The Truth About Lies (An Inheritance Cycle Fanfiction)

Anger Management

Finally, Murtagh made the first move: a quick swipe at Eragon's head. Eragon easily parried the blow and responded with his own lunge at Murtagh's torso. I knew that the edges of their blades had been blocked with Eragon's magic, but I couldn't help the pang of fear shooting through my chest as their swords scraped across each other's skin. They never drew any blood, but I could see where bruises and welts were beginning to form on Eragon's arms. He was fighting well, but Murtagh was besting him on more than one occasion. The fight continued on without the prospect of a winner, which was surprising to me. I had to credit Eragon's success to his reckless fighting style; his moves were erratic and formless. Murtagh was doing well countering him, but I could tell he was having difficulty anticipating Eragon's next moves. Each of them tired at the same rate, and although Murtagh's moves were carefully calculated, he was having a hard time finding an opening in Eragon's defenses. Then, suddenly, Murtagh flung a fist into Eragon's chest, knocking him to the ground. The older boy twirled his hand-and-a-half sword by his side, the sharp metal gleaming in the firelight, preparing for the final blow. He brought the blade down but Eragon got his sword up just in time, grabbing hold of Murtagh's wrist and pulling him down. They ended up with the other's blades at their throats.

"A draw," I said, standing up and walking towards them. Their chests rose and fell rapidly as they tried to regain their breath. Murtagh got up first, sticking the point of his sword into the dirt to help him to his feet, and reached down a gloved hand to help Eragon.

"That was amazing!" Eragon exclaimed, slapping Murtagh roughly on the shoulder and smiling like an idiot.

"You were fantastic!" Murtagh replied, smiling right back and shaking his head. "I've never met someone with your skill level. How long did you say you've been practicing? I could barely keep up with your moves!" Well, that's because he has no idea what he's doing, you dolt... They were talking and congratulating each other as if they were brothers; it was positively nauseating.

"Alright, alright," I cut in, pushing between the two of them and turning my back on Murtagh, "knock it off you two. We need to be formulating a plan, not playing around with metal sticks." Murtagh sat heavily on the ground by the fire, his breathing finally returning to normal.

"What do you mean?" Murtagh asked, his mouth full of a chunk of bread.

"You're disgusting..." I muttered under my breath, doubting that he heard me. "Well, I don't know about the two of you, but I have no idea how to get to the Varden. We need to figure out how we're going to find them."

"She's right," Eragon said, his breathing still slightly labored. Well at least someone was listening to me. Eragon looked behind him at where Saphira was laying at the edge of the camp, keeping watch over everything. "Saphira says that Brom told her about a man in Gil'ead named Dormnad, before he died. He said this Dormnad would know the way to the Varden."

"Finally, now we're getting somewhere," I muttered. I glanced furtively at Murtagh, brows slightly arched. He only glared back at me, his grey eyes glinting sharply.

"Come now," Eragon pleaded, looking between the two of us. "Just calm down. I think you two need a way to release your anger." My head snapped around to look at him.

"What are you talking about, Eragon?"

"I do believe he means that we should spar," Murtagh responded pointedly, his deep voice as cold as ice.

I had to scoff. "As if I'd consent to that," I sneered, crossing my arms over my chest and tossing an errant lock of hair over my shoulder in a show of flippancy. A wicked smirk spread across Murtagh's face, and I had a flashback to a glimpse of a man with red eyes. My breath caught in my throat, but he didn't seem to notice.