Thorn and Misery - Chapter 9

Galbatorix led Murtagh and Thorn down an unfamiliar hallway off the archery yards. Murtagh ignored the deep-kneed bows from passing servants, dignitaries and people whose positions he did not recognize. Most of them were scared when they laid eyes on Galbatorix and Murtagh, and in awe at Thorn.

It unnerved Murtagh to have people he didn't know kneeling before him. He wondered if this was how Eragon had felt in the three days after the battle under Farthen Dur. No, Eragon had probably enjoyed it more. After all, he had done something worth cheering for.

Exiting a small door, Galbatorix led Murtagh down a staircase carved into the great stone outcropping that sheltered the citadel. The stairs opened onto a small stone courtyard, and then to a vast, empty field on the south-eastern side of the bluff, out of sight of the city and palace. While they had been shooting, pearly grey clouds had rolled in, blotting out the sun. The previously clear day had gone gloomy and overcast.

"Today," began Galbatorix, "you will meet the one friend and companion who has stood faithfully by me these past hundred years. Together, we brought the old Riders to heel. We have crushed all uprising, just as we will crush the Varden. The day we fly out into battle is the day the rebels fall!"

Reaching his hands up towards the opaque sky, Galbatorix called out with both his mind and voice.

"SHRUIKAN!"

Galbatorix was met with an unearthly bellow so loud it shook the flagstones beneath Murtagh's feet. It was as if the dying screams of thousands of men had been grouped together and thrown at him at a hundred times the volume. The roar sent the starlings in the trees into a wild panic, and they took off in terror. A few even fell to the ground, their tiny hearts burst.

Murtagh dropped to his knees, his hands clapped over his ears, Thorn, too, was on the ground, head buried beneath his paws. A sound of that magnitude was desperately painful for his sensitive ears.

And then, out of nowhere, out of nothing, a vast, hulking shape loomed over the horizon. Blacker than night, it seemed as if a large hill had detached itself from the ground and was racing toward them. Immense, slightly translucent bat-like wings held the creature aloft, propelling it onward, and within seconds it had reached them.

Shruikan banked on the rolling grass, tearing up chunks of sod with his enormous, deadly sharp claws. Powerful muscles rippled under his glittering black scales. His eyes, pale, cold and ice blue, sparkled maliciously so high above Murtagh's head that he had to crane his neck to see. As he watched, the dragon loosed a pillar of fiercely hot flame into the grey sky.

As the column of fire dissipated, Shruikan turned his gaze on Murtagh and Thorn, who found that they could not meet his eye. The great dragon snorted, and a jet of flame shot towards them. Murtagh snatched up Thorn and dove out of the way just as the fire hit the ground and set the grass ablaze.

"Adurna," said Galbatorix calmly, putting out the fire with a wave of his hand. "Please don't scorch them, Shruikan. They are the only ones I have."

As far as Murtagh could tell, Shruikan ignored him. The beast - for that was truly what he was - gave no indication that he had even heard the king speak.

"Shruikan will instruct Thorn in flying, aerial combat and the art of fire, among other things," said Galbatorix. "If he could spare a minute, I may also require his assistance with another manner." He looked at Shruikan, who made no sign that he had heard. Galbatorix obviously took his silence for assent, and said, "We'll make it fast, then, shall we? Thorn, if you would please join us."

Shaking like a leaf, Thorn stepped forward.

"If you were listening yesterday, which I know you were, than you have realized that I plan to grow you with magic, so that you will be ready to fight. This is a difficult task even for me, so I have enlisted Shruikan's help. Now, if you will hold very still, we can start. Ready yourself." This last was directed at both Thorn and Shruikan. Galbatorix held his right palm out over Thorn, placing his left one on Shruikan's snout. The king's whole hand didn't even cover one of Shruikan's scales. His silver gedwey ignasia glowed with blinding intensity as he softly chanted an unintelligible string of words in the ancient language.

Over and over Glabatorix recited the phrases, with a lilting, almost song-like cadence to his voice. Despite Shruikan's added strength, beads of sweat collected on the king's brow, and he grunted with effort. For quite some time it seemed like nothing was happening, until finally Galbatorix let out a pained gasp, and a dozen pulsing spheres of multicoloured light popped into existence.

The orbs hovered around Galbatorix and Shruikan, circling them curiously. At the king's continued chanting, they darkened, losing their varied hues, until they were so black they seemed to suck all the light, all the colour from their surroundings. It was as if Murtagh was looking into true nothingness, holes in the very fabric of the world.

The field in which the four of them stood seemed to grow dimmer, as if the sun itself was gradually being extinguished. A faint noise began to emanate from the infinitely black spheres, a chorus of icy whispers that chilled Murtagh to the bone. He felt as though he had stumbled across a terrible, dangerous secret, something the likes of him weren't meant to know. Of one thing he was certain: these spheres, whatever they might be, were evil.

