Murtagh stood as silence enveloped the tunnel. "Where are they? They just disappeared."
"I don't know," Ajihad rumbled in the darkness. Murtagh shuddered. Though he had come to admire the ink-skinned leader of the Varden, his respect came with a sense of fear. He had been shown kindness in his imprisonment (reasons being he was with Eragon), but Ajihad had made it clear that if Murtagh in any way proved anything like his father, he would be killed…or worse. This hadn't been his idea, following Eragon into Farthen Dur. But he had no choice if he wanted to live. It was either take his chances with the Varden or surrender to the Urgals who would take him to Galbatorix where he would be severely punished for deserting the Empire.
"We should return to the entrance," the Twins suggested. Murtagh loathed the identical, hairless creatures. They had once tried to invade his mind, his only sanctuary that the world hadn't ravaged. "It cannot be a good sign standing around in a pitch-black tunnel with Urgals skulking about."
"Can you not sense them?" Ajihad inquired. They bowed, or at least Murtagh thought they did, in the darkness.
"Sire, with all due respect, we had rather not touch those abominations' minds. They could attack us or worse."
Ajihad hummed deep in his chest. "Fine. We will head back to the tunnel's entrance.
They trudged onward, the silence only interrupted by the sound of damp dripping from the tunnel's walls and collecting in vast puddles. Once at the entrance, they proceeded to meet Eragon who stood a little away, in obvious pain from the scar on his back. Murtagh felt for him. He had an old scar across his back, but it had been from his father, one of the few men he despised.
Murtagh clenched his hand-and-a-half sword angrily. Ajihad noticed the movement and peered at him. Slowly Murtagh relaxed his grip and forced a thin smile. "I'll bet the Urgals are running home to their mother's."
Ajihad set a large, strong hand on his shoulder. Murtagh flinched involuntarily from the kind contact. He was unused to being touched. Sensing this, Ajihad lifted his hand and said, "I'm sure they are, young Murtagh." In Ajihad's regal face, Murtagh saw Nasuada. The beautiful Nasuada. He wondered if her mother was as beautiful and where she had gone. His heart fluttered at the thought of Nasuada's bright smile and witty tongue, her large, almond eyes shining in her ebony face. Long, dark tresses spiraling down her back. She smelled of spices, he remembered.
A disturbance snapped him back to reality. He whirled around just as Ajihad and he were surrounded by a pod of Urgals. With a hoarse cry, he raised his sword and brought it down on a mighty Kull's shoulder. It howled and struck him across the face with a massive forearm. His head snapped back and spots swam in his vision. Blindly he jabbed and pierced an Urgal in the chest. With a satisfied smile dancing on his lips, he twisted the blade and wrenched it free, blood-lust rising in his breast, thrumming through his veins. Beside him, Ajihad fought valiantly killing five Urgals in seconds.
And then it happened. An Urgal drove a pike through Ajihad's unprotected back.
"No!" Murtagh screamed as the light dimmed in Ajihad's eyes, his face becoming ashen. He heard Eragon a distance away bellow the same syllable, his raw-throated, adolescent cry unmistakable. Murtagh raised his sword again to avenge his new lord's death when a piercing shriek filled his head. He forced metal barriers around his mind, struggling a silent, invisible battle. It is the Twins, he thought briefly. Traitors! He thought of staring at a brick wall. A brick wall that was layered with metal inside and out. Nothing could penetrate. Nothing. An Urgal seized him and his mind was shattered into thousands of pieces.
He roared in pain and struggled against the Urgal. Hurry, Eragon, he thought desperately. Hurry! The Urgal wrapped a hand around his mouth and nose and darted back to the tunnel, his pod following. The Twins were in tow but the smile on their faces was obvious. He saw red. Red, red, RED. Their red. His muffled shouts were unheard by the Varden. He knew his fate and something in him quailed in fear. Please, he begged. Please, please, please, have mercy and kill me now.
He hated his weakness. He hated it! When they came to a stop, the Twins stood, walked over to him, still in the Urgal's arms and flicked the Urgal's hand away from his mouth. He glared at them as they smiled.
"Surrender, son of Morzan," they whispered simultaneously. They touched his mind softly.
He shuddered in fear and disgust. "Traitors. You're traitors!" They murmured something and all his memories screeched to the forefront of his mind. His father standing over his prone body, arm raised, ring glittering on his finger; a sword thrown, a piercing scream; pain, so much pain and torment inflicted upon him at his helpless youth, his pleading going unheard. "No!" he roared. "NO!"
"Do stop screaming, boy," one of them snapped. He took Murtagh down, pleased that the he had taken his sword. He held the sword at Murtagh's throat and sliced it shallowly, relishing the red trickle down his snowy throat. Murtagh quivered in anger and apprehension. Their smiles widened, and they barked something in the rough language of the Urgals. Before he could react, the Urgals seized his arms and tore off his armor, strewing his clothing in the tunnel bathing it in blood.
"Leave it so the elf woman can find what's left," the Twin hissed. "Away! To Gilead!"
5 Days Later
Murtagh returned to consciousness. He lay on a hard, cold stone in a round room. The ceiling soared high above him. Through his bleary eyes, the light was fuzzy and distorted. His mouth was as dry as sand and he couldn't move. At first he thought he'd been paralyzed. Then he realized that he was tied to the slab of stone so he couldn't move even if he had the strength.
He heaved a rattling breath to calm himself. He knew what would happen and he had to be prepared. Must be prepared. Carefully, he re-erected the impenetrable barriers around his mind. Nasuada. Think of Nasuada. The thought ignited a spark in his eyes.
Yes. Nasuada.
Thoughts of Ajihad flooded his mind and an unexpected sense of sorrow and loss overwhelmed him. Ajihad was gone. A great man.
That's the thing about life, Murtagh told himself grimly. You don't get to choose whether you live or die. It happens. Death is what defines us and makes us human. It is necessary.
Thus consoling himself, he thought again of Nasuada. He realized that now she would be leader of the Varden. And a good leader too. She was intelligent, he knew. And she had the advantage of being daughter of Ajihad, possibly the greatest leader yet. She would be fine.
Of course, she would have to marry eventually. They wouldn't let her rule alone.
A clod of sadness lodged itself in his throat.
It couldn't have happened anyway, he thought sulkily. He released the image of Nasuada and grasped for something else to fortify his mind with. All that was left was his will to live. His anger. With some difficulty, he clutched at the cold metal ball in his chest and held on to it.
The door swung open. Murtagh tensed. Galbatorix.
"Murtagh, my son…I am deeply disappointed in you," his voice said softly. Murtagh repressed a shudder but remained silent. "Are you not going to beg for mercy? I might show some."
There was a long silence. Swallowing, Murtagh said, "No."
"No?"
"You killed Tornac."
"Ah. Your presumptuous tutor. I didn't kill him. My soldier did."
"Does your arm but not your mind do anything?" Murtagh retorted still staring at the ceiling. There was another long pause.
"I'm afraid I must punish you for that." Murtagh grit his teeth, twisting his jaw into painful knots. "But first, I must explain something to you. I will have to treat you like a common enemy for a while. Not as a son. It pains me more than it will pain you. Believe me."
"I am no son of yours."
"Oh, yes. You're the son of Morzan. How could I forget?" he stared down at Murtagh with malice for a moment, then his eyes softened and he stroked Murtagh's head softly, his jet locks untangling with his gentle fingers. Murtagh tried to resist, but his head was strapped to the slab.
"Don't touch me!"
"Shh…. we'll go through this together. It must be done. Do you understand? I will ask you if you will swear your loyalty to me in the ancient language, and you're going to answer. If you answer no, your pain will increase. If you agree, you'll be taken up from this stone and clothed, fed, and put to one of the finest beds in the castle."
"You think I'd accept bribery," he snarled as Galbatorix stroked on. "You're an ignorant carcass-eater if you think so! Let me up and I'll kill you!"
Galbatorix's hand tightened in Murtagh's hair, pulling savagely. In the same gentle tone he said, "You know that's impossible. Now cooperate, or this will never end. I even have a surprise for you if you're good." Murtagh seethed that he was being spoken to like a child, and so resolved to not say a word. Still he didn't look at Galbatorix. He stared resolutely at the ceiling.
"Murtagh? If you refuse to talk to me, you will scream for me. You're blood will soak the entire floor if it has to. You're a rather pretty young boy. it would be a shame for you to be mutilated too horribly."
Murtagh said nothing, grinding his teeth.
"So be it," Galbatorix whispered. "Lower your mental barriers, or I'll do it myself."
"Have fun," Murtagh snarled. Immediately, horrible pain racked his head. He groaned in agony, every second an eternity in his mind.
"I think I will," Galbatorix said, settling in an invisible chair somewhere to Murtagh's right. "And believe me when I tell you that this pain you think you feel is only the beginning. When I'm through with you, Murtagh, you'll beg for this. You'll beg for something as sweet and blissful as mere pain." He made a mental wrench and Murtagh screamed. His cries were heard throughout the entire castle.
