Eragon grasped the shield with his left hand and unsheathed his falchion, holding it upraised so he would not accidentally stab Saphira's wings as she flapped, nor slash her shoulders nor her neck, which were in constant motion. I'm glad I took the time last night to reinforce the falchion with magic, I'm glad I took the time last night to reinforce the falchion with magic, he said to Saphira and Arya. he said to Saphira and Arya.

Let us hope your spells hold, Saphira answered. Saphira answered.

Remember, said Arya, said Arya, remain as close to us as you can. The more distance you place between us, the harder it is for us to maintain this bond with you. remain as close to us as you can. The more distance you place between us, the harder it is for us to maintain this bond with you.

Thorn did not dive at Saphira or otherwise attack her as she neared him, but rather slid away on rigid wings, allowing her to rise to his level unmolested. The two dragons balanced upon the thermals, facing each other across a gap of fifty yards, the tips of their barbed tails twitching, both of their muzzles wrinkled with ferocious snarls.

He's bigger, observed Saphira. observed Saphira. It's not been two weeks since we last fought and he has grown another four feet, if not more It's not been two weeks since we last fought and he has grown another four feet, if not more.

She was right. Thorn was longer from head to tail, and deeper in the chest, than he had been when they first clashed over the Burning Plains. He was barely older than a hatchling, but he was already nearly as large as Saphira.

Eragon reluctantly shifted his gaze from the dragon to the Rider.

Murtagh was bareheaded, and his long black hair billowed behind him like a sleek mane. His face was hard, harder than Eragon had ever seen before, and Eragon knew that this time Murtagh would not, could not, show him mercy. The volume of his voice substantially reduced, but still louder than normal, Murtagh said, "You and Saphira have caused us a great deal of pain, Eragon. Galbatorix was furious with us for letting you go. And after the two of you killed the Ra'zac, he was so angry, he slew five of his servants and then turned his wrath upon Thorn and me. We have both suffered horribly on account of you. We shall not do so again." He drew back his arm, as if Thorn were about to lunge forward and Murtagh were preparing to slash at Eragon and Saphira.

"Wait!" cried Eragon. "I know of a way you can both free yourselves of your oaths to Galbatorix."

An expression of desperate longing transformed Murtagh's features, and he lowered Zar'roc a few inches. Then he scowled and spat toward the ground and shouted, "I don't believe you! It's not possible!"

"It is! Just let me explain."

Murtagh seemed to be struggling with himself, and for a while Eragon thought he might refuse. Swinging his head around, Thorn looked back at Murtagh, and something pa.s.sed between them. "Blast you, Eragon," said Murtagh, and lay Zar'roc across the front of his saddle. "Blast you for baiting us with this. We had already made peace with our lot, and you have to tantalize us with the specter of a hope we had abandoned. If this proves to be a false hope, brother, brother, I swear I'll cut off your right hand before we present you to Galbatorix. . . . You won't need it for what you will be doing in Uru'baen." I swear I'll cut off your right hand before we present you to Galbatorix. . . . You won't need it for what you will be doing in Uru'baen."

A threat of his own occurred to Eragon, but he suppressed it. Lowering the falchion, he said, "Galbatorix would not have told you, but when I was among the elves-"

Eragon, do not reveal anything more about us! exclaimed Arya. exclaimed Arya.

"-I learned that if your personality changes, so does your true name in the ancient language. Who you are isn't cast in iron, Murtagh! If you and Thorn can change something about yourselves, your oaths will no longer bind you, and Galbatorix will lose his hold on you."

Thorn drifted several yards closer to Saphira. "Why didn't you mention this before?" Murtagh demanded.

"I was too confused at the time."

