So word was kind of acting weird for me. If there's something wrong with the formatting let me know and I'll just reupload the whole chapter.

Chapter 41 – A Perilous Flight

Entry 61:

These past few days I have found myself growing impatient; I know the answer is there before me, waiting, taunting me with its wisdom. Too long has it been that this darkness has surrounded me, the events of my past a storm that follows wherever I should go. I find it a difficult notion to accept, that time cannot be turned back to that fateful day. But I must accept it. I must.

Of my research, I have found that my experiments leave me with results that could never hold true with my current understanding of time. Therefore, I am left with no option but to discard what others have long since postulated, and wander alone in the dark abyss that is progress.

It could scarcely be considered morning when Eragon tightened the saddle onto Saphira, the sounds of his movement muffled by the many spells he had cast about them. They were on the far outskirts of the Varden, past where the sentries would roam and hidden behind a corpse of trees. Arya stood not too far off from him, having helped secured some provisions for their travel. Now she was keeping a keen eye out for Murtagh's approach, ensuring that the Varden remained unaware of his movements. Fírnen had remained behind in the Varden, as Eragon felt the disappearance of two dragon's would be too noticeable even so early in the morning.

If Eragon's count was correct, then any minute Blödhgarm and his half-brother should arrive, shadowed by the elves and their watchful gazes.

Saphira shifted, her bulk moving away from him. She swung her massive head around towards him and said, Are you ready little-one?

As much as I can be, Eragon answered.

Saphira let out a snort, smoke billowing from her nostrils and making Eragon's eyes smart. Do not worry over your elf, Saphira teased, she is more than capable.

Blinking, Eragon glanced at Arya. I know, he sighed. Arya was looking away from him, her gaze sweeping across the tents of the Varden in the distance. He trailed his eyes over her figure, memories of the night before flashing in his mind. Saphira let out another snort, startling him out of his thoughts.

Careful, Saphira said to him, else you be tempted to remain at her side.

Letting out a small smile, Eragon replied, if only I could. But fate, it seems, has a different path in-store for us.

Indeed.

Footsteps, soft as they were, alerted Eragon to Murtagh's arrival. Blödhgarm walked next to his half-brother, one arm steering Murtagh by the shoulder and the other gripping tight to the blade at his side. The elf nodded at Arya in greeting as he passed, bringing Murtagh to a stop before Eragon.

His brother wore new clothing that must have been given to him by the Varden and was holding a pack in his hands. As Eragon took it from him he could see Murtagh glancing around them curiously, though he gathered that Murtagh must have figured out what they were up to.

As Eragon clambered up Saphira's side to store the pack he asked Blödhgarm, "Any trouble?"

The elf shook his head, "No, Shadeslayer.

"Good."

Returning to the ground, Eragon bowed his head slightly at the elf, "Thank you for all that you have done for me."

Blödhgarm twisted his hand over his chest in the gesture of elven fealty and replied, "It is our honor to serve."

Eragon turned to Murtagh and quietly said, "Are you ready?"

His brother gave a half-hearted shrug in reply, his features uncaring. Saphira swung her head around towards Murtagh and sniffed. Murtagh kept still as she did, only relaxing slightly when she moved away.

Wearily glancing around, Eragon kept his gaze out for his father's arrival. Brom had said that he would see them off, and Blödhgarm had ensured that one of the elves would wake him when the time was right.

He had nearly given up on waiting when Brom finally arrived, one of the elves bowing to the old Rider as he gestured him forward. Eragon could hear Brom muttering about the lack of light, and Eragon felt a sharp pain of concern over his father. Brom was near four hundred years old now, and no longer had access to the magic of the dragons. Though he could cast simple enough spells, Eragon knew before long Brom wouldn't even be able to do so much as that.

His father nearly bumped into them as he made his way forward, and Eragon held out a hand to steady him. He said nothing of his concerns to Brom, though sensed Saphira's worry rising inside her as well.

Instead of smacking away his hand, as Eragon had expected his father to, Brom gripped him tightly, pulling him into an embrace.

Returning the hug, Eragon's sharp eyes could see Arya speak to some of the elves before moving to join them.

Brom pulled away, holding Eragon by the shoulders. "Be careful," Brom said sternly, his words low enough that only an elf would be able to hear them. He glanced at Saphira as he spoke, "The two of you will be alone and far from any aid. Thorn will pursue you relentlessly until Du Weldenvarden's borders, pushing you against the very limits of your abilities. I ask that you trust only in the bond between you both, and know that you are the greatest Rider and dragon that our Order has ever seen."

Smiling, Eragon could feel his eyes slightly watering at his father's kind words. "Thank you," Eragon whispered.

Brom nodded, letting go of Eragon. His father made to turn to Murtagh but paused, "Tell the Mourning Sage that I am heartened by his recovery, and that I look forward to the day we will be able to see each other once again."

"I will," Eragon promised. Brom offered him a nod before moving towards Murtagh, who stiffened at the old Rider's approach. His father took Murtagh by the shoulder and pulled him away from the group, dismissing Blödhgarm when the elf made to follow.

Trusting that Blödhgarm had Murtagh, Eragon finally turned to Arya. She had no doubt overheard his father's words, though she gave no remark over them when he stepped close. Arya took his hand and pulled him around to the other side of Saphira, using her bulk to conceal them. Seeing this, Saphira extended her wing over them, and Eragon ran his hand against her side in gratitude.

Arya's arms snaked up around his neck, pulling him close. His own rested lightly on her hips, teasing the soft skin between her trouser and tunic. Her forehead tilted forward until it rested against his, their eyes meeting in the dim moonlight that managed to make its way past the thin membrane of Saphira's wings.