One hour later
Galbatorix continued ravaging Murtagh's barriers, his sanctuary. Murtagh lay on the slab crying and screaming nonsense to keep him out. Galbatorix knew he couldn't go on forever. He considered putting a silencing spell on him, for it was disturbing the others in the castle. He was aware of people crowding at the door looking through the bars at what could make a man, a young one, albeit, scream so piteously. But, he realized, this would be a good way to inspire fear in his subjects.
Let them hear him. Let the boy listen to his own screams, bathe in his own tears.
He looked down at Murtagh's pale, half-clothed person with mild disinterest. His scar was only just visible on his side. Slender muscles corded his body, clenching and unclenching with convulsions. A thin film of sweat coated him. He was bloody and bruised from when the Twins and Urgals dragged him down the tunnel. He was still a fine specimen and even his mistress had asked after him, he acknowledged bitterly. In the boy's deep blue eyes there was a mystery that he was determined to crack.
"Enough," he said softly and withdrew from Murtagh's mind. A choked sob tore from Murtagh's raw throat. He could see the heart thrumming in Murtagh's chest, fluttering it up and down. Tears streamed into his hair. "Enough," he said again, still softer this time. "How do I get through to you?"
"You should save...yourself..." Murtagh gasped again, "a lot of trouble and kill me." He was overcome by tremors and convulsions.
"Oh, I might yet," Galbatorix smiled. "Just not now. I have other plans for you. Do you know what they are?" Without waiting for a reply, he said, "I want you to capture Eragon and Saphira and bring them to me."
"That's impossible."
"Ah, but it isn't," he said. "You forget I have two eggs. One of them will hatch for you. You will swear fealty to me and so will your dragon. I will empower you to change the world for the better. A glorious future without tyranny and rebellion. Where all the races could live in peace and harmony."
"I won't," he said. "I'd rather saw off my leg than swear anything to you."
"Oh, we'll have time for that. Would you stand Seithr oil?" If it was possible, Murtagh paled even further. "Yes, Murtagh. Mentally you may be adamant, but it's human nature to cave into pain. It can't be avoided. I'll relax and let the Ra'zac take it from here."
He snapped his fingers and the Ra'zac revealed themselves. They had been hidden at the far side of the room. They clicked their beaks and hissed. Though vaguely humanoid, their faces were horrible, much like a cockroaches with short, sharp beaks and barbed, purple tongues. their eyes were entirely black and their faces were a horrible slimy gray. They limped to the slab.
"Human," the smaller of the two whispered. "We have wanted to tasssste your blood for a while now. Ever sssince you traversed the desert with that Rider, Eragon..."
"Make an incision and coat it with Seithr oil, Ra'zac," Galbatorix said wearily. "Don't eat him just yet. Just a nip."
"Yessss, Massster," the larger one said.
"No," Murtagh whispered as it drew near him. "NO!" A sharp endless pain bloomed at his sternum. The smaller Ra'zac clicked it's beak and dribbled a fiery liquid on Murtagh's skin. Even when not on the incision, it burned as if he had caught fire. He glanced at his chest and gave a shapeless howl at the mess. He was almost sick.
"Look at what you've gotten yourself into, Murtagh,"Galbatorix said. "Again. Inner arm."
2 Hours later
Galbatorix stood and dismissed the Ra'zac who left with disappointed clicking and hissing. He patted Murtagh's cheek, making him flinch and wince.
"We could have avoided that. All of it. You understand that, don't you?"
A look of desperate longing crossed Murtagh's face. He quickly covered it up, grimacing in pain as the Seithr oil burned deeper into him. Sighing, Galbatorix left the room.
"I'll send in a servant to tend to you," he said over his shoulder. With a flick of his wrist, the oil was lifted from Murtagh's skin. He gasped in relief though he was still covered in ghastly cuts and burns. The door closed with a resonant boom.
In the silence, Murtagh closed his eyes and whispered pleas of mercy to the ceiling.
Long minutes later, the door creaked open. His muscles twitched expectantly. He strained his eyes to see the man who'd just entered, but of course he couldn't move. Judging by his heavy footsteps, it was a large man. Not Galbatorix who, though heavily muscled, was not very big. The footsteps stopped and a soft hand prodded his sternum. Murtagh grimaced and writhed. The man withdrew his hand. He had a heavy, pallid face with one black and one blue eye buried in the doughy vastness. His lips protruded from his face in a permanently confused pucker. His teeth were straight and met like a clamp. Overall, Murtagh thought him distasteful and a little frightening in his state of horror. He noticed the man's fingernails were round, perfectly trimmed and shiny.
As if it pained him to talk, the man said thickly, "I cannot let you up. You are...too dangerous."
Murtagh couldn't help but laugh. "Me? Right now? I'm about as dangerous as a baby right now." His voice caught and he realized he was crying. He hated himself for it. The man just stared at him blankly.
"Master said you were dangerous."
"Did he now?" Murtagh said trying to get a hold of himself. "That's terrific, whatever your name is. So what are you going to do? Stare at me?"
Without saying a word, the man brought his other hand from behind his back and produced a towel and a bowl of hot water.
"Blood. Blood all over you," he spat out. "Getting it off."
Murtagh closed his eyes to hide his tears of exhaustion. He said nothing as the man dabbed at his wounds with the water. Before long the water was as red and thick as blood and so was the towel. He left to replace it and upon returning carried a tray laden with food. He continued cleaning Murtagh's wounds and dabbed globs of a poultice on them and at last bandaged them tightly.
The man unstrapped Murtagh's head from the slab warily. When Murtagh made no move to harm him, he held up a bowl of stew.
"You must eat now."
Murtagh stared at the bowl. The scent made him sick. He hadn't eaten in a week. He shook his head.
"You have to. Or Master will punish both of us."
"Let him. I don't care," he growled.
"Are you not hungry?"
Murtagh shook his head. "No. Besides, I'll be sick."
"You won't."
"I will if he comes back and continues ..." he trailed off. His main concern was that it was drugged.
"You must. Orders."
Murtagh glowered at the servant. "It's probably drugged."
"It will make you sleep," the servant said carefully.
His scowl deepened. "If I do it, you'll leave me alone?"
"For...today," he said with some difficulty.
Murtagh sighed longing for solitude to nurse his wounds. After a long minute, he snarled, "Fine. If you promise you'll leave. Understand?" The servant held a spoonful in front of Murtagh's mouth. Murtagh stared at it, unwilling to risk throwing up and most importantly unwilling to leave his body prone for anyone to deal with as they wanted. But he also knew that the servant would stand there all day with his clamp-like teeth and simple, emotionless face. For the first time in his life, he wanted solitude more than his awareness.
And so it begins, he thought bitterly. He accepted the stew. It was still hot and, admittedly, good. it took him awhile before he felt ready for another bite. Slowly, the stew disappeared. Though his stomach cramped horribly, the servant insisted he eat the bread and drink the wine. The bread stuck in his throat, but he ate, telling himself he was one step closer to being alone. One more step. Another. At last, the servant took the tray, re-strapped his head to the slab, and left him alone in the giant chamber.
Murtagh noticed his breathing slow and his eyes grow heavy. The idea of sleep made his limbs tingle with warmth and filled his mind with a fuzzy midnight haze. He had stayed awake for a week. Sleep was a natural result, he told himself. He had full control of himself. He could wake up if he wanted to. He had full control...
He was in a chamber with a small window set higher than his head. A stool stood by a stripped bed. He took the stool and stood on it, peering through the grimy window. He saw a lawn of the brightest emeralds with lush trees and greenery. He barely saw any of it, beautiful as it was. He saw the woman walking with a dignified air about her across it. It was Nasuada. She turned and met his eyes. She beamed at him, her teeth flashing.
"Come here, Murtagh. Walk with me."
"I can't," he managed.
"Why not? I wish for your company," she said archly. "Will you deny me?"
"I'm sorry..." he murmured. She tossed her head and transformed into the servant with the clamp-like teeth. She-he-gnashed them at him with a manic expression in his eyes. "Give me your heart. Must eat. Give me-" Murtagh stumbled back off the stool, but somehow, the man jumped to the window and peered at him with his bulging eyes and whey-faced ugliness.
"No!" Murtagh cried. The man thrust his hand against the window and pushed it out. It shattered on the ground. He wedged himself into it and snarled. Murtagh flattened himself against the wall as his hands groped for him. "Will...tear...out...HEART!" The wall pushed Murtagh closer to the man, closing in on the sides as well.
"No! Please!" The hands seized his tunic. His heart seemed to quicken, thumping louder and louder...
He woke screaming. The room was darker than when he drifted off. His chest heaved, opening up the wounds he'd just suffered. Sweat dripped onto the slab and tears coursed down his face into his hair. He wept and wept until he was hollow. Empty. Devoid of emotion.