A scant fifty feet separated Thorn and Saphira by then. The red dragon's snarl had subsided to a faint warning curl of his upper lip, and in his sparkling crimson eyes appeared a vast, puzzled sadness, as if he hoped Saphira or Eragon might know why he had been brought into the world merely so Galbatorix could enslave him, abuse him, and force him to destroy other beings' lives. The tip of Thorn's nose twitched as he sniffed at Saphira. She sniffed him in return, and her tongue darted out of her mouth as she tasted his scent. Pity for Thorn welled up inside Eragon and Saphira together, and they wished they could speak with him directly, but they dared not open their minds to him.

With so little distance between them, Eragon noticed the bundles of cords that ridged Murtagh's neck and the forked vein that pulsed in the middle of his forehead.

"I am not evil!" said Murtagh. "I've done the best I could under the circ.u.mstances. I doubt you would have survived as well as I did if our mother had seen fit to leave you you in Uru'baen and hide in Uru'baen and hide me me in Carvahall." in Carvahall."

"Perhaps not."

Murtagh banged his breastplate with his fist. "Aha! Then how am I supposed to follow your advice? If I am already a good man, if I have already done as well as could be expected, how can I change? Must I become worse than I am? Must I embrace Galbatorix's darkness in order to free myself of it? That hardly seems like a reasonable solution. If I succeeded in so altering my ident.i.ty, you would not like who I had become, and you would curse me as strongly as you curse Galbatorix now."

Frustrated, Eragon said, "Yes, but you do not have to become better or worse than you are now, only different. There are many kinds of people in the world and many ways to behave honorably. Look at someone whom you admire but who has chosen paths other than your own through life and model your actions upon his. It may take a while, but if you can shift your personality enough, you can leave Galbatorix, and you can leave the Empire, and you and Thorn could join us in the Varden, where you would be free to do as you wish."

What of your own oaths to avenge Hrothgar's death? Saphira asked. Eragon ignored her. Saphira asked. Eragon ignored her.

Murtagh sneered at him. "So you are asking me to be that which I am not. If Thorn and I are to save ourselves, we must destroy our current ident.i.ties. Your cure is worse than our affliction."

"I'm asking you to allow yourself to grow into something other than you are now. It's a difficult thing to do, I know, but people remake themselves all the time. Let go of your anger, for one, and you can turn your back on Galbatorix once and for all."

"Let go of my anger?" Murtagh laughed. "I'll let go of my anger when you forget yours over the Empire's role in the death of your uncle and the razing of your farm. Anger defines us, Eragon, and without it, you and I would be a feast for maggots. Still . . ." His eyes half lidded, Murtagh tapped Zar'roc's crossguard, the cords in his neck softening, although the vein that split his forehead remained swollen as ever. "The concept is intriguing, I admit. Perhaps we can work on it together when we are in Uru'baen. That is, if the king permits us to be alone with each other. Of course, he may decide to keep us permanently separated. I would if I were in his position."

Eragon tightened his fingers around the hilt of the falchion. "You seem to think we will accompany you to the capital."

"Oh, but you will, brother." A crooked smile stretched Murtagh's mouth. "Even if we wanted to, Thorn and I could not change who we are in an instant. Until such time as we may have that opportunity, we shall remain beholden to Galbatorix, and he has ordered us, in no uncertain terms, to bring him the two of you. Neither of us is willing to brave the king's displeasure again. We defeated you once before. It will be no great achievement to do so again."

A spurt of flame escaped from between Saphira's teeth, and Eragon had to stifle a similar response in words. If he lost control of his temper now, bloodshed would be unavoidable. "Please, Murtagh, Thorn, will you not at least try what I've suggested? Have you no desire to resist Galbatorix? You will never cast off your chains unless you are willing to defy him."

"You underestimate Galbatorix, Eragon," growled Murtagh. "He has been creating name-slaves for over a hundred years, ever since he recruited our father. Do you think he is unaware that a person's true name may vary over the course of his life? He is sure to have taken precautions against that eventuality. If my true name were to change this very moment, or Thorn's, most likely it would trigger a spell that would alert Galbatorix to the change and force us to return to him in Uru'baen so he could bind us to him again."