Grey-faced with the effort of maintaining the spell, Galbatorix wordlessly gestured at Thorn, who trembled with terror a few paces away. Before Murtagh could protest, the orbs sank downward and slid through the centre of the dragon's chest.

A corona of nothingness began to throb around Thorn's body as a low hum filled the air. The noise slowly increased in pitch, and Murtagh could only look on in horror as the dragon threw his head back in a soundless scream, convulsing on the ground.

Thorn's little body shuddered violently for several moments, and then, so slowly as to be almost unnoticeable, it began to grow. His vestigial wings widened; his neck and tail elongated. Sharp spines protruded from the skin on his back. His torso stretched up and out, shoulders and legs growing broader, chest becoming deeper. His already hard scales thickened and grew more defined.

In a matter of moments, Thorn's body, not including the neck and tail, was roughly the size of a large carriage.

When Galbatorix seemed satisfied, he released the spell. He sagged against Shruikan's enormous snout, his face ashen. With a sound like a rush of howling wind, Murtagh felt the flow of magic cease. Within a few moments, the chill that had permeated the air with the arrival of the lightless orbs ebbed away. Thorn lay huddled on the ground, his gigantic wings curled tightly to his body. The dragon was utterly still – he did not even seem to be breathing.

Too terrified to speak, Murtagh reached out with his mind and, as gently as he could, nudged Thorn's consciousness with his own.

He felt absolutely nothing. Panicking, Murtagh flung himself forward, running his hands over Thorn's enormous flank. His usually warm body was deathly cold.

Murtagh shook as a feeling of combined dread and fury washed over him. He rounded on Galbatorix, who was still leaning against Shruikan, his eyes closed. "What did you do to him?" Murtagh demanded.

When Galbatorix finally spoke, his voice was quiet and hoarse. "Thorn is fine, Murtagh. All he needs is sleep. I, too, could use rest. That spell was…taxing, even for me. Dragons are somewhat resistant to the effects of magic, and the invocation of the spirits made the spell all the more powerful, and thus very difficult."

"I thought only Shades used spirits to fuel their magic," said Murtagh, spitting out the hated word.

"I am no Shade," replied Galbatorix, managing a weak chuckle. "The spirits do not control me, nor are they my slaves. We simply have what some might call a…mutually beneficial relationship. They augment my power when I call on them, and I supply them with certain things, the nature of which I will keep to myself for the time being."

For once, Murtagh did not press, despite his curiosity. In this instance, he was certain he did not want to know.

Breathing heavily, Galbatorix continued. "The residual effects of the spell will accelerate Thorn's growth for a time. He may gain another foot or two within the week. Depending on how fast he can progress on his own, I may need to perform the spell again." He grimaced, wiping his sweat-sodden brow with his sleeve. "I sincerely hope that is not necessary."

Stroking Thorn's neck, Murtagh asked, "When will he wake up? You said your spell would not hurt him."

"It hasn't, Murtagh. Thorn's body has shut down as a natural defensive response to the magic I applied. The torpor may last several days, perhaps a week if we are unlucky. Thorn will be as healthy as ever when he emerges from it, though it will likely take him some time to get used to his new size. For now, though, you must let him rest on his own." Galbatorix smirked at Murtagh's hesitant frown. "You worry too much," he said. "Now, I have only one thing I need you to do today. Go to the library – I trust you remember where it is – and pick up the books and scrolls I set out for you. Some are in this tongue and some in the ancient language, which you are to start learning immediately."

Murtagh shook his head. "I'm staying with Thorn."

"You will do as I say," replied the king, his voice turning sharp. "There is nothing you can do to help, and I can't allow you to waste what little time we have. I need you to start studying. Being a Dragon Rides isn't all about swords and magic and flying, you know. As tedious as it sounds, there is some book learning involved. Now, I am going to sleep. I will see you in the morning." With that, Galbatorix was gone, dragging himself up the stairs and back into the castle.

Shruikan appraised Murtagh silently for a long moment. He said nothing, but Murtagh could feel a vast, ages old consciousness rumble through his own. Then, without warning,the dragon took off, creating a gust of wind that knocked Murtagh off his feet. He flew, albeit a little clumsily, off to the east, until he was no more than a dark spot against the pearly backdrop of clouds.

With a last look at Thorn, Murtagh grudgingly set off toward the library. Loath as he was to leave the dragon, he was interested in reading the scrolls, especially those in the ancient language. He had always loved to read, devouring the books he had been shown as a young boy.

The library had been one of Murtagh's favourite haunts during his youth. It was as immense, if not bigger than the dwarves' library in Tronjheim. Taking up the west wing on the third floor of Galbatorix's castle, it was home to thousands of bookshelves that held hundreds of thousands of books and scrolls. Long oaken cases were stuffed to bursting with dusty volumes on every subject imaginable, from geography and history to humorous works of fiction, in every language spoken in Alagaesia.

There was even a single copy of Domia abr Wyrda, or The Dominance of Fate. It was kept in a glass case, and no one, not even the head librarian, was allowed to handle it.