They never did get to speak over his leaving last night, though he figured few enough words needed to pass between them. She understood more than anyone his duty and conviction, just as he knew how an integral part of her such dedication to the cause was.

Silenced reigned over them for a few moments, and Eragon took the opportunity to simply enjoy Arya's presence.

He was the one to break the quietness between them, though neither of them made to step away from where they pressed in together. "We shouldn't be gone long," Eragon whispered.

Her voice was equally as low as his, and Eragon shivered as her breath caressed his lips. "I know."

A half-smile formed on his face, and Eragon said, "Try not to miss me too much."

Arya's mouth downturned momentarily before she must have realized he was teasing her, as the flash of white teeth he received proclaimed her amusement. "So long as you do the same."

Eragon chuckled, pushing against her forehead. "Unfortunately, I cannot promise that."

Something flashed over her face, though Eragon did not have the time to question it, as Arya tilted her head and locked her lips against his own. It was not a heated kiss, as it had been the previous night, but instead one that soft and filled with an emotion Eragon had not felt in the longest time.

For how long they remained together, lips softly caressing, Eragon could not say, but when Saphira shifted next to them Arya finally pulled away.

Her lips were slightly reddened, and her eyes wide, and for a moment all Eragon wanted was to dive back in. Arya's words, however, stilled him, drawing him back to the reality of the situation. "Guliä waíse medh ono, Skörungr." Luck be with you, Leader.

Giving her a nod, Eragon stepped back, his hands falling from her side. He reached out and lightly touched Saphira's wings and she obliged, her wing retracting and exposing them to the cool air of the night.

His eyes lingered on Arya before he turned away, though a sudden grip on his wrist made him pause.

Turning back to her, Eragon raised a brow in question.

The same emotion as before showed itself briefly again, and Arya opened her mouth to speak. "Eragon, I-."

Her words fell off, as though unable to pass from her lips. Her face, however, did not screw up as it did when someone tried to lie in the elven tongue, leaving Eragon curious as to what she was trying to tell him. Whatever it was, Eragon figured that she would tell him in her own time.

When Arya remained quiet, Eragon studied her form for a minute before nodding his head. She released his wrist when he pulled away, following him as he rounded around Saphira towards where the others were waiting.

As he approached, he could see that Murtagh was tense, though his father's expression seemed to have lightened some. Whatever their conversation Eragon could only hazard to guess at, but unfortunately, he lacked the time to delve into it.

Offering Brom a nod, Eragon motioned to Murtagh to climb up onto the saddle. His brother did as he had bid, though his movements seemed forced as he grasped onto one of Saphira's spikes.

Murtagh's trek up Saphira's side to the saddle seemed to have costed his brother more than Eragon would have imagined, but Eragon pushed the thought away. With a single bound he leapt the distance up to Saphira's back, situating himself in front of Murtagh on the saddle. His brother grunted at him as he did, moving himself back to make room for Eragon.

With practice ease Eragon secured his legs to the straps on the saddle, Murtagh doing the same with the extra pair that Eragon had long ago affixed. When he was done Eragon gazed out at those who were still gathered around; only Blödhgarm remained from the elven spellcasters, standing behind Arya and Brom. They had moved away from Saphira, giving the dragon ample room to spread her wings.

Raising a hand up at them in farewell, Eragon's eyes remained locked with Arya's as Saphira unfolded her wings and tensed her powerful legs.

In an instant they were propelled skyward as Saphira leapt, her wings beating against the air and driving them further from the ground with each thrust. His eyes lingered on the group below as long as he could, though as Saphira banked and angled themselves to the east Eragon eventually lost sight.

Letting out a sigh, Eragon began to weave spells around the three of them, letting the magic pull at the small store he had been making inside of Brisingr's pommel. Though it was nowhere near the level it had been before the battle at the Burning Plains, Eragon and Saphira and spent much of their time since pouring any available energy into the blade.

Arya had offered some of her and Fírnen's energy earlier this morning, and although Eragon had refused at first, she managed to convince him of his need. Now the stone in Brisingr's pommel held enough energy to tide them over until they were able to reach Ellesméra, though Eragon worried at how much he would need to expend if they were to encounter Thorn.

Still, as Saphira's wings carried them away from the Varden, Eragon couldn't suppress the shiver that ran up his spine.

The sun was halfway through the sky when Saphira decided to land, giving her passengers time to stretch their legs and give in to the calls of nature. Murtagh had been silent the entire morning, and the tense arm that was wrapped around Eragon's waist eased the further away from the Varden they traveled. They were east of Melian now, having landed near Lake Tudosten, and Saphira had commented that the fair winds would carry them well enough eastward before they needed to turn north.

Saphira kept a keen eye out as Eragon sat against her side eating, and across from them Murtagh was gingerly tearing into the provided bread Blödhgarm had packed for him. His brother's gaze remained locked on the far horizon, squinting in the bright sun that bear down on them. Eragon wanted to speak, though for the first time he felt unable to broach the silence that had reigned so far into their journey.

Eragon shook his head and bit down on one of the apples Arya had supplied him with. That she remembered it was his current favorite fruit filled him with warmth, despite the coldness Murtagh exhumed.

Instead of worrying about his brother, Eragon needed to figure out what he would do about the Shade he knew would eventually give chase. Saphira was confident in her abilities to outfly Thorn, as was Eragon, but their eventual departure and journey towards the dwarven realm gave him pause. The wards the elves had painstakingly placed on the forest were more than capable of holding back the Shade-dragon, but the dwarfs' magicians were not of the same caliber.

