how far and long I ran.

Eragon leapt into the action behind, untying the horses and pulling Arya into Saphira's saddle, gathering all our supplies and throwing them into our saddlebags. He was a blur of action, like a cyclone, yet leaving order instead of destruction behind.

My heart was racing as fear clenched me in her familiar, cold embrace. I stood to glean a better look, hoping to the gods he was wrong.

He was.

"No," I said in a hushed voice. "Kull."

-x-

In the cool morning air, yesterday's fight had been all but forgotten, though we remained terse and rather short when speaking to each other.

When we stopped at midday for the animals, I did not seek him out, but rather hiked up a small mound to survey our surrounding.

The band of Kull had receded by several leagues to a small black blur in the distance. To the north, the Beor Mountain range stood just as majestic and insurmountable. Everywhere else, seemed deserted by human touch.

I glanced around at the nearby hills—There, what was that?—I scrutinized the hill nearest to us, something was rising up onto it. The first figure, a man on a horse, galloped forward. They had not seen us yet, but any moment…

I unsheathed my sword with a steely rasp that alerted Eragon. He joined me at the top of the mound.

Behind the frontman riding atop a sorrel horse, a group of horseman had arrived. No one moved. They had finally caught sight of us.

"Could they be Varden?"

Eragon surreptitiously strung his bow. "According to Arya, they're still scores of leagues away. Though this might be one of their patrols or raiding groups."

"Assuming they're not bandits." I hurried back down to Tornac and swung onto him, readying Snowfire for Eragon.

"Should we try to outrun them?" Eragon lingered to drape a blanket over Arya, before grasping her firmly to him.

"It wouldn't do any good. Tornac and Snowfire are fine war-horses, but they're tired, and they aren't sprinters. Look at the horses those men have; they're meant for running. They would catch us before we had gone a half-mile."

The band of men watched us from the hill.

I tightened my grip on my sword. "Tell Saphira to come."

"If they threaten us, I can frighten them away with magic. If that doesn't work, there's Saphira. I wonder how they'd react to a Rider? So many stories have been told about their powers. It might be enough to avoid a fight."

"Don't count on it," I said grimly. "If there's a fight, we'll just have to kill enough of them to convince them we're not worth the effort. And I welcome it." I bared at my teeth.

The man on the sorrel horse signaled with his mace, sending the horsemen cantering toward them. The men shook javelins over their heads, whooping loudly as they neared. Battered sheaths hung from their sides. Their weapons were rusty and stained. Four of them trained arrows on our procession. Their leader swirled the mace in the air, and his men responded with yells as they circled us like vultures.

"Well, these are better than the usual dregs we find! At least we got healthy ones this time. And we didn't even have to shoot them. Grieg will be pleased."

The men chuckled.

My heart sank. This did not bode well.

"Now as for you two," said the leader, speaking to us, "If you would be so good as to drop your weapons, you'll avoid being turned into living quivers by my men."

The men jeered again.

"Who are you and what do you want? We are free men traveling through this land. You have no right to stop us."

"Oh, I have every right," said the man contemptuously. "And as for my name, slaves do not address their masters in that manner, unless they want to be beaten." The lines deepened on the leader's face. "Throw down your swords and surrender!"

Neither Eragon nor I lowered our tensed weapons.

The slavers tensed, staring at us with cold, calculating eyes.

Behind us, one of the slavers had pulled the blanket off Arya, revealing her face. He gaped in astonishment, then shouted, "Torkenbrand, this one's an elf!"

The men stirred with surprise while the leader spurred his horse over to Snowfire. He looked down at Arya and whistled.

"Well, 'ow much is she worth?" someone asked.

Torkenbrand was quiet for a moment, then spread his hands and said, "At the very least? Fortunes upon fortunes. The Empire will pay a mountain of gold for her!"

The slavers yelled with excitement and pounded each other on the back.

Eragon caught my eye and directed my gaze upward. A shadow was beginning to appear on the ground and I could see a faint outline of Saphira as she came plummeting down from the haze of the sky toward us.

I jerked toward the man nearest me, smashing my elbow into his face, knocking him out of the saddle. I spurred Tornac and drew my sword. He reared above the fallen slaver and the man screamed.

Before the others could react, Eragon leapt forward on his horse, shouting. A globule of indigo fire struck the ground in the midst of the fray, bursting into a fountain of molten drops that dissipated like sun-warmed dew.

A second later, Saphira dropped from the sky and landed next to him. She parted her jaws, displaying her massive fangs, and bellowed.

"BEHOLD!" cried Eragon over the fray, "I am a Rider!" He raised Zar'roc over his head, the red blade dazzling in the sunlight, then pointed it at the slavers. "Flee if you wish to live!"

The men shouted incoherently and scrambled over each other in their haste to escape. In the confusion, Torkenbrand was struck in the temple with a javelin. He tumbled to the ground, stunned. The men ignored their fallen leader and raced away in a ragged mass. Torkenbrand struggled to his knees. Blood ran from his temple, branching across his cheek with crimson tendrils.

I jumped off Tornac and strode over to him, quickly, my sword aloft.

