GAAH! So sorry! So sorry! –falls to knees and grovels- Yes, I know I've been really really bad in not updating. No, I don't have a good excuse. X.x But anyway, one little thing—I'm going to camp for the next three weeks. –cowers as tomatoes are thrown- Sorryyy! But the gist of it is, I won't be able to update during that time.
I SWEAR I'll update when I get back. Really!
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10/23/101
Morning
Mattes glanced furtively around the hall before bending back over the flowerpot, trying to look as if he were intent on his task and not on eavesdropping. Methodically, he rubbed at the dull pottery glaze, his attention focused on the hearing spell.
Frustrated, he shook his head, pushing angrily at the spell. They had put defenses around that room—anti-scrying defenses, protection spells, muting shields. Unbreakable walls of protection that protected gods-knew-what—deadly defense secrets? Secret councils? With a curse, Mattes straightened. All he knew for certain were the occupants of the room—the lady Nasuada, Eragon Shadeslayer, the Red Rider, the elf Arya, and another elf he didn't recognize. Oh, and the leader of the little magic sect of the Varden—Trinity? Trina?
Gods knew how long they would be in there. He didn't even know why they were there—
The door swung open with a slam and a bang, making Mattes jump. Hurriedly, he bent over the pot again, but the gesture was entirely unnecessary—the woman (Tria or something like that) who had slammed the door didn't even glance in his direction as she stalked in the opposite direction, her stride decidedly annoyed. Mattes's eyes jerked to the direction of the open doorway, but before he could move, the door clicked shut again and the barriers sealed.
For a moment, Mattes pondered ransacking the woman's mind, deciding against it with a regretful sigh. She was trained in magic, however pathetically, and would be able to sense his attack. With a sigh, Mattes glanced back at the door, hoping that it would swing open again.
It didn't.
Glumly, Mattes glanced around the corridor again. He couldn't stay here for too long; somebody would get suspicious. With a small sigh of regret, Mattes tied a slight alarm magic to the door, to warn him if the door opened.
Picking up his cloth, he trudged half-heartedly down the hall.
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Inari rose out of the spell slowly, feeling as if somebody had hit her on the head—or worse, stabbed her all over again. The other spellcasters looked similarly shaken—Arya could barely stand, while Eragon was blinking dazedly into space, a vacant expression on his face.
"Here," a soft voice said, and Inari felt an arm at her elbow, settling her gently down onto a chair. Inari murmured her thanks as she rubbed her eyes slowly, feeling the beginnings of a headache coming.
"Are you all right?" Nasuada asked quietly as she helped Arya sit down. "That took…a long time."
Inari looked up sharply. "How long, Nasuada-sana?"
Nasuada shrugged. "I'd say two hours, give or take." She smiled at Inari's startled expression. "I take it that the spell was difficult?"
Inari glanced at Murtagh. He looked slightly shaken, his polished coolness momentarily exchanged for an uneasy confusion, a faint blush in his cheeks. "Quite difficult," Inari answered after a moment.
"That's an understatement," Eragon Shadeslayer added as he stumbled to his own seat, rubbing his face with his hands.
Nasuada looked from one of them to another, a faint frown on her face. "I won't admit that I'm particularly adept at magic, but correct me if I'm wrong—the skolir-dehren is an overlay over the subject's magic, isn't it? You don't actually interfere with the person himself."
"Yes, well, something resisted us," Arya said quietly. She rubbed her temples with her fingers, a tired frown on her face. She glanced at Murtagh briefly, and then continued, "But the important thing is that the spell is cast."
"Not without much difficulty," Eragon Shadeslayer muttered, his fingers tracing the grain of the wood idly.
Nasuada sucked in a slow breath of air, letting it out with a sharp whoosh. "Well, then," she said at last. "If the spell worked, I hardly see…that is…I think we can afford to loosen the bonds over Murtagh. Less severe guard, that is." Nasuada stopped abruptly, just a hint of red creeping into her ebony skin.
Inari raised an eyebrow at Nasuada's uncharacteristic agitation, but said, "I think that can be allowed."
"As do I," Arya said firmly, echoed a second later by Eragon.
"Well, then," Nasuada said after a pause. She inhaled slowly, then turned to Murtagh. "I think we can agree to give you…a limited amount of freedom. You must swear, however, to keep a guard with you at all times. You may visit your dragon, but no weapons—including Zar'roc—will be given to you. Understood?"
Murtagh hesitated, then nodded slowly. Still looking shaken, he said quietly, "I understand. I swear." Switching to the ancient language, he added, "Upon my word as a Rider."
There was a short, solemn silence, broken abruptly by Eragon as he swung open the door. "Then, I'm afraid I must depart," he said shortly, and strode out the door.
