Arlen readied to attack. Murtagh, the traitor Rider from the last war, who had gone missing after the battle of Urû'baen, was pointing a sword at him. The wind howled and the snow beat against them. While everything was against him, he couldn't lose this fight.

Artsanna was freezing to death. Frost covered her scales as she shivered uncontrollably. While Lynde probably didn't even know he was still alive, he couldn't let Artsanna die on his watch. He especially didn't want her dying to Murtagh.

"Lower your sword," Murtagh said.

"You first," Arlen replied, shivering.

Murtagh laughed slightly. "No."

Arlen, in a moment of panic, attacked. He thrusted his sword at Murtagh, and he parried with so much strength channeled through his blood-red sword that he knocked Arlen's sword out of his hand. He went for his sword when Murtagh put his foot over it. He lost.

Arlen stood up, stepping back as he did so. "So what now?" he asked. "Are you going to kill me?"

Murtagh shook his head. "If I wanted one of Eragon's Riders dead then I'd have to be mad, and I'm not mad yet." After a pause, he looked back at his Dragon—who Arlen realized must have been Thorn—and said, "I am not!"

"Well, I'm not one of Eragon's Riders," Arlen said. Murtagh looked back Arlen, surprised. "I'm not a Rider at all."

Murtagh raised his sword. "Then who are you and what are you doing with a Dragon?"

"Let me start from the beginning—or at least as far back as I know it." Murtagh didn't object so he took that as permission to speak. He told him everything from the theft of the egg by Raud to the near present where Lynde and Rose were captured. That's when Murtagh lowered his sword and suddenly started laughing uncontrollably. "What's so funny?"

In a pause in his laughter, Murtagh said, "Everything! You, your friend the Rider, Artsanna; it seems that history is repeating itself. Ten or eleven years ago, I was in this exact same position. And let me guess: the place where you're going rescue…" he started laughing again, "a Rider and an Elf in Gil'ead."

He was surprised. "Yes, that's exactly where I'm going," Arlen said. Murtagh started laughing again. As Artsanna made a weak moan, Arlen had to interrupt him. "Excuse me, but Artsanna is going to die if we don't do something!"

"I'm sorry," Murtagh said, controlling himself. He turned to Thorn, and the Dragon—definitely the biggest he'd ever seen, and the biggest in the world, which was too big to fit in Roran Stronghammer's hall in Carvahall—lumbered over and laid beside Artsanna. He cast one wing over her, for warmth he imagined. Artsanna, who at first objected to this, was too weak to argue, and nestled in closer. With that Murtagh asked, "How old is Artsanna?"

"I think three or four months," Arlen said. "Why?"

"Simple curiosity. Also, have you got any firewood?" Arlen shook his head. "Well fortunately Thorn's carrying some."

As Murtagh climbed a rope ladder up to Thorn's saddle, Arlen wondered something. Where did Murtagh get his saddle? While Rose had built the one for Artsanna, this was simply massive. The ropes stretching from Thorn's back to his belly were several yards long, and at least twice that to stretch back around. And the ropes weren't even the start of the confusion—the leather, the amount of saddlebags. The sheer enormity of Thorn's saddle was hard for Arlen to comprehend. And it may have been his imagination, but there seemed to be a tent on Thorn's back.

While Murtagh was doing up there, Arlen took the opportunity to grab his sword. He didn't trust Murtagh, and while he would probably lose in a fight, he'd rather be able to put up one if it came to that. Besides, no one was infallible in battle—he might leave an opening to exploit, or his skill had decayed during his exile. In any case, he wanted his sword back.

After he searched through a few saddlebags, Murtagh came back down with a bundle of firewood under his arm. Thorn then raised the wing that wasn't over Artsanna, and Murtagh led Arlen under it. Here they were protected from the storm, and so Murtagh began to build a fire.

Arlen then realized what he was doing, and said, "Wait, why should I trust you?"

Murtagh had an exasperated look on his face as he said, "Is there any reason not to?"

