A/N: Credit to Paolini, and wherever else it's due. I've taken certain... artistic liberties here and there, but have tried to keep them to a minimum. Feel free to contact me with any questions.
"Tornac!"
At the unfamiliar voice, I looked up from the blade I was polishing, listening to footsteps crossing the yard outside. In a flash, I was on my feet, scurrying across the room and flattening my back against the wall, peering round the corner to watch two figures approaching Father. One was a guard, dressed in the familiar dark uniform and shining helmet, carrying a spear upright by his side. A few steps behind him shuffled a young boy, roughly the same age as me, who kept his head down. Father looked between them with a frown on his face as the guard spoke. After only a few seconds, he waved him over and the pair moved closer to the doorway where I remained concealed, leaving the boy alone.
"This isn't a request," the guard said, his voice low. "It comes from the king himself." Father ran a hand through his light hair, smearing more oil into it.
"And that's really him? I thought he'd be older." The guard shrugged and Father sighed. "Alright. Thanks, Barrett." The guard clapped Father on the shoulder and turned, striding away as my father returned to stand in front of the boy, who hadn't moved. For a few minutes they spoke to each other, though their voices were too low for me to hear what was said. My eyes constantly returned to the boy, tracing the outline of his tense back.
"Toren!" At the sound of my name, I jumped guiltily, hesitating for a moment so it wouldn't seem like I'd been eavesdropping. Then I stepped out into the sunlight, squinting at the sudden brightness. Moving to Father's side, I eyed the other boy with curiosity.
"Murtagh, this is my son, Toren." Father spoke softly, as if a sharp word would send the boy scarpering. I half-agreed. Though he looked to be a year or so older than me, there was a wariness that hung around him like a cloak.
" 'Lo," I mumbled. Even with his nervous aura, the boy was still a little intimidating, with his tall frame and dark brown hair. He nodded, but didn't return my greeting.
"The king has instructed me to teach Murtagh to fight," Father said, and I blinked, looking at Murtagh with new eyes. He was lean enough, but with a slightest hint of muscles forming in his arms. Tall already, he would probably only grow taller, giving him a good reach. His sharp gaze met mine as I finished assessing him, and his eyes held a hint of muted anger. Turning away, I glanced up at Father.
"Do you think you can help me do that?" he asked. He'd been teaching me how to handle a blade since before I could walk, but I'd never had someone my own age and size to practise with. Grinning, I nodded. Yes, we could teach him. And so we did.
Sitting in the sun, I admired the play of the light over the blade in my hands as I sharpened it, stone rasping over steel. It was several inches longer than my last sword, but Father swore I would grow out of it much too quickly. It wasn't really mine, just one we'd claimed from the new armoury. But he had promised me one of my own someday. When I'd finished growing. It seemed a long way off. Years.
Glancing up, the stone paused its noisy work as I watched a woman and her daughter walk past, the little girl's eyes meeting mine before her mother pulled her on. I watched them leave hungrily, my thoughts on the woman who'd birthed me, dead for seven years. I had no memories of her, only what my father had told me and a single image over the fireplace. She'd been a pretty woman, a tumble of curly chestnut hair framing her face. I'd inherited the colour, if not the style. Blinking away the thought, I looked down as more footsteps approached, hiding my face. But the steps didn't continue past, the faltering strides finally coming to a halt.
"Tor..." The voice was so quiet I nearly missed it, the word fading into nothing as I looked up from my work. The sword went clattering to the ground, forgotten as I leapt to my feet. Murtagh swayed as I sprinted towards him, his face pale, his hand clamped around one side of his throat.
"Murtagh!" I caught him just as his knees gave way, though his hand remained clamped over his throat. Blood was oozing through his fingers.
" 'M sorry," he murmured weakly. "Didn't know where else to go." I hoisted him up off the ground easily. Endless swordplay with Father had given me enough strength to carry him the few steps to our house and slip inside.
"Father!" I shouted as I deposited his limp body in a chair. He responded to the summons at once, appearing from the stairs and taking in the situation in one quick glance. His face paled to the same shade as Murtagh's as he hurried over. I moved to the side, letting him take my place in front of the other boy.
