A/N: And now, finally. The next chapter. I know some of you have been eagerly waiting for this next release. I thank you for holding out. I hope you find it was worth the wait.

HAPPY READING!

Disclaimer: This chapter makes use of characters and/or locations that are part of the Inheritance Cycle. Except where noted, all characters and locations are owned and copyright by Christopher Paolini.

Chapter 18 - Honor from Darkness:

Thorn crouched and coiled his tail around his body, its spade tip resting over his forepaws. From the rocky plateau near the top of Du Fells Nángoröth he gazed out over the Hadarac Desert, his heart feeling as barren as the sweeping sands reaching to the distant, grey-orange horizon.

So. This is what it is to be unbonded.

It was bittersweet, but nothing compared to the maddening grief and loneliness he'd felt from Glaedr when he lost Orimis. Thorn wasn't sure if it was Ar'Din who had spared him the pain of that loss, or if it was because Murtagh was still alive. Thorn snorted at the thought, tossing his head. Suffering temporary maddening grief would have been worth it. It was better to be unbonded than to be bonded to a betrayer; the one cause of his suffering since the day he'd hatched.

His gaze lifted with an expectation of the sunrise, but he wondered. Since hatching, he'd never taken an interest in it. Why after so many months would he take an interest now? His head cocked as he considered. Perhaps it was that he'd nothing better to occupy his time at the moment, or perhaps it's significance was tied to the fact that this sunrise would bring with it his first new day as a wild dragon, unbonded and free. Free of Galbatorix, and now free of Murtagh.

He scowled in discomfort while stretching his wings, the muscles and tendons along his back and shoulders stiff and sore from a night spent flying. When the soreness abated he kept them spread while lowering them until each draped loosely over the ground, then settled his gaze back to the horizon to wait. And while he waited, he thought.

When Thorn left Murtagh at their camp he wanted to fly as far from the traitor as he could, but in his anger and sorrow, he pushed himself too hard. Weariness and reason ultimately resigned him to return to the one remaining place he considered safe, the rocky plateau near the uppermost summit on the opposite end of the mountain from their camp.

He hated Murtagh with a white-hot rage the likes of which he never imagined feeling for the one he called his Rider. That was during the night when he'd wanted so much to let loose his rage, to burn the stars down from the heavens and leave the sky as black as the darkness in him. He'd wanted to lay the world aflame, then watch it burn to ash from his rocky perch. He would hate Murtagh for a long, long while; even the memory of him after he was gone. But eventually he would forget Murtagh, as sure as the dawning morn found his rage reduced to a smoldering ember burning deep within him; cooled, but still very present. The horizon brightened and Thorn caught the first twinkle of the sun peeking from behind the distant rolling dunes. He yawned, laid his head down and watched with one ruby eye until it squinted, staying open only just long enough to see the sunrise. When the eye closed, Thorn felt the warming, soothing rays of sun wash over his body, lulling him to sleep. As he drifted, he thought not of Murtagh or Ar Din, but of the life ahead of him as a wild dragon, and the day he would live among them. He listened and imagined the music of their roars. The welcoming warmth of the sun combined with the rich music of his ancestors lulled him deeper and deeper to sleep. The world around him fell away, while the roars carried him to a new place and time.

Thorn opened his eyes to find himself soaring over what looked to be a great sea of blue with rippling waves glimmering the rays shining down from the bright sun above him. Only moments ago he'd been resting on the plateau, but now seemed far from it. He wondered if perhaps he d been dozing midair, the plateau and sunrise merely a dream while soaring over the sea of blue he saw now. He looked ahead to find nothing but flat horizon as far as he could see, unnerving to him to be so far from any body of land; even a ship. He'd never been so far from Alagaesia's shore; away from landmarks, surefooted ground or the shelter from caves he'd discovered with Murtagh when they left Urubane. He did not take well to water, making the dark body below him no better than an ominous black pool liable to swallow him in its depths the moment he ventured too close. Thorn thrust his wings hard to the thought, putting more distance between it and him.

