A/N: Thank you all so much for the reviews. As promised, another chapter for your enjoyment. This chapter begins in exploring a little the events that may have taken place after Murtagh was captured by the Twins in Eldest. Enjoy.

Disclaimer: I don't own it.

Warnings: A little more angsty in this one.

Oath Under Evil
Chapter 3
By: StriderX

"We will never serve you, Galbatorix!" a battered Murtagh growled venomously as he cradled a baby dragon in his arms.

From his curved throne decorated with the bones of the dragons he slew, Galbatorix grinned manically and clenched his fist; reveling in the strangled cry that emitted from his prisoner. His hold on Murtagh's mind was growing stronger with every minute. "You have no choice, boy. Your father was my slave, and you are destined to be also. Why do you think I allowed you to live so long? You will serve me."

Murtagh felt as if his mind was imploding in on itself as the evil king tightened his grip again. He fought with all his might to stand strong, but soon, his knees buckled and he crashed to the black floor with newborn dragon still in his arms. The dragon looked up into his tearing eyes as if to lend support, but nothing could prevent the blood dripping from Murtagh's nose. "N-no…" he barked through gritted teeth.

Galbatorix' face was unreadable; as if somewhere between exasperation and enjoyment. Mentally, he loosened his hold on Murtagh's mind for a moment to tease him. "Your mind is so weak, Murtagh. Just like your father. Is that all the defenses you have?" he paused, but continued when Murtagh lowered his head and gasped for the breath failing to come in naught but short specks. "I know your true names, Murtagh. Whether you agree or not, you are already my slaves."

Murtagh's eyes went wide with disbelief. He looked up; staring the king down with the very last ounce of his strength. "No…" he said again in a voice broken and desperate. "You can't know…"

The wicked smirk twisting Galbatorix' features made the youngling dragon cry out in fear and burrow further into Murtagh's arms as the king stood from his thrown and advanced toward them. Every sense in Murtagh's being told him to get up, to back away, but even as he tried, he had not the energy to combat the pain streaking his very veins. Closer and closer Galbatorix' stalked until his feet were merely inches from Murtagh's knees. Ignoring the dragon growling and snarling its teeth in attempt to protect its would-be-Rider, Galbatorix savagely gripped Murtagh's chin and ripped the boy's gaze to meet his own. Murtagh clenched his teeth; biting on his lip until the coppery taste of blood filled his mouth. "Oh but I do boy," spitting the word like a curse. His grip tightened and grin grew as Murtagh winced horribly with the pain. "And if you don't do what I tell you, I will rip that dragon of yours to pieces with my own hands and make you watch. Then, I will make your life worse then you could ever imagine," the venom on his words dripped out of his mouth and coursed sheer fear through Murtagh's heart.

This dragon was the only gift he had ever been given. This dragon was the only hope he had left, and he wasn't about to let it be torn away from him.

As hard as he willed the tears to stay locked behind clouded eyes, Murtagh could not fight the single stream staining his dirtied face. Blinking hard at the irresistible salty rain, he took a deep, shuttering breath and stared Galbatorix dead in the eye. "Alright. I'm yours…but if you ever touch Thorn, I will find a way to destroy you forever."

The grip the king held on Murtagh's face never lightened. "I'm sure. Now swear," his eyes bored into the boy as he reverberated the command through his mind. 'Swear yourself to me,' "Swear yourself to me in the Ancient Language so that you may never feel…inclined to break your oath."

Murtagh could feel his heart drying up into a withered stump inside his chest. It was the only way. With downcast eyes and shame unbearable, he swore his fealty to Galbatorix in the Ancient Language. Even the words themselves felt evil; there was left a horrible taste in his mouth that never seemed to fade.

He was now and forever a slave to Galbatorix: Murderer of the Kingdoms.

The sun is setting low in the golden horizon by the time Urû'bean comes into view under the darkening clouds. Like a deep black abomination to the once lush land surrounding the vast city, its towering castles and spiked walls simply scream wickedness even down to the smallest onyx stud. Everything in sight is marked by Galbatorix' owning mark and nothing dared to rise against his overwhelming command.

