The market at Uru'Baen was bustling with so much activity that no one noticed the girl that slipped unseen through the crowd. Her head was covered with cloth—only a pair of uneven eyes showed.
Virika swayed with the crowd trying to find an exit. She hated crowds—there was no place to see your enemy. Her uneven eyes, one violet and the other blue, kept flicking from place to place. Her breathing was uneven as if from running when it was really the claustrophobia creeping up on her.
She stopped momentarily to step into an alley. Virika leaned against the stone building and took in a deep breath trying to steady herself. It had been a long time since she'd been in a crowd this large.
Virika adjusted her garment and bag. Her dress was long—to her ankles and covered with dust and grime from her travels. Under her dress she wore a pair of leggings which showed through when she moved; she had torn the sides of her dress. The slits were from the hem to her mid-thigh. Around her head she wore cloth, shielding herself from the outside world.
However hard Virika tried to conceal herself from the outside world, she knew that one false move could prove her downfall.
With her dress and bag safely in place Virika took a deep breath and once again stepped out into the crowded market place.
She hadn't been walking for long when she felt the hair on the back of her scalp stand on end. Someone was following her.
As surreptitiously as she dared, Virika turned to see who was tailing her through the market.
As she turned her sharp eyes caught the movement of a man. He was turned away from her, but his agitated movements and the flicker of his eyes back to her informed Virika that he was in fact following her.
No. Not her.
She followed the man's gaze once more as she pretended to be pondering some fruit on a fruit sellers stand.
He was watching her bag.
A common thief then. Nothing to worry about Virika thought, it's not the Empire who's following me. And the man is too obvious to be a spy.
Virika slipped away quickly once the man's gaze was no longer directed towards her. She sighed; she needed to be more careful.
Although technically in a time of war, the market was in full swing—the only hint of conflict was the number of soldiers roaming along with civilians.
These Virika avoided as if they had the plague. She had no desire to be captured and tortured.
That was why she wore the scarf—so that no one could see her pointed ears. The scarf wasn't necessary however; it just made her feel more concealed. Her ears only came to a slight point—if she wore her hair down, no one could tell. Although Virika was completely human, she had lived among the elves her entire seventeen years of life. Because of this she had been granted a few characteristics of elves.
Her ears were pointed, but that was not all. No, living with the elves had given her additional strength and speed which no ordinary human could match. Even with her strength and speed however, an elf could easily over power her.
So, Virika relied on her mind. She had come to Uru'Baen as a spy for Queen Islanzadi and she would not fail her mission. She was the obvious choice for a spy since she was a human and could fit in more easily.
Virika missed the quiet openness of Du Weldenvarden. This noisy, crowded market caused her nerves to tingle endlessly.
She stopped at a silver-smith's stall and acted as though she was looking at his wares intently. In reality she was listening to the gossip that was going on around her. Gossip was the quickest and safest way to glean information.
". . . Seems like there's another group of soldiers going out everyday now." The silver-smith, a portly man with long gray hair was saying to his companion, a tall man with a beard.
The man with a beard nodded. "I wonder what the King is planning on doing? Surely, he can crush the Varden without sending out more troupes."
The silver-smith leaned against his stall and crooked his finger signaling for his friend to come closer. He then said in a low voice, "I hear, that the Varden beat Murtagh and Thorn, but . . ." he looked around and Virika pretended to be completely focused on a necklace, "Somehow, that new dragon rider beat him. The King was pretty darn upset; he even killed a few slaves. Not that he couldn't get more. I'm just saying, he wasn't happy."
Both men shuddered at the mad king's violent tendencies and Virika fought back the urge to shudder also. How could a man be so cruel? She moved on through the market, storing the information away to tell the Queen.
Virika had told none of her reports to the Queen as of yet, and was looking forward to telling her something important. Virika had basic magic skills—nothing fancy like the elves had. Scrying to contact the Queen would take all of her strength.
There was a slight shift in the crowd up ahead. A contingent of soldiers marched through and Virika stepped away, her back pressed against the wall of a house. She felt safer that way; no one could sneak up behind her.
With the soldiers gone, Virika resumed her lazy stroll through the market. Soon the sun was gone over the horizon and the stalls were closing. Virika left the market and started towards the inn where she had been staying.
Darkness fell swiftly on Uru'Baen. The streets were empty and Virika walked faster as an uneasy feeling crept up on her. Her eyes flashed to the empty doorways and alleys.
