KING Orrin placed a hand above his eyes, blocking the wretched sun from his face. It was hot, despite wearing the light-cloth garments of the savages who lived here, he found himself sweating profusely.

His clothing was wet and sticking to him as if he had bathed fully robed a few moments earlier. He sat on a makeshift throne thrown up among the sandy land of Surda. Dunes replaced hills and dirt took the place of grass.

The ring of metal hitting metal filled his ears, and he turned his attention back on the new recruits, who were training with his Master of Arms, Kineth. His eyes were drawn to Murtagh, the sullen and dark haired youth he had liberated from Karem. The boy was fast, very well trained.

The dulled blade that he held in his hand swung about him as naturally as if it were a part of his body, and his long hair only added to his magnificence. Beside him, Nasuadon and his sister, Nasuada sat, each one wearing regal clothing that befit their positions within the Varden. They were both the children of Ajihad, a wealthy and influential beyonder king. To Orrin's chagrin, Nasuada's ample shaping was modestly covered by a tan cloak, while Nasuadon himself wore a netted tunic, the cloak of the Dusk Rangers clasped at his shoulder with an iron pin. His unusual hair was curled around his neck and snaked all the way down to his clavicles, while his ebony skull, shaven on both sides, shined in the glare of Surda's oppressive sun.

"He's good." Nasuadon commented as Murtagh disarmed fellow recruit with a swift sword blow to the man's wrist.

He then advanced on the second, who jabbed at him with a wooden spear, the tip wrapped in thick cloth. Murtagh weaved in and out and between, the shaft passing harmlessly by his face as he did so. He was suddenly upon the man, and hit him across the stomach with the broadside of his sword. The man yelped and fell over, to the disbelief of Kineth, who was red-faced and growling.

"You're all worthless!" He cried, picking up the downed man with a heavy fist. "Get up! Get up! Your King is watching!" he bellowed, and the man slowly got to his feet, while Murtagh looked on silently, his handsome face a mask hiding his true emotions.

Orrin store a glance at Nasuada, who was also focused on the dark youth. Orrin frowned to himself, and then smiled, putting on his best face.

"Nasuada, I-" He began, but once she locked eyes with Orrin, she cut him off.

"Is he the one who will be traveling with me?" She asked. Nasuada had a deep voice, beautiful and powerful at the same time. Orrin faltered slightly, repositioning his crown so that it shined in the sun.

"Well, yes, but if he isn't to your liking I can easily have him replaced-"

"He is to my liking." Nasuada said simply, and offered no more conversation. Her eyes returned to Murtagh, and Orrin noticed how well the man's hair framed his face, how his movements revealed the lean muscle underneath his tunic, drenched in sweat and dirt . . . Orrin suddenly felt very weak by comparison.

It wasn't fair, however. Murtagh only looked good because he was fighting green men, natives and third and fourth sons from the mainland who followed Orrin's promises, looking for glory. Orrin was King, and the fact that Nasuada showed this much interest in a man who was not only baseborn but more importantly less powerful than himself irritated him.

There was a cheer as Murtagh ducked out of the way from a jabbing spear, and then swirled in the dirt, his spinning blade knocking the spear out of his opponent's hand. The more seasoned warriors who watched clapped with approval.

Orrin looked at Nasuada, who had the sense not to clap but smiled.

"Squire," He called, and in moments a brown haired youth of twelve years came running to him.

"Fetch me my blade." Orrin ordered.

"The-the one with the jewels or-" The squire stammered. Orrin waved his hand, wearing an embarrassed smile, "Any will do. Just hurry now." He said, and his squire ran off, dust trailing behind him.

Nasuadon raised a finely trimmed eyebrow.

"What is the meaning of this?" He asked. Orrin tried not to look at Nasuada as he answered her brother.

"Murtagh is good, and deserves better than whelps to train with. I shall fight him."

"My lord, give me the honor of fighting for you." Nasuadon asked. Orrin had no doubt that the man could beat Murtagh, but there would be no point to it. Orrin had to fight him himself. He had to put down Murtagh before this.. child gained too much influence. And Nasuada . . . He didn't know why he cared; He didn't even fancy her, not truly, but still . . .

His squire returned.

Orrin rose to meet him, taking his blade. The boy had chosen Orrin's jeweled blade, the one with the lion's hilt and pommel that ended in a circled ruby, wrapped in gold. Orrin wrapped his hands around hilt while beginning his stride down into the training camp. He could hear Nasuadon calling after him, saying he didn't have to do this, but Orrin ignored the man. He didn't understand.

