Recap
Murtagh raised his left hand before bringing it forcefully down. At the signal, a volley of arrows erupted from the trees. Three tore into the flesh of Arya's stomach, a fourth entering her thigh and sending her to the ground with a cry.
"Now, brother," Murtagh drawled, "now that your little elf is out of the way… shall we have some fun?"
…
Eragon's first instinct was to run to Arya's aid, but to do so would put his back to Murtagh as well as place the rest of the camp in danger. Saphira, he called out calmly, trying to keep himself from becoming overly distressed, Murtagh is here.
What!
Saphira, please, now is not the time. Come to the Northern encampment. We are here, and Murtagh does not have Thorn. Arya is injured and I need you to take care of her for me.
You aren't planning on fighting him alone, are you? Saphira asked, as if the idea were absurd. Eragon, Arya hasn't finished teaching you how to master the sword-
Saphira! Eragon yelled forcefully, stopping her in mid-sentence. Calmly, he finished, Please, put your faith in me. Murtagh will not kill me, and he will not force me to go back with him to Galbatorix.
But how do you know this, Eragon? Saphira asked softly. He could tell she was rocketing through the air and toward his location.
Eragon smiled grimly over at Murtagh, who had taken to circling him. Because… he is my brother. As he said this, he felt more then heard Saphira land behind him, growling deeply in her throat.
Traitor, Saphira hissed.
"Tell your dragon to not interfere," Murtagh called out to him, giving an experimental swipe of Raz'zac. The blade cut soundly through the air, making a sharp sound.
Eragon steadied himself and found, much to his surprise, he was not afraid. "Saphira knows better then to interfere in one of my fights, Murtagh. Stop stalling and initiate."
Murtagh smiled ruefully. "I pity you, brother; you have obviously forgotten our last battle. Simply agree to come with me and I will not have to harm you."
Eragon shook his head. "No, Murtagh. Stop stalling and initiate."
Before the last word could leave his mouth, Murtagh soundlessly launched himself at Eragon. Eragon felt a jolt of something deep in his stomach before he threw up Barzul. What was it? Fear? No, Eragon realized with a smile. It's excitement.
They were both leaning heavily into their swords, trying to make the other back down first, trying to make the other slip up. Their faces were mere centimeters away, and Eragon could now see clearly some of his own features in this boy. The nose, the brow, the same intense expression… "Why aren't you going to ask me why I'm doing this?" Murtagh taunted, but there was only pain in his eyes. "Why won't you ask me why I would take my sword against the only person I could call friend and my brother –both in blood and in arms? Why won't you ask?"
"Because," Eragon began simply, feeling nothing but sympathy for his older brother. He reverted to the ancient language, wanting Murtagh to know the sincerity in his words. "I know you didn't want to. I know Galbatorix forced it upon you. I know you, Murtagh, and I know you did not wish to turn on us." Eragon disentangled his sword from Murtagh's and fell back a few paces.
Murtagh's face was an even blank as he pulled his blade into a parallel with his body. In the ancient language, he murmured, "You speak the truth, brother of mine. But know that I am not here for you; not entirely. I am on the search for the other Rider, the one who… slipped… out of my master's grasp." He threw himself toward Eragon again, giving a long, sweeping strike at his midsection. Eragon pulled the blade parallel to him, blocking it, and using Murtagh's momentum to push off of his blade and spin out of the way.
Eragon brought a long swipe down from the left, aiming for the legs, yet Murtagh easily dodged that. "What Rider do you speak of?" Eragon asked softly, reverting back to normal tongue. "There is no Rider here besides me."
Murtagh smiled softly, as if humored by that assessment, and whispered, "Now tell me that in the ancient language." He pulled back, putting his blade into the dirt.
Eragon paused. He would have to plan his sentence out very carefully in order to say it in the ancient language. Thankfully, to his great luck, the ancient language was most literal. He repeated, "There is no Rider here besides me." For there wasn't –Abbila was still in the Western encampment.