The feeling of uneasiness grew and Virika took a wrong turn, ending up in an alley with no exit. She turned to leave.
There in the mouth of the alley was the man she had spied eyeing her bag earlier. With him were two other burly men. Knowing that they meant to take her pack, Virika dropped to a crouch, her hands ready to snatch the daggers she had concealed within the sleeves of her dress. She wasn't much use with a sword—but with daggers she was deadly.
The men laughed at her stance and walked towards her, their faces smug.
Virika pulled her lips back into a soundless snarl.
The men were almost upon her. She hesitated wanting to know if for sure they meant her harm.
"Well, she's a feisty one, ain't she Daren?" the leader was a large man with a bushy beard and beady eyes. He smelled of liquor and sweat.
One of the other men, Daren, answered him with a cackle.
"Aye, Swarn, you can't have picked a more fun target," he grinned at Virika, "Come now sweetheart, we just want to have some fun."
"Stay away from me," Virika's voice was steady and her hands itched to reach the daggers. But she would not hurt them unless unavoidable. Peace was what she had been taught.
The raucous laughter of the men bounced off the walls of Virika's temporary cell.
Swarn's eyes narrowed and he swayed a little—the effects of a day of drinking.
"Daren," he said.
Virika didn't react as the man named Daren snatched her arms and yanked them behind her back. She would try to get out of this mess without killing anyone. The force of Daren caused the cloth on her head to fall off, revealing her face and hair.
A cascade of copper curls tumbled out and framed her face. Her eyes flashed violently beneath a fringe of long eyelashes.
The men sucked in their breath at the sight of her face in the twilight. For not being an elf, Virika was exceptionally pretty.
"Well, well, well. Ain't you a pretty 'un," Swarn slurred and approached her so that he was very close to her. Virika attempted to make herself taller than she really was—the elves had always towered over her short slim stature.
"Stay away," she threatened.
"I do'n think so," Swarn chuckled and began to unbuckle his belt. Realizing what he was going to do made Virika forget about not hurting the men.
She swung her right leg back and kicked the man behind her in his sensitive spot. He yelped and let go of her.
Quicker than the men, Virika retrieved the daggers from her sleeves and after a swift kick to the gut, laid a cut across Swarn's face.
Daren and the last man watched as their companion fell to the ground—he had passed out. With bellows of rage the both charged towards Virika.
She waited until the last possible second and leapt into the air, spring boarding off Daren's shoulder. As she fell behind him she hooked an arm around his neck and tossing a dagger at the last man who had been brandishing a sword, pressed the sensitive spot on Daren's neck. He fell to the ground with a thud.
Panting, Virika stood surveying the damage. Two men were merely unconscious; she didn't envy the headache's they would have when they awoke.
The last man—the one with the sword—lay on the ground a single dagger protruding from his chest. Virika winced and stepped over to the body, pulling the dagger from his chest.
She wiped the blood off of the dagger on the man's shirt and placed her weapons back in her sleeves. Checking that there was no blood on her dress, she hurried from the alley.
Hiding silently in the shadows a figure watched the tiny girl slip from the alley. The shadow frowned. Three grown men had entered that alley, searching for the girl. However, none had exited. Surely, the girl?
Stepping from the shadows Murtagh sauntered into the alley. Three bodies lay on the ground. Using his magic, he sensed that only one was dead. Murtagh's lips turned up into a smirk. So the girl had beat them?
He strolled from the alley and walked in the direction he had seen the girl walk. Thinking back he remembered that she had been quite lovely. Definitely someone worth following.
Virika's neck prickled. Someone was following her again. She ducked into a tavern—better to be where there were people.
Inside the tavern the fire roared and people mulled over there days with tankards of mead. It was loud and crowded, filled with the stink of unwashed bodies. In a corner a sat an impromptu band. One man played a fiddle while the other beat in time on a drum. It was a very inviting atmosphere, especially if Virika wanted to blend in. She sat down near the men who were playing the music.
Her uneven eyes were alert, but outwardly she appeared relaxed. Virika swayed with the music and even hummed a little under her breath. She smiled as couples stood from the tables to dance a jig in time with the music. They looked happy and carefree when they danced.
She was so consumed watching the joy in the dancers that she almost missed another new comer step through the door to the tavern.
