A:N - Certain thoughts in my mind have given me the idea that this story may eventually have to be updated to an 'M' rating. I'll keep you notified on that as time goes on. Here is where the plot twists truly begin to unravel.

Chapter Fourteen – The Company Expands

Not surprisingly, both Eragon and Harry slept badly the night after they fled from Teirm. That is to say: Harry slept badly for the ten minutes he managed any sleep at all, whilst Eragon woke up every half an hour or so. Brom had stayed wide awake, watching the mysterious man who had entered their camp. Saphira had likewise done so, and the silence that surrounded them was next to unbearable as each waited for the safety of daylight.

For his part, Murtagh did manage to sleep, but not as well as he would have liked. He was not overly worried about their hostile reactions; in fact, he had expected them. He would probably have to let them inspect his mind to gain even a grain of trust, so he needed to ensure anything compromising in his past was hidden. His name would have to be given if he ever wanted their trust, and he dearly did. It would come with a price, however, as Brom would surely recognise the name of Morzan's son. Instead, he needed to ensure any secrets of his were kept to himself, such as his previous agreement to help the king, before discovering the extent of the tyrant's capacity for cruelty.

He would explain his story to them – how he had come to find them, and what his purpose now was. He regretted the possibility that Brom may want to lead them to the Varden, but Murtagh honestly began to think that might be the best option after all. From what he could gather, they had gone through hell in Teirm, and he was already a hunted man. If Galbatorix's agents didn't hunt them down, surely any reasonably skilled team of bounty hunters eventually would.

He yawned widely and rolled onto his back, before sitting up straight. He froze as he saw the other three standing close to him, weapons drawn. He was briefly drawn to the dark-haired boy's differently coloured eyes, but passed over his face without a word. He looked directly and Brom and shrugged, causing the old man to drag him to his feet with a growl.

Murtagh chuckled in mild appreciation as he stumbled and prevented himself from toppling over entirely. He quickly brushed the dust off his leggings and turned to face them, grinning.

"You can be quite silent when you want to, it appears."

"Don't patronise me, boy," Brom said fiercely, glaring daggers at him. "Do you honestly think I can't recognise that face, that… shadow?"

Murtagh stiffened a little. "I know you can, but isn't that proof enough that I'm willing to trust you? Why would I come here, throw myself at your feet, and sleep before you when you know who I am?"

Harry shrugged his shoulders, looking unimpressed. "I'm confused, who is he?"

Brom was silent for a moment. Around them, the sun steadily rose behind the trees. It was still dark, but much less so. They would have to leave soon, so this must be dealt with quickly.

"His name is Murtagh," Brom said slowly, more gently. "He is the son of Morzan, the first Rider to betray the Order to Galbatorix. His first and most loyal servant," Brom spat.

Eragon blinked and looked at the stranger in disbelief, who shrugged again.

"I cannot deny it, and why should I? I hated that man until the day he died, as I hate that bastard Galbatorix. If you want proof, search my mind," he offered without hesitation.

"Let's say we believe you," Harry stated, annoyed and saddened by the feeling of only being able to see on his left side, "what are you doing here? How did you find us?" He didn't know much about Morzan, save that Eragon held his sword, but he did know that he was a great threat to Brom over the years gone by.

Murtagh blew a little air between his lips. "That tale may take some time. Wouldn't you rather-"

"Speak. Now," Brom ordered, raising his sword a little higher. Behind Murtagh, Saphira landed and growled at him. Murtagh eyed her cautiously.

"All my life I've dreamed of dragons," he said, sounding happy. That was uncomfortable for Eragon. Any sane person would be frightened to death if Saphira looked at them in that manner. This man… no, this boy, for he couldn't be older than Harry, seemed almost amused at their efforts. It was perplexing.

"Okay, fine," he scoffed, sitting down on a nearby log. None of them moved. They listened in silence, hung to his every word, as Murtagh told them the beginnings of his tale. He had been sought after by the king, but had escaped before the dreaded meeting ever took place. In the process, his loyal friend Tornac was sadly killed by guards waiting in ambush, and Murtagh had fled to Gil'ead.

He had then travelled to a small town known as Cren, on the fringes of the Spine. His journey had been long and hard, so he decided to briefly stay in a local inn, listening for the sounds of any men sent to bring him back. He had been there for but a few days when whisperings of a new Rider had begun to surface. Brom paused him there.

