WHAT were you thinking?

I wasn't ready.

Thorn veered sharply to the left, preparing to descend upon the Empire's encampment.

No, Thorn. We're going back to Uru'Baen. Galbatorix wants us to report directly…in person. You know that.

Thorn snorted angrily as he righted himself and glided through the air. Just send him a mental message that you didn't get them today, but you will tomorrow. You know what will befall us upon our return empty-handed.

Thorn, he wanted us to return regardless of what happened. He sighed heavily, his steamy breath rushing through his helm. Annoyed, he slipped it off. The wind cooled his sweaty face and combed through his damp hair.

We could still go back and revoke your merciful mistake.

No.

Thorn huffed and the smoke from his nostrils thickened. I'm not understanding you. Seething with anger that burned through Murtagh's mind, Thorn pumped his wings hard, jolting Murtagh, as they surged towards the northeast. This is the second time today I've let you override my discretion.

At dusk the next evening, Thorn and Murtagh glimpsed the palace of Uru'Baen, bathed in a ruddy glow from the setting summer sun. Murtagh's stomach tightened painfully. His heart pounded as it had when he'd come across Eragon on the Burning Plains.

We don't have to do this Thorn entreated. Murtagh sensed fear in his steed.

Yes we do. Running from him does no good; he always catches you in the end. Murtagh recalled his journeys with Eragon and his grievous twist of fate at Tronjheim.

As they approached the city and the landing site among the towering steeples and pillars of the palace, Thorn observed tensely, I see the King is waiting for us.

Murtagh rallied his courage and prepared himself for an unpleasant welcome. Thorn's muscles shivered intermittently.

A moment later, Thorn exclaimed, He's leaving the landing dock. You don't suppose he'll ride out to meet us....

Relief slowly quelled their anxious hearts as it became clear that the King had abandoned the landing site and was nowhere to be seen in the air upon ghoulish Shruikan.

A middle-aged attendant, dressed in a badly stained tunic with the Empire's emblem stitched upon the center of the chest, rushed over to meet them from the dark, expansive archway that led into the dragon roost. "My lord Murtagh, King Galbatorix knows of your return. He says you are rest this evening and that he will summon you for a meeting when he is ready."

Murtagh and Thorn were conflicted over whether they should be alarmed or relieved with this news. They bade each other a grim farewell and went their separate ways.

__________________________________________________________________________________________

A phantom lady, draped in a loose gown the color of the King's finest wine slinked along a windowless and deserted corridor. A black cloak, light and sheer as a cobweb, billowed behind her in the stuffy air. It was a thick summer evening and the day's heat seemed to congregate in these poorly ventilated recesses of the palace. A thick plait of wavy hair the color of fertile soil after a nourishing rain hung heavily on her neck. Her skin was dewy with perspiration; not from the heat but from anxiety. She was roaming the palace of Uru'Baen, a forbidden venture.

She halted her steps. A quivering sliver of candle light escaped from a slightly ajar door down the passage. The hall was not deserted as she had thought. She approached the light's source; she had to pass by to return to her quarters. A heavy dark wooden door came into her view, carved with sinisterly intricate patterns. Her heart fluttered anxiously, both curious and fearful. She listened closely for whatever activity might be occurring beyond the unsealed entrance. Silence. The young woman hesitated before peeking through the narrow opening. After a moment's deliberation, she laid her slender hands upon the smooth doorpost. An unusual and ornate bracelet, narrow in width and made of brilliant silver, slid down her slender wrist. Bringing her gaze to the crevice of the door and its frame, she peered into the room. What she saw gave her reason to gasp.

He stood, with his back to her, at the side of his bed several yards away. His battle armor was in a pile beside the bed waiting to be cleaned. The upper back of his black tunic was damp with sweat. A deep and luxurious red caught her eye beside his left leg: the sheath for the sword that he reverently inspected in his hands.

She dared not tarry long; this new Dragon Rider intimidated her, perhaps even more so than the one she was familiar with now. Reason told her to leave but curiosity stayed her.

She was still in the paralyzing grasp of awe when the Rider abruptly sheathed his sword. Panicked, she turned to flee.

Swift as a falcon, he withdrew a hidden dagger as he dashed to the door. He caught her by the wrist, twisting it sharply to submit her will to his. Yanking her inside, he shoved his hostage up against the door, slamming it shut with a thunderous boom. The naked edge of his blade threatened entrance just under her chin. The eyes that glowered at her, brooding and fierce, were more startling than the blade that threatened her life.

They remained motionless for a time observing one another, hoping to ascertain the other's intentions.

Struggling to recover from the shock of finding herself in this thorny situation, she smiled weakly. "I'm sorry to have…startled you. I suppose I deserve this… lurking outside the door of a Rider." The blade did not retreat; it was frightfully keen upon her ivory skin. His eyes were as cold as the blade.

"Is there any reason why I shouldn't kill you?" he asked brusquely, his voice just above a malicious whisper. Adrenaline pulsed through him.

"To kill me would only add to your troubles,"

"Who are you and what do you want?" Keeping his gaze locked on her eyes allowed him to focus on the situation and not on her astonishing beauty.

She pondered his inquiry before replying evasively, "I'll tell you if you agree to answer the same question."

His eyes narrowed in scrutiny and mistrust. "Did King Galbatorix send you?"

"I don't know why you ask for whatever I say, you will doubt."

His glare persisted. "Perhaps. Let me ask you again: who are you and what errand brings you here?"

"Who I am does not matter."

"You must matter, quite significantly, to live in the palace of the King." He glanced down at her dress and was momentarily distracted by the low neckline and the beautiful portion of flesh it framed before returning a wary eye upon her face.

