Part 10
When Murtagh awoke, he felt as though he had been thrown off of a cliff, burned, and then beaten for good measure. His entire body ached, and he vaguely remembered blacking out while speaking with Galbatorix, followed soon thereafter by intense pain. He could remember sensations, jumbled speaking, but to his knowledge he had not been conscious. Something told him it was better that way.
He stretched, every muscle aching as he did so. He opened his eyes gingerly, and noticed that he was in his own room, the door to the balcony was shut, and the drapes were pulled too, letting in a snakelike sliver of sunlight in at their base.
He looked around, seeing Thorn dozing in his spot in front of the balcony doors, and directly to Murtagh's left was Dara, seated against the wall with her eyes closed. He didn't know how long they had been there, but he really had no desire to find out. What he really needed was something to eat. Although the exhaustion had subsided, his hunger had not.
He sat up tentatively, testing his sore muscles. They protested, but it was nothing compared to the strange sickness that had befallen him upon their return. He supposed it was just blood loss, but he wouldn't know until he spoke to someone.
He sat up, only then realizing that he was topless, under his own sheets. He pushed them off and stretched again, relieved to be feeling better.
Dara must have heard his movement, because she slowly opened her eyes and looked up at him. Upon seeing that he was awake, she launched to her feet, questioning him.
"You're awake! How do you feel?" she said, examining his face and eyes.
Apparently she had shocked Thorn out of his slumber with her speech, because the large dragon jumped awake, his front claws extending and slamming down on the stone floor like a startled cat. His head jerked around, looking for the source of the noise like a deer. Seeing that it was only Murtagh and Dara, he lowered his head sheepishly.
"Scare ya, Thorn?" Murtagh asked happily, raising an eyebrow at Thorn in a joking manner.
No, Thorn said defiantly, stretching his front legs and standing so he could walk over.
Sure, Murtagh replied sarcastically, staring around.
"What happened?" he asked Dara, throwing his sheets back and tossing his legs over the side so he could sit up, rubbing his eyes.
"You blacked out. You didn't have enough blood to be standing that long. I brought you back here with the intention of calling on a healer, but… the king himself came," Dara finished, seeming frightened just to be speaking of the king.
"What?!" Murtagh gasped, looking at her quizzically.
"He healed you himself. He did not seem happy about it, though" Dara said.
"It's Galbatorix. Is he ever happy with anything?" Murtagh asked, rubbing his temples.
Dara nodded, agreeing with the statement. "He used the blood in your body to duplicate it and create more. At least, I think that's what he did. I don't think he was gentle about it either."
"No, I don't believe he was. That, I remember vaguely," Murtagh said, looking around for his clothes.
"He worked on you for almost an hour. It was… difficult to watch," Dara said, obviously sympathetic as she stared back at him.
Murtagh looked at Thorn, and instantly, visions of what had occurred flooded into his mind. It was a scene from Thorn's point of view, about ten feet above everyone else. Murtagh could see himself lying on his own bed, Galbatorix standing over him with his hands outstretched in the air. Galbatorix was muttering words in the ancient language that he had never heard before. Murtagh watched as his own form thrashed and convulsed, violent screams emitting from him.
Murtagh shivered and shoved the memory from his mind, not wishing to see any more.
Well, that does not look pleasant. Something tells me it is a very good thing I was not aware at the moment, Murtagh said with another shudder.
Yes, you are correct in that regard. I nearly tore the king's head off just watching, Thorn said, snorting in a puff of smoke.
Murtagh looked back at Dara, who was eyeing him for signs of weakness. "I think I'm fine now, Dara. Thank you for watching over me. How long have I been unconscious?"
"Not too long," Dara replied, stepping back, satisfied that he would be alright by himself."When the king finished, you passed out instantly, and you've only slept through half of the day."
Murtagh thought back to the fight, and the stab wound Carrogan had inflicted on him. His throat tightened as he remembered how much blood had been covering his clothes.
"My clothes? Where are they?" he asked.
"I sent them to be cleaned. There was much blood on them," Dara said, shivering as she apparently remembered the amount as well.
Murtagh panicked for a moment. "The pockets. Did you check the pockets?"
"Oh, yes," Dara said, obviously remembering something and turning to pull an item from her dress. "There was this."
