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 eyes 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 month's 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 narrowed eyes.
"Don't look at me like that," Murtagh growled, an unexpected anger consuming his mind. "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.