Murtagh laughed humorlessly and shook his head. "Well… then I suppose I will be going. You spoke in the ancient language, and therefore you cannot have lied." He took up his sword and returned it to his sheath, turning away. He did pause, though, and glanced over his shoulder. "Believe me, though, when I say this –the next time we meet, one of us will be wounded severely. Galbatorix will make sure to pledge me to every rule he can think of."
Before he could get too far away, Eragon called, "Goodbye then… brother." Eragon saw a tightening in Murtagh's shoulders, the slight falter of his step, but then it was gone. Murtagh was once again walking away from him without even so much as a goodbye.
He turned to find Arya sitting up, a pained expression on her face, and breaking the shafts of the arrows in her stomach. Eragon was instantly in a rage. Saphira! I told you to help her!
Saphira looked at him with a glare of irritation. She refused. She's a stubborn one, as you know. She threatened to cut my scales while I was sleeping if I did such.
Eragon forced back his rage as he looked down on Arya. She refused to meet his gaze as he bent down, taking one of her arms and helping her to stand. When she protested, coldly and indifferently, that she could manage it herself, Eragon sighed deeply and for once said something crossly to Arya. "I am a bit disconcerted right now, Arya, and I would highly appreciate it if you did not speak."
Arya, to his surprise, said nothing more. Eragon shouldered most of her weight and tripped back toward the tents. Thankfully, though, he did not have to venture far. Angela the Witch was standing near one of the tents, looking irate. "Get her inside, I shall fix her up as best I can. You come in and help me, as well, Rider," she murmured when he began to leave after setting Arya inside of the tent. "You have magic on your side, while I only have tonics."
Eragon unsurely entered the tent. Arya was laid out on an unadorned pallet, eyes closed but still conscious. Eragon sat beside the pallet, watching as Angela prepared an elixir for Arya to drink. The elf dutifully did as she was told. "To prevent bleeding when we pull the arrows out," Angela explained. "Now come on, help me get this tunic off."
Eragon started and Arya's eyes widened. "What?" Eragon exclaimed, feeling heat rising on his cheeks. "I can't, I mean, she's…I…she has magic, doesn't she?"
Angela rolled her eyes and helped Arya to sit up. "Eragon, if you would be so kind as to find a backbone within the next two seconds, it would be most appreciative. She is drained of magic, Eragon! Did you not know what exertion she was using against Murtagh? There now, sweet," she added to Arya, "calm yourself. It's not as if Eragon's unfamiliar with women," she added, giving Eragon a pointed smirk and rubbing the Trianna incident in his face. That sentence didn't seem to make Arya any happier.
The two tried pulling the shirt off of her, but it kept getting snagged on the broken arrow shafts and tugging painfully at her skin. Finally Angela took out a curved blade and slit the shirt down her back, peeling it off of her with ease. Solembum sat in the corner, looking curious yet remaining silent. Then, Angela laid Arya down on the pallet, nude from the waist up.
Eragon had not been ready for that. He purposely kept his eyes focused on the ground in front of him until Angela snapped, "Boy, you won't be healing wounds by glaring at that dirt there!"
Eragon glanced up at Arya's eyes and found that she wasn't even looking at him. Her head was turned to the side, eyes focused on the tent flap swaying in the faint breeze. Her lips were pursed, whether in embarrassment or anger he could not tell. Eragon was careful to keep his eyes from wandering lower than her shoulder, where the first would was. He healed it quickly before moving down to the three at her stomach and, finally, her thigh.
He was quick to pull himself to his feet, wiping his hands on his breeches and heading for the tent flap. Angela followed him, smiling cryptically, and called out, "Thank you, Rider. Your services are much appreciated."
Eragon didn't even try to puzzle out the meaning of that. He needed to find Nasuada and tell her of the day's happenings.
…
Nasuada looked drawn as Eragon recounted the events of the day. Abbila sat behind him, calmed from her previous hysteria and rather demure.
"So," Nasuada began softly, carefully. "So Murtagh was… here?" She swallowed, as if the information meant something more than she was letting on. She picked up her goblet of wine but only whetted her lips with it before asking a bit too harshly, "Why did you not sound the alarm? He could have felled the entire encampment before we knew what was happening."