Onward he flew, and the longer he did the more disconcerting his situation became until he found himself flying in wide arching circles, each overlapping the next in a gradual forward path that allowed his gaze to search in all directions, improving his chance of finding a ship or landmass to set on and rest. Thorn flew on and on yet no land or ship came into view, from any direction. A panic began to well in him. He d been flying for what seemed only hours yet his wings already felt heavy and the muscles in his back sore and strained. It became harder to stay aloft. The sea seemed closer than it had been before as if it were pulling him in.

Thorn pitched his head and roared distress with the hope that someone, anyone might hear him and come to his aid. There were few things that truly frightened him, but the prospect of perishing alone in a watery grave terrified him for reasons he did not completely understand. Again he roared, eyes wide, his distress coming as a raspy screech that echoed in all directions. He roared and roared until he was too weary to continue. Then a calm came over him, the kind that comes from acceptance of one's own death. He chose a point on the horizon and soared towards it, letting his wings carry him over the sea as far as they could before the ominous depths took him.

Time passed as Thorn soared, lost in his own thoughts. The sea never reached up to take him. Instead, ahead of him rising over the horizon was a large landmass. Thorn blinked in disbelief then flapped his wings harder to gain speed when he realized it was real. He flew with renewed strength, his excitement growing as he got closer. His first thought was Alagaesia, but as he drew closer it became apparent to him that it was far too small to be his homeland. No. It was not his homeland, but in an odd way, it felt familiar to him as if it were someplace he d been before.

Instantly he was upon it, flying high over its shoreline, following its circumference. He noticed no ports or cities, only empty beaches and rocky ledges bombarded by foaming waves. Looking inland, he saw lush forests and plains, rocky canyons and lakes or marshes, rolling hills and craggy mountains. At one point he noticed a desert and as if at the speed of thought he was instantaneously upon it. It was vast, larger than the Hadarac, he guessed. A blanket of reddish-brown sand covered it in all directions. He noticed an occasional rocky outcropping, but the desert seemed, for the most part, barren and empty.

The next moment he was soaring over what seemed to be the same desert, but a stretch dotted with the remains of dragons; some half-buried in the sand, others scattered over the top in a mess of dry, sun-bleached bones. Thorn growled with a mixture of sorrow, rage, and fear, wondering what could have caused such a large-scale slaughter. He thought of Du Fyrn Skulblaka, which was joined by a series of impressions seeping into his mind from ancestral memories that had only just begun to surface when he'd arrived in Du Fells Nángoröth with Murtagh.

From his brief conversation with Saphira during their farewell encounter, Thorn learned that all dragons possess the memories. They served as a source of wisdom and insight to guide them, or as a tie to their heritage and ancestry so they would never forget who they were or where they came from. Thorn had only just been freed of Galbatorix, so hadn't realized them yet. But Saphira encouraged him that they would return in time. As promised they did, but seeing this place, Thorn could not help but wonder if something was missing. He felt as if he should remember this place and these dragons; kin long-fallen to a calamity he knew not.

What happened here? Why can I not remember?

As if in some manner of answer the scene turned in an instant to a slender rocky landmass jutting out from the mainland body like a natural pier. He recognized the landmass from earlier when the sun shone brightly. This time it was darker, as if just after sunset or just before sunrise. He could not tell. At the tip of the landmass, he saw a dragon standing proudly before a much larger serpent-like creature with red, menacing eyes towering from the depths of the sea. Each appeared to be preparing for a confrontation, a showdown with only one victor. Thorn remained aloft, circling in a tight loop while watching the pair intently for what would happen next. He'd never seen the likes of the larger creature. It was as large as an ancient dragon, but not a dragon.

The scene shifted when Thorn's gaze flicked back to the dragon, who now appeared struck down. Thorn whimpered, keeping his gaze fixed on the fallen comrade. In those moments he felt a connection both familiar and unfamiliar. He knew the dragon was male, and one of great importance. He observed it was amethyst, a color so rare that only one dragon bared it; though he did not understand how he knew. He strained, feeling as if he should know the male, but was at a loss. His attention was broken by the sound of a large churning rumble. His gaze snapped back to the Leviathan as it let loose a bone-shattering roar and lunged toward the fallen male in what appeared to be a killing blow. With a sudden compulsion to protect the fallen male, Thorn uttered a shrieking roar then cropped his wings and dove toward the creature with the intent to kill it as ruthlessly as he d dispatched Glaedr.

