Thanks for reading and commenting, most wonderful ones~ My goodness, are your thoughts and theories fun to read. It really is a pleasure for me to hear what you have on your minds. Thanks so much! It really is an honor to be on this adventure with you~ I hope you'll continue to find things to enjoy in this story all the way to the end.
Chapter 28
Eragon spent the better portion of the afternoon arguing with Thorn about not watching Murtagh's punishment, but the child was adamant about going.
After a bit of yelling, Thorn stomped his foot on the ground, crossed his arms over his chest, and stuck his nose up. "I will not abandon him. Now more than ever, he needs to know he is not alone. I will be there."
Then Eragon moved on to Selena and attempted to convince her to stay in order to keep Thorn away, but she refused just as much. Her reasoning was simple enough. "I will not stand between a dragon and his Rider."
And so, as the sun crept towards the horizon, they left the castle for the city center where Murtagh would receive his punishment.
Market stalls had been removed, and all that remained was a wooden post that had been erected for the event. Rows of knights stood guard all around it, spears and swords at the ready. A large crowd of people gathered, their expressions an equal mix of smug satisfaction and sorrow.
Eragon pushed through the masses until he was just behind a row of knights, as close to the post as possible. It was not to see Murtagh's suffering but to be there when it was finished. They would all be there, for Thorn, Selena, and Brom were right behind him. They waited until the sky turned hazy orange, and then the knights stood straight and the crowd muttered.
Murtagh was led by knights through a narrow aisle the crowd formed for them, and as he passed, people went silent. His eyes were always straight ahead, unwavering. His jaw was set, his shoulders were back, and his lips were sealed tight. Yet as they passed and he saw Thorn, his steady expression faltered. Murtagh met eyes with Eragon briefly and then looked ahead.
Eragon sank. He had let Murtagh down. It could not be helped, though, for their mother was right. It would be wrong to separate them. His hands curled into fists at his sides to keep them from shaking.
The knights led Murtagh to the post, and several others prepared the chains with which he would be bound to it. One of the knights asked him to remove his shirt, but he hesitated. When he finally pulled it over his head, several spectators in the crowd murmured, and Selena let out a muted gasp and covered her mouth. Eragon flinched at their reactions, for it was the very thing Murtagh feared.
"That scar," Selena whispered.
Thorn was shaking, and tears filled his eyes. His face twisted into an awful grimace. In a low tone unbefitting a child, he said, "A gift from his father."
Brom and Selena both glanced at him with mouths open, and then they returned their attention to Murtagh. Now clad in simple linen trousers and a chain around his neck that sealed his magic, Murtagh was fastened to the post by shackles on his wrists. Only slightly did he bow his head, and he set his feet apart.
A knight stepped forward with a scroll that he unraveled, and then he announced in a booming voice, "Murtagh Morzansson is hereby sentenced to one hundred lashes for the following crimes: unlawful use of magic in the Empire; involuntary allegiance to Galbatorix; involuntary murder of high-ranking officials of the Varden; involuntary murder of humans, elves, dwarves and dragons during wartime; and various crimes of lesser importance." Then he rolled up the scroll and stood tall. "Four men will carry out this sentence, twenty-five lashes each, and will stop only in the case of unconsciousness. The sentence will resume when the criminal awakens." Stepping back, he called out, "Begin!"
One of the knights came forward with a leather whip of many braided cords. He was without expression as he lashed the whip. It snapped against Murtagh's skin and left threads of red across his back. Each blow followed in quick succession, with one of the knights shouting the count so that there was no question. Murtagh closed his eyes, but his body did not move an inch.
After five blows, Thorn wrapped his arms around Selena and buried his face against her, and she wrapped him up tight. Her gaze fell to the ground. By the tenth blow, Eragon turned away. The sickening snap of leather on flesh was already too much to bear. Every muscle in his body was tight, and he shook. Tears stung his eyes. Brom set a hand on his shoulder. His father watched every blow Murtagh received, never once turning away.
