DISCLAIMER: The Inheritance Cycle is not owned by me. Christopher Paolini owns that universe which he created.

Edge of Oblivion

Chapter V - Murtagh and Thorn

Murtagh winced slightly on the inside as his father yelled at him, his words biting and strong. Although he had long ago learned to hide his reactions from his father and to remain impassive, a small part of him still felt hurt. Before, it had been sharp pains within him, but now it was beginning to turn into a dull ache. This time, similar to many times before his father was mad at him for something trivial. The young rider surmised that something had upset his father earlier in the day and unfortunately for him he was the recipient of his father's venting.

Morzan continued to rage for a few more minutes before abruptly stopping, as if finally spent. He told Murtagh to go to his room, and not one to squander such an opportunity to leave his father's presence he complied immediately, leaving the older rider to his thoughts. That small part of Murtagh that still ached when his father treated him wrongly also wanted him to ask what was bothering his father, but he dared not do such a thing. It would most probably lead to another bout of raging and facing his father's wrath twice in one day was too much, however much he had become desensitized to it.

Thankfully, he had not hit him this time as he had started to do recently. Whatever it was that was bothering him, it was very much troubling his father. He wondered what it was that made him so angry.

Closing and locking the door to his room, he sprawled across his bed. He felt exhausted like he had run many leagues, and succumbing to his tiredness he drifted off into sleep.

Light poured in through his window and hit him squarely in the face. He stirred, annoyed slightly as he moved away from the light. He groaned and then stretched in his bed, feeling refreshed from a good night's rest.

Good morning, Murtagh, said his dragon, Thorn.

Groggily, Murtagh said, Good morning to you, Thorn. Where are you?

On the roof, outside your window.

With a grunt, Murtagh finally got himself out of bed and trudged over to the window. His eyes having adjusted to the light he walked over and opened the window and sure enough there was perched Thorn, his claws securing him in place on the shingles of the roof. His red scales shimmered in the sunlight and it looked like many small fires flickering in the wind. Large red eyes watched him closely. All around them, the sounds of the city echoed across the stone streets and bounced off the walls of the houses. Doru Araeba may not have been fully occupied, but it was still a busy city nonetheless what with all the work the riders did.

Your father wrongs you so, Thorn stated simply.

Murtagh smiled sadly, I am used to it. Ever since mother died, he has been like this. I have toughened myself to his wrath, as he would have wanted me to be. You know all my father respects is strength.

He felt Thorn grunt through their link and let loose a tinge of anger, Then we shall teach him to respect you once we are strong enough.

Murtagh did not know how he felt about that, though he nodded in any case. His father, Morzan, was a strong rider and his dragon was a vicious beast whose personality matched with his father's rather well. His name was Paine, and he too interestingly enough was a red dragon - though in his opinion Paine's red scales were duller compared to Thorn's.

That is still a long time off, he finally said, My father, and especially his dragon, are not to be trifled with. They are very powerful.

And so shall we be, said Thorn though he conceded to Murtagh that they were nowhere near strong enough to do as he had said they would.

Three weeks had passed since Thorn had hatched for him, and already the dragon was above his belly and only a fraction below chest level in height. His growth had been explosive, and Murtagh was sure he had more than doubled his weight already. His stomach grumbled and a pang of hunger passed over him. Telling Thorn he would see him later, Murtagh walked downstairs to get a meal. Thankfully, his father was already gone. Out doing whatever it was that he did during the day.

Satisfying himself with a good meal that one of his father's servants had made, he walked out to the small courtyard behind their house. There, Thorn lay on the ground basking in the warmth of the sun. The courtyard was walled off - high stone walls twice Murtagh's height. Vines grew across the face of the walls, twisting here and there. If one did not look closely at it, it would have seemed as if the walls had green cracks on them. Thorn watched him lazily with one eye as he grabbed one of the wooden swords that were hung on a weapon rack outside, covered by wooden planks jutting out from the house to protect it from the elements.

His fingers wrapped around the hilt of the wooden sword, his grip strong and relaxed at the same time. He slowly began to move, weaving this way and that as he swung the sword with practiced ease. If there was one thing his father did right, it was that he had Murtagh trained to be strong. He was an excellent swordsman, trained by a servant of his father's named Tornac. He was beyond middle-age but still young enough to wield a sword expertly. Even now, Tornac could still best him though it took longer and Murtagh was able to hit him back almost as many times as he himself was hit.

