Chapter 10

"The Potion Woman"

Murtagh looked up at the small, wooden building before him. The old man's directions had been almost perfect. Murtagh hadn't really known the layout of the city and therefore took a few wrong turns down the winding streets of the town. He had backtracked several times before finding the correct route. The building itself was a little distance away from the rest of the town. As if the city had moved and the little house had been left behind. The beggar had been right; it looked more like an abandoned shack then a house. He had no clue why someone would want to live here.

The old run-down shack had a small porch that covered the front side of the house. The three stairs leading up to it looked to be dry rot and leaned slightly to the right. As a soft wind ruffled his cloak, he heard the haunting music of the chimes hanging from the eaves. He looked up at them and saw they were made of broken glass, metal, a piece that looked like a broken sword, and bones. The music sent shivers down his spine as they seemed to call to him. No wonder no one lived around this house; it was as foreboding and sacred as a graveyard. He remembered the beggar's words "don't let appearances fool you."

As he approached the steps, he felt the chill of magic surrounding the place. Someone was watching him, he was sure of it. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't shake the feeling of being watched. It felt like someone was trying to sum up if they could overcome him, or they were trying to judge him. He was being watched he decided not to dismiss it and closed his mind as tightly as he could. He sent a quick message to Thorn before he completely shut his mind. He knew Thorn would be upset with him, but he needed an explanation above all.

Murtagh cautiously walked up to the old, wooden door. He extended his hand to knock but before he could a harsh voice asked, "State who you are." The voice was hard, but definitely feminine with a bit of a rasp. Murtagh realized it was an order, not a question.

"Murtagh" he answered.

"lie." Came the simple reply.

Murtagh was confused and agitated. "Excuse me?" He had wanted it to sound powerful, but it can out angrier than he had wanted. "You asked who I am. I am Murtagh."

"lie." Came the rasp. Murtagh sighed in frustration. Then she explained, "'Murtagh' is your name. I asked who you are."

"Well what does it matter I am Murtagh Morzansson that is all you need to know."

"You certainly have the temper of a Forsworn." She stated.

Murtagh was about ready to come through the door. "I am not my father."

"And I consider it quite important to know who you are. I don't let strangers through my door. Only those who do not wish to harm me may enter." Her voice became harder on the last sentence. She too was becoming agitated with him.

Murtagh recognized her tone as a warning. If he planned to hurt her he doubted he would live to get past the door. He had felt the magic around the place. She could stop him from here. He sighed in submission. She was going to get her way if he didn't. And if he didn't give in now he wouldn't get his way either. "I am Murtagh Morzansson. I am a Shur'tugal. I ride the red dragon, Thorn. Eragon rider of Saphira is my brother. I serve Galbatorix, the Great King."

There was a moment of pause as the Potion woman considered his words. "You speak the truth, at least the truth as you see it. If you mean me no harm, you may enter. Your request will be considered." Murtagh was confused but dismissed. She was probable as insane as the house.

He reached for the door handle and pushed it inward. Murtagh stepped inside and found the interior as mysterious and overly chilling as the outside. It smelled of an odor neither good nor bad, but it was overwhelming. He couldn't quite discern it. It smelled like several different spices but much stronger and quainter.

He looked about the one-room house, but there wasn't much to look at. A small fireplace was up against the wall to his left. The bed was pushed up against the same wall as the door. A rack across the room held herbs and an odd assortment of unidentifiable things. Off to his right was a small table with two simple chairs. One of the chairs held a small woman. Her face was slightly wrinkled. Deep grey eyes looked up at him as he stood in the doorway. She wore a plain, brown dress and her brown hair was loosely pulled back. Her hair was streaked with grey from age. Locks of hair that had not been pulled back stood out in disarray. The only adornment on her was a blue turquoise necklace that wrapped twice around her wrinkled neck. So far the most impressive thing about her was her harsh voice.

"let me see your face, Shur'tugal." He realized he still had his hood up and pushed it down around his neck. She waited no longer and started, "why did you come here?"

"I need to find someone." He said with resolve. He wasn't leaving until he found her.

"I ascertained as much." She said as she nodded. "Who is it you seek and why do you seek them."

