Eragon stood at ready, his feet apart, his grip on the sword tight. The sword provided was well crafted, and balanced in his hand perfectly. It was a masterpiece, unadorned and undefiled.

It had taken quite a bit of coaxing on the part of both Nasuada and King Orrin, but finally Eragon had agreed to serve as one of the fighters on Orrin's behalf. It was best, after all, and was a perfect disguise.

His opponent, a rough looking man who's lord was from Bullridge, spit something on the ground.

"Prepare to lose, boy."

Eragon said nothing. He threw a glance at the princess, who sat in the stands, three handmaidens at her sides. Veils concealed all of their faces. Eragon couldn't tell what she looked like, but the way she held herself seemed familiar. Her curves were emphasized by a black dress sprouting red lace from the low neckline and slit sleeves. He nodded to her respectfully.

"Fight!"

Eragon lunged.

Watching the fight from behind her veil, Rune felt her heart begin to speed. "He came," she whispered to Katrina.

"That's Eragon," Katrina said. "My lover's cousin!"

Rune's mouth dropped open. "You mean you—he's—cousin? Roran?"

Katrina nodded. "Have you met him?"

"Only passing by, in the castle kitchens. But he seems very nice. Is he the…the father?"

Katrina nodded, touching her stomach. "He doesn't know."

Arya looked over at them. "Keep your voices down. We mustn't jeopardize Eragon's disguise."

Rune gave her a curt nod, turning back to the fight. Neither man could best the other. Eragon was young and strong, but the man had endurance.

Suddenly the man's blade broke in two. So this was how Galbatorix was going to ensure King Orrin won…

Staring in disbelief at the blade, the man raised his arm, the sign for a new sword. The smith in charge of weapons looked at Rune.

"Milady?"

"Request denied," Rune said regally. "May the fight commence."

"But he's bladeless!"

"Yes. That was very much the point of denying him another blade."

The swordsmith grumbled, but gave the sign to refuse the sword. The man couldn't hold his own without one. In moments, Eragon's steel was pressed to his neck.

"Winner, Erik of Surda! Loser, Cedric of Bullridge!"

More fights commenced. Rune didn't pay much attention to them. She was watching Eragon, who sat with King Orrin, and Nasuada in the space provided.

When the contestants had been lowered to half as many men, Rune began to watch again. Eragon continued to win—aided by Galbatorix's faulty swords. It finally got down to two men.

They stood in front of the stands, eyes dark and brows thoughtful.

"Erik of Surda!"

"Bracken of Dras-Leona!"

Rune watched them. Bracken was young, as young as Eragon, with deep brown hair and a cocky jaw. He was handsome, and strong to have made it this far.

Rune stood up. She had been told about this part by Angela, who had heard it from Murtagh. She would offer a token to each man, wishing them luck. She stepped daintily towards them.

"You have fought brave and hard," she said in an even, royal tone. "Erik of Surda, Bracken of Dras-Leona, I offer you these tokens. May not the strongest man triumph, but he with the purest heart and the greatest resolve."

She leaned over from her place on the pedestal, giving each a kiss on the cheek through her veil. She saw no recognition in Eragon's eyes. Couldn't he see it was her?

She drew away, biting her lip. "What say you, Erik of Surda?"

"Thank thee, milady." Eragon's voice was flat, practiced. Rune wanted to scream.

"What say you, Bracken of Dras-Leona?"

"Thank thee, milady." Bracken gave her a grin.

Rune took a deep breath. "Then may we decide the winner now. Face your opponent!"

She retreated back to her seat. "He didn't recognize me," she whispered sadly to Angela.

Angela smiled. "Worry not, Rune."

Rune nodded. "I'm trying. But it's hard not to worry when you feel so helpless."

The fight between Eragon and Bracken was long and brutal. Rune winced when she heard Bracken's arm bone snap. Trading his blade to the other hand, he continued to spar.

Suddenly, the energy seemed to leave Bracken. Rune glanced upwards. In her bedroom window—her old bedroom, that is—she saw a swish of cloak. Galbatorix. It was too dangerous for him to appear at the tournament, he had far too many enemies. But that wouldn't keep him from determining its outcome. He probably had been manipulating things all along. Rune wished she had paid more attention.

Without his strength, Bracken collapsed to the ground. Eragon was the winner. Rune's heart was beating hard under the black silk.

"Winner, Erik of Surda! Loser, Bracken of Dras-Leona!"

They returned to the pedestal. Again, Rune approached them.

"You fought well," she said. "Bracken, may your healing come at Godspeed. Erik, hand me your blade."

Eragon obeyed. Rune took it. Placing it on his shoulder, she spoke in a loud voice. "May this man be honored the winner. May his lord accept my hand and my dowry."

Eragon looked up at her. His eyes widened. Rune smiled at him, winking from under her veil.

Standing up, Eragon reclaimed his sword. Rune nodded, curtsying to him.

"So mote it be!"

oooooooooooooooooooooo

Súndavar touched the egg reverently. He could hear the cheers of the audience outside, but it was far away. The beautiful egg captivated him, it's black and green swirls untraceable and perfect.

Shay touched him hesitantly. "Come, Súndavar. We must find Rune and the others."

Rune? Ah…yes. Rune…Súndavar couldn't pull himself away from the stone. What did Rune matter? He couldn't remember.

"Súndavar!"

He looked up. "Oh. Yes, Captain. Sorry."

Shay opened a sack, taking the egg from Súndavar and dropping it in. "Come on."

You aren't going anywhere.

Súndavar turned around. Shruikan watched him with a cruel yellow eye. The dragon gave him a harsh smile.

Súndavar felt his heart stop in his chest.

Caught, Shruikan said, placing a claw on his chest. Caught like a mouse in a trap.