“I’m only trying to stay alive,” stated Murtagh. “No stranger’s life is more important than my own.”

“But you can’t indulge in wanton violence. Where is your empathy?” growled Eragon, pointing at the head.

“Empathy? Empathy? What empathy can I afford my enemies? Shall I dither about whether to defend myself because it will cause someone pain? If that had been the case, I would have died years ago! You must be willing to protect yourself and what you cherish, no matter what the cost.”

Eragon slammed Zar’roc back into its sheath, shaking his head savagely. “You can justify any atrocity with that reasoning.”

“Do you think I enjoy this?” Murtagh shouted. “My life has been threatened from the day I was born! All of my waking hours have been spent avoiding danger in one form or another. And sleep never comes easily because I always worry if I’ll live to see the dawn. If there ever was a time I felt secure, it must have been in my mother’s womb, though I wasn’t safe even there! You don’t understand—if you lived with thisfear, you would have learned the same lesson I did:Do not take chances. ” He gestured at Torkenbrand’s body. “He was a risk that I removed. I refuse to repent, and I won’t plague myself over what is done and past.”

Eragon shoved his face into Murtagh’s. “It was still the wrong thing to do.” He lashed Arya to Saphira, then climbed onto Snowfire. “Let’s go.” Murtagh guided Tornac around Torkenbrand’s prone form in the bloodstained dust.

They rode at a rate that Eragon would have thought impossible a week ago; leagues melted away before them as if wings were attached to their feet. They turned south, between two outstretched arms of the Beor Mountains. The arms were shaped like pincers about to close, the tips a day’s travel apart. Yet the distance seemed less because of the mountains’ size. It was as if they were in a valley made for giants.

When they stopped for the day, Eragon and Murtagh ate dinner in silence, refusing to look up from their food. Afterward, Eragon said tersely, “I’ll take the first watch.” Murtagh nodded and lay on his blankets with his back to Eragon.

Do you want to talk?asked Saphira.

Not right now,murmured Eragon.Give me some time to think; I’m . . . confused.

She withdrew from his mind with a gentle touch and a whisper.I love you, little one.

And I you,he said. She curled into a ball next to him, lending him her warmth. He sat motionless in the dark, wrestling with his disquiet.

F LIGHTTHROUGH

THEVALLEY

In the morning Saphira took off with both Eragon and Arya. Eragon wanted to get away from Murtagh for a time. He shivered, pulling his clothes tighter. It looked like it might snow. Saphira ascended lazily on an updraft and asked,What are you thinking?

Eragon contemplated the Beor Mountains, which towered above them even though Saphira flew far above the ground.That was murder yesterday. I’ve no other word for it.

Saphira banked to the left. It was a hasty deed and ill considered, but Murtagh tried to do the right thing. The men who buy and sell other humans deserve every misfortune that befalls them. If we weren’t committed to helping Arya, I would hunt down every slaver and tear them apart!

Yes,said Eragon miserably,but Torkenbrand was helpless. He couldn’t shield himself or run. A moment more and he probably would have surrendered. Murtagh didn’t give him that chance. If Torkenbrand had at least been able to fight, it wouldn’t have been so bad.

Eragon, even if Torkenbrand had fought, the results would have been the same. You know as well as I do that few can equal you or Murtagh with the blade. Torkenbrand would have still died, though you seem to think it would have been more just or honorable in a mismatched duel.

I don’t know what’s right!admitted Eragon, distressed.There aren’t any answers that make sense.

Sometimes,said Saphira gently,there are no answers. Learn what you can about Murtagh from this. Then forgive him. And if you can’t forgive, at least forget, for he meant you no harm, however rash the act was. Your head is still attached, yes?

Frowning, Eragon shifted in the saddle. He shook himself, like a horse trying to rid itself of a fly, and checked Murtagh’s position over Saphira’s shoulder. A patch of color farther back along their route caught his attention.

Camped by a streambed they had crossed late yesterday were the Urgals. Eragon’s heartbeat quickened. How could the Urgals be on foot, yet still gain on them? Saphira saw the monsters as well and tilted her wings, brought them close to her body, and slipped into a steep dive, splitting the air.I don’t think they spotted us, she said.

Eragon hoped not. He squinted against the blast of air as she increased the angle of their dive.Their chieftain must be driving them at a breakneck pace, he said.

Yes—maybe they’ll all die of exhaustion.

When they landed, Murtagh asked curtly, “What now?”

“The Urgals are overtaking us,” said Eragon. He pointed back toward the column’s camp.

“How far do we still have to go?” asked Murtagh, putting his hands against the sky and measuring the hours until sunset.

“Normally? . . . I would guess another five days. At the speed we’ve been traveling, only three. But unless we get there tomorrow, the Urgals will probably catch us, and Arya will certainly die.”

“She might last another day.”

“We can’t count on it,” objected Eragon. “The only way we can get to the Varden in time is if we don’t stop for anything, least of all sleep. That’s our only chance.”