"Let me see." He said, tilting Murtagh's head back. He obeyed, letting his hand fall down. His fingers dripped blood onto the floor. I gasped at the wound on his neck. It was deep, and oozing blood, but there was no spurting, no fountains of red. Murtagh was lucky. Very lucky.
"Get the kit," Father instructed, and I jumped to do so, dashing around the table to the cupboard on the end. Father insisted that we keep a first aid kit in the house. Which, considering the number of weapons that we shared the space with, was a good idea. I'd never been more grateful for it than I was at that moment. My hand left a smear of blood on the surface as I almost threw it across the table and I looked down at my fingers in shock, unsure where the redness had come from. Flipping the box open with one hand, Father pulled out a piece of clean white gauze and pressed it firmly against Murtagh's neck. His grey eyes were sliding shut, but snapped open again at the renewed pressure, letting out a hiss of pain.
"Easy," Father murmured. "You're okay. You're going to be okay." I hoped he was right. There was a lot of blood. But he seemed to be. The flow seemed to be slowing. It hadn't soaked through the gauze yet anyway.
"What happened? Did you fall?" I blurted out, unable to stop myself. Murtagh's eyes closed, then opened. He shook his head. I frowned. Then what had happened? How had he gotten such a nasty injury?
"Someone," he croaked. I stared at him, confused.
"Someone? What do you mean someone?" But Father's face had gone even whiter that it had been before.
"Someone did this to you," he snarled. Murtagh closed his eyes and nodded. "Who? Who was it?"
"I don't know," Murtagh said. "Didn't see their face." My lips pulled back in an indignant snarl. I wanted to know who it had been. And I wanted to rip them apart. Then put them back together so I could do it again.
In perfect silence, I stared into his eyes. He looked straight back at me, unflinching. Five years had made us both taller, but his face was just the same as when I'd first laid eyes on it, all wariness and a sharp gaze. Carefully, I stepped to the left, his gaze flickering down as he tracked the movement, mirroring it perfectly. Halfway through my second step, I changed direction, launching myself forwards, my sword whipping through the air. Taken by surprise at my sudden attack, Murtagh barely raised his weapon in time, the weapons smacking together between us. For half a second our eyes met over the crossed blades before he leapt backwards, twirling his sword so fast it blurred before my eyes. Undeterred, I followed, and we clashed again. Once, twice, three times we came together and danced apart before I slipped past his guard and landed a blow on his right elbow, slashing the weapon across his exposed limb. Swearing, he dropped his sword as his lower arm hung uselessly by his side, deadened by the blow. Panting, I stepped back as my father came forwards. Murtagh glared at me, but I grinned back, unperturbed.
"Need a rest?" I asked innocently.
"Shut up!" he snapped, and I raised an eyebrow.
"Enough," my father said, though he was fighting a smile as he claimed Murtagh's weapon from the ground. Shooting me a look, he turned to Murtagh. "That was good. Don't forget to practise uncrossing your feet. If Toren had advanced fast enough, you would have been tripping over yourself." Murtagh nodded, still rubbing his arm. My father turned to me, and threw the wooden sword through the air towards me. I snatched it from the air, the hard wood stinging my palm. "Don't get overconfident," he said, and I grinned. It wasn't a real threat. Whenever I got truly cocky, he would go against me himself. It was a lesson in humility every time. Shaking his head a little, he turned away. Still smirking a little, I wandered the other way, slipping around the wall at the other end of the training ground. It was a dead-end, a narrow passage that used to lead to the weapons store, before it was moved. Now it was nothing more than a sheltered passage to most eyes. Not many people knew that there was a way through. Though the door had been boarded up, the bottom corner was loose. It was a bit more of a squeeze to push through now than it had been three years ago when we'd started coming here, but there was still enough space. I went first, ducking down and wiggling my way through the hole, Murtagh following close behind me, still favouring his left arm.
"Are you okay?" I asked, nodding to it. He snorted.