"But only if he could guess your new names."

"He is most adept at the practice." Murtagh raised Zar'roc off the saddle. "We may make use of your suggestion in the future, but only after careful study and preparation, so that Thorn and I do not regain our freedom only to have Galbatorix steal it back from us directly afterward." He hefted Zar'roc, the sword's iridescent blade shimmering. "Therefore, we have no choice but to take you with us to Uru'baen. Will you go peacefully?"

Unable to contain himself any longer, Eragon said, "I would sooner tear out my own heart!"

"Better to tear out my hearts," Murtagh replied, then stabbed Zar'roc overhead and shouted a wild war cry.

Roaring in unison, Thorn flapped twice, fast, to climb above Saphira. He twisted in a half circle as he rose, so his head would be over Saphira's neck, where he could immobilize her with a single bite at the base of her skull.

Saphira did not wait for him. She tipped forward, rotating her wings in their shoulder sockets, so that, for the span of a heartbeat, she pointed straight down, her wings still parallel with the dustsmeared ground, supporting her entire unstable weight. Then she pulled in her right wing and swung her head to the left and her tail to the right, spinning in a clockwise direction. Her muscular tail struck Thorn across his left side just as he sailed over her, breaking his wing in five separate places. The jagged ends of Thorn's hollow flight bones pierced his hide and stuck out between his flashing scales. Globules of steaming dragon blood rained down upon Eragon and Saphira. A droplet splashed against the back of Eragon's coif and seeped through the mail to his bare skin. It burned like hot oil. He scrabbled at his neck, trying to wipe off the blood.

His roar converting into a whine of pain, Thorn tumbled past Saphira, unable to stay aloft.

"Well done!" Eragon shouted to Saphira as she righted herself.

Eragon watched from above as Murtagh removed a small round object from his belt and pressed it against Thorn's shoulder. Eragon sensed no surge of magic from Murtagh, but the object in his hand flared and Thorn's broken wing jerked as his bones snapped back in place and muscles and tendons rippled and the tears in them vanished. Lastly, the wounds in Thorn's hide sealed over.

How did he do that? Eragon exclaimed. Eragon exclaimed.

Arya answered, He must have imbued the item with a spell of healing beforehand He must have imbued the item with a spell of healing beforehand.

We should have thought of that ourselves.

His injuries mended, Thorn halted his fall and began to ascend toward Saphira with prodigious speed, searing the air in front of him with a boiling spear of sullen red fire. Saphira dove at him, spiraling around the tower of flame. She snapped at Thorn's neck-causing him to shy away-and raked his shoulders and chest with her front claws and buffeted him with her huge wings. The edge of her right wing clipped Murtagh, knocking him sideways in his saddle. He recovered quickly and slashed at Saphira, opening up a three-foot rent in the membrane of her wing.

Hissing, Saphira kicked Thorn away with her hind legs and released a jet of fire, which split and pa.s.sed harmlessly on either side of Thorn.

Eragon felt through Saphira the throbbing of her wound. He stared at the b.l.o.o.d.y gash, thoughts racing. If they had been fighting any magician besides Murtagh, he would not dare to cast a spell while engaged in hostilities, for the magician would most likely believe he or she was about to die and would counter with a desperate, all-out magical attack.

It was different with Murtagh. Eragon knew Galbatorix had ordered Murtagh to capture, not kill, him and Saphira. No matter what I do, No matter what I do, Eragon thought, Eragon thought, he will not attempt to slay me he will not attempt to slay me. It was safe, then, Eragon decided, to heal Saphira. And, he belatedly realized, he could attack Murtagh with any spells he desired and Murtagh would not be able to respond with deadly force. But he wondered why Murtagh had used an enchanted object to cure Thorn's hurts instead of casting the spell himself.