As he lay silently ticking off the minutes in his head to keep his mind, the door swung open. He tensed and stared resolutely at the ceiling. When whoever it was came into view he gave an involuntary sigh. It was only the servant. Without looking at Murtagh, the servant began untying him from the stone. Murtagh's body thrummed with excitement. He could make a run for it. Yes. It would be simple matter to get past this scum ball. A smile crept over his face, but he quickly hid it, cursing himself for his indiscretion. The servant noticed.
"There are guards standing outside, prisoner," he grunted out. "You do anything...they will-they will kill you."
"Of course," Murtagh said. "I was just pleased to see you." The servant looked dumbstruck for a moment, then shrugged and let Murtagh up. Grabbing his arm tightly (he rather towered over Murtagh), he led him to a small room with a chamber pot and a basin of water and shoved him in it. Murtagh realized that he really did have to relieve himself. When he was done, he peered into the basin of water. The basin itself was black as pitch, so he quite easily could see his reflection. He was taken aback. His face was more haggard than usual, his eyes were bloodshot and he was covered in bandages that did little to help the oozing, bloody incisions given him by the Ra'zac. He closed his eyes and shoved his hands into his hair. He would escape at his first opportunity.
When he left the room, he took in everything around him. The servant stood at the door, in his hand was a tray laden with food again. There was a knife. making a half second decision, he lunged at the knife and stabbed at the servant's chest. The servant dived to the left and he only managed to drive his knife into the servant's shoulder. There was a howl from the servant. He yanked it out and tried again this time for his back... but the door opened and in stormed forty soldiers bearing the red emblazoned fire on their chests.
"Surrender, boy, or we'll kill you, now," a man with a long, twisted beard said. He had a short sword and the men around him carried spears, aimed directly at Murtagh. Murtagh's eyes swept the ranks, knew he could not win, and raised his hands dropping the knife. It clattered on the floor for a few moments and then fell silent. The clamp-mouthed servant groaned and slumped against the wall, holding his arm. Though he knew he'd be punished, Murtagh couldn't help feeling a surge of satisfaction. He spat at the general's feet. The general stared at him with evident hate.
"You're a brave one aren't you? Either that or you're just stupid. I have here, an order from the king, may he live forever, that if you attacked his servant, which he knew you would, you would be whipped." Murtagh stared back at him with equal hate and smiled to himself. Oh, good. They think I'd cry from a flogging.
"Oh, I assure you," he said. "I'm trembling in fear."
The general glowered and snapped his fingers. Two men wound a rope around Murtagh's wrist, opened the door, swung the other end over it so he barely touched the ground and closed the door again.
"I remember beating your daddy," the general whispered, the sneer apparent in his voice. "You look nearly the same as he did. Pity he's dead. He would have done the job himself."
"I don't claim Morzan," Murtagh growled into the door. "And enjoy yourself. When I get out of here, I'll hunt you down and kill you in the most amusing way that can come to me."
"That's all very well. Plan my demise while you're screaming, will you?" A whistling sound pierced the air and fire streaked across Murtagh's back, but he did not cry out.
Murtagh lay on the stone slab again, this time laughing madly. The soldiers all cast looks at him warily. "He's mad, don't look him in the eyes." "Is he really the son of Morzan?" "No, you idiot, that's a rumor..." "Of course he is, now get out of here before I string you up too!"
And they were gone. He stopped crowing and grimaced. He's got a good arm, I'll give him that. I need to escape. I doubt, that oaf of a servant will give me the opportunity to kill him again. And fighting through the whole army isn't an attractive option either. Galbatorix would be expecting just that anyway. I'll bet I'll pay for my offense by his hand as well very soon.
He wasn't wrong. Galbatorix walked in flanked by his two Ra'zac. They looked at him eagerly, clicking their beaks.
"Murtagh," Galbatorix said softly. Murtagh's skin crawled. "Murtagh, I am deeply disappointed in you. You tried to kill my servant. He's expendable, yes, though I do hate the way you treat my things." Murtagh didn't answer, but concentrated on his breathing. "You're just like your father. Impudent and strong-willed. But I always got my way with him. I expect the same from his son."
"You won't get it," Murtagh ground out.
"Oh, I will. I will. One way or another, you will lose. How do you expect to defeat me? I with power beyond comprehension."
"No."
"Have it your way, then." With that he swept aside Murtagh's weakened mental barriers and ripped through his mind. He made certain that every memory was sifted through painfully. He took his time and smiled indulgently as the young man sobbed in agony, pleading for death. This was his place. Writhing and screaming for mercy from his king who had sheltered him for so long.
Chapter 2
2 months later...
"Now, Murtagh," Galbatorix said into the silence, his voice gentle and quiet. "You left my wing once. I swear you will never do it again. You only have to swear fealty to me. All will be forgiven, and you won't have to go through anymore pain unless you want it, of course." Murtagh said nothing. He hadn't uttered a word for several weeks and refused to eat, only tried to sleep. He was almost unrecognizable now. His face was harder than normal and drawn. Dark circles plagued his eyes from the sleepless nights filled with ghastly hallucinations. His cheeks were hollow and his hair was more overgrown than usual. The boy was covered in cuts, bruises and burns. His back bore many scourge lines from the many relentless floggings he received on a daily basis. The stone was soaked through with blood and Murtagh's skin was coated in the stuff. He had developed sores that oozed pus continually and he hadn't the strength to even move however restrained motion might have been. Galbatorix had taken to untying him from the slab from time to time. Murtagh sometimes tried to run, only to crumple on the floor and lie there for hours as the general scourged him again and again. The Ra'zac didn't come anymore. They weren't needed. It was only Galbatorix and the general who took a deep pleasure in his new duties.
"Will you cooperate now?" Murtagh closed his red, tear-stained eyes. "Maybe this will help," Galbatorix said softly. From his cloak, he procured a red dragon's egg. Carefully he settled it on the stone slab beside Murtagh. "Today is your birthday. What are you, nineteen? Your king never forgets."
Murtagh said his first words in weeks. "It won't hatch for me." Just then, it began rattling. It burst open, fiery shards sailing through the air. Galbatorix cast a spell and the egg shell parts stopped and disappeared. With wide eyes, Murtagh watched the membrane covered creature wriggle clumsily beside him. Galbatorix untied Murtagh. Murtagh raised a thin, shaking hand and helped the dragon out of its slimy encasement. The dragon was like a pile of rubies. Its scales weren't solid, but it was covered in red, shining skin, not very different from a lizard's. Galbatorix frowned.
"I didn't even have to persuade him," he muttered. Seizing Murtagh's wrist, Galbatorix touched it to the dragon's nose. The dragon sniffed Murtagh's hand and darted a barbed tongue out at it. There was a burst of light and a cry of pain. Murtagh withdrew his hand sharply. Shining red on his palm was the symbol of the Riders. "Perfect," Galbatorix said offhandedly. "It's official. You are now bonded." The small, awkward creature sneezed and fell against his Rider. He crawled over Murtagh's chest and looked him in the eye with his great ruby ones.
"Look what you did," Murtagh murmured, wonder filling his eyes. Cautiously he touched him again. He extended his mind weakly toward it. He flinched as the dragon's mind filled his own and withdrew into the familiar dark caverns of his own mind.
"You must get accustomed to sharing your thoughts with your dragon," Galbatorix chided. "You will be disjointed with him if you don't."
Without answering, Murtagh tried again, closing his eyes tightly as he went against everything he'd ever valued. Having Galbatorix invade his mind was one thing, but willingly letting a creature access his mental faculties was a completely other thing. As he did this, he felt a quiet. An eerie quiet. He couldn't grasp one of his own thoughts without feeling as if it were lost somewhere in the galaxy of his dragon's mind. He let out an involuntary groan.
"Good," Galbatorix said softly. The dragon's claws dug into Murtagh's chest for a moment and then released him as it clambered over his shoulder and curled beside his head, yawning widely to reveal tiny, white daggers in its maw. The ghost of a smile flickered on Murtagh's thin mouth. He scratched under the dragon's jaw with a skeleton-like, bruised finger (Galbatorix had left nothing not mangled, twisted, or crushed). "Now," the king said softly. "Let's try this again. As I always tell you, Murtagh, I will give you the option to make it all go away... or go on for an interminable time. You need only swear in the Ancient Language your loyalty to me. Are you ready?" He received no answer from his sullen victim. "All right. General. Break him."
"With pleasure, Sire." He lumbered to the stone and seized Murtagh by the wrists; he roped him over the door as was routine. Murtagh had come to memorize each minute detail of the door he was staring at. He gasped and groaned as the first stroke ripped through him. Galbatorix snatched up the dragon and came close to Murtagh. He stroked the dragon's head, making the creature shiver and squirm in his hands.
"It has been over two months Murtagh. No one would blame you if you gave up." Murtagh arched his back as the scourge tore at his flesh. He heaved a breath and shuddered. It struck him again. And again. He uttered a choked sob.