"Yeah, fine," he replied, rotating his elbow a little to work out the pain. It was dark in the room, the only windows high and narrow, but it meant no-one could see it. I never asked why Murtagh didn't want to go back to the citadel after our sparring. I'd spent enough time in his presence to notice the looks he was given. And I knew why. My father had admitted it the very first evening after he'd agreed to train Murtagh Morzansson. I couldn't really remember the man, but my father could, and there were too many stories to ignore. But I did my best, keeping my mouth shut. Murtagh knew that I knew, but neither of us ever mentioned his parentage. Sitting down against a wall, wincing slightly at the coldness of the stone, I watched as his face slipped into a blankness I'd seen before. He stared straight ahead, as if examining the opposite wall would make it reveal all its secrets to him. For a few minutes I just watched, then I plucked up my courage.
"Should I ask what you're doing?"
"Only if you want to know," he replied smoothly. I let that sit for another minute.
"What are you doing?" I asked eventually, and he grinned, without looking around.
"Practising." I rolled my eyes.
"Practising what?" At long last he blinked, turning to look at me as if weighing his options.
"Did you know that some people can break into another's mind?" I gave him a look somewhere between scepticism and confusion. He nodded seriously.
"Who?"
"Magicians, I think. Or some of them. The king." He hesitated. "The other riders." Morzan. "It's not common, but they're out there." I waited. "But, with enough practice, they can be stopped. Thoughts can be defended." For a moment I absorbed that. There was no denying that the idea of someone rooting around in my head was not one I looked on fondly.
"How long have you been doing it?" I asked. Murtagh grimaced.
"As long as I can remember. Even since I found out how."
"Can you teach me?" Startled, he met my unwavering gaze for a moment.
"It's not easy," he said slowly, as if considering. I remained silent and he grinned. "Alright. Something I might actually be better at for once." He was right.
I could tell already that it was going to be a long night. Standing behind my father's shoulder, just tall enough to see over it, I looked out over the sea of people and struggled not to grimace. All around were women in sumptuous dresses, and men in their best finery, in a range of colours from subtle greys to bright vivid pink. The sound of their bright laughter and mixture of voices, all raised over each other, was an assault on my ears. I would take a clash of swords over this any day. Sensing my discomfort, Father gripped my elbow, lending a moment of silent support before moving forwards into the crowd. Suppressing a sigh, I followed.
And so started the longest hour of my life. The endless stream of faces and names floated across my mind without registering. They were all the same, full of pleasantries that Father returned with a skill and calm that I could never have pulled off. The talk seemed to be full of nothing but masked compliments and insults that I couldn't always distinguish between. Eventually, as I let my gaze wander around the room in a slight lull, skimming over the faces and clothes, my eyes caught on a slip of movement at the far wall. It took a few moments for me to pinpoint the source, but I finally found it, wearing a face that was reflecting all the emotions I was trying to hide. Tapping my father, I jerked my head across the room and he nodded, understanding at once. Quietly I darted away, rounding the edge of the crowd as I honed in my target with precision learnt long ago on the practice fields. I was only feet away when Murtagh spotted me, his face smoothing out of its scowl into a grimace. I grinned as I sidled up next to him.
"Having fun?"
"Obviously," he said, raising a hand as if to run it through his hair, which was growing out alarmingly fast. At the last moment he dropped it back to his side, as if remembering the smooth locks it had been forced into. Catching my grin, he scowled.
"Shut up," he snapped grumpily.
"I barely recognised you," I said, which was absolutely true. Not only was his dark hair lying smooth and sleek, pushed back from his face, but he was dressed in a fine grey outfit, set off by flashes of red at the cuffs, a far cry from his normal dark jerkin and tunic.
"I don't recognise myself," he muttered, tugging self-consciously at the sleeves. Forcing back a snigger, I looked away, watching the crowd ebb and flow as groups formed and broke.
"Does this sort of thing happen often?" I asked, my gaze roving over the nobles.
"Often enough," Murtagh grouched, then sighed. "Not that often I suppose. I avoid them when I can, but when the king puts on something this big, I'm expected to show my face." He frowned a little. "How did you get dragged in?"
"Father got invited," I said absently. "Is the king here?" I couldn't hide the curiosity in my voice, but Murtagh shook his head.
"Don't think so. I haven't seen him." Our conversation was brought to an abrupt halt by the approach of a noble wearing a bright blue jacket with so much lace falling from the sleeves I could barely make out his hands.
"Murtagh Morzansson," he said, bowing a little as he halted in front of us. I barely contained my gasp. Never had I heard anyone utter Morzan's name so casually in any context. Murtagh didn't even blink, bowing in return.