About half an hour passed in this way, with Murtagh working up a sweat as the sun beat down upon him. Finally, he lowered the sword and stood motionless in the middle of the courtyard. Closing his eyes, he felt the light touch of a breeze cool his hot, sweaty skin. His chest rose and fell quickly as he breathing rate had increased due to his practicing and it began to slow as he started to relax. His mind, for once, thought of nothing else and was simply blank. It was a great feeling, one that he prided himself in being able to do because it allowed him to not only be calm but to forget all his troubles. At least for a moment.

He was interrupted by the door opening, and he turned to see who it was.

"Taking a little bit of a nap, eh?" said Tornac with a grin, "I had a feeling you were slacking off."

Murtagh's mouth turned into a grin himself as he eyed the old swordsman. He was taller than Murtagh by about two inches, with a bald head and a hardened face. A rough gray beard made it seem as if all his hair had inverted from the top of his head to the bottom, but it also made him look all the more intimidating. He held a wooden sword in his right hand, and Murtagh knew what was coming next.

Readying himself, he parried Tornac's sword as the man suddenly sprang into an attack. His speed and strength were better than most men his age, and Murtagh worked hard to keep him at bay. They paused for a moment, circling each other as they each gauged the other. Then it was Murtagh's turn to strike, swinging his sword in different angles and weaving this way and that. The courtyard echoed with the sound of wood clacking together. In his attack, Murtagh had managed to push Tornac backward, but then the older swordsman held his ground and then began to advance as he moved into a complicated series of attacks.

This time Murtagh gave ground to the ensuing onslaught. He managed to catch the edge of Tornac's sword on the guard of his hilt and, seeing an opportunity, he slid along the side of it and managed to land a blow on Tornac - it would have killed him had they been using real swords, for it was across his chest. A look of surprise flashed onto Tornac's face, but then it disappeared and it was replaced by a proud smile as he stepped back. No words were spoken, and Murtagh was tensed ready to fight again. Sure enough, Tornac came at him again and they fought blow for blow, countering and blocking each other.

Thorn watched them with both eyes, his head up as he became interested in the two humans fighting before him. His rider was doing very well, and he was pleased by that. He was strong.

Murtagh grimaced slightly as he felt wood rap at his leg, above the knee, and he stepped back with sword held up ready to block. He shook his right leg a bit to get the stinging sensation out, and it turned into a dull ache as his adrenaline overrode the pain. He was panting as sweat began to drop into his eyes, but he did not move to wipe it away lest he be caught off-guard and unable to move properly. They circled each other once more, and Murtagh tried to slow his breathing - one of the things Tornac had told him was that most soldiers tired themselves out by breathing too hard too quickly. Controlled breathing was one of the things that separated a good swordsman from a dead one.

Tornac's breathing was steady, though a little faster than it had been earlier. He too began to sweat profusely, the heat of the sun beating down on them both. The small breeze that had blown earlier had all but gone, leaving nothing but the stillness of the air and the warmth of the sun's rays. Murtagh rolled his shoulders around because they started to feel a bit tight. And almost as if that was the cue he was waiting for, Tornac sprung with sword arcing through the air.

Murtagh reacted just as swiftly, blocking the attack and the next few that followed after it. Then he shifted his weight and leaned to the side as the wooden sword thrust where his head was. He brought his own up and knocked Tornac's sword away from him. The older swordsman continued attacking, unrelenting, and Murtagh struggled as Tornac's attacks flowed one to the other. He was showing every bit of his skill, and Murtagh kept him at bay only thanks to his advantage of strength and speed of his youth.

One of Tornac's attacks had his sword slice downward through the air and Murtagh was too late to block it, so on instinct he threw himself to the right. Rolling on the ground across his shoulders and then back onto his feet. The wooden sword barely missed him. Tornac nodded at that move, and before he could launch into another attack Murtagh beat him to it and moved into a combination of moves. Determination crept into Murtagh then as he felt the older man began to slow a fraction. His attacks increased in speed and strength, and he ignored the aching of his muscles from the strain.