His dragon wailed. It was a pitiful sound, like an infant crying for it's mother. Murtagh noticed that the pain was different this time. Through his mental link with his dragon, he felt it's pain as well. It's remorse for Murtagh, yes, but also its physical pain that he shared with him.
"Stop," he said hoarsely. The scourge ripped his back open again. "Stop! You're hurting him! You're hurting him, leave him alone! STOP IT YOU FOOL! LEAVE HIM ALONE, HE'S INNOCENT! PLEASE!" The dragon's warbling wail pierced the room.
"Enough, General," Galbatorix said softly. He drew closer to Murtagh and looked him in the eyes. "You see, Murtagh, it's a different game now. You may be able to withstand your own suffering, but that of another? There is your weakness." He held the red dragon's quivering body up. "Will you swear fealty to me? Or must we continue until you relent?" Murtagh muttered an oath and thought furiously. What would he do? What could he do? He thought of Eragon and the Varden. He thought of Ajihad and his sacrifice. He thought of Nasuada. He stared into the creature's baleful, ruby eyes and sighed.
"You will be my servant no matter what you say today," Galbatorix hissed in his ear. "And Nasuada? I cannot grant you her life, but she will die eventually, I can promise you. It is more than she deserves."
"No, please," Murtagh objected. "Please don't kill her. Let me only capture her. Please. Don't make me kill her, and I will swear fealty to you. Say it in the Ancient Language."
"I think not. I think, since you have been wasting my valuable time, I will make you kill her. Yes, it will be a personal death. You will kill her. Slowly and mercilessly. I'll have you under full control. Oh, how her death will be intimately cruel-"
"Please!" Murtagh screamed. Galbatorix stared at the helpless young man with eyes of stone. "I'm begging you, Your Majesty, for her life! Please!" He'd never used a title of respect since his capture. Nor had he begged for anything. Not even mercy. Galbatorix cocked his head.
"And then you are mine?"
"And then I am yours," Murtagh answered, with a crippled waver to his voice.
"All right. Since you are practically begging for her life, I will agree. I am a merciful king." In the Ancient Language, he swore it. In the Ancient Language, Murtagh swore the oath Galbatorix gave him. Galbatorix smiled and snapped his fingers. The ropes suspending Murtagh vanished and the boy fell to his knees, finally broken. Like a manikin cut from it's strings. Galbatorix shoved the dragon into his arms. "That wasn't so difficult now was it?"
Murtagh didn't answer. He hated himself. He gave in. And for what? This tiny, harmless little dragon? His freedom was worth less than its life? As the words of the Ancient Language fell from his tongue, he felt what little control he had over himself seep out of him like a grey reluctant fog, still clinging to its former inhabitant wistfully.
He choked again and slumped against the door, fast, silent tears streaming down his haggard face. Galbatorix looked down at him with a cold gleam of malicious contentment in knowledge of what he had wrought on Morzan's son. He changed his expression to one of sympathy and lifted Murtagh to his feet, pressing his face into his deep chest, soothing him. The general grunted and, asking permission, quit the room. Galbatorix slowly began to heal Murtagh's wounds. He healed him as slowly and lingeringly as possible. He would not forget how merciful his master was. Galbatorix let a sadistic smile crawl over his face for a moment and then let it fade.
Chapter 3
Murtagh had forgotten what it was not to be in pain. To be free from bodily and mental ailments. To breathe air not tainted with the metallic scent of his own blood.
Murtagh was clean and tired, but he didn't sleep. He didn't deserve sleep. He stayed crouched in the far corner of his chambers, wrapped in a heavy black cloak. He felt no warmth. His dragon nuzzled his hand.
"What do you want, now?" Murtagh growled at him. The dragon sneezed and fell splayed on the floor, smoke curling from his nostrils. The dragon shook his head in confusion. Murtagh sighed and helped him up. "You're a real pain. Maybe that's what I should call you. Pain. You caused it, and you've ended it." The dragon snapped at his fingers playfully. "Stop it. Go away, will you?" He shoved him back. The dragon gave a pitiful cry and came to him again. Murtagh groaned and looked at his hand, where the dragon had touched him. "Ah, come here." He scooped the dragon up and gently opened its right wing, fingering the thin membrane. "From now on, we'll be a thorn in the side of the Varden. Do you like Thorn?" The dragon sneezed in response. "What, have you got a cold? Can dragons get colds?" He sighed and pulled Thorn close to his painfully thin chest. "When will you be able to speak?" he whispered. "Outside of jumbled emotions, I mean. I can't always understand you. Can you understand me?" Thorn yawned widely and closed his eyes.
He gave a mental affirmative nod. Murtagh leaned against the wall and moaned softly "Eragon's going to kill me." But he didn't care. Not about him. The one name that rippled through his head was Nasuada's. Oh, what a beautiful name. It was perfect. Her eyes were perfect, her smirking mouth, her hair, her figure... She was really something. But she would hate him when she found out what he had done. What he was forced to do. He would tell her the truth. Yes...
He awoke in the middle of the night as cold as ice. Stiffly, he stood so his dragon tumbled from his shoulder, he limped to the window and looked out upon the kingdom. Of course, the window was ten stories high, so Murtagh would find it difficult to escape. He touched the latch and his hand was immediately repelled by magic. He muttered an oath and turned away from the window. "Stay here," he said tersely. Thorn blinked at him and made as if to follow him. "Stay here," Murtagh growled more insistently. He strapped on his sword which the Twins had reluctantly returned to his possession. Quietly, he opened his door.
The castle was silent. Nothing stirred. Silently, like a specter, he crept through the all-too familiar halls with an awed sense of disgust. A shaft of moonlight threw the castle in a silvery-blue light. Everything seemed flat and washed out. He touched delicate objects of porcelain, silk and glass that he had once known and thought nothing about, feeling as if he was in a horrific dream. In the corners, shadows fell thickly, marring the surrealism. Murtagh stayed close to the walls, closest to the shadows in case he was seen. His breaths came out raggedly. He hadn't used his legs in months. His movements were awkward and his spine stiff. On impulse, he opened a door that led outside.
He looked around and realized he was in a long neglected garden. Shriveled vines choked a trellis and dead leaves crunched beneath his feet on the stone floors. Leaning against the side of the stone garden, Murtagh forced his chin over the side, trying yet failing to see what was over it. Climbing on the stone side, he stood quite still, looking down at the world one hundred fifty feet below. He took a step nearer and looked down. A horrible smile crept from his quickly beating heart to his face. His stomach fluttered with delight. Yes. He didn't have to live under the rule of Galbatorix. He didn't have to live with the name of Morzan anymore. He could simply fall. Try to fly. Yes. He would fly away from this reality. This prison. He stood on the very crumbling brink of the world. He laughed and walked the edge of the universe, playing his dangerous game. One which he couldn't lose. One where there was only one winner. A warm breeze ruffled his inky hair, rippled his clothes. He still felt a chill, but it was receding. He laughed again, this time for a long time. All he had to do was fall. Surrender to the wind's warm, lulling embrace. Let himself go. He looked up at the great silver moon. He would be joining it soon. Floating in its milky wake. Stuck in the blue-black gelatinous sapphire of the sky. He tilted his head back and drank in the liquid loveliness of the air, spread his arms...
Suddenly, his head was filled with thoughts of anger, betrayal, hurt, and something tugged violently at his cloak, knocking his weakened, disoriented body off the stone edge of the world. Off his grace. His one hope and mercy. He opened his eyes where Thorn stared at him with his own narrowed.
"Don't look at me like that," Murtagh growled, an unexpected anger consuming him. "My world is nothing! Worth scrap metal! An Urgal's life is worth more than mine!" He was mentally cut off. "Did you just-" It happened again. "Stop it, you deranged lizard! Get out of my head. Go!" Thorn hissed and widened his mouth, displaying his tiny sharp teeth and glistening, red maw. Murtagh slumped against the stone wall and drew up his knees, pressing his eyes with them until it hurt. And then he was sobbing helplessly.
"I'm sorry," he whispered. "I'm so sorry. I didn't know I would...didn't know I wanted to...it just happened. The temptation was staring me in the eyes. I swear I didn't..." He clutched at his chest suddenly. It was fit to burst. His heart choked him. He fell to his side and stared transfixed once more on the sky. Thorn wailed and nudged his Rider's clenched hand. He wailed once more. When it became clear that no one was going to come to his aid, he lay beside Murtagh and lent him his strength as little as there was. At the very least, the boy's heart stopped palpitating as dangerously. He and the dragon lay as they were, too exhausted, too cold to move if they wanted to. Murtagh imagined he saw Sapphira flying above him, Eragon on her back. They were coming to save him. Yes. They-they were forgiving of his sin against the Varden. They would take him back and... and...