"Lord Kenric," he responded smoothly, "enjoying your evening?"
"Certainly, a wonderful event," Kenric replied. I couldn't stop staring at his hair, which was so brightly white that it matched the lace on his jacket. "So generous of the king." Murtagh inclined his head in silent agreement. "I was hoping to catch you, actually," Kenric continued. "There are a few things I'd like to discuss, if you've got time later this week?" Only the slightest tilt of his head made it a question; his tone was full of expectation.
"Of course. I will check when I'm free and get back to you."
"Excellent," Kenric said, nodded to both of us one last time, and moved off. Murtagh shook his head as he watched the blue jacket retreating through the crowds.
"He's got two mistresses," he said casually. "But he doesn't know they both know about the other." I snorted with laughter before I could stop myself.
"Maybe they're too fascinated with his hair to care." Murtagh chuckled.
"Possibly. I have no idea how he managed to get it that colour."
"Paint?" I suggested innocently and we both had to hide our laughter.
"But that man over there–" Murtagh nodded subtly to our left at a man with golden curls that fell to his shoulders and a velvety red jacket "–he's got three paramours, and they're all clueless."
"Spreading gossip again, Tag?" I whirled, my hand jumping to my back, where the blade I never went without was concealed, though the new voice was full of light amusement. Murtagh had turned too, but relaxed as the newcomer joined us. He was about five years older than us, bordering on twenty, with inky black hair cropped almost as short as mine and an equally dark outfit to match.
"Gideon," Murtagh greeted him. "I was starting to think you hadn't come. I'm sorry to hear about your father." Gideon snorted.
"That makes one of us." His eyes fell on me, their light blue colour a sharp contrast to his dark hair. Murtagh, noticing his focus, turned to me.
"Gideon, this is Toren Tornacsson. Toren, Gideon. His family's estate is just outside Uru'baen."
"My estate now, Tag, since that grumpy old vulture finally flapped off for the last time. " Gideon held out a hand to me and I shook it. "Tornacsson, eh? I've heard of him. Good fighter. You inherit any of his skill?"
"A bit of it," I replied, unsure if I liked him or not. Murtagh snorted.
"Enough to put me on my ass several times a session. You should join us tomorrow, see for yourself," he offered, but Gideon shook his head.
"Afraid I can't stay. I need to get back early. One of the mares is due to foal any day now, and I want to be there." Murtagh shrugged, though his mouth had turned down at the corners.
"Fair enough. Next time."
"Next time," Gideon promised, then his eyes snapped to something behind us and he gave a wicked grin. "But if you'll excuse me, I must go and talk to Baron Fredrick. He's got a stunning stallion that my father refused to even consider breeding from. I'd better start repairing the damage." With that, he was gone, slipping away through the crowd. I watched him go, slightly bemused. Murtagh grinned at the expression.
"He takes a bit of getting used to," he admitted, "but he's a good guy. Lives for the politics. And horses. He's had plans for Fredrick's stallion since he was our age, but his father was a stubborn old git. Said the animal had skinny legs." I laughed.
"Sounds like he's got a hard battle to repair that sort of comment." Murtagh shrugged.
"If anyone can do it, it's Gideon," he said, looking away. "Oh good, here comes Lady Marissa. Hold your breath – she wears enough scent to choke a whole room." It was a struggle to keep my face straight as a haughty woman swept up to us, and I was very grateful I'd taken Murtagh's advice. Even after she left, the overwhelming smell of something floral remained, trying to choke us with its noxious fumes.
.
The rest of the evening passed much more enjoyably in Murtagh's company, listening to the snippets of gossip about everyone who passed: who was trying to form alliances, who was about to come into conflict, who was meeting in secret. Gideon returned to join the conversation several times throughout the evening, always slipping away when he spied another noble he needed to talk to.
But for all the amusement, I could tell the event was wearing for Murtagh, and I could see why. I lost track of the number of times I heard Morzan's name, or someone tried to pull Murtagh a little deeper into their own little puddle of allies. He took it all with a smile that grew more and more strained but I was nearly snarling when I looked up and saw my father across the room. He held my gaze and I nodded, turning to Murtagh.