He finally managed to knock Tornac's sword out of his grasp and swiftly moved the tip of the wooden sword to the old swordsman's neck. They both were breathing heavier than earlier, drenched in sweat. Tornac smiled then as Murtagh lowered his sword, realizing that for once he had finally beaten Tornac. Truly beaten him. He was both surprised and elated by what had transpired.

"Well done, Murtagh. Well done," said Tornac, his voice laced with pride. The young rider had finally bested him for the first time in the two years he had been training him. "You have improved considerably, and are now beyond my teachings. We shall, however, continue to spar for that is what your father asks of me - of both of us - but I have nothing more to teach you. You are a natural with the blade."

Murtagh smiled back, feeling the aches of his body. "I had a great master teach me."

Tornac stepped closer and placed a large hand on his shoulder, squeezing it. "You honor me. I am proud of how far you have come, but there is always room for improvement. Remember that."

Murtagh nodded.

"Well, I think I'll take a bit of a rest before I resume my other duties. I am not as young as I used to be," he said, laughing. He turned to Thorn and bowed his head slightly, saying nothing, and with one last look at Murtagh he went back inside.

Thorn growled, You did well, my rider. Your skill with the stick is impressive.

Murtagh thanked him for his praise, I have worked many hours to get where I am. I must be stronger still, my father demands it... and I demand it of myself. He added the last part as a slow realization crept up on him. Always his father had an absolute hold over him. As his father and as a powerful rider, Murtagh could do nothing else but obey without question. For the most part, fear drove his actions - fear of the anger of his father and fear of what he would do to punish him should he so choose. For against a rider how could he hope to fight back? No matter how much he had wanted to that thought had always stayed any acts of rebellion on his part.

Yet now... now that he was a rider himself, he realized that his father's grip on him was loosening. The stronger he got, and the stronger Thorn got, the more likely it would be that he would finally win the freedom from his father that he so coveted. He had always relished those moments when his father left for long periods on rider business. During those times he felt as if he were free to do what he wanted, as opposed to what his father wanted. Turning to Thorn he walked over to his dragon and kneeled down on the ground before him.

He placed the wooden sword on the ground and grabbed Thorn gently with both hands, pulling him into a hug.

You and I, Thorn. We are together now, forever bound. And I swear to you, one day when we are strong enough we will escape my father and live freely for once, he told the red dragon.

A low rumble came from Thorn's chest and a feeling of agreement wafted through their mental link. So it shall come to pass.

After a moment, Murtagh let him go as a lone tear loosed itself from his eye and rolled down his cheek. Wiping it away, he spoke out loud, "Have I told you how much I appreciate that you hatched for me?"

Yes, many times. Thorn looked at him with amusement.

-xxx-

Morzan scowled, slamming his fist on the table. That elicited a loud bang and the shaking of the plates, cups, and utensils that had been lying on the table. He looked at his son with disappointment in his eyes. How could his son be so weak? How could this be his child? He ran a hand through his long black hair, frustrated. He had given his son books on magic to read and he knew that his grasp of the ancient language was good, and yet he struggled with the simplest of spells. What little patience he had always broke whenever he trained his son, and yet he had to. For he had to be strong. He did not understand how dangerous the world outside was, even for a rider.

Especially for a rider, he thought.

He hoped his son would one day appreciate how he had made him strong, so that none may break him once he was out in the world. And he would need him in the future, for together they would ride as father and son in battle against all those who would dare oppose them. He struggled to contain his anger, which always dwelt close to the surface of his personality. He looked at his son, and for a moment a feeling of remorse filled him as he realized the stone, guarded gaze that stared back at him unflinchingly. Murtagh's entire body was stiff.

But then he shook it off. No. He must be strong. This is how it has been between them and this is how it shall be. He will understand soon enough once he leaves the bubble of life that he has lived in here in Doru Araeba. Morzan planned to take him out into the greater Alagaësia once his son's dragon, Thorn, was strong enough to fly with Murtagh on his back. He would show him the world he would soon preside over as a rider.

His thoughts shifted to the order, to the Dragon Riders. Lately, due to the great peace that has existed for many years now there was little need for the riders. Many of the riders had become scholars, losing their battle edge in Morzan's opinion. Then there was that blasted Shade that they did not deal with swiftly. He did not know why it was that they hesitated. The argument that the Shade would go into hiding was false in Morzan's mind. The combined might of the riders would root him out from the very roots of Alagaësia should they but will it, and yet no.