"What are you talking about? How did this rumour come about?" he demanded, eying him carefully.

Murtagh grimaced, clasping his hands together. "I don't think you were seen by any humans, but Urgals aren't human. Their kind hides in the Spine, and must have seen your group. They've been harassing towns and villages up and down the great plain for months now, and Cren was next on their list. Fortunately, the villagers were well armed, aware of a recent massacre in Yazuac-"

"Yes… we saw what happened there," Eragon interjected. He cast a sideward glance at Harry, who grimaced at the memory. "It wasn't pretty."

Murtagh nodded with sympathy, and Harry uncharacteristically felt a tiny bit of his suspicions fade. It was miniscule, but it now meant that he was willing to believe this stranger if he turned out to be truthful. That had to be determined first, however, with the rest of this story and a check upon it by reading his mind.

"Well… that's a taste of the king's madness. He allows these atrocities to go unpunished. I could never serve a man like him without cutting my own throat in shame. And those Urgals… they are no better. A group of them ambushed the town under the cover of darkness. They caught the watchmen completely by surprise and killed four of them with their bare hands. They would have gone on a rampage, but the militia arrived and dispatched them before that could happen.

"Then, it happened. One Urgal was captured alive, and brought before the leader of the town guard. I was present because the entire town had come rushing to help. Before the man executed it, the Urgal spoke of 'great dragons' and 'a man with blood hair' to the west. I knew it was telling the truth because I was aware of the Shade already, so the Rider must also have been real. Needless to say, I was astounded.

"I decided then and there what I had to do… I've been searching for a place to belong ever since I left Gil'ead. No. Before that. I've been searching for my whole life," he said gently. "I found you by heading southwest, as the Urgal said. I don't know why I believed it… I guess it just seemed… right.

"And my purpose?" he asked Harry directly, looking at him. "I want to help overthrow that mad king, however possible. I want to help protect the first Rider of this era, and make a difference in this world. I want to join you in your quest."

There was an outstanding silence, but not because any of them were shocked. Far from it. Before waiting for Murtagh to awake, they had agreed he was here to join them. That was obvious from his words 'I've found you at last!' The problem was, obviously, knowing whether he was there to actually join them, or whether he would cut their throats when they were sleeping, before running back to his master. Harry wasn't convinced that this man had a master, however. It seemed as though his only master was the culmination of individuality, freedom and careful planning.

To buy some time, another question was merited.

"Why Cren?" Brom asked in a guarded manner.

"It was the logical choice," Murtagh shrugged. "I planned to remain there for a few days to rest and gather supplies before travelling south, to Dras-Leona. That was before I witnessed the Urgal's dying words, of course."

"Why Dras-Leona?" Harry asked, momentarily caught off-guard. He lowered his wand just a fraction, before raising it again at the thought of his own naivety.

"I wanted to destroy the Ra'zac in order to disrupt the king as much as possible," Murtagh said simply.

"What!" Brom interjected loudly, making the three of them jump. "You know where they are?!"

"It," Harry correctly briefly. "I killed one yesterday," he told Murtagh.

Murtagh raised his eyebrows in astonishment. "Impressive. And yes, their lair is Helgrind, which is directly beside-"

"I know where it is," Brom said dismissively. He looked at Eragon and Harry, before sighing dramatically. To their surprise, he sat beside Murtagh and replaced his sword with the wooden pipe he loved so much. Even more to their surprise, he announced: "I trust him."

"You do?" Eragon asked incredulously. "You haven't even read his mind yet, and you're always telling us not to trust strangers! How can you be so hypocritical?"

"Peace," Brom chided, holding up a hand calmly. "If you weren't so near-sighted you'd know that his mind has been open this entire time. I've been verifying his story even as he's been talking."

Harry stretched out his mind at the same time Eragon did, finding no mental barriers to repel them from Murtagh's consciousness. In fact, it was as though he had thrown out the welcoming mat and laid out a nice buffet for their arrival.

Harry snorted at that pathetic simile on his part and shook his head. He began to delve into Murtagh's memories, and found that he was telling the truth. There he was, fleeing the capital… arriving at Gil'ead… fleeing Gil'ead… wait. What was that?

