Part 6
Murtagh awoke slowly the next morning, the bright light of morning flooding in from the open door leading out to the deck. The drapes were blowing gently inward, falling simply from one easy breeze to the next in a rhythmic, wave-like pattern. Thorn was lying on the floor in his usual spot, facing the open door and sniffing at the fresh air.
Murtagh stretched, wondering how long he'd been sleeping. He threw his legs over the stone slab that was supposedly his bed, threw back the single sheet, and walked over to the balcony, lying a hand on Thorn's shoulder and patting him in greeting.
Morning, he said, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.
More like afternoon, Thorn replied, licking his lips and looking content.
Have I really been sleeping all day? he asked, stretching his arms and feeling the warm breeze against his bare chest.
Well… you were out all night, Thorn replied, looking at him with an amused stare.
Yeah… that… I didn't expect to be gone long enough for the king to notice. I… got caught up, Murtagh said, and visions of his night with Moira crept through his memory.
Thorn snorted in surprise at the memory, smiling in a show of white fangs.
Well, well, well. You certainly did get caught up, didn't you? Thorn asked suggestively.
Shut up, Murtagh replied sarcastically, punching Thorn's shoulder playfully.
Thorn shook his head, looking back out of the balcony and licking the breeze that rolled in.
Dara stopped in earlier. Said that she had breakfast for you in the kitchen when you woke, Thorn said.
Ah, good. I'm starved. You going out hunting? Murtagh asked, finding a cloth tunic and throwing it on.
Probably, while you eat breakfast. I would hate to be gone too long, Thorn said, obviously mocking the king's overreaction to Murtagh's late night.
Yes, that would be a nightmare, Murtagh joked, smiling as Thorn stood and walked out onto the balcony.
He turned and gave Murtagh a warm look before spinning and leaping playfully out into the afternoon air. Murtagh smiled as he headed out of his room and down the dark, gloomy hallways to the kitchen.
Dara was there, scrubbing the fireplace with a brush and sweeping the soot into a bucket. Her mocha hair fell in spirals around her face, and she was humming to herself as she worked, so she didn't notice Murtagh when he entered.
He cleared his throat, bouncing on his heels slightly. He smiled when she turned, and she returned the gesture as she threw the fireplace brush into the bucket and straightened.
"Hello, Murtagh," she said, wiping the soot from her hands in a pail of water.
"Afternoon," he replied, walking forward and sitting at a small stone countertop in the middle of the room, used when the servants ate. Murtagh never felt the need for propriety, it only made him feel like Galbatorix. And similar to his king was the last trait he wished to have.
"Anything in particular you would like?" Dara asked, pulling a few cooking ingredients from wooden cabinets.
"Food. I'm not picky," he replied, smiling as she laughed at him.
She began to throw a few things together, and he merely watched in silent contemplation. He wondered how long it had been since she had seen her husband, her son. He wondered if the thought of getting them back was still fresh in her mind, or if she was merely clinging to hope. The latter was more likely.
"I assume the king found out?" she asked, not looking up from her cooking.
"That I left? Yes," he replied, rubbing his hands together guiltily.
"Well he didn't hear it from me," she said, chancing a wry grin at him.
"Yes, I thank you for your discretion," Murtagh said, remembering that she had seen him in the stables. "Why were you in the stables at that hour anyway?" he asked.
She sighed as she rested a loaf of bread near the fire she had just set. It began to toast and brown immediately.
"I go when I can't sleep. I enjoy the presence of horses over humans," she replied, cracking a few eggs on a heated stone over the fire behind her. "They are more primitive, and in that, almost more intelligent. They fear first, question later. Defend themselves, then pause to find out what from. They are like me, in many ways. I have been in this situation so long that I hardly bother to wonder why anymore, I just do what I am told. I think on it later; ponder why I must be stuck in this position. But I do not question authority anymore. No good ever comes of it. Just pain," she said, and Murtagh couldn't agree more.
"Yes, I find myself doing the same very often," he replied, smiling and thanking her as she set down two eggs before him, then sliced the loaf of bread and handed him two pieces.
"Thank you," he said, and she smiled halfheartedly. "I had thought everyone in this God forsaken citadel, this dark and soulless city was as cold and lifeless as its king. I now see that there is one who is not."
"Two," she corrected as she returned to cleaning around the fire. "Lest you forget to count yourself."
He huffed. "Debatable," he said, and dug in to his meal.
"Why do you say that? You are indeed as good at heart as I," Dara replied, looking back at him.
He paused his eating, and looked at her. "When your soul is enslaved and used by another for unscrupulous means, how are you supposed to make it noble? How is that soul not as tainted and dirty as one of his willing assassins?"
"Because it is a slave. Because it desires not what it performs, but what it wants to perform. Your soul is a pure as your intentions," she said.
He sighed. "Again I say… debatable." And with that, the discussion was over. He ate his meal in silence, and Dara continued with her duties.
Murtagh thanked her again, and returned to his room to find Thorn waiting, looking pleased and satiated.
Have a nice meal, my friend? Murtagh asked, smiling at the crimson dragon.
Why yes, I did. I found a nice spot of game and had quite a few. I must say, I indulged myself, Thorn gloated.
