Watching a dragon fight a small, agile human unnerved Eragon.
Saphira was fierce and majestic. Her claws could tear Murtagh apart. Teeth were able to do that even better. For that to happen, she had to catch him though. And Murtagh was a puny yet formidable opponent.
He's stalling, Eragon noticed. Waiting for Thorn.
From atop the saddle, it was little Eragon could do except healing Saphira. His occasional blows were swiftly blocked by Murtagh, who seemed to use his swords more as a defensive steel wall.
The way Murtagh danced through Saphira's attacks was more of a display of skill rather than an actual fight. Murtagh did not harm Saphira, and Saphira could not harm Murtagh, for he was too nimble for her brutish strikes.
No, Eragon said urgently when Saphira recoiled to breath flame. Across their link, Eragon felt her confusion, but there was a mix of acceptance into it. Not because of trust. They had already faced enough battles to respect and rely on their judgment and recklessness alike.
Below, Murtagh smiled.
"But if I wanted to use her flames to conceal my swing, then why did not I attack earlier?"
Eragon snorted, watching him intently.
He is toying with us, Saphira said in his mind, ceasing the onslaught of claws and teeth. Maybe he and Thorn escaped their bonds.
Eragon shared her confusion, but sternly shrugged away the craving in her voice when she mentioned Thorn. A male dragon, a potential mate. Being in heat, Saphira's loneliness drove her as far as befriending the Rider and dragon that had come to capture them, and Eragon was not keen in allowing that to happen.
Saphira perked up, watching the sky with an obvious interest that Eragon frowned upon. Almost silently, Thorn glided above them, landing roughly behind Murtagh. The trees rustled anxiously at his arrival, the wind howled through the forest.
Thorn will not expect a fast, brutal attack at the start, and Murtagh is too powerful. The more wounds we inflict in Thorn's hide, the weaker his Rider becomes.
Saphira snorted, her nostrils flaring. Vapors mixed with warm rolled out of her snout, dissipating into the still air.
Eragon was facing an enemy. Tension brought furrows on his brow. His fingers knotted around the saddle and Brisingr, tapping with apprehension. Saphira, however, seemed to relish the agonizing silence.
She and Thorn stared at each other, their tails swishing, coiling, and twitching. Excluded from a possible share of words, Eragon slapped Saphira's neck.
Saphira! He grunted urgently.
Silence.
Thorn growled softly—a strange sound that, to Eragon's ears, resembled some sort of moan. His posture lacked strain, and claws barely tore the earth. A pressing thought suddenly burst into Eragon's mind.
Charge them, Eragon said excitedly, clutching Brisingr. Pin Thorn down.
Saphira sheltered the flow of emotions that Eragon grew accustomed to. One moment, he could feel her sadness, the blurred excitement spurred by instincts, and then, it all stopped. Gone, snuffed out like a candle's flickering crown.
Eragon felt numb with shock. Saphira's instincts were stronger than he expected. It was not a matter of choice anymore to her; with a male dragon in front of her, Saphira was exposed to his whims. What could Eragon do, when Saphira could not accept reason? Help came from the most unexpected source.
"You cannot defeat me on land," Murtagh said. "But Saphira has yet to fight Thorn."
Eragon's eyes narrowed. Witnessing the confusion on Murtagh's face provided a much needed comfort. The less he knew about Saphira's loneliness and desperation, the tougher his impending predicament. After all, Thorn was a male. A confused one, by the looks of it. By exploiting this distraction, Eragon could turn the battle in his favor.
"There, in the sky," he pointed over yonder, "I am your brother no longer."
Eragon shook his head. You never were.
"Better defeat me."
The hardness in his voice motivated Eragon, offering a smoldering fire fuel to burst into a blaze. Murtagh came to terms with his own demise, but he wanted to die in his own way, fighting like a Dragon Rider.
Thorn propped his feet into the earth, then slapped at the air with powerful wing strokes. Shortly after Thorn burst out from the canopy of the trees, Saphira flapped her wings, darting swiftly towards the ruby dragon.
Do we have to fight?
Eragon squinted, following Murtagh's trail closely. Coping with Saphira was difficult sometimes, but her doubts began to infuriate him. In the sky, among the whistling wing, disagreements proved perilous in the past. There was no telling how Saphira would suffer Thorn's death. Eragon could only hope that his judgment was the right one.