Harry frowned and probed at one particular memory. He watched as, seemingly inside his own head, Murtagh was approached by a mysterious stranger. A stranger who looked and sounded exactly like…

Riddle.

Harry gasped in shock as Murtagh stabbed him in the resulting confrontation, before riding off towards Cren. He broke from the memory abruptly, followed swiftly by a frowning Brom. He had seen the exact same thing.

"Was that who I think it was?" he asked.

Harry slowly nodded, just as Murtagh realised how much he looked like that mugger.

"He wasn't a thief… well, not just a thief," Harry told him abruptly, remembering the conversation he had witnessed and Murtagh's thoughts at the time. Harry carefully scrutinised Murtagh, thinking carefully. Durza had absorbed Riddle's energy before he died, but it appeared that it had been Murtagh who had struck the fatal blow.

He quickly explained this to Brom and Eragon. Brom looked thoughtful, and very worried to boot.

"I've always known that Shades can absorb energy, but if that thing was as powerful as you say it was, then Durza's strength will have almost doubled by now, if not more."

"He was," Harry confirmed, sighing. "Murtagh, I have to thank you. What you killed wasn't exactly… human. It was like a Shade, in a way, and it placed a curse on my mind. I was losing my memories until you killed it. I just wish Durza hadn't found him…"

Murtagh understood their conversation, and nodded. "No problem; I'm glad now that I did. Why did you look so alike, if you don't mind me asking?"

Harry hesitated. He wanted to trust Murtagh, but not that much just yet.

"It's a long story," Eragon said, rescuing him. He had been unusually quiet up to now. "Needless to say, he made himself look like Harry on purpose, and then ran off before we could kill him. Okay," he continued, sheathing his sword and turning to Brom. "We know he's telling the truth, so what now?"

Brom smiled a little. "There's one more opinion I want before we decide what to do with him."

Harry watched as he nodded towards Saphira, who had been lazily watching these proceedings whilst acting simultaneously as a lookout. She looked at them in turn, before nodding silently.

"Good," Brom said, satisfied, before flashing his eyes slightly. "Keep in mind that we do not trust you whole-heartedly. Be warned: if you attempt to cross us, you'll be disembowelled, eaten, or burnt to a crisp."

"And that's by me," Harry added. He didn't try to be threatening, so much as humorous, but it turned out that was nonetheless. "Saphira can't breathe fire yet, but I can light you up with a single word. They'd be able to smell barbecued Murtagh for leagues when I'm finished."

Brom choked with laughter. "Bloody hell, boy. Remind me to never get on your bad side."

Murtagh led them through the trees for a mile or two, before they came across his horse picketed beside a large oak. It was a magnificent grey animal, strong and regal, named Tornac after his murdered friend. They were quiet during this mild hike, listening for the sounds of soldiers. Murtagh told them that he was a wanted man, but Brom had merely grinned and said that they were all in one boat by this point.

"About that," Eragon said, swinging his leg over Cadoc and ascending easily. They had led the horses on foot. "We'll have to avoid Teirm for possibly the rest of our lives now, correct?"

"Only until the king is overthrown," Brom shrugged, grunting as he mounted Snowfire. "Although, as a Rider, many will try to be on your good side, and many others will be jealous and attempt to have you killed."

"Great," Eragon said in a mock-cheerful voice.

On that note, they made Murtagh swear an oath of secrecy in the Ancient Language. It literally translated to mean that he couldn't tell anyone about Eragon being a Dragon Rider unless one of the other three mentioned it beforehand. It was a tad constrictive for his liking, but he hastily complied without complaint. He understood the importance of keeping secrets, especially this one in particular, and they could always release him from the vow after coming to trust him a little bit more anyway.

"So, where are we going?" Eragon asked curiously. Brom had quietly led them out of the trees and onto the edge of the great plain after a little while of riding, keeping an eye peeled for soldiers. From there they paused, as Brom needed time to think.

"I'm not sure," he admitted ruefully, shaking his head. "We can't stay here for obvious reasons, but the Ra'zac will not have left for Helgrind so quickly."

"How do we know it's not following us?" Harry asked quietly, leaning closer to Brom. Instinctively, he also looked around, although looking to his right side was tantamount to torture. He still hadn't gotten used to this, and doubted that he ever would. The pain had faded entirely, but the blindness appeared to be permanent. It would be a real problem in another combat scenario. He had to think of a magical solution, quite literally.