While a Shade roamed freely in Alagaësia they, the riders who were supposed to defend the land from such dangers, did nothing but wait. Wait? For death and destruction? He could not believe how soft the riders had become, and he was angry at the leadership of Vrael. The fool elf had lived too long, and in his ancientness he had become too soft in his dealings. Morzan imagined it was because fear gripped him - fear of another war and more violence. But how are you supposed to dispose of a violent danger without violence?

His train of thought shifted then to the elves in general. He despised them. Despised their dominance over Alagaësia from their secret woods. Despised their dominance over the riders. Humans were not given enough respect as they deserved. It was human lands that the Shade tread on, humans who he slaughtered or enslaved. Human towns he would burn and lands he would destroy. Perhaps that was why the elves stayed their hands. Perhaps that was why they chose to wait, for it was not them and their stupid forest that were in danger.

He was careful not to publicly voice his opinion, even to his trusted friends among the riders - all of whom were human of course. There were still those who did not understand what the elves were doing and how poorly they regarded the human race. If he had his way, Morzan would make them respect humanity. They needed to be taught a lesson. But he had not the strength to accomplish such a feat, so he maintained to keep his thoughts private. He needed to get stronger.

"Again," he finally said to his son, who had not moved at all.

Murtagh looked down at the small stone that his father had placed earlier on the table. He was supposed to break it. He knew the correct word in the ancient language, but when he spoke it nothing happened. No matter how hard he concentrated his will upon the stone, it did not break. Nor did he feel the tell-tale sign of magic being used, which his father said was feeling the energy of the spell leave you. Nothing. He could not tap into the magic that his father said was there within him.

Perhaps, Murtagh thought, if I had a better teacher I would be able to use magic. His father had told the riders that he would personally train his son. Usually, new riders were trained by other senior or elder riders, but they would not go against his father's wishes - and they all thought he was qualified enough to teach him anyways since he was himself a senior rider, and a very strong one at that. Still, Murtagh wished he had a different master to train him. Having his father as his teacher made him despise the man even more because he felt wronged. He felt wronged in that he knew deep down his father was not a good teacher and his training and education would be haphazard and incomplete.

Still, he could do nothing but obey. What other choice was there?

Again, his father was displeased.

"Jierda!" his father yelled angrily, pointing at the rock as he stood. His chair fell backwards as he did so, and the stone shattered into many pieces. "Do you not see? It is so simple!" his father said, exasperated. Shaking his head he righted the chair but did not sit. As a rider his son should have been able to access his magic, and yet he could not. He wondered if there was perhaps something wrong with his son, but he did not want to think on that matter. Murtagh was his son, and he would be strong. Maybe he is just not ready yet.

He glared at his son and told him to leave. "Enough for today. I want you to practice that until you master it. Now go!"

Murtagh left in silence. He realized then that he had never actually seen his father use magic. He knew that Morzan could, of course, but never had he had the opportunity to see his father actually cast a spell and use magic. Seeing his father shatter the stone with ease made him shiver involuntarily, and though he dared not show it there was a hint of fear in him. While his skill with a sword was excellent, and he fancied himself skilled enough to fight his father in a duel, his father's grasp of magic was far superior. And it was that edge, not to mention the size of Paine his dragon that reminded him of why he was still there and not many leagues away.

He had thought of running away before, and it was merely fantasy before Thorn hatched for him. Now that he had a dragon, his mind toyed with the idea. Still, they were not strong enough to survive on their own, not to mention if his father decided to hunt him down. And he would, he thought. Again he felt that twinge of fear within him, which he quickly quelled. He had to be strong.

Returning to his room, he sat down on the chair by his desk and propped his elbows onto its wooden surface. He rested his forehead in his hands. How could he not use magic? He was a rider! There had to be something he was doing wrong. As much as his father was a bad teacher, he did think that such a simple spell as Jierda, or "break" should have been easy to cast. He had to be forgetting something or not doing something right. There was more to it than merely his inability to wield magic, because he should be able to.

He decided he would sneak into his father's study later and find more books on the subject of magic. Perhaps in one of them he would find that missing something that would let him finally access magic.

Do not worry, Murtagh my rider. You will figure it out, Thorn's consciousness touched his in reassurance.

