Murtagh struggled against his captors, grunting and fighting as his captors dragged him on. The Varden's precious stronghold had been breached by Galbatorix's army, forcing the Varden to fight for life, and their beliefs. But in the end, the Varden had managed to repel the army, aided by Eragon and Saphira.
As Murtagh had watched Saphira dash through the crystal and shower the air with crystal dust, two pair of hands had suddenly wrestled him to the ground, pinning him down. Even his training, his strength, and his skill could not help him. A rough bag was shoved over his head, and he had been lifted into the air, taken away. No one of the Varden saw him taken away on the shoulders of the minions of Galbatorix.
Murtagh had no doubt his captors were stray soldiers of Galbatorix's army, left behind in the battle. He knew, almost too personally, the capabilities of the King's soldiers. However, these far surpassed their strength and cunning. To have wrestled and pinned him was a great achievement in itself, but to have stealthy captured him, that was the greatest of feats.
This is madness! Murtagh thought, these must be the elite of his army…The way they move must have been trained only by the most powerful. Even now, I can not hear where they tread.
The background itself was silent. Murtagh saw not only darkness, but heard nothing as well. Their were no birds or the rustle of trees in the wind. It was a strange, eerie situation.
Suddenly, Murtagh heard a cry shatter the stillness of the air. Instinctively, Murtagh flexed his muscles, only to find a sharp restraint on his limbs. Murtagh knew that they were ropes, possibly made from leather, judging by its texture. Slowly, Murtagh pulled on the ropes, testing it. But alas, he would have had a better chance moving a stone. When he tested his feet, pulling them up, something, perhaps a rope yanked his feet back. On the shoulder of the captor, he could feel the captor's feet moving, propelling them forward. Nonetheless, that was all Murtagh could perceive of the captors - their breath, their footfalls, all were silent.
Another shrill cry shattered the air. It echoed around him, resonating from an unknown direction. The cry was different than before, harsher, shriller, and infinitely cold. Another cry pierced the air, and Murtagh screamed out loud in pain - such was the agony of the cries. Murtagh suddenly felt a shift in the air and ducked, but too late. A blunt object crushed his head, sending an excruciating bolt of pain running through his neck. In the next instant, Murtagh was thrown off the captor's shoulder onto the ground. He still could not see where he was, but survival instincts once again controlled his movement.
Murtagh bolted up, but in reply, his captors used the ropes to stretch his arms and legs, preventing him from moving. He could feel four ropes, towing him from four different directions.
There must be at least four captors, Murtagh thought, but how can this be? Four captors captured me without me being aware. Impossible! This is…
The ring of a blade silenced him. Murtagh fell silent in his mind, waiting for the next move. A breath of air passed by him, and the sack fell off, sliced into five pieces. A pair of feet appeared before him, clothed in rough leather shoes and black trousers. As Murtagh lifted his head up to peek at the captor, the captor stepped forth and slammed his head into the ground.
Leaning toward his ear, the captor whispered, "Do not attempt to ressisst…"
Murtagh's eyes grew wide as recognition dawned upon him. The drawl of the 's', and the chilling voice…he had been captured by the Ra'zac. It made perfect sense. Only they had the power and cunning to capture him alive. Yet, it did not make sense. There had been only two Ra'zac when he and Eragon had encountered them. If there were more, there must be a parent breeding more hunters of men. A mixture of fear and confusion filled Murtagh; Galbatorix had more allies than they had known.
The Ra'zac spoke once more, "We will bind you to our sssteed, and bring you to Galbatorix…He hasss been waiting for you. It isss time for you to take your father'sss role…"
"No!" Murtagh cried out. He would not become the traitor his father was, never.
The Ra'zac chuckled coldly. "You have no choice…Now sssleep…"
The Ra'zac swiftly clubbed him over the head. Blackness crept into the edges of Murtagh's vision, as his eyes drooped and closed.
"Go now, fly to Galbatorix…"