He raised his arms, as though to fend off my sword for the blow he knew was coming. But I did not slow. I smiled coldly at him and swung my sword—

"NO!"

Torkenbrand's decapitated trunk crumpled to the ground in a puff of dirt. His head landed with a thump.

"Is your brain rotten?" Eragon bellowed. "Why did you kill him?"

I knelt by his corpse, wiping my bloodied sword on the back of his jerkin. "I don't see why you're so upset—" I said mildly.

"Upset?" exploded Eragon. "I'm well past that! Did it even occur to you that we could have left him here and continue on our way? No! Instead you turn into an executioner and chop off his head. He was defenseless!"

Saphira sniffed Torkenbrand's head curiously. She opened her mouth slightly, as if to snap it up, then appeared to decide better of it and prowled to Eragon's side.

I fought to keep from smiling.

"Well, we couldn't keep him around. He was dangerous. The others ran off so without a horse he wouldn't have made it far. If the Urgals caught up with him, they might learn of Arya—"

He brushed aside my explanations. "But to kill him?" interrupted Eragon.

"No stranger's life is more important than my own." I said simply.

"But you can't indulge in wanton violence. Where is your empathy?" growled Eragon, pointing at the head.

"Empathy? Empathy?" I yelled angrily. "What empathy can I afford my enemies? Shall I dither about whether to defend myself because it will cause someone pain? If that had been the case, I would have died years ago! You must be willing to protect yourself and what you cherish, no matter what the cost!"

Eragon slammed Zar'roc back into its sheath, shaking his head sagely. "You can justify any atrocity with that reasoning."

"Do you think I enjoy this, Eragon?" I snarled. "My life has been threatened from the day I was born! All of my waking hours have been spent avoiding danger in one form or another. And sleep never comes easily because I always worry if I will even live to see the dawn. If there ever was a time I felt secure, it must have been in my mother's womb, though I wasn't safe even there! You don't understand—if you lived with this fear, you would have learned the same lesson I did: do not take chances."

My chest heaved as I finished my rant and Eragon stood, transformed by the changes he finally saw in me. He had underestimated me. He thought me, perhaps, a good fighter, an enjoyable companion, a friend even. But the darker side of me that constantly lurked underneath the surface had finally emerged and he did not like it.

Hardly a surprise, few did. Galbatorix was probably the only who would have enjoyed appropriating it to serve his ends.

"It was still the wrong thing to do." His eyes refused to meet mine.

And so, it begins.

-x-

In the morning Saphira took off with both Eragon and Arya, leaving me to lead the horses. I did not protest. I was not feeling kindly toward Eragon at the moment.

Who was he to tell me to show empathy? I had never, if I could help it, killed unnecessarily, nor hurt anyone who had not hurt me. Fighting though I excelled at, was my last resort. I preferred to run. Torkenbrand on the other hand, would have had no qualms in killing or selling any of us and I was supposed to feel remorse? For what? Smiting a blight upon humanity?

And was Eragon the one to dole out blame? Eragon, who was outfitted with the life of a prince? Who was handed a dragon and the opportunity many would die for? A bumbling oaf, within whose grasp lay the fate of the free world.

Eragon and Saphira landed after a few hours to inform me that our time was still limited. "The Urgals are overtaking us," he told me grimly.

"How far do we still have to go?" I asked stiffly.

"Normally…I would guess another five days. At the speed we've been traveling, only three. But unless we get there tomorrow, the Urgals will probably catch us, and Arya will certainly die."

"She might last another day." I hedged hesitantly, knowing his answer before the words could leave my lips.

"We can't count on it," Eragon said seriously. "The only way we can get to the Varden in time is if we don't stop for anything, least of all sleep. That's our only chance."

I scoffed. "How can you expect to do that? We've already gone days without adequate sleep. Unless Riders are made of different matters than us mortals, you're as tired as I am. We've covered a staggering distance, and the horses, in case you haven't noticed, are ready to drop. Another day of this might kill us all."

Eragon shrugged. "So be it. We don't have a choice."

I gazed at him half in admiration, half in exasperation. On the one hand, I admired him for risking everything to save the life of this elf; on the other hand, valiance was once thing, foolhardiness was something else entirely.

"I could leave and let you fly ahead with Saphira…That would force the Urgals to divide their troops and would give you a better chance of reaching the Varden."

"It would be suicide."

"It might be the only way."

"No, those Kull are faster on foot than we are on horseback. They would run you down like a deer. The only way to evade them is to find sanctuary with the Varden." He said these carefully as if afraid that I might explode again.

"I'll escape later," I said abruptly. "When we get to the Varden, I can disappear down a side valley and find my way to Surda, where I can hide without attracting too much attention."

"So you're staying?"

I frowned. "Sleep or no sleep, I'll see you to the Varden," I vowed.

And with this new found resolve, we pushed ourselves even harder forward, and surprising ourselves with an energy and determination that I could not have predicted to remain in our weary limbs.

And yet, our pursuers crept slower still. At nightfall the Kull were a third closer than they had been that morning. When the sun returned, we were pleased to see that the Urgals were far behind.

