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The Last Scion
By : RotSeele
Category: A through F > Eragon
Views: 5098 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Eragon. I do not make any money from this story.
Chapter List
- 5
- 6
- 7
Flight to the Spine
Weeks passed since the As’ratlegûl’s leaving, and Murtagh devoted most of his time to training with Zar’roc and spells and Thorn. They researched all they could in what was available to them and realized that they were more focused on culling the threat the As’ratlegûl posed than trying to free themselves. At this point, Murtagh decided remaining in Galbatorix’s confidence would serve him far better than if he were to become a fugitive. But he did what he could to help the Varden along in their thankless task. Supplies went missing or arrived late; soldiers received the wrong orders; villages were abandoned one day and alive with activity the next after the army had returned to Urû’baen’s garrisons. It was difficult in getting the Varden spy’s trust, but so long as Murtagh hid his identity, the spy was none the wiser and happily passed along the information he was given by the cloaked stranger. Eventually, Murtagh had to be more discreet when the soldiers began looking for him or rather, the mysterious fugitive who had begun to make quite the name for himself – or herself – in the underworld of Urû’baen.
Murtagh also devoted time to exploring Urû’baen, using old parchment and charcoal to draw maps of the old city. While the maps gave him nothing in the way of secret entrances and things of that nature, he was able to determine the best areas to siege and where to sneak inside under the cover of dark. A spell prevented him from stealing the last egg, but he could get an intrepid thief from the Varden to get into the city and spirit off the egg before Galbatorix ever realized.
Then Thorn had said, -What if he spelled the hatchery to alert him to a thief?-
That prompted Murtagh to explore the hatchery under pretense of trying to discern the green’s Rider with a multitude of spells.
When he discovered what a thief would be pitted against, he worked on developing countermeasures that would protect a thief from all of Galbatorix’s traps. Between skirmishes and appearances over a battle for intimidation, Murtagh only managed to complete his maps and find the counter to only one of Galbatorix’s many measures to ensure the green egg’s safety. He listened to the soldiers’ talk of the Varden’s advances, how they were pushing ever closer to Urû’baen, and that the elves had now joined the battle. Murtagh learned of the Raz’ac’s demise by his brother’s hand and that Roran, his cousin, had wed the girl the Ra’zac had taken. Belatedly, he realized this was all old information and that the party he had crashed weeks ago had been Roran’s wedding.
Then Galbatorix learned of the Varden’s plan to attack Feinster, and of the elves’ plan to make their own attack. He was faced with two choices: confront Eragon at Feinster or attack the elves that would be without a dragon. The answer was obvious.
Galbatorix sent Murtagh to confront the elves and Murtagh received one of the biggest shocks of his life. The elves weren’t without a dragon, as floating on the air before them was a great gold dragon the same size as Shruikan, and probably just as old. Thorn was small enough that agility was on his side and Murtagh used his anger as a weapon against the gold’s Rider. It wasn’t fair. Another, older Rider existed and he had done nothing to aid Murtagh or Thorn. The stigma he carried of being Morzan’s eldest son still haunted him.
Murtagh knew he was losing and when the last three feet of Thorn’s tail was bitten off all he could do was seal the blood vessels before Galbatorix invaded his mind. Murtagh became a silent observer and watched as Oromis and Glaedr were struck down. He watched in horror as the great golden dragon turned for a suicide dive and wondered, -If I die, will Thorn react that way? And if Thorn dies, what will I do?-
Galbatorix let Murtagh have his body back with the order to retrieve the golden sword Oromis had wielded and Glaedr’s Eldunari. With the elves retreating, Thorn slowly spiraled down, wobbling in the air and was happy when he landed so he could inspect his tail. Murtagh walked the battlefield, Zar’roc unsheathed to defend himself, but no elf was brave enough to confront him alone.