The head librarian was a thin, weedy man by the name of Sebastian. He was a fluent speaker of the languages of the dwarves and the Urgals, but his specialty was the varying dialects of the nomadic tribes that wandered the southern reaches of the Hadarac desert. For as long as Murtagh could remember, Sebastian had been prowling the cavernous library, breathing down the necks of any who dared touch his precious books.

Murtagh thoroughly disliked the greasy, sandy-haired little man, and had enjoyed a joke at his expense on more than one occasion. For the most part, though, Murtagh avoided Sebastian as much as possible during his long hours in the library.

Entering the large double doors, Murtagh approached Sebastian's desk, leaning on it in a way Murtagh knew would annoy him. Sebastian was very easily annoyed.

"Hello, Sebastian," said Murtagh jovially, not troubling to lower his voice. "Galbatorix told me to pick up some books. I'll take them now."

Looking down his nose at Murtagh, Sebastian sighed and re-adjusted his spectacles. "Back again, after all this time? I thought I was shot of you." His high, nasal voice was evident even in his hushed whisper.

Murtagh smirked. "Sorry to disappoint."

Rolling his watery eyes, Sebastian said, "The titles King Galbatorix had me take out are over there on that table. Do be careful with them. I'll have you know I went through great pains to get them for you, and many of them are older than you are."

"I assure you, Sebastian, I'll take very good care of them," whispered Murtagh with mock sobriety. Tormenting Sebastian was more fun than he remembered.

Gathering up the towering stack of books, Murtagh took them to a table at the back of the library, as far away from the Sebastian's desk as possible. Settling himself in a comfortable armchair, he picked up the first book, which happened to be a dictionary of words, phrases and sentence structure in the ancient language, translated into the common speech.

Setting the dictionary aside, he took the next volume, entitled Du Fyrn Skulblaka. Even without his dictionary, Murtagh knew it recounted the events of the first war between the dragons and the elves. He began to read, relying heavily on the dictionary, having to translate almost every word.

The Dragon War, though tragic, was also fascinating. Murtagh barely noticed as the hours passed, absorbed as he was by the events that had set in motion the foundation of the Riders. As afternoon wore into evening, Murtagh looked up to see the magic lanterns used to light the library flicker on of their own accord. Torches, of course, had no place in a library. The flameless lanterns cast a soft glow over the page Murtagh was reading, about the elf, Eragon, the first Dragon Rider and his brother's namesake, and his white dragon Bid'Daum.

It was later than Murtagh had realized. The sky had grown dark while he sat reading, and a growing ache in his gut reminded him that he had not eaten since breakfast. More than that, though, he was anxious to check on Thorn.

Gathering up his effects, Murtagh stood and stretched, his muscles stiff from having spent the better part of the afternoon curled up in an armchair. Navigating his way through the maze of towering shelves, Murtagh treated Sebastian to a jaunty, mocking nod before retracing his path to the field.

A thin crescent moon provided just enough light to see by as Murtagh slipped outside. He was disheartened but not surprised to see that Thorn's condition had not changed. The dragon lay curled in a tight ball and was as still as death, though when Murtagh laid a hand on his flank, he thought he might have been a little warmer. He sent a perfunctory mental probe in Thorn's direction, but, as he had expected, it was to no avail.

With a heavy sigh, Murtagh sat down in the grass beside the dragon, stroking his long neck gently. He could not believe how quickly this whole ordeal seemed to be progressing. So much had happened since his becoming a Dragon Rider only two days previously that it seemed he had started a new life entirely.

After of few minutes of miserable silence, Murtagh stood and gathered up his effects. "Good night, Thorn," he whispered, though he knew only the bats and owls that swooped overhead could hear him.

He made to head back up the stone staircase, but something stopped him. The meadow outside his suite and this field both faced the eastern horizon, and both were on the outer edge of the great prominence. Surely, if he simply walked north, he would reach his suite faster than if he had to trudge through the many twisting halls.

He was not wrong. After about ten minutes of walking, keeping the outcropping to his left, he came to a stand of spruce trees. Careful not to trip on any protruding roots, he slipped into the meadow. As he laid eyes on the three-sided metal structure, he suddenly realized what it was for. Of course Thorn was now too big to sleep inside, and would need a shelter of his own.

Murtagh trudged across the meadow and into his suite, grateful to discover that a hot supper of mutton and vegetables was waiting for him on the table. He deposited the stack of books beside his bed before sitting down by the fire, eating the food without tasting a bite of it. He then set the empty plate outside the door and clambered into bed.

Feeling more alone than he had in months, Murtagh closed his eyes and waited for sleep to consume him.


A/N: Okay, some HUGE changes in this chapter. After reading Inheritance, I really wanted to accentuate Shruikan's hugeness while at the same time de-emphasizing his humanity. I also needed to fix Thorn's growth. In the original, it wasn't complicated enough and didn't have enough long-term effects. I think this version is quite a bit better than the original, but I'll leave that up to you. Review and tell me what you think.

- Miss Maddie