Fifty, sixty, seventy, eighty. Murtagh did not cry out or even groan, and he did not lose consciousness. Each blow then sounded like someone slapping the surface of water. Ninety. Long shadows spread over them as the sun sank behind towering stone buildings. Ninety-nine. Eragon exhaled a shaky breath. One hundred.
"In the presence of witnesses, one hundred lashes have been completed," announced the knight with the scroll in his hand. "Seven days from today, at sunset, the criminal is released from all charges. Remove his chains."
Eragon turned. Murtagh's back was torn to shreds and bleeding. What was left of his skin was bright red and purple. Two knights unfastened the shackles on his wrists and extended their arms in expectation of him falling, but Murtagh caught the post with his arm and stood on his own. Several people in the audience murmured, and one of the knights took a step back with eyes wide. No one expected him to be awake nonetheless moving on his own.
Brom moved first to intercept him, and then Eragon ran and passed him by. Murtagh stumbled away from the post in the general direction the knights wanted him to go, and then Eragon caught him and toppled to the ground with him.
"I'm alright," murmured Murtagh, and he panted for air. He repeated it, but only loud enough for Eragon to hear. His eyelids fluttered and his chest heaved.
Eragon winced at the blood on one of his hands. Then he wrapped his arm around Murtagh's head. Thorn stood at a slight distance, bawling.
"He is my charge," Brom told the knights. He knelt and adjusted Murtagh's hips so that his back was straight while Selena moved his legs. "Take him to the castle."
Two knights nodded and scurried elsewhere, and within minutes they returned with a stretcher. It was the second time Murtagh needed to be carted off, though this time the harm had been inflicted by people who rather should have expressed gratitude to him. As they shifted Murtagh onto the leather stretcher, his blood dripping across the stone walkway, Eragon swallowed hard to keep from throwing up.
Brom patted Eragon's back as Murtagh was carried away. "Take a moment," he told him, and then he rose and followed the knights.
"It was not right." Thorn rubbed his face with his arm, sobbing between words. "It was not right."
Selena pulled him into her arms and stroked his unruly hair. "It is over. He can rest now." Thorn shook his head and buried his face against her, holding fast to her.
Eragon sat on his knees for a long while, well after dark and long after most of the crowd had gone.
His mother took one of Thorn's hands and one of his hands, hauling them both up and guiding them towards the castle. "We should be there for him. Let us return."
Neither argued.
Eragon sat in a chair facing Murtagh's bed, wringing his hands and often staring at the floor. Sometimes it was too difficult to watch. A healer had been summoned to tend to Murtagh's wounds, but because magic was restricted, all she did was dab on ointment and prepare to cover the injuries to stop the bleeding.
Thorn had been forced to move out of the way several times and was now curled over the blanket at Murtagh's legs, always close, often patting Murtagh as if to ensure he was still there. He had cried so long and hard that now he had no strength left, staring at nothing and blinking heavy eyelids. Murtagh was uncovered from the waist up and began shivering violently, so Selena had warmed the room with magic. Whenever she was not in the way of the healer, she would dip a small towel into a bowl of water on the bedside table and wipe the sweat off Murtagh's face with it. Brom sat on the far side of the room and smoked his pipe, always watching but never speaking.
"I should prepare another medicine," said the healer, and her brow furrowed as she inspected the injuries. "I will return shortly."
Then she wiped the blood off her hands on her apron and headed for the door. It opened before she reached it, and the healer was abruptly pushed out. Eragon sat up.
"Your services are no longer needed," said Angela as she entered. With one hand she supported a sack tied at her waist, and with her other hand she shoved the healer out the door. "Shoo!"
"Wh-who are—" started the healer, and then the door was slammed in her face.
