Damned
By Somigliana
The icy wind whipped his hair across his face, but he did not blink. He stared ahead numbly, seeing none of the scenery far below. They crossed over the boundary from Surda, back into Alagaësia, in silence.
Both Thorn and Murtagh needed the time to retreat from the magic which they'd reached for during the battle – the dark, unholy strength drawn from the souls of the damned. It was a magic which indubitably increased their power, but tainted them black with anger and lust for blood. The power that he commanded was dark and dangerous. The elves were not the only ones afraid to utter the words. But he was bound by his Oath to let the acid drip from his tongue.
Slowly, the anguished voices inside his head receded, leaving only his bitterness and a dark, residual stain on his soul.
Murtagh. Thorn attempted to catch his rider's attention. Murtagh's steel-clad hands tightened on the leather saddle, but he did not answer. I'm going to land near Furnost for the evening. We can fly the rest of the way to Urû'baen tomorrow.
Heavy dread for their return to the Empire's capital weighed on them. The price for wilful disobedience would be heavy.
After Thorn had landed, Murtagh slid to the ground. Zar'roc rebounded off his thigh heavily, and he lifted a hand to its ruby pommel, then unsheathed his father's sword and spun to rend a deep slash into the trunk of the nearest tree. His anguished cry dampened in the heavy fog. He dropped to his knees. Zar'roc fell forward into the dirt, its crimson blade dulled with soil.
I still think that we should have –
"What?" Murtagh rose abruptly, tearing his gloves off angrily. "Captured Eragon, taken him to Galbatorix. For what? So we could live enslaved like this forever? This is not how it should be, Thorn." Murtagh had seen how a rider should be; the glorious freedom that Saphira and Eragon had. His soul seared with envy.
Eragon and his dragon are not good enough to beat us, Thorn argued.
"And the Twins were killed by a hammer-wielding farmboy," Murtagh said heatedly. "So long as Eragon and Saphira are out there, there is a chance. I have to believe that you hatched for me for more than to help Galbatorix raise his Empire!"
Thorn lowered his scaly head. He knew that they had to fight, but he also knew what awaited them at Urû'baen. Galbatorix would never kill his rider, but some things were worse than death. But he is going to –
I know. They were not Forsworn. No. They were damned.
Thorn growled for a moment before relenting. Come, make a fire, eat. You will need your strength.
Murtagh reached into the surroundings for magic now - ignoring the dark lure of the Vault of Souls - and gathered dry wood together, then murmured, "Brisngr." Pure, untainted magic flared to life. His eyes reflected the crimson flame. That is how it should be.