The last thing Orik needed was a dragon interrupting the clan meetings, quite possibly ruining his chances at being elected. He was left with few options; he could leave the Eldunarí behind in the forest and risk the Shade laying waste to large swaths of the forest, or he could have Saphira return to the Varden while he trekked alone across the Hadarac Desert to Farthen Dûr. Neither of the choices appealed to him, but they were infinitely better than having another Shade inside the dwarven cities.

"Do you remember," Murtagh suddenly stated, knocking Eragon out of his thoughts. "When we were younger and ended up lost in the Spine?"

Eragon's eyes narrowed as he thought back to their time spent with their mother, long before Saphira and Thorn had hatched for them. "Was this the time we tried to follow Brom when he left for Ilirea?"

Murtagh was still staring off into the distance, his fingers pulling at the small remaining piece of bread that he had left uneaten, though he nodded his head in affirmation.

Saphira grew curious, her massive head swinging around towards them, though she did not interrupt.

Running a hand through his hair, Eragon felt a small prick of sadness wash over him as the faint memories of his mother arose. "Mother was distraught when Brom finally found us and brought us home. She didn't let us out of the house for weeks after that."

Selena had fussed over them the moment Brom had returned with them in tow, and although she had not been explicitly angry with them Eragon could easily recall the disappointment in her features. Brom, however, had been angry when he first found them.

"Aye," Murtagh muttered. "But that is not why I brought it up." His brother let out a sigh and finally met Eragon's gaze.

Tilting his head, Eragon waited for Murtagh to explain. Why had Murtagh brought this up? It was nearly three centuries ago that they had left their modest home in Carvahall, and neither of them were the same people they had been back then.

"We were out there for nearly an entire week," Murtagh continued, "and on the fourth day we came across one of the old battlegrounds of the Palancar Crisis."

The Palancar Crisis, as it was later called, was the name given to the conflict between the old human King Palancar and the Dragon Riders. The King had arrived in Alagaësia long ago, eventually settling in what would eventually be named the Palancar Valley. They had been left alone by the elves and dwarves, but the King had wanted more land for his people and declared war against the elves.

Three times the humans attacked the elves, and three times they were driven back by the might of the elven army. Eventually the aristocrats under King Palancar had signed a treaty with the elves and Dragon Riders without the Kings knowledge, who was usurped and banished. This led to the humans joining the Riders in order to ease the tension between the races, and there were rumors back during Eragon's previous time in Alagaësia that many of the humans who lived in the Palancar Valley were descendants of the mad king.

"I remember. You fell into one of the hidden pits the humans had dug," Eragon recalled, a small smile appearing on his face. Back then, Eragon had been immensely worried over his brother, but time had smoothed them over until only amusement remained. "I told you not to go near those caltrops."

Murtagh scowled, throwing the piece of bread away from them. "How was I supposed to know that the blasted mad Palancar would place a trap behind another one?"

Eragon let out a chuckle, remembering how Murtagh had cursed loudly from down in the large pit. Luckily, the interior of the pit had not been lined with any other traps, but Murtagh had been unable to climb out until Brom had eventually arrived and pulled the young boy out of the deep hole. "Why do you bring this up?" Eragon asked, though a small smile remained on his face.

Murtagh was quiet for a few moments, the scowl disappearing and replaced by something melancholier. "The whole time I was in the that blasted hole, you would not leave my side. Even when I told you to go back and find help you remained. For two days I was in there, and you brought me food and water, never leaving except to gather supplies. For so long before that I felt like an outsider to the family, as if I did not deserve the kindness Brom and mother showed me. I treated you coldly, and yet you continued to call me brother, even when I would grow annoyed with your constant badgering."

Had Murtagh been so cold to him back then? It was so long ago that only some fragments of his memory remained, though it was no wonder that such a traumatic situation would remain in his mind. The more he reminisced, however, the more Eragon could see that his brother was correct; before the incident Murtagh had never been outright mean to Eragon, but they had certainly barely gotten along. After that day Murtagh had slowly opened up to Eragon, though it would only be a few short years before Saphira would hatch and Eragon was whisked away for training under the Riders.

"You are my brother," Eragon stated. "That we only share a mother is semantics. We grew up together, Murtagh, and I admired you greatly."

Murtagh's face twitched, but before Eragon could discern what he was feeling his brother turned his head away. "Admired me?" Murtagh let out chuckle of disbelief, "All the while I was jealous of you?"

Shocked, Eragon froze in place, his head spinning. Murtagh was jealous?

Clearing his throat, Eragon softly asked, "Why?"

A few minutes passed as Murtagh sat across from him and seemingly refused to answer, and Eragon made to discard the conversation and ready himself for their travels when Murtagh opened his mouth.

"You had a mother and father who wanted you," Murtagh whispered, the words so low that if it were not for his elven hearing Eragon would not have been able to hear them. "I never doubted mothers love, but what Morzan did to us hurt me more than I ever cared to admit. It was only after Thorn that I realized how deeply Brom actually cared, and it took him decades to convince me." Murtagh shook his head before turning back and meeting Eragon's gaze. "But my feelings about Brom are not why I brought this up."

"Then what is?"

"You never left my side," Murtagh replied. "You wanted to comfort me, even after how harsh I could be to you. Even now, after all that I have done you only want to help. And the thing is, I do not know why."

Eragon blinked, his mind reeling.

"Why do you want to help me?" Murtagh growled, "Why do you treat me the same now as you did back then? I do not understand you. It's as if the centuries that separated our childhood and now never existed."

Turning his gaze downward, Eragon thought over Murtagh's words. Saphira was quiet behind him, though she had eventually returned her gaze skyward during their conversation.