"I would be able to smell it," Saphira declared, flying overhead. His whisper obviously wasn't quiet enough to bypass the keen ears of a dragoness.

"Maybe we should track it," Harry suggested, anxious to drive a sword through its neck. That might make him feel a little better. With that thought, the sheer weight of what had happened yesterday on that rooftop hit him all at once, and he lost his breath. Brom caught sight of his choking and slapped him hard on the back a few times in quick succession. Harry was right with his deduction earlier. He certainly threw up.

Eragon grimaced. "You weren't really being serious, were you? You couldn't possibly have killed so many."

Harry shook his head, realigning his glasses. "No, I meant it. One spell and at least thirty of them were lying dead. This is a reaction to that."

Murtagh whistled in appreciation, and Brom shot him a piercing look. He quickly shut up.

"We've all killed," Brom said compassionately. "It doesn't get any easier unless you let the joy of battle take over you, which some men do in order to purposefully cope with the sickness in their heart."

"That's very deep," Murtagh interjected. "But the truth is far simpler. Some people have to kill in order to survive. It's necessary at times."

"You can't justify murder with saving your own life," Harry retorted angrily.

"Murder?" Murtagh repeated. "We're talking about battle, and fighting in self defence. There's a huge difference."

Harry shook his head quickly. "What happened yesterday was murder. Put it whatever way you want, but I murdered those people. I could have evaded them, but I chose not to. I wasn't quick enough to think of another solution, and I can't let that happen again."

Murtagh was silent, knowing that his mind needed to rest before it could be appeased. They all became rather uncomfortable, just sitting there in the open. Eragon was about to suggest they move, but Brom seemed to read his mind.

"It seems my only option is to take you to the Varden for protection," he said grudgingly. "I don't want to, make no mistake, but I have no other choice anymore. We're running out of places to run, and the Ra'zac may come after us to seek revenge. We can't track it if it's bloodthirsty. And that Shade… no, we have to get there before it's too late."

Brom knew that Murtagh wasn't a magician, despite his admirable defences. He couldn't read minds, and Brom had no reason to tell him the location of the Varden's base yet. He only mentioned the need to head south east, so that is where they would go. Harry and Eragon nodded, aware of the Beor Mountains, whereas Murtagh stiffened slightly.

"You appear to have us trapped between a rock and a hard place, friend. This route is guarded on either side by Urϋ'baen and Helgrind."

"Well, we're hardly going to go and knock on the bloody door," Brom said sarcastically. "There are almost fifty leagues between both fortresses, so we should go unnoticed."

"'Should' being the operative word," Harry nodded casually, causing Brom to scowl. "And before I forget… Durza told me about how there is a traitor in Teirm. He relayed information to the Empire, which is how Durza found us in the first place."

"Hmm… I'm not surprised," Brom declared. "If for no other reason than to discover the identity of this traitor before he causes chaos, we have to reach the Varden in less than a month. That, and the fact that I want to put as much distance between us and Teirm as possible, means that we'll have to travel faster than before. The distance is greater than between Carvahall and Teirm."

"I'm not entirely devoid of sense," Murtagh motioned. "Judging from your measurements, it seems obvious this base is hidden around the Beor Mountains, which I have always suspected."

"So what if it is?" Brom asked rhetorically, before turning away from him and starting to ride with some pace. They hurried to match him.

"You'll get used to that," Harry said lowly, leaning over towards him. He still didn't trust Murtagh entirely, but it hadn't been very long since they determined he wasn't a threat. Well, he was a threat, judging by his escape from the king. He just wasn't a threat to them. On their walk through the trees, Brom had made him swear in the Ancient Language that he wasn't there to harm them, or to serve the king. Not being able to lie in that language appeared to be quite advantageous for interrogations, Harry reckoned.

"I can hear you," Brom called back, without turning around.

Murtagh grinned. "I truthfully didn't expect any of you to trust me so quickly, if you must know."

Harry sat up straight once more, feeling slightly uncomfortable as Godric galloped along the grassy earth. "Oh, we don't. We'll keep a close eye on you, even if you did swear to be truthful and to not harm us in the Ancient Language."