He was a savage, and did not recognize when a King had to defend his honor.

Members of the army, Orrin's army saw him and bowed, separating so he could walk through. The sun blazed high, seated from its blue throne, watching the world beneath it as it churned. Orrin stopped at the marked line, where Murtagh was fighting yet another man. Orrin watched for a moment, frowning as Murtagh gained the upper hand and defeated his match.

"A true warrior, that one." One of the soldiers said to another. They both grunted in agreement.

Orrin could feel himself seethe.

He coughed, loudly, and they took notice of him, quickly bowing to the ground.

"My Lord, I . . ." One of them began, but Orrin scowled at him, and he fell away, shamed. Kineth was berating the man Murtagh had beaten while the raven-haired whelp himself had the grace to smile as a young woman bandaged his left hand. She looked at him as if he were a god, a King, a look that she should have reserved for Orrin.

"Kineth, a word." Orrin called, his voice like a sharpened spear. Conversation seemed to freeze as all took notice of the King. Kineth left the beaten man, humbly approaching Orrin.

"My lord?" He said with a smile.

Orrin leaned backward, looking at Murtagh from over the large man's shoulders. He returned his gaze to Kineth, his lips pulled back in a fearsome grin.

"Murtagh is very skilled." Orrin said levelly. Kineth agreed, but too quickly.

"Yes, yes he is. He is one of the best I have ever trained."

"You trained me, Kineth." Orrin responded, and the man's face dropped like a heavy stone in murky water.

"My Lord- I, I meant no offense- Obviously you're- Orrin, forgive me!" Kineth tried not raising his voice, but excitement took hold of him. Orrin looked at him coolly, and then brushed past him.

He walked up to Murtagh, just as the girl who was treating him retreated, blushing into her sleeve. Murtagh's eyes settled on her hips as she moved away, and they did not rise until Orrin was directly before him. The boy regarded Orrin and then bowed his head, his long hair falling over his face.

"My King," Murtagh said, and rose.

"You are very skilled." Orrin complimented.

Murtagh flashed his eyes. "I thank you, My Lord. I am just a man, not deserving of your praise."

"You are deserving of my praise . . . and my sword." Orrin returned.

Murtagh looked at him, shocked.

"My king?" He asked.

"You made short work of these recruits. I will be your real challenge." Orrin drew his blade, and a gasp settled around them.

"Clear the area, make sure we have enough space!" He ordered.

Soldiers formed a square around the marked lines, making sure no spectators stepped foot on the dueling sand. Murtagh looked at the blade, noticing how sharp the edges and point were.

"My lord, you fight with an unblunt weapon- "

Orrin roared and raised his sword, striking at Murtagh's head. The raven-haired youth blocked the blow, and they were locked in a struggle of metal. Murtagh's dark eyes stared at Orrin's as they pushed closer, faces divided by the edges of their weapons.

"You cannot beat me." Orrin taunted, and then the match truly began.

MURTAGH pushed Orrin back, his tired muscles aching as they gained a moments respite.

Orrin charged again.

Murtagh raised his blade in defense, then went on the offensive, swatting Orrin's straight jab away and attempting to strike him at the hip. Orrin saw the blow coming, however, jumping away and switching his blade to his other hand, and attacking from Murtagh's right, catching him off-guard. Murtagh was able to fend off the blows, but he could feel his defense faltering as Orrin ceased his attack to regain his breath. They both stood there, swords at the ready, focused on each other completely.

Murtagh's chest rose and fell, his throat raw, head throbbing. The sun ravaged him.

Murtagh could feel his skin grow tighter as it was burned by the heavenly body's brutal embrace. Orrin slowly advanced, his blade held out before him as he moved. Murtagh inched closer as well, his eyes bouncing from Orrin to the crowd and back to Orrin. He thought he had seen Zidda among the faces . . . but he couldn't tell for certain. He saw no friends, however, he saw no men rooting for him as they had been before. How could they? Despite the outcome of this match, Murtagh would lose.

Still . . . had had inherited some of his Father's pride, which was then cultivated by Galbatorix. He could not simply let Orrin win, despite the man having a vast advantage. Murtagh would shame the King, and then, after that, he cared not what happened to him. If he was punished, everyone would know it was because Orrin was too weak to defeat him. The thought filled Murtagh with new-found energy.

