The rest of the trip to Dras Leona was fairly uneventful, and no one decided to bring up Eragon's vision again. As they arrived near the city, still high in the air on Saphira, Eragon managed to glimpse the massive cathedral made to resemble the peaks of Helgrind, the black monolith dominating the area. That glimpse sent the memories of the two previous trips he had taken here: once when Brom and he had come searching for the Ra'zac, ending in Brom's death, and when he came with Roran to rescue Katrina. The mixed feelings brought about by these memories clouded his perceptions as Saphira touched down in a clearing some distance away from the city. They set up camp and ate a cold meal, not wanting to alert anyone of their presence. Arya took first watch, and Eragon, still battling the bittersweet memories of this place, lied down next to Saphira. His waking dreams swiftly found him.
He awoke at dawn, and noticed with more than a passing interest that Arya was up as well. He briefly wondered if she had been awake all night, but then noticed Saphira was asleep and assumed that the two had taken turns with the watch last night. He sat, with his back propped against Saphira, and just stared at his elven traveling companion for awhile. She was so beautiful, standing at the edge of their camp watching the sun rise, dark hair falling gracefully around to frame her face. Her green eyes reflected the bright light of the first bits of sunshine to rain upon Alagaesia that day, leaving the remaining light to shine down on her like a halo from the heavens above. He wanted nothing more than to stride over and take her into his arms, embrace her in the warming light of day. Ah, but I can't! To do so would disturb the fragile friendship that I so covet. Reluctantly resigned to his fate, he settled on simply watching her, devoting to memory every aspect of her features in the favorable light.
A brief while later she noticed that he was awake. She flashed him a brief smile, too brief for Eragon who so enjoyed those fleeting jewels, and sat down next to him. Despite his efforts, his stomach still insisted on flipping when she sat by him, shoulders nearly touching, a fact not missed by Eragon or his stomach. She turned her head and looked straight at his eyes, emerald green orbs that seemed to pierce into his very soul. They sat like that for uncounted moments; it could have been a whole age of the world for all he knew, before she broke the silence. "Good morning, Eragon, I trust that you are feeling well this morning?"
"Good morning, and aye, I am fine. How are you?"
"I am well…There is something I wish to say." She hesitated for a while after that, which puzzled him. She appeared to be debating with herself about whether to tell him or not.
"Say what you want, Arya, I would love to hear what you wish to say." He was trying to keep his tone a reassuring as possible, and it seemed to work, for she stopped her internal debate.
"I just want to say…I mean I wish... Don't let Galbatorix kill you. Wiol pomnuria ilian." He looked down from her eyes for a moment, spotted her hand, and slipped his over it. He raised his gaze back to hers, and gave a slight, reassuring squeeze.
"Wiol ono." His face broke into a grin, and she smiled slightly back. She leaned her shoulder against his, and they sat there in a companionable silence all the way up until it became time to leave.
Saphira released a jet of flame towards the city, a challenge to any who would dare oppose her. Eragon sat on her back, in full battle attire, with Brisingr held high over his head bellowing out its own challenge in flames. This challenge differed from Saphira's, as his was aimed solely at his half brother and the red dragon to whom he was bonded. He took a quick look down to where Arya was infiltrating the city using his distraction. A smile came to his face as he thought of their plan. First he was to make a loud arrival over the city on Saphira. Check. Then, Arya was supposed to sneak into the city. Check. Next, Murtagh was supposed to fly out astride Thorn to fight off Saphira and himself, during which time Arya infiltrates Murtagh's temporary living quarters and search for the egg. If it is not there Eragon is supposed to take it from Murtagh, no easy deed in and of itself. Finally, they meet up and fly back to the Varden. Sadly, things rarely go according to the plan.
There they are, little one, coming out of Helgrind. Eragon turned in his seat to see Saphira's statement confirmed. The sun's rays bounced exquisitely off of Thorn's ruby red scales. On his back, as expected, rode Murtagh dressed in his fine black armor.