Angela straightened, her curls bouncing, and then she rubbed her head and sighed. She took off her worn cloak and tossed it into a corner, then approached the bed. Previously concealed in her shadow was Elva, and the girl remained plastered against the door, her young face contorted and her nose wrinkled. She was taller now, and older—perhaps nine or ten. Her rapid aging still left Eragon breathless.
"What a mess they made of you," murmured Angela about Murtagh as she took the healer's stool at his side.
Unraveling the sack at her waist, she sprawled countless vials and herbs across the bedside table and bed. Without another word, she began mixing several vials together before spreading a thick paste across Murtagh's back. He flinched but did not wake up. Then she gently placed long strips of bandages over his torn skin.
"Angela—" started Eragon.
Angela shushed him and continued with her work.
Meanwhile, Selena dabbed Murtagh's face and neck with the towel, and then she smoothed back his hair with it, wetting the strands enough to keep them out of his face. Touching her fingers to his cheek, her brow wrinkled. "It will be difficult to keep him from becoming dehydrated. Losing blood and running such a high fever…"
"Is there no medicine for his fever?" Angela asked. She finished applying bandages and took the towel from Selena, wiping blood off her hands. Selena gave her the medicine they had been provided, and Angela took one smell of it and growled deep in her throat, her eyes narrow. "Infant's medicine! Pitiful. I will prepare something." Then she went to work with various vials and herbs, crushing and mixing in a small bowl she had brought with her, and hummed as she worked.
Eragon turned on his seat towards Elva, who remained fast against the door, her violet eyes narrow and cold. "You can come in. You don't need to stay by the door."
Even so, she did not move, and her gaze flicked from Eragon back to Murtagh. A storm raged in her eyes, and her entire body shuddered. In stark contrast to her young appearance, her voice was that of a grown woman's as she spoke, "I wonder if this is how Galbatorix was made."
"Elva," snapped Angela without looking back. She continued mixing feverishly, her lips pressed into a thin line.
Elva stiffened when all other eyes landed on her. She clasped the fabric of her worn cloak into her tight fists. "One can only endure so much suffering before they are either forced to fight back or die. Does anyone expect anything else?"
"Elva!" Angela's tone was harsh now, and she shot the girl a stern look. When Elva went silent, she returned to her work and poured a dark green substance into a vial. She shook the vial and presented it to Selena. "That should do. It will be safe enough for him to take whenever his fever rises. I will prepare more for as long as needed."
"Are you staying?" Eragon asked. "Does Nasuada know you are here?"
"Of course not," said Angela with a gleam in her eyes. "But I have my ways. Don't you worry." Rising, she packed up her supplies and fastened them into a sack at her hip. Her gaze lingered on Murtagh. "Do keep an eye on him. Elva is not wrong."
"You think he will become like Galbatorix." Eragon squeezed the edge of his seat, his palms damp with sweat.
"What I think is irrelevant." Angela crossed her arms and tipped her head back. "What do you think?"
Eragon swallowed hard. His voice wavered. "I think he has given up fighting back."
Unfortunately, if what Elva said was true, that left only one other option for Murtagh. Fight back… or die. Had his brother really lost all hope? A heavy weight crashed upon Eragon, and his head and shoulders sank. Had Murtagh any hope to begin with? The whole of Alagaësia held him in contempt since the day he was born.
Thorn turned his face into the blanket and wept.
"Keep an eye on him," Angela insisted, her eyes fixed on Eragon. "He is enduring a lot more than you realize for the sake of us all." Then, she gathered her cloak, swirled it around her shoulders, and pulled her hood up over her head. Elva did the same. Then they departed as quickly as they had arrived.
Eragon stared at Murtagh, and then he buried his face in his hands.
The rest of the night passed in silence.
Days passed uneventfully.
Thorn did not leave the room unless absolutely necessary and would have neglected food and drink if others did not provide for him. Unless he was told to do otherwise, he lay at Murtagh's side so that no space remained between them. Occasionally he would pet back Murtagh's hair so that it was out of his face. Once he nuzzled his face into the dark mess of hair on Murtagh's head and snorted what could have been a human sneeze.