Murtagh nodded. "I understand, and I'm willing to accept such suspicion until you come to trust me."

They rode for several hours without stopping, making haste across the great plain of the Empire with a furious drive and ferocious ambition. Brom was a ruthless taskmaster when he wanted to be, and that was almost always. He made them gallop as fast as possible without killing the horses, eager to forget the horrible ocean city behind them.

The scenery was greatly different to what Harry had observed upon first leaving Carvahall. Almost two months had passed since that day, and the last remnants of winter had faded from the land, framing the path for the arrival of spring and new life in the surrounding world. Growing plants and energetic creatures of all forms could be seen during the day, and he suspected the call of crickets and owls would be more prevalent than they had been during the night several weeks ago. The landscape truly was beautiful; large, rolling hills covered in green and young flowers. The Spine was soon a distant silhouette upon the horizon, appearing to be a line of ominous trees surrounded by the mountains beyond.

And yet, despite the seeming serenity, Harry could simply not enjoy it as he once had. He could still appreciate the beauty of the land, but much less so now that his eye had been robbed of its very own life. It had only been a day since the fateful incident had occurred, but he still found himself pining for full vision, as poor as it had been without glasses. It was a little annoying that he could constantly see one side of his nose now, but that was the least of his concerns.

When they stopped for the night, Murtagh dropped from his horse with an audible sigh of relief. Eragon was more composed, and Harry made no sign that he cared about discomfort. As the other two young men prepared to light a fire and make soup, Brom approached him. He had expected this.

"So… how are you feeling?" the old man asked, sounding concerned for his well-being.

Harry hesitated. "I feel fine," he said honestly. "There's nothing I can do about it, so I have to learn to accept it. I know one spell that might help, but it won't let me see again. Do you know of any cure?"

Brom grimaced as the unmistakable signs of hope entered his voice, and felt downcast when he shook his head. Harry's face dropped. "I'm afraid not. But, on the bright side, every soldier suffers injuries. Some lose limbs and some are permanently crippled. You say you have a solution, so maybe it won't be so bad in the long run."

"Well, it's not a solution," Harry said. "It's a compromise, and not a very efficient one either. It's a spell known as the 'supersensory charm', which should let me be aware of anything around me through a magical aura."

Brom nodded, understanding. "Such a thing would double for your vision, I assume. Would it let you know if someone was swinging a sword, for example? Pretend you wouldn't hear them first, of course."

Harry thought about that whilst pulling the bedroll off of his horse. He began to unravel the oh-so familiar layer of rough fabric and spread it out across the ground. Nearby Eragon and Murtagh were collecting firewood, whilst Saphira was grooming her claws.

"It should do so, if I cast it properly. It can be made permanent… I hope. If I do manage to make it work, I might even be able to sense other forms of magic nearby. Obviously I won't be able to see anything, but it's better than nothing," Harry said grudgingly.

Brom agreed with him. "At least it means you can still fight efficiently. If you grow used to the sensation, you'll master it before long, and then you might even be more deadly than the best magician with two eyes."

Harry screwed up his face, before dropping his voice to a whisper. He looked around instinctively, but the others weren't paying attention. "Brom, I normally fight anything head-on. I basically walked to my death in order to protect my friends, quite a few times. I still would. But… that Shade scares the hell out of me. I don't want him to, but I think… well, could it be an effect-"

"Of what happened?" Brom asked, and Harry nodded, pausing in his act of nailing the bedroll into the grass. "It definitely is. I know you quite well now, Harry. You aren't afraid of any challenge before you. This is your body's natural reaction to losing half of its sight. It's afraid of losing the other half, which means that your mind is also affected. You can't help it, although you should try to fight it."

"But what if I do?" he whispered frantically, sounding quite frightened. He knew all about these situations from past experience, but that didn't stop him from sounding like anybody who is terrified. It was so uncharacteristic of him that he felt almost disgusted, but he simply couldn't control the fear. It was nothing excessive, but a constant grain of doubt set in the back of his mind, persuading him that he would lose his other eye if he didn't take great care. If that happened, he would be helpless and lost in a dark, dangerous world.