Their lives bring death to others, Eragon said calmly. Our failure over the Burning Planes carried its doom to our masters.
That wasn't their doing.
Thorn can't be your mate—
A shadow passed the corner of his eyes.
Saphira roared. A sudden pain welled in Eragon's torso. Cringing, he shifted in the saddle and whispered Brisingr's true name. Distraction bested them both, allowing Thorn to latch onto Saphira's side.
Saphira swatted her tail, smashing it into Thorn's hovering form. With no means to deter the ruby dragon when Saphira couldn't, Eragon gritted his teeth and waited until her squirms would pay off. Using magic rendered him weak, and Murtagh was the better swordsman.
Where did that leave him?
He watched Saphira digging her claws into a ruby haunch, blood spurting out in unison with the roar of pain. She skillfully maneuvered around him, coiling her neck around his maw to reach the pointed horns. By holding them tight in her jaws, her limbs could rake his vulnerable belly freely. Saphira tore into his shoulders using her forelegs, but the gashes lacked depths. Flaming Brisingr could do better, but Eragon was merely a burden on her back.
Thorn quivered, growling in pain. His struggles overpowered Saphira, who was forced to relinquish her grip on his horns. Now that his head moved freely, his maw arched towards her neck, pinning her sideways in an uncomfortable clutch. Eragon felt her pain as his own, only that it lacked the stinging sensation, the fiery torture.
Thorn's ruby hide did well in masking the blood, but Eragon could tell that Saphira lacked vigor. Her fierce façade dulled. It became soft—wan, compared to the battle rage that Eragon once regarded with awe.
This wasn't his Saphira. That Saphira wouldn't settle with lies, deluding herself with false promises. That Saphira was the fiercest, most formidable dragon. Her cold calculations and wit brought them another day.
But now, it all crumbled in front of him. This Saphira scratched—not lacerated her opponent. This Saphira hummed in joy at the sight of an enemy and relished the proximity between her and Thorn. Instead of a battle, a dragon's game unveiled before his eyes.
Thorn's wing flapped dangerously close to Saphira's snout. If Eragon wasn't so intent in forming plans, he would have been appalled to see why Saphira hummed strangely. Why Thorn inched his head towards her underbelly.
Break his wings! Eragon bellowed across their link. Kill them before Thorn reacts.
The hum continued.
Eragon blinked perplexedly, not realizing that his words remained in his mind only. Saphira had already shut her mind earlier. She wouldn't spoil the mirth brought by Thorn's hum, his caressing touch on her wounds.
Eragon's face darkened, his black eyebrows closing in like two storm clouds. With Saphira now licking his opponent instead of fighting, Eragon had to end the battle himself. Murtagh buzzed something, a mingle of words that Eragon assumed to be his last. After all, he did let his guard down. He begged Eragon to end their miserable life.
And Eragon complied.
"Shatter," Eragon said, delving into nether realm of magic inside him. The powerful energy that churned inside him twisted excitedly, becoming a tumultuous torrent that now finally had a purpose: to shatter what Eragon had in mind.
Its departure overwhelmed Eragon, gnawing at his emptiness.
Eragon reached into Saphira's mind, penetrating her familiar haven with forceful desperation. The assault on her mind was fierce, intense; identical with a mental attack Eragon often launched at enemies.
He tapped into her vast supply of energy, using it to fuel the spell.
Instead of killing him, the spell accepted the bargain. Saphira's involuntary sacrifice. Eragon did it for the both of them, so it was fit that Saphira would share her contribution.
With the spell complete, Eragon surrendered to his weakness.
Only the bellowing roar that followed kept his vision clear, his composure unyielding. The roar, and Murtagh's surprised look as he plunged into the forest bellow, joined by his ruby companion.
This Saphira was not a liability. Were it not for her treacherous scheme, Thorn wouldn't have hovered so close to Eragon. It was because of her that Eragon succeeded in breaking the bones that moved the wings.
As delight subsided, Eragon crashed in the saddle, numb, but proud of his accomplishment.
We did it, he said. We killed them.
Saphira roared harshly, piercingly. The roar was familiar to Eragon, for it was the same when Glaedr and Oromis died.