I'm sorry. I am so, so sorry for the delay. I love you all. Please keep reading, please. And just as an encouragement, I have written parts of the upcoming chapters, so I should update before Christmas. :)

And I need stuff to read (for inspiration). Any suggestions?

Feel free to review! I'll see you all soon! :D

Chapter 56

The wind pushed them forward, like it wanted them to save the Others who could Rule the Sky. The Bright Eye had set, but the warmth it had sent them away with remained; the Grey Eye gave no impression of wanting to stop them.

On the contrary, it wasn't to be seen.

A layer of thick-water-cold-blinding carpeted the sky, hiding them from the prying eyes of any people or armies. It was only Thorn's impeccable sense of direction that kept them on course; he knew it better than Murtagh realized, but now, he knew, was not the time to boast.

His boasting was mere hatchling-play compared the millenia some of the hearts had. Their voices brushed his mind, swelling like the blue-wet-not-sky-not-two-legged-ground and easing back, dimming like coals and flaring like flames. Some were becoming re-acquainted; others had found old friends, so longer bound to the confines of their own minds; others were searching for their other-beating-hearts, roaring names amidst the deathly crowd.

Their deafening clamor silenced Thorn's mind, letting him listen without interruption.

Murtagh, emboldened by a dragon-like courage, spoke into the mass of minds.

Sicorro? He shouted. Sicorro, old friend, are you there?

The horde shifted and shoved, mind pushing against mind like the pathetic two-leggeds did in a challenge of tooth and claw. Each fought to be heard above his neighbor, and Thorn started sifting through the minds for a reply.

Sicorro? Sicorro, are you there?

Sicorro is with Halia, is he not? Thorn asked his rider.

He is.

Thorn left their thoughts unsaid.

If they could find Sicorro, perhaps they could know where the pointy-eared two-legged was.

And if they could find...

Absolutely not. Murtagh growled. We are not speaking to him.

Why not? Thorn demanded, snorting smoke. We are his lord. He will have to speak to us.

And say what? An apology cannot suffice.

You don't know that.

With a dragon's pride and what we did?

Thorn rumbled his dissent, but let Murtagh back to his hunting for Sicorro.

The dragon, however, decided to go hunting for a different heart.

He had a different courage than Murtagh; Thorn knew that. Murtagh did not want to speak to the Golden One out of shame; Thorn wanted to meet him, properly, for the same reason.

Thorn wondered if his rider's reluctance had anything to do with the dreams he had after the Arena- the ones he kept so carefully guarded. It hurt Thorn to be shut out like that, but he knew Murtagh would only keep his thoughts hidden if they would pain Thorn.

For some time, he had acted like his mind had not left him when he laid bleeding on the Arena floor, but Thorn had seen glimpses. A golden forest, and a gentle voice. Nothing more, except for Murtagh's discomfort when the memory returned.

Perhaps the Golden One had something to do with the Golden Forest in Murtagh's mind.

Thorn wanted to know.

He wanted to know what the elven greenery smelled like; he wanted to know about the Tree that Lived, and how it came to be. He wanted to know about the Time Before, and he wanted to know more about the Fall and the crumbling of the world...

And who better to ask than the one who had survived it all?

Glaedr? Thorn asked into the swirl of colored hearts. Glaedr?

Has anyone heard Glaedr the Golden? Thorn asked, brushing from mind to mind. Dragon of Oromis?

Sicorro was no where to be found, and Murtagh's own heart was only more unsettled because of it.

What could keep him? Was it simply the number of minds to wade through- thousands, easily- that kept them apart?

Look to the Rock, Lord. Hava reminded him. You approach it even now. The wind has been in your favor.

Where should I land? I can't see much.

The darkness, for the first time, was not to their advantage in that regard; Murtagh knew that soon he would be in the bowels of the Rock, and light would be a weakness.

That bluff might be the entrance. Thorn continued. It looks wide enough for me.

No- drop me into the camp first. Murtagh replied.

Drop you into the camp? Are you mad? You just-

Exactly.

Thorn paused, sorting through Murtagh's train of thought.