Brom hesitated, but redeemed himself almost instantaneously. "You won't. The fear will keep you alive and cautious. The trick is to not let it consume you, but for you to control it. I think you'll become a much more vicious fighter now, Harry. Don't be ashamed of that. You've killed men now, and you know how it feels. As much as it might disgust you… your body, naturally born to survive by any means necessary, will crave the adrenaline of battle again. And you're smarter than most people in this world, so you know that you'll protect your eye… again, by any means necessary."

Harry knew that Brom was right. He was, as Jeod said, a man of great wisdom and virtue; he may be a tough teacher, but perhaps that was for the best. When it came to helping, however, he was kind and easy to approach. Harry appreciated those defining characteristics in anyone, and wondered how, as Angela had predicted, he would ever become a great leader. He could never be half as good as Brom, could he?

He had led before, of course. When the DA had been created, and when hunting for Horcruxes, he had assumed the leadership of both groups. His work had hardly been exemplary, but it had paid off in the end on both occasions. Many students learned new and vital ways to defend themselves against any dark threats, and Voldemort had been destroyed in the end. But Angela's prophecy spoke of much more than that. She seemed to imply that he held the fate of this world in his hands and that he would lead many people in the coming years… no, months, in fact. She said that he would be of a 'very tender age' when it occurred.

He hoped both she and Solembum had escaped from Teirm, because he liked both of them, but also so he could ask them more about their respective prophecies. But at the same time, was that a good idea? The future was uncertain in his eyes, regardless of what he thought about the accuracy of Angela's predictions. He shook his head to clear it, aware that he was merely distracting himself.

"Thanks," he told Brom gratefully, and Brom nodded. He walked away to set up his own bed for the night, lighting his trusty pipe as he did so.

"Do you think the king is really as crazy as they make him out to be?" Eragon was asking Murtagh in their own conversation.

"I would say 'yes'," Murtagh replied, chuckling slightly. "I spoke with him a few times, and every night I wish that the conversations had never taken place. It's hard to describe when you haven't heard his voice, but he has a silver tongue. His words could draw water from stones, even without the aid of magic. He truly is crazy with his ideas, however. He spoke to me of 'massacring' traitors and any who dared oppose his 'rightful claim' over the realm. Unfortunately, the Varden are just as power hungry."

"They have the correct intentions, though," Eragon responded. "With the right men and women leading them, the land will surely see better days."

"Maybe, but such optimism isn't useful in such an unpredictable world," Murtagh said, depositing an armful of firewood in the centre of their camp. He wiped his brow and stood back as Eragon added his own burden to the pile. "The politics of the land are led by powerful, vicious men, many as twisted and depraved as Galbatorix. If we truly want to improve the system, we have to remove them as well."

"And you think some of them reside in the Varden?" Eragon questioned, looking at him.

Murtagh nodded, half grimacing and half smiling solemnly. "I think anyone with power craves only one thing, and that's more power. I don't know any of you that well yet, but you're a Rider, Eragon. Make sure you don't let that power destroy you even before your enemies can."

Death stalked him like a rotted corpse, tracing his every movement and following his every step. He had killed many men and women, even younglings, and now the spirits of the deceased followed him like the never-ending shadows of the sun's rays. They whispered to him in the darkness, called to him during the night… but he never replied. He was immortal in age, and almost indestructible through wound. That did not mean he couldn't feel pain, however. When the boy had cut his head off, it had been so, so painful to be reborn from the shadows of evil.

Durza stepped in front of the regal figure and knelt, awaiting his patience. Before long he was instructed to rise, and did so fluidly.

"Follow me."

Durza walked alongside the man so many feared, and some loved. He was truly the only man powerful enough to hold any sway over Durza, but Durza knew that to serve was advantageous when the situation called for it. Not only that, but this man had formed him in the first place, so it was now to him and him alone that Durza's loyalties lay.

"Tell me what you know," Galbatorix ordered. His voice sounded like the ripples of a serene ocean, filled with wonder, but laced with malice. It intimidated Durza, a Shade intimidated by nothing but.

"The boy is powerful, Your Grace. His magic is beyond anything I have ever seen, and he wields it as the most talented of magicians. He does not know it yet, nor does Brom, but he will become even more powerful than the Rider himself in time," Durza answered calmly.

