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Chapter 49

Brom yanked back on the lance and hauled Morzan away from Murtagh. His icy eyes were sharp and narrow, his jaw clenched. In a stern tone, he said, "Murtagh, go. Free the spirit."

A terrible gleam rippled across Morzan's eyes and his thin lips curled into a cold smile. Turning, he clasped the shaft of the lance in one hand and snapped the weapon in half. Brom tossed the broken butt of the weapon over the wall and drew a silver sword with a violet edge from the sheath on his belt. Morzan faced him with the point of the lance still plunged in his heart, and he dug into his own chest and pulled on the blade with the sickening slurp of blood and twisting muscles.

Whatever his father was, it was certainly not human.

"Murtagh, go!" Brom ordered, and he allowed himself only one slight step back. Against Morzan, he would not surrender any more ground than that.

It was a death sentence. If Murtagh left, Brom would not survive. Yet across the plain, the dark spirit roared and tried again with its assault, tearing at the world, and an army of humans closed in on it. Morzan had nearly plucked the blade from his heart.

Murtagh shivered and made a split second decision. He lunged at his father with all of his weight, stabbing Zar'roc through Morzan's abdomen, and then he charged straight over the edge of the wall and took Morzan with him. Brom's eyes went wide and he shouted something as they fell. Even Morzan let out a cry. The ground rushed to meet them, but Murtagh had no intention of dying yet.

Tearing open the ground, he and his father plummeted into a void. Darkness devoured them, and then Murtagh landed in the snow between the dark spirit and the human army. Morzan was gone, and the only trace of him that remained was the blood on Zar'roc's blade. He would have to wait. A dozen more Lethrblaka burst out of the ground and shot into the sky. Thorn and Saphira took them down before they ever posed a threat to Murtagh.

On one side of Murtagh, the human army rushed towards him. The dark spirit stomped through the snow on his other side and stepped over him, wailing into the night. Its head had grown into a mangled stump, and only one wing of four remained. Its body was a third of the size it had been. Chest aching, Murtagh raised his hand to it and tugged apart the warped threads that kept it together.

A wave of pain assaulted Murtagh first. It was not the burden of sorrow but instead real, physical pain. Curling in on himself, Murtagh had to drop his arm to hold his abdomen. Then memories of Galbatorix deluged his mind. The king's cruel laughter, his subjugation of Alagaësia, his torture of Murtagh and Thorn, all of these things ran through Murtagh's mind not just once but twice.

Dropping to his knees, he covered his mouth for only a second and then vomited. Every muscle in his body burned and his pulse roared in his ears. Throbbing pain overwhelmed his head, and his vision blurred until everything was only a swirling mass of black and white. Pressing both hands against the ground in a vain effort to stabilize himself, Murtagh threw up again.

A dragon roared nearby, and two enormous crashes shook the ground. Thorn's mind wrapped around Murtagh with unrelenting strength, as if trying to hold him together, and then a pair of hands caught him and another mind touched his. Eragon's. Murtagh was barely aware of any of it.

When at last his senses returned to him, Murtagh was convulsing in Eragon's arms. Thorn was near and breathing a cloud of sulfurous air over them. It was strangely comforting. A small army of knights swarmed them. Murtagh's hands went cold as ice. Yet their weapons were not pointed at him. Rather, they were aimed at the city walls. The knights were protecting them from something.

Citizens of Alagaësia, boomed Morzan's voice into the minds of all present. Not only so, but it was a reaching voice that stretched from one end of Alagaësia to the other and permeated the minds of all races. I am Morzan, and today I have become your king.

Murtagh forced himself to sit up, though Eragon kept a hand on his shoulder. Ilirea trembled at its foundation. Glowing pillars of magic hoisted the city out of the dirt. Defensive stone walls crumbled to dust, but the city itself remained intact and rose into the starry heavens. New defensive walls made purely of shifting darkness surrounded the city. Dark energy formed towers on every side of Ilirea, and reaching bridges of shifting shadows stretched from one tower to the next until the capital was a tangled mess of black structures. The city glowed with twisted black and violet energy.

Next came an image that reached the minds of all living things. Morzan stood upon the highest bridge over Ilirea and looked down upon them. His sword was sheathed and his hands were folded behind his back. At his feet, shackled by black chains of magic, were Selena and Brom, both battered but alive. Murtagh rose in an instant, and Eragon was at his side. Thorn and Saphira flanked them, snarling.

My son Murtagh will stand at my side, Morzan said. In the image he spoke aloud, but his voice only reached their minds. His lips curled in a feral smile, and somehow, he looked straight through the vision and locked eyes with Murtagh. And in my name he will torture you, subjugate you, and enslave you.

Eragon turned his eyes to Murtagh, and Murtagh met and held his gaze. Several knights glanced at them, but their weapons did not turn.