He mulled over his words for a long time, before speaking lowly. "I've done things since becoming a Rider that I harbor deep regrets over," Eragon said to Murtagh, ignoring his brothers scoff. "I'm not the same person I was when I was a child."

"But I want to help you because you are my brother and I care for you," Eragon continued, steel entering his voice. "Not only that, but you and Thorn are still apart of the Order, regardless of what Galbatorix has done to you. I do this not only because of my sense of duty, but because I know I would regret it if I did nothing."

"Then you're a fool," Murtagh muttered.

His brother's comment seemed to end the conversation. After a few minutes spent in silence Eragon rose from the ground and began to clean up their temporary camp, and Murtagh eventually joined him before the two of them clambered back up into Saphira's saddle.

No words passed between the two brothers as Saphira launched into the sky, and Eragon dwelled over their conversation. Had Murtagh really been so jealous of him when they were children? Did his brother really not know why he wanted to help him?

As Saphira leveled out their flight and turned towards the north-east, he felt her mind slowly press into his through their bond. Murtagh is in pain, Saphira commented softly. He is questioning everything around him because of what happened with Thorn. His suspicion of us is only natural, given our situation.

I know, Eragon replied.

Give him time, little-one. We do not know what affect the Shade's mind has had on Murtagh. If you truly wish to aid him, then he must be the one to open himself up to you.

Do you think that after everything that's happened it would be enough to change their True Names?

Perhaps, Saphira hummed. You know as well as I do how hard it is to change oneself. But Murtagh's change of name is not our priority. First, we must deal with Thorn, then you can worry yourself over who your brother will be.

And if we cannot save Thorn?

Then we shall see who Murtagh becomes, and do what is necessary.

That, perhaps, was Eragon's worst fear.

The first two days of their journey passed without any trouble, but as they flew over the sands of the Hadarac Desert Eragon could not help the growing sense of trepidation inside him. They had passed Furnost with little fan fair, the Beor Mountains beginning to rise in the south the further along they went. The trees had grown sparse as they traveled, and it was halfway through the second day that the last towering foliage had given way to the seemingly unending desert that would encompass the majority of their flight.

Saphira would turn fully towards the north once they were clear of the southernly winds that flowed from Du Weldenvarden, which would eventually take them near Du Fells Nángoröth. Conversations between the two brothers were brief and tense, and as they left the Broddring Kingdom behind Eragon wondered if this had been the first time in a century his brother had left the realms of man.

Each of their stops were only long enough for Saphira to rest at Eragon's behest, though she argued that she was capable of flying for days continuously. Eragon only worried over how much strength she would have if Thorn appeared, and eventually she relented and gave in to his request.

It was the end of the second day, as the sun slowly approached the horizon, and the light of day gave way that they finally reached the south-western outskirts of Du Fells Nángoröth. The mountain range loomed in the north-east, and when they had first spotted it Eragon felt drawn to the ancient home of the dragons. Even Murtagh seemed more somber then usual when he noticed them, his gaze roaming over the towering peaks as though drinking in their sight.

As the days had past, Eragon grew concerned that they had not yet spotted Thorn, though he tried to hide it from his brother. Saphira had just landed and was drinking out of a hole Eragon had filled with water when they finally heard it; a roar so unlike any other creature reverberated in the air around them, the harsh sound scraping against his ears as he rushed to cover them. The instant Saphira heard it she whipped her head around towards the west, her lips lifting in a brief growl.

Damn it. Quickly, Eragon began to pack the few supplies he had taken out, and Saphira stepped around them to place herself between the two Riders and the approaching Shade. His movements were quick as he packed the lone saddle bag containing some rations, and he stretched his mind out to Saphira. How far away is he?

A few leagues. She answered. We must leave now.

Right.

Eragon turned towards Murtagh and began to speak, only to pause when he saw his half-brother frozen in place. Murtagh's gaze was locked to the east, his body tense, though Eragon could see a deep sense of longing and grief on his brother's face. Even as Eragon called his brother's name he refused to move, so Eragon quickly hefted the saddle bag over his shoulder and bound over to him.

"Murtagh," Eragon said, placing his hand against his brother's shoulder and stepping into his line of sight. "We must go."

Something twisted in Murtagh's face, anger rising to the surface as his brother met his gaze. "I cannot leave him."

Shaking his head softly, Eragon lowered his voice. "You cannot help him as you are now. The spells Blödhgarm placed will not allow you to access your magic, and you are unarmed."

"I don't care," Murtagh growled. His brother leaned forward as though to take a step, but Eragon firmly held him in place.

Quickly! Saphira barked in his mind. We do not have the luxury to waste time squabbling!

Through her eyes, Eragon could see the image of Thorn taking shape far in the distance. The dragon was winging his way quickly towards them, and each second that past Thorn grew larger in Saphira's sight.

"I do," Eragon softly said. "If you wish to help Thorn, you need to trust me."

Murtagh scowled, though he gave Eragon a brief nod. Letting go of his brother, Eragon turned towards Saphira and leapt into her saddle quickly, strapping down the bag and himself before turning towards his brother. Saphira crouched slightly so that Murtagh could clamber up her side easier, her powerful muscles tense and ready to launch herself once her passengers were secure.

The Shade-dragon let out another fierce roar. Eragon saw Murtagh flinch as he came up to the saddle, though his brother did not pause as he bound his legs into the stir-ups. Gripping one of the spikes that protruded from Saphira's neck in front of him, Eragon held tightly as Saphira spread her wings. With a powerful leap Saphira pushed herself into the air, her wings beating hard against the wind as she climbed.

