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.
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 passed 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,
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—”
“—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 circumstances. I doubt you would have survived as well as I did if our mother had seen fit to leave
“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 identity, 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.”
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 identities. 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