Murtagh woke in his bedroom covered in half a dozen blankets. His dragon lay curled next to him, keeping guard. Murtagh saw a maid standing over him dabbing his face with something and murmuring to him tenderly. "Who-who are y-"
"Shh...back to sleep now, love." Murtagh obeyed and relapsed once more into the troubled and strange lands of his dreams.
When next he woke there were several women around him, cleaning the room up, fussing over him and gossiping. Most of the gossip was about him. "Ooh, he's so handsome isn't he?" a young maid said sneaking a look at him. "Though a bit peaky."
"That's because he was tortured. For two months, can you believe it?" one exclaimed excitedly. "I heard him myself. No matter how much they beat him, burned him, cut him and mercy knows what else, he kept screaming, 'No!'. He must be a very profound boy-" Murtagh forced open his eyes slowly.
"Hush, now! I think he heard you!"
"Oh, dear... Go back to sleep now, love. We're taking care of you!" the one who had been speaking giggled.
"Galbatorix," he muttered. He tried to sit up, but was pushed down by three girls. "He knows," he grunted, still trying to get past them. Two more girls held his legs down, laughing girlishly. "He knows, do you hear me?" he bellowed at them. His fear was that the king knew his attempt to "fly". Something that should have been impossible given the oaths he had taken. He knew the king would wish to put more enchantments on him. He knew he must get to him quickly or he'd explode.
"Who's Nasuada?" one girl asked him coquettishly. "She must be lovely."
"What?"
"You talked in your sleep, dearie," one woman said pushing his head down, hands lingering in his hair. "She close?"
"I need the king!" he cried finally getting out of bed clutching his chest.
"That's quite all right, my son," Galbatorix whispered from the door. The maids gasped and backed away from Murtagh. "Shouldn't you girls be cleaning other parts of the castle? We had quite enough in here to start with. Now I'm afraid there isn't anything else to tend to? I must talk with my impertinent child." He said all of this in his slow, soft, rustling voice. Like satin.
"Of course, Your Majesty," they hastily replied and left, heads down and their faces blushing. When they were gone, Galbatorix turned his full attention to Murtagh whose dragon curled around his leg.
"Murtagh, Murtagh, Murtagh..." Galbatorix muttered quietly, taking his leisure in looking around the room, turning things around in his hands. "Murtagh. If there is one short from infinite ways to do something correctly, without fault or error, you will find that one loop and tear through it." He began in Murtagh's direction.
Murtagh took an involuntary step back. "I didn't-"
"Don't begin the protestations, my boy," Galbatorix cut in smoothly. "You changed last night. Something in you changed. That's how you were almost able to jump off my tower. If not for your dragon, who fortunately isn't in the least bit obedient to you, you would have plummeted toward your supposed death only for me to catch you at the last possible moment which would have annoyed me. I've learned that people don't like me when I'm annoyed. But of course you aren't a person. You are a disobedient child with the clarity of mind of a madman."
"So what are you going to do, now?" Murtagh said from where he was pressed against the wall.
"Now, we mend the cracked oaths. Now, we fix you and your selfish motivations." He put a hand on Murtagh's forehead making him flinch. "This won't hurt a bit," Galbatorix assured him with eyes swimming in venom. There was a great mental snap and Murtagh collapsed on the floor as his strings were cut.
Chapter 4
Okay, guys, I'm really slow about this. Sorry, false alarm. I honestly don't know what I'm doing when trying to post. Sorry, sorry, sorry for all of you who are following me. So, to make it up to you, i'll post this Chapter super-fast okay? We good? Alright-y then!
"The king would like to see you now," a soft voice said. Murtagh whirled around, sword drawn to see a blushing maiden standing behind him from where he stood at the top of the tower with Thorn. It was midnight and the air carried a chill in it. The dragon had grown much larger, thanks or otherwise to Galbatorix's attentions.
"Alright, just a moment," Murtagh, muttered distractedly. He turned back to his musings. When he realized the girl was still behind him, he turned on her. "What do you want?" he said sharply.
"Nothing, sir!" she cried. She bowed to both him and Thorn and scurried away murmuring apologies.
Thorn, I am going to lose my temper with these women, Murtagh announced grimly as she watched her walk away with all haste, her slim waist swishing from side to side.
At least she's pretty.
She pales in comparison to Nasuada. Quite literally, he smiled.
I must meet this Nasuada. But first we must meet the king. Murtagh sighed. He'd come to enjoy the mental closeness with Thorn, but sometimes he was too obedient to the king's orders. Though Murtagh was submissive, he was less inclined to be obedient directly.
What do you figure he'll do if we dawdle? he inquired peevishly.
Skin you alive for your lack of punctuality, most likely.
I've been missing old General, he smirked dryly. Let's fly around a bit.
He'll kill Nasuada after he deals with you.
Murtagh's face darkened. "You don't have to remind me." He mounted Thorn. "Let's go then."
Galbatorix didn't seem to notice their presence when they arrived. The king sat upon his throne, facing the pair, yet his eyes stayed fixed upon a point above their heads. "Your Majesty?" Murtagh said quietly. His throat felt like it was ringed with broken glass when he uttered those words, but he'd learned quickly not to break the habit. "Your Majesty, we have come according to your summons."
"Yes," Galbatorix said silkily, still staring at nothing. "I can see that." He lowered his gaze then and crooked his finger. "Come here, boy." Murtagh obeyed, stopping only when Galbatorix dropped his hand. He was just two feet away from him. "I am pleased that you are learning obedience."
"I learned only from the best, Your Highness," Murtagh said his otherwise pleasant voice only tinged lightly with bitter sarcasm. It was almost imperceptible, yet Galbatorix detected it. He lifted his hand threateningly as if about to send Murtagh sailing across the throne room. Murtagh didn't flinch, nor did the king expect him to. Galbatorix smiled tightly, leaned forward suddenly and touched Murtagh's face. It was the only thing liable to fill Murtagh with fear. Not only did he hate most human contact, but he knew that occasionally when Galbatorix touched his face in such a fatherly way, he'd be in a world of pain within the moment. However, Galbatorix did nothing, only stroked Murtagh's face slowly, monotonously and almost lovingly.
"I'm also pleased with your sharp tongue. Use it for me, but not against me or I'll carve it out your pretty little head myself. Do you understand?"
"Yes...my king," Murtagh managed, eyes glazing over unassumingly.
"Good." Galbatorix let his hand rest again on the arm of his throne. "Now. About your task." Murtagh's face twisted with distaste, but he rearranged it quickly. "I want you, once again, to retrieve Saphira and Eragon. Don't disappoint me. You'll wish the midwife had broken your neck the moment you appeared if you fail."
"I don't doubt you," Murtagh said softly staring fixedly at a point just above Galbatorix's ear. "We won't fail you. But what exactly am I to do if the elf and her little woodland friends aid Eragon? What then? Your Majesty..."
"You will have assistance of your own. I showed you the Eldunari already. They have powers. You will receive strength from them. You'll feel their presence once upon the field of battle. It's only been three months since I finished with you and you are still, regrettably rather weak. Weaker than you once were."
"If I am still weak, hadn't we better wait to attack? We might get overtaken. And there's only one egg left. What's the chance that that one will hatch for someone soon once I'm dead or imprisoned?"
"Enough," Galbatorix whispered. Murtagh felt his throat start to constrict with the pressure of a spell. "I'll do as I please. Do you question me?" Murtagh shook his head. "I thought not. Thorn will protect you. You will be back when I call you. Ignore me and you can give up any hope of freedom from that stone for two weeks at the very least." He flicked his finger lazily. Murtagh grunted as a gash materialized on his cheek. "Oh. I apologize," the king smiled. "I meant to tell you to leave. Now go." Murtagh bowed slightly and quit the room, Thorn close behind him. Only when he was outside the throne room did Murtagh grimace and touch his wound lightly.
"That was stupid of me. I should learn to keep my mouth shut."
Lucky that wasn't your throat! I ask you, once again, to do as you're told without comment, Thorn said angrily. And you can't heal yourself. That was part of the oath.
You're reminding me. Let's go. Before he mars more than just my face.
Murtagh stepped lightly on Thorn's foreleg and pulled himself into the saddle. Thorn bounded down the corridors, tongue flicking in and out, tasting the air. It would be his first battle, Murtagh realized. Thorn was eager for this. Despite all Murtagh's grim memories of bloodshed and the horrible grip of that animal lust for Red, Thorn was thrumming with anticipation! All Murtagh could think about was the mechanical possession, the terrified look in his victims' eyes before they died and the rising heap of mangled, blood-painted bodies, their limbs twisted awkwardly in the swirling dust.