Nasuada glanced after him, her expression mildly startled. "Well, I'm afraid I must depart, too," she said at last. "I have left too many things unattended for too long. If you'll excuse me?" she asked politely of the elves, who nodded. "Please make sure you leave him in the custody of a guard."
She slipped out of the room in a rustle of cotton and lace, leaving Arya and Inari with Murtagh. Arya turned to Murtagh, her face calm and polite. "Is there anything you would like to do, Red Rider?"
He glanced at her distractedly, staring at her for a long moment. "Yes," he said at last, his voice rough. "If it's possible, I'd like to see Thorn again."
"That can be arranged," Arya told him softly. Turning to Inari, her mind brushed the other's briefly—When you are done, Inari-elda, please come to me. We have much to discuss.
Inari nodded slightly in acknowledgement, watching as Arya headed out of the room.
"Well," Murtagh said quietly from behind her.
She turned as he stood, scraping the chair back. For the first time, she realized that he was as tall as she was—somewhat unusual, considering the fact that most humans only came up to her chin.
His gaze was calm, steady—it took her a bit of effort to gaze back just as calmly. In her most composed voice, Inari said, "If you want—I'll take you to your dragon now."
"Thorn," he said.
"Thorn," Inari agreed after a pause, inclining her head politely. "Shall we go?"
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Mattes jerked up as the warning magic screamed insistently in his ear, banging his head on a length of banister he had been polishing. Biting back a curse, he rubbed his head gingerly and grimaced.
Around him, busy voices hummed back and forth. Nonchalantly, Mattes strode down the hall, making his step brisk and busy. No one challenged him—he smiled, a little bitterly. It was rare that anyone noticed him, really.
Once he was around the corner, Mattes broke into an all-out spring, his heart pounding painfully in his ribs. When he came in view of the door, Mattes just barely skidded to a halt to avoid being seen—two people were leaving the room. One of them was the Red Rider, and another was an elf, by the looks of her hair.
He took a moment to compose himself—an agitated mind would only alert them to his presence—before following them. The route they took confused him initially—he'd thought that the elf was taking the Rider back to his chambers, or maybe even down to the dungeons. Instead, it led to the secondary courtyard, where there was—
Mattes gave an involuntary yelp at the sight and immediately ducked into the shadows, his heart pounding frantically. All right, he'd known that being a Rider entailed having a dragon and all, but it had never really occurred to him that dragons were so—uh—big.
Fortunately, the elf and Rider hadn't seemed to notice him—sucking in a slow breath of angry relief, Mattes peeked gingerly into the courtyard.
The elf was speaking now, in a low tone of voice. Sending up a silent prayer, Mattes worked an amplification spell on her words, straining to catch what she was saying. It was patchy, imperfect—probably caused by his nervousness than anything else. Maybe he said the wrong words or something…
"...our hope that...with the spells we've put...to honor the trust..."
The voice faded away, to be replaced with the Red Rider's deep tone. "...try...despite deception and...but I will keep my oath."
"See to it that you do," Mattes heard the elf say, but that was about as far as he got. A hot pain flared in his ear as a set of strong fingers pinched it, yanking him upwards. Mattes squirmed, a cry of pain escaping him.
"Stop lazing about here," snapped his captor, a big, burly looking guard. "Get back to work, servant!"
Mattes stumbled onto the cool tiles of the courtyard, glaring furiously at the guard. He was tempted to jinx the man—a good curse would teach him manners—but as the Rider and elf were turning to look at him, it was probably best to beat an honorable retreat. Rubbing his ear, he fled into the palace.
Still, Mattes thought bitterly, I'll get him back for that.
Stumbling back to his quarters, Mattes bolted the door as he prepared to contact the emperor.
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Galbatorix was sitting down to a late lunch when he felt the call, a slight tingling in his ear. With a sigh, he dumped his wine into a shallow plate, letting the picture form in there. "Yes?" he said impatiently, his fingers tapping moodily on the table. "What is it?"
The spy looked visibly nervous, but that was nothing unusual. Galbatorix heaved an inward sigh, listening idly as the man stuttered his way through the latest reports on the Varden.
So they put some spells on Murtagh; that was perfectly expected. This elf, whoever she was, was no doubt one of many in a line of babysitters. Galbatorix rubbed his temples, wondering if it was possible to get a migraine out of sheer boredom.
The spy finished his report, his eyes huge and anxious. Trying to put some tone of satisfaction into his voice, Galbatorix said with an effort, "Very well. Thank you, spy."
With that, he wiped the image and settled down to eat. It's not like I have anything to worry about, he thought mildly. Soon the rebels will be oh-so-willing to give him back…
He sighed, chewing on a tough length of ham meditatively. The woman he had picked up earlier from Derek—Rina? Ryna? He'd forgotten her name, but her face was certainly clear enough. The last of a band of misbegotten rebels that had had the audacity to try to steal the last dragon egg from him.
