Chapter 26:
A/N: Two chapters in as many days! =D Hope you enjoy!
A scream rent the air, piercing and bloodcurdling. Enough to make even the most battle-hardened give pause. Another scream, and then all was silent. Murtagh shuddered, and then with a jolt, realized that he had recognized that voice.
No, don't let it be…
He ran through the dark, shadow-drenched passageways, trying to discover the source of the sound with increasing desperation. He passed rooms with all sorts of unspeakable devices, some coated with bloodstains that looked fresher than others, some with chains, others with shimmering barriers of magic, and all with an almost overwhelming sense of hopelessness and despair.
Finally, he found it. The room was much like the others, but what had caught his attention was a hand hanging over the side of a stone dais. As he neared the platform, he found it increasingly difficult to move forward, as though he was wading through a river. His breath quickened with his exertions, but still he pressed on.
His breath stuck in his throat as he caught sight of who was tied down to the platform. Her skin was pale, made more so by the dark red-brown tresses framing her face. Her eyes were open, unseeing, and her expression was one of great pain. But the worst part of all was the sheer amount of blood covering her body and the horrific wounds that could not be healed.
Tivittica…
He had failed her, come much too late. He reached out to push back a stray lock of hair from her face, stunned. It was impossible. After all they had been through, it would end like this? His hand brushed her face and recoiled as he felt how cold she was. No…this wasn't fair. To die alone, amongst enemies. Without comfort. Without a companion. Without ever telling her good-bye.
He sank to the ground, vision blurring as his shoulders shook and sobs racked his body. He held her hand, ignoring its icy feel, as the tears streamed down his face.
Tivittica…
Suddenly, the room began to fade away. It started at the outer edges and moved towards the center, slowly at first and then with increasing speed. He tried to keep hold of her hand, but he was falling backwards into nothingness…
Murtagh opened his eyes with a jolt. He stared into the blurry shadows until they solidified into the floor of his cell. The shadows nearest the door flickered in time with the torch outside, but something seemed off. He strained to listen beyond the noise of his pounding heart and heaving breath. Finally, he heard it—a faint squeaking noise.
He looked about, wary. Squeaking meant rodents. If it was a mouse coming to make off with the remains of his bread, so be it, but if it was a rat… He grimaced. He was in no position to fight off a rat.
His eyes fell on the tray of food nearby, but to his surprise it was as untouched as he had left it. His allowed his gaze to slowly trace over the perimeter of his cell, but there were no tell-tale signs of movement. Groaning, he pushed himself upright and looked to his left side. At first, he noticed nothing, but then he found the source of the squeaking: the egg. It was shaking back and forth, cracks spider-webbing across the surface. As he stared, hardly trusting what he was seeing, a piece of the shell gave way and spun across the floor. A few more pieces followed until finally a small foot pushed itself out of the gap. Another foot followed it and, after a few more aggressive wobbles of the egg, so did the head.
The dragon was like nothing Murtagh had seen before. Its small, membrane-covered body bore little resemblance to Morzan's vicious, half-insane beast. As Murtagh watched, the dragon sniffed the air and began to creep forward, investigating the cell. Suddenly, one of its legs caught on one of the shell fragments and it tripped. Letting out a squeak of protest, the hatchling curled into a ball before resuming its exploration.
It wasn't long before the dragon reached Murtagh. It paused when it caught sight of him, its vermillion eyes pinning Murtagh in place. Evidently judging him nonthreatening, the dragon crept forward until it reached the edge of Murtagh's blanket. It gave the fabric a careful sniff before nestling against it, the small spikes on its back pressing lightly against Murtagh's leg.
By now, Murtagh's right arm ached from supporting all of his weight. He slowly shifted his weight to the left, where the dragon was resting. It looked up at him, body slightly tense but making no move to attack. He extended his hand cautiously for the creature to smell, wanting to keep the dragon calm. It let out a small squeak and cocked its head at him curiously. The dragon's vulnerability seemed both alien and apt to Murtagh, and, after a moment's hesitation, he touched the hatchling's neck.
Blinding, white-hot currents of energy coursed through his body at the contact, its strength causing him to arch his back in pain before collapsing to the ground. White stars flared in his darkened vision, the scar on his back seemed to wrench open, and he was immobilized. So strong was the pain, it seemed as though he could sense it outside of his body.
Finally, the sensation subsided, and with it, most of his warmth. His body tingled all over, and he remained where he had collapsed for several moments, trying to recover his breath and take stock of the situation. Aside from violent shivering, the only aftereffect of the contact was that his hand still remained immobile. Warily, he raised his arm to better look at his hand. To his surprise, a diffused white oval had formed on the palm. No, not an oval… a symbol. One he was all too familiar with…
His thoughts were distracted by another mind brushing against his own. It was unlike the minds he was accustomed to dealing with: a feeling of curiosity and faint wariness without any thoughts or other feelings. He followed the link, certain he knew what it was, and felt a distinctly nonhuman consciousness at the other end. It was the dragon. And that could only mean…
Murtagh projected a feeling of safety to the newly hatched dragon to reassure it before retreating to his own mind and defenses. This couldn't be happening, and yet the mark on his palm told him otherwise. He wasn't dreaming. Against all odds, the egg had hatched for him. He was a Dragon Rider. A Rider.
Just like his father.
A/N: Thoughts?