I hope so. Murtagh sighed. He too was frustrated by his inability to perform magic earlier, more so than his father - and his father had been extremely frustrated. He had hoped he would grasp magic just as easily as he had swordsmanship. But he realized then that it would be a far more difficult task.

He asked Thorn if he knew anything about it, being a dragon after all and imbued with powerful magic.

Thorn sent a mental shrug to him, I do not. I can no more cast a spell as you can fly... I know that when dragon uses magic it is because of an instinct that wells up within them. We are guided... by something else other than ourselves when we use magic. It is difficult... to explain...

When Murtagh went to sleep that night, his mind was filled with doubt and frustration.

-xxx-

Murtagh spent the next two days practicing breaking stones outside, and he still showed no progress. He continued to feel as if he were missing something vital to the process. He was not sure, and reading the few books in his father's study pertaining to magic yielded little. They were advanced books and said nothing of the simple process of using magic to cast spells. Frustration would be an understatement to how he was feeling. He even began to think that he might be better off asking another rider for help in that matter, but he knew that if he did so that his father's teachings would be called into question.

And Morzan would not be happy about that. He shuddered to think what his father would do if the other riders found out he was not adequately teaching his son.

Be calm, young one. Your thoughts are harsh, said Thorn with concern.

He over to his dragon from where he sat in the courtyard. Dark clouds hung overheard as a storm rolled in from the sea. The wind blew strongly, bringing with it a taste of salt in the air. Thunder boomed as lightning flashed across the sky. It would rain at any moment, but Murtagh remained sitting. A small stone a little smaller than his fist lay on the ground before him, unmoving and it seemed almost to taunt him.

He frowned, feeling anger welling inside of him, the frustration eating him up inside.

Small drops of rain began to drizzle down. They landed on him, cold little droplets that he ignored as his mind was bent on accessing this magic within him. He would not fail. He could not.

Again he tried, and again nothing happened. He let loose a wild yell of frustration, tightening his fists. Thorn raised his head, eyeing his rider warily and with concern.

Murtagh- started Thorn, but Murtagh looked at him and shook his head.

NO! Quiet, Thorn. I WILL do this, he told him.

Thorn said nothing, though he was somewhat hurt by the sudden lashing out of his rider. He observed as Murtagh continued to try to break the stone.

The rain fell heavier, and Murtagh was drenched. Still he paid no heed to the chill that crept over him and the feeling of wetness that covered him. His frustration was so great he could feel his mind swirling. Lightning arced through the sky, and a booming thunder momentarily distracted him. He looked up and closed his eyes, letting the rain engulf him. He searched his mind, searched within himself for whatever it was that seemed to be missing. Then, suddenly, he felt it. A force deep within his mind. It brimmed with energy, and he tried to tap into it but there was a resistance around it.

Determined, he pushed against it harder and harder, bringing the force of his mind onto the barrier that kept him from this strange energy source. A moment later and finally he broke through, and he felt the energy course through him. He faintly registered that his Gedwëy Ignasia began to glow. Inspiration filled him then, and he focused on the stone that was obscured by the pouring rain. Water filled his eyes, but he ignored it as he finally said, "Jierda!"

He was at first not sure if he had heard the stone crack, for he thought perhaps it might have been lightning. He felt energy leave him and a slight tiredness in his muscles. He leaned it closer, squinting his eyes and wiping away the water with his wet forearm. A slow smile formed on his lips. The stone was broken into several pieces.

He turned to Thorn, who was a dull red in the dark rain. He had succeeded.

I can use magic! he said excitedly, I am not a failure!

Thorn touched his forehead with his snout, You are my rider, of course you are not a failure.

Murtagh laughed, the first laugh he had in days. He quickly apologized for snapping at Thorn earlier.

Thorn, today we take one step closer to our freedom. Once I am strong enough with magic, we shall leave this place... and the clutches of my father. Murtagh closed his eyes then and felt the rain wash over him. He shivered from the cold.

Thorn leaned back and raised his head, letting loose a loud roar.

A/N: And there's a bit about Murtagh, hope you like it. Murtagh is not related to Eragon in this fic, they have different mothers. Also, Brom and Morzan's relationship will be explored in future chapters. Be patient! I expect this to be a long story, with many chapters and words yet to come. I will have more time once the holidays come along, and so there will be more updates and longer chapters ahead.