Rather them than me, he told himself as he normally did when he at last came around to confronting the darkest part of his soul. Yet this time a small part of him wondered if that were so now. Now that his life meant nothing beside what Galbatorix told him it meant. He was a tool for evil and he should be killed. He knew it and would have sentenced himself duly if not for his oaths binding him so tightly. He hadn't the choice to let a sweet, singing blade wet its palate with the choicest wines his heart could offer. He hadn't the choice to fall, red, metallic liquid wetting his tongue, trickling down the corners of his mouth, spilling the vitality he'd struggled so hard for so long to retain. He had not the choice to lie down and let the chalky dust of the world coat his ruined, yet satisfied, body in its dead white.
Stop it, Thorn snapped. It's scary how dark you can get.
I told you to stop reading my thoughts, Murtagh replied hotly.
Thorn snorted, tucked in his wings and plummeted toward the ground, pulling up at only the last possible moment.
"Easy!" Murtagh shouted over the roar of the wind as he was almost impaled by Thorn's spine. "What are you trying to do?"
I thought if I made you somewhat less of a man, you would listen, Thorn said innocently. Murtagh braced himself carefully on Thorn's back.
No, I'd be too busy killing you!
There's my good little two-legs, Thorn said with wolfish amusement. He lifted his head and trumpeted his anthem to the skies as though he wished to accelerate the rising of the sun.
The battle grounds were dry and lifeless save for the hundreds of men and a sparkling azure hill in their midst. "There's Saphira," Murtagh whispered. "She and Eragon won't be expecting this." They had cast a spell of invisibility over themselves, so not a soul could see the blood red dragon and his Rider.
Good for us, not so much for them, eh? Thorn answered. Murtagh knew he was anxious to test himself on the battle ground.
Are you not at all bothered by fighting against what would be our side if it weren't for Galbatorix? Murtagh grumbled. He was growing more and more agitated the closer they drew to the ground. Thorn snorted.
Of course it bothers me. But we don't necessarily have to kill anyone. We only need to kidnap the Rider and his dragoness.
Then Murtagh was struck with an idea. But what if we don't? Thorn studied his mind for a long minute and exhaled as they landed beyond a hill.
I was hoping you were joking, but I realize leaving it at a joke is too sensible for you. Murtagh allowed himself a brief, wicked grin in the fading light.
Urgals rushed past Thorn and Murtagh where they stayed stock-still in the darkness. They bared their throats quickly to him as they passed, but Murtagh did not return any form of respect. He could not forget what they did to Ajihad. What they did to him.
The air grew colder as battle cries began to sound. Then the clamor of swords. Murtagh closed his eyes and curled closer to Thorn. After half an hour, when the cries of pain and death were equal to that of the cries of savagery and bloodlust, Murtagh stood with cramped legs.
"We have to go now." He murmured a spell and climbed onto Thorn's back. He grabbed a spine and took a deep, calming breath. Thorn vaulted into the air and roared.
"SURRENDER ERAGON AND HIS SHE-LIZARD," Murtagh said in a voice deeper than his own. His voice magnified throughout the entire Plain, and nearly everyone stopped to behold the fearsome sight. "HOW MUCH LONGER WILL YOU SHELTER THEM, REMAINING YET USELESS TO YOUR WELL-BEING? WE ONLY WANT THEM. YOU WILL BE ALLOWED TO CARRY ON THROUGH YOUR UNCERTAIN, FEAR-WROUGHT LIVES AND WE WILL NOT BEGRUDGE THEM! JUST GIVE US THE BOY AND HIS DRAGON!"
There was a deep, throaty bellow as Saphira announced her reassuring presence. There was a sound like a tent rippling in the wind, and a streak of blue shot toward them, glistening fearsomely in the light of the fires below.
Thorn, Murtagh said a slight smile gracing his mouth at knowledge of what he'd just done. If you ever meet a dragoness, never call her a she-lizard. She will kill you and feast on your bones with relish.
Oh, Thorn answered softly as he saw Saphira hurtling toward him. You did that on purpose.
Just trying to prepare you for the wrath of a female.
Why, thank you, brother. Thorn flapped powerfully until he'd reached the clouds. Saphira followed him, snapping her jaws at his tail. Murtagh jumped in his seat and cursed. Thorn managed a laugh just before Saphira collided full-bodied into him. They rolled in the air, both trying to maintain height and power with the strength of their membraneous wings. Quickly, Murtagh stroked his throat to get rid of the spell. "Thorn! She's older and bigger than you! She's too strong. Don't kill yourself trying to beat her!"
Thorn didn't answer as he forced his jaws around her sinewy, armored neck. She growled viciously and he saw Eragon draw his bright, blood-red sword Zar'roc. It flashed by the firelight and the scar on Murtagh's back tingled and burned at the memory of that very blade nearly cutting him in half as a child. Murtagh stared at Eragon for a long few moments. He doesn't see my face just yet, he thought. "Thorn! I'm going to cut off contact with you, because he can read minds. Break free and drop me in front of Nasuada's tent. Then go off and hide. Be discreet. I will call you when you should come back."
Thorn snarled in response and flicked his tail at Saphira's face. She howled and hurtled through thin air. Murtagh thought he could hear Eragon screaming hoarsely. His face twisted bitterly. "Good job, Thorn. Though I believe that was considered a low blow in dragon-fighting."
As is biting tails, Thorn answered, tucking in his wings, and descending over the army, swooping over the tents until he reached a somewhat larger tent at the far end. Four men stood guard outside the tent. They brandished their weapons readily, but Thorn swept them aside with his tail. One was knocked unconscious while two others broke their limbs. One man was caught up in the ropes of another tent. Murtagh dismounted quickly, pulled his hood up and drew his sword ducking inside the tent as Thorn took off. There was a dim, guttering candle at Nasuada's desk. He stepped nearer to it and fingered its flame.
His eyes flashed as he felt a presence behind him. He turned and snatched Nasuada's wrist from the air just as she was about to drive a dagger into his back. She stifled a scream of surprise. She had been silent before, but now she struggled to pull her arm from the mysterious man.
"Greetings, My Lady," Murtagh said softly. She stopped and squinted into the darkness.
"Who are you?" she said just as softly.
"I've always thought you intelligent. Can you not guess?"
"Are you..." her almond eyes widened in shock. "Murtagh, is that you? What happened to you?"
"Now there is your mistake," Murtagh said in the low voice he reserved for people he was about to kill. "I ask the questions, you give the answers. Understood?"
Tears glistened in her eyes. "Murtagh, what-"
"Wrong answer," Murtagh said using the same bland tone Galbatorix had used while playing one of their "games". He grabbed her other arm and held her close to his body. She screamed. He put a hand over her mouth. She bit him, but he didn't let go. He'd suffered worse, he told himself. "Quiet," he growled in her ear.
"Let go of me!" she answered around his hand. He complied and spread his hands.
"All right. You have something sentimental to tell me, I presume?"
She shoved him. "What's happened to you?" she hissed. "We thought you were dead! Eragon spent over a week searching for you with his injury! He put the Varden at risk looking for you!"
"Well, I apologize for being such an inconvenience," Murtagh said softly, stepping closer to her. "Meanwhile, I was a little preoccupied with being tortured by Ra'zac, a psychotic general and Galbatorix himself!"
"Tortured? I thought they killed you! Arya found your bloody clothes strewn around the tunnels and-"
"I honestly wish I could have confirmed your little hunch, Nasuada, but it didn't turn out that way. He had to punish me for leaving him. In fact, I was reduced to wishing for as simple a punishment as death. Just to have it end. And it wouldn't have been like anyone would be overly concerned about the death of Morzan's son, except for Galbatorix who decided for a birthday present he'd make me a Rider!"
"You're a Rider?" Nasuada said edging away from him, yet trying to smile. "Why, Murtagh, that's wonderful! It really-"
"Not if the life of the dragon was what determined your decision to swear fealty to Galbatorix," Murtagh spat. "Thorn is the worst and the best thing that's ever happened to me, but if I could do it all over again, I'd probably have let Galbatorix continue his tortures!" This was a lie of course. He loved Thorn better than life itself.
His eye caught Nasuada's hand moving for a knife lying on her desk. His mouth curled. "You're trying to kill me, Lady Nasuada?" he asked with amusement.
"Murtagh," Nasuada warned in a low voice. "Don't touch me. I will have to kill you. I don't want to." Her fingers curled around the knife handle. "I swear I will, though. Just don't touch me." Murtagh's smile grew as he pushed back the hood of his cloak. "Go ahead then, princess. Kill me. I've wanted to die for a long time now. Give it a try."
The knife trembled in her hand. His expression darkening in annoyance, Murtagh shoved her against the desk and pressed himself close upon her hands squeezing her shoulders, then her waist. She cried out in surprise and stabbed at his back. It was deflected directly. Murtagh released her, trembling at his sudden change. He'd wanted not to move. To keep her his captive forever, breathing in her sweet scent, eternally feeling her smooth, warm skin against his own. Nasuada straightened quickly and leveled her knife at him furiously, grinding her teeth.