"I've gotta go," I said, jerking my head back towards my father. Murtagh followed my gaze and his face smoothed into more genuine respect than I'd seen all evening as he nodded to my father.
"Okay, tomorrow morning?" he asked. I nodded, clapped him on the shoulder, and slipped away. At the doors, I looked back. Yet another noble had swooped in already and I allowed myself to imagine putting a knife in his back, freeing Murtagh for just a few more moments. But I turned and walked away. It was the only thing I could do.
The force of his mind on mine was like a battering ram, and I could feel my defences straining, beginning to crack under the constant pressure. I'd long since abandoned my attack, giving it up in favour of trying to keep Murtagh out of my mind. It was a familiar situation, the way almost all of our secret duels ended up. After five years, I'd not once managed to break through his iron clad walls. Mine still crumbled with annoying regularity. But not today. Not today. Gritting my teeth, I focused even harder, keeping my walls up with the latest move my father had been drilling into me. I was constantly misplacing my heel. Over and over I imagined the movement in my mind, until I could feel my foot twitching with the desire to turn out. I wondered how long it had taken him to perfect it.
Like a pane of glass, my defences shattered, and then he was in me, part of me, so deep there was no divide between us. All the force he'd been exerting continued to blast through me until I didn't know what memories were from the previous day or a decade ago. The first time my father had placed a blade in my hand. My last outing on Nara, wind whipping through my hair as she galloped across the open plain. The first time I'd seen Murtagh smile, after he'd knocked me to the ground after a year and a half of training. A woman laughing. The shine of sunlight on steel.
Then he was gone, and my mind was empty without him. Staggering with the sudden loss, I sat down hard, gasping as I tried to remember how to breathe.
"I'm sorry. I... I didn't mean to." He was panting almost as hard as I was. Fighting to control my breathing, I shook my head, squinting in the sun as I looked up at him. He'd grown just as much as I'd predicted he would, and his face had lost the childish edges, but he still had the same dark hair, same hard grey eyes.
"It's ... okay," I huffed.
"No," he snapped angrily, "it's not. I shouldn't have... I should have had better control. I'm sorry."
"Stop." I climbed shakily to my feet and gripped his shoulder. "It's fine. Accidents happen. I almost ran you through last week."
"It's different," he insisted.
"Not to me," I countered. "I trust you, brother, and I know you didn't mean to. It's fine." But he had stiffened, shaking my hand off him as he stepped away, his face full of anger.
"Is that what you want? What you think?" he spat. "That we're brothers? You want to be in my position? To walk down every hallway and know everyone is looking at you, that they know exactly who you are and judge you for it?! Is that what you want? To have Morzan for a father?" I took a step back before the unstoppable tide of his anger.
"Murtagh–"
"You don't have a clue! I wouldn't wish this life on anyone, and you dare to claim it!" He turned and ripped up his shirt, exposing the shiny scar that ran across his back. I'd seen it before, when an assassination attempt had put another scar across his side. But he'd refused to say what it was. "This is what I got for being his son! This is all he ever gave me. Is this what you want?! To have the same? To be his son too?! You know nothing!" He stormed away. For a moment I stared after him in shock.
"I didn't mean it like that," I confessed quietly. But there was nothing except empty space to hear me, and it had no reply to give.
The wind shifted a little, twisting through the trees, rustling the leaves as it passed. In utter silence I waited, listening to the creak of the bow inches away from my face. The small doe raised its head, large ears flicking. The arrow thrummed through the air, hitting her chest with a dull thud, and she fell to the ground, twitching. Cautiously, I straightened up and moved forward, knife ready in my hand, but she was dead before I got to her. Scowling, I looked behind me.
"How in heavens did you make that shot?" Murtagh grinned lazily. It was an expression I never saw in the city, but out here in the wilderness, he was more relaxed.
"Add it to the list of things you'll never know." He clapped me on the shoulder as he passed, and I shoved him in mock retaliation. Together we moved forwards, Murtagh reclaiming his arrow with a sharp jerk, examining the tip as I crouched down by the small animal's belly. For a second, I looked down at her delicate head and wide brown eyes. Then I plunged the blade into her, ripping the carcass open.
"You want a hand?" he asked, but I shook my head as I dug my hand inside her warmth, pulling out a handful of entrails and flinging them to the side.