Twisting around, Eragon's gaze trailed over his brother before moving beyond him, searching for Thorn. Murtagh's face was still twisted in anguish, though with each moment that passed Eragon could see a sliver of determination taking hold.

To his brother, Eragon softly promised, "Unbind yourself from Galbatorix and I will tell you all I know about how we can save Thorn."

Murtagh met his eyes but said nothing.

Movement behind and above Murtagh alerted him to the Thorn's location, the Shade-dragon slowly gaining on them as Saphira climbed higher into the sky. Their slight delay in taking off had only given Thorn more time to catch up, the leagues between them shrinking with each moment that passed.

Wordlessly he shared his vision with Saphira. The sapphire dragon let out a growl and began pumping her wings harder against the air. Such a foul creature has no chance against one such as I.

Of the two, Saphira was the more proficient flyer, but Eragon worried over how much Thorn had been affected by the spirits. For all he knew, Thorn could have near endless reserves of energy; the magic of Shade's was often unpredictable and chaotic, and as far as Eragon knew no one had ever been insane enough to measure their strength.

That was why, after all, it was such a massive feat to have killed a Shade.

They were without Glaedr's and Fírnen's assistance this time, and Eragon knew that alone they would stand no chance against the Shade-dragon. The only good option left to them was to rely on making it to the elven forest before Saphira ran out of strength. The speed in which Saphira needed to fly meant that she would be unable to glide, unable to use the wind to conserve her energy.

There was, as best Eragon could tell, only two days left of their journey until they reached the elven forest. Saphira angled herself directly towards Du Fells Nángoröth, the mountains barely visible as the sun finally passed below the horizon.

Are we going to fly around the mountains? Eragon asked Saphira, his mind brushing against hers. He could feel her concentrating on her flying, though she managed to answer him after a few moments had passed.

No. Saphira replied. We will use them to gain distance between us.

What of the wind shear from the mountains? This time of year the winds are strong around Du Fells Nángoröth, and even the oldest of dragon's would avoid soaring too close to the peaks.

I will not shrink from such a puny breeze, Saphira growled. For I am Saphira, daughter of Vervada, blood of Belgabad.

He could see a plan begin to form inside Saphira's mind, drawing on her memory from her time spent with the wild dragons who called the mountain range home. As they flew the two of them debated over the plan endlessly, and each time Saphira shot down his arguments. It was only the frustrated bellow from Thorn behind them that Eragon gave up his position, acknowledging that they had no choice. A quick glance told him that the Shade-dragon's position had remained unchanged a league behind them, meaning that Saphira had managed to match Thorn's speed and stop him from gaining on them.

Du Fells Nángoröth was still leagues away from them, and Eragon estimated that they would reach the mountains by morning, when the winds were at their worst.

The winds steadily grew stronger the closer they approached the ancient home of the dragons, and as the sun started its climb in the east Eragon and Murtagh bound themselves tightly to the saddle. The turbulence was manageable for a long while, as Saphira was easily able withstand the winds, but when the sun reached nearly two hands above the horizon a strong gust of wind slammed into them from the direction of the mountain.

Saphira growled and angled her wings, attempting to cut through the wind shear. They were nearly upon the first peak of Du Fells Nángoröth, and from the frustrated roar behind them Eragon knew that the Shade-dragon had just experienced the same gust that they did.

He did not know how much of Thorn's memory the spirits inside him had access to, if any, but a quick answer from Murtagh told him that neither him nor Thorn had ever visited the mountain range. The wild dragons did not allow just anyone to visit their home, and any Rider lucky enough to receive an invitation knew how high of an honor it was.

Eragon hoped that Saphira's knowledge of the terrain would allow for some distance between Thorn and them. Frustration grew inside Eragon, knowing that he would be unable to help Saphira in this.

They were nearly upon the peak of the first low mountain when Eragon glimpsed one of the caves dug into the side of the mountain, the opening large enough that even Glaedr would have been comfortable passing through. A sharp sting of pain lanced his heart, and he felt a similar one inside Saphira. Turning his gaze away, Eragon tried to steer his mind away from the past and onto the problem at hand.

Somewhere ahead of them in the mountain range, Eragon hazily remembered, was a narrow valley that only the bravest of dragons would dare fly, the large and imposing mountains seeming as though someone had stacked them nearly atop one another. The terrain twisted on itself there, the many bends of the valley pass snaking its way through miles of the mountain range.

Saphira had successfully flown the pass a handful of times during her few visits, though on her last attempt she nearly broke her wing trying to bank around one of the rocky outcrops. Now she was twice as large as she was back then, and though Eragon trusted implicitly in her skill, he still secretly worried that she would be too massive for the narrow pass.

Banking around the first of many mountains, Saphira wobbled in the air as the strong wind shear slammed into her side. The strength of the gust pushed them downward sharply, and Eragon could hear Murtagh behind him curse in surprise.

The wind shear that the mountains caused was not a steady wind. It instead seemed to come alive whenever it pleased, though Eragon knew it was caused by the cool air of the night being trapped below the warm air stream that flowed near Du Fells Nángoröth. The warmth from the sun only exacerbated the turbulence, and as it dispersed the wind shear would only grow worse.

As Saphira leveled off her flight, another gust of wind made itself known. The winds were so strong that Eragon had to duck his head and cover his eyes, relying on Saphira's own sight to see where they were. Pumping her wings hard against the gust, Saphira tried her best to keep their speed high enough that they would not stall in the air.

As she maneuvered them the best she could, it was all her two passengers could do to cling to her back.