"If you ever do that again, Murtagh, I swear I'll-"
"You'll what?" Murtagh laughed madly. "What would you do? What could you have done? If I weren't such a gentleman, I'd have had my way with you. I should teach you to defend yourself properly, but we don't have the time. But now you see can't kill me. Now come." He grabbed her arm and began dragging her out the tent.
"No! Stop! Murtagh!"
"Enough!" He bellowed, yanking on her arm violently. She slapped him across his face, her nails leaving angry red furrows on his cheek. Murtagh had had enough. He took his sword and struck her temple with it. Her eyes rolled back in her head and she slumped back into his arms. He sheathed his sword and threw her over his shoulder. "Thorn!" he yelled. It wasn't long before he was surrounded by warriors, one of them an elf.
"Traitor! Put down the queen, and we'll kill you quickly," the elf said. It was Arya. The elf he had helped Eragon save from the Empire.
"Really? I find that hard to believe. But that's quite alright, I'm used to pain," Murtagh smiled pleasantly.
"Put. Her. Down," she growled angrily.
Murtagh looked up at the skies. Thorn's red light could be seen gliding swiftly across the Plain. "No. I think not. You'll thank me later. This is far better than the alternative. Ah-ah-ah!" he cautioned as one warrior prepared to run him through with a javelin. "I wouldn't do that. The son of Morzan has protection. Even from himself."
"It didn't save you from Her Highness's attentions," he observed still aiming.
"Well, that was because I wasn't supposed to deal with females tonight. I am truly sorry, so I leave you Eragon and his fearsome beast as compensation. Farewell." He lifted an arm and took hold of one of Thorn's claws. He tightened his hold on Nasuada's unconscious form. The land swept by quickly and grew smaller.
Eragon and Saphira are still down, Thorn said grimly.
We have to go there. I need to see that they are alright.
They'll kill you.
No. I'm the Rider, and you do what I say. Go to them. Besides, we need to put Nasuada in the saddle. Thorn roared deafeningly and veered around. Murtagh squeezed Nasuada's body with his free arm and his legs. When they were close enough to the ground that Murtagh wouldn't break anything, Thorn dropped him and Nasuada none to gently. Murtagh didn't care. He lay Nasuada carefully on the ground, then walked slowly over to the heap of sapphire jewels twinkling like stars in the darkness. Near Saphira lay Eragon curled against her underbelly, her wing extended protectively beneath his small trembling form. She'd saved him from almost certain death. He crouched near Eragon and put a hand on his head. Tears threatened to spill.
"I'm so sorry," he whispered. "It was her or you. I couldn't take you. Your such a little idiot," he laughed ruefully. His eyes wandered to Zar'roc which was still in Eragon's hand. With trembling fingers, he pulled the sword out of Eragon's grasp, staring at the red blade. He unbelted the sheath from Eragon's waist and put his own sword in his hand. "It should be mine anyway. It's red. Red like blood. My blood. Like my shame. Red like Thorn. It's mine. You hear me little idiot!" he shouted. Tears rolled quickly down his face. His chest hurt as he sheathed the sword and strapped it to his waist. He kicked Eragon savagely and only cried all the harder. He heard a disturbance behind him and turned to see Arya standing a little ways off. Her long dark hair swayed in the wind and her bright green eyes were startlingly luminous in the darkness. She didn't say a word, only stared.
"You cannot kill me," Murtagh said, his hand shaking on the loathed pommel of the sword. "I wish you could. I truly do with all my heart. I would kill myself. Believe me. This is for the better." His voice came out in sobs. "He's going to torture me anyway. And I don't care about that. I only wish with every breath I take that he would tear out my heart and cast it away from him forever. That way maybe I could find a place where no one is chasing me. Where no one wants me dead. A place where no one cares that I'm the son of a traitor, a murderer, a liar, and a cheat!" Arya stood still and stared with great, emerald eyes. "Do you understand!"
"I understand better than anyone. You know that. That is why you speak to me. But there is a difference between us, Murtagh Morzanson. I didn't submit. You have."
"Yes after two months of relentless torturing!" Murtagh answered angrily. "Relentless! Merciless! Not an hour passed after I almost killed his stupid servant did he let up. Not once! If it wasn't burning, whipping, cutting, dissecting, or crushing, it was the Ra'zac, or hallucinations. The ghastliest! The sickest, most horrific images anyone could conjure and leagues further. I saw her die in the most disgusting, horrible ways," he said indicating Nasuada's still form. "I can't even speak of it. And I saw Eragon fed inch by inch to a lake of acid. Galbatorix would make sure every bit disintegrated before moving on! The screaming-" He cursed and was about to kick Eragon again, but changed his mind. He didn't need anymore cause for blame on his hands. He shoved his hands through his hair and sighed. "I at least wish you'd try to understand. I'm not...Galbatorix."
"What made you do it?" Arya said in an even rustling voice. "You are singularly the most stubborn person I know, Murtagh. What made you submit so suddenly?"
"Thorn. He was hurting Thorn through me. I told him I'd be his if he would only stop hurting Thorn. He was innocent. And when he told me I needed to take Nasuada after Eragon and Saphira, I begged him not to make me kill her. He would have made me do it in all the ways he'd shown. To set an example." Tears were coming again when he heard shouting and the clanging of armor. He looked up into Arya's eyes. "Will you tell Eragon that I am sorry. Don't relay this conversation to anyone else. Please. If Galbatorix finds out...well, when he does, he'll make me pay for it fully in blood anyway. He'll be even more furious if he discovered that I still am trying to..." He stopped. Arya nodded once.
"I didn't see you. I couldn't find you. Understand?"
"Thank you."
"You saved my life once. It is a debt repaid. But when next we meet... And if you touch her in anyway unbefitting a gentleman, I will know, and feed you to an ant bed."
"I understand." He turned to Nasuada and picked her up in his arms. "I swear I'll try to help her as much as I can. But this is her battle now."
"I am not bound to her so I can let you go. But know I don't approve of your actions." Murtagh bowed slightly.
"I don't either." Thorn padded forward and lowered himself. Murtagh pushed Nasuada's limp body onto the saddle and followed. He nodded to Arya one last time and Thorn took off into the grey light of dawn.
Thorn didn't say anything for a long time. Are you all right? Murtagh asked him, slowly letting their minds merge again. Thorn shied from the contact, but Murtagh persisted and Thorn had to relent. A dragon cannot refuse his Rider.
I indirectly caused you to live like this.
I would have chosen you anyway. We've been over this.
But now you must fight those you care about. Pretend that you are something you aren't.
I care about you, Murtagh answered softly, scratching between one of Thorn's scales. More than anyone in the whole world.
Great, because that makes me feel better.
What do you want me to say? I love you, Thorn. That's all there is to it. I can't love anyone else more or better than I do you.
Sadly, the same can be said from me to you. Why I chose such a sullen, moody, black-hearted child to link souls with, I shall never know.
Murtagh smiled ruefully and looked down at Nasuada. He'd been avoiding looking at her. She was like a ghost from his dreams. He'd wanted for so long to behold her, but now that she was here, he wasn't entirely certain.
She was so beautiful. Her face was so sweet as she slept.
So this is the lovely Nasuada, Thorn said, arching his neck to look at her. Isn't she a charmer.
Yes, she is. The most wily enchantress that ever lived.
I thought you said she can't work magic.
She can't. But she does all the same.
Anything you say. Hold her tightly, I'm about to fly through the clouds.
Murtagh carefully lifted her from Thorn's neck and somewhat awkwardly positioned her against him so she wouldn't fall. He realized her skin was as cold as ice. She was only in a nightgown. He removed his cloak and wrapped her in it. "All right. Go." Murtagh, truthfully, was glad to have a reason to hold her. He felt it was the least he could do after knocking her out and pretending he would assault her. Her hair was soft and silky against his jaw. He stroked her arm gently from inside the folds of the cloak. It was so smooth and warm now. An animal desire to become part of her took hold of him. His hand brushed her shoulder and he stopped.
"No," he told himself softly. "No, no, no." He wrapped the cloak around her more tightly.
I don't understand exactly what you feel. You want something, but you don't know what it is and you can't take it. Nor do you want to. But you want it all the same.
You'll understand when you live another few months. Didn't you like Saphira?
Not really. She kept telling me she would rip out my throat, so that made friendship less liable.
But she was beautiful to you?
Yes. In a scary, dominating female way.
Well that's it. She intimidates you, yet you want her to be yours. You want her to give herself up to you. So you can control her and make her your own. Like that?
Thorn was quiet for a long time as he considered. No, I'm not sure I understand you.
Murtagh nodded and squeezed Nasuada in his arms. Her dark skin appeared bluish in the moonlight. He tentatively touched her face, stroked her long, soft curls. He longed to press his mouth into the hollow of her throat, to embrace her fully. The Wanting grew worse. Making up his mind, he strapped her legs to the saddle and secured her wrists. He then edged back, settling between two spines as far from her as he could manage.