"You're a traitor. You betrayed both sides during the war."

"Anyone would have broken under the kind of torture I was under—both times." As Murtagh lit the fire with a spell, he said, "I decided I was done with sides long ago, Arlen. I don't fight for anyone now, except myself and Thorn."

"Then why help me?"

Murtagh was quiet for a little before explaining, "Let's just say I feel nostalgic. You are on the exact same quest that I was on eleven years ago. Or if you want, it's part of my atonement for my crimes. Either way, I'm sheltering a fellow traveler, and since Thorn's here, I don't think anyone's going to try and stop me."

Arlen thought he understood, but he would still keep an eye on Murtagh. If he turned out to be as treacherous as he was in the legends, then he'd want to be ready for whatever he might do.

Once the storm was over—which took days where he and Murtagh actually got to know each other—they climbed out from under Thorn's wing to see what had become of the world. The world was completely blanketed in cold, white snow. When Arlen stepped in the snow, his boot sunk at least a foot before the snow finally became compacted enough to hold him up. That storm had really done something to the place.

He wondered if this storm had reached Cathalorn. If it had, then a lot of his neighbors would be snowed in. Arne would definitely be complaining about not being able to send messengers out to Gil'ead or Ceunon to report on the village. Brynner would do his best to unite the village to dig themselves out of the snow. And his father… no, Ehren—Ehren was the captain of the guard now—would try to do his best to watch for enemies that didn't exist, and make sure his guards did the same. He hoped that they'd be alright.

Arlen looked back to Thorn and Artsanna. Thorn didn't have a bit of frost on him, which was surprising after being in that kind of snowstorm. He was covered with snow though, which actually seemed to be melting off of him. "I didn't know a Dragon's fire could leak through its skin," Arlen observed.

"Something we learned during nine or ten winters in the wilderness," Murtagh said. "What's more surprising is that Artsanna was freezing to death. I didn't know a Dragon could."

"Well, she can't breathe fire yet, so that might have something to do with it," Arlen speculated.

I can hear you, even over this giant's breathing, Artsanna said indignantly.

"Oh, sorry Artsanna," Arlen replied.

Murtagh looked at Arlen strangely. "Artsanna's talking to you?"

"Yes. And she's not to you?" Murtagh shook his head.

I don't want to be in his mind, Artsanna explained. He doesn't feel right. He would have to ask her what she meant by that later.

Arlen went over to where Artsanna was under Thorn's wing. Thorn lifted it, and Artsanna stood up, shaking bits of snow off her scales and saddle. "Are you alright?" he asked.

Hungry, but not as cold as… Suddenly, Artsanna breathed in sharply, and spewed out a bunch of smoke. She then ambled over to Arlen. Okay, maybe not as good as I thought.

"Was that a sneeze?" Arlen asked.

I think so.

"Huh. I didn't know Dragons sneezed."

Neither did I.

"Well if Artsanna's not fit to travel," Murtagh said, causing Arlen to turn around to face him, "you might want to stay with us for a while."

Arlen turned back to Artsanna. I feel like I would not go very far without a good meal. And maybe a few days of rest would help too.

Arlen turned to Murtagh. He sighed regretfully and said, "I guess we'll have to."

Murtagh seemed neither happy nor like he was inconvenienced by this. "Well, if you're going to stay with us, I might as well teach you something."

Arlen was curious. "What?"

"With having to fight a Shade, and possibly Elves and Riders, you're going to need to be able to fight an opponent that not only moves faster and is stronger, but also think and react faster." Murtagh drew his sword. "I can teach you exactly how to fight them; how to fight someone who would kill you within seconds otherwise. Do you want me to teach you how?"

He nodded. "Yes. But why do you want to?"

Murtagh balanced his sword on his shoulder. "You don't need to know. Think of it as my good deed for the decade." He would ask again later, but for now he wouldn't question him—that probably wouldn't lead to anything except an angry Rider. "Now let's begin."