Murtagh, he spat the name across their link as a curse. Logically he knew that Murtagh was being forced by Galbatorix to commit atrocities, and yet so soon after the demise of Oromis he felt a burning anger fill him at the sight of the spawn of Morzan.
Today we are strong enough to defeat them. What will you do, little one, if we have them defenseless?
If necessary, I shall relieve him of his duty possessing the egg, and then I shall leave him to go fleeing back helpless to his master with the tale of our strength upon his lips. I do not wish to kill him, he admitted to Saphira, but if it comes down to it I will.
Always remember that we may yet lose; we approach them, are you ready to fight?
Are we one, partner of my heart and mind?
We are one.
Then there is your answer. He just finished the thought when Saphira met Thorn head on, nearly shaking Eragon from the saddle. As the dragons grappled and engaged in their aerobatic duel, Eragon noticed that Thorn had been completely healed from his victory over Glaedr, including the tail, and it also remarkably appeared that he had undergone another growth spurt, making him just about Saphira's size. With his newly enhanced senses the battle took another feeling altogether for Eragon. Everything was immensely lucid, and he could feel the movements of the dragons before they would even attempt the maneuvers. He relished in the feeling, and now knew beyond a doubt that he would prevail against Murtagh when it came to that. Saphira was out flying Thorn, but due to the crimson dragon's extreme strength he was able to keep her at bay. For a few minutes they continued trying to get some part of their opponent into their strong jaw, and fire was spewed several times but due to magical wards it was also deflected, neither appeared able to prevail in this type of contest anytime soon.
Saphira, let me down over there, he sent her a mental image o a small hill about a mile east of their position, so I can get defeat Murtagh myself. I can't take advantage of Glaedr's gifts from up here. She gave him a mental nod, and flew away from Thorn, as soon as the opportunity presented itself, to the hill that Eragon had pointed out. The blood dragon quickly gave pursuit, but was unable to stop here from getting farther away. As she swooped past it, Eragon dropped from her back and fell the thousand feet to the top of the hill. He intoned a weak spell to slow his fall, but took the main brunt of it in a roll, using the golden dragon's given strength to prevent injury.
Eragon positioned himself in the center of the hill and waited for Murtagh. Thorn was close behind Saphira, though, making his wait short, and soon Murtagh dropped from Thorn in much the same fashion as he did. His spell took away his speed completely, however, putting his feet lightly on the ground. Morzan's son strode up about a meter away from Brom's son, Zar'roc in hand, and yelled "What are you trying to do, Brother, you can't defeat me. My strength has increased tenfold since we last fought, and now you don't even have your precious elves to back you up." His mask was on, but Eragon got the distinctive impression that there was a cocky smirk on Murtagh's face. He was mildly surprised that Murtagh knew about Blodhgarm and his guards, but it quickly faded.
He too had a trick to play, one Murtagh most assuredly would not be expecting, and so it was with a grin that he responded to his opponent. "You mean half-brother, for while we did indeed share Selena as a common mother, Morzan was no sire of mine. Brom was my father, rider of my dragon's namesake, and I assure you I shall be more than a match for you." For the smallest moment Murtagh hesitated, shocked by the news apparently. Then he gave a feral, animalistic growl and swung Zar'roc across at Eragon's head. If Eragon had been the same as he was the last time they dueled, the ferocious attack would have decapitated him. As he was now, the swing appeared sluggish, and he easily parried it. Deciding to toy with Murtagh, he just played defensive for several minutes. Fifteen minutes went by and he hadn't broken a sweat, while Murtagh was visibly beginning to tire. The strength from his eldunari diminished with distance, and Saphira was constantly leading Thorn straight up into and above the clouds, but at a place where a dive back to the hill would be easily obtained. They fought viscously up there, trying to beat the other into submission. Several times Eragon felt tiny pains shoot through his body where Saphira would get nicked by a talon or tooth. She had the advantage at the moment, being above Thorn, and was buffeting him with her wings, biting, and scratching with her talons. She wasn't scoring any real hits, however, and the fight began to even out again.