Murtagh, a voice that wasn't Thorn's spoke into his mind. Murtagh, do tell me that you have Eragon and Saphira. Murtagh threw up his mental defenses, but they were swept aside. You cannot hide from me, your merciful master who may yet grant you forgiveness. Answer me.
I'll explain everything to you when we arrive. I promise.
I think now would be the better time. I can't touch you.
I took Nasuada instead of Eragon and his dragoness, Murtagh answered in a rush. Simply because...because Thorn can't carry both of them.
Galbatorix was quiet for several moments. Do you think I am an idiot? You have magic. You know how to use it. I expect you to carry out my orders. You had better conjure up a better excuse by the time you arrive. Just wait until I get my hands on you-
No! Please, you don't understand! I couldn't take them! I was going to. I really was. Only- Galbatorix cut him off.
Be at my feet begging for mercy within twenty four hours or I'll kill the girl.
You swore you wouldn't! It isn't her fault. I'm the one who kidnapped her-
You're right. But that doesn't stop me from hurting you, does it? Galbatorix withdrew, his mind swirling with amusement. Murtagh opened his eyes.
"Thorn. Fly faster."
Why?
"Do as I say. Please."
Galbatorix?
"Who else?"
The world below ran by quickly. Murtagh hardly noticed. He was watching Nasuada, making sure her lolling head wouldn't strike a spine. Yet he didn't reach out for her. He didn't trust himself.
You treated her roughly earlier, Thorn remarked, still irritated by Murtagh's earlier terseness.
I had to. I can't become overly attached. Nor should she if she would ever dream of stooping to my level.
Do you still believe taking her was the better option?
I told you, I cannot handle Eragon and his earnestness. He is the most earnest, emotional little person I know and I can't see him being tortured as I have been knowing that I brought him to it.
You will have to, eventually. And bringing the woman you love in his stead does not seem like it felt so wonderful either.
But her protection is promised, Murtagh answered defensively.
He won't kill her, but there are worse things. She's a beautiful lady. He may take advantage of her, or ruin her in some other horrible way. And with no one able to protect her-
I will protect her, Murtagh snapped resolutely.
Thorn made no answer.
In the throne room, Galbatorix sat in his throne looking irate. He spoke to Shruikan, his jet-black dragon in a low voice. When the doors opened, Galbatorix looked up at Murtagh and Thorn. Murtagh dismounted and slowly walked over to the king, who watched him expectantly.
"Well?" Murtagh remained silent. "Talk to me, impudent whelp."
"There is nothing to say."
"There is plenty to say." Murtagh said nothing. "No matter. I know a few tricks that will loosen your tongue."
"I said there is nothing to say!" Murtagh answered through clenched teeth. "She has done nothing. I'm the one who kidnapped her. She tried to fight me but you can see how that worked out for her."
"You are rather adamant. Why did you disobey me?"
Looking anywhere but at the king, he took a breath. "I can't do as you've asked. Not directly."
"Directly?"
"Eragon is still injured. His back is severely damaged from Durza's sword. I couldn't take him. He is going to be trained by the elves very soon. They may know how to heal him. He will then come after Nasuada and we will be somewhat more fairly matched."
"Fairly matched!" Galbatorix bellowed, jumping to his feet. He closed the space between he and Murtagh. "In the name of justice, everything is fair!"
"That seems contradictory, if I may be so bold, Your Highness."
"Contradictory?" the king said. His voice was deadly calm now and quiet.
"Yes. Contradictory and insulting to humanity."
The king nodded slowly. "You are very bold."
"I don't want you to hurt her," Murtagh answered. "If you punish anyone, let it be me. It's my crime. I'm the one defying you."
"Are you?" Galbatorix whispered.
"Yes, I think so," he said just as quietly. His eyes were steely daggers daring the world to oppose them. Galbatorix smiled lightly and strode toward Thorn. He reached up for Nasuada and took her down. He cradled her in his arms.
"Oh, my!" he mocked bouncing her up and down. "Isn't she a beauty. And her skin...such a rare shade. Rarity is the essence of beauty, you know." He lifted her higher and pressed his face against her neck. "She's a sweet one. Never had one like her before..." His hand began to wander and squeeze through her thin nightgown. Murtagh ran to them and took her away from the king's arms.
"No. She is not a toy to be played with; she is a Lady unlike any that have ever existed! She has a heart and a mind!" Galbatorix smiled on. "Don't you understand?! You can't have her!"
Nasuada stirred, her curl-riddled head swaying uncertainly, then coming to rest on Murtagh's chest. Her hands moved uncertainly.
"Father..." she murmured. Her hand brushed Murtagh's face and caressed his jaw. "Don't leave...I can't...Murtagh..." Murtagh took her hand and squeezed it gently. The effects of his brutal treatment were fading.
"She adores you it seems," Galbatorix noted.
"She adored her father. I was the last person she saw," Murtagh said with finality.
Galbatorix nodded. "This will be interesting." He snapped his fingers and Nasuada's eyes flipped opened. Murtagh released her hand quickly. She looked around; a red mass loomed over her and a strange man in a crown stood nearby. She was in someone's arms. She looked up and saw Murtagh's hard, troubled face.
"Oh, Murtagh..." she murmured. "You are always so serious... Smile a bit. I remember you had such a sweet smile." She fell asleep again. Galbatorix laughed, a warm, fatherly sound.
"Bring her down to the stone and secure her," he said at last. "Now." He murmured something and Murtagh's legs were moved outside of their will.
Murtagh laid her gently down upon the stone table. She moved again and he froze. Her eyes flickered. "Jörmunder?"
"Shh...Nasuada, it's me. Murtagh."
"Murtagh?" Her eyes wandered to where he was. "What are you doing here?" It dawned on her that maybe what she had dreamed wasn't a dream. Sitting bolt upright, she slipped off the stone. "Why did you do it? Why, Murtagh?!" she screamed. Tears sparkled in her eyes. "The Varden are going to die without me guiding them!"
"They won't! They have Eragon, Arya, all the elves and the dwarves. They have Surda!"
"Why did you do this to me?! First my father, now me! What's next?" She pushed him, but Murtagh stood his ground.
"I didn't kill your father! I defended him! I'm sorry. This was the better option. Better you than Eragon. Galbatorix would have killed him. Ruined him! Can you understand that? I'm sorry, but the only life guaranteed was yours. I made the king swear before I gave in." Staring distrustfully at him, she made an effort to compose herself.
"Very diplomatic, Murtagh. Stealing a lady away in the night."
"I am sorry. Bad blood is an unfortunate trait of mine." There was no humor in this exchange of words where there had once been. Months ago, when they had met they had spoken in riddles and with the dry wit they shared. The dungeon door opened and Galbatorix stepped in.
"Murtagh, I ordered you to secure her to the stone." Murtagh's face darkened as he stared into Nasuada's eyes. She was calculating, he knew. She knew she couldn't escape. And she didn't want to look like a stubborn child while trying. Making her decision, she lay down and stared at the ceiling, much like Murtagh had done before her. He touched her head briefly in understanding of her sacrifice and tied her down. "Very good. Now, Nasuada, understand that this is as much a punishment for you as it is for dear Murtagh, here. I am more inclined to think that it may prove more painful for him. He is going to hurt you."
"I won't," Murtagh said. "You can't make me."
"Of course I can. But I'll leave you the choice. It's either you," Galbatorix said settling in his chair with an air of ease, "or General and the Ra'zac. They would be more brutal, believe me."
"Murtagh," Nasuada whispered.
Murtagh knelt beside her attentively.
"Yes?"
"Do whatever he says. Understand? Don't get hurt on my account."
"But it does hurt me, Nasuada," he said taking her hand. "Don't make me do this to you. I'll join you. I'll take your place."
"Murtagh, son of Morzan," she said in a strident voice. "Do as I say. You owe me that much."
Murtagh glared at her, but she glowered back with more venom. "Very well," he said at last, defeated. He stood again. Galbatorix smiled coldly.
"I enjoy this too much. Servant!" he called. The door open and the clamp-toothed servant came in rolling a furnace before him. "Now, Murtagh you are familiar with how this goes." Tugging a glowing red iron from the furnace he presented it to Murtagh. "Where shall we kiss her first? Hmm...I know..." He leaned forward and slowly pushed up her nightgown, relishing her discomfort. He stopped just above her thighs. "Such lovely legs. Almost a shame to mar their beauty. No matter, we'll make them good as new after you submit."
"Farewell, legs," Nasuada said grimly. "You've carried me so far."
"I don't tolerate smart tongues here, My Lady," the king said, trailing his fingers from her ankle to her thigh and beneath her dress. Nasuada shuddered and managed to close her legs on his fingers. He tapped his forefinger against her inner thigh. "Right there, if you please, Murtagh." Murtagh stared for a few moments. Nasuada caught his eye and he had to obey. Slowly, he touched the iron to her smooth bare skin. He remembered very well what the first touch always felt like; the screaming was more than he could bear.