That's alright, you deserve to indulge every now and then, Murtagh said, stepping out onto the massive balcony and looking up at the violet sky. It had turned darker with oncoming storm clouds, but he still reveled in its beauty.
You certainly did, Thorn mocked. Murtagh knew he was speaking of the previous night with Moira.
Murtagh turned around, one eyebrow raised in scorn.
Excuse me? he asked, making sure to sound like a scolding parent.
Oh, nothing. Nothing at all, Thorn said, smiling and acting very innocent.
You know, I could…
Murtagh's statement was cut off by that ever-familiar chill that was the accompaniment to his true name. Thorn shivered as well, and Murtagh knew all too well what that meant.
The king had a job for them.
Murtagh sighed and turned to exit into the hallway, and Thorn hurriedly stood and leapt off the balcony to meet Murtagh on the other side of the building. Murtagh was disheartened every time he had to walk through the castle without Thorn. He felt like a bow without its arrow.
But nevertheless, within minutes they were reunited in Galbatorix's main chamber, where the king sat perched in his throne, chin inclined in his royal demeanor.
Both Murtagh and Thorn bowed obediently upon entering and waited for their instructions. The king eyed Murtagh a little longer than Murtagh was comfortable with before speaking.
"I have recently become aware of a village harboring rebels," Galbatorix stated calmly. "I want the two of you to raze this city."
Murtagh snapped his head up and looked at the king questioningly. "But, my king. What about innocents? What about weeding out the rebels and releasing the others?"
"They sheltered rebels, they are all criminals. None deserves fairer treatment than the criminals they harbor," the king said nastily, a hint of a smile hiding in the corners of his lips.
Murtagh sighed, remembering what Dara had said about questioning authority. About how she didn't even bother anymore. He bowed his head in compliance.
"Yes, my king. Where is it?" he asked, trying to distance himself from the situation.
"Just due Northwest of here. It will only take an hour or so to reach it. It is called Altair," the king said, and Murtagh's heart leapt into his throat. He felt Thorn's reaction as well; a response of pure sickened surprise.
He knows, Murtagh said to Thorn. He knows that's where Moira lives. He wants me to destroy my own weakness personally. There are no rebels there! He just wants to punish me!
It seemed this was the king's plan exactly, for he was watching Murtagh with scrutiny to bask in the torment he had inflicted on him. Murtagh did his best to devoid him of any sort of contentment.
"Yes, King," Murtagh said, and stood to walk out.
"And Murtagh," Galbatorix said, causing Murtagh to pause before the door and listen.
When the king spoke, it was an order in the ancient language. "This is an order. You will destroy that village, top to bottom. No survivors!"
Murtagh couldn't hide the tremble that ran the length of his body.
He nodded feebly, then continued on his way out the door, Thorn on his heels.
"Oh, Murtagh!" Galbatorix called, and Murtagh paused outside of the room. There was something almost… chipper about the way he had said it. "I've already sent a division of troops to make sure the job gets done. That's not a problem, is it?" the king sneered.
Murtagh looked at Thorn, his features terrified. Meet me in our room! We must warn them!
With that, Murtagh took off down hallways and passages, running into several of the king's patrols along the way. He wondered how long ago the king had sent his soldiers, and if he and Thorn even had a chance. Thorn was fast, much faster than horses, but it all depended on how long ago the soldiers had been sent.
He skidded into the room, just in time to see Thorn entering through the balcony, the drapes on either side of the door flying into the room violently in reaction the downdraft of the dragon's wings. Thorn ducked his head, folding his wings so he wouldn't rake them across the massive doorway.
Murtagh bustled about, throwing on his belt with Zar'roc and synching it around his waist.
What do you plan to do? Thorn asked. You heard the king's orders, raze the village. No survivors.
I don't know, Murtagh replied, his hands shaking as he grabbed his saddle from its rack and bustled over to Thorn, where the dragon lay down so he could reach. But I must do something. Perhaps if I warn her and she leaves the city… God, I don't know.
Thorn stood so Murtagh could synch the girth. Murtagh hurried over to his weapon rack and grabbed a dagger and his crossbow. One could never have too many weapons.
Do you love her? Thorn asked suddenly, surprising Murtagh thoroughly.
Murtagh paused, taken aback. Of course I don't love her. I've only just met her, he said in reply.
Who said love had anything to do with time? Thorn asked, watching Murtagh return to attaching his weapons to the saddle. The moment I was born I loved you with all my soul.
Murtagh sighed. That's different, he said. You spent hundreds of years waiting to hatch for the partner of your life.
So? You search for a partner of your life, do you not? I am a dragon, therefore I am unfamiliar with the marriage customs of humans, and correct me if I'm wrong, but isn't that the whole point? Thorn said, tilting his head.
Murtagh sighed, now ready to depart. I suppose you may be right, but now is no time to discuss it. Such topics require deep thought, and deep thought requires time. A luxury we are devoid of at the present time. So I will say this; I will not allow myself to love anyone but you. Survival is much easier that way. And speaking of survival, that is something Moira will not be doing much of if we do not leave now!
With that, he shoved his left foot in the stirrup, swung his right over Thorn's back, and prepared for the flight.
Thorn shook his head and ran forward, keeping his head low and wings tucked as he exited the doorway onto the balcony and leapt off, his wings snapping out in a show of red as he rocketed to the Northwest.