With a sigh of relief, Murtagh watched as Dara dropped Carrogan's blood-soaked ring into his palm. He turned it over and over, looking at the blood smears on the ring itself and the emerald set in the middle
"What is it?" Dara asked.
"It belonged to a man I killed," Murtagh said woefully. "He wanted me to give it to his sister. I… I know her."
"Ah," Dara said in reply, and stepped back. "Would you like something to eat?"
Murtagh nearly yelled in joy at the thought. "Yeeees," he said, dragging it out for emphasis. Dara laughed, and turned to exit the room.
"I will bring it to you. You rest," she said, closing the door as she left.
I was worried about you, Bjartkala, Thorn said, sighing and lying back down in his spot on the other side of the room.
Murtagh smiled, standing and walking to the balcony doors, throwing the curtains open to allow the natural light in. He squinted against the brightness as he threw the doors open, but reveled in it nonetheless.
I wonder what the king will do about me warning the villagers. He certainly is not through with me yet, Murtagh said, taking a deep breath of fresh air.
I don't know, Thorn said, sniffing the air that came barreling in. He never ceases to surprise me with his… creativity.
Murtagh nodded in agreement, then turned and patted Thorn on the shoulder, sighing in disappointment.
Is this all life will be for us? he asked solemnly. One constant instance of pain and suffering after another? I told Eragon that life was too sweet for us, but that was before. Perhaps I should have let him kill me.
Do not say such things! Thorn said, nudging him with his snout. I don't know what I would do without you.
You would live a normal, free life, Murtagh said, leaning against Thorn's shoulder and staring out the open doors.
No, I would live an empty, hollowed existence, free of companionship or happiness, Thorn huffed.
Murtagh decided that arguing with Thorn was like arguing with a donkey; completely fruitless. He decided to change the subject.
Why do you suspect the king healed me himself? That seems very odd for him, he said, picking at his fingernails.
I would say just good courtesy if it were any other person. But for him? The most likely scenario is that he wanted leverage against you. Now you owe him something, Thorn replied.
Yes, judging by his character, I believe you may be onto something. But it still seems odd. He doesn't need leverage against me. He can make me do whatever he wants, Murtagh replied.
That, too, is true. Perhaps he knew the mending process would be painful. It is not uncharacteristic of him to just enjoy hurting you, Thorn said, looking down at Murtagh.
Murtagh sighed, knowing that both options were highly likely. So he just smiled halfheartedly and waited for Dara to return with his meal.
After polishing off what Murtagh assumed was half of the food available in the kitchen, he decided to go down to Galbatorix's library. Back when the Varden had imprisoned him, Nasuada had supplied him with a few old scriptures, and they had enthralled him. Galbatorix's collection was nowhere near as extensive or unique, but they were scripture nonetheless. Most of it was education on the Ancient language, which Murtagh skimmed, and others were written by the king himself; notes on shortcuts and simplified spells that he had discovered.
Murtagh was at first looking for nothing in particular, just a way to escape for a while, a way to avoid the king. He skimmed through the handwritten notes, reading over some of the spells. The king had already taught him most, but there were some which were not necessary to battle, therefore the king had not instructed him.
It was then that he came across one, one that might aid him. It was similar to a contacting spell, the one he used in mirrors or pails of water when he wanted to speak to someone over a long distance. But this was different. This one allowed the seeker to watch the person they were looking for, but not hear or communicate. The other would never even know they were being watched.
Murtagh sat up, reading further into the writings, an idea striking him. He studied the words, seeing exactly what literal meaning it would convey. And alas, it would work. He excitedly rolled the scroll up and put it in his shirt pocket and returned to his room. Thorn was absent, so Murtagh assumed he had gone hunting. After all, he had stayed with Murtagh all night, and had to be famished.
Murtagh sat at his bed, pulling out a pail of water that he usually used to clean his saddle and other leather belongings. He pulled the scroll from his shirt, examining the words again, just to be cautious.
He heard the rhythmic pattern of Thorn's wings approaching, and watched as the open drapes jumped inward as the dragon landed on the balcony and entered the room, seeming content.
Ah, you have returned, Thorn said, licking his chops. Find anything of use?
Yes, actually, Murtagh said, looking back down at the parchment. I'm going to use it to find Moira. Make sure she is safe.
Thorn nodded, looking down at Murtagh and seating himself to watch.