Saphira said, Perhaps he wants to preserve his strength. Or perhaps he wanted to avoid frightening you. It would not please Galbatorix if, by using magic, Murtagh caused you to panic and you killed yourself or Thorn or Murtagh as a result. Remember, the king's great ambition is to have all four of us under his command, not dead, where we are beyond his reach Perhaps he wants to preserve his strength. Or perhaps he wanted to avoid frightening you. It would not please Galbatorix if, by using magic, Murtagh caused you to panic and you killed yourself or Thorn or Murtagh as a result. Remember, the king's great ambition is to have all four of us under his command, not dead, where we are beyond his reach.

That must be it, Eragon agreed.

As he prepared to mend Saphira's wing, Arya said, Wait. Do not. Wait. Do not.

What? Why? Can't you feel Saphira's pain?

Let my brethren and I tend to her. It will confuse Murtagh, and this way, the effort shall not weaken you.

Aren't you too far away to work such a change?

Not when the lot of us pool our resources. And, Eragon? We recommend you refrain from striking at Murtagh with magic until he attacks with mind or magic himself. He may yet be stronger than you, even with the thirteen of us lending our strength. We do not know. It is better not to test yourself against him until there is no other alternative.

And if I cannot prevail?

All of Alagaesia will fall to Galbatorix.

Eragon sensed Arya concentrating, then the cut in Saphira's wing ceased weeping tears of blood and the raw edges of the delicate cerulean membrane flowed together without a scab or a scar. Saphira's relief was palpable. With a tinge of fatigue, Arya said, Guard yourself better if you can. This was not easy. Guard yourself better if you can. This was not easy.

After Saphira had kicked him, Thorn flailed and lost alt.i.tude. He must have a.s.sumed that Saphira meant to harry him downward, where it would be harder for him to evade her attacks, because he fled west a quarter of a mile. When he finally noticed that Saphira was not pursuing him, he circled up and around until he was a good thousand feet higher than she was.

Drawing in his wings, Thorn hurtled toward Saphira, flames flickering in his open maw, his ivory talons outstretched, Murtagh brandishing Zar'roc on his back.

Eragon nearly lost his grip on the falchion as Saphira folded one wing and flipped upside down with a dizzying wrench, then extended the wing again to slow her descent. If he craned his head backward, Eragon could see the ground below them. Or was it above them? He gritted his teeth and concentrated on maintaining his hold on the saddle.

Thorn and Saphira collided, and to Eragon, it was as if Saphira had crashed into the side of a mountain. The force of the impact drove him forward, and he banged his helmet against the neck spike in front of him, denting the thick steel. Dazed, he hung loose from the saddle and watched as the disks of the heavens and the earth reversed themselves, spinning without a discernible pattern. He felt Saphira shudder as Thorn battered her exposed belly. Eragon wished there had been time to dress her in the armor the dwarves had given her.

A glittering ruby leg appeared around Saphira's shoulder, mauling her with b.l.o.o.d.y claws. Without thinking, Eragon hacked at it, shattering a line of scales and severing a bundle of tendons. Three of the toes on the foot went limp. Eragon hacked again.

Snarling, Thorn disengaged from Saphira. He arched his neck, and Eragon heard an inrush of air as the stocky dragon filled his lungs. Eragon ducked, burying his face in the corner of his elbow. A ravening inferno engulfed Saphira. The heat of the fire could not harm them-Eragon's wards prevented that-but the torrent of incandescent flames was still blinding.

Saphira veered to the left, out of the churning fire. By then, Murtagh had repaired the damage to Thorn's leg, and Thorn again flung himself at Saphira, grappling with her as they plummeted in sickening lurches toward the gray tents of the Varden. Saphira managed to clamp her teeth on the horned crest that projected from the rear of Thorn's head, despite the points of bone that punctured her tongue. Thorn bellowed and thrashed like a hooked fish, trying to pull away, but he was no match for the iron muscles of Saphira's jaws. The two dragons drifted downward side by side, like a pair of interlocked leaves.