For nearly the entire morning Saphira battled against the high winds of the mountains. Each time the fierce gust of winds pummeled them she would prevail as only the Queen of the skies could, her strong wings and powerful muscles her weapon of choice. Whenever the winds died down and Eragon was given the chance he would glance backwards, checking on Thorn's position.

The Shade-dragon was powerful, but even it struggled against the winds of Du Fells Nángoröth. One thing that Eragon noticed was that whenever the Shade-dragon would encounter a gust of winds it would not react as a dragon should; instead of trying to angle its body as Saphira did in order to change the flow of air around its wings, the Shade-dragon faced the winds head on.

To Eragon it seemed as though the spirits were unaware of how to properly command a dragon's body, unable to access Thorn's own experience of flight. If that was the case, then Eragon believed that Thorn's mind might mostly be unaffected by the spirits.

Saphira banked hard to the left, bringing them around another mountain. The wind died down suddenly, the absence of pressure against her wings causing her to wobble in the air.

Ready yourselves, Saphira urged. We are approaching the valley.

Around the mountain Saphira had just cleared Eragon could see the mouth of a valley. The many mountains that it was made of were mostly loose rock, their jagged edges protruding out from its sides and warded off any brave enough to trek up its surface. At the far end Eragon saw a mountain looming in the distance, appearing to cut off the pass abruptly.

The entrance seemed wide enough to Eragon that even a flight of dragon's could pass through without touching, but a quick search of Saphira's memories proved that to be a deception. A few leagues ahead the valley would twist to the left before abruptly narrowing, beginning their perilous flight through a winding corridor.

Leaning back towards his brother, Eragon called out, "We are going to try to lose him ahead. Ready yourself!"

He heard Murtagh curse behind him. Murtagh had bound his arms into the impromptu straps Eragon had fashioned for Saphira's saddle, the laces of the bindings tied in such a way that his brother would be able to loosen them by simply pulling on a string with his mouth.

Angling her wings, Saphira began a sharp dive down, pulling up to level off a few hundred feet above the floor of the valley. A quick glance behind them showed that the Shade-dragon copied their movements. Worryingly, Eragon noticed that the creature had closed some of the distance between them.

To Saphira, he asked, why are you slowing down?

If I fly into the first bend too quickly, Saphira answered, we will end up splattered along the side of the mountain.

Eragon took another glance back at Thorn. She must have sensed his worry, as she continued, trust me, little-one.

I do.

They entered the valley's mouth, and every so often Eragon would glance behind them to keep track of Thorn as best he could. Whenever the Shade-dragon appeared to be gaining on them too much, Saphira would put on a burst of speed before slowing, though the space between them continued to shrink as the leagues passed.

Ahead of them, the mountain at the end of the mouth grew large in view, the rocky surface blocking them from continuing straight. To the left Eragon could see that the valley did indeed continue, though the pass was barely large enough that not even Glaedr's large wingspan could fit between them Down that valley Eragon could see that the mountains towered over the narrow pass, the rocks jutting out both to the side and above them.

The valley seemed to wind its way through the sides of the mountains, as though some great beast had easily bored through the very earth. He could see what Saphira had meant, as the sudden twist in the valley was too abrupt, leaving no escape to any who entered too quickly.

Saphira banked hard, flapping her wings strongly to maintain their speed. She flew into the first bend, the rocks crowding in around them no more than a dozen feet on either side of the tips of her wings. The rocky sides of the mountains seemed to Eragon to be unstable, and glance below them to the valley floor revealed large piles of the fallen rocks.

Glancing forward, Eragon could see the next bend to the right quickly approaching, Saphira having sped up slightly.

Hold on! Saphira cried out before rolling in the air, her wings beating hard as she carried them through the turn. Almost immediately she twisted the other way, the abruptness of her movements causing Eragon to duck his head and press it hard against Saphira's neck. A weight on his back told him that Murtagh did the same.

He had closed his eyes tightly, using Saphira's vision to see. Through her blue tinted eyes came another turn in the valley, and behind them Eragon heard scrapping and falling rocks. A frustrated roar came next, and he heard Murtagh grunt from his position against his back.

Eragon had no time to lift his head before another twist in the valley arrived, and through Saphira's eyes he could see that the pass was beginning to narrow slightly on the sides. Each time Saphira maneuvered expertly through the many twists and turns, cutting through the valley as though she had traveled its length many times before. Her muscles strained from the movements, and a sharp pop and sudden pain in his back alerted him to the fact that the tip of one of her wings had brushed against the sides of the rock. His wards around her had absorbed most of the blow, but the force of the impact was still jarring.

Saphira did not cry out, though he could feel her heaving breath between his legs. The turns continued to increase in frequency, some of them so tight that Saphira had to tuck her wings in slightly to fit through. Each time she would quickly spread them back out to full length before pumping hard against the air, trying to maintain some altitude in the narrow passage.

A few of the turns she was not quick enough, her wings catching on the jagged edges and making them wobble in the air. Pain continued to lance through him from their bond, and Eragon began to chant words of healing softly under his breath.

A wash of relief and gratitude came from Saphira each time. Eragon wanted to recast the wards around her, but between the constant twisting in the air as Saphira maneuvered the turns, and the steady flow of healing he kept up made him unable to.

Eragon had lost count of the number of twists she had navigated already, but behind him he could still hear the steady beat of Thorn's wings and frustrated growls. He had chanced a glance backwards in an attempt to find the Shade-dragon, but the rocky outcroppings had blocked his sight. Every so often, however, Eragon could make out the sounds of something striking rock.

He could feel her exhaustion beginning to mount, though she soldiered on. Extending out his mind towards Brisingr Eragon touched the stone in its pommel, channeling some of the energy into her. Instantly he felt her muscles loosen as the flow of energy continued between them.