Murtagh skimmed the page again, and found that there were notes scribbled below the spell. They instructed that the spell would not work on those who could guard their mind from intruders.
"Ah," Murtagh said. "This explains why he was not able to find me when I fled all that time ago. He can now, since he can get into my mind. It also explains why he is unable to locate Eragon on a regular basis. Let us hope that continues."
Murtagh straightened, looking into the pail of water, then up at Thorn one more time. Thorn raised his scaly eyebrows in anticipation, and Murtagh finally turned to the water troth.
"Adurna tauthr gata du Moira," he said, picturing her clearly in his mind as he spoke the words.
The surface of the water ripple outward in response, turning a milky cloud color just below the surface. It then rippled again, and a picture was revealed, as clear as if the water's surface was a window. And in that window stood two women, one older with long graying hair and a flowing maroon dress, and the other strikingly beautiful, her fiery hair pulled elegantly back to reveal her stunning face.
Moira.
She was speaking to the other woman, but Murtagh could not hear their words due to the specificity of the spell. But he did not care. Now he knew she was safe. Now, he could be content.
He just sat, silently, for the longest time and watched her. Sometimes she would speak with the older woman, sometimes she would just grow quiet and look out the open doors behind her at a lake and long rows of trees. She was absentmindedly twining rope in her in her fingers as she stared longingly out the doors, listening, but not replying to the woman she was with.
Murtagh wondered what she was longing for. The knowledge of her brother's fate, perhaps. The fate of her home, her neighbors' homes. Something inside Murtagh desperately wanted her to long for him. But he doubted that greatly.
Then he remembered something. He pulled Carrogan's ring from his pocket, turning it over and over as he thought.
Will you take it to her? Thorn asked.
I don't know if I can, Murtagh replied, smoothing off some of the crusted blood with the hem of his shirt. The king will certainly be keeping a close eye on me from now on.
That is true. Even if you did not take me, he would be watching to keep you from leaving on Tornac, Thorn sighed.
I have to find a way, Murtagh vowed. Even if it is the last time I see her. I have to take this to her. I know what it is like, having only one item as inheritance. I know what it is like to need something. Closure, I suppose is the word.
Yes, I know you do, Thorn replied, his eyes wandering to Zar'roc where it lay, sheathed, by his saddle.
And even if I did decide to go to her, I don't know where she is, Murtagh exhaled. Carrogan told her to take her fellow villagers to Dras-Leona, but it is a massive city. Not to mention it is flooded with the king's patrols, and they would surely notice me.
Thorn slumped, obviously seeing Murtagh's dilemma. Is there anything in the image that could tell you where she is? Thorn asked.
No, Murtagh moaned back in disappointment. She is inside. How is one home any different than other… he trailed off, noticing something in the image behind Moira's slender form. Wait a minute, Murtagh said, becoming hopeful.
He lowered himself above the image in the water, studying it closely. That must be Leona Lake behind the home. And those trees… I have seen them before. They are in linear rows! It is a vineyard, I have been there before! I know where that is!
Wonderful, Thorn replied. Now we just have to find a way to get away from the king without him noticing.
Murtagh slumped, remembering that part of his predicament.
You don't suppose you could ask the king, do you? Thorn asked.
Ask him if I can go to her?! Murtagh gasped. That's absurd, he would never allow…
But if you vowed that it would be the last time you would ever see her. If you swore in the ancient language… Thorn said, tilting his head questioningly.
Murtagh thought on it. He desperately did not want to do that. That would mean that he would never see her again. If the Varden did fail in their attempt to overthrow the king, and he was permanently Galbatorix's slave, then he would truly have no one. But then again, it would eternally remove her from harm's path. If he vowed to never see her again, then she would be free to move on with her life, with no more repercussion's from the empire.
Murtagh sighed, his shoulders drooping. I suppose you are right, he said sadly. It will be better for both of us that way.
Murtagh could feel Thorn's empathy pouring into him. I know it is a difficult decision, Bjartkala. But you are doing the right thing. You are a courageous person, my rider.
Murtagh certainly didn't feel that way. Especially with the butterflies that crept slowly into his stomach at the thought of asking such a thing of the king. But he had to. For Moira's sake, and his own.
*Adurna tauthr gata du Moira: Water, reveal the location of Moira (literally- Water, follow the path of Moira)
*Bjartkala (in case you have forgotten): Bright eyes.