What if they already know?

Thorn. We just left. You are a dragon; no one is faster than you.

Thorn's chest puffed as he admitted the truth.

Where?

The general's tent, of course. Just above it- don't bother landing. Let them see you.

So much for secrecy. You are a fan of the dramatic.

You're right. Just fly over the camp, and that will be enough. I'll fall there.

We don't want Karth to know we are here.

You don't. I do. Murtagh smiled, just like he had when he had looked at Furdor. We have unfinished business.

Keep your head, you miniscule two-legged. Thorn berated him. Normally you aren't rash.

I'll find my head again when I'm in the Rock. Let me drift for now. Murtagh teased.

Are you ready?

Always have been. Murtagh smiled, pulling one leg out of his saddle and holding on against the wind. Just keep me informed, especially if you hear the thunder.

Tell me if they try eating you. Thorn told him. I'd like a bite of a few of them.

I won't let them eat me, Thorn. Murtagh laughed. But I will call if I need your help.

You always need my help.

Perhaps- this will be the test, won't it?

Murtagh watched the flickering camp fires beneath them and launched himself into the air.

The air here was different, like drowning, plunging through the darkness. When he had flung himself from the dragonhold just hours before, the sun had been bright and merry; here, there was only the thickness of clouds and milky moonlight.

The wind was angry here, tearing at his clothes and his hair; the darkness fought his flame and tried to smother him, trying to steal the breath from his lungs.

Murtagh would not have any of it.

The camp would know he was there; who cared if Karth found out? He was no match for the Lord of the Dragons and a thousand hearts.

Murtagh's imagination came to life as he made flames lick his skin and his clothing without burning him; from the camp, he appeared a shooting star plunging to earth.

Oh- ground. Yes; he needed to slow down, though he didn't want too.

The crash must have woken the entire camp; Murtagh didn't mind. The more exhausted they were, the better.

"My Lord?" General Kennif asked, his voice gravelly with sleep and his appearance in disarray as he ran out of the commanding tent. "Has something happened?"

Had something happened? Murtagh smiled at the understatement; Kennif took a step back. He had never seen Murtagh smile before.

Men everywhere were waking up and watching as Murtagh shrugged the flames off of him, letting them burn the grass around his feet before smothering them. Several horns blew, announcing his presence.

"Where is the war council?" Murtagh asked, returning to his general persona; he could not let them be too suspicious. "We need to meet immediately. There are new orders from Uru'baen."

Not from the King. From Uru'baen. From the throne room. Or, from the cavern beneath the throne.

"New orders? At this time of night? What has happened?" Kennif eagerly asked, fully awake. "Tell me, my lord, and preparations will begin immediately!"

"Tell the man to pack camp." Murtagh ordered him, ducking into the tent to study the map of Galbatorix's armies.

A pause. "What?"

"You heard me the first time." Murtagh snapped. "Wake them up and tell them to start packing. Retreat to Uru'baen."

"Retreat?" Kennif whispered. "But why? We have nearly won! The Varden is starving and hopeless-"

Murtagh stood straight, grateful that he was easily a head taller than Kennif. "Did you hear me the first time, or do I need to repeat myself? The situation has changed."

"What happened?" Kennif demanded, standing up to Murtagh. "I demand to know. What has the Varden done? My spies have reported nothing."

"They couldn't have. It only happened a few hours ago."

"But what happened?"

"Galbatorix has a new enemy."

Kennif paused, his weak mind struggling to process Murtagh's words.

"The King...?" He asked. "A new enemy? But who? Where did they come from?"

"He doesn't know." Murtagh replied, "Very few-"

Don't get distracted! Thorn cried, I've found the way in!

And with a ground shaking bellow, Thorn awoke the entire camp and probably everything in a thirty mile radius; he was much more efficient than Kennif.

"Get moving." Murtagh growled, a fresh wave of energy surging through him. "I have several matters to address."

"But- but you're the general-!"

"And your duty is to obey me!" Murtagh roared, a thousand dragons wearing off on him.

He left the tent without another word, sprinting towards the massive black Rock before him.

He had unfinished business.