They walked out of the throne room towards a secret, mysterious lair that Durza knew so well. The hall was lined with magical traps of all assortments, and any who set foot here without the permission of the king, which he granted to no one under any circumstances, would die instantly in an assortment of decidedly nasty ways. As it was, the aura of the king, shivering to be around, disabled each trap as they walked along. They eventually reached an ornately decorated door, one which had neither lock nor handle. The king ran a palm in mid-air along its width, and Durza felt a cold slither past as it slowly swung inwards.

"As I suspected," Galbatorix mused quietly, striding inside. His long, black robes flapped around his ankles as he did so. The room was longer than it was wide, and framed on all sides with glistening white marble. Upon two at the far end of the trophy room sat the green and red dragon eggs, gleaming magnificently even amongst the fine decorations. This room felt magical to any trained user of the Ancient Language, as the sheer number of wards and traps placed upon it was simply overwhelming. Too many to count, laced with the excess power of the king himself. Many people thought vast piles of treasure lay here, but Galbatorix had no such interest in those trinkets. The two dragon eggs were more precious than any metal in the entire world.

"My lord, he killed one of the Ra'zac," Durza said, shifting uncomfortably. He stood near the entrance as the king strode towards the centre of the room, gazing intently upon the pedestals, his hand portraying great thought and intensity as it was placed upon his chin and mouth.

"It is no matter," the king said silently. "If anything, I am glad. They are foul creatures, and I… well, I plan to have much greater servants before long. Where is the other?"

"I sent it to Carvahall, the boy's village, to track down any family he has left. It will prove a useful venture."

"It will prove fruitless," Galbatorix dismissed, not altering his stance. "Brom will train the boy to show apathy towards any if it can cause him, or his dragon, to come to harm. In any case, it does not matter. Let the Ra'zac fulfil some of its bloodlust, so long as it does not kill his family. As for the Varden… are you sure this little plan of yours will work, Durza? Much rests upon its success."

"I am certain, my liege," Durza nodded firmly. "I can sense the boy now, although I cannot read his mind. I didn't ignore simply him in Teirm. Something was blocking me from doing so, and I cannot fathom what it is."

"Maybe…" the king deliberated lowly, casting a sweeping eye over the eggs. He turned to face the Shade, his most trusted advisor. "I want no mistakes this time, Durza. You are now more powerful than the three of them combined. Kill Brom, but bring the other two to me. As for the Varden and the dwarves… destroy them. Burn their corpses and let their ashes blow over the Beor Mountains as a monument to their failure."

The king sounded vicious, but not angry. It was his most dangerous tone of voice, and he did have many of them.

"What of the elves?" Durza asked.

Galbatorix turned away once more, silent for but a moment. "We will deal with them together after the Varden have been dispatched. I also suspect that Murtagh will attempt to rally against me with the Varden. If you do happen to find him, also bring him here. It is high time I tried to let these eggs hatch, and he is a prime candidate, as is the other boy."

"I believe his name is Harry Potter," Durza deliberated, remembering some memories of the boy he had absorbed. He held several of his memories, but they did not stretch beyond a few days of his death, possibly as he had only been created around that time.

"Potter," the king scoffed. "I have much to ask him about his own land. And speaking of elves…"

"I have not tried since I absorbed the boy's energy," Durza answered quickly. "The princess was very strong, although now I will overcome her with ease."

"Then why is she still alive?"

"Your Grace?"

"Why have you not extracted the information and… disposed of her?" the king asked, looking around at him.

Durza smirked with an evil glint in his eyes. "You and I both know how troublesome the Varden can be, sire. They will mount a strong defence, and those three will be the cornerstone of their power. Seeing the elven princess fall before them will destroy their morale, and the battle will be so much easier to win."

"Durza… we both know you are a cruel and vindictive bastard. It is in your nature. However… that being said… I am forced to ask: what exactly are you planning to do with her? I only ask because I have no desire to remove her from the equation without extracting all of her knowledge beforehand," the king almost whispered.

"I shall do that first, my king," Durza promised firmly. "What do I plan to do with her? It is simple, sire… I plan to place her before the entire army of the Varden, and cut her throat for all to see."

Galbatorix returned his glint, and nodded briefly. "I concur. It will be done anyway. Oh so much the better if it is to our advantage. I want you to return to Gil'ead for the time being and find the information that we desire, do you understand?"

Durza nodded.

