Chapter Four: By Any Means

"Your preparations are complete?"

Murtagh's voice echoed in the still chamber. His dishevelled hair hung in loose waves about his shoulders, the colour almost as dark as the dead black stubble that caressed his cheeks. His eyes were bright with calculating intelligence but tired, and void of their usual lustre.

"They were complete before you arrived, Murtagh. I am afraid I struggle to see the value of your company, save to spread rumours throughout the enemy of your dragon's presence."

The man spoke with an impatient whine that issued from blood red lips. His build was slim but unusually tall at some six and a half feet, and his hair, in contrast to Murtagh's, was of a bright white that reached mid-way down a willowy neck.

"The Varden is an army, armies fester with rumours. If you believe they will leap to their feet and flee Belatona due to the half-hearted reports from a couple of pathetic, dull-eyed scouts, perhaps you have advanced too quickly, Salius." Murtagh replied stonily, his rough fingers curling into a tight fist.

"Now now my dear boy, unclench those mitts of yours and listen."

"The Varden are two days march from us, but with their new… acquaintances, they should make the walls three moons from now… following so far?"

Murtagh's cool nod allowed him to continue.

"My mining teams and our dear kings magicians are under the streets as we speak, working their… magic, and the remaining townsfolk are still, to my knowledge, oblivious, as are those in the company of our dear Earl Bela. Are you grasping the basics of our cunning little ploy between your stumpy fingers, or need I repeat myself?"

In an instant Murtagh swept forward, pinning the man to the stone wall.

"Understand me well, snake, or I shall rip the fangs from your disgusting jaws. Whatever our good king's wishes, underhand tactics don't sit well in my mind. You will ensure that everything goes according to plan, or I will take matters into my own hands and vanquish our foes the honourable way. The only reason Galbatorix is allowing this scheme of yours to be tested, is because he cherishes the dramatic almost as much as you're snivelling self." He stepped back.

"One more thing. Galbatorix may have seen fit to… empower you. But know this; a rider who looses his dragon is nothing, a rider who never even had a dragon is less than nothing, is a thing that should not be, an abomination of nature. By all means work your petty magic's, and exercise your new-found power over the little people, but sword to sword with Eragon or myself, dragon or no, you'll be exactly that. Nothing."


In the earl's bed chambers, Murtagh slumped into an elaborately furnished throne. Acting as Galbatorix's right hand man was immeasurably tiring, even though the punishments had lessened in frequency since the king had 'broken' him.

And he was, essentially, broken. In order to change his true name, he had to alter his actions, but that meant defying Galbatorix's commands, something that was impossible since the king knew his present name. Even little defiance's now seemed pointless before the King's varied methods of torture, whether it was breaking each little bone in one of Thorn's huge wings, one by one, or delving ruthlessly into his own mind and all but splitting his skull from within.

But beyond that, he found it increasingly hard to deny the delicate lure that authority held over him. The world was a cruel place, governed by cruel leaders and the only way to escape such inevitability was to become the epitome of its cruelty. Why then should he, who had suffered more than almost any being alive, try to fight such a fate when it came to him like sweet release on the black feathered wings of a demon?

Still, whatever the case, he would remain under control and thus under cruelty. Galbatorix held visions of grandeur where a new legion of riders ruled the land under his sway, and so often he treated Murtagh as the finest son, the first piece of his glorious puzzle. But the cruelty always crept through. The king was mad, and far too twisted a man for his dream to ever become a reality, and so, in all but his lightest moments, Murtagh knew that no matter how much power he held, being under Galbatorix's command was the greatest cruelty alive.

"I shall do his bidding, and I shall slay his enemies. I shall enjoy it, so as not to choke on the guilty madness myself, but at the slightest loophole, the smallest opportunity of freedom, I shall cut him down. Or at least aid Eragon and his countless other enemies, by any means possible." He murmured quickly to himself.


NB:- A small and uneventful chapter, I know, but I had to introduce Murtagh at some stage and build on his own characterisation, as well as outlining the essential relationship between himself and the king.

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