"If we're not reasonably close to the Varden by noon, I'm going to fly ahead with Arya. You'll be free to go wherever you want then, but you'll have to take Snowfire with you. I won't be able to come back for him."

"That might not be necessary; we could still get there in time," I said glumly.

Eragon merely shrugged.

Later, Eragon pointed out a valley to me. The valley was so restricted it could easily be overlooked. This apparently would lead to the Varden.

"If we can slip in there without being seen, it might confuse them." Though skeptical, I followed his lead. "The Varden are hidden at the end of this valley. If we hurry, we might get there before nightfall."

There was now only a league between us and the Urgals.

I surveyed the valley. It had seemed far smaller before we had traversed it, having falling within a moutain's shadow, but now that I was walking through, I could not see any other way out.

When I pointed out my concern to Eragon, he pacified me, "Don't worry about it," he said impatiently. "This is a long valley; there's sure to be an exit further in."

He released Arya from Saphira and lifted the elf onto Snowfire and took off with Saphira.

I now kept my senses careful, cautious, and attuned to anything out of the ordinary, whether it was the Varden, the oncoming Urgals, or some other danger hidden within this vale.

But as we continued riding, I saw no exit. It seemed I was trapped in this earthy gash, though perhaps I could escape to the other side of the mountain once I was rid of the others.

As we were riding Tornac stumbled in a ditch before righting himself. I glanced back to see what had tripped him and quickly spurred him to a stop. There in a damp muddy ground was a paw print. It was a wolf's, but that was not what threw me.

It was as wide across as both my hands and easily an inch thick.

I swallowed nervously, looking around into the leafy gloom.

A few yards away, Eragon and Saphira landed and he called, "The Urgals have entered the valley. I tried to confuse them, but I forgot one of the rules of magic, and it cost me a great deal."

I told them about the wolf tracks. "There are animals around here that could be dangerous even to you, Saphira. I know you can't enter the forest, but could you circle above me and the horses? That should keep these beasts away. Otherwise there may only be enough left of me to roast in a thimble."

"Humor, Murtagh?" asked Eragon, a quick grin coming to his face.

"Only on the gallows." I said with a small smile, my eyes still searching, now adding a giant wolf to my list of worries alongside an escape route.

Eragon saw my eyes roving and he said stolidly, "There'll be one farther in."

I nodded and said brightly, "Of course. Let's go."

"How is Arya?" Eragon asked.

She had been tossing and turning, seeming feverish and pale. "Her strength is failing. You should fly her to the Varden before the poison does any more damage."

Eragon's face darkened. "I won't leave you behind, not with the Urgals so near."

I shrugged. "As you wish. But I'm warning you, she won't live if you stay with me."

"Don't say that. Help me save her. We can still do it. Consider it a life for a life—atonement for Torkenbrand's death."

All pretense of optimism fell from my face at once. I glared at him. "It's not a debt owed, least of all to you—" A horn sounded through the forest.

A hunting horn.

Without another word, I departed again.

Every time we had run, we had always ridden for fear of death, but this time still, we rode faster and faster, spurred by the sheer will to live.

A waterfall rumbled in the distance and behind me, I could something like explosions. When I glanced behind, I saw that it was rather Saphira and Eragon dropping enormous boulders onto the crowd of Urgals who were, at this point, alarmingly close.

A waterfall rumbled in the distance, and above its thundering roar, I heard Saphira beating her wings as she landed beyond my line of sight. When I emerged into the clearing where he had landed, he ran alongside Snowfire, vaulting himself behind Arya's propped up body.

"Is there a valley or gorge ahead that I can leave through?" I tried to keep my voice calm, though I could guess his answer.

"It was dark," Eragon said apprehensively. "So I might have missed something…but I think not." He said the very last bit very quickly and quietly.

I pulled on the horses' reins and stopped them, swearing loudly. "Are you telling me the only place I can go is to the Varden?"

"Yes, but don't stop. The Urgals are almost upon us!" Eragon said urgently.

"NO!" I said angrily. "I warned you that I wouldn't go to the Varden, but you went ahead and trapped me between a hammer and an anvil! You're the one with the elf's memories. Why didn't you tell me this was a dead end?"

Eragon bristled. "All I knew was where we had to go, not what lay in between. Don't blame me for choosing to come."

"Of course," I scoffed. "You never know!" I spun away from him furiously.

"What's your quarrel with the Varden? It can't be so terrible that you must keep it hidden even now. Would you rather fight the Kull than reveal it? How many times will we go through this before you trust me?"

I couldn't bring myself to look at him. He respected me, even now after we'd had our disagreements, he trusted me inherently. I couldn't stand to see that turn to hatred.

And yet…

"Murtagh," said Eragon earnestly. "Unless you wish to die, we must go to the Varden. Don't let me walk into their arms without knowing how they will react to you. It's going to be dangerous enough without unnecessary surprises."

I drew my breath, readying myself.

"My name is Murtagh Morzansson. I am the son of Morzan, the first and last of the Forsworn, and most devoted servant of Galbatorix."

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