Just before he reached the creature the scene shifted again. Thorn found himself blinking in surprise then leveling off. He was soaring over the desert again, the one strewn with the dry bones of the long fallen dragons. But this time the air was eerily quiet as if the desert held its breath in suspense. The scene shifted again. A thunderous rumble filled Thorn s ears from below. The reddish-brown sands quivered and rippled, giving up the bones to raise an army of undead; some with eye-sockets glowing amethyst, others glowing red. The next scene flashed and Thorn was flying over a battle. While aloft his vision switched at random in a dizzy of images. In one Dracolich battled against Dracolich, thunderous claps resounding over the field as their wedge-shaped skulls collided again and again. In another, Dracolich fought against charging humans garbed in armor resembling that of Galbatorix's armies, but he could make out no apparent sigils on their breastplates or shields, and they carried no banner. In the next vision were a band of elves and one green dragon surrounded by an army of humans, the same band as before. Thorn studied the elves and dragon with a sense of familiarity but did not know who they were. Thorn s gaze flicked again and this time he saw Murtagh standing among the army that surrounded the elves and dragon. He growled and snarled at the sight, his tail lashing the air as the rage within him began to churn and boil.

This is your doing, Murtagh! MMMMMMWWWRRRRR. TRAITOOOOORRRRRRR!

He roared and dove straight for Murtagh, ignoring everyone else; hate in his heart, fangs, and claws ready to draw blood.

I will rip you to pieces and scatter them to rot in this barren land!

He would end the Son of Morzan himself. He would dispense the justice his vengeance demanded. Thorn was just in reach when he heard a screech to his right. He snapped his head around to see the bared claws of a Dracolich with red glowing eyes flying right at him. Before he could react the claws dug into his neck and shoulder. He screeched in pain, then felt himself impact the sand, rolling in a frenzy of thrashing teeth, claws and tail.

Thorn was on his feet in an instant, roaring, and snarling, ready to scatter the bones of the attacker. His tail lashed and whipped around, hitting a large rock behind him. He pivoted around, teeth bared and ready to pounce, until he realized it was only a big, lifeless rock. His head darted about in confusion as he turned to face the open desert again, tongue flicking excitedly to scent the air. He was back on the plateau near the summit of Du Fells Nángoröth, the battle and all those he d seen gone: The humans garbed in armor, the elves, the green dragon, the Dracolich, the amethyst dragon and the great Leviathan with the red menacing eyes. He was alone and safe. Thorn snorted and dropped to his haunches.

The shadows cast over the sands below suggested he'd slept until late in the day. It had been a dream. Thorn had heard of dreams, but he'd never had one, or if he did he didn't remember. It seemed so real as if he'd come from that place or time. But perhaps it was symbolic of his past and present, of things known to him and unknown. He crouched down, pulling his forepaws close against his chest as he looked again to the horizon. He felt alone, drifting like he was over the sea in the dream. Ar'Din had set him free, but there was nothing to replace the bond's absence. He was empty like a blank canvas. This itself offered hope of a better fate, and perhaps having the dream was the beginning of that. He and Murtagh left the others to find their place in life. To find out if there was more to their lives than war and hate, blood and death. They were free of Galbatorix, but not of the conundrum his treatment left them in: The duality to escape a hateful world that the very hate in them wanted to destroy. Thorn snarled in anger. It was because of Murtagh Thorn had lived the conundrum in the first place. Galbatorix was only the instrument. But like Galbatorix, Murtagh would soon be gone.