The man was very tall, with broad shoulders and dark hair that fell across his dark eyes. He was exceptionally handsome. The man looked slightly out of place in his black leggings and tunic—a sword hung on his hip. Virika guessed he was probably a soldier off duty.
She turned her attention back to the dancers. The musicians had switched to a slower tune, one that piqued Virika's memory. Her brow grew furrowed as she listened to the melody—she'd heard this before! Humming softly along with melody, Virika searched her memory for the source.
Footsteps coming towards her pulled Virika from her reverie. Her head snapped up to see the young man who had just walked in approaching her. Virika was fine with talking with the older men but this handsome young man concerned her. He was too smooth with his stride and she could feel the soft hum of power radiating from him.
Virika stood swiftly from her spot among the musicians. The young man stopped a few feet from her and sat among one of the tables. Virika moved through the crowd in the tavern towards the door feeling unnerved by the man's presence. He made her uneasy.
She made it to the door and turned to give one last look. The man was looking away from her.
Although Virika kept to the shadows, it was hard for a girl like her not to stand out. Murtagh watched her surreptitiously from his perch high above her on one of the many houses.
She moved with an uncanny grace that made him instantly suspicious. The fact that a young woman such as herself could overpower three men also made him nervous. Who was she? He intended to find out.
Virika could sense him following her but she resisted the urge to look behind her. She made her way faster along the darkened streets until she came to where a festival was taking place.
She would lose him in the crowd she decided. Stepping amongst the revelers Virika searched for a good hiding place.
Dancers twirled around a large bonfire in the middle of a group of kiosks. The band played on raised platform and Virika just had to stop to watch. A man in green garb approached her where she swayed side to side to the happy music.
"Would you care to dance?" he asked her smiling brightly.
Virika stared at him for a moment before answering with a smile of her own. "Certainly," she said. She would lose the man who followed her amid the dancers.
She enjoyed dancing with the man in green and was lost amid the other dancers the swirling of the colors and the music making her lose herself.
It wasn't until he had an arm around her waist during a partner change that Virika realized the man who was following her had found her.
Virika tried to pull away from him. She twisted in his grasp but even with her superhuman strength she couldn't get away from him. His lips turned up into a smirk as he pressed her against him.
She tried pulling away—tried fighting him—but it was useless. The man steered Virika to a dark corner away from the lighted sounds of the festival. There were no people wandering back here around the abandon carts.
Cold stone pressed against Virika's back as the man pushed her against the wall and then swiftly yanked her hands up over her head.
"Let go of me!" Virika said sternly to the man.
His smile grew wider. "I don't think I'll do that. Not until you explain a few things."
"Why should I tell you anything?" her voice was harsh and demanding.
"Because I'm asking you nicely."
Disdain colored Virika's tone. "This is nicely?" She looked at him pointedly, "I'd hate to see what not nice would look like. . ."
"You might get to see that."
She snorted at that and his smirk twisted.
"Now then, who are you?" he asked his eyes searching hers.
Virika met them with evenness as she replied, "Virika. And who are you?"
His eyes lit with amusement at her tone. Here was a girl who wasn't afraid or didn't swoon at the sight of him. Virika. She was something of a challenge. And Murtagh liked challenges.
"I'm the one asking the questions," he said roughly pressing his body against her. Virika's breath sped up at his touch. "What are you doing here?"
Her answer was instantaneous. "Traveling."
"For whom?"
"Myself."
He looked at her face and noticed how her lip trembled slightly. She was lying. "Lies," Murtagh said as he shoved her hard against the wall taking pleasure in the fact that she grimaced but quickly hid it.
"I'm telling the truth!" she said it with the perfect amount of outrage.
"Tell. Me. The. Truth," Murtagh enunciated each word and punctuated them with a slight shove.
Virika struggled to hide the fear and pain that she knew would soon show on her face. She mustn't let him find out her mission. He could hurt her all he wanted but Virika would sooner die than give up who she really was.
"I am telling the truth you idiot!" she yelled in his face her eyes narrowing at him as she tried in vain to push him away.
Murtagh smiled widely at her and Virika shivered. Suddenly, he released her and stepped away but before Virika could move she felt the humming of power and the scrape of ropes on her arms.
The rough ropes moved of their own accord and secured Virika by her wrists which hung in the air and her ankles. Frantically Virika tried to escape and reach her weapons, to no avail.