Then Morzan drew his sword, grabbed a fistful of Brom's hair at the back of his head and yanked him backwards, placing the blade to his throat. A thin line of red trickled down Brom's neck. Murtagh! I am waiting!

Eragon moved first, spinning on his heels for Saphira. Murtagh caught his arm and held him, and again their eyes met. If only for a moment, the fog over Murtagh's mind cleared, and his focus was restored. The anger, hurt, and fear on his sibling's contorted face had a strange effect on him.

Several knights turned when he spoke, for surely they heard him, but Murtagh did not care. To Eragon he said, "If I align myself with him, kill me."

A puff of air escaped Eragon's lips. His arm was shaking in Murtagh's hand. Murtagh released him and turned, taking a single step forward. Eragon let out a cry, and both Thorn and Saphira roared. It was the only reaction Murtagh allowed before he created a rift and stepped through it. Yet as he snapped it shut to keep Thorn from following, Eragon tackled him from behind and fell in with him. The darkness spit them out in a heap upon the bridge, and Morzan released Brom and faced them with a grand smile.

"And look," said Morzan with a booming and pompous voice. He spread his arms wide, and his crystal sword glinted in the moonlight. "He has even brought to me the hero of Alagaësia, destroyer of Galbatorix, and leader of the Riders!"

Fury swelled in Murtagh. He grabbed Eragon off the ground and shoved him behind him, standing in the space between him and his father. Eragon trembled in rage, and Brisingr shook in his hand. His sibling uttered a single word of magic, the Word. Nothing happened, and Morzan tipped his head. Eragon spoke several words then, anything and everything, and his spells fell harmlessly off his lips. His eyes widened, and Morzan bared his teeth in a twisted grin.

Murtagh turned. All around the city was a thin film of warped light, a powerful barrier against all sorts of magic. All magic except Morzan's, no doubt. Eragon should not have come. A familiar pang of helplessness crept over Murtagh. Memories of Thorn tortured and beaten overwhelmed his mind. It was all happening again.

Thorn and Saphira crashed into the barrier and then landed upon it over their heads, clawing at it to no avail. The light burned ever brighter. Both roared, but a strange sort of silence settled over Murtagh.

"Run," Brom said through gritted teeth, and somehow the weight of the chains kept his head down.

Selena wept at his side, but her jaw was clenched and her eyes were a swirling storm of rage. She, too, was forced low.

"On your knees, Murtagh." Morzan twirled his sword just over Brom's head. "It is the only surrender I require of you. On your knees, and I will release them. Eragon, Brom, and Selena, the happy little family. They can run along unharmed, and you will remain with me where you belong."

"Do not give him what he wants," said Brom in haste, and Morzan hit him in the back of the head with the grip of his sword. Brom flinched and lowered his head.

Eragon moved, but Murtagh stopped him with a hand at his chest.

"It seems you require more motivation." Morzan waved his hand in the air and then clenched his fingers to his palm in a tight fist.

Eragon, Brom, and Selena together exhaled a choked gasp, and Eragon clasped at his chest. In a matter of seconds, his face went pale and he staggered. Murtagh caught him and held his weight, and Eragon clawed at him while making wet, strangled noises. Brom and Selena were just the same, their faces contorted in agony.

"I have stopped their hearts," Morzan said, and he poked a finger into the gaping hole in his own chest. "On your knees, or they will die."

Murtagh could not move, could not think, and his breath caught in his throat.

Brom collapsed on the bridge, and Morzan pressed the tip of his sword to his back. "A feeble old man like Brom may suffer lasting damage if his heart does not beat soon."

It was happening again. Murtagh shivered but remained strong, kept a firm grip on Eragon and kept his brother from falling. His mind raced in a hundred different directions, and then he stopped.

"Swear to me," Murtagh murmured without breath. "Swear to me you will release them and do them no harm. They will live, and you will leave them be."

Morzan continued to wear his smile, said nothing, biding time. And then he spoke in the ancient language and said, "On your knees, and I will release them today alive and without further harm. Tomorrow there is no promise."

It was enough. Eragon was turning blue. Murtagh trembled and laid Eragon on the ground, and then he faced Morzan and lowered himself to his knees.

"Give me your sword," Morzan demanded, and Murtagh slid Zar'roc across the bridge. "Put your hands on your head."

Murtagh folded his hands over the top of his head, and in that same moment, Eragon, Brom, and Selena inhaled a strangled breath as they were released from Morzan's grasp. The chains around Brom and Selena shattered, but neither moved other than to grab at their chests as they gasped.

"Such a considerate son I have," said Morzan with a hint of spite.

He twirled his finger, and Eragon and Brom slid across the bridge and far apart from them. Murtagh could not breathe. Yet Morzan kept true to his promise and did them no harm, and Eragon was able to get back to his feet, and he tugged Brom with him.