Eragon leaned over and slashed crosswise at Murtagh's right shoulder, not intending to kill him but rather to injure him severely enough to end the fight. Unlike during their clash over the Burning Plains, Eragon was well rested; with his arm as fast as an elf's, he was confident Murtagh would be defenseless before him.

Murtagh lifted his shield and blocked the falchion.

His reaction was so unexpected, Eragon faltered, then barely had time to recoil and parry as Murtagh retaliated, swinging Zar'roc at him, the blade humming through the air with inordinate speed. The stroke jarred Eragon's shoulder. Pressing the attack, Murtagh struck at Eragon's wrist and then, when Eragon dashed aside Zar'roc, thrust underneath Eragon's shield and stabbed through the fringe of his mail hauberk and his tunic and the waist of his breeches and into his left hip. The tip of Zar'roc embedded itself in bone.

The pain shocked Eragon like a splash of frigid water, but it also lent his thoughts a preternatural clarity and sent a burst of uncommon strength coursing through his limbs.

As Murtagh withdrew Zar'roc, Eragon yelled and lunged at Murtagh, who, with a flip of his wrist, trapped the falchion beneath Zar'roc. Murtagh bared his teeth in a sinister smile. Without pause, Eragon yanked the falchion free, feinted toward Murtagh's right knee, then whipped the falchion in the opposite direction and sliced Murtagh across the cheek.

"You should have worn a helmet," said Eragon.

They were so close to the ground then-only a few hundred feet-that Saphira had to release Thorn, and the two dragons separated before Eragon and Murtagh could exchange any more blows.

As Saphira and Thorn spiraled upward, racing each other toward a pearl-white cloud gathering over the tents of the Varden, Eragon lifted his hauberk and tunic and examined his hip. A fist-sized patch of skin was discolored where Zar'roc had crushed the mail against his flesh. In the middle of the patch was a thin red line, two inches long, where Zar'roc had pierced him. Blood oozed from the wound, soaking the top of his breeches.

Being hurt by Zar'roc-a sword that had never failed him in moments of danger and that he still regarded as rightfully his-unsettled him. To have his own weapon turned against him was wrong wrong. It was a warping of the world, and his every instinct rebelled against it.

Saphira wobbled as she flew through an eddy of air, and Eragon winced, renewed pain lancing up his side. It was fortunate, he concluded, that they were not fighting on foot, for he did not think his hip would bear his weight.

Arya, he said, he said, do you want to heal me, or shall I do it myself and let Murtagh stop me if he can? do you want to heal me, or shall I do it myself and let Murtagh stop me if he can?

We shall attend to it for you, Arya said. Arya said. You may be able to catch Murtagh by surprise if he believes you are still wounded. You may be able to catch Murtagh by surprise if he believes you are still wounded.

Oh, wait.

Why?

I have to give you permission. Otherwise, my wards will block the spell. The phrase did not leap into Eragon's mind at first, but eventually he remembered the construction of the safeguard and, in the ancient language, whispered, "I agree to let Arya, daughter of Islanzadi, cast a spell on me."

We shall have to talk about your wards when you are not so distracted. What if you were unconscious? How could we minister to you then?

It seemed like a good idea after the Burning Plains. Murtagh immobilized us both with magic. I don't want him or anyone else to be able to cast spells on us without our consent.

Nor should they, but there are more elegant solutions than yours.

Eragon squirmed in the saddle as the elves' magic took effect and his hip began to tingle and itch as if covered with flea bites. When the itching ceased, he slid a hand under his tunic and was delighted to feel nothing but smooth skin.

Right, he said, rolling his shoulders. he said, rolling his shoulders. Let us teach them to fear our names! Let us teach them to fear our names!

The pearl-white cloud looming large before them, Saphira twisted to the left and then, while Thorn was struggling to turn, plunged into the heart of the cloud. Everything went cold and damp and white, then Saphira shot out of the far side, exiting only a few feet above and behind Thorn.