He found Glaedr and placed his hand on the dead dragon’s neck. He softly spoke words of comfort and sorrow and regret in the Ancient Language, holding back his contempt because it wasn’t Glaedr’s fault he was left to suffer. Zar’roc cut into Glaedr’s chest to get at the dragon’s Eldunari, but it was gone. Which meant the dragon had expelled it prior to coming to battle and that Eragon must have it. Sighing, Murtagh cleaned off Zar’roc’s red blade and went to look for Oromis’ sword. He found the blade nearly embedded in blood-soaked earth near Glaedr and grasped the hilt. Murtagh pulled and the gold blade came free.
Murtagh looked up into the slanted grey eyes of a young elf warrior. Blood covered the elf’s face and armour, and a vicious-looking wound slashed diagonally across his face from left to right. If he survived, the elf would sport a rather distinctive scar. Those grey eyes flicked to the sword Murtagh held in his hand then back to his face. They flicked down to the gold sword again, then back up. The elf tensed as Murtagh shifted, ready to spring away or lunge forward.
Murtagh offered the elf Oromis’ blade. “Here. Take it.”
The elf stared at the young Rider in confusion. Murtagh offered the sword again. Hesitantly, the elf stepped forward and took the blade from Murtagh’s grasp. Without preamble, the young man turned his back on the elf and walked back to Thorn.
-He won’t be happy you didn’t get at least one.- Thorn whimpered as Murtagh touched his tail.
“Better for them to have both than everyone having nothing.” Murtagh replied. “Can you fly?”
-We shall see.- Thorn paused then looked at Murtagh with brilliant crimson eyes. -You never planned for Galbatorix to get a hold of the sword or the Eldunari, did you?-
Murtagh smiled at the amused tone of the young dragon’s voice. “No, not really.”
-Devious. I love you, little one.-
-And I, you.- “Now.” Murtagh mounted the saddle and strapped himself into place. “Let’s return and tell him how we failed again."
-For more pain.- Thorn said sadly.
“Pain I’ll endure because I must.” Murtagh replied. “Now fly.”
Thorn shook himself and crouched, tamping down his hind legs to spring into the air, flapping his wings for ascension. He wobbled and swayed but remained aloft and though his mourned for his lost tail, Thorn knew it was better to be alive. After all, Thorn didn’t want to leave Murtagh alone in this world. They flew lazily over the Imperial Army as the survivors and wounded trickled back to Urû’baen’s safe walls. They had dealt a sound blow to the elves that would spend some time licking their wounds and mourning their dead before they chose to mount an attack. Once home, Murtagh learned of the Varden’s victory in Feinster and received the king’s displeasure for his failure to recover the coveted Eldunari and Rider’s sword. Murtagh took the whipping and gave several little cries of pain, but Galbatorix ended the punishment at ten lashes instead of fifty, since the army had routed the elves.
Murtagh spent the next few weeks attending meetings for war and going on raids between skirmishes. His maps he now carried in the satchel he kept attached to Thorn’s saddle and the Eldunari he was responsible for never left his side. He was almost constantly wearing his heavy metal armour and had worked to help Thorn master flying now that his balance was easily upset with the loss of the last three feet of his tail. Galbatorix seemed eager to take the fight to the Varden, but Murtagh managed to get the King to send spies and make a battlefield of the Empire’s choosing instead of the Varden’s. Not two weeks after the rout of the elves and the Siege of Feinster did Murtagh find himself gliding over the open ground at the head of an army marching to war. They had drawn the Varden out of Feinster’s walls to open fields where the Empire’s cavalry stood a chance of causing some real damage to the Varden forces and the Empire fell into their lines as Murtagh guided Thorn to land in front of his army. He watched as the Varden too lined up and readied their archers, but they didn’t fire. The ranks parted to allow Saphira and Eragon through, and Saphira slowly approached Thorn. Fifty feet separated the two dragons, a thousand between them and their armies.
“So,” Eragon began, “this is it then.”
“No.” Murtagh replied. “This is one battle that will decide one thing. It won’t be over until one side falls.”
“That will be the Empire.”
Murtagh didn’t reply to that. “I’ll give you one last chance, brother.” He said after a long moment. “Come with us. Come back to Urû’baen and let’s end this.”