"No, I've got it." He hummed in wordless acceptance and moved away a little. As I worked, I glanced over at him. He wasn't watching me, but gazing off into the canopy, sitting on his heels as he considered the forest around us. I let him have his thoughts, continuing my grisly work in silence. When I'd finished, I hoisted the deer up off the ground. Only the size of a dog, she wasn't heavy, and I slung her over one shoulder with ease as I turned to my brother.
"Hey." He didn't respond immediately, still gazing off into the trees.
"It's so quiet," he said eventually. Raising my head, I had to agree. The silence of the trees, broken only by the faintest twittering of birds, was like another presence watching us. After another second, Murtagh pushed up to his feet with a sigh.
"I can take it," he offered, gesturing to the doe over my shoulder. I just grinned at him, trudging off through the undergrowth, knowing that he was following me without having to look back.
We walked in silence until the sound of rushing water reached our ears and it wasn't long until the trees faded, giving way to the banks of the Ramr. Taking a moment to admire the play of light over the water and get my bearings, I turned right, trudging downstream. Murtagh fell into step beside me, our legs moving in sync without either of us noticing. The sun was falling in the sky by the time we reached our campsite. Our hunt had taken us further than I'd realised. Setting down the doe, I knelt by the river, washing off the dried blood that had stuck to my fingers while Murtagh rekindled the fire.
.
As the night closed in, I lay down on my right, staring off into the dark forest. Murtagh flopped down on his left beside me, our backs pressed close together. With a shiver, I wriggled a little under the blanket, curling my toes around each other.
"Does it have to be so cold?" I griped, and Murtagh chuckled, the sound vibrating through our joined bodies. "I can't wait to get back to the city," I muttered to myself, imagining my bed, piled high with blankets, the remnants of the fire still warming the house.
"I like it out here," Murtagh admitted quietly. "It's peaceful. No people." I poked him in the side. "Ow," he chuckled. "You know what I mean. No-one staring, talking behind their hands." He sighed. "No-one watching me." Or trying to kill you. I added. One of his food-tasters had fallen ill only a week before. Probably why my father had sent us out here. I knew Murtagh disliked the court and its nobles, avoiding them as much as possible, but the court never tired of him.
"What would you do?" I asked him. "If you left." He let out a bitter laugh.
"That's not going to happen."
"If?" I emphasised, and he fell silent.
"I'd go to a place where no-one knew who I was," he said at last. "Somewhere no-one had heard of my father. Where people looked at me without seeing him."
"You can be more than him," I said after a moment. He didn't respond.
"Not here," he said at last, so quietly I almost missed it. Neither of us spoke again. Closing my eyes, I focused on the feeling of his back against mine. Good night, brother. I thought. I had never said the word aloud again, not after that first time, but I couldn't stop myself thinking of him that way. He was my brother. He always would be.
He was early, already waiting for me on the practice ground. I strode forwards, my sword spinning casually in my hand as I rounded him, the metal glinting in the light.
"Happy birthday," I said. "A little belated I know, but better late than never. Wasn't sure what to get you, but then I thought, I could just let you win for once. Though dying from shock might not be such a great present." I came to a halt just in front of him, but he didn't look up. He didn't even seem to have heard me. He was staring straight down at his sword, twirling it idly, the point grinding a hole in the ground. I frowned at him.
"What happened?" He opened his mouth, considered, then closed it again, still frowning down at the ground. I took two steps forward and placed my hand over his, halting his twirling fingers. Finally he raised his eyes to mine. "What happened?" I repeated, my tone a little softer.
"I had dinner with the king last night," he said eventually. I gaped at him.
"You what?"
"I had dinner with the king last night," he repeated, his voice a little firmer, but no louder. I stared at him. Something wasn't right here.
"And?" I asked tightly. Murtagh's eyes were bright, almost feverish.
"We talked," he began, "or rather, he talked, and... It was amazing. He has such ideas, Toren. Of what Alagaesia could be. Should be, and..." He looked around, as if checking for eavesdroppers. "And I'm going to help him make it happen." I drew back, surprised. Murtagh had always distanced himself from court, never getting involved with politics of any description. And now, after one evening, he'd allied himself firmly with the king. It felt wrong. But he seemed so excited, so enthused by the prospect, that I couldn't bring myself to question it. So I smiled, hoping the expression wasn't too strained.
