Murtagh

The dragon twisted round to face each new threat, but he wasn’t fast enough, and the wolves moved together with silent understanding. Within seconds, drops of steaming blood dripped from rents in Thorn’s wings, and he held his left forefoot off the ground, unable to place his weight on it.

Each drop of blood struck like a drumbeat of doom.

Murtagh felt as if he were about to explode. He tore down the barrier he’d erected in his mind and sent his thoughts hurtling toward the dragon’s small but fierce consciousness.

Thorn flinched, distracted, and the wolves closed in.

Jump! Murtagh shouted in his mind, including an image of what he meant.

Thorn hesitated, still uncertain, and one of the wolves bit his tail. With a yelp, Thorn spun to face his attacker.

It was a mistake. The other wolves rushed toward him, jaws parted, foam-flecked fangs ready to close on Thorn’s slender legs and delicate wings.

Murtagh forced his will onto the dragon’s as-yet-unformed mind and again shouted, Jump! To his relief, Thorn jumped, and he used his wings to gain a few extra feet of height before dropping down on the other side of the arena. The walls were too high for Thorn to surmount, which meant he had to fight.

The wolves raced after Thorn, and Murtagh fed the dragon more instructions. Thorn was, like all of his kind, a natural fighter, and it took only seconds before he started to understand and respond.

Thorn sprang onto the back of the nearest wolf and sank his teeth into the beast’s neck. With a sharp, vicious gesture, he tore out a chunk of hide and muscle—releasing a spray of blood—and then jumped onto a second wolf.

The wolf twisted nearly in half, snapping at the dragon, but Thorn dug his claws in and bit at the wolf’s head until the creature’s legs buckled and it collapsed to the ground.

The fall knocked Thorn onto his side, and before Murtagh could do anything to help, the other two wolves darted in and began to savage Thorn.

“No!”

For a few seconds, the dragon was barely visible, lost beneath a twisting knot of grey fur, legs, and tails. Growls and snarls and yelps of pain filled the arena, and fans of blood sprayed across the packed sand. Murtagh felt sharp pangs from Thorn, and he feared all was lost. He couldn’t understand. Why would Galbatorix allow his newest prize to die?

“How could you?” he said, barely able to form the words.

“Watch.”