Chapter 9

They set up camp in a nearby clearing, a little further out from the Spine. Murtagh led her by the hand, and she followed good-naturally enough. She rapidly chattered away to him in Dwarvish, seemingly oblivious to the fact that he couldn't understand a word she was saying. He didn't mind; at least she seemed unhurt, albeit a little strained around the eyes. Her laughter—she laughed often—had a tired, hysterical quality to it.

Murtagh quickly lit another fire in the middle of the clearing and Thorn curled around it with his tail wrapped around his body like a cat. His eyes and scales glimmered in the firelight.

Murtagh rummaged in the saddlebags, looking for food and a spare blanket for the child. He turned back around and was astonished to see that Dahnia was stroking Thorn's snout. His eyes were half-closed and he hummed.

Murtagh laughed. It was a belly-deep laugh, and suddenly he felt good; better than he had in months, actually. Dahnia turned to him and grinned; saying something in her language, she resumed petting the dragon.

She certainly got over her fear quickly, Murtagh thought with amusement. He directed his thoughts at Thorn. Oh, look at you, big, terrible beast.

What? Thorn asked defensively, athough Murtagh sensed his partner's own amusement.

Murtagh tapped the child on the shoulder, and directed her to where he had laid the blankets where she could sleep. He handed her a waterskin and a loaf of bread, and she ate and drank gratefully. He sat across from Thorn and stared into the fire. Now that the girl was safe, he turned his mind to the unpleasant truth. She can't stay with us…she needs to be with the dwarves. Maybe she has other family. He was unsure why the group she was with had been so far from the Beors anyway.

It seems to me, Thorn said calmly, that we should stay here for a few days. I'll scout from the air during the day; someone might be looking for her. I see no other option. Do you?

I suppose not.

A gentle snore rose from the blankets; Murtagh whirled around and saw that the child was already deeply asleep. However, a frown creased her face and her eyes moved rapidly under their lids, as if she was seeing something unpleasant in her dreams. And I wouldn't be surprised, either, Murtagh thought. She'd been through enough in the past few days to give a grown man nightmares.

He decided that she would probably sleep through the night, and that he should get some rest himself. He cast spells around the area to keep intruders out, and to alert him if anyone approached. He curled up beside the dragon, and was soon asleep.

When Murtagh awoke, he was shocked to see that Dahnia was already awake. She was patiently sitting by the edge of the blackened remains of the fire, looking up into the sky. Thorn was gone, and Murtagh realized she was looking for him. He smiled and shook his head. When the child saw him, she quickly raced to his saddlebags, rummaged around in it, and brought Murtagh food and water.

"Thank you," he said quickly, and smiled at her. She responded by gazing at him solemnly, and Murtagh sensed an urgency in her eyes. She wants something, he thought. He relit the fire with magic, wondering if that's what she wanted. She didn't seem alarmed by his use of magic; on the contrary, she looked at the fire oddly, as if inspired.

He reached out to Thorn. Do you see anything?

Good morning to you too, Thorn said sarcastically. Murtagh chuckled silently. No, nothing at all, for leagues and leagues in any direction. Let's give it time before we jump to any conclusions.

Of course. He withdrew from the dragon's mind and focused on the dwarf child, who was tugging at his sleeve. "What is it?" he asked, not expecting any answer. She cleared her throat, pointed at the fire, and said a word in her language. She then pointed back at herself, and then pointed at Murtagh.

Understanding flooded through him. She wants to communicate, but first she must learn my language.

He pointed at the fire. "Fire," he said clearly. She repeated the word, then jumped up and down with joy and laughed when he nodded.

For the rest of the day, Dahnia raced around the camp, pointing at objects and wanting to know their names. She caught on with uncanny speed, and she would sit and repeat the names to herself many times. Murtagh was certain she wouldn't forget them; she may be only a child, but she was also a dwarf. Their minds worked differently than humans.

Murtagh expected himself to become weary of naming what seemed to be everything in sight, but he didn't; he actually delighted in teaching her. She was almost spookily intelligent, and when he looked upon her struggling with a particularly difficult word or concept, he sat patiently. He knew that she would figure it out fairly quickly.

He kept a steady mental connection with Thorn, who landed shortly before dusk. I see nothing but deer and trees, he said. Murtagh nodded; the slaver's mind hadn't held any additional details about where the child's family had come from and if there might be more of them, but he suspected there was no one left. He swore under his breath, and was shocked when the child repeated his swear word and beamed, looking to be praised.