Roaring with triumph, Saphira dropped upon Thorn and seized him by the flanks, sinking her claws deep into his thighs and along his spine. She snaked her head forward, caught Thorn's left wing in her mouth, and clamped down with the snick snick of razor teeth cutting through meat. of razor teeth cutting through meat.

Thorn writhed and screamed, a horrible sound Eragon had not suspected dragons were capable of producing.

I have him, said Saphira. said Saphira. I can tear off his wing, but I would rather not. Whatever you are going to do, do it before we fall too far. I can tear off his wing, but I would rather not. Whatever you are going to do, do it before we fall too far.

His face pale beneath smeared gore, Murtagh pointed at Eragon with Zar'roc-the sword trembling in the air-and a mental ray of immense power invaded Eragon's consciousness. The foreign presence groped after his thoughts, seeking to grab ahold and subdue them and subject them to Murtagh's approval. As on the Burning Plains, Eragon noticed that Murtagh's mind felt as if it contained mult.i.tudes, as if a confused chorus of voices was murmuring beneath the turmoil of Murtagh's own thoughts.

Eragon wondered if Murtagh had a group of magicians a.s.sisting him, even as the elves were him.

Difficult as it was, Eragon emptied his mind of everything but an image of Zar'roc. He concentrated on the sword with all his might, smoothing the plane of his consciousness into the calm of meditation so Murtagh would find no purchase with which to establish a foothold in Eragon's being. And when Thorn flailed underneath them and Murtagh's attention wavered for an instant, Eragon launched a furious counterattack, clutching at Murtagh's consciousness.

The two of them strove against each other in grim silence while they fell, wrestling back and forth in the confines of their minds. Sometimes Eragon seemed to gain the upper hand, sometimes Murtagh, but neither could defeat the other. Eragon glanced at the ground rushing up at them and realized that their contest would have to be decided by other means.

Lowering the falchion so it was level with Murtagh, Eragon shouted, "Letta!"-the same spell Murtagh had used on him during their previous confrontation. It was a simple piece of magic-it would do nothing more than hold Murtagh's arms and torso in place-but it would allow them to test themselves directly against one another and determine which of them had the most energy at their disposal.

Murtagh mouthed a counterspell, the words lost in Thorn's snarling and in the howling of the wind.

Eragon's pulse raced as the strength ebbed from his limbs. When he had nearly depleted his reserves and was faint from the effort, Saphira and the elves poured the energy from their bodies into his, maintaining the spell for him. Across from him, Murtagh had originally appeared smug and confident, but as Eragon continued to restrain him, Murtagh's scowl deepened, and he pulled back his lips, baring his teeth. And the whole while, they besieged each other's minds.

Eragon felt the energy Arya was funneling into him decrease once, then twice, and he a.s.sumed that two of the spellweavers under Blodhgarm's command had fainted. Murtagh Murtagh can't can't hold out much longer, hold out much longer, he thought, and then had to struggle to regain control of his mind, for his lapse of concentration had granted Murtagh entry. he thought, and then had to struggle to regain control of his mind, for his lapse of concentration had granted Murtagh entry.

The force from Arya and the other elves declined by half, and even Saphira began to shake with exhaustion. Just as Eragon became convinced Murtagh would prevail, Murtagh uttered an anguished shout, and a great weight seemed to lift off Eragon as Murtagh's resistance vanished. Murtagh appeared astonished by Eragon's success.

What now? Eragon asked Arya and Saphira. Eragon asked Arya and Saphira. Do we take them as hostages? Can we? Do we take them as hostages? Can we?

Now, said Saphira, said Saphira, I must fly I must fly. She released Thorn and pushed herself away from him, raising her wings and laboriously flapping as she endeavored to keep them aloft. Eragon looked over her shoulder and had a brief impression of horses and sun-streaked gra.s.s hurtling toward them; then it was as if a giant struck him from underneath and his sight went black.