The dark child ran at Orrin. The King gasped in surprise, raising his sword just in time as Murtagh landed a heavy blow that was meant for the King's face. Murtagh pushed the man's blade away with his own, striking hard each time. Orrin was able to recover fast enough to defend his body with his weapon.

Orrin was well-trained, Murtagh decided, but it made no difference. He would defeat him.

Murtagh rushed at Orrin as the man tried to put distance between them. Murtagh had the advantage in close-combat. His blade was shorter than Orrin's, forcing the King to fight in close quarters would lead to his victory.

Orrin was no fool, however, and would often escape from Murtagh's traps while also fighting on the offensive. His long blade seemed to be everywhere at once, despite its size. Orrin was strong enough, being able to use such a heavy weapon effectively and consistently. Orrin swung the blade over his head and struck at Murtagh's side.

Murtagh was able to defend himself, but the weight of the attack sent him off balance. Orrin saw Murtagh stagger and advanced, striking at Murtagh as he was nearly forced to the ground. Murtagh deflected the blows, his hands jarring as Orrin's sword vibrated Murtagh's own.

Orrin recoiled and swiped at Murtagh's leg . . . Murtagh pushed himself off of the ground, the blade passing under him as he did so. He rolled away, lifting himself up as he stared at Orrin in disbelief.

If that blow had connected, Murtagh would be one leg short of a man. Orrin seemed to know what he was thinking, for the man said not a word, but smiled knowingly. Murtagh then realized that Orrin could kill Murtagh, right here and now, and would not have to answer for it.

As far as they knew, he was simply a peasant, drafted into Karem's force of child soldiers. Murtagh suddenly felt empty.

Shaming Orrin meant nothing to him, not at the cost of his own life. He frowned, and threw down his sword.

Orrin raised his eyes in surprise. "Will you not fight?" He asked.

Murtagh shrugged, offering a smile.

"I am weak, my King. After a day of training, I cannot keep this match up any longer. You win." Murtagh bowed, and when he looked up, he saw Orrin's face which was flushed with anger. Orrin walked to the side, pointing his sword at Murtagh, Kingly hair sticking to his forehead.

"You will fight." Orrin commanded. Murtagh raised his hands in defense as he spoke.

"I simply cannot compete with you, my lord." There was a chortle of laughter that was hushed instantly when Orrin looked into the crowd. Frowning, he turned his attention back to Murtagh.

"Duels are fought until first blood. To end one without doing so will not only be a blight on both of our honors, but would also shame our God."

"I did not take you for a pious King."

More laughter, unbidden this time.

"Hold him." Orrin ordered suddenly. Murtagh's eyes opened in shock as two soldiers came to him, complying to Orrin's order with zero hesitation. Murtagh did not struggle.

He simply looked at Orrin with his eyes, eyes so dark and full of mystery. Orrin walked up to him, regarding him coldly.

"It is good you are not moving. It would have been harder for you had you have been." He said, his voice toneless.

He lifted his sword, and after moving hair away from Murtagh's face with his weapon, drove the point slowly into Murtagh's cheek, and then slowly guided it downward, until his blade sloppily cut a wayward line that ended at the base of Murtagh's chin. Blood quickly welled and began to fall.

Orrin offered Murtagh a grin.

"First blood." He said, turning away from Murtagh as the two soldiers released him. Murtagh brought a hand to his face, touching his cheek, then looking at the dark red blood that painted the tips of his fingers. He didn't even feel it, the cut. Pain rarely bothered him now, after enduring his Father's torture and life with the Beyonders. He simply glared ahead, looking at Orrin's back through the King's stained tunic.

"Clean him up. He has another day of training tomorrow. If you fight like that while defending our Nasuada, I am afraid she will come under harm. And if she does, I will execute you myself. One drop of Noble blood is worth far more than the blood of someone with low birth, such as yourself. I am a King, and you are only a child. And such a little child you are."

Orrin left with that, leaving Murtagh as he walked away from the sandy camp and retreated back to his improvised throne inside Karem's spire. He saw two dusky-skinned persons leave with him, one of them being a woman, who must have been Nasuada. She regarded him before leaving, her eyes and face giving no hint as to what her thoughts were. He watched her leave, and stood still as a girl came up to him, dabbing his cheek with wet cloth that made his face sting.

Orrin would rue this day.

of that Murtagh was sure of.