He snorted, throwing his napkin down. He'd thought she'd died—evidently not. She was still alive, annoyingly, and that meant he'd have to execute her himself this time, just to make sure she stayed properly dead.
Galbatorix shoved his chair back, about to stand up when the thought occurred to him. He could take Orca with him, to watch him kill the rebel. Young as Orca was, four years old, it wouldn't hurt to educate her in the darker magicks now. Besides, it'd be a good lesson for her—teach her what happened to the enemies of the empire.
Whistling slightly, Galbatorix reached out for Orca's mind. She was in the servant quarters, with Derek and her dragon. Walking briskly, he went to find her.
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Murtagh closed his eyes as the elf left, breathing softly and slowly in an attempt to calm himself down. It worked somewhat, and not for the first time he was grateful for the silver lining in depriving his magic—he didn't have to suffer from the incessant voices anymore; didn't have to control his every emotion anymore.
You're not moping, are you? a familiarly acidic voice asked.
Me? Murtagh said without opening his eyes. I don't mope.
Of course not, came the deep rumble, hard scales brushing his arm as Thorn's tail wrapped around him. Copper for your thoughts, then?
Murtagh sighed, opening his eyes to find Thorn staring at him, his head barely a foot away. I'm just wondering, he said finally. Wondering about…
Loyalty? Thorn suggested wryly.
Murtagh shrugged. Close. He was quiet for a moment, then said, Thorn, what're we doing here?
Thorn shrugged. We're here because your Varden friends dragged us here.
Yes, but why? Murtagh persisted. They must have a plan. They wouldn't have dragged us here for just 'testing' to see whether we could be made loyal or not. He hesitated. Thorn—
A moment, please, Thorn interrupted, his head whipping around to face someone that Murtagh couldn't see. Would you mind giving us a little space? he said sharply. We're not plotting the fall of Surda, so leave us alone.
He paused, then snorted, turning his head back to Murtagh. The Rider watched, eyebrows raised. Saphira?
Yes, Thorn said, sounding exasperated. I've sworn oaths to stay close to her, but she—He trailed off, sounding disgusted. If all female dragons are this contrary, it's a wonder that the dragon race ever managed to survive.
Murtagh smiled slightly. Sounds like somebody's in denial.
Thorn rolled his eyes at him. If you think that, you are truly insane, he growled. I have better things to do with my time than to run after some stuck-up female dragon. I wouldn't mate with her for anything.
Murtagh shook his head, but let the subject drop. He leaned back against Thorn's scales, rubbing one scale with his thumb over and over.
About what you were saying before, Thorn said abruptly, about why. Why we're here. What for. He cocked his head. What were you going to say?
Murtagh hesitated. I don't know, he said finally. They've put some spells on me to force me into immobility, if need be. Precautions, I suppose. He smiled bitterly, then sighed. Never mind that. But Thorn, it's so haphazard. So dangerous. I might not have magic, but Galbatorix could do anything—
Peace, the red dragon chided, silencing the flow of words. Thorn butted his head gently against Murtagh's arm, staring keenly into his Rider's eyes. Don't obsess yourself over thoughts of 'what-ifs' or 'whys', he said softly. They'll do you no good, anyhow.
Then what should I do? Murtagh asked softly, his voice a whisper.
Wait, Thorn said distantly. And relax. He grinned a draconian smile, teeth showing. This may be one of the few chances we have to be responsibility free, little Rider. Savor it while you can.
Murtagh grimaced. Thanks a lot, he said acidly.
Thorn huffed softly in amusement. Relax. Enjoy it, he said. And if anything new happens, tell me.
He raised his head slightly, staring at something over Murtagh's shoulder. Murtagh twisted to look, and inwardly let out a small sigh. The elf, Inari, was back again, her hand raised as she beckoned.
Go, Thorn said softly, nudging him. I'll still be with you.
That was true. He did have Thorn.
Murtagh walked around the coil of Thorn's tail, halting just before the elf. He was aware of the suspicious eyes of men around him, the swords and spears ready to impale him should he make a wrong move. No matter what spells were on him, the Varden would never trust him…
"Murtagh," Inari said, her voice calm and emotionless. "I would escort you back to your rooms now."
"Why?" Murtagh asked, matching her flat tone. He could feel a subtle shifting in the men around him, as they tensed at this sign of rebellion. Allowing no emotion to touch his face, Murtagh continued, "It's been barely a few minutes. I believe, that in light of…what you've done to me…that a while more can be allowed."
The elf smiled—a pleasant, meaningless smile. "Saphira Brightscales must be somewhere, unfortunately, and your Thorn is bound to go with her. Thus, you must excuse this interruption, I'm afraid. Come along."
She turned slightly, her eyes fixed on him. Murtagh inhaled slowly. Thorn?
