"Get it away! Please, just…" Cladi was sobbing, her skin slick with blood.

Rune held the lifeless baby gently, her eyes filled with tears. The other girl shook with pain and anger and sadness.

"Just get it away…"

Alanna's small hand held Cladi's in a viselike grip, unwilling to let her go.

Rune took off her bloodstained cloak, the one Murtagh had given her, and wrapped the baby in it, covering its serene, dead little features.

"I'm sorry, little one,"she whispered, tears streaking her face.

If only she had tried harder. If only she had helped more. Cladi's baby could have lived. He could have. She knew it. She pressed the still-warm little form to her chest.

Bless him. Fay is in his blood, daughter. He may live.

Rune blinked. Had she imagined the voice? No. It was her own voice. Lycona's voice, the Menoa Tree's voice. They had blended into one, in Rune's heart. She had come to think of the voice that sometimes came to her aid as the voice of Hope herself.

Bless him? How was she to do that? Rune knew she couldn't command magic. It was beyond her.

Use the magic in your heart.

Cladi had fallen unconscious, her chest heaving and her hair streaked with blood. Glancing at her, Rune knew she had to try.

In the Ancient Language, she said the first thing she could think of:

"May his breath come like dawn over the mountains. So mote it be."

When the final word left her lips, Rune knew it had worked. The words meant nothing. The words didn't matter. It was a condition deeper than the words, like the wild magic that had existed before the Ancient Language. The pure, unadulterated fay that sang in the heart.

From around her – the air, the sand, the sun– came a cry. It rang in Rune's head like the cry of the dying Menoa Tree, like the cry of the forest in its final pains.

So mote it be.

With a cough, the bundle in her arms stirred.

Life.

Tawnyclaw slipped through the bars and landed on Rune's shoulder. With shaking hands, the girl unwrapped the baby. The slave children crowded around her.

"He is perfect."

And he was. His skin was snowy, his hair soft and curling. A tiny hand curled around Rune's finger.

He gave a little cry, gasping at the air.

He's hungry, Rune realized. Her eyes flew to Cladi. The slave girl's eyes were open, and she had a faint smile on her face.

"He lives," Rune whispered to her. But as she watched, Rune's heart pulled painfully. The baby would live. But…

Cladi's eyes were distant.

Yes, he will live. Rune thought.

But Cladi would not.

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Súndavar felt Rune's agony in his heart like a physical pain. His hand tried to fly to his chest, only to pull uselessly against the irons. Eragon gasped in pain, doubling over.

Cladi! Cladi! Oh, Cladi, wake up!

Rune's scream in his mind split through him like a sword, cleaving his head and soul in two. At his side, Eragon struggled for air.

Shay's eyes were wide, watching the Riders. She drew against Vanir. Tarn didn't blink.

Súndavar barely noticed the scream that echoed over the sands. He coughed stale air from his lungs, unable to draw another breath.

Rune! he begged. Stop this!

He saw her in his mind's eye, shoulders shaking, hair streaming down her back. Blood was everywhere.

Rune!

The scream stopped short, cut off. Súndavar pressed his nose to the bars, trying to catch a glimpse of what had caused Rune's pain.

"Get up, witch!"

Commotion followed, Rune kicking and screaming, clawing and fighting, while Tawnyclaw screeched in anger at seeing her treated so. A small form was tossed into the sand, limp.

The slaver – Hane himself, Súndavar realized with a start – managed to subdue Rune, clenching his nails into her wrist so hard she bled. Súndavar looked at his own wrist, feeling the blood trickle down it as if it was his own wound. Only the thin, spidery scars that he had kept to remind himself met his eyes.

Rune had a tiny bundle cradled in her remaining arm. Hane took a single look at it and scowled, as if disgusted.

With a scream, Rune was tossed into the adult's cart.

"See how long your magics last there," Hane grumbled.

Rune hit the ground hard, rolling to soften the blow on the contents of her cloak. She tumbled into Shay's lap.

Shay prodded her up as best she could. Rune hugged the cloak, fussing over it before showing any of them what it contained.

Eragon's eyes widened when he saw it. "Cladi—"

Rune bit back tears, shaking her head. She set the baby in Shay's chained arms, before kissing Eragon tenderly on the mouth.

"I missed you," she gasped. "I missed you so much."

Eragon went ridged against her, startled. She left him and moved to Súndavar, kissing him with equal passion.

Vanir raised an eyebrow when Rune picked up the baby again.

Tarn laughed. "The witch has two lovers, and they know of one another?"

Rune's head snapped around, sorrel leaf eyes blazing. "First off, I'm not a witch. I can't even do magic," she snapped. "Second off, neither of them are my lovers. They're my sweethearts. I love them both more than life itself. Third off…yes, they know of one another. They'd have to, wouldn't they?"

She turned away from him stubbornly, sitting on the ground and cradling the baby, crooning to him.

Vanir looked at him, eyes widening. "Do you know what that is?"

Rune blinked. "He is Cladi's child."

"It is the son of a Shade."

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Slate!

Saphira nudged Slate's still form with her nose.

Slate, get up!

The other dragon snorted smoke, before shaking sand from his scales. He shook his head rapidly to clear it.

Wha…what happened?

Saphira nuzzled him. You froze up and fell from the sky.

The pain…Súndavar screamed. But it wasn't him.

Saphira used her nose to help him to his feet. He blinked thankfully at her, yellow eyes soft.

Cut yourself off from him, Saphira advised.

No!

She snorted. Very well. Let us continue. The Varden do not draw closer when we sit here.

Slate bounded into the sky, flapping his wings hard to gain altitude. He hadn't complained, but Saphira saw that it was becoming harder and harder for him to get to the air. Súndavar's absence weighed heavy on him, like a chain holding him to the ground.

Higher up, there will be thermals. We can ride them, if you're tired.

I'm not tired, Slate returned. He stroked his wings twice fast, as if to prove his point.

Slate, I can see that you're aching. Your body…

What?

She turned away. Never mind. Do as you wish.

He looked at her. Why did females have to be so confusing? He finally understood why Súndavar often returned from an outing with Rune tired, swearing, and furious. Yet strangely elated.

This is so confusing, Slate grumped to himself. Besides, thinking of Súndavar made his wings feel airless, like there was nothing holding him up. He stroked harder.

Maybe Saphira is right, he thought. Maybe I should—

But when he found that connection, that pulsing tendril that bound himself and his Rider together, he couldn't break it. He felt sick to his stomach.

It does that, Saphira said, startling him away from himself. You'll have to get past it, if you want freedom.

Who says that's what I want? Slate growled. Saphira just turned away.

They continued to fly in awkward silence.

Then, from over the dune, Slate saw it. A terrifying form, wings long and wicked and clawed. It rose up to block out the moon, its silhouette cast on the ground below. A hawk-like shriek of power, claws like swords.

Shadows seemed to envelope it as it spread wide its torn wings. Fear coated everything, the sick scent of bile and hatred.

Wrath. Anger. Destruction.

Land! Saphira demanded, her blue form already barreling towards the sand below.

Slate! Land!

Her voice was far away. In a moment, Slate knew what the demon image was.

I am Matrix.