"Perhaps."

Slowly, he removed the dagger from her throat, pondering what to do with her. At length, Murtagh stood aside, allowing her freedom to move about the room but she remained against the darkly polished door. He watched her closely as her eyes quickly explored the interior of his quarters. The room was spacious and well-furnished, luxurious even, but grim. The colors, rose red, blackest ink, and storm-cloud gray were dull as if the life of the colors had been removed and all that remained was its shadow.

"I understand that you fought in the long-awaited battle with Surda. Why have you returned so soon? I cannot imagine it has ended so swiftly." Her voice was soothing, quiet, but a dark and brooding quality hovered over her words.

"I was summoned to attend matters here and prepare for the next battle." He paused before asking impatiently. "You know more about me than I about you. Would you tell me who are you now?"

A delay preceded her reply. "I'm a secret that has heard much about you."

A shiver fluttered through him. Her answer intrigued him as much as her slender figure. "Am I to solve a riddle?" He tried to hide his interest amidst the flattest voice he could muster.

"There is no riddle," she replied simply.

Murtagh blinked hard several times trying to clear his senses. She was enchanting in a way that disconcerted him though he was irresistibly drawn to her. Is she an elf? he wondered nervously. Some sort of goddess or nymph?

The young woman bowed her head as she slowly approached him. Her heart was racing but she was willing to perform whatever was necessary to realize her single aspiration since she learned of Murtagh becoming a Dragon Rider. It was no consolation to her, however, that she had only ever daydreamed of such an unlikely encounter, and she shivered with apprehension.

Murtagh's intrigue morphed into frustration as he sought to regain control his of senses and it leaked into his tone of voice. "What do you want?"

"Whatever you want." She raised jade green eyes, leveling her gaze with his own. A flush of heat overran him.

"I must know your name and intentions," he said somewhat testily as he prepared to invade her consciousness. His focus quickly shifted from extricating himself from this encounter to getting her into his bed.

"As you wish." Perhaps her would turn her away but there was no indication of this. He stood no more than a yard away with his arms crossed over his chest. She noted his wandering gaze; she wished she'd worn something more modest.

He hesitated, her cunning reply and seductive shimmer on her face impeded his focus.

"I serve Galbatorix," the young woman admitted at length, carrying the weight of a contrite confession. Then, in a voice barbed with bitterness, she added, "But he does not suit me." Though her eyes were downcast, he could see furrows of resentment upon her fair brow.

"You're a fool to trust me with such an opinion as yours."

The woman smirked. "Perhaps. But then…you feel as I do. About the King. "

Her words crashed upon him with the force of a tempest driven wave upon an ocean. He recalled the day he vowed his allegiance to Galbatorix in the Ancient language. "If you possess any grain of sense, you'll leave and do everything in your power to rid yourself of your contempt." Then, with wary wonder, "The King is not aware of your disposition?" he asked quietly with a mixture of awe and trepidation.

"No."

Murtagh gazed at her, greatly perplexed. "How? How can he not know? His mind is as sharp as the finest of swords and as unrelenting and vicious as the Ra'zac."

She glowed with amusement and pride but she said nothing. It had been a long time since she was last flattered.

Murtagh chuckled darkly to himself, muttering, "I was afraid of this." He approached her to see her to the door, though the thought crossed his mind to take her to bed with him. "I'asking you to leave. I'm not partial to entertaining strangers."

Relief and panic warred over her conscience. This would be her only opportunity to make a difference. Thinking quickly she asked, "You want to send me away now without knowing the answers to your questions?"

"I don't have any questions," he protested curtly.

"You've become quite the liar," she accused boldly. Guilt burned her now for she accused without solid evidence.

Murtagh smirked, struggling to ignore her words. Words that convicted. "I'm flattered by your attention, maiden, but I haven't the time nor the interest to invest in a relationship at present," he said with searing cynicism.

"What makes you think that's what I desire?"

"What is it then that you seek from me?"

"Just a few answers," she murmured. She looked down as her confidence wavered.

Murtagh, arrested by her beauty, charmed by her demeanor, drew closer to her. He smelled the luxuriant and soft perfume that emanated from her like the glow of a candle. "That depends on the questions." Though it would be easy to succumb to his lust, he feared more to relinquish his control and become vulnerable to this captivating young woman.

"Will you kiss me?" His nearness frightened her and she found it…exhilarating.

They were half a foot apart and his hand was wrapped about her arm. Their eyes were fixed upon one another.

"No," he said more firmly than he felt.

"Why?" she replied gently, placing a soft hand upon his face. He shuddered slightly at her touch; it was foreign to him, the sensation of tender flesh upon tender flesh. "You have suffered much and you have strived for so long without recompense." Her words both enticed and soothed him. Her voice was gentle, honest, and compassionate, everything he was starved for. Her lovely burnished jade eyes relaxed his defenses; she gazed at him with a depth of tenderness he had never known.

His hand followed her gracefully sculpted form. "He would be furious if knew," he said weakly as a last attempt to dissuade both himself and the maiden.

"The King?" She gave him a small smile before placing her cheek beside his and whispered in his ear, "He will never know." All anxiety had melted away in the heat of desire.

"Impossible," he muttered as his other hand explored the curve of her slender neck. A shiver ran down his back as her lips left him a kiss on his cheek.

"No. I will teach you to deflect his intrusion."

He smiled doubtfully at her reply, and abruptly took her in his strong arms. Their faces only inches apart, they waited for some internal signal that would unleash the passion that had been increasing since her arrival.

Murtagh allowed for a moment of hesitation before passing the point of no return. He would enjoy this solitary moment of pleasure after months of discipline and a tortured mind.