Sorry it's late, everyone—I took an extra day to edit this.

Reviews (yay, yay, yay!)

Saucy Dog: Hey, five reviews! Thanks! Yes, chapter four is where the tone drastically changes, and it might be a little weird. But it makes for a much more interesting story. :)

Du Weldenvarden Farcai: Thanks! Sorry this chapter's late.

Dragonfox46: Okay. I'm sticking the length at approximately 10 months or so. Thank you!

Ambushing Pink Ziploc: Thanks for the advice. I'm a girl, yeah, so that may be why Thorn sounds like a girl. grimaces Anyway, Thorn's not in the chapter (much) and he'll have a more…manly tone, I guess.

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3/30/101

Murtagh sat up, head spinning as he gazed out blindly into the mist. His instincts screamed that someone was near, but he could neither see nor hear anyone. Thorn? he called out, searching with his magical link.

There was no reply. Murtagh swallowed heavily, standing. "Who's there?" he called brusquely. "Show yourself!"

A harsh caw echoed down towards him, bouncing down unseen corridors. Murtagh stood, waiting, tense. Was this a dream? It didn't have the same ethereal quality most dreams had; he was fully aware of it as if it were real. "Wyrda!" came the shriek.

White feathers flashed by. Murtagh's hand shot up automatically, grabbing the bird's tail feathers. It gave a grating cry as the feathers came loose. Murtagh gazed down at the feathers in his hand, then closed his hands around them as they disintegrated into fine powder. "Wyrda!" the shout came, much closer.

"Fate," Murtagh said quietly. "Who are you?"

"Names are powerful things," a voice said. "However, in this place you may know me as the Watcher. Aye, the Watcher. Or, if you should so wish, Maud."

"Maud," Murtagh repeated, rolling the word around in his mouth. "Maud. Were you the dream-creature that gave me the riddle? Where's Arya?"

The mists cleared, revealing a woman-child with shaggy hair and white fangs. "I thought it would please you to see a person you knew, and no, I'm not the speaker you seek. Blagden annoys me, but he is useful." Holding out an arm, the white bird came to rest upon it, fixing beady eyes on Murtagh.

"Wyrda!"

"He's shy," Maud said with a mirthful smile. "Tends to say what he only wishes to say."

"Why are you here?" Murtagh demanded. "And what did the riddle mean?"

She eyed him for a long time before finally answering. "We have ways of getting around," she said evasively. "The second dragon has hatched…don't worry, I'm very good at keeping secrets. Your brother has arrived in Ellesméra, though that will have no effect on you for the time being."

"Are you on the side of the Varden?" Murtagh asked. "Are you here to help?"

Her smile widened. "What's a side but merely a perspective? What's a perspective but a combination of thoughts? My thoughts I'm not willing to share…listen to me carefully, for I will not return. This form of communication saps my energy. Beware of chains that are not made of iron…and you would do well to heed the riddle."

With a laugh, she vanished, the bird with her. The mists began to fade into darkness. "Wait!" Murtagh cried. "Come back!"

"I'm here, you fool!" a harsh voice boomed suddenly. "It's about time you woke up!"

Murtagh jerked awake with a gasp, his hand going automatically to the place in his belt where his sword would've been. He was in the dining room, splayed onto one of the chairs-of-honor next to the king's on the dais. "What—" he managed eloquently, feeling like Thorn had just stepped on him.

"So," a sardonic voice said. "The brave Rider awakens."

Murtagh swallowed, sitting up. "What day is this?" he asked. "What time?"

"Late afternoon of the same day," Galbatorix yawned. "I've been waiting for you to get up since. Didn't think the wound would slow you down that much," he goaded. "What are you, a weakling?"

Murtagh turned away, refusing to rise to the bait. "I'm awake now," he said flatly. "So?"

"So," Galbatorix said, standing. "Today, we begin our study of magic, you and I. You've seen its effects for yourself, haven't you? Now, I daresay you have a fair vocabulary already—there's no other way, being the son of Morzan. We'll start in the ways of those traditional Riders that you love so much. Follow me."

He marched out of the dining hall into a wide, sprawling courtyard, a well at one end and a horse trough at the other. Smirking, Galbatorix handed him a sieve. "You will not leave this courtyard, nor eat, nor drink, until that horse trough is filled. Understand?"

Murtagh looked at the sieve in his hand, then at the hundreds of yards between bucket and well. "I see," he said. "And…?"

Galbatorix shrugged. "Try, 'reisa du adurna'. You might have a little success."

The sorcerer-king left, leaving Murtagh alone in the courtyard. Reisa du adurna, words of the ancient language. Morzan could—when he was alive—work magic, and Eragon could also. Tighting his grip on the sieve, he declared, "Reisa du adurna!"

Nothing happened.

Maybe one needed to be in contact with the dragon in order to release the…magic-making force. Murtagh shook his head in disgust before calling his dragon. Magic was not his field. He understood the words, but didn't know anything truly about it. Thorn? he called quietly. Thorn, where are you?

A sudden explosion of pictures flashed in Murtagh's mind, filtered through the obvious fear in Thorn's mind. In his mind's eye, Murtagh glimpsed Shruikan, roaring insanely and spitting fire viciously at the young dragon. Morofin! the dragon shrieked, mad with sorrow and fury. What have you done to him?

I'm busy! Thorn shouted unnecessarily at Murtagh. Not now!

Murtagh took a deep breath, trying to stop Thorn's own fear from turning into hysteria. "All right," he said, wiping sweating palms on his tunic and trying not to bare his teeth as Thorn was doing. Stemming the connection, he walked over to the well. If it took days without magic, he might as well start now.

It was a mindnumbing chore, punctuated by frustration as the water continually dripped out (it was a sieve, after all). Sometime after the sun had set and the hourly guard had switched four times, Murtagh had had enough. This was pointless, and it was stupid! Glaring down the well, he barked, "Reisa du adurna!"

The surface of the water rippled slightly, and to his astonishment, a shaking bubble of water rose from the surface of the well. Murtagh gaped at it, his body shaking as he struggled to maintain the sphere.

A sudden cry burst into his mind—Murtagh!

Thorn! Murtagh shouted, startled. The sphere fell back into the water with a heavy splash. Thorn, where are you?

Murtagh feltThorn snarl, lashing out with sharp claws at whatever was threatening him. A picture flashed for a single instant before vanishing. Gal—Thorn managed before the connection disappeared.

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Three guesses as to who 'Gal' is. This is fun! I will bring Salem into the next one…and maybe explain a little bit about the mysterious necklace-crystal back in chapter…four? Or was it three?

I love werecats. Christopher hasn't explained too much about them, but hey, if they can turn into people, what else can they do?

If Murtagh is slipping out of character, I apologize. I'm trying to keep him stiff and cold around Galbatorix, but he should be his normal self elsewhere. Thanks to all my wonderful reviewers—I appreciate and take your comments into thought.

Keep on reviewing:)

Disclaimer (I haven't had one of these in a while…):

Don't sue! I'm innocent! I just borrowed them for a little while… sobs