Saphira grunted below him as she banked hard through another turn, her body nearly perpendicular to the ground as she rolled in the air. This twist in the valley was longer than the rest, and during it Eragon twisted his head in the saddle and took another glance behind them.

A sight of red startled him. Only a few dozen feet behind them flew Thorn, the Shade-dragon's body marred with blood and dirt. The creature, Eragon realized, lacked Saphira's finesse in the air, but had been able to gain on them by simply pummeling through as much rock as its body could stand.

He made to call out to Saphira, but a sudden warning from her had him ducking his head back down. Saphira had not even leveled off her flight before twisting again to the other side, tilting her wings against the air to turn them sharply. From her vision her saw only a streak of rocks, though she continued her tight turn regardless.

Thud.

Startled, Eragon struggled to lift his head from the force Saphira's maneuver placed him under. Twisting as much as he could, Eragon glanced behind them and saw what had caused the massive noise.

Thorn, it seemed, had not been able to make the tight turn as Saphira had. The Shade-dragon had instead pummeled into one of the many rock outcroppings from the side of the valley, and Eragon could see Thorn's body begin to fall to the earth below. A painful cry emanated from the creature, but Saphira's sudden twist in the air caused Eragon to lose sight of the inevitable impact.

A few moments later Murtagh cried out in pain, his body spasming behind Eragon. A sense of sadness flowed over Eragon, but he said nothing and tucked his head back down tightly to Saphira's neck. Murtagh grew silent, though his breathing was labored.

From the height they were, Thorn much have fallen near a hundred feet. A dragon of Thorn's size would have been able to survive such a fall, but would have been severely injured.

There were only a handful more daring turns that happened between the Shade-dragon's fall and the end of the twisting valley. Saphira climbed steadily in the air, her wings pumping sluggishly against the winds. Even still, she let out a triumphant roar, her jubilation spilling over into Eragon.

Smiling, Eragon undid the bindings on his arms with a simple spell and reached out, running his hand up and down the scales of her neck.

That was amazing, Eragon whispered in her mind. In all our time together, I've never seen you fly so brilliantly as you just did.

Saphira hummed in his mind, though he could feel her exhaustion still apparent, despite the amount of energy he had channeled into her. The elves and Glaedr had poured much of the strength into the stone, an Eragon was grateful to their contribution. Much of the energy still remained, and he used it to soothe her muscles.

We cannot stop, Saphira commented. Her climb continued until they were well clear of the lower mountains, and she began to angle them to the north.

Eragon glanced behind him at Murtagh. His brother's face was clouded over, his eyes roaming the landscape as though searching for Thorn.

"Can you feel him?" Eragon said, his words only loud enough to be heard over the rushing wind.

Murtagh slowly shook his head. "No. Before… briefly."

Eragon frowned. He remembered Murtagh flinching a few times during the flight, coinciding with when Thorn struck the rocks of the valley, but he had believed that his brother's connection had been nearly completely severed.

He doubted that the Shade-dragon was dead; all evidence pointed to the heart being their only vulnerability. If so, then Eragon did not know how long it would take for Thorn's body to recover.

A strong wind kicked up behind them, pushing them towards the desert of the Hadarac once more.

When they had landed outside the bounds of the elven forest, Saphira had nearly collapsed in exhaustion. She stumbled on her landing, barely able to keep herself upright long enough for the two brothers to disembark. His own body ached terribly, some of it from clutching fiercely to her back, and some that reverberated through their bound.

Though he had supplied her with energy a plenty, her body still needed time to rest. She had brought them nearly straight towards Ellesméra, with the elven outpost Kirtan to the north-east. The days sun had long since disappeared, with only the full moon providing them with enough light to see the tall trees of Du Weldenvarden before them.

Saphira laid down heavily atop the soft grass, her mass shaking the ground as she settled in. Walking around to her head, Eragon whispered a spell. A hole in the ground began to gradually appear before her, and with another few words in the ancient language Eragon watched as water slowly trickled in.

Once there was enough water for her, Eragon stemmed the flow of energy. Gratitude flowed from her as Saphira dragged herself over to the large hole, sticking her snout in and lapping at the cool liquid.

Murtagh was standing not too far off from them, his back turned to the elven forest. He was tense with his hands clutched into fists at his side, and Eragon hesitated in speaking to him. Their last conversation had left things unsettled between the two of them, and Eragon did not want to end up pushing away his brother while trying to help him.

Shaking his head, Eragon pulled down some of their belongings from Saphira's saddle. He let his own bags fall to ground in a heap, but Eragon grabbed Murtagh's and steeled himself as he walked over to his brother.

He placed them behind Murtagh, intending to leave his brother in peace, but paused when Murtagh began to speak.

"Every morning after I wake, I stretch my mind out to him," Murtagh murmured. "Only to face the cold reminder that he is no longer there."

Eragon shivered, letting his brother speak.

"I thought once that I could survive anything, so long as Thorn was by my side. To see him like this… To feel him no longer…"

Swallowing, Eragon asked quietly, "The bond between you is still there, no?"

"Yes," Murtagh answered, his voice gruff. "But it is as though he is leagues away from me, even when he was right behind us."

He did not know how to comfort his brother, or even if Murtagh would accept his offer. Instead, Eragon stepped back and said, "It's late, and we need to rest. Once Saphira has recovered enough we will enter the forest."

"And I will be a prisoner once more."

Eragon harbored his doubts that Oromis would allow Murtagh to be treated as such, but until his brother was safely behind the wards of Du Weldenvarden he would refrain from mentioning the Elder Rider.

