Eragon was bewildered by the sudden venom in Murtagh’s voice. “What’s wrong with you? I’m grateful for what you did. There’s no reason to be angry with me! I didn’t ask you to accompany me or to rescue me from Gil’ead. You chose that. I haven’t forced you to do anything.”

“Oh, not openly, no. What else could I do but help you with the Ra’zac? And then later, at Gil’ead, how could I have left with a clear conscience? The problem with you,” said Murtagh, poking Eragon in the chest, “is that you’re so totally helpless you force everyone to take care of you!”

The words stung Eragon’s pride; he recognized a grain of truth in them. “Don’t touch me,” he growled.

Murtagh laughed, a harsh note in his voice. “Or what, you’ll punch me? You couldn’t hit a brick wall.” He went to shove Eragon again, but Eragon grabbed his arm and struck him in the stomach.

“I said, don’t touch me!”

Murtagh doubled over, swearing. Then he yelled and launched himself at Eragon. They fell in a tangle of arms and legs, pounding on each other. Eragon kicked at Murtagh’s right hip, missed, and grazed the fire. Sparks and burning embers scattered through the air.

They scrabbled across the ground, trying to get leverage. Eragon managed to get his feet under Murtagh’s chest and kicked mightily. Murtagh flew upside down over Eragon’s head, landing flat on his back with a solid thump.

Murtagh’s breath whooshed out. He rolled stiffly to his feet, then wheeled to face Eragon, panting heavily. They charged each other once more. Saphira’s tail slapped between them, accompanied by a deafening roar. Eragon ignored her and tried to jump over her tail, but a taloned paw caught him in midair and flung him back to the ground.

Enough!

He futilely tried to push Saphira’s muscled leg off his chest and saw that Murtagh was likewise pinned. Saphira roared again, snapping her jaws. She swung her head over Eragon and glared at him.You of all people should know better! Fighting like starving dogs over a scrap of meat. What would Brom say?

Eragon felt his cheeks burn and averted his eyes. He knew what Brom would have said. Saphira held them on the ground, letting them simmer, then said to Eragon pointedly,Now, if you don’t want to spend the night under my foot, you will politely ask Murtagh what is troubling him. She snaked her head over to Murtagh and stared down at him with an impassive blue eye.And tell him that I won’t stand for insults from either of you.

Won’t you let us up?complained Eragon.

No.

Eragon reluctantly turned his head toward Murtagh, tasting blood in the side of his mouth. Murtagh avoided his eyes and looked up at the sky. “Well, is she going to get off us?”

“No, not unless we talk. . . . She wants me to ask you what’s really the problem,” said Eragon, embarrassed.

Saphira growled an affirmative and continued to stare at Murtagh. It was impossible for him to escape her piercing glare. Finally he shrugged, muttering something under his breath. Saphira’s claws tightened on his chest, and her tail whistled through the air. Murtagh shot her an angry glance, then grudgingly said louder, “I told you before: I don’t want to go to the Varden.”

Eragon frowned. Was that all that was the matter? “Don’t want to . . . or can’t?”

Murtagh tried to shove Saphira’s leg off him, then gave up with a curse. “Don’t want to! They’ll expect things from me that I can’t deliver.”

“Did you steal something from them?”

“I wish it were that simple.”

Eragon rolled his eyes, exasperated. “Well, what is it, then? Did you kill someone important or bed the wrong woman?”

“No, I was born,” said Murtagh cryptically. He pushed at Saphira again. This time she released them both. They got to their feet under her watchful eye and brushed dirt from their backs.

“You’re avoiding the question,” Eragon said, dabbing his split lip.

“So what?” spat Murtagh as he stomped to the edge of the camp. After a minute he sighed. “It doesn’t matter why I’m in this predicament, but I can tell you that the Varden wouldn’t welcome me even if I came bearing the king’s head. Oh, they might greet me nicely enough and let me into their councils, but trust me? Never. And if I were to arrive under less fortuitous circumstances, like the present ones, they’d likely clap me in irons.”

“Won’t you tell me what this is about?” asked Eragon. “I’ve done things I’m not proud of, too, so it’s not as if I’m going to pass judgment.”

Murtagh shook his head slowly, eyes glistening. “It isn’t like that. I haven’tdone anything to deserve this treatment, though it would have been easier to atone for if I had. No . . . my only wrongdoing is existing in the first place.” He stopped and took a shaky breath. “You see, my father—”

A sharp hiss from Saphira cut him off abruptly.Look!

They followed her gaze westward. Murtagh’s face paled. “Demons above and below!”

A league or so away, parallel to the mountain range, was a column of figures marching east. The line of troops, hundreds strong, stretched for nearly a mile. Dust billowed from their heels. Their weapons glinted in the dying light. A standard-bearer rode before them in a black chariot, holding aloft a crimson banner.

“It’s the Empire,” said Eragon tiredly. “They’ve found us . . . somehow.” Saphira poked her head over his shoulder and gazed at the column.