"Well I hope your head isn't too full of dreams to spar today," I said, tapping my sword against his and taking a step back. He gave a smile that was not entirely his own and launched himself forwards.
The knock on the door woke me suddenly. Blinking, I rolled over, staring across the room, wondering if I'd imagined the sound. But movement from my father's room told me I had not. With a stifled groan I rolled out of bed, leaving the warmth reluctantly as I slipped out of my room, rounded the table and unlatched the door. The figure waiting was inside so fast I actually stumbled back a step. On instinct, I fell into a crouch, wishing I'd snagged a blade on my way over, before Murtagh threw back his hood. For an instant I relaxed, then I registered the expression on his face and tensed again immediately.
"Murtagh, what happened?" I breathed. He was shaking, deathly pale, his eyes huge in his face. Movement behind me announced my father's arrival and he hurried forwards at once. I stepped back, my stomach twisting as he guided Murtagh to a chair and pushed him down into it, kneeling before him.
"What is it? What's wrong? Has someone ... tried?" My heart roared in fury at the thought. I would never be able to stomach the thought of people lurking in the darkness, waiting for him to be alone... But Murtagh shook his head. Frowning, I moved closer.
"Galbatorix," he whispered, and a shudder ran through his whole body. Father and I exchanged a glance. I'd told him about Murtagh's meeting with the king on his birthday, and how he'd been afterwards. This was different. He wasn't excited; he was terrified. In silence, we stared at Murtagh, waiting for more, but nothing came. He was still shaking. Striding across the room, I snagged a blanket from my bed and threw it round his shoulders. He flinched a little, then pulled it closer around him.
"Murtagh," I called firmly, crouching beside my father to look up at him. His eyes snapped suddenly to mine.
"I was so stupid," he moaned.
"What happened?" I pressed him. My father pushed his knee against mine in silent warning, but it wasn't needed. Murtagh broke.
"He was so angry... The Varden, you've heard what they've done?" We both nodded. Three brigades in the south, gone. "He... He wants me to..." His eyes closed and he took a deep breath. "He wants me to take some troops and destroy Cantos," he said it in one breath, as if the words would poison him if he held them for too long. Opening his eyes again, his gaze flickered between me and my father. "He told me to kill them all, burn them at the stake, regardless of their guilt." We all stared at each other for a long second. "I can't. I won't. Please," Murtagh begged, "help me." My father and I moved at the same time, neither of us hesitating to reach out a hand and grasp one of his shoulders, grounding him, claiming him.
"It's going to be okay." My father said. "We're going to get you out of here." Murtagh stared between us, the tiniest hint of hope shining out of his face.
"Promise," I swore to him. His eyes closed and a single tear trickled down his face.
It was very early. I sat at the kitchen table in the pre-dawn light, watching the trickles of dust floating through the air. We'd stayed up late last night, reassuring Murtagh and planning into the darkest depth of the night. Eventually, Murtagh had left, going back up to the citadel in a slightly better state than he'd arrived, with firm instructions from my father to keep calm and pretend nothing was wrong. This morning, he would go and organise for a set of troops to be ready to leave within three days. He would be gone before then. We all would be. I had barely slept after he'd left, eventually giving up the attempt and instead preparing a pack in the pre-dawn light, ready to leave at a moment's notice. Everything was ready, though I doubted we would go before tomorrow. If the king was suspicious at all, it would be now. Some time, and hopefully good acting on Murtagh's behalf, should alleviate any doubts. My eyes wandered upwards, to the smiling face of my mother, staring down at me from the frame over the fireplace. I wondered what she would say about our decision to help Murtagh. Had she believed in the Empire? In the king? I didn't know. Gazing into her soft eyes, I couldn't help but hope that she would have been on our side. If she'd met him, she would have loved Murtagh too. Just as I loved him. Just as my father did. As if summoned by the thought, the door opened.
"Up!" my father ordered as he hurried inside. I jumped to my feet, more than a little shocked, watching in silence as he scrabbled around the room, finally snatching up my pack from where I'd left it.
