Eragon and Brom were both sitting on Saphira's back. Their supplies hung from the saddle. Saphira had already spread her wings and was about to take off when someone cried from the arched entrance to the dragonhold, "Wait!"

All three of them turned their heads in the direction of the voice. Standing there, with his hand against the arch, was Murtagh. He was panting, and sweat coated him like a second skin, albeit a rather wet and shiny skin. It was obvious that he had run all the way up the stairs.

"Murtagh? What are you doing here?" asked Eragon, slightly surprised.

"I need to come with you," panted Murtagh.

I might be able to carry Murtagh as well if you lighten the packs, said Saphira. But first, ask him whether he has permission from Ajihad.

When Eragon relayed Saphira's question, Murtagh looked a bit uncomfortable. "No," he muttered, "I have no permission. But I must prove my loyalty to the Varden, and what better way to do that than to accompany you?"

"But I though Ajihad already trusts you?" said Eragon

"Only because Brom vouched for me," said Murtagh, giving a small nod in Brom's direction.

Saphira cocked her head to the side and stared at Murtagh for a while. Get on, she said finally, and Murtagh's face brightened. He ran over and scrambled onto Saphira while Eragon sifted through their supplies and threw out most of the heavier things.

They won't take that well, Eragon said, looking at the pile of random stuff on the floor of the dragonhold.

Hopefully, they'll have forgotten by the time we get back, Saphira answered.

The dragon beat her mighty wings and, with some difficulty, took flight.

Galbatorix was in a foul mood, and yet, at the same time, he was also in quite a cheery mood. He didn't know how that was possible, but he just assumed that Shruikan's emotions were affecting him and didn't think any more of it.

First the egg, then Morzan, then Morzan's cursed son, then the Rider, the elf, the dragon, the girl, the girl again, and then the werecat! Misfortune was piled on misfortune. Then there was his reputation to consider. It had been low in the first place, but it had plummeted recently until it was almost irredeemable.

Why was it so low anyways?

Your name, said Shruikan. What good guy has a name like Galbatorix? He said Galbatorix in a voice that sounded like someone retching. Your old name was much better. King Alberto inspires slightly more loyalty than Galbatorix does. He said Galbatorix in the same voice as before.

Shut up, Galbatorix muttered sullenly.

However, Shruikan had completely repaired the damage to his reputation as well as planted seeds of doubt in the minds of his enemies with one brilliant move. Galbatorix didn't know what he would do without the black dragon.

Not much, Shruikan said smugly.

Galbatorix ignored him.

But even though Shruikan had managed to quell the various minor rebellions that had risen up, there was still the problem of everyone who had escaped from the Empire. Of course, after the werecat had escaped from their own castle, security everywhere had been stepped up and the dungeon's guards had had a stern talking to, but that would only help the future, not the past. And since all of his important prisoners had escaped or been rescued, there wasn't much in the future to actually help.

The king strode through the corridors and stopped before a rather unremarkable brick that looked the exact same as the ones around it.

With a few choice words from the ancient language, the brick slid forwards, and the surrounding bricks rearranged themselves until Galbatorix was standing in front of a tiny tunnel in the middle of the wall.

You should make the tunnel bigger, said Shruikan.

It's harder to discover this way.

No it isn't.

After making sure nobody was watching, Galbatorix clambered into the tunnel and crawled down it on his elbows in a very unkingly manner. He heard the brick float back into place behind him.

An eternity later, he reached the end of the pitch-black tunnel and emerged into a small, unlit room.

"Garjzla, light," he muttered, and the room filled with light.

Sitting on two separate cushions were a green and a red dragon egg. Both were somewhat large, with silvery lines spiderwebbing across their iridescent shells.

The king crouched down next to the red one and tapped it thoughtfully. There was a little squeak from inside, and Galbatorix felt an irritated red spark bump off his mental walls.

"I wonder who your Riders are," he whispered.

Think, Galbatorix, Shruikan said. I already know who the red one's Rider is.

What? Why didn't you tell me sooner? Galbatorix shouted at the dragon, his semi-calm mood evaporating in an instant.

It's Morzan's son, said Shruikan, as if it was completely obvious. It was. Brom's dragon was blue, and so his was his son's. Does it not make sense that Morzan's offspring would also follow this rule?

Murtagh? asked Galbatorix.

Yes, Murtagh, Shruikan said, as if speaking to a dim-witted child. Morzan's son, Murtagh, is the most likely candidate for the red dragon egg.

We must capture him, then!

How do you propose to do that?

By- Wait, I have a feeling.

Shruikan, who was currently lounging in the dragonhold, froze. Galbatorix was not exactly the most intelligent Rider ever, but Shruikan knew that Galbatorix's "feelings" were nearly always right. It was how the king had avoided being killed by the Urgals that had slaughtered his first dragon, it was how he had found a Shade willing to teach him her secrets, it was how he had discovered Morzan. But if his concentration was disturbed, the feeling would vanish.

Ten minutes later, Galbatorix broke out of his stupor.

Furnost, he said urgently.

Shruikan got his meaning and extended his mind to the town of Furnost, which was directly south of Uru'baen. What am I looking for?

Anything unusual.

Specifics?

I have no idea.

Shruikan spread his consciousness out to cover the whole town. He didn't notice anything strange, so he began scanning the surrounding lands. He came to an abrupt halt in his search when he noticed the four shielded minds grouped together to the west of the city. He immediately recognized two of the minds, and a third one took him a moment to remember, but in the end he realized who it was as well. The fourth mind, however, he had never sensed before.

Four of them, to the west of the city.

Do you recognize them?

Murtagh, the blue dragon, and Brom. The fourth one's probably the Rider.

There was a pause as Galbatorix took control of a random soldier in Furnost and passed on the order to send every available soldier out to capture the four. Then the king retreated from the soldiers mind and spoke again to Shruikan. I sent every last soldier after them. They'll not get away this time.

Wait wait wait, said Shruikan. Call back that order, hurry!

What for?

Do it already!

Fine! He did. The soldier was a bit confused afterwards, but it didn't really matter.

Don't you remember what you said earlier? You wouldn't capture any of the Varden without being provoked first, you dolt! We've got to think up an excuse first.

One of our spies mentioned the Varden going down to Surda to team up with King Orrin and fight us from there, said Galbatorix.

Good, good, that works. After we so generously offered to make peace with them, they come back and attack us. We're just trying to end this ridiculous war, and so we need to find out their plans to figure out how to combat them with as little casualties as possible on both sides. The easiest way to do that is to capture some of their members and interrogate them, all in the name of peace, of course.

You're making it sound like we're not actually trying to make peace, said Galbatorix suspiciously.

Never mind that, said Shruikan. Just go ahead and re-order that soldier.

Okay.