Selena sat up, shaking her head. "Do not give in to him, Murtagh."

Morzan sheathed his sword as he crept around Murtagh. Then he placed his hands on Murtagh's shoulders, gripping tightly. Murtagh choked down bile and trembled as his father's hands next smoothed his hair at the base of his neck.

"He cannot help himself," said Morzan with laughter in his voice. And then his next words stripped Murtagh of his resolve. "Selena, my Black Hand, our son has grown too soft."

Selena set a hand on the bridge and raised her head, searching first Morzan and then Murtagh. Realization dawned in her wide eyes, and a violent tremor ran through her. Her lips parted and released a stifled breath, and then tears flooded her eyes. Her gentle features twisted and her face became as one who had lost everything.

Shaking her head, she whispered, "No."

Tears stung Murtagh's eyes, and he sealed his lips tight. Before his very eyes, she fell apart. Her head kept shaking in denial, and tears streaked her face.

"Yes," Morzan said with a hiss, and then he flicked his finger at her.

Selena was thrown across the bridge and rolled at Eragon's feet. Both Eragon and Brom pulled her up, held her, supported her, and still she wept. All the while she shook her head and wrinkled her face in agonized sorrow.

"No," she murmured, and then she screamed again and again. "No!"

Morzan smiled, for everything went exactly as he wanted. Manipulation and control. He twisted his hand, and darkness swallowed Eragon, Selena, and Brom, and all the while Selena screamed in horror at the truth. Cold streaks were left by tears on Murtagh's cheeks.

"I told you," said Morzan. "Even your own mother hates you. You belong here with me."

With another flick of Morzan's hand, Thorn and Saphira vanished, and only by a faint and lingering connection between him and Thorn did Murtagh know they were all safe on the ground with the knights. Thorn raged, and Murtagh severed their connection. Morzan's hands landed again on Murtagh's shoulders, and his touch sucked the life out of Murtagh.

"I will never swear fealty to you," Murtagh said without breath, and tears continued to fall.

"I have no need of your oaths." Morzan's grip never faltered. "You see, Murtagh, you have been utterly predictable. All I had to do was let time run its proper course." His tone shrank to a murmur. "Since the moment we were brought back to life in the desert that day… I enslaved the spirits, weak, pathetic things that they are. I took Eragon and let a spirit feed him hatred and fear. I altered Brom and Selena's memories. All to be weapons against you until that man Tornac fought back and allowed your mother and Brom to escape. In the end, none of it mattered."

More tears fell, and Murtagh exhaled through his teeth. It had all been a game.

"You could not help yourself. Across Alagaësia you went, sacrificing yourself and saving the spirits." Morzan's hand slipped from Murtagh's shoulder to his chest, and he pressed over his heart. "Now your magic is depleted and your body is broken. You could not resist me even if you tried. For you see, within this barrier, I cannot seal a spirit's magic. You simply cannot use it because you are too far dead."

Morzan continued, "The spirits knew of your weaknesses, yours and Eragon's, and showed me everything." His hand clasped the fabric over Murtagh's chest. Leaning down, his father spoke directly into his ear, his hot breath burning his cheek. "Your weakness, my pitiful, despicable son, is that you are nothing like me at all."

Murtagh choked back a sob. His father clasped his wrists and lowered his arms, and then Morzan set one hand atop Murtagh's head, digging his fingers into his scalp. Then pain ripped through Murtagh like a bolt of lightning, and he screamed and curled forward. Pain through his skin like it was being peeled off his body, pain through his muscles as they twisted and contracted against his will, pain in his lungs, heart, and stomach as they were squeezed in an invisible hand.

Pain in his head as a hundred different spirits rushed into his mind with the sound of thousands of shrieking voices. They battered through his thin defenses in less than a minute, and the few spirits with him succumbed to their raw strength. Murtagh yelled but heard nothing else, only the spirits. Pain, hatred, and sorrow devoured him—some his but most from the spirits.

It had all been a game, and Murtagh lost. Fate struck again, reliable as ever. In defiance he slammed his hands upon the bridge. Through gritted teeth, gargling on his own blood, Murtagh screamed words. Red and black flashed across his vision, but so too did a blazing light that crawled from the depths of the earth far into the heavens. A wall between them and the world. Spells of sealing and protection that neither flesh nor spirit could penetrate.

"Enough!" Morzan yelled, and his grip on Murtagh's head tightened.

More pain like boiling oil dripped over his scalp. Murtagh kept shouting. Hundreds of people he yanked out of the city with but a thought of his mind. All of the people of Ilirea, all of the civilians and knights alike, the dragons, he grabbed them all and thrust them into a void as far from there as he could. And then his barrier snuffed out his own magic as it sealed the city within a glowing shell.

Morzan hit him across the head. It was the last sensation Murtagh had before darkness swallowed him.