"You're leaving, now," he panted, shoving the pack into my arms and pressing a purse into my hands.
"What?" I gasped, shrugging the pack up onto my shoulders, "We're going now?"
"You," he said, finally stopping and looking me full in the eye. "You are going now." I stared at him and he sighed. "Murtagh isn't just going to be allowed to walk out the gates Toren. You leave now, then at least you're away. We'll catch up with you outside the city. Go east, get into the Spine."
"The Spine?" I repeated. "Half the army disappeared in those mountains!"
"Have I taught you nothing?" My father growled, slapping his hand on the sword at my side. "Or don't you want to help Murtagh anymore?" I snarled silently.
"Fine. The Spine. What then?"
"Go north, to Lake Flam. Stay in the mountains, but go to the shore closest to the trees every evening, at sundown. We'll meet you there. Wait for a week." He held my gaze. "One week only. If we're not there by then..." I swallowed. "Go north again, wait for us where the Anora River ends. Okay?" Reviewing a map in my head, I nodded, but caught his arm as he tried to push me towards the door.
"Why don't you two go first? I'll travel faster, just me on my own, I could catch up with you." My father smiled and raised a hand to my shoulder.
"No. If they catch us trying to leave and you're still in the city, you'd never get out. Go now, and then at least one of my sons will be safe." For a moment there was silence as we stared at each other, then I hugged him, hard.
"Keep him safe," I muttered, and felt his arms tighten around me.
"I will," he promised, and I slipped out the door into the cool dawn light.
The pouch of coins was heavy in my pocket as I walked down the street towards the stable, careful to keep my steps casual. I was sweating, though the air was still cold. It wasn't very far to go to the warm comfort of the stables, full of the smells and sounds of horses.
"Hey, Toren, you're here early." Aidan poked his head out of a stall further along and grinned at me.
"Hey," I said, trying to sound unconcerned. If I gave the game away now, I would spoil everything for my father. And Murtagh. Hurrying down the space I flicked open Nara's stall and clicked my tongue. She raised her head, nickering in recognition before stepping delicately out and following me down the aisle.
"Is there anything that animal wouldn't do for you?" Aidan asked, sounding exasperated. I grinned at him as I passed.
"Probably not." Forcing myself to take a breath, I slipped the pack off my shoulders, resting it against the wall as I claimed a brush and began to swipe gently over Nara's dark coat. My sword I left hanging at my side. Nara nibbled on my sleeve as I worked, twisting her neck round to follow my progress along her back. I smiled, relaxing a little. I could do this. It was just like any other day. Aidan's head had retreated, and I let out a steady breath as I moved round to the other side and continued brushing. When the bay coat was gleaming, I replaced the brush and claimed Nara's saddle from its hook, placing it gently on her back as she stood, solid and patient as a rock. The bridle went on just as easily. She lowered her gentle head to receive the bit without a fuss, blowing gently onto my hands. Smiling, I did up the last buckle, and reclaimed my pack, shrugging it onto my back before taking up the reins. Two hops on the spot and I swung myself up onto her back, rearranging my sword slightly so it wouldn't hit her as we moved. Tossing her head, she turned gracefully towards the exit. We were so close.
"How long are you gonna be gone this time?" Aidan stepped out of a stall just as we went past.
"A couple of weeks, I think," I said with a grimace, "but you know Father, if I'm gone for a month, don't be too surprised." Aidan laughed as I nudged Nara with my heels and she stepped out eagerly. The sunlight hit us like a hammer ringing on the anvil of freedom. Down the single street, a quick nod to the guards as we passed through the gates, and I breathed the free air.
.
As we moved out towards the larger estates, I clicked my tongue, asking Nara for a little more haste. She lengthened her stride at once, striding eagerly down the road as if she was just as desperate to be gone as I was. At the crest of a hill, I drew her back to a halt and turned for one last look back at the city. For a moment, I imagined Murtagh looking out a window, waiting to join me in freedom.
"Not long my brother," I murmured, "not long. I promise." Turning away, I urged Nara on. She sprang forwards, and we flew away.
A/N: Thanks to veagleeyev and SaviourUnleashed for beta-ing this for me. I've made changes and additions since then, so any mistakes are mine!
Hope you enjoyed, let me know what you thought!