Murtagh watched with vindictive pleasure as the girl in front of him writhed trying to escape. It would be no use.
"LET ME GO!" her shriek bounced off empty carts.
Sauntering up to where she stood struggling, Murtagh snatched her face in his hands and forced her to look into his black eyes. "No."
Murtagh's laugh echoed in the silence after Virika let out a single blood curdling scream. She thrashed violently against her bonds until Murtagh pressed his body once again up against hers. The ropes were enchanted—she couldn't escape them.
Panting and out of breath she glared at him through long lashes. Murtagh smiled at her again and gently let his hands trail up her thighs. Virika gasped from the touch and tried to move away but Murtagh wouldn't let her.
Slowly, he moved his hands up her legs until he found what he was searching for. Reaching in the barely noticeable rips in her leggings he retrieved the daggers hidden. Then he reached his hands up her torso, lingering for only a moment on her breasts, pleased with the blush it brought.
He fingered the cord around her throat and pulled it out of her dress revealing another dagger hung on it. Last were her arms and he took the daggers hiding in her sleeves too. Upon finding all the weaponry she carried he placed them in a small bag that hung at his waist.
Virika snarled soundlessly at him and attempted to kick him in the shin but Murtagh shoved her back against the stone wall her head smacking against it with a resounding crack. Virika's head lolled forward—her eyes shut—a line of blood trickling from her head. He had knocked her unconscious.
Murtagh laughed out loud at her and then frowned as her hair shifted forward revealing her ears. They came to a slight point and Murtagh hissed under his breath. An elf? But, no, she wasn't tall enough or graceful enough or powerful enough. She was no elf. Then who was she?
Peering at her he noticed a small black tattoo behind her right ear. It was a half circle with an arrow piercing it. A strange tattoo.
Murtagh placed a finger over it and gently stroked the black ink letting out an agonized hiss as the marking scorched him.
Interesting, he thought to himself. This girl is definitely worth taking a look at.
With these thought he released Virika from his bonds, gathered her in his arms and started towards the palace.
Virika woke with a splitting headache in a cold, damp place that she could only assume was a dungeon. She groaned loudly as she tried to sit up and found that the chains around her wrists didn't allow for much movement. She started when she heard shuffling coming from a dark corner of the stone cell.
"Who's there?" she tried to demand but the pain from the wound on her head made it come out as nearly a whisper.
A single shaft of light illuminated her face causing Virika to blink rapidly in the draining gloom.
The man from the night before stood over her and stared down at her an evil smirk on his face. In the light she could tell the he was an aristocrat judging from his leather and silk outfit. Even if it was black, no on but one of the aristocracy could afford that. Virika was also forced to admit that the man—whoever he might be—was exceptionally handsome, even if she was his captive.
"What do you want?" she managed a little venom in her tone this time.
The man squatted next to her so that there faces were level. He reached behind her and she felt the cold metal of the manacles slip from her wrists. He was freeing her?
Virika was unceremoniously yanked to her feet. Weak, she stumbled and was caught by the man. He looked down at her and rolled his eyes before swinging her up into his arms.
Virika tried to protest but the man ignored her and walked out of the dungeon. She was carried down many passages through corridors never passing another soul. Finally, the man came to a stop in front of a large oak door. Opening the door, he stepped into a small bare room filled with only a large wooden tub filled with steaming water.
Setting Virika down on a chair in a corner the man stood back to look at her. She stared back at him defiantly. The man walked up to Virika and before she could react he picked her back up and dropped her straight into the steaming tub.
Screeching at him through the water Virika let out a string of profanities that caused the man to chuckle.
"Wash yourself off completely. Clothes and a towel are sitting on the chair. I'll be outside when you're finished. Make it quick," with those instructions the man exited the room.
Virika sat in the tub in her clothes for about half a second debating whether or not to follow the man's instructions. Shrugging, Virika stripped off her clothing and delved under the water delighting in the feel of hot water. She let out a little cry of joy when she found soap in the tub with her and began to wash herself, singing a snippet of a tune.
She didn't try to push her unnatural luck and hurried to finish. She stepped out of the tub and crossed to the wooden chair where she wrapped the towel around her body before inspecting the clothes that were laid out for her.
Carefully, she fingered the brilliant blue fabric and gasped from the feel of it. It was silk. The embroidery was gold and made radiant sunbursts around the neckline and the sleeves. Slipping the dress over her head she reveled in the feel of the softness of the dress and realized she had never worn anything so fine, not even in Ellsberg.