Eragon’s reply was to draw his sword and utter brisingr to ignite the sapphire blue blade. Murtagh nodded and drew Zar’roc in reply. He gave the younger Rider a salute and urged Thorn to launch himself into the sky. Thorn was quick to obey and Saphira wasn’t far behind. Thorn swerved to avoid her teeth and spiraled up out of the reach of arrows. Murtagh heaved a breath and turned Thorn to face Saphira. Below, horns sounded on both sides and the Varden and Empire crashed together in a sea of weapons and bodies. Murtagh ignored it, focused on Eragon, focused on the need to bring him down. He knew Eragon was focused on the same task and knew Eragon had the help of the elven spell-casters, just like before. Murtagh couldn’t see them on the battlefield and so he focused on a plan that would potentially kill Saphira if he weren’t careful. Killing her was the last thing Murtagh wanted to do.
Saphira let out a roar of challenge and Thorn answered, spitting a column of fire that broke harmlessly about a shield around her. Murtagh attacked first, letting Thorn worry about aerial maneuvers, and sought some sort of weakness in his brother’s mind. But Eragon had prepared well for this and Murtagh discovered the younger Rider wasn’t only aided by elves, but by Glaedr’s Eldunari as well.
-I need to rethink this plan.- Murtagh ducked under Saphira’s front talon, leaning close to Thorn’s neck as the red fell into a barrel roll and dove down several thousand feet only to dive up again directly beneath Saphira to attack the armour she was dressed in. Murtagh called upon the power of one of his Eldunari and used that extra strength to batter Eragon’s defenses with his mind as he attacked simultaneously with spells.
Eragon managed to defend against it not nullify Murtagh’s attacks, but he was tiring far faster than the elder Rider was. They’d been fighting for nearly an hour by Murtagh’s estimate, and had been assaulting each other with their minds and magic, quickly using up what reserves they had. Murtagh didn’t know how much longer Eragon would last, so he asked Thorn to try and find an opening in Saphira’s armour.
-I will try.- Thorn answered and kicked away from the larger female, back-winging to gain some altitude. His keen eyes sought out the fine hairline parts between the plates of Saphira’s armour and went after them as Eragon and Murtagh launched another assault in one another.
-Why do you fight?- Saphira’s voice boomed in Thorn’s mind as she dodged his claws to open up a short gash on the red’s rear left flank. -Why do you help the egg-breaker?!-
Thorn roared, -I fight for Murtagh and only Murtagh!-
His answer seemed to stun Saphira and he took advantage of her lapse in movement. He collided with her with the force of an avalanche and locked his talons in the shiny metal plates she wore. Saphira kicked at him as she realized his intent and opened up wounds on his belly that caused him much pain. Murtagh was quick to heal them and renew Thorn’s energy, so the young red simply concentrated on getting the shiny metal off Saphira.
Eragon was growing desperate as Thorn and Saphira were locked together and tumbling around in the air, staying aloft only by some miracle. With Murtagh close enough for swordplay, he broke off the mental attack and that alone alerted Murtagh to his brother’s intent. Brisingr and Zar’roc met between their dragons in a shower of sparks but the swords held. It was physical strength against physical strength now and Murtagh felt his brother weakening under the assault.
-I can’t hold on!- Thorn cried to his Rider. -We’re going to fall!-
-Then let go! Get above her!-
Thorn bit at Saphira’s face as he disengaged, kicking away from her to shoot up higher in the sky. Saphira nipped at Thorn’s tail as he went by and the red squealed and shot into a roll that would put distance between him and the female.
“Give up Murtagh!” He heard Eragon yell, voice enhanced with magic. “You can’t win this time!”
“We’ll see about that,” Murtagh muttered and leaned to the left as Thorn banked to come to rest on a thermal a thousand feet above Saphira.
Saphira let out a roar. -Coward!- She yelled.
