Chapter 2
The sun was up before Murtagh returned to Thorn, stomach rumbling, eager for food. Thorn was waiting outside the cave, and it was a second before Murtagh noticed how tense and nervous he was.
"What is it?" Murtagh asked with both voice and mind.
Look.
Thorn walked a few steps from the cave, into the trees, and jerked his head at the ground.
In the mud and snow behind the tree was a clearly defined footprint.
That isn't yours, is it?
Murtagh shook his head, "no, it's too small."
Murtagh quickly showed Thorn his memories of that morning, and said, I think this might be the same place, but I can't be sure.
We could not have been followed. No two-legs or four-legs are fast enough.
Eragon could have, though.
He will be busy raising the dragons. Whatever made that footprint is gone now. Do not worry.
Thorn sent more wordless reassurances, and Murtagh decided not to worry about the footprint.
Murtagh and Thorn knew that they had long left the part of Alagaësia on even the elves' maps, and this knowledge had sparked an idea in Murtagh as he wandered through the trees.
Do you think we could stay here, Thorn? It feels… calm, somehow.
We will have to stay until I am ready to fly, in any case. But right now I don't see why not. It is nice here.
Will you mind if I go hunting today?
No. I will need to rest for much of the day in any case, but do not stray too far. We don't yet know what dangers might be here.
Murtagh followed Thorn back into the cave, pulled on his gloves and picked up Zar'roc and his bow. Thorn lay down, curled up by the fire. Murtagh stroked his snout briefly and left.
The animals in the woods clearly had little or no experience with humans. None of them seemed to fear or mistrust Murtagh, and he felt bad for killing them. But he and Thorn had to eat, and he valued Thorn's life over theirs. His own, not so much, but he could not leave Thorn.
Murtagh had easy hunting, and within a few hours he had enough meat to last himself and Thorn at least a week, provided Thorn didn't have another growth spurt and eat it all in a day. He carried the carcasses back to the cave in several trips, cleaned them and put the meat at the back of the cave, away from the sun. The offal he buried away from the cave to discourage scavengers.
Thorn's nose twitched as Murtagh carried the meat past him, but he did not wake.
The sun was descending as Murtagh went outside, but he judged there were still two or three hours of daylight left, even considering how short the days were so far north. At a loss for what to do with the time, Murtagh decided to simply take another walk, maybe explore some. He wondered again about the dragon egg now sitting at the back of the cave.
The pine trees had darker needles and were smaller and less close-packed than those in Du Weldenvarden, but Murtagh had the same feeling he had had there, that this was a forest older than Riders, older than dragons, almost as old as time itself. He wished he'd been able to visit the elves' cities instead of skulking in the uninhabited sections of the forest and running.
The sun shone through the needles, dappling the ground with a greenish light, and the trees whispered in a cold breeze. It was the most peaceful place Murtagh had ever been.
His foot crunched through one of the patches of snow that littered the ground, and he thought again of the footprint in the trees. Was it in the same place as he had heard someone standing? If so, what were they doing there? Were they following him, or had it just been a lost hunter?
But it couldn't have been a hunter. The animals seemed never to have met one before, and, anyway, there were no settlements within less than about two months' journey. It would be pointless to venture this far from home to get food. Nor would anyone small enough to have a foot that size be able to survive a journey through icy mountains and forests and probably bear territory. Murtagh's breath plumed as he scoffed at the idea, trying to dismiss his worries.
Something flashed through the trees, like the wing of a bird in flight, but the wrong shape. And no bird was that large.
This time Murtagh reacted faster, racing to where he had seen the blurred movement, but it was already gone, whatever it was. He glanced at the ground- and froze.
Another footprint, the same size as the last, was imprinted into the soft soil around the tree.
Murtagh straightened up, thinking maybe there would be a trail he could follow, but as he looked again at the print, the soil shifted. And the footprint was gone, as though it had never existed.
Murtagh cursed loudly. Of all the things to have found him and Thorn, a rogue magician was one of the worst.
He sprinted back to the cave, shouting for Thorn to wake, with both mind and voice, as soon as he was close enough. Murtagh ducked into the cave, only to find Thorn still asleep. Murtagh tried to wake the dragon, but Thorn slept on. Murtagh sighed, and sat down to wait.
As he waited, Murtagh thought, and he realised that, even if there was a spellcaster here, Thorn was not strong enough to fly very far yet. And despite the new dangers of this place, Murtagh still liked it here. He did not want to leave.
Besides, very few spellcasters could match the strength of a dragon and its Rider. Murtagh would just have to hope that this one wasn't one of those few.