Thorn snorted and rose to his feet and stretched, deciding he would watch the sunset from the sky. The hate and anger in him cooled to the comforting thought that Murtagh would not be able to harm him or any other dragon, anymore. Unlike the dream, Murtagh would never see the chance to join forces with Galbatorix s army. Thorn roared in celebration, leaped from the ledge and spread his wings. The veined membranes snapped open to catch the air then Thorn flapped them, rising into the sky as he circled the summit and banked round to fly back over the mountain towards the sun hovering low over the western horizon. As he flew, Thorn occupied his thoughts recounting the images from his dream. He wondered what the Dracolich symbolized. Perhaps they represented the return of his race. Thorn furrowed his eye-ridges, finding Dracolich an odd way to symbolize a return of his kind. Next, he thought of the amethyst dragon and red-eyed serpent. What did they mean? Thorn perplexed them until he grew frustrated with one dead end after the next. Perhaps they were merely the garbled product of his mind processing memories that had only just become available to him. The gap between what he saw and the impressions left on him seemed wide and impassable. So he decided to leave them for now. The others though, those he could readily identify with. The green dragon he'd never saw before, but it reminded him of the green egg in Galbatorix's treasury. The elves reminded him of Arya and her people, and from them, he thought of Eragon and Saphira. Eragon once invited Murtagh and Thorn to join them. Eragon told them that they would always have a place.

Thorn s body shuddered at the thought. Soaring over the mountain it was quiet. Again he felt alone. There was nothing to set off his rage and bloodlust, but there was also nothing that gave his life meaning. It occurred to him that he was at an impasse, drifting. Because of Murtagh, he was made into a monster under Galbatorix. Since then he d gained some measure of healing. This place offered him a means of recapturing his birthright, his identity. Whatever the dream s meaning it made clear to him that he must choose a path and follow it. He would gain no more of his identity here. To find his way, to find himself, he knew there was one, best option. He must go where he would truly be welcomed, and there was only one place in all of Alagaesia or beyond that, he could trust was a certainty. He must find Eragon and Saphira and join them. Thorn looked below at the mountains. Members of his kind once settled here, and he would see that day again. But that was not today.

Thorn watched as the sun slipped lower towards the horizon, preparing to dip behind it. The sight offered a certain sense of finality unfamiliar to him. Murtagh was the final tie to a path he no longer followed, a tie that must be broken before he could truly begin anew. It would be so easy for him to fly away and leave Murtagh to his fate. But how much more it could be to arrive back, see the hopeful look on Murtagh's face before crushing that hope by asking Ar'Din to hand Murtagh over to his fate, and then watch as Murtagh suffered and lost his mind. Yeeesss. That seemed a much better idea than simply flying off. He would not only let Murtagh be handed over to a fate he deserved, he would watch it unfold and see justice done for not only him, but all dragon-kind. The more he thought about it the better the idea sounded, and the more convinced he became that this was the right choice.

I will witness your end, Son of Morzan.

He growled in certainty to the inner words, his eyes glowing twin embers of vengeance. His maw snarling in a grin of satisfaction. But then he was cut to the heart.

Glaeder.

Glaeder the once powerful and mighty elder had every reason to want the same for Thorn because of his aide in killing the elder's Rider and then taking his life to leave him alone in his Eldunari. Thorn scowled in shame. So strong was the darkness in him that even the slightest hateful thought fogged his mind. Glaedr acquitted him for his deeds, honoring him as a member of his own race. But in his eyes, he'd done much worse than his meager recompense would outbalance. He would never entrust Murtagh the privilege to be his Rider again, and he would vehemently oppose Murtagh from choosing another, even if Ar'Din allowed it.

"Remember what he did to you. How he betrayed you. He deserves his fate. You are not to be blamed for their deaths."

His thoughts whispered to him from the darkness, causing his body to surge with fury and vengeance.

"Leave him. You are a wild dragon. He is only a worthless human. A traitor with no value even among his own kind. Just leave and don t look back."

Nooooo, Thorn growled.

I do not want my new path born from darkness, but honor. I do not want this place to be remembered as a killing ground of humans. Murtagh will give penance for his deed, but I am the one who will decide. I am the one he betrayed. I am the one who will decide his penance.

Firm in his decision, Thorn eased into a decent, spiraling towards the camp. During his decent, the sun dipped behind the horizon.