Eragon smiled, and Selena laughed.
Medicine kept appearing at the door in large quantities, and the two knights guarding the room could never tell them how it got there. Angela was crafty indeed. Selena kept a vigilant watch over Murtagh's fever and gave him medicine as needed. Angela's medicine was far more potent and brought down even the highest fever with a single dose. Yet the fever never fully relented and came back just as high several hours later. It was a painful cycle of heat and sweating as the fever fell and violent tremors as it rose again.
Brom remained in the room often enough, smoking and reading. He had little choice in the matter, as Murtagh was still his charge until the end of the seventh day. Sometimes he would go out for a stroll but would return a short while later.
Murtagh drifted in and out of consciousness, and he was never particularly coherent. The injuries, fever, and exhaustion had crippled him.
Late in the evening of the third day, Brom rose from his place at the table and closed his book. "I am going to take a walk."
"I'll go with you," Eragon offered, stretching his arms above his head before standing. All of his muscles were in knots.
Selena patted his back as he passed, and he could not help but smile. She had the effect of stealing all the negative energy right out of him.
He followed Brom into the hall, his father offering a brief explanation to the knights and assuring them he would return shortly, and then they meandered together down the long stone corridors. Neither spoke. A few castle servants passed, their footsteps echoing long before their approach and long after they were gone. Eragon rolled his shoulders and sighed.
"You must be worried about Saphira," Brom commented, slowing his walk.
"Yes." Eragon nodded. Saphira weighed constantly on his mind, if she was safe, if she was well, and if he would ever see her again. What he had witnessed at the dragon stronghold was in line with what Murtagh assured him, but the empty, gaping hole in his mind—and in his heart—that Saphira's absence left him with did not allow him any peace. Barely above a whisper, he said, "Murtagh needs to be well enough to travel there." Then he stared at the floor and added, "Everything needs to be well enough for us to leave."
"Regardless of the circumstances here, you may have to go." Brom stopped and faced him, gripping his shoulder. "Saphira is waiting for you, and having a dragon fighting with us may give us the advantage we need. Murtagh cannot do this alone."
"I know." Eragon hung his head, but Brom clasped his face in one hand and lifted it again.
"Everything will be all right."
Eragon believed him. He could not help it. With a faint smile, he said, "Thank you, Father."
Brom released him, and they walked on together and chatted about the past, about the future, about anything else that came to mind. Finally they reached a door where Brom stopped, and he tugged his pipe out of the pouch on his belt and waved it in the air.
"My source for refills," he explained with a wide grin.
Chuckling, Eragon stepped past and continued down the hall. He walked backwards and said, "I'm going to walk a bit more and then return to the room."
His father regarded him with a wave of the pipe, and then they parted ways.
Eragon went towards the throne room. Perhaps Nasuada would finally see him, though to that very day she had rejected every request. Rumors spread that she refused to witness Murtagh's punishment and sent others to do so on her behalf, and since then, no one had any information on her actions at all. Upon reaching the great hall, Eragon was rejected by the knights who insisted that Nasuada had already retired for the evening. With a sigh, he headed back.
Light footsteps echoed down the hall ahead of him and around a corner. When he turned the corner, he froze. She did, too. Nasuada exhaled sharply and took a step back, and her eyes flitted across the floor.
"Where have you been?" Eragon asked. "I have been trying to see you for days."
Nasuada took his wrist and hauled him around the corner, and then she leaned against the wall. Her eyes remained on the floor. "I apologize, but with everything going on throughout the Empire, the strange happenings, the attacks…"
"Instead of hiding, you could ask for help," he countered. When she did not respond, he hung his shoulders. It was not on her account that he was upset, and so he pushed aside his feelings. Surely she had enough trouble and sorrow without his added on. "Are you all right?"
Finally she lifted her eyes, her lips parted slightly. Then she tipped her head and whispered, "How is Murtagh?"