Oh, what does it matter? the dragon sighed. I'm used to be dragged around with Saphira on her various errands. Besides, it doesn't really matter, in the long run. Go ahead.
Murtagh nodded inwardly. He met the eyes of the elf, matching the smile perfectly. "Certainly," he said. "I'll come."
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Thorn watched moodily as his Rider vanished into the palace, dogged by at least three soldiers. Behind him, he heard Saphira unfurl her wings with a snap, arcing towards the sky.
Come on! she roared down at him. Let's go!
Your wish, my command, Thorn said sarcastically as he followed her motion. The blue dragon ignored this like she did everything he said, circling around to another part of the palace. She landed with a heavy thump in the courtyard, where Eragon was waiting, an anxious look on his elfin face.
Of course. He'd been dragged away from Murtagh just so that Saphira Brightscales could catch some precious time with her Eragon Shadeslayer.
Thorn landed next to her, his tail lashing with irritation. Eragon gave him an odd look and Saphira turned her head, but Thorn was too annoyed at this point to give a damn about how they felt. He paced the courtyard, inciting nervous looks from the people around them.
Eragon and Saphira were talking now, and the conversation didn't seem to be very pleasant. Thorn watched them out of the corner of his eye, watching as Eragon's brow puckered as he frowned, and Saphira's tail grew just as agitated as Thorn's own. The blue dragon huffed softly, the tone full of quiet exasperation. Both of them, dragon and Rider alike, raised their heads to glance furtively at Thorn.
Thorn glared back at them. After a moment, Eragon turned away, but Saphira continued to stare intently back, her eyes half-slitted with an emotion that Thorn couldn't quite name.
He hissed at her. Saphira's tail raised slightly, and Thorn eyed her with annoyed anticipation. So fight. Bring it on.
Abruptly, she whipped her head back to Eragon, her eyes dark and focused. Thorn snorted, disgusted.
Female dragons. Ugh.
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Galbatorix had her hand tight in his grasp, making it impossible for her to wriggle away. Silently, Orca followed him as he went down staircase after staircase, descending into a damp, dark corridor. Unhappily, she tried to tug her fingers away, but found it impossible.
If only Anil were beside her. The shadows seemed darker, every rustle a soft, ominous threat. But Galbatorix had put Anil with Derek, saying that this was for her alone.
Anil? she called silently.
There wasn't an answer. Orca glanced around at the darkness, wanting more than anything his familiar warmth by her side. She wanted Anil back, to hear his playful voice in her ear, to be at her side no matter what. She needed him, especially in this dark and dreamless place.
Ahead of her, Galbatorix spoke a soft word, something that made the air shiver and shake. Part of the wall seemed to melt away, and Orca's eyes widened as Galbatorix lit a light, illuminating the scene within.
The Second Woman—Rina—lay on the floor, chained to the wall, bleeding from a dozen cuts and bruises. The air was thick with decay, blood, sweat, and urine—as Galbatorix pulled her into the room, the stench settled about them like a shroud. Orca pulled uselessly at his iron grip, wanting out, wanting to go somewhere where she wouldn't have to see, to—
"So," Galbatorix's voice sounded above her, a hint of malice and cold amusement in his voice. "The last remnant of a little band of rebels. Interesting, isn't it, to see how they all fall?" Still clutching Orca's hand, Galbatorix leaned down and lifted Rina's chin, forcing her to look at him. "And so to meet a rebel's fate."
He lifted a hand, inhaling as to prepare himself to speak a spell. He paused halfway, turning slightly to look at Orca, his eyes darkly amused. The girl shuddered slightly at the expression on his face, the icy intent in his eyes.
"See, Orca," he whispered softly. "This is how it always ends."
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Fire laced from his fingers, reaching down with deadly intent towards her. Rina convulsed, screaming, feeling the fire fork through every inch of her body—ripping, tearing, sending blood spraying in a macabre fountain across the floor.
Screaming—there was screaming everywhere, echoing across the walls, pounding itself into her ears. There was no end to it, no end to the pain, the cries, the sharp, blinding agony that tore itself through her body, ripping her mind, her life—
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Orca! Anil screamed, throwing himself against the implacable wood of the door. He could hear her—not with his mind, which Galbatorix had blocked—but by some undefinable instinct that came of the bonds between them. Orca was screaming somewhere, fear, horror, shock; all those and more roiling through her to open her voice and destroy her control.
Anil screamed with her, slamming uselessly against the door, tearing the grain of the wood to shreds but not affecting the spell underneath. The door refused to yield—caging him, imprisoning him, locking away from Orca just when she needed him the most.
There seemed to be no end to the agony.
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Lame ending. :P But I'm in a hurry. Gonna catch a plane(s) and get awaay. Freeee! Bye byes, and review!