When Thorn alighted at the camp Murtagh was already on the ground, writhing and convulsing with his head in his hands. Thorn watched and felt the inner darkness whispering to him

"He betrayed you, young one. Let him be. Let him suffer. It is only right for the suffering he caused you. He s no longer your Rider. A worthless human from a family of traitors. He will betray you again the first chance he gets. Do not be a fool. Just let him ..."

NO!

Thorn roared in his mind, slamming his tail on the ground and snorting twin tendrils of smoke from his nostrils. The whispers vanished. When he gathered himself, Thorn glanced up to find Ar'Din's silent by steady gaze upon him, watching with a tilted head.

Why have you returned, young one?

Thorn lowered his gaze while crouching to the ground.

I have returned to ask you to spare Murtagh.

Ar'Din rumbled, then leaned his head lower toward Thorn to eye him with a sidelong glare.

And why should I spare him?

Thorn kept his gaze lowered, but answered with a strained growl, the front of his maw curling to reveal his sharp white fangs.

Because I ask it. But If you will not spare him then you must hand me over to the same fate. I am just as deserving.

Ar'Din snorted then tossed his head, tail lashing behind him as he began to circle Thorn, steeling him with a questioning glare.

You have given me no cause to hand you over to such a fate, young one.

Thorn caught Murtagh s movement with the corner of his right eye. He glanced over to see Murtagh looking at him, fear in his eyes, and the gaunt look of defeat. Thorn closed his eyes and clenched his talons into the brittle, sun-baked ground.

Then I will give you one if you don t release him.

Thorn kept his head low as he spoke, but titled just enough to leer at the onyx drake, whose sapphire eyes remained firmly fixed on him with a pulsing glow. Ar Din remained silent as he continued to circle Thorn before finally stopping just in front of the red drake and rested on his haunches. He looked upon Thorn still crouched before him.

If I choose to do as you ask, what is it to you?

I have decided to find Eragon and Saphira, to join them in the search for a new home, if they have not already found one. I want to help them rebuild the Riders and my race. One day I will return here with more dragons and we shall reclaim our ancestral home. I do not want it remembered as a killing ground for humans. I want it to stand as a symbol of our race's return.

Thorn raised his head to meet Ar Din s gaze; equally firm and unyielding.

He betrayed me, not you, not my race. He betrayed me and I am the one who will decide what his penance will be. His debt is to me. His fate is mine to own.

Ar'Din responded with a faint grin, eyes narrowing. Thorn fidgeted, unsure of how to take the gesture. He was about to speak, but Ar'Din interjected.

Save your words, young one. I have done as you asked. He has been handed over to you to do with as you see fit. But be warned young one. If he betrays you again you shall reap the fruits of your in full. You will get no aid from me, nor any other among dragon kind. Do you understand?

Thorn paused to mull over Ar'Din's words. He looked first to Murtagh who seemed unconscious, but at peace. He then looked back to Ar Din, affirming.

I understand.

Ar'Din bowed his head.

Very well, young one.

Thorn watched as Ar'Din turned about and padded sedately to the canyon near their encampment and stopped just before the entrance, his dark form contrasting ominously against the canyon s sandstone walls.

On your quest to find Eragon and Saphira stop first in Ellesmera. There you will find the witch Angela, along with Arya and her dragon, Firnen. Take Murtagh to see Angela. You must convince Arya and Firnen to join you.

Thorn blinked and tilted his head, questioning.

Her dragon?

Ar'Din rumbled and stepped into the canyon, his words echoing as his form vanished into the shadows.

Aye, young one. The dragon from the green egg hatched for her. You will need his help to convince Arya to give you passage and to join you on your journey.

A muffled moan drew Thorn s attention as Ar Din disappeared into the canyon. Murtagh was on his hands and knees. He shook his head then held one hand against his forehead while twisting and dropping back against the large rock behind him. His face scowled in agony and confusion before his eyes cracked open to gaze at Thorn. Thorn met Murtagh s gaze, staring him down. For a long while, they stared at each other, Murtagh s gaze betraying weariness and uncertainty. Thorn s betrayed anger, and an unyielding determination and sense of purpose that had never been there before. Murtagh lowered his gaze then sighed and closed his eyes, letting his head rest against the rock.