"Is that why you're here?" he asked.
She frowned at him, and then she looked away again. At least her casual attire made a little more sense. After supposedly retiring to bed, she was sneaking around the castle in a plain gown and no jewelry. Even her braided hair cascaded down her shoulders without beads or pins.
"He is doing as expected after receiving one hundred lashes." Eragon spoke softly, but a hint of resentment still wormed its way into his voice.
"I had no choice," she breathed, shaking her head. Their eyes met. "Eragon, I tried. If I could have…" Her head fell, and her shoulders did as well. Leadership was not an easy task.
Even so, Eragon's heart twisted in his chest. "Why does it matter?" Nasuada opened her mouth and closed it again, and so he continued. "Why does your lack of choice matter, but his lack of choice means nothing? His crimes were involuntary… why does that mean nothing?"
As he spoke, his voice cracked. Nasuada flinched as though she had been struck, and she brought a hand to her chest. It was not the effect Eragon wanted, rather he was not looking for a specific reaction at all, but it was a question that ate away at him, and he could not find a suitable answer. He was as guilty as anyone else. When Murtagh first told him the truth of his parentage, Eragon had hated him for it, and when Murtagh submitted to Galbatorix, it was simply him following in his father's footsteps. Eragon would have killed him if given the chance.
"I don't know," Nasuada whispered.
"I don't know, either, but I want to," said Eragon, and he leaned against the wall beside her.
Neither had to say more, and they simply remained in each other's company, miserable as they both were. Then a bell rang into the night, and Nasuada stood straight, her eyes wide.
It was their only warning.
An explosion and resounding boom shook the castle, and it was close. Eragon staggered off the wall and whirled around the corner, sprinting down the corridor. Nasuada was right behind him. Both knew. Knights were shouting down another hall, their clanking armor echoing in the corridors, but they were too far away. As Eragon came down the hall and saw the knights gone from Brom's door—and the door wide open—his stomach dropped. Brom stumbled out of the room he had vanished into earlier.
Eragon burst into the bedroom and put out his arms to keep the others back.
Brom's room was in ruins, the bed was split in half, and the far wall had fallen and given way to black skies. Standing before the gaping hole was Morzan with Zar'roc in one hand and Selena's arm in the other. Behind him, a Lethrblaka hung onto the battered wall of the castle with one paw clamped around Murtagh. Neither Murtagh nor Selena was moving.
"No!" Eragon charged at him but was suddenly hoisted off his feet by nothing and hurled into the wood table. It shattered beneath him, and pain flashed across his back and through his limbs.
Morzan grinned, lifting Selena over his shoulder, and stepped back against the Lethrblaka. His wild eyes landed on Brom in challenge. "They are mine."
Then the Lethrblaka dropped off the wall into the night air, and Morzan fell backwards after it.
"No!" screamed Brom, and he ran to the opening.
Eragon staggered and hit the wall hard, nearly flying over the edge. Nasuada caught him. The Lethrblaka swooped low and then zipped high into the air, its silhouette eclipsing the moon. In triumph it shrieked, and the bell continued to ring, creating an awful, dizzying sound. Armed knights poured into the room.
"Lady Nasuada—"
"Follow them!" she yelled. "Do not lose sight of them!"
A second Lethrblaka roared and fell over the roof of the castle, this one far larger than the first. It beat its wings to steady itself in the air, gazing into the cracked wall with its single eye. It barked at them and wagged its tongue, and then it turned in the air in pursuit of the other.
Eragon's heart caught in his throat, and he stumbled towards the door. "Follow that one! Follow that Lethrblaka! Horses, please!" Brom was right behind him.
A few knights rushed into the room and hindered their exit. They checked the knights that had guarded Murtagh. They lay slain on the floor in puddles of blood. Thorn was in the corner trying to stand up, his eyes unfocused.
Then Eragon lunged past the knights, out of the room, and took off running.