Leaving Murtagh alone for the time being, Eragon returned to Saphira's side. She had long since finished quenching her thirst and had fallen asleep, her breathe a steady rhythm as Eragon settled in beside her, leaning his weight against her flank. Pulling over the bags he had dropped before he downed a few pieces of bread and some cheese, filling his ravenous stomach. When he was done with that Eragon reached into one of his saddle bags and pulled out a small, enchanted mirror.

Muttering the spell of scrying, Eragon watched as the image of the inside of Arya's tent slowly materialized on the mirrors surface. It was dark, the candles she sometimes used long since extinguished, though he was still able to see her form. She was asleep on her cot, her face turned towards her long table, and Eragon traced his eyes over her features. For a moment he took her in, but decided that he would not disturb her sleep.

The moment he made to end the flow of energy her eyes opened, and Eragon lightly cursed himself for waking her. Arya blinked a few times before sitting up, glancing around her tent as though looking for what had disturbed her.

Eventually her eyes floated over him, and he saw her freeze momentarily before launching forward and calling out, "Eragon!"

It had only been a few days since he had last seen her, but the sight and sound of her made his pulse quicken. A tired smile broke out over his face, and Eragon watched as she settled in front of the mirror, her emerald gaze roaming over his features.

"Sorry," Eragon whispered, "I did not intend to wake you."

Arya shook her head. Her hair swished around at her movement, free from its usual bands. "It is no matter. Where are you?"

"Outside Du Weldenvarden. I wanted to scry you before we entered the wards and are unable to talk." Eragon answered. "How has the Varden faired?"

"Well," Arya answered. "Nasuada has commanded us to march, and it will be a week before we reach Feinster and set up out assault. It will be a week longer still before the siege begins, and Nasuada wishes to parlay with the Governor Lady Lorana. So far, luckily, there has been no sign of Thorn."

"I wish I could say the same," Eragon retorted. At her singularly raised eyebrow Eragon sighed. He told her everything that had happened after they had left, fully aware that Murtagh was able to hear their conversation.

When he was done Arya's face twisted slightly, before clearing. "I am glad that you are unhurt. How is Saphira? Is she resting?"

Tilting the mirror, Eragon angled it as best he could so that Arya was able to see Saphira's head. The dragoness let out a loud snort in her sleep, and he heard Arya chuckle lightly. Turning the mirror back so that he could see Arya, Eragon said, "She flew most magnificently."

Arya drew quiet, resuming her searching gaze from earlier. When it continued on for longer than Eragon was comfortable with, he uttered, "What is it?"

"There is much I wish to say," Arya softly said. Shaking her head, she let out a small scoff. "But it seems that I only realize it when we are apart and are unable to speak without being overhead."

Eragon glanced over in the distance at Murtagh. His brother had settled down on the ground, though by his breathing Eragon knew he was awake. Returning his gaze to Arya, Eragon said, "Aye, I as well. Perhaps the saying that with distance the heart grows fonder is true."

A small smile appeared on Arya's lips, and Eragon had to drag his gaze away from them when she started to speak. "So it would seem." They both drew quiet, their eyes locked through the mirror. His heart ached at the sight of her, and he had to quell the urge to blurt out his heartfelt desire over the scrying mirrors.

It was Arya who broke their impromptu stare, her voice becoming softer as she asked, "How long will you remain in the forest?"

Eragon tilted his head side to side as he said, "I'm not sure, but no more than a few days. The quicker we reach Orik and the dwarves, the more we will be able to help our cause."

"Then we will not be able to speak until after you leave the forest."

"No, but if there is an emergency you know how to get in contact with me."

Arya nodded her head in understanding. The both of them lingered over the scrying mirror, reluctant to end the conversation. As always it was Arya who was the sensible one. She held up a finger and traced it over the mirror, her words soft, "You are exhausted, Eragon. You should be resting."

Smiling, Eragon replied, "A few less minutes of sleep is well worth it to speak with you."

White teeth flashed at him as a brilliant smile flirted over Arya's face, and Eragon could see her eyes taking on a darker hue. "Always so eloquent when it suits you. Go and rest."

Nodding his head, Eragon whispered, "Goodnight."

Arya returned the sentiment, and Eragon ended the flow of energy. In an instant he was staring back at his own reflection, and Eragon frowned when he took in his windswept hair and dirty features. Letting out a sigh, Eragon laid down on the soft grass next to Saphira, his back pressed firmly against her flank. Her deep breathing lulled at him, drawing him closer to the brink of sleep.

A sudden snort from Murtagh had him blinking awake. "Sorry." Murtagh said. "I just couldn't help myself. Tell me, are such 'eloquent lines' how you managed to woo the princess? And what would the Queen think, if she knew how you spoke to her daughter."

"Shut up, Murtagh."

I'm glad I managed to get this chapter up today. The next one might be delayed, because of how far behind I am, but I'm not giving up on this story!

It means so much to me that everyone seems to really enjoy this story, so thank you for your reviews!

I know this series doesn't get much attention anymore, but The Inheritance Cycle always holds a special place in my heart ever since I first read it way back when it came out. It was one of the first series that really drew me into fantasy, and I just keep coming back to it over the years.

Ancient Language translations (Old Norse):

Italics represents the Old Norse translation; Bold represents Ancient Language.

Fyrir Neðan – Below Something. Fallen One

Du vættr Bani – The Bane of Spirits: Name of the Brotherhood

Vættr - being, creature; supernatural being, spirit

Bani - death; bane, cause of death, slayer

Skörungr – leader, notable or outstanding person, paragon. Title for Leader of the Riders; given as an honor.

Guliä waíse medh ono, Skörungr - Luck be with you, Leader.