Eragon sighed. "Nasuada-"
"Eragon, as your liege lord I must take responsibility for all that happens to you or happens because of your actions. Murtagh is no longer one of us. He has turned the tables and switched sides, Eragon. He could have killed all of us, and if what you say is true about the arrows, he had men stationed out in the woods."
"Nasuada, he would not have harmed us," Eragon argued. "He is my brother –he gave us the keys to success, Abbila and Briam. And he hates Galbatorix!"
Nasuada slammed her hand down on the desk, making Abbila let out a small shriek. Eragon jumped, noting the rage that had suddenly come over the young ruler. "Listen to me, Rider," she hissed, "Your brother is no longer one of us! He has sworn allegiance to Galbatorix and he will kill us under the one single commend, even if he doesn't want to. The Murtagh we knew and loved is dead, Eragon, do you understand me! He is gone! You will either need to remove this threat or he will remove you." She paused, her hands trembling. "Which will it be?" she whispered.
Eragon stood, slowly, and motioned for Abbila to leave. She scampered out and Eragon replied, rather stiffly, "If it comes between us, only the gods may decide who wins. But… I will fight to defend the Varden with all I possess."
Nasuada nodded, sinking back into her chair, looking tired and worn. "I will have the guard alerted as to the threat. Tomorrow we begin our trip back to Orrin's castle. You are dismissed."
Eragon quickly left the tent, but not before noticing the large tears that fell from Nasuada's dark eyes.
"It's especially hard on her," a voice said softly beside him. Eragon jumped, seeing Arya standing off to the side, glancing in the tent through the slit between flaps. "She's in love with him – Murtagh. She used to be, at least. Or so she claimed; I had always expected it to be a childhood fancy and nothing more. She has taken his betrayal harder than the rest of us."
Eragon couldn't help but stare. Arya wore nothing save for a pair of close fitting, black cloth breeches and a breast band. Where she had been shot, there were small, pearly mounds of scar tissue marring an otherwise flawless body. A strip of cloth held her hair back and her eyelashes shone dark against her snowy complexion and dark green eyes. The scant light of the setting sun cast vermilion shadows over her.
Her gaze turned to meet his and she murmured, "We must train; you are in dire need of improvement for your technique. Bring the girl along with you; we might as well kill two birds with one stone."
…
Eragon found his muscles trembling as he leaned heavily against his sword, which he had thrust into the dirt. Abbila had ducked out of the melee fighting quite some time ago, having nearly collapsed under the weight of her newly earned sword; one which Nasuada granted her after she had snapped the wooden practice swords.
Although she was still rather weak, her progress was impressive. She was getting the idea of swordsmanship nearly as fast as Eragon had. If Eragon recalled a previous conversation with Arya correctly, Dragon Riders tended to be easier to train then regular people. At this time, Eragon was most thankful for that.
Arya was breathing deeply but showed no sign of fatigue. "Abbila, you have done well," she murmured, sheathing her sword. "Go get some sleep. Nasuada will join you in her tent."
Abbila looked crestfallen. "But… what about Eragon?" she asked softly.
Eragon felt discomfort prickle his skin. "Do not fret over it, Abbila. I will be fine, simply not in your tent."
Abbila nodded, though there was still a sad cast to her youthful face. She took her sword in hand and reverently slipped it into a sheath Nasuada had fixed her with. Abbila cast one last glance over at Eragon before turning and tripping her way across clods of dirt and toward the lit tents.
Eragon silently picked Barzul up and sheathed it, murmuring, "What would you have me do tonight?"
"Tonight," Arya began softly, "you will join us and keep watch… unless you know any sorceresses willing to share their bed," she added, nonchalantly, before striding off. Eragon's eyes widened, wanting to sputter his disbelief. She was still harboring what had happened with Trianna?
Eragon sighed and began walking after Arya. The last thing he saw of her before she turned the next corner was a flash of her green eyes, acting like beacons in the dark.