"Good. After that, use your newfound strength to hide her where none can see. I would ask you to bring her here, but I must leave for Dras-Leona soon. It appears that fat, idiotic Lord Tábor has been skimming over his taxes to the capital," the king spat disgustedly. "I should kill him for it, but I won't. A public lesson in humility will be enough to have him pissing his pants the next time he even thinks of such an unprivileged act."

Durza was about to leave with his orders, but hesitated. The king raised an eyebrow. "Yes, what is it?" he asked.

"Forgive me, Your Grace, but there are thousands of women and children in line with the Varden. Would you like me to kill them too, or have them made into slaves?"

The king shook his head robotically. "Leave none alive. And Durza? I understand it is King Orrin's birthday in a month's time. I feel it would be unwise not to send him a gift, in an effort to maintain our relations. Send him the boxed head of Ajihad."

Durza smirked, nodding in his Durza-like manner. "I consider it an honour, sire. I also ask that you look over a rare piece of magic I discovered inside my young sacrifice's mind. It seems difficult to implement, but possible if one knows much about the arcane arts, and we both know that you do."

"That we do," the king agreed softly. "What does this form of magic do?"

"We all know that Riders live forever, Your Grace. However… they can be killed in battle, no matter how powerful they are. Anything is possible. I believe this piece of magic is intended to make oneself immortal even in such a circumstance. It is called… a Horcrux."

They did not duel that night. Harry was still mentally exhausted, and they were all physically on the same path after a hard day of merciless riding across the plain. Harry, very slowly, got used to the feeling of only having one working eye, but it would take time for the sensation to truly settle. He was a lot calmer, however, from Brom's talk and the thinning out of any adrenaline previously in his bloodstream.

The result was his feeling tired beyond belief, and he fell asleep as soon as his head touched the bedroll. Brom was on the verge of waking him up again for food, but opted not to. He could eat in the morning, and was currently in more need of rest. Brom himself drifted off under Saphira's promise that she would keep an eye on Murtagh, and Eragon fell asleep almost as quickly as Harry had. Murtagh soon joined them in a deep slumber.

Eragon's dreams were troubled. He fell from the sky without Saphira underneath him, and screamed in fear as his body plummeted to earth like a massive boulder. He hit the ground, and found himself lying in a mysterious land of people with glasses and sticks at every glance. Dragons were fighting against each other for sport, and Harry's glum voice sounded out from beside him: 'welcome to my world…'

Suddenly, the dream shifted. He watched as a young woman, with raven-coloured hair, lay constrained upon a sinister-looking bench. She was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen, with high cheekbones, long eyelashes and round chin combining to give her an exotic look. However, her beauty was also heartbreak to look upon, for she was crying lightly. Eragon watched with horror as none other than Durza stood before her.

He slowly raised his palm above her forehead, and began to mutter low words in the Ancient Language. She clearly struggled, but finally began to scream in pain as he clenched his outstretched fist angrily. He was clearly assaulting her mind. Brutally. Eragon watched in horror, unable to rouse himself from this nightmare. She eventually stopped struggling, clearly mentally exhausted, and the Shade won out. However, he was not happy, and soon growled at her in fury.

"How can you still resist me? I will break you," he hissed.

Suddenly, a low, echoing voice filled his ears, overruling the dream itself. It was not Saphira, and none of his companions either.

"Eragon…"

"What? Who's there?" he thought frantically, still unable to wake. The dream was blurred out, but he could still remember it vividly.

"You must save her… he will kill her before you if you do not…"

"How?!" he demanded frantically. "I don't even know her name!"

"Her name… is Arya. Show this dream to Brom... he will know… Galbatorix leaves for Dras-Leona soon. Harry knows what must be done; Murtagh is your guide. Heed this warning, or the world will fall forever into darkness."

"Where is she?" Eragon asked, determined.

"Gil'ead…"

With a start, Eragon awoke. He looked around frantically, but the others were still sleeping. Even Saphira had dropped off, although it was now very close to daylight. Determinably, he remembered the words in his mind, and moved to wake them up hastily. He didn't get a chance to ask if this was the same entity who had contacted Harry, but the meaning could not have been clearer.

They had work to do.

A:N - I plan to write more of those Galbatorix sequences (not many, but one or two here and there), simply because I think a villain with no face is no true villain at all.