"I thought you'd left for good."

Thorn snorted then turned and spread his wings to take flight.

"Why did you come back?"

Murtagh's only answer was the rush of air and sand pelting his face and arms. When he opened his eyes Thorn was rising into the sky, heading away from the mountain.

"Where are you going?" Murtagh called out, but Thorn only roared as he flew farther and farther away.

"Perfect," Murtagh sighed and laid his head back against the stone. The night had been long and without sleep. The day even longer. Weariness caught up with him and he was soon asleep.

Murtagh was startled awake by a loud thud and rush of air around him. He opened his eyes to the bloodied carcass of a wild camel, then turned his gaze to Thorn who was just alighting on the ground.

Thorn rolled his head while folding the wings along his back then padded over to the carcass to sniff over it while he watched Murtagh with the single blood-red eye. Murtagh met his gaze thinking that Thorn was perhaps trying to speak to him, but at that moment he realized he felt nothing of Thorn s mind. The bitter memories rushed back, catching him off guard. He drew in a quick breath, his hands pressing the ground on either side of him to steady himself until vertigo and nausea passed. When he opened his eyes again Thorn was still, silently watching him, as if curious or appraising. Then in a swift motion, Thorn sliced a large chunk of meat from the beast s shoulder and tossed it at Murtagh s feet then snapped the rest of the carcass up in his maw and carried it to the opposite end of the camp to eat. Murtagh watched Thorn settle, his expression turning from shock to sorrow and regret. All that had transpired the night before had come back to him. He swallowed hard and wrapped his arms around his belly, unable to even stomach that thought of food. He lowered his gaze, unable to bring himself to look at Thorn.

Ar'Din spared him, removing the weight of his fate only to leave him with the weight of his betrayal. Tears streamed down his dust laden face as the sorrow of his betrayal overpowered him. It was the first time he d ever shed tears, for anything. He and Thorn had escaped Galbatorix. They had won the favor of Eragon, Saphira, and the others; even of Nasuada. As the tears flowed Murtagh covered his face with both hands. He had left with Thorn so they could both heal, somehow find their way through the darkness that Galbatorix had put them through. That anger and desire to see everything burn. Who in his life had ever shown him favor or kindness?

Eragon had, and Saphira, Nasuada had even shown him, love. All he could think about now is that it was all for naught. He was truly cursed. If his life before did not prove it then losing the last one to care for him, one that he truly cared for, did. What good could possibly come of his life now? What was there left for him to do but be cursed?

Murtagh let it all go, his body convulsing from sobs carrying a lifetime of grief and pain, crashing through his breaking point. For a long while his body trembled and tears soaked into the sand beneath him until his weariness caught up with him and he fell into a deep, deep sleep. Thorn paused from feeding to watch Murtagh, head tilted curiously. He had never seen Murtagh break down in such a manner before. As he watched Murtagh fall over to sleep he thought for a brief moment of what he was thinking and feeling.

But no sooner did he indulge the thought then he was rolling his head, growling in dismissal as he turned attention back to his meal, ignoring Murtagh. After his meal, he cleaned himself of blood and curled up with his back to Murtagh. Tomorrow Murtagh was leaving with him, whether he agreed to or not. Thorn would fly them both to Ellesmera. He would do as Ar'Din said and take Murtagh to see Angela.

But Ar'Din said nothing of what to do with him after, and as far a Thorn was concerned that was as far as Murtagh was going with him. He would not entrust the traitor beyond that. He would seek Arya and Firnen alone and convince them to join him. Murtagh, he would leave behind. As far as Thorn was concerned Murtagh had no part in the return of the Riders, nor in the return of the dragons. Thorn had done more than Murtagh deserved by asking Ar Din to spare him. As part of Murtagh s penance, he would stay behind while he left with Arya and Firnen to find Eragon and Saphira. When time enough had passed and the dragons increased in numbers he would seek the elder s approval to return with a band of dragons to once again settle their ancestral home, Du Fells Nángoröth. Then he would see to it that Murtagh earned his penance in full.