"her name is Madrid. She was supposed to arrive here a few days ago, but she is no longer here."

"her name?" she questioned supisiously. She half-smiled as she looked at him coyly. "well, go on. Why do you seek her, this Madrid?"

Murtagh didn't like her tone. "I needto find her." He said through grittd teeth. Being one on Galbatorix's slaves, Murtagh was used to getting his way right away. This woman was asking too many questions for his taste. She should just do it. He needed to find Madrid. Answering questions from an old woman were not a part of that plan.

She saw his demeanor change and her voice turned dark, "that was not a very good answer, Murtagh." She cocked her head to one side, "perhaps the young rider would like to try again? Hmm…?"

"You ask too many questions."

"Once again you ignore my question. I only asked three, but I find three good questions gives a hundred good answers. Last chance, answer or get out."

"Why do you need to know?" His eyebrows came close together as he glared at the woman.

She acted as if he was a disobedient child. "I warned you. Answer the question or get out."

Murtagh was coming close to walking out the door. "You answer mine and ill answer yours."

A tight-lipped smile came to her face as she cocked her head the other way. "Hmmm… alright, Shur'tugal." She stood. She was smaller than he expected. She was very petite and only came up to his chest. But the expression on her face was intimidating enough. "I want to know why you want to find her, because I will not help a criminal catch another victim."

Murtagh's blood boiled. She was basically calling him a criminal. All his life he had been called a criminal, simply for the high crime of being born. His rage was almost uncontrollable. Only once in his life he had felt truly accepted and that was with Eragon. And he hadn't known, but even after he treated him with respect and not disgust. Then later he was accepted by the Varden at the Battle of Farthern Dar. He had lost all that when he attacked them and killed the dwarf king. He would never be accepted because of a father's choices that lead to downfall. Eragon was still trying to help him; maybe he hadn't lost all respect with them. Then again maybe he was a criminal.

She knew none of this. She didn't know him or what he had done. And she was calling him a criminal. The only thing she really knew about him was that he was the son of Morzan. "The son will always pay for the father's choices." He thought. He took a deep breath. "Find her." He said with authority.

"I told you once. I will not help you find another victim."

Murtagh's right hand traveled down to the knife at his belt. He grasped it as pulled it free. The woman didn't move, but stared him down with cold, unblinking eyes. He brought the knife to the Potion woman's neck. She stiffened but didn't back down. He put his other hand on her shoulder to make sure she wouldn't go anywhere. She looked into his eyes and gave her tight-lipped smile once more. "I am not afraid of you –"the next words that came out of her mouth had haunted him for months. It made his blood go cold. Every fiber of his being wanted to leap out in every direction in anger and frustration. He struggled to keep his composer as he held the shaky knife to her exposed throat. She had said his true name.

Murtagh had never known what his name meant. That was the way Galbatorix wanted it and so it would remain that way until he was free. It was a constant reminder that Galbatorix was in control. Murtagh stepped back and put the knife into its proper place. "Now… tell me why you want to find this…" her hands flew out and gestured as she tried to remember the name. "Madrid, or GET OUT!"

Murtagh didn't know what to do if he didn't answer her, she would force him out of her home. He doubted that he would get back in. He finally relented and closed his eyes. He folded his arms over his chest and opened his eyes. "Madrid was on an important mission for Galbatorix. I came to make sure she was here. She obviously isn't. I have reason to believe she was captured by our enemy."

"You mean your enemy." She pointed out.

"Are not the Varden your enemy as well?" It was Murtagh's turn to question.

The old woman shrugged her shoulders and looked about, "I don't take sides. It doesn't really matter to me anyway." She eyes came back to his. She could see the look of confusion on Murtagh's face, so she explained it as if it was plain as daylight. "Life goes on. Business has never slowed down because of battles or wars. There's always someone wanting to find someone or looking for an easier way to do things. That's where I come in; I help people, for a price of course. So it doesn't matter to me who wins or loses."

"And what is the price for finding someone of importance?"

"It all depends. How much do you have and how badly do you want to find her?"

Author's Note: Please remember to review! Thank You!