It wasn't until Arya contacted his mind to tell him that the egg wasn't in the living quarters that Eragon started actually fighting. He parried a thrust from Murtagh, beat Zar'roc out to the side, and then kicked him in the chest. Murtagh slid back a couple of feet, but managed to stay on his feet. Eragon sprang across the distance like a gazelle, Brisingr whirling through the air faster than the human eye could see. Murtagh managed to block the strike, but couldn't put up a counter as Brisingr spun back in, again and again. Eragon feigned a jab to the left, and then swung right. He managed a cut on Murtagh's shoulder. Murtagh then surprised Eragon by attempting to dive over him. Eragon simply leapt straight up, his helm ramming into Murtagh's armored stomach. Then, in mid air, he grabbed Murtagh's cuirass with one hand, the other slashed with his still flaming sword, cleanly chopping Murtagh's sword hand off. He dropped Brisingr off to the side, the magical flames dying, and positioned Murtagh underneath him as they fell the thirty feet back to the ground.
They hit with a sickening crunch, followed by the red rider's anguished scream due to his lost hand. Eragon stood up and began moving towards Thorn's saddle bags, which Saphira just a moment before had cut loose with her sharp talons, when the screams subsided. Before he could wonder about it, the sound of Murtagh's rough voice cut the air, "Malithnae". He froze instantly, and Murtagh walked up, a triumphant grin showing on his face, newly exposed out from under his helm. He turned to where his hand had fallen, walked over to it, and placed it on his stump of a wrist. A whispered spell later and his hand appeared healed, fully functional, and gripping now for the red blade that it has recently become so familiar with. He moved back to Eragon, "I see you're not as strong as you boast, Half-brother. This time, however, I cannot let you go free; you are going back to Uru'Baen with me."
Eragon merely spat at this, and then responded, "I don't believe that I'll be going with you at all." He chuckled and then intoned a spell in the ancient language, one that would lessen the magic that binds him. His palm began glowing silver and, the newly acquired, gold. Their strength was now put to the test: an extremely enhanced elf-human hybrid versus a full human with several eldunarya aiding him. One minute passed and a vein began bulging on his temple. Two minutes, sweat became increasingly visible on his brow. It continued this way for a few more minutes, until the spell was completely lifted and Murtagh fell down from exhaustion. Eragon too was tired, defeating several eldunari and Murtagh's considerable magical strength tended to take a toll on people, and now all of his limbs were shaking uncontrollably. He dropped a hand to his belt, and the energy within the diamonds of the belt sufficiently steadied and recovered him.
When this was completed, he cast a spell of binding over Murtagh, though likely unnecessary due to him being currently unconscious, and walked over to Thorn's saddle bags. He opened one of the bags, pulled out a spherical package, and opened it up. There, in his very own hands, set the last dragon egg in all of Alagaesia. He eventually looked up away from its emerald beauty, reminding him fondly of two very similar orbs, to find Thorn still battling with Saphira up in the sky. Murtagh must have sensed defeat and disconnected Thorn from their mental link. With a twinge of guilt that he hadn't remembered their battle, he cast a spell to bind Thorn, and lowered him to the ground. Saphira swooped down to join him, and he presented her the egg. Their minds meshed fully once more, emotions running freely across their bond. He leapt onto her, egg still in hand, and smiled. It all went according to plan.
Off in the distance, hidden by magic, stood a tall and handsome man with eyes the color of the purest obsidian. Those cold, black orbs were the only thing that betrayed his evil. Beside him stood a midnight black dragon that was as large as a small mountain, its muscles rippled under the dark scales. They watched intently the fight on the hill, and the man stroked his well trimmed beard often. When Eragon took the egg and flew off, the man laughed, a terrible, deep throated laugh that seemed to reverberate off his dragons scales. It was all going according to plan.