Thorn wobbled and snarled. No more coward than you! He yelled back. He bent his wings and dove at her. Their front claws locked as they collided with enough force to drive the breath from the Riders and the two dragons snapped and snarled at one another, not daring to use flame with their Riders so close. Brisingr and Zar’roc crashed together, the blades trembling with their Riders’ strength. Saphira and Thorn rolled and Eragon and Murtagh were separated for a moment as the dragons rose to a higher altitude to clash again. Murtagh was exhausted sweat beading on his face and cooling rapidly in the higher altitudes. His magic was near depleted and judging from the way Eragon was slumping in his saddle, he was close to exhaustion as well. Murtagh needed to end it and end it quickly.
-How are you?- He asked Thorn. The red dragon fell into an easy glide and rose higher.
-Tired. But so is she. If we can get close, we can bring her down. I’m heavier; she’s just bigger.- Thorn answered Saphira’s roar of challenge with one of his own and with two quick flaps of his wings, he was charging her straight on.
Murtagh supposed Saphira must’ve told Eragon the same thing for her charge was desperate and the two dragons collided, tails whipping around as their primary weapons became their teeth and claws. Murtagh was close enough to make a cut with Zar’roc and managed only to cut a shallow wound on Eragon’s leg as Brisingr came down to block. Saphira rolled herself above Thorn, which gave Eragon the advantage of offense for the swordplay, and Murtagh blocked an overhead chop that would’ve taken his head. Murtagh thought he heard cracking, like crystal if it was hit with a hammer too many times, but ignored it until he saw the hairline fracture in Zar’roc’s red blade. He stared at the ancient sword in surprise and panicked with the thought that the sword had been switched. Rider’s swords were indestructible! They were made to last! Murtagh pulled back, narrowly avoiding a slice that would’ve opened his throat from ear to ear. Eragon looked startled at the near fatal blow and winced as Saphira no doubt yelled at him. Murtagh swung Zar’roc again, hoping the blade would hold just a little longer and the fracture became a fissure and Murtagh had no choice but to use his breaking sword to block Eragon’s downward chop that would open him from shoulder to him longways.
Zar’roc crumbled a little more as Eragon brought Brisingr back up for a diagonal slice and Murtagh managed to block that strike before any real damage could be done. Then Saphira jerked and Brisingr had added strength behind the next downward strike, and when Murtagh blocked this time, Zar’roc’s red blade shattered and its wielder only had the hilt gripped tight in his fist. Eragon’s eyes went wide and he must’ve screamed because Saphira was jerking away from Thorn. Brisingr came free from Zar’roc’s shards covered in red blood. Murtagh blinked and looked down, watching blood stream from him and across Thorn’s scales.
-Murtagh!- Thorn screamed, roaring in anguish at the feel of the killing blow. Murtagh was open diagonally from shoulder to hip, a mirror of the scar on his back. His collarbone was shattered, his ribs broken in two, and his innards had slowly begun to push out of the hole in his stomach. -Murtagh!-
Thorn burst away from Saphira in a panic, shouting his fear and anguish to the world. Saphira-blue-sister was apologizing, telling him they had healers, but he wouldn’t listen. Thorn spun in the air and beat his wings and flew and flew and flew, screaming for his Rider. The darkness was creeping into his frightened, young mind; all he knew was that Murtagh was dying and he would be alone. Thorn couldn’t live alone. He shot past Urû’baen, soaring over open ground in his panic and fear and the trees of the Spine were soon within sight. He flew up the mountains, over the trees and when he felt Murtagh black out completely, Thorn faltered. He screamed as he crashed, uprooting trees and skidding hard in the cold, cold ground. He lost Murtagh in his landing and the red struggled to his feet, searching everywhere for his Rider. Murtagh was barely alive when he found him, nudging the human and begging him to wake. The shadows only took a stronger hold and Thorn threw back his head and roared.
-Help! Someone please help me! Someone! PLEASE!-
But his call was left unanswered.
- 5
- 6
- 7
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The Last Scion	By : RotSeele Category: A through F > Eragon Views: 5098 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Eragon. I do not make any money from this story.

The Last Scion