For the second time in less than twenty-four hours, Murtagh laughed in a way he hadn't for months before meeting the child. He'd been amused, he'd chuckled, he'd even laughed his terrible laugh when he slaughtered the slavers. But this laugh was deep, genuine, healthy. He laughed so hard his sides were searing with pain and tears flowed down his cheeks. Even Thorn chuckled. Dahnia grinned and skipped around in a circle, repeating the word over and over.

I should do something. He tried to stop smiling, but to no avail. It was a few minutes before he succeeded.

"No, Dahnia. You shouldn't say that."

She looked at him puzzlingly. 'No' was one of the words Murtagh had taught her today; she understood the concept, but she couldn't understand why he was telling her no.

She repeated the swear word again. Murtagh shook his head. "No," he said, a little more firmly. Her eyes lit up; she understood. She smiled wide and shook her head. "No," she agreed, and she didn't say the word again.

Throughout the day, he studied her; he was hoping to find out more about her and where she came from. She had slightly frizzy, curly brown hair. Her eyes were odd for a dwarf; whearas most dwarven eyes were dark brown, hers were a bright reddish-brown. She wore a very simple gray dress and no shoes. The only other thing she wore was a silver bracelet around her wrist. It was studded with several chunks of topaz, and although it didn't look valuable he could tell the child adored it. She took a small cloth and spent half an hour polishing it until it shone.

She was warming up to them very quickly—to Thorn in particular; the dragon scarcely had a moment when the child wasn't stroking his scales or attempting to climb up his back—but Murtagh was worried about the look deep in her eyes. Beneath her childish glee and demeanor, there was pain and sorrow buried deep within. Murtagh began to wonder about her group. Just how many dwarves had she seen die? How many friends, family members? Just her parents, or had she had brothers and sisters too? Murtagh knew that, as young as she was, it would still be a long time before the girl completely healed.

It was night again, nearly a full twenty-four hours since they had originally found the girl. She was laying down on her blankets, and although Murtagh wasn't entirely sure, he thought she was asleep. He sat by Thorn's side, stroking his scales.

What are we going to do if we can't find the rest of her group; if there ARE any left?

One day at a time, Thorn said firmly.

Murtagh lay down beside the dragon, curling up by his foreleg. He closed his eyes and leaned his face against the rough scales. It's ironic, isn't it? Weren't we just longing for a change of pace?

Thorn hummed. It certainly was beyond anything I expected. His tone softened. The child is so small; I could swallow her and never have to chew! What kind of world does she have to look forward to? A tiny little thing like that, who will protect her?

Murtagh gritted his teeth. We haven't seen much of the world since Galbatorix was overthrown. I learned from the slaver's mind that Nasuada is queen now, and that she and Eragon outlawed slavery. The world is undoubtable a much better place with her in power. And she'll be under Orik's rule; he's a good king.

Not even a good leader can erase all the sorrows of the earth, Thorn said impatiently. Look at what happened to her already.

I suppose that's true.

Murtagh was drifting off to sleep when he felt something touch his shoulder. He jumped to his feet and grabbed Zar'roc. The sword was halfway out of its sheath before he realized it was Dahnia. He relaxed, then noticed something was wrong. Tears were pouring down her face, and he realized she was close to her breaking point. The thoughts and memories that had been kept at bay during the day had caught up with her at night, and the cloud of grief was close to bursting.

He knew the look well enough. And he knew what to do, how to help her. He gathered the child in his arms and laid her beside Thorn. He gathered her blanket from the ground and heard her begin to cry loud, braying sobs that came from deep within. Thorn lowered his head on his forelegs until his scaly face was directly beside her. She clung to the dragon and cried, while he hummed and tried to comfort her.

Murtagh felt sorrow for the child fill his mind, and although he wanted to do something to help her stop crying, he knew that she needed this period of mourning now. The alternative was grief that she would carry with her for years and years. Dahnia was young enough that possibly she could shed her pain early, if she dealt with it in a healthy way.

He approached the dragon and Thorn lifted his wing. Murtagh obliged, curling up beside the dragon's ribs, and Thorn lowered his wing around the two of them. Murtagh was already asleep when the child's crying began to subside, and she hesitantly moved until she was next to the Rider. His presence calmed her, and she drifted away. She dreamed of pain, of fear, and of a roaring god descending from the heavens, obliterating evil in a stream of holy fire.