Virika finished by brushing her hair through with her fingers making sure that her copper curls covered her ears before exiting the room.
The man was leaning up against the hallway scowling at the door when she walked through to stand awkwardly in the doorway. He looked up and glared at her before turning and swiftly walking away.
Virika followed him keeping her head down—again trying to hide her slightly pointed ears.
"Who—who are you?" she questioned softly after a few minutes of silence.
The man ignored her and she continued walking behind him, not saying anything further.
The reached a large gold door with carvings of riders and dragons. It was inlaid with rubies and sapphires very ornate. Two servants dressed in black mutely opened the door and Virika stepped into a great hall.
To say the hall was a great hall would be a vast understatement. The hall was lined with columns of jade with carvings of dragons breathing fire crawling up them. The floor was made of marble in swirling patterns and the ceiling was so high that looking up Virika couldn't make out the ceiling. At the end of the long hall was a raised dais and upon that was a throne.
The throne itself was vast and unornamented. It seemed to be made of steel or some other metal. But it wasn't all this splendor that caused Virika to quake with fear.
No, it was as she approached the dais the man in front of her knelt to one knee that she realized who was seated on the throne.
Galbatorix. The supposed King of Alageasia. Ruler of Shruikan and evil.
Her uneven eyes widened as Galbatorix stood to his feet to stare at the girl who stood in front of him fear reflecting in her eyes.
Galbatorix was not an old decrepit man whose evil deeds had rendered him with beady eyes and a permanent grimace.
His mouth opened in a smile and a velvet voice poured out of it.
"Not what you expected am I?" The King said.
Virika tried not to drop to a curtsy. She would not bow to this King. No matter how handsome. And Galbatorix was indeed handsome. He looked as though he were in his early forties with distinguished salt and pepper hair that was more salt. A trim goatee framed a chiseled face and deep black eyes twinkled at her. The King was built and his black leggings and tunic showed off a muscled body. For someone so inherently evil, he was sinful to look at.
Her chin stuck out defiantly as she answered him. "No. I expected to see a King crippled by all the sins he committed."
Galbatorix's smile widened. "Ah. A woman with wit."
He strolled lazily towards her, his height dwarfing her. The man stood up from the floor and Galbatorix turned to him.
"Murtagh," he drawled, "where did you find such an interesting specimen?"
Virika jumped when she heard the name. Murtagh the son of Morzan.
Murtagh strutted forward so that his arm brushed Virika's. She stiffened involuntarily from his close proximity. Galbatorix and Murtagh shared a look that Virika didn't quite understand.
"I found her in town. Spying on us for the elves I believe," he said sliding his eyes to look at Virika. Her face paled.
"Why do you think she's one of the elves?"
Murtagh pulled back Virika's curls exposing her pointed ears. She clenched her fists in an effort to not attack him.
Galbatorix looked perplexedly at Virika.
"She's not an elf though . . . but I sense there power in her," he turned away from them to sit in his throne. "What's your name girl?" Galbatorix's voice had taken on a honey sweet tone.
Virika's eyes stared into Galbatorix's. "Virika."
"What are you doing in my city Virika?"
"Traveling."
Murtagh snorted and Galbatorix's eyes narrowed. "Don't lie to me."
Virika cringed from the change in the King's voice. His voice became harsh and those black eyes blazed with madness.
"I—I'm traveling," her voice quivered.
"I know when you're lying. As does Murtagh," he was dangerously calm now.
Virika stepped forward her eyes alight with fire the humming of her power echoing throughout the room. She answered the King in a low voice.
"You can torture me. You can even kill me. But believe me when I say, I will never tell you anything."
Suddenly, Virika was struck across the face by an invisible force that sent her sprawling to the ground. A trickled of blood dribbled from her mouth and she cupped her face.
"Fine," the King said ominously. "I won't kill you. I won't even torture you. But I certainly can't have you out on my streets. From now on," he waved his hand and a gold band with bells attached itself to Virika's ankle, "you'll be a slave."
His mouth turned up into a vindictive smile as he looked upon Virika's face which still held a hint of defiance at his proclamation.
"And you're master will be," he waved his hand and Virika was dragged by an unseen force across the floor before she was prostrate in front of Murtagh.
"Murtagh."