Murtagh has been quite since the morn, but his thoughts swirl through in a violent whirlpool with my own as harsh memories of months past rush inside the depths of his mind. His fingers clench and loosen; his teeth grit and stretch in the reliving of every pain and imprisonment of not long enough ago.

I want nothing more then to break his treacherous hold on such awful things, but know just by a touch of his consciousness that now is not the time. The bitter rage slowly consuming him is doing so much more damage then he can ever know. I want to help him, but even then, I do not know what to do.

In a moment, there is nothing in his thoughts but the joy to just be alive and to be a Dragon Rider; something he had never before dreamed of becoming. But, just as suddenly, in a flock of blinking light, there is a terrible madness boiling in the very innermost depths of his soul. His mind is an open book to me, for that, I am unsure whether or not to be thankful. Other Riders, from what I have learned, block much of their deepest thoughts and feelings from everyone, including their dragons. Murtagh is so different then that. Whether it is in an attempt to reveal his heart to me in mending for the lack of true friendship in the past, or simply a relief in knowing that he has no need to hide anything from me, I do not know. But…at times, such as now, the images that permeate our transparently unbreakable bond never cease to disturb me to my very core.

Masking my discomfort in a veil of unease at our approaching destination, I fight to force back those horrible thoughts and focus only on the steady thud of my wings reverberating through the foggy dusk air. Wordlessly, I drift cautiously over the immense tenebrous city and gently lower to a heavily guarded inner courtyard of the massive, menacing Royal Palace.

Expecting our arrival, the black and red clad soldiers lining the courtyard's walls and giant, dragon-sized entries lower their jagged spears and step aside to give me room to land. I can see them trembling under their armor. Pathetic. If there is any satisfaction in this life my Rider and I find ourselves trapped in, it is the uncanny ability to make any one of the unflinching warriors of Galbatorix' army squirm with fear at the sight of us. Any sign of goodness within us shatters away as soon as the first soldier cowers. Now, is the time for us to keep our reputation as the king's best fighters…even if just the thought makes our blood run cold. Here, we cannot afford to appear weak.

I land with an evil snarl pulling at my lips and exposing sharpened daggers of teeth as Murtagh gracefully (despite the many pounds of armor weighing him down) slides off my back and onto the ground beside me. With one hand securing his helm under his arm and the other resting alertly on the hilt of his new blade, the look emanating from Murtagh's slender glare and furrowed brow alone force many a weathered soldier into silently knocking knees and sweating pores.

For a long moment, we stare them down, daring them to risk to speak. None try.

Seemingly satisfied, Murtagh takes the first step forward, leaving me to follow close beside. As we approach, the guards instantly move further away from the inner doorway as if we carried some deathly plague that would kill them on the very slightest of contact. No matter, I would prefer to be as far away from those pigs as I can anyway. With a low growl I think, 'That's right…stay far away from the evil dragon. Get too close and I might just eat you.'

A mental snicker passes through my thoughts on a breeze—apparently Murtagh is amused; though you would never imagine such an emotion even possible from the dark scowl on his face.

The castle seems nigh on deserted; though it always does. Only the most elite of Galbatorix' forces ever come this far into the dank, foreboding guts of the stone world inside Urû'bean. The flickering lanterns set between crossbowed slants of windows to little to warm the intense cold of the dull rock. And with the sun being blocked by presumably endless brume, the algid glow of torchlight sets an unsettlingly eerie glow to the unwelcoming black tunnel.

Then, suddenly a biting gust of empty air whips through the hollow tunnel; drying my eyes and thrashing Murtagh's long bangs about his face. As we both already knew, the hollow gale is not without consequence. Carried within the torrent, like a master carried by his servants, echoes a rasped, menacing, snakelike voice dripping with the demonic passion of a man lost of his mind. 'Come to me…now.'

TBC

A/N2: Thankx for reading! Don't forget to review please. Next chap will be up in the next couple days.